by T. D. Jakes
“Light of my life,” Julie said. “I don’t know how I’d live without him.”
Clarice smiled, hoping the jab of chagrin she felt wasn’t showing in her face. Julie helped Clarice get back into her walking cast, then gathered up her mat.
“Good-bye, Mrs. Clark. It was nice to meet you.” Mama gave her a limp wave; Clarice suppressed the urge to roll her eyes.
She and Julie agreed on a time to meet the following week as Clarice was walking her to the door. She watched as Julie went to her car and got in. But the car didn’t start. Clarice watched as Julie fiddled with the ignition. After a few minutes, she shook her head and got back out of the car.
“I’ve been having trouble with my ignition switch,” she said. “Looks like it finally jammed completely. I can’t start my car.”
Just then, David pulled into the driveway.
“Hi, Julie,” he said as he got out. “How’s the patient?”
“The one who lives here is great,” Julie said, “but the one I’m driving is terminal. My car won’t start. I think the ignition switch is jammed.”
“David, she has to go get her son from school,” Clarice said. “Can you take her and drop her off? Maybe we can get somebody to come look at her car in the meantime.”
“Oh, that’s too much trouble,” Julie protested.
“No, you go on,” Clarice said. “David?”
“Well . . . sure. Come on, Julie. What school does Bryson go to?”
Julie looked at Clarice, then David. “Are you sure?”
David walked around and opened the passenger door of the Accord. “One hundred percent sure. Let’s go.”
Clarice went back inside and closed the door. Mama was staring at her, and Clarice knew something was coming. She just didn’t know what.
“He took her home?”
“Yes, ma’am. Her car won’t start.”
“Mmm-hmm. That’s what she said.”
“Mama! What are you hinting at?”
“Nothing.” Mama picked up the magazine she’d been looking at and stuck it in front of her face like a shield.
Chapter Nine
I really appreciate this,” Julie said, as they were driving away from Dave’s house.
“And I really appreciate what you’re doing for Clarice, so let’s just call it even.”
They drove for a while in silence. “So, how’d she do today? Really?” Dave asked finally.
“Better than I expected, actually,” Julie said. “Her attitude seems a lot more positive. More so when we finished than when we started, as a matter of fact.”
“Yeah, I could see it in her face, even in just the short time I was there. You were good for her. Just what she needed.”
“I’m glad you think so. I meant what I said before. I really do think it’s great the way you look after her.”
Dave shrugged. “I don’t know. Clarice is pretty independent-minded. Sometimes it seems like I get in her way more than I help.”
He could feel her eyes on him. “Maybe you do and maybe you don’t,” Julie said in a few seconds, “but I’m here to tell you that a man who really cares is not such a common article as some people seem to think. Clarice is lucky to have you.”
Something started blooming in Dave’s chest then, a spot of warmth that started small and grew, spreading a comfortable glow all through his insides.
“Thanks. That was a nice thing for you to say.”
“Just call ’em as I see ’em,” she said, looking out the windshield. She pointed. “Left here.”
“Bryson goes to Thomas Middle School?”
Julie nodded.
“Yeah, when I was coaching, we used to get some of our best athletes from Thomas.”
“What did you coach?”
“Football, of course. No getting around that in this part of the country. But I really loved coaching baseball. I still coach a little, as a matter of fact. Just volunteer, though . . . Little League.”
“No kidding? I always thought Bryson would get involved in Little League someday, but we just never got around to it, I guess. He has his swimming, of course.”
“Well, hey, we should get him out on the diamond sometime. The kids over in Eastside are a little rough around the edges, but Bryson might enjoy it.”
“Eastside? Why would you coach over there? Oh, gosh. Sorry if that sounded bad.”
“Naw, that’s what everybody says when they find out what I’m doing. Shoot, even my lawyer friend said it—right before I talked him into being my assistant. I’ll tell you, Julie, the way I see it, most folks talk about how bad the cities are getting, but they don’t get around to doing anything about it. And the reason they don’t, I think, is because they think they can’t. They think what the cities need is more police or more government money or more jail time or higher fences or . . . I don’t know. But what they ought to be doing is figuring out what they can do, then doing it someplace where it can make a difference.
“Now, me, I’m a coach at heart. Always have been, always will be. So I figure what I can do is take some kids who were born competitive—good Lord, you have to be competitive just to stay alive over in Eastside—and give them something to compete about that’s constructive instead of destructive. I don’t know if our little team’ll keep them out of the gangs and off crack, but it’s bound to be better than if they weren’t playing ball. At least, that’s how I see it.”
She was looking at him with a strange expression, something between a smile and disbelief. “That’s wonderful, Dave. Really wonderful. I’m very impressed.”
He shrugged and waved her off. “What about you, Julie? What are you interested in—besides your son’s swimming career, of course.”
She gave him a sort of confused smile and stared off into the distance for a few seconds. “You know, that’s a good question. I got married and had a baby, and for a while I was a stay-at-home mom, which pretty much took up twenty-five hours a day. Then Ted left and I had to go back to work. That plus taxiing Bryson back and forth seems to soak up most of the average week. So I guess I don’t really know what I’m interested in, to tell you the truth.”
“Ted was your husband?”
“Was. Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
“But there must have been something, back in the day, you know? When Julie was a little girl, what did she dream of doing someday?”
He drove a block and a half before she answered.
“I always wanted to learn how to fly,” she said in a voice so quiet he could barely hear.
He thought about that for a minute. “Well . . . I bet you get the chance someday.”
“Thank you. I hope you’re right.”
The space in the front seat was different now. It felt to Dave as if something had crossed the empty air between them, like a thin line carried across a canyon by a bowshot. Sometimes that was how you started a bridge. What was starting here?
Bryson was waiting by the flagpole in front of the school, but he wasn’t expecting the Accord. Julie had to get out of the car and wave to attract his attention. He hustled over and crawled into the backseat.
“Car wouldn’t start,” Julie told him. “Lucky for us Mr. Johnson was willing to give us a ride, or you’d be pretty late for swim practice.”
“Thanks, Mr. Johnson,” Bryson said.
“Mr. Johnson’s my dad,” Dave said, “and he lives in Tennessee. How about you just call me ‘Coach’?”
“Sure . . . Coach.”
“Now, how do we get to this swim club?”
Cruising down the freeway, Dave listened as Bryson filled his mom in on the school day. It tickled him to hear Bryson complaining about his teachers and gossiping about who was “going out” with whom.
“Say, Bryson. When you said Cal and Becky were ‘going out,’ what exactly does that mean? Where they going?”
“Well, they’re not really going anywhere, they’re just . . . going out.”
; “If they not going anywhere, how can they be going out?”
“See, going out is like . . . they like each other.”
“Oh, I see. You like Cal, too?”
“Well, sure . . . I mean, he’s a friend of mine, I guess, but, umm . . . he and Becky are going out, see, and—”
“But where they going?”
Julie was grinning at him, then at her son, clearly enjoying listening to him trying to explain to a rank outsider the intricate customs governing middle-school romance.
“If you can make sense of this, Dave, you’re way more hip than me,” she said.
“Aw, I’m just trying to give Bryson a hard time.”
Bryson rolled his eyes and grinned.
They got to the swim club; Julie and Bryson got out. Bryson came to Dave’s window and stuck out his hand. “Thanks again, Coach. Sorry my mom’s car broke down.”
“You know what, Bryson? I’m glad it did, ’cause I really enjoyed talking to you.”
“Me too.” He shouldered his backpack and jogged toward the entry to the pool. Julie was still standing beside the car, watching her son go. She turned to Dave.
“Dave, really, thanks so much. And thanks for talking to Bryson. He thrives on male attention. His dad doesn’t give him much of that.”
“Well, that’s too bad, ’cause I can tell a great kid when I see one. You gonna need a ride home from here? And what about in the morning?”
“Oh, I can probably get one of the other moms to take me home from here. In the morning we’ll figure it out. What should I do about my car being in your driveway?”
“You should let me worry about it.”
She gave him a confused look. “Well . . . if you say so.”
“I do. You got your cell phone?”
She nodded.
“All right. I’ll take care of your car and call you to let you know what I did. And I can come by and get you and Bryson situated in the morning, no problem.”
She offered him a grateful smile. “I don’t know what to say.”
Dave shrugged. “Don’t say nothin’. Now you better get on in there and watch your boy make you proud.”
As he drove away from the swim club, Dave noticed a tiny voice at the back of his skull asking if he was sure about his motives in being so nice to Julie and her son. He told the voice to mind its own business, that he was just doing what any slightly helpful person would do under the same circumstances. But the voice didn’t buy that. Instead, it asked him if he would’ve pulled out all the stops like this if Julie, say, weighed about two hundred and ten pounds, or if Bryson had a smart mouth, or if Clarice had been sitting in the front seat listening to everything he and Julie had talked about.
When Julie was a little girl, what did she dream of doing someday?
The voice wanted to know if that was the kind of question you asked somebody when all you were trying to do was be helpful.
Dave decided to ignore the voice for a while.
When he got home, he called the garage where he took the vehicles for his business. He told Frank, the owner, that he needed a favor and got him to send a guy over with a replacement ignition key cylinder for Julie’s car. Frank groused about it a little, but Dave reminded him how much business he gave the garage and Frank let up, as Dave knew he would. They’d done this dance before. Then he called Brock to see if his friend could follow him to Julie’s house in his car so he could deliver her vehicle tonight. Brock was just leaving the office and suggested that Dave call him when he was ready to go.
Clarice was standing at the kitchen counter doing some kind of leg exercise when he came in. “You get them where they needed to be?” she asked when he hung up from talking to Brock.
Dave nodded. “I’ll have Brock bring me back. She needs her car in the morning.”
Clarice agreed. “David . . . you were right about her. She was really helpful to me. For more than just my leg, too.”
There was a loud sniff from the couch. They both looked in Mama’s direction, then back at each other. Dave rolled his eyes and Clarice gave him a little grin and a shrug.
“I’m glad to hear it, baby girl,” he said. “You been pretty down for a while now. It’s good to see you doing your exercises and working on getting better.”
Clarice looked as if she were going to say something else, but then she shook her head.
“What?”
“Nothing,” she said. “I’ll tell you later.” She tucked a crutch under her right arm and went toward the bedroom. “I’m going to change,” she said over her shoulder.
Dave warmed some leftover lasagna in the microwave. He put servings on three small plates and set two of them on the kitchen counter. The third one he carried toward the couch.
“Mrs. Clark? You want some lasagna?”
“I guess so,” she said, giving the lasagna a look like she thought it might contain some kind of insect.
Dave was walking back toward the kitchen when, on a whim, he went to the wine rack and pulled out a bottle of Chilean merlot. He uncorked it and poured a glass for himself and one for Clarice. “How about some dinner?” he said when she came back to the living room a few minutes later.
“All right.”
Not much enthusiasm, but at least she didn’t tell me to eat in the garage.
They ate sitting in the armchairs on either side of the couch, watching a fairly stale rerun of Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. About the time Dave had finished his lasagna, the doorbell rang. It was the mechanic from Frank’s place; he’d finished replacing the ignition cylinder in Julie’s car. Dave gave him his credit card information and told him to have Frank run it through and send him a receipt. He also handed the guy a twenty. “Get some burgers on the way home, man. And thanks for coming over and taking care of this.” The guy stuck the bill in his pocket and left.
He closed the door and went back to the couch to pick up his plate and empty wine glass. Clarice was looking at him curiously.
“What?”
“That was a nice thing you just did, paying for her car.”
“Why? You think I shouldn’t have?”
“No, I just said it was nice.”
Clarice’s mother was staring at both of them like somebody listening to people speaking in a foreign language.
“Yeah, but you said it with something else hiding in the back of your face,” Dave said.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, David. Can’t I give you a compliment?” She moved her eyes pointedly toward her mother, then back to him.
She’s trying to give me props in front of her mom. Dave wasn’t sure why Clarice thought that was going to change anything between him and her mother, but he guessed he ought to be grateful she was making the attempt.
“Sure, baby, whatever. Thanks.”
She turned back toward Fresh Prince. She carefully pried a piece of lasagna away from the portion still remaining on her plate, speared it very precisely with her fork, put it in her mouth, and began chewing. Dave picked up his plate and glass and went to the kitchen. He felt Mrs. Clark’s eyes following him every step of the way.
Maybe Clarice was right, or maybe he was just feeling guilty because of what that voice in his head had said back at the swim club. There wasn’t anything wrong with paying for something when somebody had helped your family the way Julie had. Was there?
He called Brock and asked him to come on over. Then he called Julie. She answered on the first ring. He could hear the sound of kids’ voices and splashing in the background.
“Y’all haven’t left yet?”
“Oh, hi, Dave. Actually, we were just walking out when you called.”
“Okay, you want me to bring your car to your house? It’s all ready for you.”
“Dave . . . that is so nice, but I can’t let you pay for—”
“Uh-uh, now. Don’t even go there. All I need to know is where to bring your car. My buddy’s going to follow me over there and bring me home. You remember the guy I told you a
bout? The lawyer? So, where do we need to go?”
She gave him her address and he said it back to her. “All right then. See you there.”
Brock knocked on the door a few minutes later.
“Reesie, I’ll be right back, okay?” said Dave. She waved at him without looking. But her mother was staring at him hard enough for both of them.
Nothing wrong with what I’m doing. If I was planning an affair, would I be talking with her in front of my wife . . . and her mother, for crying out loud? ’Course not. Just helping somebody out, that’s all it is. Ain’t nothing to it.
He told Brock the address as he was opening Julie’s car door. He nearly broke his kneecap on the steering wheel before he remembered she was shorter than he was. When he had the seat adjusted so he could fit behind the wheel, he inserted the key the mechanic had given him. The switch turned smoothly and the car started right up.
Julie lived in a pretty nice part of town. Her house was a nice, fairly new brick home with a low, rambling modern-ranch look. Dave guessed the house was one of the few useful things her ex had left her. He hoped the guy was sending child support; the payments on this place couldn’t be chicken feed.
He pulled into the driveway almost at the same time Julie and Bryson were getting out of another vehicle that had just pulled alongside the curb in front of the house.
“Hi, Coach,” Bryson said, waving. Dave pointed at him and gave him a thumbs-up.
Brock came over. “Bryson, I want you to meet Mr. Brock Houseman, brilliant attorney and so-so baseball coach. Brock, this is my man Bryson. His mom is Clarice’s physical therapist.”
Bryson stuck out his hand and Brock shook it. “Hey, Bryson, glad to meet you.”
“Glad to meet you, Mr. Houseman.”
Julie walked up as the other car was pulling away from the curb. She turned to wave at the woman who was driving, then turned back to Dave and Brock.
“Well, hello again,” she said. “You’re really being way too nice to me.”
“I don’t think so. Julie, I want you to meet Brock Houseman, that lawyer buddy I was telling you about.”
“Thanks a lot, Dave. I was going to tell her I was a piano player in a bordello,” Brock said.