by T. D. Jakes
“Awright, then, that’s settled.”
The waiter brought their drinks and set a basket of bread on the table. The basket was one of those red oval plastic jobs that looked like it was used to holding a Burger Buster Basket with fries and ketchup. Dave pinched off some bread and offered the basket to Julie. She pulled out a piece for herself and took a bite, chewing as she gave him a thoughtful look.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just you.” She looked at him a few seconds longer. “I’m wondering if I should tell you something.”
“Well, it sounds like you already started. Why not finish?”
She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “You’re just a bottom-line kind of guy, aren’t you, Coach?”
He shrugged and waited.
“It’s just that I’m not used to anyone taking an interest in Bryson. Or . . .”
“Or you?”
She gave him a startled, deer-in-the-headlights look. After a few seconds, she nodded. “I guess so.”
“Well, Miss Julie, I . . .” Careful, boy. Careful, careful, careful . . .
A plastic plate loaded with cannelloni and swimming in marinara sauce chunked onto the table in front of him. Another one landed in front of Julie, then the waiter was gone.
Dave stared at his food for a few seconds, suddenly grateful for the interruption. When he looked up, her eyes were digging into him like a drill boring through soft pine. Then she nodded.
“Never mind,” she said. “You don’t have to say it.”
They started eating their pasta. Dave asked about Bryson’s school, what kind of music he liked, if he was into the ladies yet, who his friends were. He was trying to keep the conversation light and neutral, but there was a part of his mind that realized all the questions about Julie’s son were only proxies for the questions he wanted to be asking about her. For example: How could any man in his right mind walk out on a woman as beautiful, talented, and caring as Julie? And why wasn’t she with someone already? Someone who could see what was so plain to Dave—that here was a woman worth cherishing.
He kept these questions out of his mouth, though, and kept stuffing in pasta and bread. But every so often, despite his efforts to guard himself, he thought he must have let something leak out of his eyes, shown something in the way he looked at her. Because every so often, he caught her looking at him the same way.
And then an image flashed across his mind from the dream that woke him a few nights before. Dave tried to stuff it back where it came from, but his mind got away from him and followed its own lead. He saw their bodies entwined together on the table, her pale flesh pressed against his dark flesh. He imagined the look on her face when he kissed her . . .
Come on, man! Where you going? This isn’t about that—is it?
They were finishing up their second glasses of tea when someone grabbed Dave’s shoulder.
“Hey, Dave, Julie. What are you guys doing here?”
Dave looked up. It was Brock.
Chapter Thirteen
His friend’s eyes moved back and forth, from his face to Julie’s. “I was sitting over in the back there. I didn’t even see you guys come in.”
“Well, hey, Brock, whassup?” Dave said, doing his best imitation of a man who was glad to see someone. “I didn’t know you ever came to this place.”
“Well, my office is just down the street,” Brock said. “I come here all the time. But I never saw you here before.”
“Hey, Coach Brock,” Julie said. “Who’s ahead today, the good guys or the bad guys?”
“Hard to tell, Julie, hard to tell. Depends on whom you’re representing, I guess.”
“Integrity for sale,” she said, shaking her head.
“Ouch. I really wish you hadn’t found out I was a lawyer until a little later on in our relationship.”
She shrugged and grinned. “I call ’em as I see ’em.”
Dave felt a little surge of jealousy. Those words are for me, not him.
“I’ll bet you do. Well, gotta run, guys,” he said, clamping a hand on Dave’s shoulder and giving it a brotherly squeeze. “No rest for the innocent.”
“So what’s your excuse?” Julie said.
Brock pointed at her and shook his head. “Shame on you. I’m going to have to change my opinion of you.” He gave them a final grin and wave. Dave thought his eyes lingered on them for an extra instant, then he turned toward the cash register and started reaching for his wallet.
Dave turned back to Julie. “Well. I didn’t expect to see him in here today.”
“Who did you expect?”
He moved his fork around on his plate for a few seconds. “You, I guess.”
“Okay then. Mission accomplished.”
He gave her a guilty grin from under his eyebrows. “Yeah.”
“I gotta get back to work,” she said, reaching for her purse. He put a hand on her arm.
“No, I got this.”
“No, definitely not,” she said. Her voice had an edge to it, one that told him he needed to sit back and pay attention. “I’ll pay for my own this time.”
“Sure. Well, then . . . thanks for meeting me on such short notice.”
She softened slightly. “Thanks for calling. I think.”
He gave her another twisted grin. “Yeah. I think, too.”
Michelle came into Clarice’s office without knocking. She closed the door, then sat herself down in one of Clarice’s armchairs and aimed a flat, no-nonsense look at her boss.
“What?” Clarice said, after enough seconds had passed that she assumed she was going to have to provide the opening.
“Something going on with you, sister girl, and Michelle’s here to find out what it is.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Girl, you better chalk that English teacher voice with me. This is Michelle, and no matter how hard you tryin’ to act like it’s all good in the hood, the sister ain’t buying. I can tell when somebody’s got a weight on her soul, and you carrying about a hundred extra pounds, best I can figure.”
Clarice stared at her assistant for several seconds, but Michelle never budged. Clarice blinked first and sighed. That was one thing Michelle’s hard raising had done for her: the girl was intimidated by just about nothing.
“Oh, Michelle, I don’t know. I thought if I could just get over this broken leg and get back to work, I’d be fine, but—”
“But you’re not.”
“No.”
“Only thing I know of that’ll make a woman look and sound the way you do right now is a man. Either she’s worrying about the man she’s got, or she’s worrying about the man she doesn’t have, or she’s worrying about one of those men finding out about the other one.”
If anybody but Michelle had been sitting across from her, Clarice wouldn’t have been able to stand it.
“Well, as the lawyers say,” Michelle said, “I take it by your silence that you agree. So that just leaves figuring out which one of the three is you. I sure hope you’re not seeing somebody on the side, ’cause girlfriend, I been down that road, all the way down it, and there ain’t no answers anywhere along the way.”
“No, of course I’m not cheating on David.”
“You thinking about it?”
“No!”
Michelle cocked her face sideways. “You sure? ’Cause there’s more than one way to cheat. There’s the way I did it, and then there’s also keeping yourself away from your husband, and just not giving yourself to anybody else.”
Clarice held herself still, but she was squirming inside.
“You’re the star in this office, Clarice, and no doubt about it. I’m proud to work for you. I’d like to be more like you in a lot of ways. But, honey”—she leaned forward, laying her arms on Clarice’s desk in what looked almost like a child reaching, or a gesture of supplication—“I hope I don’t ever sacrifice my husband’s heart for any career. I don’t care if I’m making more money than Shaq and Beyoncé put toge
ther. I nearly lost him once. Girl, I don’t ever want to get close to doing it again.”
Clarice held Michelle’s eyes as long as she could, but in a few seconds she had to look away. “Michelle, it’s . . . I don’t know. What you say is right, of course, but . . . things have changed.”
“Changed how?”
“I’m different after the wreck. For those first weeks, I was almost completely dependent on David. It scared me. I became very depressed. And then, when I started getting better, I couldn’t talk to him about it. And now . . .”
Michelle waited. Clarice knew she wouldn’t budge until she’d heard everything there was to hear.
“Now David’s different.”
“Meaning what?” There was a new sharpness in Michelle’s tone, a heightened level of alert.
“He’s . . . I think he’s stopped caring. I think maybe it wouldn’t matter, even if I told him I wanted to work things out.” She looked at Michelle. “I think he’s ready to leave.”
“He said that to you?”
“No, he hasn’t said anything. Really, he hasn’t spoken to me in days. We’re just living in the same space, trying to not bump into each other.”
“Clarice, honey . . . you think he’s seeing somebody else?”
Despite herself, Clarice emitted a harsh little laugh. “David? No!” Then she gave Michelle a worried look. “I mean, he’s not the type . . . is he?”
Michelle gave her a serious look. “Man’ll do a lot of things you wouldn’t think about if the wrong situation comes along.”
“But . . . he goes to church! He was the one who insisted we attend together. He wouldn’t do something like that. I think you’re on the wrong track, Michelle.”
“Well, for your sake I hope that’s right. But even if you’re not, Clarice, you got to make up your mind what you want.”
“I know, and so far, I can’t.”
“Well, sister girl, here’s what we’ll do. I’ll leave you alone and let you gather your thoughts. I’ll pray, and I’ll get Miz Ida praying, too. And somehow, amongst you, me, Miz Ida, and the Lord, this gonna get solved.”
Michelle got up and came around the desk toward Clarice. She leaned over and wrapped her boss in a good tight hug.
“All right. Get yourself together. I’ll always be around if you need me.”
“Thanks, Michelle. Really.”
“You’re welcome. Really.”
I don’t know why you can’t see what’s going on right under your nose,” Mama said. “That man is playing you for a fool and you’re either too afraid or too stupid to admit it to yourself!”
Clarice rolled her eyes and wished again that she’d resisted the urge to call her mother after work. Mama always had all the answers—for everybody else.
“Yes, well I guess you’d know, wouldn’t you, Mama? About being left and all.” Clarice almost immediately regretted saying it. Mama’s silence crackled over the phone line like a noiseless slap.
“Yeah, I think I do know a little more about it than you do,” Mama said, the bitterness in her voice making her words heavy and slow. “But I tell you what, you do whatever you think you got to do. You a grown woman, so I guess you don’t have to listen to me if you don’t want to.”
“Mama, I—”
But Mama was already gone.
Dave grunted as he hoisted the equipment bag into the back of his pickup. He took one more look around the ball field, then opened his door and scooted behind the wheel.
“Pretty good practice today,” Brock said from the passenger seat.
“Yeah, not bad. Why’d you say your car was in the shop?”
“Air conditioner.”
Dave nodded. “Right. Getting to be the time of year when you got to have one of those.”
“Yep. The heat’ll get you.”
Dave started the pickup and backed out of the parking lot.
“I thought you were a little rough on Jaylen, though,” Brock said. “He’s been working hard on that curve. You ought to at least let him try it out a little in practice.”
“That kid’s too young to be throwing a curve. He’ll damage his arm.”
“He’s throwing it the right way, Dave. I don’t think it’ll hurt his arm.”
“You been letting him throw it?”
“I caught him a little bit today while you were working with the outfielders. I think he can handle it.”
Dave chewed on this for a while. For some reason, Brock was getting on his nerves. In fact, pretty much everybody was getting on his nerves.
“Well, I still think he’s too young.”
Brock just looked out his window. A few seconds later he said, “So when did you and Julie start eating lunch together?”
“Say, man, who died and made you my mama?”
“Easy, bro. I just asked, that’s all.”
Now Brock was looking at him. Dave could imagine the questions crowding into his friend’s face. Why did it have to be anybody else’s business if two adults decided to eat lunch together in a crowded restaurant in the bright light of day? It wasn’t like he and Julie were sneaking around somewhere. What difference should it make to Brock if he ate lunch with Julie?
“We were talking about Clarice’s therapy. That’s all there was to it.”
“Oh.”
Brock was still looking at him. Dave felt like he was on some kind of witness stand.
“That’s it? Just ‘oh’? You got something to say to me, Brock, you might as well just lay it out, man, you know what I’m saying?”
For a long time Brock didn’t say anything. He looked at Dave for a while, then stared out the windshield. Dave merged onto the freeway.
“Julie’s a nice-looking woman,” Brock said finally.
“Oh really. I hadn’t noticed.”
“Sarcasm isn’t your strong suit, Dave.”
Dave felt his control slipping and tried to care, but lost the battle. “Whatever, man. I don’t need you to tell me how to live my life, you dig? I’m doing just fine on my own, so you can just take your friendly concern and shove it, all right?”
“Look, Dave, I’m not trying to get under your skin. I’m your friend. I know things haven’t been great between you and Clarice; you’ve told me so yourself. I just don’t want to see you . . .”
Brock’s voice was still low and controlled, and that just made Dave madder. “See me what? Mess up my life? Mess up Julie’s life? Is that where this is going, Brock, because if it is, let me save you some trouble, awright? Nothing’s going on between Julie and me. I like her kid, you know? I think he’s great, and his dad doesn’t seem to notice he’s alive, and I think that’s a shame. But that’s it, you got it? Nothing else.”
Brock held up his hands. “Okay, man, okay. Whatever you say. Sorry I brought it up.”
“Yeah, well, me too.”
Dave drove on, all the while wishing he could shake the feeling that was clinging to him like the smell of dirty socks: the feeling that he’d just told a lie to his best friend. But he wasn’t sleeping with Julie, and it aggravated him to think Brock imagined things with her were headed that way. Julie was a friend. She was someone who appreciated Dave for who he was, and that felt pretty good, for reasons Brock would probably never understand. And Dave wasn’t so sure Brock didn’t have his eye on Julie, anyway.
Him sitting over there all high and mighty, talking about me doing something I shouldn’t be doing, all the time he just wants to move in on her . . .
. . . But he is single, isn’t he, bro? And you aren’t. Right?
The voice turned up the heat on his anger. The whole universe was on his case today. What did a man have to do to get some slack?
“Whoa, dude. How fast you going?” Brock said.
Dave looked at the speedometer. The needle quivered just above the eighty-five mark. He pulled his foot off the pedal. He thought about apologizing for not paying attention, but then Dave decided he didn’t feel like saying anything at all right then.
/> He dropped Brock off at his house. Brock got out of the pickup and put his hand on the door to shut it. He looked in at Dave with an expression that signaled he had something else he wanted to say.
“All right, I’ll holla atcha later,” Dave said, staring straight ahead through his windshield.
“Yeah. I’ll . . . I’ll talk to you later,” Brock said. His door swung shut and Dave pulled away.
Clarice’s mind tumbled like a cement mixer as she drove home; she was going over and over her conversation with Michelle, her own mixed emotions, her observations of David, Mama’s anger. All of it was going around and around, and so far, there wasn’t a single part of the mix that she could get a hold on. Everything just kept moving and eluding her grasp.
David’s pickup wasn’t in the driveway when she got home, but today was a baseball practice day, so that was nothing unusual. She went into the house, managing the cane pretty easily. She was hoping the doctor would even clear her to walk without it after her next appointment.
She changed clothes and went to look in the fridge to see what would be easy to fix for dinner when she heard David’s vehicle pull into the drive. His door clunked shut and in a few seconds the door leading from the garage into the kitchen opened. He looked at her, then away, before walking toward the bedroom.
“I’m going out of town on Saturday,” he said over his shoulder. “Bryson’s got a swim meet I want to go see. Just so you know.” He walked on into the bedroom, peeling his T-shirt up over his head as he went through the doorway.
Clarice stood there for a moment wearing a puzzled expression. Something was trying to come through to her, trying to pierce the swirling fog that had passed for her thoughts for the last several hours. And then, just like that, Mama’s face was in her mind. It was as if she’d been standing in front of Clarice instead of talking to her on the phone. “Why can’t you see what’s going on in front of your face?”
The sudden intuition was so sharp and strong, Clarice almost had to grab the kitchen counter to keep her balance. Of course! Why hadn’t she seen it before? Julie’s strangeness, David’s uncharacteristic aloofness . . . it made so much sense that she would’ve laughed at herself if the implications weren’t so painful.