Читать книгу If The Shoe Fits - Marilynn Griffith - Страница 8

My son, his father, my son’s girlfriend—the whole crew of fools—awaited me at home. I didn’t even get to squish the rest of the water out of my Bible before facing them.

“Hi-eeee,” Shemika said, waving with one hand and covering her watermelon-size belly with the other. She bowed her head quickly, nibbling one of the emergency croissants from my freezer.

I dumped my wet shoes beside the door next to the others. I took in the scene in disbelief. Not only had these folks invaded my home—with the help of my son’s key, no doubt—they’d kicked off their shoes and cooked themselves some breakfast, too.

The nerve.

Still armed with my wet Bible, I grabbed the empty plastic bag my croissants had come in and wrapped the Bible in it. It was a total loss, but I was too afraid to throw it away. I have a thing about Bibles, too. As ink blurred in the margins and bled across the pages, I bled inside too. I’d meant to get a new Bible sometime, but not now. Not yet. Everything was changing without my permission. Sort of like my unexpected guests.

I turned to my son’s father, eating eggs at my kitchen table as though he belonged there. As many times as I’d envisioned him in that seat, the sight bothered me now.

“How did you get in here, Jordan?” I knew already, of course, but I wanted to let all of them know that keying into my home and waiting for me was unacceptable.

“Well, we—”

“Leave Dad out of it, Mom. It’s my fault. I used my key.” My son, Jericho, stood, hands shoved into his jeans.

“Dad? It’s like that now? That’s rich.” About as rich as his father, whose gifts seemed to have worn away any of my son’s remaining brain cells. Sure it was great that Jordan was here today, but what about when he disappeared again?

“Can we not start with that? What’s with you anyway? Are those the sunshine shoes?” He pointed to my wet pumps by the door.

“That’s them. It’s a long story. Sunday school was, well, interesting. I had to come home.” I looked over at Shemika. “Your grandmother had a good time, though.”

“I’m sure.” Shemika shrugged and gave me the same guilty smile she’d worn since her pregnancy started showing. Today though, something different played around her eyes. Maybe the reality I’d been trying to describe to them was finally sinking in.

My son didn’t look as amused. “Church? Is that really it? You seem really out of it. And is that your Bible wrapped up over there? The one that you write in?”

Jordan stopped pushing his eggs around on his plate and looked at me with a concern that shook me a little. I must have looked like a fool in this wet blouse and rumpled skirt, but he looked at me as if I was wearing an evening gown. Tad was one thing, but Jordan was going to have to get out of here. They were all giving me puppy-dog looks now.

“We had an exercise in Sunday school and I got a little wet, okay? The question isn’t about me. The question is, what are you people doing here!” Whoa. Had that come out of my mouth? I was definitely going to have to check with the doctor about those perimenopause supplements. Kicking folks and screaming all before noon? And on a Sunday too? I needed a nap and some sugar-free chocolate.

Shemika piped up this time. “Well, coming here was my idea, actually. I’m not feeling so well, Mrs. Rose—”

“That’s Miss—Miss Gardner, same as Jericho.” I didn’t scream this time, but my meaning was clear. What had they been telling this girl? As long as she’d known us, hadn’t somebody clued her in on the whole horrible story.

“She was never my wife, Shemika,” Jordan said. “Though she should have been. I wasn’t as brave as Jericho, but she was as brave as you. And hardworking, too. She worked double shifts in the supermarket and picked up hours at the hospital until the day she went into labor.” He paused and stared at the floor. “Even messed up her feet to do it. I’m sorry about everything, but I’m sorry about that.”

I braced myself against the chair at the sound of Jordan’s voice. For years, I’d thought that marrying Jordan would have saved me, taken the shame of my teen pregnancy away. All these years later, listening to him, looking at him, I realized things could have been worse if he’d stayed. I couldn’t think of anything he could add to my life. Nothing I needed to think about, anyway.

Shemika tugged my son’s sleeve. “I thought they were divorced—”

“Shh.” Jericho squeezed her hand and gave me a look, one that I deflected. Sure it wasn’t the best way to explain, but since my son was so bent on marrying this girl, he should have told her himself. Suddenly wishing there was another croissant, but glad at the same time that there wasn’t, I backed up against the wall. My bare feet squeaked against the floor.

Even Jordan’s cold eggs called to me as images of the morning—kicking Tad, him washing my lumpy toes, opening the door to find everyone in my kitchen—melted across my mind. This had been a crazy year all around, with Tracey and Dana getting married and Jordan coming home, but this was a bit much. A bit too much.

“Shemika, if you don’t feel well, come into my room and lie down. I need to change my clothes anyway.” All eyes in the room had been focused on my feet since Jordan’s little speech and my words didn’t break the spell. I jetted through the dining room to my bedroom, daring even one tear to fall and hoping reality TV cameramen weren’t waiting behind my drapes.

Shemika followed and stretched out on my favorite comforter—the key-lime pie set I’d gotten from Austin, our newest member in the Sassy Sistahood, during our Christmas-in-July gift swap. The plump comforter plus my queen-size waterbed brought a smile to Shemika’s face.

“Nice,” she said, as I changed into a periwinkle sundress. Not my color exactly, but I wasn’t feeling myself.

I sat down on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry for all the commotion this morning. You’re welcome here anytime, you know that. I just had a bad morning. Now, tell me what’s wrong.”

She fluffed the pillow under her head. “I just don’t feel so good. My back hurts, but it’s not time yet and the doctor says to just come in tomorrow. We even went to the hospital, but they said it’s Brackstum Lips—”

“Braxton Hicks.” During the months of my son’s relationship with this girl, I had actually started to warm up to her. Her quietness had given the illusion of wisdom. She should have stuck to that plan. I tried to remind myself that she was only sixteen, no matter how old she looked.

Lord, help this child. And mine, too.

“Yeah, those. But now it’s really hurting. Every now and then. Grandma doesn’t remember all this stuff and my mother, well, she changed her number when she put me out. Maybe I can rest here for a while and go home—”

“Stay as long as you want.” I stroked her head to check for fever and thought about what she’d just said. Home. Jericho had brought the mother of his child to my house because she had nowhere to go. And his shacking-up baby’s daddy had done the right thing and taken Shemika in, given her something to call home.

True enough, my son hadn’t explained the situation to me, but as always, I jumped to the wrong conclusion. And as Jericho loved to remind me, if I’d just have signed the papers to allow him to get married while he was still legally a minor, this wouldn’t be an issue. But I couldn’t. Raising a baby was hard enough. Building a marriage was something else all together. Grown folks with steady jobs struggled at it. How could two teens with a new baby make it work? And what about his basketball? College? No, they needed an education. I’d help with the baby…somehow.

“Shemika, I’m sorry about what happened in June with the big fight about you being here with Jericho alone. If he’d told me the situation—”

She tried to sit up, but I shook my head and she eased back down. “I asked him not to tell you. I was embarrassed. I didn’t want you to think bad of my mother. She has her own problems and a baby is more than she can deal with right now.”

That stunned me for some reason. Sure, Shemika had made a big mistake, but her mother was an adult who should have done better than toss her child into the street. But here Shemika was defending her. More than I could say for myself about my own mother. I tried not to speak against her, but the way she’d abandoned me when I was pregnant with Jericho still hurt all these years later. I hadn’t realized it until now.

Kids. Who needs therapy with them around?

“Embarrassed? You didn’t need to worry about what I think. And you told Mr. Rose, right? Why weren’t you embarrassed for Jordan’s dad to know?”

She shrugged. “He’s different, you know? More like us. You’re like Grandma. All holy and everything.”

I laid down on the bed beside her and stared at the ceiling. “Shemika, I try to live by God’s Word, but I’m far from perfect. A long way from holy. I don’t know what I’ve done to give you the idea that I couldn’t or wouldn’t deal with your problems, but I’ll do better. Try harder.”

She smiled and closed her eyes. “It’s okay. Like I said, I just want to go home.”

My eyes closed, too, with images of Jordan’s glamorous town house scrolling behind them. Sure I was glad that he’d snagged a job as a consultant to the NBA, but sometimes it didn’t seem fair. Though Jordan’s “I’ve been in Mexico in a coma for the last decade” story fell hard on most people’s ears, the NBA had heard stranger tales.

And so came his new job, a fresh start, a fraction of what Jordan might have had if he’d kept playing, but so much more than he’d hoped for. I tried to be happy for him, even if the way my son had come to depend on him made me feel a little lost.

Hadn’t that been what I prayed for all those years when it was just me? That one day Jericho would have a dad he could depend on? Believe in? I hadn’t realized then that prayers seldom have an expiration date and sometimes they’re answered when you least expect it. So I went on, working hard and praying hard and trying to embrace this new life alone—no husband, no son, no single friends. The people in BASIC didn’t really count. I couldn’t really talk with any of them. They’d be shocked enough to know that I’d kicked Tad, let alone the things I thought about sometimes.

And most of them had little sympathy for my up-and-down feelings for Jordan. So what that I’d worked my fingers to the bone building a business? He’d given me the start-up money. Really, there wasn’t much I could say if he hadn’t. He was still my son’s father no matter how I turned the plate.

Shemika’s chest moved up and down, her round belly rising as if it was breathing, too. Jericho had done that in my stomach, too, even danced when I ate lasagna or Adrian Norrell’s mother played Sting full blast next door. Adrian married Dana, Jordan’s sister—but I digress. Watching Shemika sleep, I prayed for all of us, even for the guys around the league that Jordan was helping. I prayed that he’d keep them from turning out regretful, like us. Well, like him. I’d stuck around, done my duty….

I covered my eyes. Yuck. There it was, that holier-than-thou thing Shemika was talking about. Why was I like this? Why did I always have to be right? It wasn’t that I didn’t have regrets, too. I had plenty. Jordan was here now and trying to do what was right. I had to find my way out of the past and make peace with that. Somehow.

With Jordan convinced that a shotgun wedding would solve this new problem, the Jericho-and-Shemika problem, it was difficult to deal with him, especially when Jordan hadn’t married his own live-in girlfriend yet.

I reached out and touched Shemika’s stomach gently, thinking about the many women from our church I’d helped through labor. Shemika didn’t really have the look of a woman in labor, but with the young ones it was hard to tell. I once had a girl laugh and talk with me all the way to the hospital and deliver as soon as we got her into a room. This time would probably be a typical first baby, hard and long. Just like mine.

The door creaked open and Jordan entered, taking a few steps and peeking at us. When he leaned over far enough to see my open-eyed stare, he jumped back. “Girl! I thought you were sleeping, too.”

I wish.

“Nope. Just thinking.” I squirmed a little as he looked around my room. I could tell he liked it by the way he narrowed his eyes at the picture on the wall. Some things never changed.

He moved closer to the bed, then settled on a chair in the corner. “Thinking about what?”

“Nothing.” Frustration whistled through my lips. Why did just the sight of him make me angry? Maybe because hard as I’d worked to get these two kids to finish high school, he’d pressed just as hard for them to get married, something I still wouldn’t agree to. Most likely it was because of Shemika’s words earlier, that Jordan’s place was her home. The other thing that bothered me, the thing I wasn’t ready to deal with, was that the grandchild that I’d refused to deal with might be coming.

Soon.

Careful not to wake her, I reached for Shemika’s hand, praying as I touched her fingers. I wasn’t ready for this. I might never be ready. But God was ready. God was here. As I prayed, the soft flesh under her shirt stiffened into a tight ball. Her back arched, but she continued sleeping.

Jordan saw it, too. “Hey, what was that?” he whispered.

I checked the clock next to my bed—11:02 a.m. “That is the beginning of labor. Looks like our granddaughter wants to meet us a little early.”

“So what did the doctor say?” Jordan’s voice went with his feet, pacing up and down my front hall.

“They said to let her rest as long as she can. That if it’s the real thing, it’ll wake her up and we should time the contractions when it does. When they’re five minutes apart, we should bring her in.”

I nodded and started again, puttering around the kitchen, trying to make something to bring along for Shemika to eat. Every doctor was different, but some still believed in nothing but ice cubes and for a long labor that could be torture.

Somehow I sort of felt like that now, pulled by my anger one moment and my happiness the next. Angry yet happy that they’d come here, put me in the middle of it all.

I should have been happy to come home and find my son and people I hadn’t invited inside my kitchen. Throughout Jericho’s childhood, I’d turned the key in my front door every day knowing there’d probably be some child with a problem on the other side. Only this time, it was my child. My problem. And I had no solution. Only hurt and a strange hope, a joy at the thought my grandchild’s arrival remained. The feeling was stronger than I’d expected, but overshadowed by my pain.

Still, it hurt to see my son, so much a kid, trying to be a father, doing what a husband should. It made me want to go upside his head for doing this in the first place. “So you were just going to hang out and hope it stopped hurting, huh son? Sounds like a very well thought-out plan.”

My words came out sharper than I’d liked, but the question rang true. I should have been honored that my son had thought of me first (well, second—he went to his dad first) after all we’d been through this summer, but I wasn’t. I was disappointed. I tried hard not to be, but I was. This just wasn’t how it was supposed to go. God had only given me one child. There wasn’t any room for black sheep and mess-ups. This wasn’t on the program.

I wiped my eyes and kept at the cupboards until I unearthed a can of Chunky soup my son had left behind. I zipped it open with my electric opener and dumped the goo into a pot, wondering if this was how my mother had felt when she’d happened upon my growing belly? Though my mother had split town, leaving me in my aunt’s care long before my first contraction, my current emotions explained a lot. Not enough, but a lot. Maybe one day I’d be as spiritual as Shemika and even be able to defend her. For now, my feelings peaked and dipped all over the chart, resting on happily disappointed.

Jordan joined me at the stove and gathered my free hand into his. My heart did a free fall, like an eaglet tossed out of its nest. In all these months since he’d come back, he hadn’t touched me. I’d made sure of that. Even with all he’d done to me, the physical connection between the two of us hadn’t diminished. From the first time he’d held my hand at one of his father’s Sunday evening fish-fry dinners, Jordan and I were physically drawn together like two magnets on a refrigerator. Spiritually though, our poles had always been opposite. (Now he professed Christ, but loved someone else.) I tried to pull away, knowing better than to let his touch linger.

He held my hand with that loving grip of his and snaked his other hand around my waist, the way he had when I was pregnant. Though my belly was flat now, he rested his hand at my waist, barely touching my dress.

Jordan cleared his throat. “Father God, we haven’t done everything right, but let us get this right. May this baby be a grace to us, a healing. Help me to be to this girl what I wasn’t to Chelle, to Jericho. Help me to be as a grandfather everything that I wasn’t as a father. Help us all to hold together. To be a family. In Jesus’ name, Amen.” As he released me, his mouth brushed my ear.

“Amen.” My knees felt like rubber bands. Jordan’s Halston Z-14 cologne, the same scent I’d bought him for Valentine’s Day our senior year, whispered along my neck, mocking me. I felt God holding me now instead of Jordan, extending an invitation for me to walk with Him, to fly with Him on the wings of the morning, to walk into this grace, this second chance. Instead, I backed away from the pain that was Jordan, who had never been there for me, for us.

Until now.

Before I could melt down again, Jericho tiptoed into the kitchen. “Mom? She’s still sleeping, but I can see the contractions. Should I wake her? What do you think?”

I sighed, again calling upon my birth-coach training for many of the mothers of our church. First labors were always the longest and the worst and Shemika seemed calm so far. “Let her sleep. I think she’s in early labor—”

“Ohhhh.” Shemika’s voice thundered down the hall, sounding more like a moo than anything.

My eyes met with my son’s first and then with his father’s. That sound was one I’d heard before…from my own lips. I bit the inside of my cheek as the memory, the terrible pain, came flooding back. Fifty-six hours of anguish and all of it paled to the hurt of realizing that Jordan hadn’t just gone for a drink of water, that he’d run for his life and would never come back.

“Perhaps I spoke too soon. Put her things in the car,” I said, checking the kitchen clock—11:13 a.m. “We’ll watch the next few for a pattern.” My mind locked as I tried to sound calm instead of screaming like I wanted to. Why had helping strangers have their babies been so much easier than helping bring a piece of me into the world?

“We’ll stay here as long as she’s comfortable. Keep her moving, Jericho. Walking, squatting. I’ve got something for her to eat before we go.”

My son looked scared but strong. “Thanks Mom. I know this has to be hard.”

You have no idea.

Were those pink onesies and blankets still in my trunk? I hadn’t touched them in months. “I’ve got some clothes and things in the car. It’ll be fine.”

“I knew you’d know what to do. I love you, Mom.” My son pecked my cheek, leaving a wet spot on my face.

As he turned away, I blinked back a tear of my own. In all the fighting, I’d forgotten how much I missed hearing that I was loved, being called the name that had defined my very being for so many years.

Mom.

Jordan stood in the kitchen doorway with admiration and confidence in his eyes, the look that had made me fall for him in the first place. A look that said, You amaze me. You can do anything. Nobody had ever talked to me like that back then. Nobody but him. And he really must have believed it, because he left me with everything to do. I turned from him now.

His long legs covered the distance to me with ease. “I know I’ve said sorry a million times, but I have to say it again. I’m sorry.” He choked up a little. “Seeing that girl like this. Remembering—”

“Fuhgetaboutit,” I said, adding a fake laugh for decoration. He would, or course, forget about it, so he might as well do it now. I, on the other hand, wouldn’t have such a luxury. Someday soon, he’d disappear and I’d be stuck again, this time with a grandbaby to take care of. They all assured me otherwise, but I’d been around long enough to know how the story would end. He’d get his fairy tale like everyone else. Everybody but me.

Jordan leaned in closer. “I can’t forget about it. Ever. Even now, marrying Terri…I told her that I don’t know if I want to have children with her. I don’t think it’d be right. Or fair.”

My foot lifted off the floor, but I caught myself before I kicked him.

I’ve really got to try a new workout.

The pan slammed against the burner, a redirection of my anger. I wished I could escape this room, this conversation. One reason I hadn’t been able to deal with this baby, to go to Jordan’s house and even discuss it was because of her—Terri, his girlfriend. I had no reason to care, no claim to him. In truth, he’d tried to get back with me again, but too much had passed between us to make things right. Still, seeing the two of them together was hard. At least he hadn’t brought her along today.

“Have all the babies you want. It doesn’t matter to me.” I jerked away from him, ransacking the cupboards.

Another moan, this time followed by a shriek, sounded in the living room. I checked the kitchen clock—11:22 a.m. The contractions were consistent and getting closer. So much for the soup. A box of my precious Zone bars would have to do.

“You care about me, Chelle. I know you do. Sometimes I even think about calling off the wedding until you can forgive me—”

“I have forgiven you.” Another box of low-carb bars, the ones I’d bought off of a cable shopping network during a bout of insomnia, tumbled down out of the cabinet. I forced the box back into the cabinet and when it refused to stay, I wedged a box of low-carb pancake mix in front of it, wishing I had something to prop myself up with. Why hadn’t I stayed at church and let Tad give me a full pedicure? Someday I’d learn to take my blessings where I could get them.

Jordan continued. “Your head may have forgiven me, but not your heart. If so, you wouldn’t retract whenever I come near you, or look away when I enter a room. The sight of me brings you pain. I know that. If not for Jericho, I wouldn’t have stayed in this town. But I have to stay. You of all people should understand that. I have to make things better for him if I can. You did well with him. Better than I ever could have.”

“But still not good enough, or we wouldn’t be here hoping a baby won’t be born in the next room. I did everything to keep him from turning into you—into us—but it wasn’t enough. He messed up anyway.”

Shocked that I’d actually said that, I grabbed the three Coke cans they’d left on the counter and rinsed them before crushing them in my new Can Killer (another insomnia-induced purchase) and tossing them into the recycle bin. It wasn’t as gratifying as kicking people, but much safer.

“So that was your parenting goal? Keeping Jericho from becoming me? From becoming us?”

I scrubbed the counters as if my life depended on their cleanliness. “Us? That was a bad choice of words. There is no us. There never was. I don’t have your name. I only have your child. That was the only blessing that came out of my sin.”

Jordan’s face sobered. “You make it sound so horrible, like my leaving was God’s punishment to you for being with me.”

I shrugged. What difference did it make? I’d sowed a lot of bad seeds with Jordan and reaped every one. In the midst of it, God had given me more than I could ask for: His love, friends, family, a handsome, intelligent son, a business I loved. The questions didn’t matter anymore. The answer remained the same—Jesus Christ.

“We were young, Chelle. We didn’t know. We didn’t get it.”

“Didn’t we?” I stirred the soup like a madwoman, trying to hide my trembling hands. “It doesn’t matter whether we knew or not, Jordan. God knew. He’s loving, but He’s holy. He couldn’t change that for us.” I leaned forward to listen for Shemika. Nothing. “He can’t change it for them, either. It is what it is—”

Jordan kissed the back of my neck.

Even after so many years, my body melted at his butterfly kiss, reserved for times when words wouldn’t suffice. My womanhood leaped to her feet and sighed in satisfaction. I pushed her back. And him, too.

My heel crunched down on his toes. I was embarrassed and sorry for doing it, but he wasn’t going to toy with me like this. I’d come too far, been through too much. I was past angry now. I was “salty,” as his sister Dana would say.

“Ow!”

We both turned. Shemika’s voice carried over Jordan’s grumbling. I stared at the clock—11:26 a.m. This one was closer. Too close.

Jordan gave me a puzzled look and let his hurt foot drop to the floor. He took my shoulders into his big, brown hands.

“It’s time, isn’t it?” he asked in a steady tone.

I nodded and pulled away, turning off the stove and grabbing my protein bars plus the extra pack I’d so carefully put back. I tossed the soup pot into the dishwater to soak. Jordan looked at me as if I was insane. I sucked my teeth. “Nobody else has to think about later, but I do. When I come back home, I’ll be alone.”

Jordan ignored my words. “Just tell me what to do. I’m here for you. For us. Whatever you need.”

How I’d love to believe that, but I just can’t.

“Thanks.”

It took us a lot of stopping and starting between contractions to make it to the living room. When we made it there, the doorbell rang.

No one moved at first.

“I’ll get that if you’d like,” Jordan said.

I nodded. There was no way I could untangle myself from Shemika now if I tried. Her arms were around my neck, her hair in my face…and my son was holding up the both of us.

As entwined as I was, I heard the woman’s voice at the door. Terri, Jordan’s girlfriend.

“I never thought it’d be this bad,” Shemika whispered as we struggled forward after the next contraction.

“It’s not bad, even though it feels bad,” I said. “It’s good. It’s bringing your daughter to you. To us. Now hold my hand. We’re all here for you.”

Terri fluttered toward us like a bird made of pink silk. I tried to ignore her, but that was a tall order.

“That’s right, darling. I’m here. Breathe just like we did in the class. Puff! Puff! Puff!” Jordan’s girlfriend pushed around me to reach for Shemika’s hand, but I couldn’t get out of the way. Nor did I want to. Puffing was good if you were trying to smoke a cigarette, but it wouldn’t help now. Reading books about having babies and actually having them were two different things. I was about to tell Miss Thing so, but Jordan beat me to it.

“Terri, thanks for being so supportive, honey, but I’m going to need for you to go.”

One of her rings, a starburst diamond, almost gouged out my eye as she whirled around. “What?”

“You heard me, hon. We’re going to the hospital now. My family needs me.”

Her bottom lip quivered. I looked away. Terri wasn’t my favorite person, but this was a private thing.

“But…but…aren’t I your family too, Jordan?”

He took a deep breath. “If we were married, you could come. We’re not. This is Rochelle’s home, sweetheart. You shouldn’t have come here. We talked about that, remember? Now, relax and go home. I’ll be back soon.” He smiled. “Hopefully with baby pictures.”

With that, he took Shemika’s hand and pulled her to the door. Jericho and I helped her outside, one of her arms over each of our shoulders. Jordan joined us again as we paused for two more contractions then finally got Shemika into the car. It wasn’t until the hospital floor chilled my bare soles that I realized that I’d never put on any shoes.