When the Fairytale Ends (21 page)

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Authors: Dwan Abrams

BOOK: When the Fairytale Ends
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The services ended, and Shania and Greg followed the procession to the grave site. As they drove to the cemetery, Shania found herself feeling light-headed and faint. Her stomach heaved yet again, and she sat with her arms wrapped around her waist, praying that she didn't throw up in Greg's Mercedes.
At the grave site, she contemplated staying in the car and watching from a distance until she saw the solemn look on Greg's face. The magnitude of the situation must have finally settled over him like arthritis in joints. She knew that she couldn't leave him hanging. Willing her stomach to obey, she patted her belly, massaged her temples, then forced herself out of the car.
Shania and Greg trekked across the grassy field with Shania's two-inch heels leaving small holes in the wet soil. An overcast threatened to pour down on their heads at any moment. Shania gripped Greg's arm as they approached the tent and slowed down, waiting for the immediate family members to take their seats.
As Shania watched the pallbearers carry the shiny coffin from the hearse, she thought about the seasons of life. In particular, she meditated on Ecclesiastes 3: 1–2, which states:
To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted. . . .
Shania understood that just as there are seasons, spring, summer, fall, and winter, there are seasons of life. She equated a “time to be born” with the spring of one's life. That's the time when people need proper training so that they can learn who they are and how they fit in.
She figured that “a time to plant” must be the summertime, when people get out of school, find a job, get married, and raise a family. Not necessarily in that order, but still during that season.
“A time to pluck up” has to do with harvesting the resources that have been planted. Harvest times occur in the autumn of one's life.
Ultimately, there's “a time to die.” In the winter of one's life cycle, material things no longer matter. Death is the end of the road, the path that leads to eternal life.
Shania sniffled. No matter how much logical sense it made, that still didn't stop the pain of losing a loved one. She thought about her parents every day of her life. Although the pain had lessened over the years and she no longer felt like curling up and dying, there was still a tiny spot in her heart that harbored a sadness that just wouldn't go away.
She had done all of the spiritual things that she knew how to do: pray, read the Bible, meditate, and go to church; yet none of that stopped the hopelessness and depression she felt for so long. Many times the pain had become so unbearable that she thought about committing suicide and ending it all.
Two things stopped her: the fact that her life wasn't hers to take, and her love for Cheyenne and the rest of her family. She understood that she was a child of God. Because she didn't create her life, it wasn't hers to take. If she had killed herself, she believed that she would never see her parents again, anyway. She'd spend all eternity either in purgatory or in hell, but not in heaven, where she believed her parents had gone.
She also knew how devastated her family would've been if she had done such a selfish act. Plus, Cheyenne probably never would've forgiven her, or gotten over that.
Shania thanked God for godly counsel too. She had gone to visit a therapist for one full year to help her through the grieving process. Being able to talk through her struggles helped her to move on and stop being angry with God. Somehow admitting that she had been angry with God almost seemed blasphemous to Shania. Who was she to be angry with Him? she often wondered. Over time she came to realize that her rage was eating her up inside. Once she let go of the anger, she was able to begin the healing process.
A lone raindrop landed on her left shoulder, causing her to look up at the gray sky with scattered white clouds. The dark clouds from earlier had escaped their corner and now hovered directly over the burial tent. She wondered if that was a sign. A sign of what, she had no idea.
Shania observed the people gathering around the open grave site and thought about how sad they looked at that moment. Although they may have been grief-stricken, Shania understood that their lives would go on. In a week or two, the shock would wear off, the pain would cease, and Mother Washington would be on her way to becoming a distant memory to everyone, except her daughters and the people who truly loved her the most.
Shania snapped out of her reflective state when she heard a loud, gut-wrenching bellow. She exchanged confused glances with Greg before focusing her attention on Kristen, who had draped her curvaceous figure across her mother's casket.
“Lord, no!” Kristen cried. “Not my momma.” She kicked off her high-heeled shoe and struggled to adjust her body on the slippery surface.
If looks could kill, the expression on Greg's face would've buried her in the same freshly dug hole with her “momma.” He hurried to the front of the crowd and motioned for a few of the deacons to get her off the casket. A guy standing at least six feet and five inches tall pulled Kristen off the casket, and her sister tried to console her as Kristen buried her face in her shoulder and sobbed.
Kristen must've set off a chain reaction, because not long afterward, many people broke down, falling on their knees, shouting, even running. Shania had never seen anything like it. She stood there speechless.
Pastor Ray tried to regain some order by sharing a few encouraging words and letting everyone know that Mother Washington had gone on to a better place. He explained that death was a part of life. No one could escape it. He went on to say that life was like parentheses. He compared the first parenthesis to being born. The sentence in the middle was life and the end parenthesis was death. Shania liked that analogy.
People seemed to calm down a bit aside from a few random sniffles. Kristen had stopped showing out and sat down, thank God, and folded her hands on her lap. For the life of her, Shania couldn't understand why someone would want to wear such provocative clothing to church—especially to a funeral.
When Pastor Ray had finished speaking and uttered the words “ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” the pallbearers lowered the casket into the ground. As they turned the crank, it started to drizzle. Shania wanted to hurry up and get out of the elements before a downpour occurred. She nudged Greg and raised her brows, indicating that it was time to go. He nodded and raised his index finger.
Shania's patience grew thin. Her umbrella was in the car, and in her fragile state, she didn't want to get soaked and catch a cold. It wasn't just her health she was putting at risk. However, she clenched her jaw to keep from saying something sarcastic.
Not even a minute later, the rain poured down in sheets, and thunder and lightning rattled Shania's nerves. People took off running to their cars like a stampede. Women were hollering, and some people were slipping and sliding. Shania wanted to laugh so bad that her side hurt.
Just when she thought she couldn't take any more, a huge crack of lightning lit the sky, followed by deafening thunder. A lightning bolt bounced off the metal on the casket and struck Kristen and two other mourners. The explosive sound nearly stopped Shania's heart and hurt her ears.
Kaiya's face twisted when she saw that her sister lay twitching on the ground, and she started screaming.
In shock, Shania stood there staring. For some reason her brain wouldn't register that three people had just been struck by lightning. She had heard about people being struck by lightning, but the odds of it happening were astronomical. And at a funeral? A burnt smell assaulted Shania's nostrils, letting her know that people had indeed been struck.
“Go to the car now!” Greg demanded as he took off his jacket and handed it to Shania.
There was a strong sense of urgency in his voice, so she knew she needed to do exactly as he said. He reached down in his pant pocket and handed her the car keys, then pushed her a tad harder than she would've liked. Considering the circumstances, she let it slide. She held his jacket over her head as she half ran, half speed walked to the car, being careful where she placed her feet so she wouldn't slip.
Within the safe confines of their car, Shania stared out the window and watched Greg and Franklin pick up Kristen and carry her to a limo to get her out of the wetness. She immediately grabbed her cell and dialed 911. A couple of pallbearers picked up the other victims and carried them to limos as well. The minister and a handful of other people followed in a panic. Knowing there was nothing else she could do, other than pray, Shania bowed her head and called on God.
As the rain collided with her windshield, Shania couldn't help but reflect on the day's events. Had Mother Washington truly winked at her in that picture, or was that all her imagination? And if Mother Washington
had
winked at her, was it because she knew about something that they didn't?
Unable to shake the feeling that something just wasn't right, she heard the sound of sirens and realized that an ambulance had arrived. She prayed that the victims would be all right, yet she wondered what all of this meant.
Eighteen
Greg rarely missed church. This Sunday was one of those rare occasions. Since Shania had gotten up feeling sick, he didn't feel comfortable leaving her home alone to fend for herself. He made a few phone calls to the pastor and associate youth minister to let them know he wouldn't be in service. He then fixed Shania some dry toast and orange juice, something he knew she could keep down, and brought it to her in bed. She sat up and ate.
“I still can't believe the fiasco Mother Washington's funeral turned into,” Shania said as she bit into the toast. “God rest her soul. I'll bet she was turning over in her casket.”
Greg chuckled. “Yeah, I had never seen anything like it. I felt like looking for hidden cameras. I half expected Ashton Kutcher to jump out and say, ‘You've been punk'd.'”
“I know, right?” Shania laughed.
“Thank goodness everybody's all right.” He leaned back on the fluffy pillow. “Kristen had a minor burn to her shoulder, and the other two were treated for minor injuries. Apparently the lightning didn't directly strike them. Their guardian angels must've been working overtime.” He shook his head in amazement. “It took every ounce of my strength not to break out shouting when I saw Kristen shaking from that bolt of electricity. She looked just like this.” He jerked one shoulder toward his ear while he made his body twitch all over.
“Gregory Crinkle!” Shania popped his hand, but she was doubled over with laughter. “Minister Crinkle,” she said, “now you know that isn't godlike.”
He knew it wasn't godlike, but he had been itching to say that ever since he'd heard that pop of lightning and saw her twitching on the ground. “Yeah, I know I'm wrong for laughing at her,” he said, “but ‘vengeance is mine,' said the Lord, and He sure did serve her a good dose of it.”
Shania laughed with him, then finished off her toast. “Sorry that you missed church just to stay home and babysit me.”
He kissed her forehead. “Nothing to be sorry for. No other place I'd rather be.” He touched her cheek and smiled at her while she drank her juice. “You think your stomach'll be able to hold it down?”
She shrugged. “I hope so. I'll be so glad when the first trimester is over.” She pushed the tray to the side and rested her hand on her flat belly. “This baby is kicking my behind.”
Although he wouldn't dare say anything, he couldn't have agreed more. He was tired of seeing and smelling throw up, tired of the sour smell that was constantly on his wife's breath, and tired of her pendulum mood swings. He hoped this stage would soon pass. He didn't know if he could survive nine months of this.
While watching her nibble on the toast, he felt himself getting turned on and nuzzled Shania's neck, but she pushed his head away. “Don't feel like it, so don't even try it.”
Rolling his eyes, he sighed.
Yeah, this stage better pass and it better pass fast.
“Get yourself some rest,” he said and stood there for a few seconds with his briefs hanging low, hoping she'd change her mind. She didn't. So he left her to her juice and dry toast and went to take a shower. A very cold shower.
When Greg got out of the shower, he could hear Shania snoring. He thought about how much their lives were about to change and how much had already changed. A baby on the way . . . was he truly ready?
With his towel tied around his waist, he stood in the doorway and stared at Shania as she shifted, trying to get more comfortable. He wondered if she'd be able to bounce back after having a baby. Would her perky breasts sag? Would she get stretch marks? Suppose her stomach looked like a shriveled-up balloon? Would she be able to lose the baby weight? Then he looked down at the floor. What if he couldn't satisfy her after the baby was born? What if that big ol' seven- or eight-pound baby stretched her to the point where she could no longer enjoy him?
He glanced down at his favorite piece of his anatomy, sighed, then put his right foot on top of the left and leaned against the door frame.
“Stop trippin', man,” he whispered to himself. “That's your wife, and she's having your baby.”
He exhaled and felt a twinge of guilt for being so shallow. He went back into the bathroom and looked at the man in the mirror. He didn't like what he saw staring back at him. Here his wife was pregnant with his child, trying to create life, and all he could think about was whether or not she'd still have a banging body afterward.
He splashed cold water on his face and allowed it to drip, then mentally told himself to pull it together. He spent the rest of the day pampering his wife, and to his dismay, she became more and more bad-tempered as the day went on. By that night, he was so sick of her attitude and impatient demeanor that he willingly slept on the couch in the den.
Early the next morning, he awoke to the sound of his phone ringing. He didn't recognize the number, so hoping it was one of the many jobs he'd applied for, he cleared his throat and answered the phone using his most professional tone.
“Hello? Gregory Crinkle speaking.”
“Gregory Crinkle,” a male's voice said, “this is Justin Horne with First-Stop Business Center. I'm calling in reference to a start-up business loan that you applied for.”
Greg sat up straight on the couch, instantly fully awakened. “Yes, sir,” he said.
“Well, I have great news for you, Mr. Crinkle. Your application has been approved, and the bank has approved you for a loan of up to five hundred thousand dollars.”
Greg tucked his bottom lip between his teeth, pointed up at the ceiling, and mentally blessed the name of the Lord.
“Are you still interested in the loan?”
“Yes, sir, definitely. I'm interested.” Greg stood to his feet and walked softly into his office so he wouldn't wake Shania. He closed the door, then said, “So what's my next step?”
“We just need you to come into the office, sign the paperwork agreeing to the loan amount and the repayment terms, and then you could have the money directly deposited into your account as early as three to five business days.”
“Okay,” Greg said, trying his best to conceal his giddiness. “Give me a few minutes to get ready, and then I'm on the way.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, his office door swung open and Shania filled the doorway with her face a pale green color and her hair standing all over her head. Obviously, she hadn't slept well through the night.
Greg hurried up and ended the call.
“On the way where?” she asked, lifting a brow.
Greg swallowed, then pretended to be engrossed with a few documents that were setting atop his desk. “To, uh . . . to, uh . . . Franklin's house.”
He felt bad about lying to his wife, but how was he supposed to tell her that he was going to the business center to finalize paperwork for a loan that she knew absolutely nothing about?
She crossed her arms and leaned against the door frame. “Isn't Franklin at work?”
Just tell the truth!
Greg heard his conscience screaming at him, but by now, he felt stuck between a rock and a hard place. If he told her the truth, she'd be upset because he lied to start with, and then she'd be even more angry that he went and made yet another decision without touching bases with her first. Furthermore, if he told her the truth, she would want to foot the bill herself, and that was something he didn't want or need from her.
Once again, he heard his conscience sing a tongue-twisting proverb he'd learned in his adolescent years:
Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive.
He opened his mouth to tell her the truth, but it was almost as though his mouth had a mind of its own. “No, uh. . . . no, he didn't go to work today. He, uh . . . called out.”
“Really?”
He couldn't lift his eyes from his desk as he nodded his head and wiped his slick palms on the sides of his pants. He held his breath as he waited for Shania's next words, but instead of speaking, she turned her head and grabbed his bookshelf while she vomited on the floor. Greg squeezed his eyes shut and looked away. The stench was unbearable.
His iPhone rang and he glanced at the screen. It had to have been Franklin calling, because the phone displayed the internal line to Mutual Living. Unsure whether he should answer or not, he stared at the phone until it stopped ringing.
Shania frowned at him but asked no questions. Franklin called again. Greg still made no move to answer the phone. He called yet again.
Shania turned her head sideways as she stared at him. “Are you going to answer that?”
Greg shook his head and Shania stomped over to his desk. For half a second, he thought she was going to answer the phone, but she simply picked it up and looked at the caller ID. When she saw that it was Mutual Living calling, she threw his phone on the desk so hard, it bounced off the desktop, clanged against the floor, and slid beneath his bookshelf. He figured she'd broken it, and if it wasn't broken, then it was probably severely damaged. Shania turned on her heel and stomped out the office.
Greg remaining seated, staring at the phone, wondering, what in God's name had he just done to his wife and to his marriage? He picked up his iPhone and became upset when he saw that Shania had thrown his phone with enough force to shatter the screen. Thank God he had good insurance on the phone. Regardless, that wasn't going to stop him from getting his money. He hurried up and got dressed and went to the lender's office.
The next day, Greg fidgeted with his fingers and shifted in the oversized leather chair as he searched the quaint conference room, waiting for the lawyer to arrive. A large mahogany desk resting on top of a Persian rug and a matching bookshelf lined with law books as thick as dictionaries took up most of the space. He had a lot of nervous energy that he didn't know how to expend as he waited for the others to arrive. He still couldn't understand why he had been called at all. The paralegal had been pretty vague when she called and told him that he needed to be present at the reading of Mother Washington's will. He wondered what she could've possibly left him.
He checked his watch and noted the time as 9:25
A.M.
, but the meeting was supposed to start at nine. He figured the attorney must've been a black man, because if he was white, he would've been there about forty minutes ago.
While he waited, he dialed Franklin's number on his new iPhone. Franklin answered on the first ring. “So what'd she leave you, man? Old folks got dough. That's why they be driving them fancy behind cars all the time, styling and profiling. I bet you Mother Washington was sitting on a bank. How much she leave you, man? Half million? Half a billion? Am I close? How much she leave you?”
“Franklin, shut up.”
“Won't you shut me up, G? You bad.”
Greg rolled his eyes at his friend and waited for him to finish running his mouth. Then he said, “This meeting was supposed to start twenty-five minutes ago. Why am I still the only one here? Where's Kaiya?”
“Twenty-five minutes ago?” Franklin sounded confused. “Man, you must have your times mixed up. Kaiya told me it starts at nine thirty.”
Greg glanced at his watch. “Well, it's about two minutes 'til and I'm still the only one—”
He heard a man's voice outside the door and looked at the open entranceway. A black man dressed in a pin-striped suit entered and introduced himself as Attorney Jeffries. Greg stood and gave him a firm handshake. He felt bad for thinking stereotypically about black people and time.
The attorney placed his briefcase on top of the conference room table and removed some documents.
“This shouldn't take very long at all,” the attorney explained as he shuffled through the papers and took a seat at the head of the table. “Are the daughters present as well?”
Greg shrugged his shoulders. “I'm guessing they're on the way.”
The attorney glanced at his watch, then nodded. “We'll wait on them. I'll give them a few more minutes.”

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