Never Say Never (14 page)

“It's going to be hard, but what I know is that you can do it,” I finally said, wanting to encourage him. “Sweetheart, you're the strongest man I know. It's one of the reasons why I love you so much.”

He squeezed me and we stayed there, lying in the bed, holding each other. Until it was time to get up and get ready for Chauncey's funeral.

11

Miriam

I
was in an ocean of black.

For the last seven days, that phrase had been nothing more than a metaphor for my life. But today, it was real.

My home was filled with people wearing black. Black dresses, black suits, black shoes, black boots. Even the firefighters who'd come from all around the city wore their formal black uniforms.

The only one who wasn't in black was me. Today, I wore yellow. A plain sleeveless dress that was a bright yellow. A shocking yellow. A sunshine yellow. What I wore was
my
metaphor for what Chauncey meant to me.

Maybe it was my dress that kept people away. Maybe my dress was why I was in the midst of all of this chatter and clatter, and yet, I sat alone. I was in the center of my couch, staring at the guests who'd come to my home for the repast. The mourners were mingling among themselves, and had forgotten about the guest of honor.

I folded my hands deeper into my lap, feeling so alone in the middle of this crowd. Was it that everyone felt they'd already said everything they had to say to me? Or was it that now that Chauncey
was settled in his final resting place in Inglewood Park Cemetery, there was nothing more to say?

My eyes moved slowly through the room. Sprinkled among the acquaintances were the people I really knew. Pastor Ford and Mama Cee sat in the chairs across from me talking, about God, no doubt. And then Charlie and one of his and Chauncey's high school buddies weren't too far away. Next, I caught a glimpse of Emily and Michellelee standing by the door. Their heads were so close together, like they were planning their getaway. Well, if that was their plan, I wanted to go with them.

Then my eyes settled on the one person I really wanted to talk to.

I wanted to jump up and run over to Jamal. But that would've been too obvious. So, instead, I stood slowly, smoothed out my dress, then strolled past the people who filled my home. I plastered a smile on my face as the comments came.

“Chauncey's in a better place.”

“Everything happens for a reason.”

“The Lord's not gonna give you more than you can handle.”

“We're here for you, you won't be alone.”

With each cliché, all I did was nod and keep moving. When I was right under the dining room arch, I paused, watching Jamal as he stood at the table, directing people as they came in to sample the dozens of dishes that had been prepared for the post-funeral meal. Jamal moved with ease, as if this was his home.

Then he looked up. And when he saw me, he moved, I moved, and we kinda met in the middle. “Hey,” he said, pulling me closer with his smile, “how're you holding up?”

“I'm good,” I said. And after a pause, I added, “This morning was hard, but not as hard as I thought it would be.”

“I know what you mean,” Jamal said as he put a couple of chunks of cheese and crackers on a small paper plate and handed it to me.

I didn't want a thing to eat, but I took the plate, thinking that this was exactly what Chauncey would do.

He said, “When I woke up this morning, I wasn't sure I was going to make it.”

“Really?” I tilted my head. “Last night, you encouraged me.”

He shrugged. “I was only being strong for you. I had to make sure you made it through today.”

If I had been talking to God, I would've praised Him for giving me such a caring friend, a loving friend. “Thanks, but you don't have to be strong around me.” Gently, I rested my hand on his arm. “We're going through the same thing. We miss Chauncey in the same way. It's different for us than it is for other people.”

He shook his head. “I don't think so. Look around this house,” he said, gesturing with his hand. “There are a whole lotta people grieving Chauncey.”

“I know,” I whispered, then took a step closer so that I wouldn't be overheard. “But it's different for you and me. Everyone here either knew Chauncey by blood or by acquaintance. But you and I knew Chauncey on a different level, on a soul level.”

He tilted his head as if he was pondering my words.

I said, “And so, it makes sense that we go through this together. Because we get it, we understand each other's pain.”

He nodded.

“I'm just saying,” I kept on, “that I'm glad I have you. And I hope you know that you have me, too.”

He smiled just a little. “I know that.”

“Okay, so, let's make a promise right now. We don't have to be strong, we just have to be here for each other, 'cause in the coming weeks, I'm gonna need a soft place to land.”

He cocked his head a bit to the side. “A soft place to land.” A beat. “I like that.”

I nodded. “You're that soft place for me.”

“Good. 'Cause I really want to help you and the boys through this.”

“There is something that you can do to help me.”

“Whatever you need,” he said.

“Well, when this is all over”—I laid the untouched cheese and crackers back on the table—“I really want to get together to talk about Chauncey. Some of the things only you can tell me.”

“I'm sure you know everything. No one knew him like you and his mother.”

“Yeah, but there are things that only you know. I'm talking about when you and Chauncey were growing up. I want to know everything, because now . . .” I stopped for a moment. My tears were trying to make a comeback. “I have to pass on as much as I can to the boys. Especially Stevie. I don't want him to forget his dad.”

“Okay,” he said gently, as if he'd sensed that I'd almost had a breakdown. “We can do that this week. I can come over here, or maybe we can go to lunch.”

“Getting out would be great.”

He nodded. “I'll check with Emily and see what her schedule's like.”

“Emily . . . okay, yeah.” I didn't know why I felt a bit annoyed when he mentioned Emily. I mean, she was the one who was my friend. It was because of her that Jamal was even here with me so much.

But then Jamal made me forget about his wife when he did what I'd been craving. He gave me the medicine that he'd been giving me all week. He pulled me into his arms and held me. I closed my eyes and soaked in the strength of him, the feel of his muscles, the love inside his embrace.

The sounds of the repast faded and it was as if we were alone.
He gave me no tired clichés, or false words of hope—he just held me like he was hurting, too. Like he understood me because my pain was the same as his. He held me as if we were just two sad souls finding comfort in each other.

I would've held him like that for hours. But I couldn't, so I opened my eyes. And looked straight into the bright blue eyes of Emily.

12

Emily

E
mily.”

I heard someone calling my name, but they sounded far away, like they were calling me from another country.

“Emily.”

It was as if my ears were clogged. Like four of my senses had taken leave of me and only my sense of sight was working.

“Emily!”

I shook my head and blinked at the same time.

“Emily! Are you okay?”

I turned around so that I could face Pastor Ford. But I also turned around so that I wouldn't have to see what I just saw.

“I'm sorry, Pastor. Did you say something?”

“Yes.” My pastor's eyes were thin slits as she studied me. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I said, shaking my head, hoping to completely rid the image that had sandblasted itself into my mind. But the image alone wasn't the problem. It was my thoughts that played like a soundtrack alongside what I'd seen. Thoughts that explained why Miriam was in Jamal's arms. Thoughts that weren't good.

“Are you sure?” my pastor asked me again.

“I am.” I sighed as if exhaustion was the reason for my distraction. “It's just been a long day.”

Pastor Ford nodded; I knew she'd accept that excuse. “It's been more than a long day; it's been a long week.” When Pastor Ford sighed, too, I heard her exhaustion.

She'd officiated at three of the funerals, and that had to take quite an emotional toll.

Pastor asked, “How's Miriam really doing?” She looked over my shoulder. “I've been talking to her, but only a sister-friend knows for sure.”

The image of Miriam and Jamal rushed right back so fast and so hard that I swayed just a bit. This time, I blinked rapidly to dispose of it. “I think she's okay. I haven't had a chance to spend a lot of time with her because of work.”

Was that it? I asked myself. Was that why she was holding on to my husband that way?

“I've spoken to her a few times,” Pastor said. “I try to call to pray with her since she's not doing too much of that herself right now.”

Maybe that was it. Maybe she was mad at God and so she was holding on to Jamal.

Then Pastor Ford asked me about my husband. “Is Jamal doing okay?”

Another flash.

“He's doing well, too,” I said.

“Really?” My pastor sounded like she didn't believe me.

“I mean, it's been hard on him. But my husband's strong and he'll get through this.”

Pastor Ford's eyes narrowed once again. “Just make sure that you're taking care of Jamal. Sometimes a man doesn't want to be strong. Sometimes a man just wants to be human.”

I nodded. “I'm hoping my schedule will ease up a bit. That fire . . . there are so many victims.”

“I know.” Pastor's voice was softer this time and she reached for my hand. “Before I asked about Jamal and Miriam, I should've asked about you. I know working with those kids is tough. I know how connected you've been to those children and their families.”

I nodded. “It's exactly the same as it is for you. All I want to do is help, and take away just a little bit of their pain. But it's hard.”

Before I could say anything else, I felt a hand on my shoulder. Then, “Excuse me, Pastor.”

I stiffened a bit at Miriam's voice and when I spun toward her, I wondered if my expression was telling a story. I searched her face for her story, but all that was there was what I'd seen all week, grief and deep sorrow.

Miriam spoke to our pastor, not to me, “Would you mind if I took Emily away for a moment?”

“No, go ahead.” Pastor Ford waved her hand. “I have to leave in a little while, but if I miss you, I'll give you a call tonight.”

When Pastor stepped away, Miriam spoke as if she hadn't had her arms wrapped around my husband just a few minutes ago. “Come back here with me.”

I didn't want to go anywhere with her. I wanted to stand right there, confront her, ask her what was going on. But this was a funeral and I couldn't turn it into a fight.

So with my lips pressed together and my arms stiffly by my side, I marched behind Miriam with my eyes wide open. I was looking for signs, trying to see if there was anything to explain what I'd seen and the thoughts I had.

Miriam didn't say a word until she opened the door to her bedroom and we stepped inside. I was shocked to see Michellelee already in there, sitting back on the lounger, flipping through a magazine.

“Oh, you found her,” Michellelee said, tossing the magazine aside.

I stepped into the bedroom, crossed my arms, and sat down on the bed. “So, you wanted to talk to me?” I glanced at Michellelee. “To us?” I wondered if she was going to give me an explanation for why she was all over my husband that way.

Miriam didn't say a word as she walked across the room to the dresser. I watched as she opened her top drawer, then pulled out two boxes. Her head was still down as she faced me and Michellelee.

“After what happened to Chauncey, I decided that I had to make sure that everyone I love knows how I feel. So”—she looked up—“these are for you.”

She handed us the boxes. Michellelee grabbed hers right away, but it took me a moment. This was the opposite of what I expected, but after a couple of seconds, I took my box from her hand.

“Oh my goodness!” Michellelee exclaimed before I'd even removed the top off mine.

But once I did, I held up the same silver link bracelet that Michellelee had in her hands. It was the same bracelet that Miriam had on, and I'd admired it when I first saw her at church this morning. The only difference was, a single red heart dangled from Michellelee's, the heart on mine was blue, and Miriam's, of course, was white.

The Red, White, and Blue.

After all these years, we still referred to ourselves that way. The name had stuck with us when some drunk guy during our sophomore year had yelled out at a party that the three of us were the American flag.

“Yeah, you're red,” he told Michellelee, who was decked out in her best Delta Sigma Theta paraphernalia.

Then, he made a big deal of looking down his nose and calling me the blue-blooded basketball player.

I'd actually laughed at that, but when he turned to Miriam, I'd held my breath. Michellelee and I knew the stories of how Miriam had been teased and bullied because of her birthmark, the white streak in her hair. If that guy had said anything mean, he was gonna have to fight two angry women, because Michellelee and I would defend Miriam until the end.

But when he said, “And you, Miss White, your hair is cool,” I breathed and laughed again.

From then on, around campus, we were known as the Red, White, and Blue. And we loved it because that sealed our bond even more. But this symbolism of our friendship was the best.

“I'm . . . I'm . . .” I turned the heavy links over in my hand. “I don't even have the words.”