God Only Knows (6 page)

“Your friend here,” Cassie replied, “has just had to accept that she’s human. I can’t keep saying yes to every request in
my life. Please respect my decision.”

Julia squinted at her friend. “The other day, when you joked about being expelled when you were pregnant with M.J., are you
seriously harboring grudges over that? Is that it?”

“We’ve talked about this, it’s nothing new.” Cassie leaned forward on the island, gathering strength for her story and again
praying for real-time forgiveness. “Neither of us really enjoyed our years at Christian Light. You were made to feel like
you didn’t matter, and I spent half my time chasing off white boys —and some of their fathers on the teaching staff —who wanted
the intrigue of a black girl with white features mixed in. To be honest, I was dumbfounded when you decided to come back and
run that place.”

Julia nodded. “I know, but you understand the value we got out of the system, right?”

“No, trust me, I get it from your standpoint,” Cassie replied. “If you’d attended Dayton city schools, you might never have
embraced your Christian faith, and I know you feel there’s a greater chance you’d have gotten into trouble with pregnancy,
drugs, or alcohol.

“But for me, Julia, Christian Light wasn’t much of an improvement. I grew up in Centerville; I wasn’t dodging any great societal
ills by attending Christian Light. And as you know, the hypocrisy I saw in our teachers turned me off Christianity. It took
staring down the barrel of teen motherhood to get me to accept Jesus.”

“I know, I know,” Julia said, coming alongside Cassie and throwing an arm over her shoulder. “I understand. You respect what
I’m doing, but you’re not feeling it for you.” She sighed, an odd show of momentary weakness from the strongest woman Cassie
had ever known. Julia turned Cassie toward her and held her by the shoulders. “Well, old friend, it was Jesus alone who got
me through the loss of my mother and through that disaster of a marriage I survived. Looks like with you out of the picture,
He’s confirming that He alone will help me figure out how to save Christian Light. And survive Maxwell Simon while I’m at
it.”

They shared a laugh, then fell into a warm, back-rubbing hug. As they stood there in her kitchen, Cassie’s humanity got the
better of her and she whispered, “Julia?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you ever think about Eddie Walker?”

Cassie felt her friend freeze in place, heard the breath go out of her. She wondered for a minute if she’d unmasked herself,
whether Julia’s next words would be an inquisition about where the question came from.

“Every day,” came the answer finally, Julia’s whisper just above the volume of Cassie’s.

As they separated, Julia held tight to Cassie’s hands. Peering into her friend’s eyes, she said, “We should never try to forget
what happened. It’s perfectly normal to think about him. I think we’d be less than human if we didn’t.”

Cassie was embarrassed at the wetness materializing around her eyes and nostrils. Wiping at her face with one hand, she used
the other to lead Julia toward the foyer. “Sometimes I think that’s the real reason you took the job at Christian Light,”
she said. “To make up for what we all did.”

“We didn’t do anything wrong,” Julia replied insistently. “And we couldn’t have done anything more for him.” As they arrived
at Cassie’s front door, she released her friend’s hand but touched her shoulder lovingly. “God works in mysterious ways, girl.
Do you think we’d even be friends without Eddie’s role in our lives?”

They embraced for another hug, and Julia insisted they pray. Cassie felt new tears roll as her friend’s caring, protective
exhortations rang softly in the foyer. “Father, give Cassie peace that you are still her transforming source of power,” Julia
said as she closed. “She is fearfully and wonderfully made in your image, never let her forget that. We pray your grace and
mercy in the lives of Cassie, Heather, Hillary, M.J., and Marcus. Amen.”

Julia opened the screen door, looking over her shoulder as she stepped down onto the brick porch. “Love you, girl.”

Cassie smiled and said, “God bless” before she inhaled sharply as her friend turned and walked forward into the night. Just
beyond the soft glow of Cassie’s motion lights, parked across the cul-de-sac from Julia’s Prius, she recognized the sleek
contours of Detective Whitlock’s sedan. She couldn’t see his face, but as she cautiously watched Julia walk around to her
own driver’s-side door, Cassie was captivated by the policeman’s silhouette as he lit a fresh cigarette and nodded in her
direction.

“First of all,”
he had said in the voice mail he left on her cell phone this morning,
“I’ll need to know the identities of everyone involved. Every single one.”

I
’ve been a busy little beaver, Doc,” Norris Beard said, “so I’ll appreciate you keepin’ my answers to yourself.”

“Norris,” Maxwell replied as he scanned his new patient’s registration forms, “you’re aware of doctor-patient confidentiality,
correct?”

“I’m aware of the
concept,
” Beard said, easing his tall, chunky frame onto the inclined seat in the middle of the examination room. “I’m making sure
you actually
follow
it.”

Maxwell gave what probably looked like a half-smile, half-grimace. “They take away my license if I don’t follow it, friend.”
He didn’t mention that having nearly lost his license once —over a mentally unbalanced woman who’d falsely accused him of
giving her prescription drugs in exchange for sex —he was probably even more attentive to such ethical issues than others.
“Now tell me,” he continued, flipping through the rest of Beard’s file, “how many sexual partners have you had within the
past six months?”

What felt like several minutes passed as the fifty-four-year-old did the math in his head. When Beard ventured his guess,
Maxwell felt his own eyes flicker with admiration. Six months for the older man equated to the numbers Maxwell had put up
in four years of college.

Chuckling inwardly, Maxwell nodded respectfully. He already knew that Beard had not bothered seeing a physician for six years;
he didn’t want to scare the man off, not when he was entering an age range where he should definitely be receiving routine
checkups. “Well, Mr. Beard, I have to say that’s a pretty hefty number of partners. To be frank, given your relatively promiscuous
nightlife, my first suspicion of what’s causing your discomfort is an STD. You mind dropping your pants and underwear for
a second, letting me have a look?”

A minute later, Maxwell stood, washing his hands at the sink, as Beard hiked his Levi’s back up over his hips. The sound of
a zipper filling the air, Beard asked,“You got too much sense to run your mouth, right? I don’t need my boys knowing I don’t
always practice what I preach.” He was neither preacher nor politician, but a well-respected community activist; media profiles
of Norris Beard usually painted the picture of a saint, not a playboy.

Maxwell rubbed absentmindedly at his five o’clock shadow as he scanned the rest of the registration forms. “Again, you can
trust me, Mr. Beard. Based on your physical exam, there’s no sign of obvious discharge or other dead giveaways, but let’s
get some blood work done before we draw any conclusions.” He tapped his pen against the folder as he asked a dreaded but essential
question. “If we determine that a urology consult makes sense, do you have any way to pay a specialist?”

The older man crossed his arms, nostrils flaring. “Sure, Doc, my money grows on trees just like it do for everybody else.”

Chastised, Maxwell shrugged sympathetically. Although Norris Beard had run a renowned boxing gym on Germantown Avenue for
two decades —a gym credited with keeping thousands of at-risk kids off Dayton’s meanest streets —it wasn’t like such noble
work came with a Cadillac health plan.

“No worries,” Maxwell said, making a few instructional notes for the benefit of his nurses. “We at the Gem City Clinic are
equipped to go beyond the usual limits of family practice.” His notes complete, Maxwell clapped the activist on the shoulder.
“Hang tight and I’ll send LaQuita in with your prescription. She’ll take your blood work too. Promise me you’ll treat her
nice?”

“Young man,” Beard replied, grinning, “if LaQuita is the fine young nurse who walked me in here, I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

Maxwell chuckled, a foot poised in the direction of the door. “I didn’t hear that, sir.” It wasn’t a lifestyle he could ever
justify as a serious —or, at least, a striving —Christian, but Maxwell was pretty sure a man with a sex life as active as
Beard’s could charm the woman of his choice.

“Hey,” Beard started, reaching for Maxwell’s hand, “I do appreciate this. I never thought I could afford medical attention
from a
Simon.
” Beard’s and Maxwell’s families went back a good ways; Beard’s older brother had graduated from Roosevelt High with Maxwell’s
father. “The fact you came back to Dayton —to do
this
of all things —that shows some real heart. You musta called in all kinds of favors, to be able to provide free health care.”

Maxwell returned the older man’s brisk handshake before stepping to the door, unable to deny a trickle of the truth. “Nothing’s
free at the end of the day, sir, but I appreciate the kind words,” he replied, cracking a smile. “Good seeing you.”

Once he had shut the exam room door after himself, Maxwell breathed a sigh of relief. While he got a certain satisfaction
from treating people of his parents’ generation, he couldn’t escape the awkward side of it; the fact that his parents hated
—no, despised —the type of medicine Maxwell had decided to practice.

Stepping into the hallway, he grabbed the chart hanging from the door adjacent to Beard’s room. He flipped it open, then paused
when a familiar, doughy hand landed suddenly on his shoulder. After three months of working with her, he didn’t even need
to look over to confirm who had accosted him. “Yes, Edna?”

“Dr. Simon, I’m so sorry.” Edna Whitlock-Walker-Morrison shook her head wearily as she looked up at Maxwell. “I know the girls
have you booked until seven tonight, but I need you to stay for an extra hour after that.”

“Edna, look.” Maxwell softly patted the woman’s shoulder. “I realize you’re the boss around here and all, but you know Tuesday
nights are nonnegotiable for me.” They didn’t see each other nearly as often as either one desired, but in addition to weekends,
Maxwell had a standing date with Nia every Tuesday night.

As the only employee of Maxwell’s who knew about Nia, Edna patiently placed her hands on her hips. “Doctor, I understand you
need to keep her happy, and your personal affairs are obviously none of my business” —she lowered her voice —“but all the
same, I need you to let me do my job, which these days seems to consist of saving you and your partner from yourselves.”

“Well,” Maxwell replied, glancing around to make sure no impressionable staff member stood nearby, “that’s probably true in
more ways than you realize, Edna.”

“I know we were supposed to have our biweekly budget review tomorrow night,” Edna continued, “but one of you medically trained
geniuses offered to provide free physicals to the Dunbar football team.”

“That was my idea,” Maxwell replied, nodding. “They have to be cleared physically in order to play, and many of their families
can’t afford preventive medical care. Bruce said he had time on his schedule to handle the physicals this Saturday, since
I have house call duty at that time.”

“What one of you didn’t do was take good notes,” Edna said. Again, with the weary but loving shake of her head, the office
manager transmitted the benevolent exasperation of a maternal figure. “The physicals have to be administered tomorrow, starting
at four, and based on the numbers of kids, Bruce will be tied up well past six-thirty.” She frowned. “So the budget meeting
has to be tonight.”

Maxwell resisted asking the obvious question:
Can’t it wait a few days?
More than most, he knew that a discussion of the clinic’s finances could not be put off. He had founded the Gem City practice
by investing the rainy-day fund he’d set aside during a profitable six years with his Dallas practice, but after a year, those
funds were pretty well exhausted.

When he and Bruce Williams, his roommate from medical school, decided to open a nonprofit clinic, they had calculated a specific
patient mix to ensure the ability to stay afloat. The idea was that while they would provide free care to all low-income residents
in the four zip codes that surrounded their office’s West Side neighborhood, the clinic would also aggressively promote itself
to the increasing numbers of middle-income residents moving into the Wright-Dunbar neighborhood and other corners of the city,
in addition to the long-established professional families up in Dayton View.

Maxwell had been confident that the power of his family name, combined with the positive publicity Gem City would gain from
its reputation for serving the underprivileged, would make his practice the choice of progressive, paying patients from across
the community.

It hadn’t quite worked out that way.

Maxwell rubbed at his eyes, rolling his shoulders rebelliously as his body reminded him he’d had six entire hours of sleep
the past three days. “Okay, Edna,” he said, “see you guys at seven.”

Edna smiled thinly, turning over her shoulder as her stubby legs propelled her down the hallway. “You regretting hiring me
yet, Doctor?”

Realizing the playful tone of his office manager’s question, Maxwell waved her off and took the latest patient chart over
to his desk. Funny thing was, of all the decisions he had made since leaving Dallas, the one his family had most questioned
was the hiring of Edna Morrison.

His baby brother, Forrest, had summed it up best. “What are you, nuts?” They were standing on the patio of Forrest’s newly
renovated home in an expensive corner of Centerville, manning a huge grill loaded with expensive cuts of meat. “You have a
death wish or something, man? How can you hire a woman who probably hates everything you stand for?”