Rhythms of Grace (47 page)

She grabbed my arm first. Her voice was almost a whisper. “You don’t have to go. Stay.”

I closed my eyes. Stay. It sounded so good. If only I’d driven straight over instead of stopping for a card with pink roses and four simple words.
Will you marry me?
If only I wasn’t still that white boy who was going to hurt her somehow. But I had stopped for the card, and in her mind, I would never be stable enough, safe enough, black enough to deserve her love. I headed for the door.

“No, Zee. I can’t stay. It’s too late for that.”

75

Brian

My car skidded across the icy streets. I should have driven more carefully, but all I could focus on was getting to the hospital. Everything else, including my feelings for Grace, who rode quietly beside me, would have to wait.

When I’d looked in on Joyce earlier in the day, I’d thought she hadn’t looked so good, but the on-call doctor had assured me that her appearance was just due to a new medication. Paperwork. That’s what the guy had asked me about.

I’d lingered over her bed for a while anyway, even considered calling off my dinner plans with Grace but the nurses had shooed me away. “Don’t come back until tomorrow,” they’d said.

I should have stayed.

Joyce had always taught me to go with my first mind, which wasn’t working so well until I got that last call. This time, nobody was going to tell me not to worry or to go home. This time I was going to stay.

If she could just hang on until I get there.

Joyce hung on . . . by a thread.

It didn’t look good. Grace leaned over the bedrail and smoothed Joyce’s curls, free of the wig that covered them so long. Tubes extended from Joyce’s body in every direction. In between her labored breaths, Joyce took a pause that made the both of us want to cry.

As the hours passed, I prayed more than I had in a very long time. The nurses seemed surprised when they came to check and found her still breathing. Her eyes were closed, though. Her pulse thready and weak.

Lord, please. Don’t take her. I’ll do anything . . .

“Brian?” A hoarse whisper came from the bed. Joyce’s eyelids parted enough for me to see her pupils. They looked tired, those usually fiery eyes. Very, very tired.

“I’m here. Grace is here too.”

She closed her eyes again. “I’m glad you’re both here. It won’t be much longer.”

Something inside me snapped. Perhaps Joyce would choose now to be wrong about something. Grace took Joyce’s hand.

I followed her lead and took the other hand. The coldness of her skin surprised and saddened me. I tried not to let it show. “I’m the one running out of time, remember?” I rubbed my hand on hers, trying to warm her up.

Joyce smiled before the pain sucked her under again. I reached for the nurse’s button.

In an effort that took what remained of her strength, Joyce reached for my wrist. “They can’t do anything else. I’m tired. Let me go.”

Grace gave me a helpless look. She was obviously conflicted.

I wasn’t.

I didn’t want to begrudge Joyce her dying wishes. I knew what Grace was trying to say with that face she was making—that Joyce would be with Jesus. I got that. It was me I was worried about. I was man enough to admit it.

“I picked a name for the dance troupe. Rhythms of Grace. By the time you get well, we should be ready,” Grace whispered in Joyce’s ear.

Joyce angled her finger toward me.

“He’s a good man. Stubborn, but good. He’ll love you forever.”

Grace gasped. I stared. If she wasn’t dying, I might have screamed. She just called me out. Totally.

I pushed the call button. “We need meds in here—”

Joyce shook her head. “She’s a good woman, but she’s scared. Don’t let her run you off.”

Grace’s legs buckled, but she managed to stand on her feet. She wouldn’t look at me.

Joyce sighed as I pulled the sheet up to her neck. “I wish you hadn’t called them. Oh well. Bring Thelma with you next time.”

With that Joyce slipped into what I prayed was sleep. A nurse stalked in, responding to my call. “There’s nothing we can do. She’s refused any more meds and signed a Do Not Resuscitate form. It’s her right.”

Grace nodded. I frowned.

“Did she move at all?” the nurse asked.

“She patted my hand—”

“And she squeezed mine.”

The nurse seemed surprised. “Are you sure? Anything else?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. I felt a nosebleed coming on. “She talked quite a bit.”

What an understatement
.

“She spoke?” The attendant checked Joyce’s reflexes. No response. “The doctor wrote unresponsive on her chart an hour ago. When her vitals started dropping, I called the people on her list. I guess I’m not totally surprised. Patients sometimes rally like that before the end.”

I didn’t know what to make of the woman’s words.

. . .
before the end.

Or Joyce’s.

He’s a good man.

Why had she needed to make sure Grace thought well of me? I eased into a chair in the corner. Joyce would wake up again, I felt sure of it. And when she did, I had a few questions of my own.

76

Carmel

I wiped up the last of the spaghetti sauce from under Justice’s highchair. Sean held the baby on his lap, wiping her face. He kissed her forehead and held her tight, the same way Jerry had done with Monique years ago. Too long ago. Too much water under the bridge. Water that would soon be flowing in another woman’s direction. And I had guided it there. “Any luck finding a place, Sean?”

“Not really. Mr. Trent, the man down at the studio, saw a place and left my number on their machine. We’re also on the waiting list for housing.”

I had to draw the line there. “Let’s not do anything drastic. Monique’s father won’t go for that. I’m off Sunday. We’ll go to church, grab some lunch, and see what we can find.”

Monique raised an eyebrow. “Church? Do you remember what happened the last few times we tried that? I don’t think I can take that again, Mom.”

“It’s okay. They have a nursery. I know the lady who’ll be watching her. Real nice. I was in with her granddaughter when she delivered. She’s about your age.”

Sean carried Justice to the playpen and sat her down. “What’d she have?”

“A girl. Real pretty.”

Sean slapped out a beat on the table. “I’m down to go to church. Sounds good to me, you know? God’s been blessing me left and right. I got a good woman, a sweet baby, school is going well, and my music is booming. I still can’t believe Mr. Trent gave me a job.”

I stared at my son-in-law, hoop earring dangling from one ear and his fresh cornrows touching his shoulders. I hadn’t seen his tattoos yet, but Monique assured me they were there. I couldn’t believe he’d landed a job either. “You make sure you keep it. Don’t be late.”

“Don’t worry. I love it. He’s showing me how to mix better. How to record. Everything. God is good.”

Monique frowned. “God this. God that. When did you become a holy roller?”

“I always believed in God, girl. He brought me you, didn’t he?” He leaned over and kissed his wife’s cheek.

My stomach turned. I’d tried to accept the decision they’d made—that I’d made with them—but I still felt like scolding them whenever they expressed affection. This would take some getting used to.

I hope signing for this marriage was the right thing to do.

Oh well. They were going to run off if I hadn’t done it. At least I still had them all here where I could keep an eye on them. “I know what you mean, Sean. I love the Lord too, even though I haven’t always done what he says.”

The boy nodded, the ends of his cornrows brushing his shoulders. “Me neither. I’ve done a lot of things wrong. But this is a new start, right, babe?”

Monique smiled. “Right.”

“And when I blow up and my record goes platinum I’m going to get up on the Grammys and thank God in front of everybody. But not like everybody else be doing. All fake and everything. I’m going to mean it.”

I closed my eyes. Again with his music.

God help us all.

“Did you look at that career planning survey I brought home? I think both of you should do it and see where your interests are, what kind of thing you might want to major in when you go to college.”

Sean nodded. “I’ll do it, Mrs. T, but I already know what I want to do. Sing. It’s all I ever wanted. I’m not stupid though. I’m going to take up business so nobody can steal my money, you know what I’m saying?”

“I hear you, baby.” I stared over at the card hanging from a magnet on the refrigerator.

Tender Mercies Church. The healing place.

We were definitely going Sunday. All of us. Especially me. After the past year, the past month, the past week, I couldn’t hold on much longer. Not without some divine intervention.

77

Brian

“Sir?”

I lifted my head to meet the unfamiliar voice. A male nurse had replaced the first. All sleep left me. I sat straight up in the chair.

I glanced at the bed. Empty. My breath shortened. “Is she—”

“She’s stable. They’ve taken her for a treatment. I don’t know what you and your wife did—”

“She’s not my wife.” I answered too quickly. As though I didn’t wish it were so. Grace. Where was she?

The guy smiled, like any of this was funny. “Really? You two aren’t married? I just assumed from the way she watched you sleep . . . Anyway, after she walked with your mother to her treatment, she went down to get you something to eat.”

Grace had saved the day again. I stood to stretch my legs.

“Do you have any questions?”

None I wanted this guy to answer. He seemed a little too happy that Grace wasn’t my wife. I decided not to tell him that Joyce wasn’t my mother. I managed a weak smile and shook my head.

“Okay, well, why not go down to the cafeteria and find your . . . friend. You’ve both have had a long night. We’ve got things under control.”

“Are you sure that it’s okay to leave? She seemed so . . .”

“We’ll call you if anything changes. And your friend. We’ll call her too.” He scanned a page in Joyce’s chart. “Grace Okoye, is it? We have her number listed here.”

And the joker looked ready to punch it into his phone.

I narrowed my eyes. If looks could kill, that guy would have been headed for the morgue.

More than twenty-four hours after we raced to the hospital, Grace and I left in the freezing twilight of uncertainty. Though I wasn’t a big sleeper, exhaustion had taken its toll on both of us. Grace’s car was at my place. Out of practicality, I headed there first, hoping that she wouldn’t try to drive her car home tonight.

“Don’t worry. I’ll sleep on the couch,” I said in a weary voice.

“I’m going on home,” she said, looking out the window in a voice that made me wonder if underneath all her strength, Grace wasn’t just what Joyce said—afraid.

The car slid as I made a U-turn. “I’ll take you then. I can have Ron follow me with your car tomorrow.”

She shook her head. “That’s okay. Zeely can follow me over.” She paused. “Thanks. For everything.”

“Sure,” I said, wishing I could put my hands on her shoulders again, slide my fingers in her hair. I wished I could go back before Joyce had bestowed her words upon us like some kind of twisted fairy godmother. But when I thought about it, maybe that’s exactly what she was. She’d been bringing us together all along.

Still, I hadn’t been able to share what I wanted at dinner, to tell Grace that I’d given my life back to God. Not that it would have changed things between us, but I desperately wanted her to know. Maybe she did know. We’d sure prayed enough last night to rival any church meeting. But I knew Grace well enough to know that wouldn’t be enough for her to know anything. And yet, even now, when she wasn’t saying a word, I felt like she knew everything.

It was good that she’d decided to go home. Joyce’s life was fading away and our little fairy tale romance was dying with it.

“I kept hearing your phone ring when you were asleep. Was that Zeely? Or your other friend—”

“Ron? No, I got him when you were in the cafeteria. Those other calls were hang-ups. Just somebody playing games.”