Read When Solomon Sings Online
Authors: Kendra Norman-Bellamy
When Solomon Sings (20 page)
He paused at the closed door of CJ's study. The possibility that it might be locked didn't faze Neil. For years now, he had been entrusted with a key to CJ's home and the code to disarm the security system. The key ring he carried held three keys: one for the front door, one for the back door, and one for the study. Rarely did Neil use any of them, and today was his first time ever using them without CJ's permission. The folder in his hand felt heavy as he turned the doorknob to enter CJ's office. It was unlocked, so it opened with ease. He hesitated in the doorway for a moment, scoping out the space before entering. It felt like he was being watched. Those were probably God's eyes, and Neil was sure that they were filled with disappointment. He never should have taken the paper in the first place.
Neil wasn't quite sure what had driven him to bring back the evidence without presenting it to Shaylynn. That paper was his winning hand, yet he was folding like his playing cards were losers. Either the overwhelming guilt that had haunted him ever since he'd removed the private notes was what led him to return them, or it was that inexplicable look in CJ's eyes the other night when he told him to stop wasting the time that he could be spending with Shaylynn worrying about her memories of Emmett. But then again, maybe what had given him the courage to believe he didn't need the leverage of the proof of Emmett's sins was how perfect things had been between him and Shaylynn lately. Although there were days when he could still see the chain around her neck that bore the “charm” that was always conveniently tucked behind the top of whatever outfit she was wearing, Shaylynn hadn't said a mumbling word about Emmett in Neil's presence for over a month. That was a record for her. If it weren't for Theresa's horrific plight, Neil would feel like his world was perfect.
In a matter of seconds, he had slipped the paper with all of the handwritten scribble on it from the folder he currently had it in and placed it back in the original red folder from which he'd taken it. Then he put both folders back in the stack, being careful to put the one he had permission to take on the very top. The one with CJ's handwritten notes was placed near the bottom of the stack, where it was when Neil first lifted it. The entire exchange took less than a minute, but sweat was dripping from every pore of Neil's body by the time he exited the office and closed the door behind him.
He stood with his back against the door for several moments, trying to steady his racing heart; then he escaped into the closest of three restrooms where he splashed his face with cool water and used several sheets of paper towel to absorb the moisture. When Neil finished drying his face, he pulled the tail of his dress shirt from his pants, lifted it as high as necessary, and dried his armpits as well. He would make a pitiful criminal. If taking and returning a sheet of paper without permission made him react like this, then stealing anything worth over a buck and a quarter would probably give him a massive heart attack.
“Ready to go?” Neil set his face and hoped his innocent act could at least fool a child as he returned to the master bedroom.
“Can I finish watching this?” Chase pointed at the television screen.
Neil couldn't stay in the house another moment. “Sorry, kiddo, we have to get going. We need to get back to the house with Ms. Ella Mae and your mom.”
“Aw, man.” Chase's dismount from the bed was far less enthusiastic than his mount. “It was way better watching cartoons on this big screen than it is to watch them on the TV in my bedroom. I gotta tell Pastor Loather how cool that was.”
“Come on. Put your coat back on and let's go.” Neil wiped his brow with the paper towel he still held in his hand. At the sound of Chase's words, his sweat glands reactivated. Now he had to figure out a way to make the child forget his plans to share the joys of his television-watching experience. That wouldn't be so
cool
after all, considering the fact that they never should have been in the house in the first place ... and definitely not in the master bedroom.
cool
after all, considering the fact that they never should have been in the house in the first place ... and definitely not in the master bedroom.
NINETEEN
The days were passing slowly for Neil. Today was Wednesday, but it felt like Friday. He hadn't slept well this week, but he wasn't exactly sure why. It couldn't have anything to do with the notes he'd taken from CJ's place. He'd returned those and felt good about doing the right thing. Something else was causing this. Neil was growing increasingly worried about CJ and Theresa's plight, but it didn't feel like that was the reason that his nights were becoming so restless, either.
The sleep deprivation was making him cranky, too. The sounds of Li'l Miss's cries last night worked his nerves as he sat up at Shaylynn's house, watching movies with her. Then today, Margaret chose not to wear her hearing aid, and as accustomed to that as Neil was, today he was fed up with having to raise his voice every time he said something to her. Now, on his lunch break, when his intent was to sit in his car and catch a nap, he was headed down Wesley Chapel Roadâa street on which he hated to travel during any high traffic timeâon his way to see Deacon Burgess. Today of all days, the old man had decided to behave so badly that his caretaker had to call for backup.
Neil desperately needed to have a few minutes of quiet time to calm himself before getting out of his SUV and entering the home, but that grace wasn't extended. Teena must have been watching through the window for his arrival. She opened the front door as soon as he pulled into the driveway, so Neil had no choice but to get out.
“Thanks for coming, Deacon Taylor. I know you're busy in the middle of the week like this, but I didn't know what else to do.” She said all of that before Neil even reached the front door.
Her big Erykah Badu/Macy Gray/Tina Turner hair assaulted Neil's face as he accepted her embrace. “That's okay, Ms. Teena. I told you to call me anytime it was necessary, so it's fine.” He'd said that in part to remind himself that he couldn't rightfully be annoyed with her. “Where's Deac?” Neil looked around the living room as he followed Teena inside.
“He's in his bedroom right now. He done calmed down some, 'cause just a little while ago, he was banging on the door.”
Neil looked at her, knowing the answer before he asked the question. “Why was he banging on the door?”
Teena handed him a single copper-colored key. “Because I locked him inside.” She shook her head. “I'm sorry, Deacon Taylor, but I can't do the stuff I needed to do if I have to keep running after him when he wanders outside. I know locking him in the room sounds cruel, but it ain't crueler than him walking out the door and getting too far away before I realize he's gone. Anything can happen to him if he gets lost out there, and if he becomes a Channel 2 News feature, I'll never be able to find work again.”
“I understand.” Neil took the key from her hand. Imprisoning Deacon Burgess in his room wasn't what Neil wanted Teena to do, but he couldn't exactly blame her under the circumstances. “I'll go talk to him.”
“Thank you.” Relief washed over Teena's face like Neil was some sort of miracle worker, but he knew that if the old man was as far off his rocker as was explained to him in their earlier phone conversation, his talking to Deacon Burgess wouldn't do much good.
“I'm coming in, Deac.” After Neil unlocked the bedroom door, he eased it open while simultaneously knocking and making the announcement of his entrance. “Deac?” He spoke with a little more caution after finding the room empty and hearing a rustling in the adjoining bathroom.
“Who dat?” It sounded somewhat weak, but it was definitely Deacon Burgess's scratchy voice.
“It's me, Deac. Neil Taylor.”
“You by yourself, Deacon Taylor?”
That question took Neil aback for a couple of reasons. One, he hoped Homer Burgess wasn't about to walk out of the restroom naked. It was true that the old man was almost like a father to him, but Neil wouldn't have wanted to see his daddy without clothes on either. Seeing Deacon Burgess in his birthday suit just wasn't something he wanted to experience, and definitely not after he had just wolfed down a sandwich he picked up from the drive-thru window at Arby's. He didn't need his lunch to come up the same way it had gone down. The second reason the question thwarted Neil was because Homer had called him Deacon Taylor. On days when Alzheimer's had the best of him, Homer never called him Deacon Taylor. As a matter of fact, he didn't call him anything at all. On those days,
if
he communicated with Neil at all, he just talked. It was rarely a personal or sensible conversation; just babble, mostly.
if
he communicated with Neil at all, he just talked. It was rarely a personal or sensible conversation; just babble, mostly.
“Yes, I'm alone. Is everything okay in there?”
Please don't come out naked. Please don't come out naked.
Neil hoped all the stuff he'd heard about telepathic messages was true.
Please don't come out naked. Please don't come out naked.
Neil hoped all the stuff he'd heard about telepathic messages was true.
The sound of the flushing toilet deepened Neil's confusion.
What on earth?
Homer had been wearing adult diapers for at least six months. Even on his good days he wore them in case of an accident, but on days like the one Teena had described to Neil less than an hour ago, Homer would have absolutely no reason to flush a commode. Seconds later, the faucet came on, and moments after that, Neil saw the deacon's head peek around the doorframe before he finally shuffled his way out into the bedroom, using his cane for assistance. Deacon Burgess walked at the speed of a three-legged turtle, so it took him forever to cover even the shortest distances. Neil watched him make his way to the bed, then slowly climb on the mattress into a seated position, cover his legs with the bedspread, and use the headboard as a back rest.
What on earth?
Homer had been wearing adult diapers for at least six months. Even on his good days he wore them in case of an accident, but on days like the one Teena had described to Neil less than an hour ago, Homer would have absolutely no reason to flush a commode. Seconds later, the faucet came on, and moments after that, Neil saw the deacon's head peek around the doorframe before he finally shuffled his way out into the bedroom, using his cane for assistance. Deacon Burgess walked at the speed of a three-legged turtle, so it took him forever to cover even the shortest distances. Neil watched him make his way to the bed, then slowly climb on the mattress into a seated position, cover his legs with the bedspread, and use the headboard as a back rest.
“Hey, Deacon Taylor. How you?” The short but difficult walk to the bed had rendered him winded, but other than that, Deacon Burgess seemed perfectly fine. Boy. That Alzheimer's was something else; here one minute, gone the next.
“Hey, Deac.” Neil eased closer to the bed, but chose to sit on a chair beside it. “You look well.”
“You look shocked,” the deacon replied. “Ain't you happy I look like I'm doin' well?”
Neil relaxed in the chair, crossing his right leg over his left knee. “Yeah, I'm happy, I'm just surprised. Ms. Teena called me a little while ago and saidâ”
“That I was ova' here cuttin' the monkey?”
Neil tilted his head and thoroughly searched Homer's face. This was getting weirder by the minute. When Deacon Burgess snapped out of his Alzheimer's episodes, he never recalled the way he had misbehaved during the episodes; at least not verbally. Neil didn't think the man was even aware of his actions during those times. “Yes.” Neil's reply was guarded.
Homer waved a carefree hand at him. “I'm sorry, Deacon. I didn't mean to get her so revved that she'd call you over here. I know you have a lot to do at work.”
With narrowed eyes, Neil blurted, “Are you telling me you were faking it?”
“Shh! Boy, hush yo' big, fat mouth 'fo' she hear you. Go lock the door.” When Neil didn't move immediately, Homer added, “Go on. Lock it.”
After obeying, Neil stood in front of the door and looked at who could possibly be the greatest actor on the face of the earth. This time he spoke softly when he said, “If you tell me that you don't have Alzheimer'sâ”
“Of course I got it,” Deacon Burgess said. “Can't nobody fool a doctor into thinkin' they got that mess. Them pills I'm on woulda been done killed me by now if I didn't have it.” He pointed to an area of the mattress beside him like he wanted Neil to sit there. When Neil complied, Deacon Burgess continued. “The truth is, I got it, but I ain't got it as bad as everybody thinks.”
Neil could hardly believe his ears. For a while now, he'd been thinking the progression of the disease was moving too fast, but he had no idea that Homer was putting on. Neil was trying not to get angry, but he had been paying good money for a service that now seemed unwarranted. He needed some answers, and he needed them now. “I don't understand, Deac. Why would you do this?”
Deacon Burgess ran his palms over his full head of silver, wavy hair, then he clasped his hands together and looked down at them as he placed them in his lap. “I don't be pretendin' all the time, just some of the time. I have days that I don't know where I am or who the people 'round me are, but some days I know and just act like I don't.” He unlatched his hands and picked nonexistent lint from the sheet draped over his lap. “Two or three Sundays ago, Pastor Loather preached so good up in that church that the Holy Ghost started rising up in me. Do you know how hard it is to quench the Spirit? Well, I had to do it that day. I couldn't go to hollerin', âThank you, Jesus' and âGlory to God' when Alzheimer's was s'posed to have me.”
Neil shook his head. “So how much of it is real and how much of it is made up?”
“'Bout fifty-fifty.” Homer looked up at Neil. “I ain't got long to be here, Deacon Taylor. I know you say I look good, but there's a plenty of folk who look better dead than they did when they was alive by the time the undertaker get through making 'em up. I don't know when the good Lord gonna call my number, but I know I ain't got long, and well ... I don't want to die by myself.”
The sincerity in Homer's eyes softened Neil's heart. “People live a long time with Alzheimer's, Deac. Look at Ronald Reagan. He lived with it for at least ten years.”
“Ronald Reagan also had hair that looked like it had been colored with black shoe polish, but I don't want that either. I don't wanna live wit' this for no ten years. I don't wanna hang around 'til I don't even recognize my own chil'ren. And Lawd knows I'd rather be dead than to live so long that I lose my memories of Odette.” When the old man's eyes began to glisten, Neil had to look away. But he could still hear the pain in Homer's voice as he continued. “I done asked God to take me 'fo' then. I been serving Him for a long time, and I ain't never asked for a whole heap, so I know He gonna honor my prayers.”
Neil sighed. There was just too much dying going on and not enough living. Deacon Burgess, Theresa ... It was getting to be too much. Neil felt roughness when Deacon Burgess reached over and placed his hand on top of his. That tough skin came from years of hard labor, working with his hands as a construction worker and brick mason to provide for both his wives and all his children ... children who now repaid the sacrifices their father made by unanimously voting to put him in a nursing home rather than adjust their lives so they could care for him. Homer had earned those calluses. He'd also earned the right not to die alone.
Turning back to face the deacon, Neil asked, “What do you want me to do?”
A smile tugged at Homer's lips. “I just want you to keep doin' what you been doin' all this time. You been a good boy, Deacon Taylor; a good boy. You been here for me when I didn't have nobody else, and I thank you.” He patted Neil's hand a few times, and then put his hands back in his own lap. Homer dropped the volume of his voice even lower when he said, “I like that woman out there.” He looked toward the closed door. The confession didn't exactly shock Neil. Deacon Burgess had hinted at it, although jokingly, in an earlier conversation. “Teena been the next best thing to a wife,” he continued. “The only reason I won't ask her to marry me is âcause I know she wouldn't, and I don't blame her one bit. She'd be crazy to marry me. I'm a old man, and there ain't nothin' I can do for a woman that young. But I like havin' her around, and I know as long as she think my mind ain't good, she'll be here.”
As twisted as the rationale of that story was, Neil knew that he was in no place to pass judgment. The last year of his life with Shaylynn had taught him that a man would do just about anything for love. But there was something that Homer didn't know. His plans were about to backfire on him. “Deac, Ms. Teena sounded like she was at her wit's end when she called me today. You're so busy trying to keep her here that you're about to run her away. All before noon today, you almost caused a grease fire, you broke a lamp, and you tried to wander off three times. You're taking it too far.”
“I had to. It was the only way I could make her stay home.”
Neil was confused. “What do you mean?”
“That drummerâthe high-yella oneâat the church been sniffin' 'round Teena lately. Last Sunday, I sat in the car for thirty minutes waiting on her while that rascal held her up outside talking. That was the second Sunday in a row that he done that. I let my window down a little so I could hear, and I heard him ask her if he could buy dinner and bring it ova' here and eat with her Friday night. She told him that it depended on how I was doing. So I figured if I start cuttin' up now, by Friday, she'll be too wore out to even think about sittin' 'round with that jackleg.”
Neil struggled not to laugh at the deep scowl on Homer's face. Apparently jealousy had no age limit. “But aren't you the one who told me that I shouldn't be worried about Shaylynn's former husband?”
“That man's buried under the earth; it ain't the same thing. Plus you a young man, and even the Five Blind Boys of Alabama can see that that pretty girl loves you. Ol' drummer boy ain't dead, I ain't young, and Teena don't come nowhere near lovin' me. You ain't got nothing to be worried about. I do. You still got a full life ahead of you. I ain't got long, and I don't want to die by myself.”
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