Fifteen Years (10 page)

“Fighting for racial equality is what he did,” Thomas insisted, “but an Alpha Phi Alpha man is who he was.”

By the age of fifteen, after years of living in the Smith home, Josiah had concluded that if this fraternity could attract a great freedom fighter like Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and an amazing child advocate like Thomas Smith, then it was the organization for him.

Thomas was Josiah’s hero. The man he wanted to be just like. Though Josiah was young when he shared a home with the Smiths, Thomas taught him everything he knew. How to shine his own shoes, how to properly introduce himself to strangers, how to keep eye contact during conversations, how to tie his necktie, how to treat a lady … even how to shave. Josiah was only fourteen at the time, and he had no visible hairs on his face to speak of, but he remembered standing in front of a mirror beside Thomas and learning the art of shaving without cutting himself.

Even now, Josiah smiled at the thought of it.

But the greatest wisdom Thomas had ever passed along to Josiah was the importance of giving his heart to the Lord. He walked him through Scriptures and explained the simple process of believing Jesus to be born of the Virgin Mary and confessing Him to be the only true and living God; the One who gave His life for the sins of the world by dying on the cross, and the One who rose
from the dead with all power in His hands. Only three beings were in the room that day when Josiah received the gift of salvation: Thomas, Josiah, and the Lord.

Josiah blinked several times as the memories replayed through his mind, and he surprised himself when he felt moisture trickling down his cheeks. Using his hands, he wiped it away.

During his time at the Smiths’, Josiah referred to Thomas as
Daddy
, and
Mama
was what he called Joanne. They never told him to. It just seemed natural. It felt natural too. They were the closest things to real parents that he’d ever had in his life up until that time, and the closest things to real parents he’d had since that time. He loved them dearly. Josiah missed them.

“Go get your leg, Brother Tucker. Go get it, and learn to walk again.”

Josiah shuttered. He didn’t know if it was due to the eerie-timed recall of Bishop Lumpkin’s charge, or the fact that he’d been standing for an extended period of time, exposing his bare chest to the continuous breeze of the rotating ceiling fan.

For the longest time, Josiah stood in the shower stall soaking more than bathing. He stood with his back to the jet stream … head lowered, palms pressed firmly against the shower wall, and allowed the hot water to beat on his toned body. The pellets rinsed away the physical residue of his nightmare, but they couldn’t wash away the mental images that still played in his head.

“Oh God, help me,” he moaned. “Show me what You will have me to do.”

“Go get your leg, Brother Tucker. Go get it, and learn to walk again.”

Josiah closed his eyes, did an about-face, and held his breath as the shower stream targeted his face. Bishop Lumpkin’s words were almost haunting. They tore at Josiah’s conscious and at his spirit. He
knew what he needed to do, but fear had him trying to think of a safer shortcut. He would like nothing more than to reunite with his foster parents, but the what-if’s were too intimidating.

Few things would be more devastating than if he made the trip to Atlanta, Georgia, only to find out that Thomas and Joanne Smith were deceased. Or worse yet, they were alive but just didn’t remember him. As cruel as it might seem, Josiah would choose the former over the latter. If they were dead, he could always convince himself that if they were alive they would have remembered him and embraced his uninvited reappearance into their lives.

Josiah soaped his cloth and washed away impurities that the water hadn’t already chased down the drain. Fully rinsed, he stepped from the stall and thoroughly dried himself before putting on deodorant, moisturizing his body, and then wrapping himself in his favorite bathrobe. He brushed his teeth, and then exited the bathroom and made his way to the prayer mat beside his bed.

Josiah exhaled heavily before he began his prayer. The weight of the world was on his shoulders, and he knew why. He needed to be obedient regardless of the uncertainties. He needed to trust God.

“Lord, thank You for another day,” he began. “I thank You because this is the day that You have made, and for that, I will rejoice in spite of circumstances. I thank You for where You’ve brought me and for where You’re going to take me. I thank You because without You, I can do nothing, but with You, I can do all things through Christ that strengthens me. Without You, I have nothing, but with You, I have everything I need. Without You I am nothing, but with You, I am more than a conqueror.” Josiah willed himself to believe the words he spoke. “Lord, forgive me for any sins of commission or omission, and help me to forgive those who have sinned against me. Let me walk according to Your will so that I may be a light to shine before men so that they may glorify You.” A pause ushered in
many seconds of silence. “And Lord, please direct my paths, and help me to trust You, knowing that You have never failed me yet. Lord, I believe, but help my unbelief. Not my will, but Thy will be done. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”

Back on his feet, Josiah walked out of his bedroom and into the living room where he opened his front door just wide enough to retrieve the Thursday edition of the
Chapel Hill News
from his front porch. Despite his rude awakening this morning, he felt well rested. Still, his black leather couch seemed to call his name. Ignoring the urge, Josiah tossed the paper on the sofa and made his way to the kitchen where he walked around the bar. A loaf of wheat bread sat on the counter, and he removed a slice and popped it into the toaster. From the overhead cabinets he retrieved a bowl, and from the drawer he grabbed a spoon, setting them both on the island that was situated in the middle of the kitchen floor. Three boxes of Cinnamon Toast Crunch sat on top of his Maytag refrigerator, and Josiah removed one of them and filled his bowl with the sweetened square-shaped cereal. A bit of the skim milk that he took from the refrigerator splashed onto the island as he poured it into the bowl. He used a dishcloth to erase the evidence. Like clockwork, the toast popped up as soon as he poured himself a glass of orange juice.

Uttering a short, silent grace, Josiah began eating where he stood. The morning sun streamed through his bay windows, casting shadows into the kitchen. Signs of yesterday’s drizzle were still on the back deck and on the leaves of the trees that surrounded it. It was still early. He didn’t have to report to MacGyver until after his 11:00 workshop at Moniker Insurance Brokers. Contingent upon how quickly they got the hang of the new software program, Josiah could be at Moniker until 2:00 p.m. or later. It was only a little after eight, and he had time to kill. Too much time, really. Leisure time equaled hours of thinking about the past. Hours of thinking about
the poverty and the pain, the loss and the loneliness.

Josiah wolfed down the rest of his breakfast and headed back to his bedroom to get dressed. The laundry could wait until later. After last night’s dream, he didn’t need any free time on his hands. The more he worked, the less time he had to dwell on the nightmare. There was always something to be done at the office. He’d busy himself there until he had to leave for his eleven o’clock appointment.

Two Weeks Later

NEARLY FOUR hundred miles of roadway lay between Chapel Hill, North Carolina, and Atlanta, Georgia, but Josiah shifted the gears and enjoyed the smooth ride as his high performance sports car jetted down I-85 South. It was Saturday, just after twelve noon, and the traffic had been very cooperative so far. He was more than halfway there, kept alert by the music that blasted through his car speakers, the bottle of Coca-Cola that stood in his beverage holder, and the seven hours of sound sleep he’d been graced with last night. It was the first night of uninterrupted slumber that Josiah had gotten in quite awhile.

By the time he finished teaching the software workshop to the executives at Moniker, he had already resigned to the fact that the trip to Atlanta was inevitable. Bishop Lumpkin had been praying
that he go, Craig and Danielle had been encouraging him to go, and God had been ordering him to go. But everyone who knew Josiah Tucker knew that he did nothing without proper planning.

There were loose ends at work that needed to be tied. With his new promotion, came new responsibilities, and although he had earned the extended leave time, Josiah couldn’t just walk away without first making sure the work in his in-box was done. In an economy like this one, wherein job seekers were plentiful and employment opportunities were scarce, that was just too big of a risk to take, no matter how much of an asset he was to MacGyver.

His request for time off came with no explanation, and it had taken everyone by surprise. Within two hours of the submission of his formal written request, word began sweeping through the office that industry competition was courting Josiah for positions in their corporations. Josiah had no doubt of who had started the rumor.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lillian had claimed when he stood at her desk and confronted her about the gossip. She’d tried to look innocent, but her corrective lenses seemed to magnify the guilt in her eyes.

And Mickey apparently thought there was some truth to the rumor because he looked increasingly nervous as Josiah’s leave time neared. Off and on throughout the past two weeks, he’d asked Josiah a million and one questions.

“Is everything okay? Is there anything that you want to talk to me about, Josiah? Your office … is it to your complete liking? Are you satisfied with the benefits package that came with your promotion? Josiah, you’d tell me if there was a problem, wouldn’t you?” Mickey was sweating bullets, and he was bordering on looking terrified when Josiah walked out of the office yesterday evening without working his normal overtime.

“He’s scared because he knows if you leave here, his two-year
marriage to Mrs. Money Grubber will be over in a flash,” Lillian whispered while they walked together to the parking lot. “Everybody knows that Barbie doll married him for his money. Even he knows it. I mean, look at her and look at him. If Mr. Colt wasn’t the head man at MacGyver, she would have never given him a second look. I hear she’s got another man—her personal trainer, no lesson the side. I guess she took a lesson from that basketball star’s wife. Her personal trainer is doing more than just keeping her physically fit, if you know what I mean. You best believe that the only reason why Mr. Colt trumps this other man is because his paycheck has more zeroes on it.”

One of these days, Josiah reasoned within himself, he would do the Christian thing and stop Lillian’s gossiping rants. But today wasn’t the day. His eyes urged her to continue, and she did.

“The way I understand it, there is a clause in the will regarding who heads this Fortune 500 company. Mr. MacGyver was old, but he wasn’t nobody’s fool. He wasn’t about to just up and leave the business he spent his life building in the hands of just anybody and let them run it into the ground. If the business starts losing money, or if its integrity is put in question, Mrs. MacGyver has the legal right to take it away and pass it to the next oldest living male relative.”

Josiah wondered how Lillian knew all of this, but he didn’t ask.

“If Mr. Colt loses you, he loses this company. If he loses this company, he loses his bank account. If he loses his bank account, he loses his trophy wife.” She finally took a breath and looked over the rims of her glasses at Josiah as they prepared to get into their separate vehicles. With a finger pointed in his direction, she said, “You need to ask for a raise, Mr. Tucker. You’re sitting on a gold mine. You’re worth more than you know.”

Even now, Josiah laughed at the thought of it all. If nothing else, Lillian Wilkes made MacGyver Technologies a more interesting place
of employment. Whether her words regarding the extent of his value were fact or fiction, he didn’t know. But quite frankly, he wasn’t brave enough right now to flex his muscles and find out. He was plenty satisfied with his biweekly paycheck. There was no need to push the envelope.

The sounds of Myron Butler’s song “Stronger” rang out from the console where his cell phone rested, indicating that he had an incoming call. Josiah lowered the volume of his radio, checked the caller ID screen, and then pressed the button on the Bluetooth that was already attached to his ear.

“What’s up, Craig?”

“Hey, JT. Where you at?” Craig sounded like he’d just awakened, which was very possible. He always slept late on Saturdays.

Josiah looked around for a sign that would tell him exactly what city he was in, but didn’t see one. Glancing at his GPS screen, he said, “Still on I-85 South, all I know. The bulk of the ride is on this stretch. All total, I have to do about 360 miles on it. Got about another 120 to go before I merge onto 75 South.”

Through a yawn, Craig asked, “You’ll basically be there by the time you do that, right?”