Good to Me (28 page)

“Stop! Stop! That’s my sister. Stop!”

Granny arose from her seat and walked up to where they were. “Elisa, if you don’t get your behind out of that casket, I’mma
let them close you up in it. Since you want the Lord to take you too.”

Emmitt thought he was going to laugh at how fast his aunt climbed out of the box. But it was his turn to view her body. He
felt awkward knowing that all eyes were on him. He blocked out everyone else, looked at his mother, and closed his eyes. He
filled his lungs with as much air as he could and exhaled slowly to keep himself calm. He took a red rose from the cascading
arrangement atop the closed bottom half of the casket and placed it into one of her hands. He kissed her sweetly on her forehead.
When his tears would not allow him to behold her any longer, he started toward his seat. He watched the rest of the processional
like he was watching a funeral on a television sitcom. He held the same hope that at the end of the program, his mother would
sit up in the casket and they’d laugh at how real it all seemed.

The little comfort he obtained from that thought was extinguished by the sight of two sheriffs coming in with Greg. The sheriffs
unshackled him and escorted him to where his mother lay. Emmitt and Granny both stood up to greet and comfort him.

“Mom-ma. Mom-ma,” Greg sobbed. “I’m sorry, Momma. Forgive me, Momma, ple-eease!” The church was torn up again. When Greg started
hyperventilating and falling to the ground, the sheriffs walked him over to Granny, who was motioning for them to bring him
to her. She led him to a seat and let him rest his head on her bosom. “It’s all right, baby,” Emmitt heard her say. Emmitt
leaned over to acknowledge his brother.

Emmitt couldn’t take it anymore. He sobbed too. The two of them together on both sides of Granny wailed for the loss of their
mother.

After the hour of visitation, the funeral seemed more bearable. A cousin sang “Precious Lord, Take My Hand,” and returned
later to sing “What a Friend We Have in Jesus.” One of Aunt Elisa’s boys tearfully read “Why I Must Leave You,” a poem that
he had written. Emmitt was appreciative of the remarks people made about her. Every now and then, he looked around to see
who he recognized. Their father, Greg Sr., was there and so were their two stepfathers. He and his brother acknowledged them
all and everyone else who hugged them or spoke to them.

Just as things felt like they were settling down for Emmitt, the funeral director asked him if he wanted to see his mother
before the casket closed for the final time.

Greg leaned over Granny. “What he say, man?”

“Do you want to go up there to see her again before they close the casket?”

“You going?”

“Are you?”

“Go on up there,” Granny nudged them both.

The officers stood up with Greg and escorted them both. Emmitt wasn’t sure what to do. He stood beside Greg and they just
watched her, then hugged each other and went back to their seats. The pallbearers escorted the casket out of the funeral home
and the flower bearers followed behind. The ushers motioned for the family next and then the others pew by pew. The recessional
line came to a standstill at the double doors.

The floral arrangements were so big that Emmitt could barely see what the holdup was. He assumed the pallbearers were having
difficulty.

Shawanda was holding Emmitt’s hand and was gently rubbing it while they waited. He became distracted as he watched Aunt Elisa
pull her eyeshades down and tap Granny to get her attention.

“He better not start no mess, that’s all I know,” Elisa swore.

Emmitt tapped Aunt Elisa. “Who ya’ll talking about?”

She pushed her shades back up. “Nothing, baby. I see an old friend of your momma’s.’’

“Where?”

Aunt Elisa gestured vaguely. “Somewhere over there.”

Emmitt scouted the whole area and almost missed the gentleman who was politely smiling at him. When they made eye contact,
the man waved. Emmitt thought he looked familiar but couldn’t place where he knew him from.

“Don’t speak to him,” his aunt warned. “He’s a lying dog. Your momma couldn’t stand him.” She snarled up her nose and shooed
the man with her hand.

Emmitt looked confused. “Who is he?”

“Come on here,” Granny interrupted. “The line is moving.”

“Is there a problem?” Shawanda whispered to Emmitt.

“I have no idea.”

Once they were outside, mourners came to greet them and offered words of encouragement. It was good to speak with people he
had not seen in years. He especially liked their stories of what he was like as a toddler and little boy. If he had collected
a dollar for every time someone told him he looked like his mother, he would have well over a hundred dollars by now. He looked
around and noticed that Aunt Elisa and Granny were gone.

“Did you see where my aunt and grandma went to?”

Shawanda looked around. “Uhn huhn. They were just right here.”

“There they are,” Emmitt said, spotting them. “Lord, I hope they ain’t starting no trouble. They over there talking to that
man.”

“Is that your daddy?”

Emmitt looked at her crossly. “No. My dad is here though. I’ll show him to you when he comes out.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. You look a little like him.”

“Stay here. I’mma go see who this man is.” Emmitt ignored Shawanda’s protest and walked over to Aunt Elisa, Granny, and the
man. “Is somebody going to tell me what’s going on?”

The man spoke first. “Hello, son.” He stretched out his hand for Emmitt to shake. “Your Aunt Elisa is just glad to see me.”
He glanced at her sideways.

Emmitt shook his hand. “Hey.”

“Emmitt, do you know who this is?” Granny asked.

Emmitt looked at the man, embarrassed. “You look familiar but I don’t remember where I know you from.”

“That’s because the last time I seen you, you was this high.” The man put his hand out to the side at his waist to demonstrate.

Aunt Elisa pressed his hand down lower. “No, he was that high.”

“Elisa, you done embarrassed yourself one time. You sure you want to do it again?” Granny asked.

“That’s okay, Willie Ann. I had it coming.”

Emmitt looked confused. “Who are you?” he asked.

Aunt Elisa answered before the man could. “Emmitt, you remember the neighbor me and your mom used to always joke about? The
one we told you we named you after?”

He nodded impatiently.

“Well, this is him. Your namesake, Emmitt Chambers.”

A smile broke across Emmitt’s face. “Hey.” He reached out to shake the man’s hand again. “I thought that was a story they
made up to satisfy me. I used to always ask why my little brother was Greg Jr. instead of me. Shoot, as much as they talked
about you, youdda thought you were my daddy,” he chuckled.

Emmitt saw his Aunt Elisa shoot the man a look so cold that even he stiffened. Emmitt continued, “I’m glad to finally know
it ain’t a lie.”

The man avoided eye contact with Elisa. “Looks like you turned out to be a fine young man. I’m glad we share the name.”

“That’s the only thing you share,” Elisa quipped.

Granny elbowed her in the side. “Lord, Elaine gone turn over in her grave and she ain’t been buried yet.” She pulled Elisa
away, leaving the Emmitts alone to talk.

“You have to ignore my Aunt Elisa. She’s just grieving.”

“Me, your momma, and your aunt Elisa go way back. Believe me when I say she’s always been like that.”

They both laughed.

The man attempted to break the silence. “So, is that young lady your wife?”

Emmitt shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m divorced. My ex has our six-year-old son. That’s my girlfriend.”

“She’s pretty.”

“Would you believe she asked me if you were my daddy?” The man didn’t answer. “She said I look a little like you.”

“Maybe that comes from the name,” the man said. “You still love your ex?”

Emmitt shrugged. He didn’t know why he didn’t say no like he did when James or his mother asked him.

The man moved closer like he was about to whisper a top secret. “Don’t make the same mistake I did. If you love her—I don’t
care who she’s with—swallow your pride and get her back. Your son deserves to know you.”

Emmitt absorbed the advice. “That’s the same thing my best friend said. I don’t want my son to be fatherless or raised by
another man. I want to…” Emmitt stopped talking long enough to notice the man wiping his face and eyes with a handkerchief.
“You okay?”

The man hesitated before he spoke. “It just makes me sad to know you’re going through the same thing I went through—with your
mom.”

“With my mom?”

The man rested his hands on both of Emmitt’s shoulders. “Yes. I was there when your mom and Greg Sr. were together and she
was pregnant with you. We loved each other but she chose Greg over me because she felt he could provide better for the both
of you. I begged her to leave him for me but she refused. She made me promise to stay away and I told her I would if she gave
you my name.”

“You did what you had to do. My situation is a little different. It’s easier to walk away when it ain’t your kid. But that’s
my son—”

The man applied pressure to Emmitt’s shoulders. “And you are mine.”

Emmitt’s body posture caved like someone had jabbed him in the chest. He had to catch his breath. “I’m your what?… Son?”

“Yes, Emmitt. You are my son.”

Emmitt loosed himself from the man’s grip. “I… you… this… I gotta go.” He raced off toward his car. He ignored
the man as he called him back. He even stumbled past Granny, Aunt Elisa, and Shawanda. They were all a bunch of liars and
he didn’t want to have a thing to do with them. And that included his mother. He drove in the direction of his home, refusing
to stay for the burial. How could she, of all people, keep something like this from him?

As he drove, it all began to make sense. He remembered Greg Sr.’s mistreatment of him and the fights it caused when his mother
confronted him. That’s why his mother felt obligated to bail him out when he got into a bind. Maybe that’s why she was so
dead set on him getting custody of Xavier. The tears stung his face. What little bit of stability he had left crumbled into
pieces.

Assuming that it was Granny, Aunt Elisa, or Shawanda calling him on his cell phone, he started not to answer it. But then
he remembered that he forwarded his home phone calls to his cell and the incoming call was from Iesha Brown.

“Hello?” He tried not to sniffle.

“Is this Emmitt?”

“Yes.”

“Emmitt, this is Iesha, Charity’s sister. Because of the stunt you’re pulling, trying to take Xavier from her, she laying
up in the hospital in a coma. I can’t stand you. If she dies, I’mma personally come to Greensboro and kill your black behind
myself.” Then she broke down and started crying. “Why are you doing this to her, Emmitt?”

Emmitt’s head was swimming. All he heard was Charity and coma. “Did you say Charity is in a coma?”

“Hello? Can you hear? That’s exactly what I said.”

“Oh man. Is Xavier all right?”

“He doesn’t know anything yet.”

“Good. I’mma drive up there tonight.”

“Man, you ain’t slick. You ain’t coming nowhere near him.”

“I’m not— Do you need anything?”

“Yes, for you to leave us alone.’’

Emmitt hung up when it was clear that Iesha had ended the call.

SHE WATCHED THE WOMAN
in the sleeveless bright white sundress sit down at a small table. As she looked around, Charity didn’t recognize the woman
or the place where she was.
A woman at a table in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees and flowers. Oh, I get it. I’m dreaming.
She attempted to find out where she was in the dream. She couldn’t see herself.
This is weird.
She tried to move her legs to get to the woman, but they wouldn’t move. She tried again. She could not lift the weight of
her legs. She tried her arms, but they too felt like dead weight. Frustrated, she screamed to get the woman’s attention. If
she was in her dream, surely she could hear her. She opened her mouth to yell for help but nothing came out. Charity had dreams
like this before, and she called them devil’s dreams. Just as she would do at any other time, she rebuked him in her mind
until he left her.
Satan, I rebuke you in the name of Jesus. I bind you up and loose myself from your grip, you defeated foe. I submit unto God,
forgive me, Father. And I resist you, Satan, now flee.

She began to hear voices. She turned her attention to the woman. She was still at the table and sipping from a teacup. She
was talking to someone at the other end of the table but like one of Mama Lorraine’s bootlegged videotapes, Charity couldn’t
see the farther end. All she could see was a hazy white film. She could hear the woman’s voice clearly but the other voice
was muddled, resounding. Charity heard the woman say, “Yes, I would like to go back and try again.” The other voice echoed
a response that Charity could not understand. The woman cried, “I promise to remember what you’ve told me… righteousness
is a gift, it’s not earned. I’ll remember, I promise.” The echoing voice answered and this time Charity could plainly hear
it, “I love you, daughter. You are forgiven.” Charity wanted the voice to tell her she was forgiven too. She attempted to
lift her leg—she needed to get to the table. This time her leg was lighter than it had been earlier. She kept trying. Though
unable to speak, she could hear herself moan. She moaned to see if the woman could hear her. When the woman turned around
and Charity saw her own face, she cried out. She was the woman and she could hear her name being called.

“Cherry! Cherry!” she heard someone say. “Go get the doctor, she moved.”

Charity moaned, trying to answer.

“Hallelujah! Thank You, Lord! My baby’s alive.”

She recognized her mother’s voice and tried to open her eyes. She was still dreaming and could see herself getting up from
the table.

“God, I thank You. God, I worship You.” She heard her mother say.