My Son's Ex-Wife: The Aftermath

by Shelia E. Lipsey

  He passed the intersection where his mother had her accident, and Rena left his mind. He tried to fight the feeling of guilt about his mother’s condition, another one of the nagging feelings he dealt with on a day to day basis. When he confronted his parents with the family’s hidden secrets, it wasn’t long after that when Audrey was involved in the car accident. If Audrey had been preoccupied with worry about the family’s skeletons pouring out of the closet, she may not have been concentrating fully on driving. Stiles tried time and time again not to take on an unnecessary worry, because it was diabetes that was the major cause of Audrey’s accident.

  Guilt was definitely a mighty tool that the devil used to get at his intended targets. It didn’t matter that he was a man of God; Stiles still felt the blame for a lot of things. He picked up his BlackBerry, and without thinking, he scrolled through his contacts list. There was nothing there for Rena’s parents. He remembered that he’d deleted Rena’s old number and her parents’ numbers. He hit speed dial.

  Pastor answered the phone promptly. “Pastor, will you do me a favor?” asked Stiles.

  “What is it, son?”

  “I don’t know how to ask you.”

  “That’s simple.” Pastor chuckled. “All you have to do is form the words, and ask me whatever it is you want to ask.”

  “Could you get the number for Rena’s parents? Rena’s old cell phone number is no longer in service, and I deleted her parents’ phone number.”

  Pastor paused before answering. “I’ll be glad to get it for you. I’ll have to call you back later this evening. It’s in my study with all of my other one hundred thousand things.” Pastor laughed. “Me and your mother are watching one of our shows right now, so I’ll call you tonight or tomorrow. Is that okay?”

  “Oh, yeah. No hurry. I’m glad to hear that Mother is up. How is she feeling today?”

  “Who is that?” Stiles could hear Audrey in the background.

  “It’s Stiles, honey.”

  “I want to talk to him,” Audrey insisted.

  “Hold on, son. Your mother wants to talk to you. And I’ll get that church information for you,” Pastor told him so Audrey wouldn’t bug him with question after question about why he wanted to get in touch with Rena.

  “Stiles,” Audrey said. Her voice was strong, but it still didn’t match up to the bold, commanding voice that she used to have before the accident.

  “Hi, Mother. It’s so good to hear your voice. I’m glad you’re up today. Dad says the two of you are watching television.”

  “Yes, we are. You know your father. He has his favorite shows, and he won’t miss them for the world,” she said without admitting it was really her that Pastor was pacifying.

  “I’m going to stop by briefly and drop off dinner for the two of you. You remember Detria Mackey, Brother and Sister Mackey’s middle daughter, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I sure do. Is she back in Memphis?” Audrey asked and raised her eyebrows in curiosity.

  “Yes. She’s a nutritionist. She’s the one who’s been preparing meals the past several weeks for you and Pastor.”

  “Oh my, that is so nice of her. She was always a nice girl. So the two of you are friends, huh?” Audrey asked in a curious voice.

  “Mother, it’s not like that. Don’t start making something out of nothing. She volunteers in the kitchen ministry, and she knows the two of you aren’t the best at fixing meals,” Stiles said with a chuckle.

  “Well, it’s nice of her. And she was always a sweet, mannerable, Christian girl. It’s time you start looking for a wife anyway. Don’t close your eyes to what God brings before you. You hear me, Stiles?”

  “Yes, I hear you, Mother. I’ll be there shortly, but like I said, I can’t stay long. It’s been a long day for me, and I’m exhausted. I still have to get home, study my sermon, and catch up on some house cleaning.”

  “I don’t know why you won’t hire a housekeeper. You make enough money, Stiles.”

  Stiles tried not to allow his voice to reflect his agitation. “Mother, I’m fine. I’ll be there in two shakes and a tail feather. Bye now,” he said.

  “I love you, baby,” Audrey told him. “See you soon.”

  “Love you too. Bye, Mother.” Stiles hung up the phone. He’d done it. He’d asked Pastor to help him get in contact with Rena’s parents. It would be the first step he made toward whatever it was God intended for him to do. He didn’t know the words he would say if he got the chance to speak to Rena. He prayed that she would, first of all, take his call, or that her parents would tell him how he could reach her. He would have to play it by ear. He’d come too far to turn around.

  Stiles drove in the direction of Emerald Estates to take his parents the food Detria had prepared. Detria was another great lady. Stiles felt comfortable with her, and talking to her came easy as slicing pudding pie. He liked her; he liked her a lot, but until he could come to a closure with Rena, there was no way he was going to try to establish a relationship with another woman. He never wanted to experience the hurt he had when he went through the divorce with Rena, and he didn’t want to hurt anyone the way he was hurt.

  Still, thoughts of Detria brought a smile to Stiles’s face. In some ways, she did remind him of all that he had lost when he and Rena split. Rena had an uncanny way of making him laugh. She could bring out the best of him. She complemented him. Rena was a true helpmeet, or so he thought. “Why did everything have to fall apart, God?” He slammed his fist on the leather passenger’s seat of his car.

  Stiles approached his parents’ house and relieved his mind of all thoughts of Detria and Rena. He hated to think it, but the truth of the matter was that he wanted to take the food in to his parents, spend a few minutes with them, and then skedaddle. He had college essays to grade, assignments to post online, and if Pastor had retrieved Rena’s parents’ phone number, he had plans to call before the hour grew too late and before his resolve weakened.

  “Hi, Pastor,” he said as Pastor opened the door to allow his son’s entrance. Pastor patted Stiles on the back and smiled. “Here’s the food. Do you want me to warm it up for the two of you?” asked Stiles.

  “No, that won’t be necessary. I can handle it. You go on back there and speak to your mother. You know she’s waiting on you,” Pastor said.

  “Where is she? In her room?”

  “Yes, the nurse helped her get back in bed right after you called, so she’s in for the night. She balks every time her nurse puts her back in that bed, but you know I can’t lift her. I barely can maneuver around this place myself,” said Pastor. “I wish I could be of more help to her than I am, but that’s what age and a stroke does to you, son.”

  “Pastor, I know Momma can be more than a hand full at times. She’s a pretty tough cookie,” Stiles said.

  “You got that right. Stiles, I know your mother has made a lot of mistakes, but I hope you won’t hold any of them against her,” commented Pastor.

  “Where did that come from?” asked Stiles and twitched his eyebrows.

  “I don’t know. I guess it’s because this family has seen some tough times. Francesca, you, your divorce, my stroke, and now your mother is permanently paralyzed. Sometimes if we aren’t careful, we can find ourselves blaming God for all that has gone wrong in our family. I just want to make sure you remember that every good and perfect gift comes from God. God is our source and our strength. He knows our ways, and He knows that we are not perfect by a long shot. As for the relationship between you and Rena, that’s not my call. I can’t tell you what to do or what not to do.” Pastor passed a sticky note to Stiles. It had the phone number of Rena’s parents scrawled almost illegibly on it. “All I’m going to say to you, son, is to let God lead you and guide you. Don’t make matters worse because of what your flesh wants to dictate.” Pastor patted Stiles on the back again and ambled off to the family room.

  Pastor’s tone of voice reminded Stiles of the fearless preacher that his father was before he had his strok
e. Pastor loved the Lord, and no matter what downs he experienced, not once had Stiles ever heard him blame it on God. Unlike his father, Stiles couldn’t say that he did the same. He was too ashamed to admit it, but there were times he did feel like God had forsaken him. There were times Stiles wanted to ball up his fist at God. When he looked out at the congregation Sunday after Sunday, Stiles felt like he wasn’t fit to be standing in a place as holy as the pulpit of Holy Rock. He could never fit into the shoes his father left. Shoes that bore the weight of a man like Pastor, who was upright, decent, loving, and forgiving.

  Stiles knocked on the slightly ajar door to his mother’s room. “Mother, you asleep?”

  “No, I was waiting on you, sweetheart. Come on in,” she said in an angelic like whisper.

  Stiles walked over to her bed and leaned over and kissed her. “Hi, Mother. How do you feel this evening?”

  “I’m tired of this bed, Stiles. I want to get up and walk again. I feel helpless. I don’t know how much longer I can stand this,” Audrey said. Without undue warning, Audrey began to sob like a baby.

  Stiles took hold of his mother’s upper body and hugged her close to his chest. He rubbed her hair and shed tears with her. There was no reason for Audrey to suffer like this. No matter what she’d done in life, Stiles didn’t want to see his mother in the condition that she was in. Being a paraplegic was robbing her of her dignity day by day. The number of friends visiting from church and in the neighborhood had decreased tremendously, mostly due to Audrey’s refusal to see them. She barely received phone calls anymore for the same reason. The most Audrey could count on was seeing her name on the sick and shut in list printed every week in the church’s Sunday bulletin, along with the first Sunday sacrament the deacons brought her.

  Life for Audrey had taken a drastic turn, so much so that Stiles had no words of comfort to deliver to his mother. He held her in his arms until he felt her tears subside and her breathing become labored. Like a little child, she had cried herself to sleep. Stiles sat next to her in what was Pastor’s favorite recliner. It was the same recliner Pastor sat in and from the bedroom window, watched the birds fly by when he had his stroke. The same bedside chair that Audrey sat in when Pastor was recovering. Now Pastor had moved the recliner in the room with his wife, so he could sit by her and be close to her. An installed baby monitor sat on a nearby table so if anything went awry, Pastor, the nurse or whoever was in the house could hear Audrey. A sad existence, God, for such a proud woman, thought Stiles.

  Assured that his mother was asleep, Stiles crept slowly out of her room. He went into the family room and said his good-byes to Pastor.

  “Take care, son. Remember what I told you,” remarked Pastor as he trailed behind Stiles to the front door.

  “I will and I do,” said Stiles. He hugged Pastor before he turned to leave.

  Stiles opened the door to his car at almost the same time that his cell phone rang.

  “Hello, Pastor Stiles?” the caller stated.

  “Yes, this is Pastor Stiles.”

  “I hope I’m not interrupting you,” the sparkly voice said on the phone.

  “Sister Detria,” answered Stiles when he recognized her voice. “Of course, it’s no bother. I wouldn’t have given you my cell phone number if I thought you would abuse it.” He laughed.

  “Good. Because I was thinking about something, and I wanted to hear your thoughts about it.”

  “Okay, what is it?” he asked with a smile stretched on his face. He got in, shut his car door, and started it up. He listened to her as he backed out of the driveway and drove toward the direction of the expressway.

  “I wanted to offer my services to your family. I’ve been praying and seeking God about this for more than a week or so. Today when I gave you the plates of food, it was as if God gave me confirmation about what I should do.”

  “What is it, Sister Detria?” Stiles’s curiosity was definitely piqued.

  “I’d like to extend my services to your parents. What I mean by that is I want to be their personal nutritionist. I’ll monitor the food they eat, help Pastor learn how to prepare simple, nutritious, and healthy meals, and I’ll prepare as many meals myself as I can that will at least provide one meal a day for each of them for a week.”

  “My goodness, that sounds perfect! But I don’t want you giving up your free time for my parents. I’ll be glad to compensate you,” countered Stiles as he steered onto the acceleration lane leading to the interstate and his home.

  “If I accepted payment, then I wouldn’t be doing what God instructed me to do. This isn’t about money, Pastor. It’s about using the gifts that God has blessed me with to further His kingdom, and according to His direction, not yours,” she said bluntly.

  “Excuse me, Sister Detria. I don’t want to be the one to come between you and God,” replied Stiles. He was still smiling while he talked.

  “Do you think your parents will accept my services?” she asked.

  “I don’t see why my father wouldn’t. My mother, well, you’ll find out for yourself that Mother can be a bit feisty and stubborn.” Stiles’s laughter vibrated through the cell phone. In return he heard the sweet laughter of Detria’s voice. “I’ll talk to my father tomorrow, and then get back to you. How does that sound?” he asked.

  “It sounds like we have ourselves a possible deal in the making here,” she said happily.

  “Is this the number I should call?” he asked her, referring to the number that showed up on his cell phone screen.

  “Yes, it is. I’ll wait to hear from you tomorrow.”

  “Sure thing, Sister Detria.”

  “Good-bye and goodnight, Pastor.”

  “Wait, Sister Detria,” he said hurriedly before she hung up the phone.

  “Yes, what is it, Pastor?”

  “Thank you for following the guidance of the Holy Spirit. Thank you for all that you’ve already done for me, for my family, and for the church. Your kindness will not go unnoticed,” Stiles said seriously.

  “You’re welcome.” Stiles heard the click of the phone. He continued his drive home with a flurry of emotions rushing through his head like hurricane forced winds. Sister Detria was the kind of woman that a man would be proud to have by his side. He hadn’t noticed her in church with anyone in particular, other than her family. And when she came to volunteer during midday Bible studies, she was always alone, unless some of the staff from her job came to Bible Study, which was quite often.

  Stiles placed his BlackBerry on the console. He reached inside his suit coat and pulled out the sticky note Pastor had given him. “Rena, where oh where are you? And will you talk to me when I find you?” The remainder of his drive home was made in silence as thoughts infiltrated his mind, bobbing from Sister Detria to Rena, like playing ping pong.

  When he arrived home, Stiles walked into a house that felt emptier than ever. No one to greet him, not even a dog or a cat. No one but loneliness and the harried thoughts of his past. He removed his clothes, took a shower, and then sat at his office desk. He went over the syllabus, and then placed it online for his students before he remembered that he needed to save Detria’s number into his cell contacts. He did that and then went into the kitchen to make himself a hot cup of decaf coffee. He passed by his jacket and remembered the phone number Pastor had given him. He reached inside and pulled it out again. Looking at the number, Stiles considered what to do. He went back to his office and sat down, grabbed his BlackBerry, and dialed the number. He was about to disconnect the call when he heard Mrs. Jackson’s familiar voice. It was now or never. Time to find out if the damage he’d caused was irreparable or not.

  “Hello,” Mrs. Jackson said.

  “Uhh, hello, Mrs. Jackson,” Stiles stammered. “This is Stiles. How are you this evening?” he asked, while he imagined sounding like a total klutz.

  “What is it you want?” she replied in what, to Stiles, sounded like an offensive tone, and rightfully so.

  “I don’t mean t
o bother you, but I was wondering if you could tell me how I can get in touch with Rena, ma’am?” Stiles felt sweat beads forming on his head.

  “Why do you want to talk to Rena? You have no reason to be dredging up anything with my daughter, Stiles. I don’t care whether you’re supposed to be a man of God or not; you are not going to call here and start up mess,” she said in an adamant tone that caused Stiles’s heart to pound hard against his chest.

  “No, that’s not why I’m calling, Mrs. Jackson. Honest, it’s not. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, and Rena keeps popping up in my head. I know I treated her badly, but we were both to blame for what happened in our marriage. I don’t want to hurt her anymore. I just want to talk to her, to talk things out like I should have done in the first place,” Stiles said in an almost pleading type of voice.

  “I don’t think Rena wants to talk to you, or see you, or your family ever again. And you shouldn’t blame her for that. My goodness, what kind of family are you? Your twisted sister, your evil mother, and then you. You’re just like Audrey. Selfish and always concerned with your feelings and disregarding everyone else’s. You’re going to pay for what you did to my Rena,” shouted Mrs. Jackson into the receiver. “You’re going to pay dearly.”

  “Please, Mrs. Jackson. I don’t want to get you all upset. That’s the last thing I called to do. All I ask is that you give Rena my phone number, and ask her to call me, or she can call me at the church office. I promise not to call or bother you again. Please, Mrs. Jackson, please just give her the message. Or you can call her on three-way now. That way I still won’t have her number, I just want to talk to her,” Stiles repeated.

  Stiles held on to the phone and listened to the silence that penetrated the lines.