Some Things I Never Thought I'd Do (26 page)

53

T
HE MORNING OF THE DEDICATION
, I woke up in a panic at four a.m. What if I wasn't doing this for the right reasons? What if I was just trying to get back at Beth for her past sins against me, real or imagined? What if I wasn't being a friend to Son at all? What if I was just adding one more name to a list of imperfect black men who weren't who they pretended to be? What if I wasn't saving a damsel and slaying a dragon at all, but just adding to some mess somebody else was going to have to straighten out later?

It didn't make any difference to me who ran for governor of Georgia anyway. I can't even vote here. All I came to do was make enough money to save my house, and now I'm about to lose a third of that by biting the hand that's supposed to feed me before Beth writes that final check.
And how much do I really know about Blue Hamilton anyway?

I tried to ease out of bed, but Blue was awake, too. He was
always
awake.

“What's wrong?”

“Just a little nervous about today,” I said. “Go back to sleep.”

He was already up. “Want some coffee?”

I hesitated.

“Maybe a nice hot cup of sake?” he grinned.

“You know I don't like sake.”

“Coffee it is,” he said, kissing me as he headed for the kitchen.

There's something so familiar to me about being up this early, leaning against the kitchen counter, waiting for the coffee to be ready so the serious business, whatever it might be, can be conducted before the rest of the world is even aware that the deal has been struck. My parents were always up early like this, plotting something with people who arrived after dark and left before the sun came up. I yawned and relaxed a little.

“What's bothering you?” Blue set out two mugs.

“I just hope I'm doing the right thing,” I said as the smell of coffee warmed up the small room.

“What was your other option?”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “When you start wondering if you did the right thing, what other choices do you think would have been better?”

My mind ran through them, starting with
I could have told Aunt Abbie to keep her postmenopausal visions to herself
on through
I could have told Precious politics wasn't my thing.
I could also have told Blue I didn't believe in past lives and told Madonna her kid wasn't my responsibility. I could have pretended I didn't see DooDoo at the junior high school or King James driving away from the newsstand. Pretended I didn't see how scared Brandi was. Looked away from ShaRonda's torn stocking and turned off the birthday party video and taken Beth's check to the bank and my black ass home.
But then who would I be?

Blue was watching me with the mind-reading look on his face, so I didn't say anything. I didn't have to. He smiled and handed me a steaming mug of strong coffee.

“You know you're doing the right thing.”

“Do I?”

“Pretending you don't know something when you do know it,
and you know you know it
, is as good a definition of crazy as I've ever heard, and you are … a lot of things—” he said that really slow to make me blush, and I obliged him “—but crazy is not among them.”

I laughed. “Can we go to the beach if they don't arrest me?”

He grinned at me. “We can go if they do arrest you. I'll post your bail.”

“Good,” I said, suddenly feeling more sexy than scared. It was too early to get up. “You know what?”

“What, baby?”

“I have a few more questions to ask you about this past-life thing,” I said, standing up and heading back to the bedroom.

“Oh, yeah?” he said, setting down his coffee and falling in step beside me. “That's quite a coincidence.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I think I have a few more answers.”

54

T
HE MARTIN LUTHER KING CHAPEL
dominates one end of the Morehouse College campus. Named in honor of the college's most famous graduate, the redcarpeted chapel seats a thousand people comfortably and is blessed with state-of-the-art audio-visual capabilities. The biographical piece that had made Beth weep when she saw the rough cut in that small conference room would be even more moving on the giant screen that dominated the back of the stage.

Freeney had ordered banks of white flowers for either side of the podium, where the dignitaries would stand to speak about Son's contributions to the college; his skill at fund-raising; his tireless mentoring; his anti-maleviolence workshops. The four people who would speak briefly, including Precious Hargrove, represented the broad range of Son's constituencies. After their remarks, the biographical video would be shown on the big screen, and Senator Hargrove would return to the stage to introduce Beth. That was what the program said anyway.

Beth arrived with Jade in tow. Beth looked radiant and regal, wearing a dark purple tunic and pants, with a kente cloth shawl across her shoulders, and she greeted me with a smile that came from the heart. The auditorium was already filling up, and her eyes were shining with pride in Son's accomplishments and her own possibilities. I hoped this day would expand those possibilities and help her to embrace them.

She pressed the final check for my services into my hand as we stood up front watching the crowd arriving. “I know I've told you this already, but I want you to know how much I appreciate the speech you did for today. Jade is learning, but there's something about the things you write for me. It's what I want to say,
but better
. It's my best self talking, and I like her.”

“I know,” I said. “Me, too.”

I slipped the check into my pocket, but, happy as I was to have it, I didn't have time to think about finishing up my business with the weasel right now. There was too much going on! The college president came over to say hello, and his wife needed a change in seating for one of the dignitaries, and the Glee Club had lost a soloist to laryngitis, and someone almost knocked over the scale model of the new Davis Communications Center, and Freeney had a last-minute attack of nerves that Brady addressed by walking him around the building and reminding him that getting fired wasn't the worst thing in the world because then they could move to San Francisco like they had some sense.

Then Aretha came over to tell me that Madonna's mom had shown up after all and that Sonny Jr. was adorable and that they were all waiting in the holding room like I had asked them to do. Kwame escorted Precious to her seat in the front row beside Beth. Finally, Flora hurried in with Lu and ShaRonda. The newest resident of our building, ShaRonda had moved in with Flora after her uncle disappeared, and she was thriving. She saw me and waved, and I waved back.

Blue came in by himself and took a seat on the side aisle near the back door. He grinned and inclined his head in my direction, but before I could go over and compliment him on his choice of seating just in case we had to make a quick getaway, the Glee Club took a collective deep breath and sang the program into life.

“'Guide my feet, while I run this race.'” They sang like angels.

Standing beside me in the tech booth at the back of the auditorium, Freeney leaned over and whispered in my ear as we turned our attention to the stage, “San Francisco, here we come!”

55

W
HEN THE LIGHTS CAME UP AT
the end of the video, people rose to their feet in a spontaneous standing ovation. I used the opportunity to slip back down front and take Precious's seat next to Beth as the senator walked up onto the stage.

“You okay?” I said, touching Beth's arm lightly, feeling suddenly protective.

“I just miss him so much, Gina. I just miss him so much!” she whispered as we sat back down. She slipped her arm through mine like we were schoolgirls, and I could feel her trembling.

Precious took her place at the podium and looked out at the crowd. “Son Davis was my friend,” she said. “And I can tell you one thing. He would have
loved
to see all of youheretoday to honorhis lifeand hiswork.”

The crowd applauded themselves, proud they had worn their Sunday best to honor one of their own.

“Because that's why we're here today, to honor my friend, our friend, Son Davis. The video we just watched told you
some
of the reasons why.” She paused and smiled again. “I'm going to tell you the rest.”

Beth looked at me with a small flicker of confusion.
“What is she talking about?”

“Don't worry,” I whispered. “I wrote this for her.”

Beth squeezed my hand gratefully and turned back to Precious.

“Son Davis was a man with very high standards, especially for himself. He was raised that way by his mother, who devoted her life to making him a good man.”

The audience applauded warmly, and I could feel Beth relax even more. Precious's earlier remarks had recalled the first time she had seen Beth speak and how moved she was by a sudden realization of her own potential. That was the day, she had said proudly, that she decided to run for political office. She didn't know how she was going to do it, but Beth had made her see that she could do anything she put her mind to. Everyone expected her introduction to be more of the same kind of praise song. Everyone but me.

“But somewhere along the way, Son started thinking being a good man wasn't enough. He started thinking he had to be better than good. He had to be
perfect
.”

You could have heard a pin drop.

“Maybe he felt that he owed perfection to his mother, to repay her for her sacrifices. Maybe he felt that he owed perfection to those who believed in his mother because of his shining example as a perfect son. Maybe he thought he owed perfection to the students of his alma mater, who wanted to walk in his footsteps. We don't know. How can we ever know? But what we do know is that his feeling that he was less than perfect led him to begin to lead two lives: the one he showed the world, and the one he thought wasn't good enough to show us.”

There was some murmuring now. Beth pinched my arm,
hard.

“What do you think you're doing?”
she hissed.

I ignored her and kept my eye on Precious.

“But he was wrong. For one of the very few times in his life, he misjudged us. Because there was no reason for him to hide anything. We weren't looking for perfection. We were looking for the
possibility of perfection
, and that possibility is always most beautifully present in the faces of our children and then, if we are very lucky, in the faces of our grandchildren.”

She turned to Beth and, from the stage, addressed her directly. “Sister Davis, I think all of us were moved a few weeks ago during a television interview when you spoke of your sorrow over the fact that your beloved son did not live long enough to have children of his own.”

The audience gave a collective sigh of sympathy.

“But sometimes the Lord works in mysterious ways, and someone else saw that interview, too. Someone who had agreed to keep silent, to make Son's secret her own.”

Beth's grip on my hand was a vice.

“Someone who had been struggling with serious questions of honor and responsibility. Someone who wanted to respect the wishes of one who sacrificed everything but who also understands a mother's love and a woman's grief.”

I stole a sideways glance at Beth. She knew every eye in the place was on her, so she couldn't do anything but return Precious's gaze with an unblinking stare and wait for whatever was coming next.

“Andthatsomeoneisherewithustoday, but beforeI introduce her to you, I want to share another little video with you. This one isn't as well produced as the first one. Sometimes it's out of focus and a little fuzzy, but I think you'll be able to recognize our honoree today among the celebrants at a very special birthday party.”

Beth tried to jerk her arm from mine, but I held on for dear life. “Let me go!” she hissed, but I shook my head.

Then suddenly, behind Precious on the giant screen where Son's
official
face had been overseeing the proceedings, another face appeared. The face of a proudly smiling young father celebrating his laughing son's first birthday. The face of a loving partner with an affectionate arm encircling the waist ofthe woman he loved. The unguarded private face of a man whose misguided desire to please his mother had made him withhold from her the sweetest gift he could have given, her only grandchild.

Unable to free herself and flee, Beth had no choice but to sit still and watch the screen. And as she did, I watched her. At first, she was so angry at me, at Precious, at being exposed so publicly, that her face was like stone. Her jaw was tight, and her eyes were hard and cold. But now on the video, the assembled guests were singing to the birthday boy, and as they finished the song, his father grabbed him and tossed him high in the air, both of them laughing, so happy, so alive, that the idea that one of them was gone, that this child would never again see his reflection in his father's eyes, was so overwhelming that when Freeney froze the frame, the poignant image seemed to burn itself into all of our brains at the same time, and any idea that this little family could ever be anything less than perfect seemed not only absurd, but cruel.

In the stunned silence as the picture faded from the screen, I looked at Beth's face, and it was wet with tears. Precious stepped back to the podium.

“Sister Davis,” she said gently. “May I present your grandson, Theodore Davis Jr.?”

She nodded toward the back of the auditorium, and every head in the place turned to watch the lovely young woman and the little boy with his father's smile walk up the long middle aisle. Aretha had helped Madonna find a lovely pale green dress that fluttered around her as she walked. She looked like an angel, and if she was afraid, you couldn't see it on her face.

I kept my eyes on Beth, who was still clutching my hand. She looked at me, and the pain on her face was so profound I was afraid she wouldn't survive it.

“Why?” she whispered. “Why couldn't he tell me?”

It was the question that contained all the rage and confusion and anguish and guilt that had made her do things she never should have done. It was the question that she had to force herself to ask, not so she could answer it, but so she could accept the fact that there was no answer. Only a small boy who had lost his father and a mother who had lost her son.

“He's telling you now,” I said softly. “Maybe he's telling you now.”

She looked at me like she wanted to believe me, if she only could, and then the applause began. Slowly at first, a little tentative, and then louder and louder. As Madonna and Sonny Jr. made their way up the aisle, each row they passed stood up and cheered. They had come to honor a fallen soldier and had found themselves witnesses to the kind of revelation and reconciliation that are always at the heart of what we mean when we say
family
.

Madonna was just a few rows away from us now, and Beth turned to me in complete panic. “I … I don't know what to say. What can I say?”

“Don't worry,” I said. “Your remarks are already at the podium.”

She looked at me, and her smile was equal parts gratitude and relief. “And will it be my best self talking?”

I smiled back and realized I was crying, too. “Absolutely.”

She hugged me then and took a deep breath. “Good. Then you'll excuse me while I say hello to my grandson?”

Always theatrical, she stepped into the center aisle to face them and, as if on cue, Sonny Jr. released his mother's hand and ran as fast as his little fat legs could carry him into his grandmother's arms. As she scooped him up into a long overdue embrace, I could hear her whispering over and over,
“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

It wasn't until she took Madonna's hand and the three of them joined Precious on the stage while the crowd went wild that I realized it wasn't Beth's voice at all.
It was mine.