Never Say Never (20 page)

I felt him nod. “I know we have to move on . . .” He stopped.

And I finished, “But I'd like to stay here for just a little while longer.” When I said that, I closed my eyes, not quite sure what I meant. Was I talking about staying in the memory of Chauncey? Or was I talking about staying here in bed with Jamal?

I didn't have to explain myself, though. All Jamal did was pull me a little closer. For minute after minute, Jamal just held me. He held me as if he'd held me before. He held me like he'd hold me again.

But as every good thing always does, our time came to an end
when he picked up his watch from the nightstand. He kissed the top of my head and then rolled from the bed.

When I moved to get up, Jamal shook his head.

“I'm taking you home,” I said, thinking that he'd forgotten about his car.

“I'm going to take a cab.”

“You don't have to do that,” I said.

“Yes, I do.” He paused. “Just let me go like this.”

It felt like he was saying more than good-bye; it felt like he was saying never again. My lips trembled, but I sucked my bottom one between my teeth. I didn't deserve to feel bad about this because clearly, this was the right thing to do.

At least I didn't hurt as much as I had when the day began.

That was how it ended. With just a soft kiss on my forehead and then he was gone.

Just a little more than twelve hours had passed and I'd hardly gotten out of this bed. I'd sat up to hug the boys when they'd rushed into my bedroom to tell me about Magic Mountain. Mama Cee had followed them, and I told her I had a headache. She herded the boys away, told me to call her if I needed anything, and left me alone to press Play on my mind's video over and over again. I kept thinking about how Jamal and I lain together, talked together, grieved together.

I tucked the memories into a corner of my mind, promising myself that I would leave them there. I pushed myself up. I only had two hours to get the boys ready for church.

Church!

Not that I wanted to go, but Mama Cee wasn't going to miss church two Sundays in a row. Then my thoughts went straight to Jamal, and I wondered if he and Emily would be at Hope Chapel.

“Stop it, Miriam,” I whispered as I closed my eyes and shook my head, trying to cross those thoughts out of my mind.

Of course they were going to be in church. Weren't they always? They were going to be everywhere. Jamal and Emily were part of my church family, Chauncey's work family, not to mention that Emily was my sister.

Emily! Emily! Emily!

I squeezed my eyes shut and groaned. How could I have done that to my best friend?

I took a breath. It wasn't going to help a thing to beat myself up. I couldn't take it back and I wasn't fool enough to believe that when Jamal made love to me, it was the same as when he made love to Emily.

It meant nothing to him.

So . . . why did it feel like everything to me?

I jumped off the bed. Maybe if I got moving I could stop acting like some lovesick teenager. Inside the bathroom, I leaned into the bathtub and turned on the water full blast. As I waited for the water to warm, I shrugged my bathrobe from my shoulders and then glanced in the mirror.

But then I quickly turned away. I couldn't even look at myself.

I blinked rapidly to fight the tears, but when I stepped into the shower, I released them, letting my emotions mix with the water. I sobbed because my heart really did hurt. I was so sorry for what I'd done.

At least the beginning was the end. I would do everything I could to put what happened out of my head, and out of my heart. I had to, since I was sure this would never happen again.

20

Emily

M
y head was bowed and my eyes were closed, but my ears were not hearing the prayer that Deacon Brown was shouting through the sanctuary. Instead, my mind was on my husband. As the deacon went on and on about the grace of God in our lives, my thoughts were somewhere else.

Last night had been a shocker!

While Jamal had showered, I'd stayed in the front of the condo, ordering my salad, then I watched TV as I waited for my dinner to be delivered and for Jamal to join me. About forty minutes later, my food showed up, but Jamal hadn't. When I went into our bedroom in search of my husband, I found him. In bed. Asleep. And it was barely eight o'clock.

For a couple of moments, I stood at the door, just watching, just waiting for him to jump up and say, “April Fool's,” though we were in the middle of September. But Jamal didn't move. Not even when I sat down on the edge of the bed, not so softly, hoping to wake him.

But even though he hadn't told me he was going to bed, and even though I'd wanted to spend some time with him, I wasn't mad. Yes, I
needed my husband, but it was just as clear that right now, he needed me. Jamal had fallen back into the abyss.

All I could do was return to the living room, sit on the sofa, tuck my feet beneath me, turn on the TV, and watch a rerun of our favorite movie,
Love Story
, all by myself.

My mind, though, was on my husband the whole time.

Then, this morning, another shocker!

I'd been awakened with a bit of hope—Jamal's kisses all over my shoulders, on my neck, on my head.

I rolled over to return his affection, but with a gentle touch, Jamal pushed me down and slid on top of me.

“Babe,” I giggled, until he pressed his lips against mine. It was such a soft kiss, such a Jamal kiss. When he raised his head, I said, “This is exactly what I'd wanted to do last night. But you fell asleep on me.” Playfully, I pouted. “Do you know how long it's been since we made love?”

“I'm trying to fix that now,” he said with another kiss.

I waited until we broke apart before I said, “But we don't have time.”

Still, he lowered his head again, his lips aimed for mine.

“We're gonna be late for church,” I said. “And you know how Pastor wants us in the front row, especially since now you'll be leading the Men's Prayer Circle.”

He sighed and rolled onto his back. “I'm not going to church.”

“What?”

“I don't feel well.”

Wait a minute. Wasn't this the man who'd just tried to make love to me? “What's wrong?” I placed my hand on his forehead.

“It's not a cold or anything. I just don't feel well.”

I stared at Jamal. This wasn't the first time we'd missed church, though we hardly did because we were part of Pastor's Leadership
Council. He knew Pastor depended on us. So, if he was staying home, something was up and it wasn't good.

I paused for a moment, trying to decide the best way to approach this. “Jamal,” I began.

But he shook his head before I could say anything. “Emily, no. We just did this two days ago. I know you think I should get out of the house. I know you think I'm strong. I know you think I'll get through this.” His eyes were focused on the ceiling.

“No, hear me out,” I said, gently touching his arm. “You're right about all of that, but there's one other thing I know will help.” I took a breath, knowing I'd need fortitude for this hard sell.

I said, “You need someone to talk to. Everyone who is grieving does, there's no way around that. Someone who can hear you and help pull you through.”

He was silent, which was better than him telling me no. So I continued, “I'm your wife, not your therapist. But I can set up an appointment with one of my colleagues.”

Jamal sucked in air.

I said, “You only have to go once and see. If it doesn't work for you, don't go back.”

More silence.

“I just know from my heart that getting out of the house is good, and talking with someone will make that better.”

He didn't look at me when he said, “Give me some room. Give me some time.”

“Okay, okay,” I said, doing everything to keep my voice and tone soft. “But can I say one more thing about this?”

He hesitated again, then nodded.

“The reason why I'm called in to work at the beginning of any tragedy is because we know grief is physically, emotionally, and mentally painful, and the recovery process is slow. But the thing is, you have
to begin the process immediately. It doesn't mean that you will recover right away, just that you've taken the steps.” I paused, but he didn't respond. “Grief plants roots, Jamal. And once the roots are planted, it's hard to dig them up. You have to dig deeper and dig longer.”

The way he blinked, I could tell he was considering my words.

I finished with, “I don't want to rush you through the process. I just want you to begin. I know it feels like I'm bugging you, but it's just that I want to do everything I can to help you.”

Turning his head, he caressed my cheek with his fingertips. “I'll think about it.”

“That's all I'm asking,” I said. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Emily. I really do.”

“I've never doubted that. I've never doubted you.”

He lowered his eyes.

I said, “So . . . what about church?”

He shook his head.

Church was where my husband needed to be, but there wasn't any room for another lecture.

“Okay, then, I'll play hooky with you. Let's go out to breakfast.”

“No, Em. I'm cool here. You go.”

“I'm not going without you.”

“Go!” Then he rolled away from me. Discussion over.

I lay still, staring at him, trying to decide. Maybe it was best that I go, since it didn't look like I'd be doing much if I stayed home. Maybe in church I'd hear a word I could bring back to Jamal.

And in church I could definitely pray. There was nothing like corporate prayer.

So that's what I'd done. I'd showered, blow-dried my hair, did my makeup, dressed . . . and the whole time, Jamal stayed in bed. When I went over to him to kiss him good-bye, he was asleep once again.

“Amen!”

That shout brought me out of my thoughts, and I lifted my head like the other parishioners now that Deacon Brown had finished. Turning, I did another quick scan of the sanctuary. Miriam and Chauncey always sat next to me and Jamal, and Michellelee sat right behind us.

Well, Michellelee was in place, but Miriam wasn't. Now I wished that I'd called her this morning.

When I heard Pastor Ford say, “Everyone, turn in your Bibles . . .” I twisted and faced the front of the church. Maybe Miriam was here, but didn't think she should sit in the front anymore. Or maybe she'd chosen Jamal's method of coping and she was still in bed.

The church filled with the rustling of Bible pages and I did the same, though I found the scripture that the pastor had directed us to, Deuteronomy 28:47, on my iPad.

Pastor Ford said, “With all that's been going on in our community and right here in this church since the fire, I want to talk about the importance of guarding your heart. Especially during times of trouble, when you feel less joy and more sorrow, it's important not to let the devil get ahold of your emotions.”

I nodded like everyone else in the sanctuary.

“Now, looking at those scriptures”—she lowered her eyes—“I can sum it up in a couple of words: if you do not serve God with joyfulness and gladness of heart for all that you have
already
received, you will be open to attacks from the enemy and that's whom you will serve.” The pastor looked up and slammed her hand against the podium. “Hello, somebody!”

Murmurs of agreement rose through the congregation.

“Let me explain how this applies to us right now.” Pastor Ford picked up her Bible and strutted in front of the altar. Holding the holy book above her head, she said, “If you love the Lord and are serving Him, you are aware of your abundant blessings. Blessings
that are spiritual, financial, emotional, physical—it would take years to go through your life and write down every blessing you've received.

“But then something happens: you lose your job, you get divorced, or a devastating fire causes you to lose someone you love. What we tend to do is focus on this singular incident. But does that make sense? Does that wipe out everything that we know and all that we've experienced from God?”

“No!” the parishioners shouted.

Pastor Ford returned to the podium. “Now, I'm not saying that as Christians we will never find ourselves angry at God, or questioning God. We have big expectations for our Big God. But don't get it twisted, keep all of that in check. Don't go over the cliff with it, because whatever makes you bitter will keep you from getting better.”

“Amen!”

“Through Christ, you can crawl out of grief, you can flourish. But it won't happen in the middle of your mumbling and grumbling and complaining. Thriving can only happen in the midst of joy. Understand what I'm saying: happiness and sadness are about circumstances. But joy, that's your inner celebration. When all around you seems to be crumbling, you can have joy. Because you know whom you serve, and you know what He's done, and you know what He's doing and what He will do again.”

“Amen!” folks shouted.

“Oh, hear what I'm saying,” Pastor Ford sang. “Amp up your joy. Because the world didn't give it to you, so how can you let the world and circumstances and losing a job and divorce and even death take that away!”

People were on their feet cheering, and it took a moment for the sanctuary to quiet enough to hear the rest of Pastor's message. She went on to challenge us to find joy in our lives every day, to seek God so that He could remind us of the blessings we had. And
to keep a gratitude journal so that we'd have someplace to go, we'd have words to review, if our pain ever got so deep that we couldn't remember.

By the end of the sermon, we were all on our feet, shouting with praise. And, in the midst of it, I lowered my head and sent up a silent prayer for Jamal. I prayed that this message would reach his heart through me.