Rhythms of Grace (40 page)

“Thanks. Justice is sick again. Bronchitis. And Carmel had to work.”

“I hope she feels better. I’ll tell Dad. Or you can tell him yourself. We’re still having dinner downstairs if you want to come.”

I looked down at Justice. Her chest heaved, stopped, and then fell again. “I don’t think I’ll make it today—”

A sigh. Was she relieved I wasn’t coming? Or disappointed? “No problem. I’ll let him know. See you at work tomorrow.”

“Okay. Did they tape you? I’m sure you blew the house down.”

“Not quite. They didn’t tape it and I’m glad. Let’s try again next week.”

“Great. I’ll be there.”

I stared at the phone. Why did it always have to be this way between me and Zeely—a chain of paper-thin promises that I was sure to break? I looked at the chubby baby as she took ragged breaths, still exhausted from a night of screaming. I didn’t want to disappoint Zeely again. I hadn’t told her a lot of things because I thought she deserved better, but maybe it was time to come clean and let her into my life. Maybe she
could
handle Monique, Justice, Carmel, and all my drama.

I edged the baby over on the mattress and reached for my top dresser drawer, digging for a musty velvet box. I closed my eyes and cracked the lid. A teardrop diamond, still as radiant as the day my mama got it off layaway, sparkled between my fingers. She’d bought it for Zeely, and when things took a different turn, I’d been unable, unwilling, to give it to Carmel. I’d kept it in a safety deposit box until a week ago. I’d always meant to give it to its rightful owner, just to fulfill my mother’s wishes. I’d always meant to . . . someday.

Years of pain welled in my chest. Someday might never come. I was broken, and she deserved more, but I couldn’t live two lives anymore—a single man and a loving father. Justice needed a family, something Carmel had decided we couldn’t be. Something Monique and Sean would never be either, regardless of how bad they wanted it. I put the ring in my pocket and walked to the closet, choosing an even better suit this time.

Today was the day. I’d say the words Zeely had longed to hear and tell her the truth about my crazy life. The bills, the baby, all of it. I hoped Zeely could understand and become what she should have been all along. My wife.

55

Zeely

I lay on the couch in front of my television, munching saltines and drinking ginger ale. I’d sung like a bird, but now I was tired and more than a little sick. I flipped to the Christian TV station. A familiar evangelist was hosting a telethon, screaming for money. I turned off the TV and rolled over, my face against the cushions.

Grace had left two messages and her car was in her driveway, but I didn’t feel like talking. Not yet. If I talked, I’d also have to listen, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear what Grace had to say. Especially since the usual pattern of girlfriend confessions was that the listener follow with an admission of her own. No matter how bad Grace thought her secret was, I knew mine was worse.

And not only in the past, either. I’d wrecked things in the present too. Growing inside me was the baby I’d always wanted, but now I had no idea what to do. How would I explain to my father that I’d gone to a clinic and saved some stranger’s egg? And yet, in all my fear and crying out to God, there was happiness. Maybe my dreams could still come true.

The phone rang again. I closed my eyes.

That girl isn’t going to give up.

“Hi, this is Zee. I’m out and about, but leave me a message and I’ll hit you back. Have a blessed day.” My voice sounded sickening. Fake. I waited, knowing Grace would have plenty to say, talking until the beep cut her off like she always did.

“Zee, you there? It’s Ron.”

I flipped over the arm of the couch and grabbed the phone with one hand, clutched my stomach with the other. “Hello?”

“Hey. I’m glad you picked up. Can I come over?”

My eyes roamed the room for excuses, finding none. The place was clean as usual. He knew I didn’t get sick much; if I told him that, he might freak out and take me to the hospital. “I’m not feeling too good. A virus I think.”

“Did you throw up? I hate to be gross, but you don’t want to get dehydrated. Tell you what, I’ll bring some Gatorade—”

The doorbell rang.

“Can you hold on? Somebody’s at the door. Probably Grace. I should have called her back earlier.”

“Let her in. Call me back as soon you feel up to it. I need to talk to you. Tonight if I can. It’s important.”

“Okay.” I put the phone on its base and walked to the door, my stomach and head throbbing. I tried not to imagine what Ron wanted to talk about.

Don’t get your hopes up. Just wait and see.

“Who is it?”

“Jeremiah.” The answer glued my fingers to the knob.

I pulled the door open while yanking my sweatshirt down as far as it could go. The image on the other side took my breath. Jeremiah rested against the frosty bricks in a leather trench coat and highcollared suit, with pearl buttons down the center. A matching pair of oxfords completed the look. Justice slept on his shoulder.

“Come in! Get that baby out of the cold.”

He smiled and walked inside. I reached for Justice and made a bed for her on the couch. She didn’t make a sound.

Jerry unbuttoned his coat. “I’m sorry I didn’t call, but I might have lost my nerve.”

Nerve for what? “You did surprise me. I was about to call the hospital and check on Joyce.”

“I spoke to the nurse about an hour ago. She’s down for the night.”

I nodded and walked toward the kitchen. I wanted to run. “You hungry?”

He grabbed my hand. “Stay here.”

“Okay.” I folded my arms, hoping he couldn’t hear my heart beating.

Jerry dropped to one knee. I grabbed my throat, then bent down too. He shook his head and motioned for me to stand. “I planned this all out much better, but here goes. We were always meant to be together, and if you’ll have me, if you can put up with my family and all my drama, I want you to be my wife.” He took a velvet box from his pocket.

I gasped as I noted the name on the box. Foxman’s. Out of business since . . . I breathed in and out again, disarmed as he slid the ring on my finger. My mother had been right. He’d bought it. The perfect ring. I couldn’t help lifting my finger into the light. Already feeling lightheaded, I crumpled to the ground beside him, in a pool of tears. “You did buy it. You did.”

He held me. “Of course I did.”

I threw my arms around his neck, drenching his collar.

“Is that a yes?”

I stiffened. A yes just like that? This Cinderella thing was harder than it looked. Ron’s kiss at the hospital forced itself in front of the diamond. What about him? What about the “important” thing he wanted to talk about? I touched my stomach and the secret it held. I’d gone too far and I knew it. Ron would never accept it, never marry me to cover it. Jerry had his own scars, his own skeletons. Maybe we could cover . . . each other. I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t have time to think too hard. The clinic experiment had been successful and I’d become a mother without the love of a man. My child, however, deserved a father’s love too.

Jerry noted my hesitation. “Do you need some time? I should have planned this better. I’m not offering love necessarily. We can grow into that. To be honest, I need a mother for my children and someone to share my life. I just thought maybe if I did what I was supposed to do in the first place, God might—”

My hand went to my stomach, now turning inside out. “Yes. That’s my answer.”

He waved his fist in the air. “Thank you, Jesus!”

I bit my lip, as nausea eased into the back of my throat. “One thing though, have you talked to Daddy? You know how he is about stuff like this.”

Jerry shrugged. “I didn’t. I figured since he’s the one who started the whole thing, it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Just go over and talk to him tomorrow. I don’t want to wait too long to tell him, but I want you to see him first.”

“All right.”

I looked at the ring again and then covered my mouth. I started to bend over again even though I tried not to. I staggered to my feet and started toward the bathroom.

Jerry followed. “Are you okay?”

I shook my head.

“Sick?”

I nodded.

The baby cried. Jerry picked her up. “Sorry you don’t feel good. We’ll celebrate later. I’ll let myself out.”

As the door slammed, I stuck my head in the toilet, wondering what Cinderella did when Prince Charming showed up at the best—and the worst—possible time.

56

Brian

I once thought it could never get too cold for basketball. Some of my best games had been played on slushy courts cleared with a squeegee from someone’s garage. Last year, I’d played on Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s, but today, after going to church . . . after listening to those songs, those words, I felt stiff. Frozen. I might hang up my shoes until spring. I must be getting old. If the score was any indication, I was ancient. Quinn was skunking me. Six nothing.

“So what’d you think of church?” My youthful opponent fired off the basketball.

I snagged the rebound, then lied. “Not much.”

“I felt like that too. I never set foot in a church until last year. It still reminds me of the NBA.”

“How so?” I fired off a jump shot. It clanged off the rim and back into my hands.

“The guys on the bench get paid without playing. Some of them have more potential than the starters, but they’re too comfortable. They don’t want to do the hundred foul shots, pack on the muscle, lose the weight . . .” Quinn jumped up and down behind me, his hands in the air.

I hooked another shot. One point.

“Check.” I stepped forward with a bounce pass.

The boy dribbled slowly, still explaining. “It’s too hard, too much trouble. So bench guys show up year after year, happy to maintain their mediocrity.”

I adjusted my glasses and held my hands high. Not that it helped. Another point for Quinn. This kid never ceased to amaze me. “What about the little players who’ve made it big? They’re not passive.”

Quinn held the ball. “Exactly. Those little guys didn’t stay on the bench, though. They recognize their limitations, but refuse to accept them. They work hard every practice and obey the coaches’ advice.”

Quinn took a dribble and wiped his forehead. I motioned for the pass. He held the ball at his side. “The hungry players are ready every game—looking for an injury, illness—anything to get on the court. The people in church like that, they grow fast. Strong. People who’ve been saved twenty years just sit there and watch. Pretty soon the new cats are running things.” He passed me the ball.

I tossed off a quick shot. Quinn rejected it.

Send me to the old folks’ home, why don’t you?

Quinn’s little illustration was nice, but I wasn’t even in the building, let alone the game. I ran behind the young philosopher and stopped his layup with a blocked shot of my own. Two dribbles and another quick shot. Around the rim. Circle. Circle. No good. I’d have to be more patient the next time. Let the game come to me. “Where do you fit on the team?”

“Me? I’m still on the bench. No special abilities, not much depth. Just trying to stay humble and hungry.” Quinn faked left, then right, leaving me hanging in the air. He shifted again and drove to the basket.

I crashed down on my heels and doubled over, bunching my shorts at the knees. “I’ve got to admit, you’ve made some remarkable progress. Even since last year. I saw your PSAT scores. You’ll make National Merit for sure. Did you use those tricks I taught you?”

Quinn held the ball again, smiling. “It’s the Lord, Doc, plain and simple. Why can’t you face that?”

I rolled my eyes. “This is the most talkative basketball game I’ve ever had.” It was the most thought-provoking game I’d ever had too, but I didn’t want to swell the boy’s head.

“It’s hard to be on the listening side, huh?” Quinn dribbled between his legs. He stepped to the next spot on the key and fired off a shot. Swish.

You know about them, but you don’t know them.
Joyce’s words played over in my head. It hurt when she was right.

“I know more about the Lord than you think. Some things just aren’t so simple.” A stupid line of logic, but it was all I had.

Quinn bounced the ball into my hands. I caught it and re-shot in one motion. It swished through the net. Sweet. I passed the ball away.

Quinn squared his shoulders toward the basket and released, his fingertips extended. “There’s one more group besides the starters and the bench riders. The naturals.”

I watched the ball hit the center of the square and fall through the hoop. The naturals. I knew the type. There was one at every playground in Testimony. I nodded as he went for the ball. “I’m hip to that. Those brothers are deceiving. They look all crusty, with two knee braces. Oh, and a Jheri curl. They always have a Jheri curl.”

Quinn laughed into his fist. “I know right! With a headband and some long socks, up to the knees. And a matching outfit, but off brand.”

I doubled over and dropped the ball, laughing until there were tears in my eyes. “Yeah. Wilson down, except for the shoes, some Pumas in mint condition.”

Quinn and I locked fingers, and slid our fingertips across one another in agreement. “You a fool, Doc. But for real. Those cats could beat anybody in the league, but they broke the rules somewhere. Then they walked away, thinking there wasn’t any forgiveness. Now they take out their frustrations on suckers like us.”

I pulled the damp shirt from my chest. I turned my back on Quinn’s probing eyes. His probing words. “Sucker? Speak for yourself.” I closed my eyes and squeezed off what felt like a perfect shot.

When I opened my eyes, I was up by a point and Quinn wasn’t laughing.

“You’re right, Doc. You’re a natural for sure.”