Plenty Good Room

by Cheri Paris Edwards

  Even though it had been weeks since they found the two kids in the closet, Tamara was still unable to get that day out of her mind. She knew that after a short time in the hospital both children had recovered and were now safely in a new foster home. Their young mother, Belinda Smith, had not been found yet, but she would be charged with neglect and child abuse whenever she surfaced.

  A familiar voice penetrated her thoughts. “Baby girl, are you all right?”

  She turned her red-rimmed eyes toward the sound of the voice and was happily surprised to see Denise Jackson standing there by her bed. In her feverish state, her blurry vision caused the light to flow around the large woman in such a way that she looked just like an angel, complete with a bright, fuzzy halo around the top of her head.

  Tamara could see the concern written clearly on Mrs. Jackson’s face as the woman bent over, laid a cool hand on her hot forehead, and said, “Baby, you’re burning up.” She turned toward the door and glanced at Sienna, whose face was a mask of worry.

  “Little Sienna baby, now, you go get me a cool washrag . . . and where’s the Tylenol? We’ve got to get Tamara’s temperature down.”

  Sienna rushed from the room, glad finally to have some instructions. Denise Jackson took off her coat and laid it across the chair.

  Looking down at the young woman now, Denise chided her gently. “Tamara, you cannot let yourself get sick like this. Whenever you get a cold or the flu, you must take Tylenol for the fever, baby girl.”

  The girl looked at the woman and smiled weakly. “I thought I was taking it . . .”

  “Here’s the washcloth and the Tylenol,” said Sienna.

  Denise Jackson turned to the young girl and said, “Until she feels better, you must make sure that she takes the Tylenol every four hours for her temperature, okay, Sienna?”

  The girl asked worriedly, “Is she gonna be all right? She looks so sick, Mrs. Jackson.”

  The older woman patted her shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t you worry, baby; she will be just fine, especially with your help! Now, you go into the kitchen Sienna, and get you some of that fried chicken and macaroni and cheese that I brought over. I know you haven’t had anything to eat, either.”

  “B-b-but what about Tamara?”

  “You’ve done a great job, Sienna, sweetie, but I’ll watch baby girl for a while, and you take a little break, okay?”

  After one long, last look at Tamara, Sienna agreed reluctantly. “Okay, Mrs. Jackson . . . just call me if you need somethin’.”

  “Thank you, Sienna, baby,” said the woman.

  Once the teen was gone, Mrs. Jackson gazed down at Tamara worriedly. She did not look good. Her complexion was ashen, her breathing was labored, and she was staring ahead wide-eyed as if her eyes refused to shut.

  Smoothing back the young woman’s hair, she said, “Baby girl, you have to get some sleep.”

  In a cracked voice Tamara answered, “I can’t go to sleep, Mrs. Jackson.”

  “You can’t go to sleep?”

  Tamara replied woodenly, “I keep thinking about them . . . I can’t seem to stop it.”

  The woman looked puzzled. “Them? Tamara, you gotta help me out, now—just who is them?”

  In the same flat voice, she answered, “The Smith kids.”

  “Is that one of your cases?”

  Tamara nodded her head up and down. “We found them . . . Jay and I found them.”

  “Found them where, baby girl?”

  Tears began to trickle from her eyes again. “All alone, Mrs. Jackson—that’s how we found them. In a closet together, dirty, hungry, and all alone.”

  Finally it dawned on her what Tamara was talking about. This Smith case had actually made the evening news a few weeks ago, and she’d watched it sadly, with her own heart heavy for both the children and their mother. When she prayed that night, she included them in her time with God. My, my, if she had known that Tamara Britton was involved, she would have included her in the prayers, too—the sight of those two kids almost starved to death must have been devastating for her.

  Tamara opened her swollen eyes as much as she could and said in a whisper, “Why does God allow this to happen, Mrs. Jackson? Those kids didn’t do anything to anyone, did they?”

  “No, they didn’t, Tamara.”

  “Then, why? Tell me why?” the younger woman asked insistently, her voice crackly with the flu yet still demanding a reply.

  Denise Jackson sighed as she sat on the edge of the girl’s queen-size bed. “I don’t know, baby girl . . . There is much about life I don’t understand, either, and only the Lord knows why these things happen.”

  Tamara wiped her eyes and said, “But, I don’t get it. If God is so loving and kind, then why would he make children suffer like they did?” The girl croaked out the last words before beginning to cough again, hard.

  Denise Jackson pulled the sheet up around Tamara and said, “Shhhh! Now, calm down, baby girl. Things happen that we cannot understand . . . its like the Bible says in First Corinthians, remember? ‘now we see through a glass darkly, but then face to face . . . now I know in part, but then shall I know even as also I am known.’”

  The girl looked at her quizzically. “I do remember, Minister Walker had us read that in Bible study, too, but what does that mean?”

  “Baby, what the Scripture tells us is that there are some questions we have that just won’t be answered for us on this earth, but still we believe in God because of our faith. ‘Faith is the substance of things unseen and the evidence of things to come.’ We believe in God even though we don’t understand it all. But, baby, we believe because we feel His presence inside.”

  She took Tamara’s clammy hands in her own.

  “His spirit lives in us, inside of you and me, and it is when we are still that we can most often feel the stirring of His presence within.” Uncharacteristically sad, she added, “Baby girl, I don’t have all the answers. I don’t even wish that I did, because that would be just too much for ol’ Denise Jackson to know. But what I do know is that God exists, and I know that He loves me, you, and that girl out there, and I know that He loved those kids, too, Tamara. God even loves their mother.”

  “I still don’t understand,” Tamara managed to add hoarsely.

  “Because it’s not for you to understand; it’s for you to believe, baby girl; just have faith, Tamara, faith. Paul wrote in Romans five: four, ‘We also boast in our sufferings knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.’”

  “Hope?”

  “Hope, baby girl. Think about it, Tamara, just a tiny bit of hope makes you believe, makes you have faith in something that you can’t see, because it only takes a little bit of hope to help you keep on keepin’ on, even when the odds are stacked against you. That’s why Pastor Walker’s daddy named the church The Temple of Hope—to remind people to always keep the faith and be hopeful, because hope will never fail us.”

  “I guess . . . ,” Tamara said, but her voice faltered uncertainly.

  Denise Jackson turned the young woman’s face gently toward her own, so that she was looking into her eyes, and continued, “Tamara, sometimes, hope is the only thing that keeps you going long enough for a miracle to happen and then that miracle, no matter how large or small, helps you make it even a little while longer.”

  Turning her eyes away, the young woman stared into space and said, “Yes, I could see that happening—a miracle, that is. I guess I just wish one happened for those kids.”

  Denise shook her head in silent agreement while patting the younger woman’s still-warm forehead with the cool cloth.

  “Baby girl, I know that it’s hard to understand all of the evil, unfairness, and injustice that sometimes seems to be everywhere in this world we live in. Believe me, even Christians have problems sometimes with those same
questions and issues.”

  “Do you?”

  “I do, but as I said before, have faith, baby girl. Keep your hopes alive and have faith. I remind myself during difficult times that God is real and His son Jesus is real, and He died for us because He loved us so. I know from my own experiences that love is real, and you can believe that no matter what those kids have been through, if they just learn to love again, they will be just fine.”

  Tamara continued to stare into space as she said, “That will be difficult for them, though, after all that they have endured.”

  “Yes, it will be hard, but they can start with loving God, because God’s love and His Word is true and it won’t fail them. He is the father to the fatherless, and His love will give hope to the hopeless. God is always available to us, and His heart overflows with love for us, and once we really understand that, then that knowledge of his unconditional love for us gives us the courage, no matter what we’ve been through, to love him in return. Love is the miracle we all can make happen in our own lives, since no matter how much we’ve been hurt, we can still choose to love again.”

  The woman began to sing then in her low melodic voice:

  “The love I feel for Jesus,

  I can hardly contain within;

  He’s loved me without condition

  Before I even knew Him . . .”

  With a shake of her head, Denise Jackson looked at her with eyes shiny with exuberance. “It’s just so amazing to me that my God loved me even when I didn’t love myself.”

  The Tylenol finally seemed to be taking effect, because Tamara was becoming more alert than she’d been all day. She responded, “Mrs. Jackson, love is difficult to give or accept sometimes, especially when you’ve been hurt by someone.”

  “I know, baby; that’s because love requires you to trust, and trust is hard to give again when you have been let down by people time and again. So you can begin to trust by trusting God, because He won’t let you down. His word is always true, and He will never fail you.”

  “Never?”

  She finished by saying with her trademark chuckle, “Never—he can’t fail us ever, ’cause ‘He’s all good,’ as the kids say.”

  For a moment the two of them sat silently while she stroked Tamara’s hair from her now cool forehead. Then Denise Jackson asked the question she’d wanted to ask for quite a while. “Baby girl, where are your parents? It would be nice if your mama was here for you at a time like this.”

  “She’s dead,” said Tamara flatly.

  “What about your dad, then?”

  “He’s dead, too,” she added, her tone still emotionless.

  Denise Jackson covered her surprise. She’d always assumed that Tamara’s family was absent either because of some temporary estrangement or merely because they lived in another city. It had never occurred to her that the poised young woman might be alone in the world.

  “Oh, baby, I’m so very sorry to hear that. Are there any aunts, uncles, anyone else I can call?”

  “No, there’s no one I want you to call . . . but thank you so much for all of your help, though. Where’s Sienna?” Tamara asked in a small voice as her eyes began to close.

  Thankful that Tamara’s fever had broken and that she finally seemed to be able to rest, Denise Jackson said soothingly, “You go to sleep now, baby girl. Don’t you worry, Sienna will be just fine. I’ll take care of her for you.”

  For a few more minutes Denise Jackson continued stroking Tamara’s hair until she noticed her breathing becoming deep and even. Careful not to wake her, she rose from the bed quietly and stood watching her lie there in the large bed. Tamara looked small and helpless lying there alone, and her illness made her look vulnerable and even more fragile and innocent than usual.

  It was hard for Denise to believe that Tamara had no one who could come and care for her now. Sighing, she pulled the covers up on the sleeping young woman and closed the door quietly. After a quick call to her husband to let him know she’d be here awhile longer, she’d check on little Miss Sienna—hopefully, she was getting some much-needed sleep, too.

  36.

  Friday Fun

  Ruefully Tamara glanced at her watch once more. I don’t know why I agreed to chaperone tonight, she thought miserably as she looked out into the rowdy crowd of kids. The music was loud, and talkative teenagers filled the room. This was her first real outing since her bout with the flu, and because she felt a little weak, all this noise and commotion only added to her discomfort.

  These Hope Temple-sponsored Friday Teen Night gatherings tried for a “club” atmosphere, complete with a deejay playing loud music that was mostly upbeat contemporary gospel. Throngs of youth participated weekly and enjoyed punch and other refreshments as they chatted with friends, played in the Uno card showdown, or played video or board games. Even though Tamara was less than enthusiastic about being there tonight, she had to agree that these events were a great way for these teens to engage in some positive activities that were also fun for them.

  Tamara had dropped Sienna off here at the church on previous Friday nights, but the teen made no secret of the fact that she loved the idea of Tamara’s chaperoning. Having missed several days of work during her illness, Tamara’s work schedule was even more demanding than usual as she struggled to catch up with overdue assignments. As a result, she and Sienna seemed to have less time than usual to spend together. So when Denise Jackson called and asked her to serve as a chaperone tonight, before she knew it, her guilt had caused her once again to place herself into an uncomfortable situation that she really did not want to be part of.

  Thinking about it now, Tamara became annoyed at herself; she was just too wimpy to refuse a request from anyone, it seemed. Glancing at her watch yet again, she muttered under her breath, “Well, at least it’s only for a couple of hours. I’m here now, and I’ll just have to tough it out, I suppose.”

  “Why, Tamara, hello,” said a now familiar voice.

  It can’t be him, she thought . . . I must be mistaken. But sure enough, when she turned to the left, there at her side was Isaiah Perry, looking as handsome as ever in a pair of well-fitting jeans and a soft blue pullover. With a quick spin of her head, she stared ahead again, thinking it strange how often this man kept turning up when she least expected it.

  “Hello, Isaiah,” she said without looking at him, in a voice loud enough for him to hear over the music. “I didn’t know that you were going to be here.”

  He moved closer, perhaps so that she could hear him over the pulsating rhythm of the music, and she felt his breath in her ear when he asked, “You didn’t?”

  “No, Mrs. Jackson did not mention it to me.”

  “That’s strange, because she called me and asked me to do it. You know, she told me that she was going to ask you, too.”

  Tamara gave him an incredulous look. “She did? Really?”

  Isaiah smiled and laughed before saying, “You know, Tamara, I’m beginning to think someone is trying to put the two of us in the same room together at the same time—if you know what I mean.”

  “You think so?”

  “I think so. And actually, there may be two culprits in this little game,” he said as he scanned the youthful crowd until his gaze rested on Sienna.

  She followed his glance curiously, but when she spied the girl watching the two of them and smiling broadly, her own face began to redden. “Sienna, too? I’m so sorry,” Tamara sputtered as she felt her face burn with embarrassment.

  He immediately noticed her red-tinged complexion and added, “Please, don’t be embarrassed, Tamara—it’s not a bad thing. Sienna and Mrs. Jackson just love you and want you to be happy, and I’m flattered that they think I might be a good person for you to get to know.”

  With her head still lowered, Tamara replied, “It is embarrassing, though. It’s like I can’t get a date or something.”

  He gave her a light bump with his elbow and said teasingly, “Oh, c’mon, Tamara, I know that no such
thing could be true. You are far too pretty to be unable to get a date. If you are flying solo, it is certainly by choice and not because you have to be.”

  Despite her embarrassment, she was surprised that her heart jumped a little when he said those words, and she smiled up at him and said shyly, “Thank you, Isaiah . . . I don’t know that I’m all that pretty, but you are nice to say so.”

  His gaze was straightforward and intense as he added, “I don’t know why you wouldn’t know how attractive you are, Ms. Tamara Britton, but if no one’s told you before now, then they’ve surely slighted you.”

  This time she leaned close to him so that he could hear her softening voice above the music, “I’ve never had anyone to tell me those sorts of things. M-my parents were not very demonstrative or talkative in that way.”

  He gave her a curious look. “What about a boyfriend? I know you’ve dated before, Tamara.”

  As Tamara gazed into the lively crowd, she noticed the easy way the teens were interacting with one another. Everyone seemed to be socializing: laughing, talking comfortably, and clearly enjoying one another’s company. There was no way she could imagine herself in such a group when she was a teen. If she’d ever even had a circle of friends, more than likely she would have placed herself somewhere on the outskirts of the group, hoping to remain unnoticed there.

  “Can I tell you something, Isaiah?”

  He still wore a wide smile on his handsome brown face. “Of course, you can tell me anything, Tamara.”

  Without warning, there was a lull in the music as the deejay announced he was taking a short break, and the room became quiet. Tamara lowered her voice to almost a whisper and asked, “You won’t laugh, will you?”

  Serious now, he answered huskily, “No, Tamara, I won’t laugh.”

  “I’ve never been on a date, Isaiah. Not really.”

  “Never?”

  “No . . . never.”

  He let out a low whistle before, adding, “That’s hard to imagine, Tamara.”

  “I know, that’s why I don’t tell anyone,” she said as she looked down at her hands holding the Styrofoam cup of punch. “I know that people will think I’m strange.”