“Thank you. I’m sure she’d be grateful. Johnnie is a special child.”
And that’s all it took. Byron took a leap of faith, completely unlike himself at the time, and followed an unexplainable urge to pursue this matter. Without going into great detail, he told Selma that someone felt there was a little more to “Johnnie,” that she may have, perhaps, “saved the day” for a young man.
He felt a bit foolish as he stumbled through his words until he noticed Selma’s color change. A pink hue spread throughout her face and streamed onto her neck, where it seemed to settle and become red. She got up and closed the door and asked that he be more specific, awkwardly expressing that his story would be safe with her. Call it reckless abandon or a reliable gut feeling, but Byron spilled the beans, omitting only Jerry’s name.
Selma returned to sit at her desk and listened very intently, and with some hesitation, told Byron she had reason to believe that perhaps the boy hadn’t been over reacting to his exchange with her student. She still held the book, now a shield against her chest.
“I’m going to share something very personal with you, but it has to stay between us because I want no undue attention to fall on Johnnie.” She blushed even more deeply, showing signs of faint perspiration.
“And for selfish reasons, I just really need this to stay private. I’m trusting you as a total stranger, but I have badly wanted to tell someone about this.” Byron had no idea what he was getting into, but he didn’t have the power or inclination to walk away. There was something so lovely, almost urgently so, about this woman. She was vulnerable, trusting and her absolute focus reduced the size of the universe to the exact dimension of the classroom. He listened, forgetting he even had an option to do otherwise.
Selma softly told him, with no qualms, that she was happily married, but had recently had an affair. She declined to go into detail, for which he was grateful because he already wondered why she told him this at all.
Perhaps the other party in her indiscretion worked at the school, because, according to the young teacher, the gentleman had been in her room after class one day.
“We were talking, and, well, a little more…and he told me he wanted me to leave my husband and I told him I would talk to my husband that night.” She looked at Byron imploringly.
“I don’t know what was wrong with me… I love my husband. I do. And I guess it was just the attention…I don’t know. But I was completely swept away by the whole thing.”
She’d cleared her throat, and her color was still high when she continued.
“Anyway, I’d thought we were alone, but after he left, Johnnie walked out of the coat room. I just didn’t know what to do…I was horrified and started to talk to her, but before I could say anything that made sense, she came over to me and just grabbed my wrists and looked straight up at me, but she wasn’t really looking at me. I wish I could explain…I was overwhelmed with guilt, and when I put my arms around her, well, it was just gone. Not just the guilt, but the infatuation, the secrecy, the total - desire- I’d felt just a few minutes before.” She gently placed the book on her desk, as if she were laying down the affair. She folded her arms over it and looked up at Byron.
“I may have just thought that being caught by one of my students knocked some sense into me, but there was something about her. Something about her behavior. She wasn’t the same kid as usual…she felt different and she never said a word. When I let go of her, she just turned and left. I tried to call her back, but she didn’t seem to hear me and I didn’t want to scare her by following her.”
The teacher ended the story with the fact that she’d been a little worried when Johnnie missed school the next morning, but when the child reported in the afternoon with a note from her mom, she was back to normal and never mentioned the incident. Selma wasn’t sure the girl even recalled what happened, which did nothing to reduce the significance of what had happened.
“And I am happy; I ended that whole thing and I can honestly say, I’ll never do it again. I am blessed…and, well, she saved me.”
The words hung in the air. The two briefly looked at one another, then out the window at the playing children. The shrill bell announced the end of the lunch break as well as the end of their conversation.
He thanked her, but as an afterthought, he asked if the teacher could describe the little girl. She told him she could do better than that, as she arose and went to a large bulletin board covered with cut out flowers, a small school portrait in the midst of each paper bloom. Over the top of the board were the construction paper words, “Our Garden.” It was apparently a collage of her whole class. She plucked out one photo, flower and all, and looked at it a moment before handing it all to Byron.
“This is her. This is Johnnie Cantrell. You can keep it.” At one glance, Byron knew it was the girl he’d seen on the field the day Jerry’s stutter disappeared. Although he wanted to keep the photo, he protested that she should keep it with those of Johnnie’s classmates.
“No need.” Selma told him sadly. “Johnnie moved away this Monday with no notice.”
Again, they were quiet, but the room became louder as energetic short people burst through the door, red-faced from their playground frolic.
As he turned to leave, Byron stopped when he felt Selma’s gentle grasp on his arm. He turned to her and she said quietly.
“If you ever see her, if you meet her, tell her I said thank you. And be grateful, yourself, because you’ll know you’ve met an angel.”
__________________________________________________________
Chicken fried steak was typically reserved for Johnnie’s rare hangover mornings, but this morning, she felt like it was exactly what the doctor ordered. The restaurant was small, smelled of the perfect mix of mustiness, coffee and bacon to qualify for a hole-in-the wall diner--her very most favorite place to eat grease in the form of breakfast. As she surveyed the platter, she could see that the piece of breaded meat’s diameter exceeded that of her own head. The “steak” floated in country gravy and was bordered with huge biscuits, runny eggs and what looked to contain more fat than bacon. She wondered if the short drive from the motel had killed her, because this view was just that heavenly. She wasn’t worried about excess food since she now travelled with an eating machine.
As she ate, Johnnie had an automatic thought that she should go on a long run to head off the transfer of fat from the plate to her ass. This thought, however, was immediately followed by a dark reminder that the last time she’d run, she’d woken up with Shirley and Colombo, and she hadn’t risked the solo activity since.
Damn. She needed a way to live till she figured this thing out. She needed a temporary solution to get some freedom back. She needed to not be alone. She needed a trusted companion –with two legs – to hopefully help her move forward without the fear of being caught alone or vulnerable to another blackout. Having been solitary for the majority of her life, Johnny realized what she needed most was what she’d least desired over the years. She needed a friend. With a sigh from the top of her stuffed stomach, she filed that notion with her feeling about Jerod Stass’ note. In “tomorrow’s” file.
Having pushed away the half-devoured feast, Johnnie accepted a coffee refill and reached for her phone. She wanted to ask someone to let Lisa know where Betsy was, and after that, she wanted to give her brother a quick call. She and he didn’t talk a lot, their worlds were light years apart, but they were still close and she felt a little guilty that she hadn’t clued him in on her recent changes. He typically called to check in and it had been over a month since he’d done so. A lot had changed during that time.
But first things first. She spread out a scrunched, soft paper on the table in front of her, and nervously punched in a number.
After about four rings, she heard a somewhat sleepy greeting.
“Geez, really? It’s not that early; I thought even bartenders would be up by now… Hi, Sandy, this is Johnnie…bet you didn’t think I’d call so
soon huh?” Realizing she was jabbering out of nerves, she pushed her free hand against the bottom of her chin to close her mouth.
Silence. Then her heart filled with relief.
“Johnnie?!” Sandy’s baritone voice raised at least two octaves with apparent joy. She had hoped he wouldn’t be weirded out by her so-soon call, but never had she hoped for such a welcome response.
“Yep…I figured I’d wait till I was a safe distance to officially stalk you. Really, I’m sorry I woke you…”
“Are you kidding? You have no idea how strange…but good…this is. I spent last night kicking my own ass because I didn’t get your number. I really wanted to talk to you. I needed to thank you…”
Talk about a buzz kill. Until his last statement, Johnnie was relishing every word of her first real social call in months. The “thank you” comment, however, brought a rush of trepidation with instant playback to the first similar comment from Jeff.
What was this? No way, she thought…she’d never been that kind of “alone” with Sandy and there were no blackouts…
“Johnnie? Are you still there?” She could hear a tiny voice, almost like the little guy-turned-bug in the old movie, “The Fly.” She had dropped the phone onto her napkin. She snatched it up.
“Uh, yes! Sorry. I dropped you.” The she cringed when she asked, “What were you saying? Why should you thank me?”
She was wondering how long she would stay conscious since she seemed unable to breathe.
“Look, I hope you have a minute.” He said.
She was certain she was going to pass out before she breathed again.
“Yes,” she squeaked, wanting to get this over with.
“Well, after you left, I felt really inspired. I hate living here, but it just hadn’t occurred to me that I could leave and when you suddenly dropped in like that, I was so happy to see you – not my usual reaction to most people. Well, then you left and I started feeling sorry for myself and then it occurred to me that I am not trapped. Not at all.”
Johnnie was kind of listening to him, but she was mostly just breathing now, because she could. He wasn’t laying an unworldly story on her, although it was interesting and did contain undue gratitude. Taking a liberal slug of coffee out of her heavy mug, Johnnie reengaged. Like a friend would. She could do this.
“It’s kind of crazy that we don’t know each other enough for me to really know what you’re talking about. But I think I might. Tell me more.” She suddenly felt actual personal interest.
“Well, everything happens for a reason, and I guess that’s part of this. I’m just glad you came by. It may be rash, but honestly I only have myself to answer to anyway. Bottom line is, I’m putting this place up for sale and I’m leaving.” His deep voice sounded rich, but not quite giddy. He was, however, clearly excited.
“Putting it up for sale.” In one of her first moments of discovery regarding her friend, Johnnie stated, “I had no idea you owned it. Or are you talking about a house?”
“Ah, a little profiling? No way the big, cripple black dude could be the business owner?” He asked with a chuckle. She felt a grimace claim her face as she wondered if he was right about her thinking. He went on, “The bar, and house too, I guess…I live in an apartment upstairs; own the building.”
“I don’t know, I think it was more like...you were my bartender, for God’s sake. My confidant. OK, and you are a big black cripple guy!” Still hung up on her potential “profiling,” she suddenly just stopped. She was his friend. No B.S.ing allowed.
“So, really, you’re the owner? And what are you doing? Where are you going?”
“Yeah… I never thought I’d be the owner of anything, but after my injury and discharge, I needed to do something and I had the money. Anyway, we can talk about all this later. I hope. I just wanted to say thanks for hitting me up the side of the head with a two-by-four, even if it wasn’t on purpose. But, unless you’re psychic, I guess that’s not why you called.”
He didn’t sound remotely embarrassed that he’d just spilled his personal life through the airwaves. And interestingly, she wasn’t uncomfortable with the personal nature of this conversation. She had to unstick her brain from his “injury and discharge” comment and get to the point before she forgot why she called in the first place.
“Oh! Lookit, Sandy, I kind of need a favor and you need to tell me if I’m asking too much.” She said, totally unaccustomed to asking anyone for anything.
“Anything for you, Little Sister.”
Too close; an old, familiar feeling ran through her, warning her to back away.
No! She told herself, creating an offense. This is normal. And she could get used to this. Besides, she did need a favor.
She proceeded to tell him about her accidental role as a dog-napper and asked if he’d mind telling the owner where her dog was, and to feel out the situation to see if Lisa wanted Betsy back. Typically this would be a no-brainer; most people would certainly want their pet back. Johnnie was only too aware, however, that there was nothing typical about this situation. It wasn’t as if she particularly wanted to keep the spectacle of a dog, but… well, she wasn’t opposed to the company, and she certainly wasn’t turning back.
Sandy took down the directions to Green Acres, laughing.
“Must be the only thing green within ten miles of Chut.” He told her, if it was okay, he’d call her back later after completing the mission. She paused for a brief second, then told him she’d love to hear back from him.
Having warmed and stretched her personal sphere, Johnnie was feeling uncharacteristically chatty and she really wanted to call her brother now. But the hot sun through the grubby restaurant window reminded her she needed to go out and cool the truck down. Even though she’d opened the windows to ensure Betsy had enough air, she didn’t want to deal with roasted dog.
She snickered while in line at the cash register; a dead three-legged dog, a pick-up truck and a country diner could certainly give her fodder for a budding country music career… she was unemployed, after all.
As she paid the bill and exited with her Styrofoam to-go box, she remembered her perfectly good, but relatively unused Bluetooth ear piece and decided to call James on the road.
Wing reviewed the speech for his upcoming address. Not even half-way through, he simply dropped it on his desk. This wouldn’t work. Every fiber of his being told him this was not the way to go.
Any man or woman who earned their way to the Oval Office had proven, if nothing else, an ability to manage stress, to compete and win, and to operate under pressure. It took these traits, as a minimum, to even survive the grueling Presidential campaign.
Wing Liang had always been a high performer, a thinker and a realist. His days as an astronaut, then prodigy young senator had honed his natural tendencies. Some situations were “win-win”…but most were “compromise-some, win-a-little, count-your-losses.” The global situation was at a very dangerous point and the position of his nation could and would impact the delicate balance. His brain – not his ego – knew there was more he could do to remedy the situation.
Just as he’d gone against the almost unanimous guidance of his staff prior to a successful fight to re-institute the space shuttle program, he made another decision at his own peril, to go with what he felt was right. He still had not recovered from the shuttle move politically, but if he had to do it over again, he’d do it over again.
Wing believed Presidents who failed to acknowledge their advisors--and the lessons of history--were weak in their vanity. He had listened intently to his advisors and saw great value in their input…but he felt, even physically, that they offered a black and white, single dimensional game plan to be played on an incredibly complex, multi-dimensional playing field. Regretfully, historical lessons were of limited value when weighing courses of action; the current political state, the capabilities of nations and the balances of power were unprecedented.
He placed a quick call to schedule a meeting la
ter today to re-address the address; he actually used those words and may have seen the humor in it if his mind, heart and gut weren’t threatening to seize up at any moment.
He asked the ever-present staff members to give him a few moments; he needed to be alone. He had twenty minutes till the next meeting; in his world, twenty minutes was a lifetime.
Door closed, the silence instantly soothed him and he leaned on his desk knowing that before he could go forward, he had to go back. To his calmest place.
His hand had unconsciously slid across the desk to a sterling silver frame. His office was cleaned every day and this personal item was no exception--yet at the end of each day when the President was in town, the sun would not set until the edges of this frame bore finger prints belonging to the leader of the free world.
Wing looked into the face supported by the frame; the face that grounded him… no, not the face, but the soul that was magically captured in those flat, but deep eyes. The man who had brought him into this world, a man this world would have taken, but he was given another shot. Wing had to believe part of the master plan for Wei Liang’s life was to guide his son, whose destiny in this country would either honor or severely disgrace their heritage. And because he was a great patriot, Wing’s ethnic heritage was secondary to his concern for his birth country, the United States. While his father never gave him specific guidance, he offered unconditional love and, at times like this, simple strength in perspective. He was a rudder in all seas.
Wing was grateful for the thousandth time that the old man was still alive. This was a type of gratitude only truly understood by those who have come dangerously close to losing one most dear to them.
As he picked up the phone to call his father, Frank Wallace entered the room. He didn’t apologize for the interruption, nor was it necessary. The President maintained an “open-door” policy for his most trusted advisors.
The Unlikely Savior (The Unlikely Savior Trilogy) Page 15