Broken: A story of hope and forgiveness

by Kevin Mark Smith

  Chapter 9

  A Day of Reckoning

  Of all the wonderful things the Johnson family did together, church on Sunday was the one that bound them together more than any other. But for church and their shared faith, one might see them as the typical dysfunctional family, with one dead father, one dead grandfather, another dead grandmother, and more issues than God himself could sort through. Yet the Johnsons and Flemings shared something that healed all the hurts such tragic circumstances normally bring. They loved God and their Lord. Church gave them the opportunity to express to others everything that God had done for them, not to them. Their Sunday morning routine gave them comfort, no matter what they were going through at the time. And lately, their days were full of thanks to God, acknowledging that He had delivered them from their troubles and pain.

  Jessie and the boys, both of them, had a hard time getting moving on Sunday mornings, so regardless of how regimented Max’s morning ritual had become, it was up to Charles and Nancy to guarantee the entire family a prime worship spot in the multipurpose worship facility of Stonelee Christian Fellowship. They would drive to church in time for Bible study (the rest of the family skipped Bible Study due to their seeming inability to make it on time), and afterwards, save enough seats for the entire family to attend the service immediately following Bible study. The family would then praise and worship God, slowly leave the church in separate cars after spending half-an-hour or so greeting and meeting church members and visitors, and then meet up at the Johnson home for Jessie’s incredibly delicious pancakes and eggs (she’d picked up a few cooking secrets while working in a diner many years before).

  This Sunday started out as most others. After church, as always, the Johnsons arrived home first. Nolan ran for the ‘fridge to grab an apple; Max threw his keys on the breakfast bar under the wall-mounted telephone and sat down at the table with the sports section in hand; and Jessie went into the kitchen and started banging pots and pans together as she made preparations for their pancakes and eggs ritual.

  Then the unexpected happened. When asked about why she did what she did later, Jessie would say that she felt something in her gut, a sickening feeling that she couldn’t explain. The feeling compelled her to look at the phone—the red light indicating “message waiting” was blinking furiously. She walked around the bar and picked up the phone, hit the “check messages” button, and quietly listened to the myriad of tones and instructions that were a familiar and usually comforting prelude to word that a friend or loved one wanted to talk to her—the unwelcome messages from bill collectors and Nolan’s school counselors ended long ago. Hoping to hear her oldest boy’s voice saying, “I made it to campus,” she stayed on the line. Right when the name “Deputy Brown” was announced on the message, Jessie heard the front door open in the background and Nancy’s all-too-familiar, comforting yet annoying “Yoo hoo” greeting. Then, Jessie’s heart shot up into her throat.

  “Oh God,” she exclaimed aloud, punctuated with a gut wrenching sob that was merely a prelude to the tears and wailing that followed. Notwithstanding the tears and sobs, she picked up a pencil and vigorously wrote the name and number of the deputy on a utility bill’s ripped open envelope. By now, Max was standing by her side, and Charles and Nancy were staring at her as they stood next to Max, all of them growing more concerned by the moment. As they tried to ask her what was wrong, all talking at the same time, she slammed the phone down, picked it back up, and began dialing as quickly as her panicked motherly instincts allowed.

  “What’s wrong?” Nancy asked, not waiting for anyone else to respond to the clearly unsettling news, whatever it was. Her grandmother’s intuition told her that it had something to do with Robert.

  “Robert was in an accident,” Jessie replied as she cradled the handset to her ear and waited for an answer on the other end.

  “Hello?” Brown answered.

  “Hi,” Jessie responded, now mostly in control of the sobs. “This is Jessie Johnson, Robert Baxter’s mom.”

  Brown was driving down Darkwell’s main street on the way to a local coffee shop when his hip-mounted cell phone chirped. After answering and listening to the distraught voice on the other end, he paused for a brief moment and pulled his cruiser to the side of the four-lane boulevard. He had told next-of-kin bad news many times before, but it never got easier. At first, he wasn’t sure whom the number belonged to, whether it was a friend, roommate, aunt, uncle, or whoever. But now he knew it belonged to the boy’s mom. This news delivery, he realized, would be more difficult than most. At least it’s not the death of a child, he thought, only near mortal wounds and accompanying brain damage! Much more difficult, he knew. He decided to save that last bit of news for the doctors. He didn’t have to tell her everything.

  “Thanks for calling back,” he said.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Your son was hit by a car on the interstate,” he began. “He was hurt pretty bad, but he’s stable now and was flown to Oklahoma City for further treatment.”

  “Is he okay?” she begged.

  Not wanting to lie but also not caring to deal too much with the grieving mom, he told a half-truth. “Like I said, he’s stable. You’ll need to call the hospital in Oklahoma City for more information.”

  With that he gave Jessie the number to the hospital and flipped his phone shut.

  It seemed as if a million thoughts and emotions were flooding her consciousness. Who would do such a thing? Why now, when Robert was about to accomplish so much? Why did he have to hitchhike to Texas?

  Jessie recalled the heated discussion she had with Robert when he told her about his last fandango to Texas. They were sitting across from each other at the kitchen table on a Saturday morning two weeks before his graduation from Stonelee High School. Robert was drinking a large glass of orange juice, and Jessie a cup of coffee that was heavily diluted with cream and sugar.

  “I’ve always done the things everyone said I should,” Robert insisted. “For you, Max, Grandma, and Grandpa. I studied hard, I practiced hard, and I worked out every day since middle school, and I always did what you and everyone else told me to do. I want this for me.”

  “Why?” she begged. “Why is it so important to hitchhike to Texas? It’s not an adventure; it’s stupid and dangerous. Do you know what happens to hitchhikers? There are killers out there. I don’t want my baby to wind up dead in some rest stop in Oklahoma.”

  Robert thought some of her concerns were almost laughable. Robert was not the typical high school senior. He was big, real big, and not in the fat, overeater sort of way. He was six-foot-five, weighed just over 200 pounds, was pure muscle, and could mix it up with anyone but professional fighters. Indeed, he even boxed a little his freshman and sophomore years, never lost a fight, and didn’t quit until his football and baseball coaches told him he was running the risk of injury that could mess up his high school athletic career. Bottom line: Any would-be assailant or mugger would think twice before tangling with such a specimen of young virile manhood.

  “Don’t be over dramatic. I’ll be fine. I can take care of myself.”

  He puffed up his rather large chest, pretending to be bulletproof.

  Jessie stared at him, her eyes piercing his soul. She wasn’t smiling, or frowning, just staring blankly, as if trying to transmit her deep-seated fears into his heart via telekinesis. “Don’t do it. I won’t let you.”

  “I’m eighteen. I’m an adult. I’m paying for college, and I can make my own decisions. I’m doing this and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

  The conversation ended with Robert pushing himself up from the table so violently that his chair shot out from under him, falling over into the china hutch directly behind. Fortunately, nothing broke. He didn’t bother picking the chair up before walking away briskly, in a huff, toward and then out the front door.

  He got into his late-model Ford Mustang GT and drove to his grandparents’ house. There, he told Charles his idea
; naturally, the former Marine thought it was a good one—he even offered to go with him. Both told Max later that same day, and all three ganged up on the women in the family and overruled their motherly concerns.

  “Sometimes a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.” That was the general consensus shared by all three.

  Thinking back about what led to Robert’s accident, Jessie boiled inside. She wanted to say, “You jerks shouldn’t have encouraged him to take such a foolish trip!” But she bit her tongue. She knew that Max and Charles felt terrible at the moment—they were probably calling themselves far more vile words than she would have used—and the time wasn’t right for placing blame, as if it ever would be. The family sensed Jessie’s concern, the motherly love for her gravely injured boy eliciting feelings of desperation and helplessness with so many miles separating him from her caring grasp. All moved in to embrace her; they embraced in a family hug as they shared in the tragedy and Jessie told them what little she knew about Robert’s demise. Charles was the first one to act in a practical, less emotional way.

  “We’ll leave now,” he said. “You three pack your bags and wait for us. We’ll be back in a few with our things.”

  As Charles took action, Jessie regretted the awful thoughts she had previously said about him and Max. She felt as weak as jelly, and the washed out, chalky look on Max’s face told her he did, too. Charles, on the other hand, had always been a pillar of strength. He had been the male role model her boys needed when they had no other; and he had always been strong. Now was no different. She knew that his encouragement of Robert’s flight of fancy was meant to strengthen him, not harm him. At that moment, Jessie felt overflowing love for the man who, for lack of a better description, was her father. The warm thought brought a smile to her face, though it was tough to see through the river of tears.

  “Okay,” she replied. “Should we take two cars?”

  “No way,” he replied. “Neither of you has any business driving. The Suburban can handle all of us. Just be ready when we get back.”

  He and Nancy rushed out the door and drove home. Once they were alone, Nancy wasn’t as forgiving as Jessie. “This wouldn’t have happened if you two wouldn’t have encouraged him to hitchhike,” she said, as soon as they got in the truck.

  As Charles started the ultra-large SUV and popped the gearshift into reverse, he replied, “I know,” he said, fighting the urge to cry, knowing strength was more important now than weakness. “But we can’t do anything about that now, can we?” It was more rhetorical than anything as he shot a searing look at Nancy and then spun the steering wheel to turn the nose of the truck around and slammed the shifter into drive.

  Nothing else was said on their way home. It was a deathly quiet seventeen minutes, the longest time he and Nancy had spent together when words weren’t spoken.

  They returned to the Johnson home in less than an hour, having taken only fifteen minutes to grab their necessities and a change or two of clothing and throw them into a suitcase. Everyone was in the Suburban and they were all on the road within fifteen minutes after that, Charles driving, Nancy and Max fretting, and Jessie on the cell phone with the hospital every half-hour or so.

  Nolan sat in the rear bench seat, alone, listening to his iPod belt out the latest Jars of Clay compilation. He feigned disinterest, looking as unconcerned as one could look, but he held in an urge to cry. His big brother meant everything to him. When things were darkest for their family, before Charles married his grandmother, he and his brother had each other. He wondered what he would do if he lost him. Between intermittent torrents of tears, Nancy and Jessie’s need to use the restroom every hour on the hour, and Nolan’s periodic teenage whining, it was a very long trip made worse by Jessie’s need to make frequent calls to the hospital, as if Robert’s status would miraculously change in such a short period of time.