Knowing

by Rosalyn McMillan

  By February, Jackson began to feel his attitude change. He was no longer angry. By the time the March winds hit, Jackson felt a spiritual warmth touching his soul. And now, as April rained in, his heart was open to receive God’s blessings.

  Jackson felt God’s voice at work, at home, in the car, and, unsurprisingly, he found himself saying on that bountiful Sunday morning, “Lord, I’m ready.” And the Lord walked right in.

  “Hello, Mama. It’s Jackson. I was saved at church today.”

  “Praise the Lord, son. Thank you, Jesus. My prayers have been answered,” said Hattie B. Montgomery. Her muffled cries were heard over the receiver. Jackson could hear the tissue crinkling as his mother wiped her tearful eyes.

  “Thank you Jesus,” said Jackson humbly. His voice broke as he clamped his hand over his mouth, whispering a prayer to himself, remembering the words of God. The words that had saved and sanctified him, filling him with the Holy Ghost.

  “Praise God, son. Everything’s gonna be fine. Just fine. I know you been having troubles lately. But the Lord is who you take your troubles to. You put them in God’s hands. He’ll know what to do. You pray. Don’t be afraid to get down on your knees and praise Him, son. He’ll hear you and answer all your prayers.”

  Opening the windows, Jackson let the clean spring air flow freely over his face. The sun was hot, the breeze cool. A wave of living sweetness drifted into the room, ruffling the white petals of apple blossom trees below. This was his favorite month of the year. April was like a long-awaited visitor who came to town with his yearly springtime show.

  He could see the figure of a bluebird with the sun on its feathers, tilting its head, seemingly observing a man with his head peeping out the window. Stepping back, he inhaled, cradling the phone beneath his chin. “I’m praying for my family, Mama. I know you’re praying for us too.”

  He sat in the chair in the living room, staring at the blank television screen. Usually at this time of day he’d be well into his third or fourth Western. Somehow the tales of the old West didn’t interest him now. He was coming face-to-face with the truth: The Dummy Box, as Ginger had called it, had taken so much time away from his family.

  Jackson’s attention was brought back to his mother by the sound of her voice. “Yes, Lord,” said Hattie B., “when the Lord comes to take us to Heaven, when He comes back to claim His people, you have to be prepared. Got to get your reservations. Get your ticket early. And there ain’t no discounts either. Yes, Lord, He’ll soon be calling us all home.”

  * * *

  Exhausted, Ginger fell in a heap on the floor in front of the sofa. Her first golf lesson was over, and by her estimations, it might well be her last. Ginger hadn’t guessed that walking around the golf course would take so much energy. Yet the people she’d met at the outdoor clubhouse at the Palmer Woods Golf Club Association were perfectly down to earth and polite. Informal meetings with clients or potential clients were being held all over the eighteen-hole course. It was as casual and natural as the robins taking a cool drink of water from a birdbath. She’d have to learn.

  Two weeks later, her friend Ivory Michaels asked her to meet him at the golf club. Ginger had been thinking so much about Jackson lately that she needed a diversion, so she halfheartedly accepted. Driving down Seven Mile Road, she could see her English Tudor home through the sparsely leafed trees in the park entering the subdivision. Since she’d left home, Ginger avoided driving on Berkshire Drive whenever she showed homes in the area.

  While they sat drinking beverages after only nine holes — Ginger couldn’t make eighteen — she thought of her home again, the home that she and Jackson had shared for nearly ten years. Somehow the painful memories had faded, and her thoughts about the times spent there were only comforting, loving ones.

  “It’s so beautiful there this time of year, Ginger,” said Ivory. He wore short white golfing shorts with three-inch splits on the sides. A white cable-knit sweater trimmed in a front V with burgundy-and-navy-blue stripes covered his navy polo shirt.

  Ginger studied his golden hairy thighs. He looked like the kind of man many a woman would imagine as their ideal. “Paris?” asked Ginger. He nodded. “I’ve never been there,” she admitted sullenly. “I always dreamed that one day I’d visit.” With Jackson, she thought to herself.

  She smoothed the short skirt over her red gingham two-piece tennis suit. Her mother had found the vintage outfit at a resale shop and bought it, knowing how much Ginger treasured clothing from expensive stores, like Saks and Neiman Marcus, that were still in excellent condition, clothing that was lovingly cared for by the previous owners.

  Taking Ginger by the hand, Ivory pulled her up, suggesting that they walk along the course for a bit before leaving. When they had reached a secluded area, surrounded by trees, Ivory looked at her and gave her his megawatt smile. His gray-blue eyes sparkled in the midafternoon sun.

  He seemed to look right through her, his eyes pooled to an almost silver shade of gray. “I left something there — it’s the reason I’ve decided to move.”

  “You’re moving to Paris? What about your —”

  “Job?” He arched an eyebrow as a train of golf carts passed. “I’ve secured a position at CNN in Paris. Doesn’t pay as well. But I’ll make it.”

  “What about your daughter, Liberty?”

  “It took me a long time to accept that she’d be better off with her mother. I’ve been deluding myself into thinking I could be a better parent. I was wrong. She loves her mother dearly, as I did many years ago.”

  “And you’ve never considered remarriage?” asked Ginger, walking beside him as they made their way back to the clubhouse.

  “You probably wouldn’t understand; it was difficult for me to accept it at first, but I’m in love with another man. Since he left, I’ve experienced a kind of slow death. Truly, it isn’t the sexual intimacy that we share that has ultimately united us, but respect.” He paused and looked at her for a moment. “With that kind of love who needs marriage,” he said ironically.

  “He lives in Paris?” Ginger tried hard to keep her balance. Was missing a man making her gullible to the first man she was attracted to? How would she survive out in the world? She couldn’t even differentiate between a straight guy and a gay one. And to think that at one time she thought he’d desired her. She even thought for a while that she was beginning to feel something for him. Now she just felt stupid. Wait until she told Kim. She wouldn’t believe it either.

  “No, he lives in London. Right now the English Channel is going to separate us, because of our jobs. But he just submitted his resignation. He’s making a good living as a full-time painter, which is what he loves to do.” They stopped and picked up their golf bags at the clubhouse locker room. “You might know him, he lived here a few years ago. His name is Ran —”

  “Randall Pierce,” she almost whispered. She felt as if she were a huge balloon, and someone had let out all the helium — slowly. She lifted her chin proudly. “Everyone’s life seems to be changing lately. I’ve decided on making a few myself.”

  “What’s all that noise downstairs, Mama?” asked Autumn. She was perched on the stool behind her mother, removing the tightly bound scarf from Ginger’s head as she dialed the telephone. Autumn had elected herself to oil her mother’s head nightly. Once a week, she happily cut and polished her mother’s toenails. She knew how much her mom loved it.

  Ginger greeted Katherine, covered the receiver, whispering to Autumn, “Kim’s moving her daddy home in a few days. She and Bill are redecorating his room.” They’d shopped together for the small objects before repainting, recarpeting, and buying new furniture. Bill had gotten rid of the hospital bed before Kim came home. The doctors reported that Ollie could sleep in a regular double bed.

  The kids had gone for the weekend with their father, so Ginger and Autumn were by themselves again.

  Katherine had recently turned sixty-one. And though time had been kind to her, she couldn’t admit, not eve
n to herself, that she was breaking. She’d cut her long hair to a fashionable short bob, and changed the color to a bold blondish red. After a strict diet, she’d lost twenty pounds, along with twenty years. Or so she told herself.

  No one, especially those who loved her, had the heart to tell Katherine that the new look had actually aged her.

  She was ready for a new man. Not too old, though, maybe forty-fourish. She was still Kate. And a warm-blooded woman such as herself couldn’t end up in the arms of an old man.

  Knowing she needed a change, she accepted her daughter LaWanda’s invitation to come to California and help her with the boys. Her two sons had joined a gang, a dangerous one. And because LaWanda worked two jobs, she was unable to supervise them as much as she would like.

  LaWanda assured Katherine that she would only need her help for a few months. And by the end of June, she would have saved enough money to buy her family a home and move from their apartment complex, where the gangs prevailed.

  Katherine silently vowed that by the time she returned back to Michigan in the summer, she’d be wearing a brand-new husband for the warm weather. So, Katherine, in her reemergence to the beauty and passion of life, her life, decided to give her daughter that time.

  “Yes, Mama. Everything’s just fine here. Yes, I’m still going to church every Sunday. Giving all my problems to God.” Ginger smiled as a calm peace filled her heart.

  “I know Christian and Autumn are okay. It’s Sierra I’m worried about.”

  Bending over, Ginger bopped Autumn in the head playfully. She’d slipped and smeared the thick cream over Ginger’s eye. “Take your time,” she said, grabbing a paper towel from the kitchen corner and cleaning her eye. “They dropped the charges, Mama. Apparently the Nobles just wanted to teach the kids a lesson. Problem is, the parents suffered more than the kids did.”

  “Praise the Lord,” said Katherine, “my prayers have been answered.”

  “Mama, are you okay? I’ve never heard you talk like that before.”

  “Time for me to turn my life around. I ain’t getting no younger, you know. LaWanda, me, and the kids all started going to church on Sundays.” Then the old Katherine surfaced: “You know they got some mighty fine men in them churches. Probably make a good husband for LaWanda. She needs a man around them bad kids she’s got. Can’t hardly do nothing with them.”

  And we won’t even mention you looking for a husband too. Huh, Mama? “So I guess you stopped drinking?”

  “Can’t give up everything right away. It’s gonna take a little time, but I’m praying on it. You mark my words, by the end of the summer, my taste for alcohol is gonna be a thing of the past. Strongest thing I’ll be drinking is orange and V8 juice.”

  “Hold on a minute, Mama.” She didn’t want Autumn to hear this part of their conversation. “Baby, can you go to your room and play with your Barbies for a few minutes, while Mama talks to Granny?” She waited a few moments until she heard the creaking of Autumn’s toy box. “I’m back.”

  “Something wrong?”

  “Not really, Mama. You were right about keeping my mouth shut in the bedroom. I blew it.”

  “What are you saying, Ginger? What did you tell Jackson?”

  “About my attempted rape.”

  “When . . .”

  “I told him last year, but it happened two years ago.”

  “Ginger! Wha —”

  “Mama, it’s more serious now. A young girl is dead. The same man that tried to rape me, raped her.” Ginger told Katherine the entire story, from the accident she staged to cover up the assault to the trial scheduled in two months. Katherine felt the same way as Ginger did, that she should testify.

  “I knew something was bothering you Christmas. You can’t hide nothing from your Mama. You should know that by now. I’ll fly in for the trial.”

  “Thanks, Mama. But you just left. The sexual assault counselor will be there with me. She’s called and assured me that we have a good case. The prosecutor is sure he’ll get a conviction. I won’t even have to be inside the courtroom — just when I testify.”

  “I’ll be there, Ginger.”

  “I love you, Mama.”

  “I love you too, baby.”

  Ginger said good-bye to her mother. She knew then that no matter how wonderful Mrs. Hattie B. Montgomery was as a mother, no matter how endeared she was to her children, Katherine was Ginger’s hero. She was an icon. With all her imperfections, she was just what she needed to be — Ginger’s mother. There could be no other.

  “See, Mommy? I told you so.” Autumn had climbed up on the vanity to look in the mirror, as her mother scooted back, holding a hand mirror in her right hand. Ginger closed her eyes for a second, thanking God for the miracle. Then, opening them again, she adjusted the mirror squarely before her, checking again to be certain. Sure enough, there was a black speckled spiral pattern on the crown of her head. Her body felt as if shooting sparks had ignited inside her.

  It had been nearly three years, and up until now, there had been no signs of her hair growing back. With renewed faith she’d tried to accept the fact that it would never grow back . . . and now, now she was jubilant . . . ecstatic.

  She cradled her daughter in her arms as they rubbed each other’s noses, a chilled little button nose against a toasty, keen one. “Guess what, sweetheart. You’ve got a surprise coming too.”

  Autumn’s eyes bulged as she turned to face the mirror, possessive arms still curling around her mother’s neck. “What, Mommy?” asked Autumn cheerfully.

  “Your bridge is coming.” Ginger traced a line down the center of the child’s angelic face. “See?” She pressed her cheek against her baby daughter’s exuberant smile. They turned away from the mirror, hugging each other.

  The phone interrupted their happy moment. “I’ll get it, Mommy,” said Autumn, trying to reach the phone before the answering machine caught it on the third ring, but Ginger beat her to it. Jackson had always changed the recordings on their answering machine, and Ginger never learned to do it right. She felt so uneasy about talking into the recorder that the message would always sound forced.

  “Jason! It’s so good to hear from you, sweetheart. I miss you.” Ginger splayed her hand over her heart, rocking back and forth on the stool as she talked to her son. Autumn took her position again behind her mother, taking more time, carefully massaging her mother’s scalp.

  “I miss you and the kids too, Mama. I should be home by August. That’s the month of the family reunion isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. I’m surprised you remembered. I didn’t mention it that last time we talked. You doing okay way over there by yourself?”

  “I’ll be bringing someone with me, Mama. Is that okay with you?”

  Autumn was begging to speak, nudging her mother’s back with the bend of her bony knee. “Sure, sweetheart. Anyone special?” Before he could answer, Autumn grabbed the phone.

  “Hi, Dink. I love you, Dink.” Her pearly-toothed smile spread across her face as she filled in her brother on the latest happenings in Detroit. The new records, rap groups, teenage talk. Even though she was only eight years old, Autumn had more songs memorized than Sierra did, could dance like a member of the Soul Train dancers — and wiggled and rolled her behind like a Hawaiian hula dancer.

  “Tell Sierra and Christian hi for me, Mama.”

  “I will, sweetheart.”

  “And tell Jackson I said hi the next time you see him.”

  “Jackson?” asked Ginger timidly.

  “Didn’t he tell you I wrote him a letter?”

  “No.” Ginger’s mind raced like a fire engine. What had he said to him? Had Jackson written him back? What had he told Jason about them? Jason was speaking to her, but Ginger couldn’t make out the words. When he paused she just said, “Um-hm, yeah.”

  “Mommy,” said Autumn, breaking her thoughts. “You got gray hair on your head.” She moved her head closer to Ginger’s, her face inches away from her glistening scalp.
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br />   I don’t care if it’s purple, as long as it’s hair, Ginger thought. She covered the receiver with her hand. “That’s wisdom, sweetheart.” She exhaled, her eyes scanning the huge kitchen, where there was a semicircle of cabinets. But unlike her white, high-gloss, painted cabinets at home, these were made of white Formica.

  Ginger didn’t know why, but she’d never felt comfortable in the kitchen since they’d moved there. She felt odd every time she entered into the ultramodern room. She seldom cooked because the kids preferred pizza and carry-out chicken, when Christian wasn’t cooking his still famous fried chicken. It hadn’t dawned on her yet that the reason the kitchen looked so unwelcoming to her was the fact that the cabinets were always closed.

  After a long pause from Jason, Ginger said finally, “My hair’s growing back, Jason. I saw it for the first time today.”

  Walking out of the real estate office, Jackson clutched the deed to a prime piece of property in Bloomfield that could be renovated into the real estate office Ginger had dreamed of. He hoped it would soon change his life for the better. The quality of his life. A life together with the woman he loved. Jackson even stopped in occasionally to visit with Kim.

  Jackson signed up for the real estate classes offered onsite at Champion Motors. After work, he spent two weeks putting in the required forty hours of study before taking the exam. The first time he flunked, and his respect for Ginger grew. He hadn’t anticipated that the test would be so difficult. He tried again, and passed. Jackson felt that it was important to show Ginger his dedication toward building a business together, which she’d always dreamed of.