The Other Side of Divine (20 page)

—Isaiah 42:22

 

 

 

P
aula had been present when the baby was born, a little boy (just as she'd predicted), at a healthy seven pounds eight ounces (again right on the money as she'd said). She wasn't in the birthing room when the baby was born even though Paris's mother was. In fact, Paris's mother got to cut the umbilical cord, which Deidra commented was the highlight of the morning, after seeing the baby being born.

Paris had gone into labor on Sunday night, but didn't deliver the baby until six-seventeen on Tuesday morning, April the twenty-sixth. It was a long, hard labor. But Andrew was right by her side, holding her hand and feeding her ice chips. Deidra had sent her family home early Monday morning without her. They returned that afternoon with Lawrence bringing Deidra her requested change of clothing. He and Imani left that night, only to get a call at five-thirty Tuesday morning, and they were able to make it back just in time to hear the glorious proclamation that the baby boy was here.

Ironically, it was as if the baby knew something in advance of his original April 28 due date. As though the baby knew that even Wednesday wasn't the best day to make an entrance. Because on Wednesday, April 27, the worst devastation Alabama and other states had ever seen or experienced, weather-wise, hit.

Several tornadoes touched down, killing people in Tuscaloosa, Pratt City (which was only thirty minutes, if that much, from where the baby was born and forty-five minutes from his new home). A tornado touched down in Cullman, a town that always seemed to receive its share of tornadoes. Black folks with knowledge of Cullman's history when it came to black folks (a board advising them not to let night catch them there) had their own theory about why that might be. But the destruction everywhere was devastating.

Just before 6
AM
(even before the second wave of tornadoes touched down, the ones that arrived after two o'clock that afternoon), a brewing storm knocked out the power around Birmingham and surrounding cities stretching more than forty miles in each direction. Most who called to report the outages heard the recorded message stating outages were known and would be fixed no later than eleven that morning.

Well, that didn't happen. And most who had no power and no other backup method to get news reports had no idea what was about to hit next. Fortunately, hospitals had backup generators. Paris and her newborn were in the best possible place since their home didn't have electricity, as was the case at both Paula's and her parents' houses.

In fact, the power was off from Wednesday to Friday morning at Paula's house. Paula told Andrew her power was back on and they were welcome to come there with the baby when they were released since their power was still off. But Paris was set on the first place she'd be taking her baby being her own home. And Andrew, the ever dutiful husband, and now proud papa, was determined that Paris would have her heart's desire. So he managed to borrow a small generator from a coworker (the only one he could find available to him in the entire state, it seemed) with the hopes that the electricity would be back on no later than Friday evening.

Well, he, his wife, and son were left without power until Sunday night at around 9
PM
. Paula knew all of this because Andrew had kept her informed of all that was going on after Paris and the baby went home from the hospital Friday morning. Certainly not the homecoming they'd planned or envisioned. Andrew was shouting about how God's hand was in all of this because their power did miraculously come on just as the television networks were promoting the President of the United States's pending special announcement, which turned out to be that Osama bin Laden was dead.

Paula had intended on being at the house to help Paris during her first days of being home. But Paris insisted they were fine. So most who stopped by to visit only stayed about an hour so as not to cause them undue hardship. The generator was only a tiny help. Andrew told Paris, “We can only plug in a few things so we need to decide which electrical appliances are the most important to have.” He was praying that things would be back to normal soon. Sunday night was a good first step.

But normal, during these times, appeared to be overrated. People didn't have food because, after three days without power, even a freezer with built-up ice (because the freezer wasn't one that self-defrosted) couldn't save anything.

However, a month later, things had indeed settled down. Pretty much most everyone's power had been restored and there was a plan to restore some of the loss of food many had incurred because it had taken longer than ever expected to get the power back on.

Andrew told his mother he'd learned many of those who'd lost power hadn't even been from the deadliest of the tornadoes (the one that hit in the afternoon when most of them had no power to even hear what was coming). It had been because of a transformer that had been picked up and blown so far away early that morning that the power crew couldn't find it and it couldn't be easily or quickly fixed. That's why it was originally believed things would be restored sooner until they saw they didn't possess what they needed. Then after the other tornadoes touched down, it was too much, too overwhelming, definitely one for the record books.

Paris never seemed to miss an opportunity to tell Paula how much certain things about the baby were so much like Andrew. The baby's nose, the way the baby smiled. Paula didn't believe it much since, in her experience, babies didn't possess the motor skills to smile as early as Paris was trying to say theirs was. Paula got so tired of Paris saying that about the baby smiling that she just told her it was most likely gas the baby was expressing.

Paula noticed how much Paris tried to get her to agree with her on the things she said were like Andrew. But truthfully, and it could be that it's just really hard to look at a newborn and honestly find things that match an adult unless you're already inclined to do so, even if there were things one could link to baby pictures. But Paula didn't see anything that indicated in the
least
that this baby was like Andrew.

But she also knew she wasn't going to push things too far by insisting to Andrew, as she'd done a few months ago, that he have a paternity test done. She'd said it already. Andrew had flat-out rejected the notion. So she would just pray that if there was even a remote chance she might be right, the truth would somehow come to light and save her son from possible deeper heartbreak down the road.

But for now, she couldn't honestly say, not with certainty, one way or the other. So she was going to just keep her trap shut.

—Jeremiah 7:8

 

 

 

B
y May 17—three weeks after giving birth to Braylen Ryker Holyfield (two first names that had left her mother-in-law scratching her head as she wondered aloud and to their faces why she and Andrew had decided to name their son that), the originally light-skinned little boy was quickly turning darker shades of brown. Paris knew she had to do something to quiet even her own thoughts that were beginning to scream doubts about her baby's paternity who was no longer the color of she and Andrew but increasingly closer to Darius's dark-brown skin tone. She needed to get a DNA home kit in a hurry.

With her mother-in-law visiting that day, she decided to run to the store, telling Paula she had to go pick up something important.

“Back in my day, older women wouldn't even let us go out of the house until our babies were at least a month old. Most times they insisted it be six weeks,” Paula said, cradling an almost sleep Braylen in her arms. “My mother used to say we young folks were going to catch it when that stuff caught up with us in our old age. I'm seeing some of those older folks were right.”

“I'm not going to be gone long. I just have something I absolutely have to get,” Paris said, car keys in hand as she headed for the door to the garage.

“I told you that's what I'm here for. I don't mind going and getting whatever you need. Just make me a list, and I'll be happy to get it and bring it back,” Paula said, glancing down at the baby as she spoke softly now.

“I'm not sure which one I want,” Paris said, being as evasive as possible. She wasn't
completely
lying. She'd checked online to see which DNA kit was recommended and rated the most reliable. If she was going to do this, she needed to make sure the results would be of the highest standards available. She'd thought about asking her father to pick up the kit for her since he was the only person who knew the truth (other than Johnnie Mae, who she didn't count in the number since she'd only gone to her for counseling), but she knew he wasn't good at finding things in a store which he considered women's work. Besides, she'd hate for that kind of news to get out if someone saw him purchase the kit and report on it. It was her father who'd suggested something like this. For now, it seemed to be her best shot with the least amount of casualties.

Paris left, only picking up that one item so she wouldn't be out in the air for too long. She didn't need Paula saying anything to Andrew to cause him to grill her about her little rendezvous outside the house.

Honestly surprised Paris had been gone for only twenty minutes, Paula said, “What happened? Did you get out of the driveway and change your mind?”

“No. But I do respect your words of wisdom and opinion. I told you I wasn't going shopping; I just needed to pick up something important.”

“I still don't understand why you just didn't let me run and get it for you. But that's young folks for you,” Paula said. “Well, the baby is asleep. So if I were you, I'd try and sneak me in a little nap as well. I'm out of here.” She hugged Paris and left.

All of the kits sold for around thirty dollars, but that was just the cost for the kit. If she wanted fast results she'd have to pay an additional cost to send it overnight as opposed to using the preaddressed envelope provided using standard delivery. She would also have to pay an additional one hundred and thirty dollars for the lab fee, and that was if it wasn't a rush job. If she used a credit card to prepay or sent a money order, she could expect the results in about seven days. If she chose any other way, like writing a personal check, she was looking at a turnaround of three to four weeks.

The good part was that she had the option of them sending the results (discreetly of course) back by mail or going online if she set up an account with an ID and password. She could also call a number and, using a special code, be told the results over the phone. The kit contained three swabs: one for the subject in question (in her case, her baby boy), one for the father, and if desired, one for the mother. She saw no reason to swab her own cheek and waste money when she knew she was the mother.

Now she just needed to decide whether she should contact Darius and get him to agree to this DNA test. If she did it that way, they could prayerfully disqualify him, which would only mean that Andrew was without a doubt Braylen's father. But the mere thought of Darius caused her stomach to turn. He was such a jerk. And knowing him, he most likely wouldn't agree to it even though this was much cheaper than her earlier idea of a prenatal paternity test, and decisively cheaper than going to court, where he'd likely have to pay for the whole test, which was triple this cost.

Wanting to skip the drama at this point, she made a decision. She would swab Braylen's cheek. And when Andrew came home, she would . . . she would . . .

What? What would she do? Ask him to let her swab the inside of his cheek for fun? Like he'd actually fall for that. He was a lawyer, for Pete's sake. He knew the process used in DNA testing. He'd immediately know what she was up to. Then everything Paris had heard his mother say to him would flood into his mind. And he would know that even
she
had at least some reason to question the paternity of her child.

So for Braylen's sake and Andrew's she couldn't do that to either of them. If Andrew was to ever hear the truth, it would be
the truth
and not just a need to know what the truth
might
be.

After Andrew came home and held his son, after he'd told Paris just how happy he was, and how much he loved her. After he vowed that he would always do what he needed to take care of the two of them. After he'd fallen sound asleep and Paris felt pretty sure that nothing would likely awaken him, she took the Q-tip swab provided in the DNA kit and swabbed the inside of his right cheek.

And if anybody were ever to say that she wasn't sorry for any of her past actions, they didn't see how caring and patient she'd been in pulling off this feat, all because she didn't want to unnecessarily hurt her husband if she didn't have to.

After she finished, she quietly slid out of the bed with the swab in hand and placed it in its own plastic bag labeled for the father. She put the two individual bags with the DNA of child and potential father inside the pre-labeled package. She sighed, knowing she was closer to putting the question of Braylen's paternity to bed.

She put the package somewhere safe until it could be sent off in the morning, then quietly crawled back into bed and laid down just in time for Braylen to cry and cause her to have to get up again.

And through all of that, Andrew never moved, not even once.