The McCoys of Holy Rock

by Shelia E. Bell

  "I'm tired. I'm tired of fighting the devil. I'm getting too old. I've messed up too much in my life. I have to pay for what I've done, for the people whose lives I've ruined, for turning my back on my own flesh and blood, my only real son."

  "Pay for the lives you've ruined? I'm here to let you know, you don't have that much power. And who hasn't messed up? Tell me one person that hasn't regretted doing something, not doing something, saying something they shouldn't have or not saying something they should have, including me. We're not perfect. The Bible says we all have sinned and fallen short. You know that as well as I do."

  Pastor didn't respond.

  "You can at least try to engage in conversation. Come on, now," Josie said, her concern making a statement in her voice.

  "I'm sorry. And you're right; none of us are perfect. But I'm not talking about everybody; I'm talking about me. I need you, Lord," Pastor shifted his conversation to the spiritual realm. “I can't keep going through this. I need you to heal this situation. Heal this family. Heal my wounds, Father God."

  "That's right, call on the good Lord." Josie walked over to her husband and placed a hand on his shoulder. "He's the only one who can bring you out of this funk. I can't begin to tell you that I know how you feel. So much has happened to you and to this family. It's been traumatizing, to say the least. But I know you, Chauncey. You're a man of faith. People come to you for counsel, so now it's time for you to use your own words of wisdom and advice."

  Pastor turned to face his wife, reaching out and pulling her by the waist to himself. He hugged on her and then kissed her.

  "I love you," Josie said and kissed him back.

  "I love you, too. You know, I've been thinking about Rena. I wonder how she's doing. She refused to talk to me when we went up there to the Jackson's memorial service."

  "Have you tried calling her since then?"

  "Once, but of course she didn't answer."

  "Why don't you send her a card with a message or try calling her again. She's hurting just like we are. She lost both of her parents so tragically. It was all so senseless."

  "Yes, it was senseless. I still can't wrap my mind around any of it."

  "I'm sure none of us can. But as for Rena, she needs time to heal and to process everything that’s happened in her life. I'm just thankful that she has a husband and kids to help her through this. I say just back off and leave her be for now. God has a way of working everything out in his own time."

  Pastor eased away from Josie and stood up. "Again, you're right. Everything will be fine. I'm going to go into the family room. It's almost time for Black-ish to come on. You joining me?"

  Josie gingerly batted her eyes and smiled to herself. Thank you that healing is on the way, Lord, she prayed within. "You know I am. I love that show. Let me finish making my tea and I’ll warm up your dinner, too."

  ‡

  In her bedroom, Rena laid alone in the darkness. The house was empty. Robert was at work and the kids were at school. As winter gave way to the first day of spring the forecast called for an expected twelve inches of snow. The cold wintry like weather outside was a perfect correlation to the coldness that formed itself around her heart. The pain of having to bury her parents had not subsided. Quite the opposite, she couldn't function, didn't want to care for the kids or her husband, didn't want to go to work or eat. She remained on leave from work, and her primary care physician prescribed her meds for her anxiety and depression, which only enhanced her desire to do nothing but sleep.

  She laid in the bed thinking about how much she despised the Grahams. They had brought nothing but misery to her life. Pastor and Stiles even had the audacity to come to Andover for her parents' funeral. How could they have been so bold? Seeing them was like rubbing salt into a fresh, open wound.

  Both of the men had called her several times and she rejected their calls and then she blocked their numbers altogether. If she never heard anything else from either of them or about them it would be too soon. As for Francesca, she hadn't wished death on her ex-lover, but Rena found it difficult, almost impossible, to fully grieve for her. Too much hurt had been inflicted and she couldn't find any place in her heart for forgiveness. Instead, she secretly wished that Stiles and Pastor had been in the line of the bullets and not her parents.

  When Robert arrived home from work, he entered the room and clicked on the light. He looked at his wife curled up in the bed, her eyes staring off into space.

  "Rena," he called but she didn't answer. She didn't even flinch or look around at him. "Rena," he called again. Still no answer.

  Robert turned and walked back out of the room. Minutes later, the twins burst into the bedroom.

  "Mommy, we got out of school early," one of the twins said.

  "Yeah, it's snowing outside. Look," the other twin said, dashing to the window and opening the blinds.

  "Close that blind!" Rena bellowed. "No one told you to come in here and touch a thing!"

  "But we just wanted to show you the snow."

  Rena suddenly felt bad for yelling at her kids without reason. "Look, Mommy’s sorry. I'm just tired and the light hurts my eyes. So please just go to your rooms and play. Okay?"

  "Yes, ma'am," the both of them said in unison and then jetted out of the room.

  "Close the do--," she said but they had disappeared before she could finish the end of her sentence, which forced her to get up and close the door herself.

  While climbing back in the bed, she stopped and looked when she saw her reflection in the dresser mirror. Her hair was all over her head. Dark circles were underneath her eyes, revealing her unspoken pain. Her lips were parched and she looked frail and quite thin.

  Robert returned to the room a second time and saw Rena staring at herself in the mirror. "You need to talk to somebody, Rena. Staying in this room, yelling at the kids, not eating and not going to work, is just not good for you or for us."

  Anger lit up her eyes. "My parents are dead! And you, you want to waltz up in here and tell me that I need to talk to somebody. You want to chastise me for being hurt. How dare you!" she said as hot tears rolled down her cheeks.

  "You know better than that. I would never make light of your parents' deaths. I hurt, too, Rena, and you think the kids don’t miss their grandparents. We’re all hurting. But we have to go on with our lives, sweetheart. That's all I'm trying to say. You can't spend the rest of your life holed up in a dark room."

  "If you don't like it why don't you leave, or better yet, I can leave. I don't have to put up with this. I have enough on me already." She got back in the bed and jerked the covers up around her neck.

  Robert shook his head regretfully before turning around and walking back out the room. He tried to understand what his wife was going through, but the longer she acted like this, the harder it became for him to deal with her. The kids were suffering because they wanted their mommy, the mommy they knew and loved. The woman in the bedroom was a totally different person. She was full of anger and rage and Robert didn't know how to help her. He talked to her sister on a couple of occasions but that hadn't helped matters because she seemed far removed from what had occurred. The only advice she could offer Robert was for him to give Rena more time to grieve.

  Robert tried to do all that he could to keep his anger in check. He wanted so much for his wife to get better but it seemed with each passing day, she was getting worse. He hoped she wasn't abusing the pills the doctor prescribed. Something had to give. He wasn't saying that he expected her to be one hundred percent better. But seeing that it had now been over two months since the death of her parents he hoped that she would have returned to work and began to try to live her life without them. From what he could see, she was far from moving forward and he knew it wasn't healthy. This was definitely taking a toll on him and the kids.

  "Hey, kids," Robert called out as he left his bedroom.

  The kids bolted out of their bedrooms at the sound of their father's voice and gathered around him i
n the hallway.

  "Whaddaya say we order pizza for dinner this evening," Robert told the bunch.

  "Woohoo," the twins, Rachel and Riana squealed while the older kids, eight-year old Robbie and twelve-year old Isabelle gave each other high fives.

  "Order pepperoni and sausage," said Robbie.

  "Noooo, cheese," said one of the twins.

  "Hold up, let's go downstairs. We don't want to disturb your mother."

  "Is Mommy going to eat with us this time?" Riana asked, looking hopeful.

  "We'll see. But first, let's go downstairs and decide what kind of pizzas we're going to order."

  25

  I wanted to tell you all my secrets but you became one of them instead. Unknown

  Detria paced across her bedroom floor, her face furrowed with worry. After she called 9-1-1 she waited until paramedics arrived at the condo and watched them whisk Hezekiah away. One of the EMTs asked her if she wanted to ride in the ambulance but she lied and told them she would follow them in her car. There was no way she wanted to take the chance of anyone finding out that she was the one who called 911, and that she was the one he had been with. He would have enough to explain when he got better about why he was at a condo that his wife knew nothing about.

  Hezekiah had the condo in Holy Rock's name. He told Detria that if anyone other than the two people who were instrumental in helping him get the condo found out about it, then he would just tell them he leased the condo as a place to escape from all of the hustle and bustle of being a pastor. Fancy would be more than upset with him if she discovered his hideout, but at the end of the day he knew how to settle her down. All he had to do was buy her something expensive, take her on a trip, and make love to her like crazy.

  Detria called the hospital to inquire about Hezekiah's condition. "Hello, could you tell me how Hezekiah McCoy is doing please and if he's been put in a room? He was brought in a few hours ago by ambulance."

  "May I ask your relationship to the patient, please?" The person on the other end of the line asked.

  "I'm...his sister," Detria told the woman.

  "Hold on please."

  Detria held the line for several minutes before the woman returned to the phone. "I'm sorry ma'am, but we have no patient information on a Hezekiah McCoy."

  "That can't be. The ambulance took him to Regional One. I'm sure of it."

  "I'm sorry, but we have no Hezekiah McCoy." The woman hung up the phone.

  Detria didn't know what to think. She was certain they took him to Regional One. Maybe they transferred him to another hospital. Or maybe... "Oh my God, is Hezekiah dead?" Is that why they have no information?" she cried. "Oh, God, please don't let him be dead." Her knees buckled as she nearly collapsed into the bedroom chair.

  She contacted every hospital in Memphis and no one had patient information about a Hezekiah McCoy. After having no luck with her search, she decided to text Khalil. She would see if he said anything about his father and that way she could find out what was going on.

  "Hey babe. WYD"

  "will call u soon. my dad n hospital," Khalil texted back almost immediately.

  "OMG! Hospital? Wat happened?"

  "idk. running tests. ttyl."

  Detria was relieved that Hezekiah was alive. All she needed to do now was find out what had happened. She didn't know for sure if he had a heart attack, a stroke, or what. When she found him on the floor, he was barely conscious and couldn't talk or move. Had he passed out and hit his head on something when he fell?

  Her cell phone rang. She looked at it and immediately pushed the Accept button.

  "Who knows you were with him tonight?" the man asked.

  "What are you talking about? Who says I was with him at all?"

  "Don't play games with me. You're the one who called 9-1-1. Who else did you call?" the man demanded.

  "No one, what are you talking about? What's up with you anyway? I don't like the way you're talking to me," she retorted.

  "What happened tonight?"

  "I already told you, nothing happened. He was getting ready to leave and I heard a loud noise. I jumped up and that's when I found him lying in the hallway. Is he going to be all right?"

  "He's conscious. He had a stroke."

  "Oh, Lord. How is he? And what hospital is he at? When I called Regional One they said they didn't have a Hezekiah McCoy and neither did the other hospitals."

  "Good to know that privacy feature is in effect. But to answer your question, right now he can barely talk and he’s paralyzed on his left side. I don't think he remembers what happened," George told her. "But that may not be permanent. Could just be the initial reaction to the stroke. Don't know if there's brain damage yet or not."

  "I just thank God he's alive."

  "Yeah, you got that right. I get paid to know where he is and who he's with, especially when it involves him running around with the likes of females like you, so you should be glad he's okay."

  "I don't know how to take that, George."

  "Take it like this; if he's okay, you're okay, but if I find out you said a word to anyone, you'll be sorry. The First Lady is already asking questions. He was supposed to be visiting one of the members at Baptist Hospital. She wants to know where he was and who he was with."

  "I don't have anything to do with that so don't threaten me, George."

  George didn't react to her words. Instead he said, "I'll call you back when I have more news. In the meantime, I went to the condo and made sure Pastor McCoy didn't leave anything behind. You lay low and don't breathe a word to your boy toy. And don't barrage him with questions about his father."

  "Why would I do that?"

  "Let's just say, since you and the pastor have been an item I've come to know you quite well."

  "And?" replied Detria

  "And, I know what you're capable of, Dee. Now you sit over there in that big fancy mansion of yours and keep your pretty little mouth shut," George said and abruptly ended the call without saying goodbye.

  The phone rang again. Detria answered with hesitation. "What do you want, Skip?" she said with irritation.

  "Your son is fine, but believe it or not, he misses his mama. Since you don't seem to be interested, I thought I would call and let you know that."

  "Oh, how kind of you," she said with bitter sarcasm. "And why are you hassling me? You got him with you. That's what you wanted, so get off my back."

  "You're a piece of work. You know that? A real genuine piece of work. You don't bother to get him when it's his time to be with you. You don't call to check on him. It's been months since he stayed at your crib for more than a night and even that was only God knows when. You don't care about your own kid. For God's sake, what's wrong with you?"

  "Is this why you called? To try to put me on a guilt trip? And to harass me? Well, I don't have time for it tonight or any other night, Skip. You and your little wifey keep taking care of Elijah and don't call me unless something is wrong with him. You understand? Leave me alone!"

  "You don't even want to tell your son goodnight?"

  Detria did not respond but abruptly ended the call, got up out of the chair, and went to the bathroom. It had been an exhausting evening and she was tired, sleepy, and hungry. She started a bath, added bubbles, and lit candles around the tub. While her water was running, she buzzed Priscilla on the intercom and asked her to make her a light snack and bring it to her room.

  While she bathed, she thought about what was going on at the hospital. George told her that he would call her back, but she doubted that he would. Maybe she should text Khalil, just to ask him how Hezekiah was doing, but changed her mind when she thought about what George had said.

  ‡

  Fancy was practically inconsolable when she arrived at the hospital with her sons and discovered Hezekiah was in critical condition.

  “Is he going to be all right?” she asked the nurse at the station.

  Khalil and Xavier stood on each side of her for emotional and physica
l support.

  “We’ll know more when the doctor comes out. He’s still with your husband and they’re doing everything they possibly can for him. Please go in the ICU waiting area up the hall,” she pointed toward her right, “and I’ll come and let you know as soon as I hear something.”

  “Come on, Mother,” Khalil said, leading her in the direction the nurse pointed.

  Fancy slowly walked along the hospital corridors with her sons. “I don’t know what I’ll do if Hezekiah doesn’t pull through.”

  “Mom, don’t think like that,” Khalil said.

  “Yeah, Ma. Dad’s going to be good,” said Xavier nervously.

  They rounded the corner and approached the entrance to the ICU waiting room. Entering the room, they saw two other people plus a familiar face – George.

  He stood up when Fancy entered the waiting room.

  “First Lady, how are you?” he asked as he walked up to her and embraced her. He held onto her for several seconds.

  “What happened to him, George? I know you’re always by Hezekiah’s side. Was he still at Baptist Hospital when this happened? I don’t understand. And if he was at Baptist why did they bring him to Regional One? I’m just so nervous and upset. I don’t know what to do,” she cried.

  George tightened his embrace to provide some comfort to her. “Calm down, First Lady. None of that matters. What matters is that he’s here and he’s getting the best care possible. And you know Pastor McCoy; he’s one tough rascal. He’s going to come through this with flying colors. You wait and see.”

  George stepped back out of the embrace, took her by her hand, and led her to a nearby sofa type chair and she sat down.

  “Would you like some coffee or water?” George asked.

  Fancy shook her head. “No, thank you. I just want to see my husband. I want to see for myself that he’s okay.”