by Neta Jackson
Her phone rang just as she pulled the minivan to the curb across the street from the Blackwell apartment. Tavis. “Hi, Mom. Promised I’d call when I got home. Can DaShawn eat lunch here at our house? His grandpa’s at work and Miss Estelle said she’d be home ’round one thirty. Can we eat the leftover beans an’ sausage from last night?”
“I guess so. Where’s your dad?”
“Sleepin’. Like you said.”
“Well, okay. If you two can be quiet. Can you eat out on the front porch or something? And stay there till Miss Estelle gets home. Then you can go over to the Bentleys—but call me when you do, okay?”
“Okay.”
She shut her phone but sat staring out the front windshield a moment, the reality of what “school’s out” really meant sinking in. Three kids with time on their hands. Long hours when both she and Jared were at work. And even when Jared was at home during the day, he was usually sleeping.
“Mom? Are we going to go in?”
“Yes, yes. Sorry. Why don’t you carry the box, since it’s really from you?”
They threaded their way through a passel of kids running up and down the sidewalk letting off steam. Michelle didn’t see Candy anywhere, but she was glad to see a few adults out and about—a mom with a baby on her hip talking to another mom, an older woman sitting in a lawn chair and fanning herself in front of the apartment building next door, a couple men tinkering with a car. But Michelle bet at least half the children were latchkey kids. Like her own. But my kids are responsible, she argued with herself. We keep in touch by phone, Jared is home at least part of the time, and they each have a summer camp . . .
Inside the foyer, she rang the buzzer beside the name BLACKWELL. To her surprise, the door buzzer buzzed back loudly without anyone asking “Who is it?” on the intercom. She pulled the inside door open before the buzzer stopped, and she and Tabby climbed the musty-smelling, carpeted stairs to the third floor, stopping in front of 3B.
The door was open a few inches. Michelle pushed it open a few more inches and called out a tentative, “Hello? Ms. Blackwell?”
They heard footsteps, slap, slap, slap. Then the door was pulled opened and Candy’s mother stood in front of them. “You again! I thought you was somebody else I was expectin’.” Her eyes narrowed, looking at Tabby. “Who this?”
“Ms. Blackwell, this is my daughter, Tabby. She brought something for Candy—some games and books she’s outgrown.”
Candy’s small brown face peeked around from behind her mother. “For me?” She popped out in front of her mother, grabbed the edge of the open box, and peered in. “Are these for me?”
“Hmph. Whatchu think we are—some charity case?” The words were hostile, but the tone sounded . . . curious. Less gruff anyway. And she didn’t slam the door shut.
Michelle decided to press on. “I’ve been after my daughter to weed out some of her games and books now that she’s older, but she wanted to pass them on to someone who’d appreciate them. I thought of Candy . . .”
By now, Tabby had crouched down, lowering the box to the floor, and Candy was pawing through it, lifting out the games, squealing over the books . . . and then her eyes widened as she lifted out the music box. “Is this for me too?”
Tabby grinned. “Uh-huh. Here, let me show you.” She turned it over and wound the key, then turned it upright again. The Jesus figure holding the little lamb turned round and round as the sounds of “The Lord Is My Shepherd” tinkled in the musty hallway.
“Mommy, look!” Candy took the music box and bounced up to show her mother. “An’ she said it’s mine!”
The mother nodded. “Well. That’s right nice,” she said, trying to hold on to the gruffness in her voice. But her face had softened.
“Oh, thank you!” Candy threw her arms around Tabby’s neck.
Tabby, who was still kneeling on the floor, said, “I’ll tell you a secret about the music box.” And she whispered in the little girl’s ear. Candy giggled.
Time to go while things were still on the upswing. “Well, we’ll be off. Just wanted to drop by long enough for Tabby to give the box to Candy.” Should she shake hands with the mother? No, better not push it. “Come on, Tabby.”
They started down the stairs with a wave. Candy disappeared into the apartment with Tabby’s box. Michelle heard the door click shut even before they got to the first landing.
“So what ‘secret’ did you tell Candy?”
Tabby shrugged. “I just told her I especially played the music box when I felt scared or alone, and she could too, to remind her that Jesus was there with her.”
Michelle paused on a step as Tabby continued down the stairs, staring at the back of her daughter’s bushy hair as it turned on the next landing. Who was this child? Growing up before her very eyes. Letting her light shine in a very dark place. She was so glad Tabby had come with her. Thank you, Jesus, she breathed before catching up with Tabby, who had disappeared from sight.
Michelle’s cell phone rang as they got back into the minivan. “Mom?” It was Tavis again, his voice high pitched, anxious.
“Tavis? What’s wrong?”
“Dad’s on the floor outside the bathroom, says he can’t get up. Says it’s his back or something. Please, can you come home? I don’t know what to do!”
Chapter 30
Michelle drove home as fast as she dared and found Jared on the floor of the hallway, just as Tavis had said. “Don’t know what happened,” he gasped, his face etched in pain. “I woke up . . . went to the bathroom, then—bam! My lower back just . . . all locked up. Managed to . . . get on the floor and roll onto my back . . . but now I can’t get up.”
Michelle knew what happened. All that stress in the tower the past few days was finally taking its toll. “Don’t move. I’ll get some ice.” She hurried into the kitchen, the twins right on her heels, grabbed a gallon-sized Ziploc bag, and pulled two ice trays out of the freezer.
“Is Dad going to be okay?” Tabby’s eyes were frightened.
“Yes, honey, I’m sure he will. He’s having a muscle spasm, but eventually it will loosen up. Here, hold that big baggie open so I can put this ice in it.”
Once the bag was sealed and she’d pounded the ice cubes into smaller pieces with a wooden kitchen mallet, Michelle took the makeshift ice pack back into the hallway and slid it under Jared’s lower back.
“Ai . . . ai . . . ai,” he groaned, wincing with every move.
The doorbell rang and Tavis ran to open the door. In a moment, Estelle Bentley stood in the hallway, DaShawn peering around her. “Okay, what happened? Did he fall? We got a broken hip here? Should I be callin’ 9-1-1?”
“No, no . . .” Jared gritted his teeth with the pain. “Just a back spasm. Really, just . . . just let me lie here a bit.”
Michelle shooed everyone into the living room. “Sorry, Estelle. I wasn’t home, the boys were here and Jared was sleeping—then when he got up, this happened.”
“Well, God be praised. Didn’t know what to think when DaShawn came runnin’ in, actin’ like the sky was fallin’. Still, these muscle spasms are painful. I know, I’ve had a few myself.” She frowned. “You might need some help gettin’ him up off that floor and into the bed.”
Tavis suddenly snickered. “Yeah, otherwise we gotta step over him every time we wanna use the john.”
Michelle couldn’t help her own smile. “Okay, okay, you kids go on now. Go down to the family room or outside or . . . something.”
“Can we go shoot baskets at the Bentleys?”
At a nod from Estelle, all three kids were out the door. “Want me to wait, help you get him up when he’s ready?” the older woman asked.
Michelle had no doubt Estelle was strong enough, but she shook her head. Jared would no doubt feel too awkward to accept outside help, from a woman at that. “I’ll call if we need you.” And Destin would hopefully be home before too long.
After half an hour on the ice, Jared finally managed to roll onto his han
ds and knees with help from Michelle, but he crawled back into the bedroom. In fits and starts, she managed to get him onto the bed, with two pillows under his knees and a fresh ice pack under his back. Kissing his forehead, she slipped out of the bedroom. She’d better call their doctor and get a prescription for a muscle relaxant.
On her way to the drugstore to pick up the prescription, she heaved a sigh. So much for a “school’s out” celebration with the kids that evening. Not with Jared feeling so miserable.
Michelle slept on the family room couch that night so as not to bounce the bed, but got up a few times to check on Jared. She stood in the darkened bedroom on one of these nighttime checks and watched him sleep. Poor baby. At least he was sleeping. Hopefully the muscle relaxant was working. Maybe he’d be better by Sunday and they could still drive to Fort Wayne together.
She was still tired when she got up in the morning. The couch wasn’t that comfortable, and frankly she hadn’t been sleeping that well lately anyway. But she’d made hair appointments for her and Tabby and they didn’t dare miss. She only had two Saturday mornings before the next Hope and Healing group started, and next Saturday they had to pick up Tabby from the grandparents, so it was now or never. Saturday hair appointments were hard to come by anyway.
“You gonna be okay?” she asked Jared, bringing him some toast and coffee.
He actually inched his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. “Yeah, yeah. The spasm has loosened, just . . . my whole back is sore, feels real tentative.”
“Well, if you get up, don’t do anything, promise?” She gave him another muscle relaxant and a glass of water. “And call me if you need me. I’ll be at Dani’s salon.”
The phone rang just as she and Tabby started out the door to make their ten thirty appointments. “Quick, honey, get the phone. Don’t want your dad trying to get up to answer it.” And both boys were still zonked. Michelle went on out to start the minivan and Tabby climbed in a few minutes later. “Who was it?”
“Mrs. Singer down the street. She wanted to know if I could babysit this afternoon. I told her sure, just didn’t know when we’d be back from the beauty shop.”
Michelle glanced at her daughter as she did a turnaround in the cul-de-sac of their dead-end street and headed back down Beecham. “She must really like you to keep asking you to babysit.”
“Yeah, I guess. All it’s been so far is ‘mother’s helper’ with one of them around. Wish they’d trust me with real babysitting.”
“They will, honey. Trusting your kids to a babysitter is a big deal for many parents—or should be. Nicole Singer is actually very smart to start you off this way.”
Michelle and Tabby walked through the door of Beautiful You—Hair by Dani at 10:29, but ended up having to wait on a young woman who was getting her hair done for her wedding that afternoon. “Can’t take any shortcuts on the bride, ya know,” Dani said with a wink. No apology. But that was the way it was at Dani’s. Each person got her undivided attention. Michelle always marveled that Dani could turn out hairstyles worthy of living sculptures, while the stylist’s own hair was close-cropped into a plain nubby cap, set off by huge dangly earrings.
Dani finally handed the bride a mirror. The results were indeed striking—a swept-up combo of French braids and twists and a cascade of loose curls falling from the top of her head, with silver sparkles woven in throughout. The whole shop sent off the nervous bride-to-be with hoots and hollers and much laughter. “Woo-hoo! You look gorgeous, girl!” “Don’t have too much fun tonight. Save some for tomorrow!” “Come back here and throw your bouquet—I’ll catch it!”
Still grinning, Dani finally beckoned for Tabby to get in the chair. “All right now, what’s it gonna be, young lady?” Dani ran her hands through Tabby’s bushy hair. “Long enough to do some real stylin’ now.”
Michelle stood nearby. “I thought maybe some cute braids or twists—”
“Uh-uh.” Tabby shook her head vigorously. “Want to go natural. Just a wash and a trim is all, so it grows out lookin’ good.”
“But, honey, it’s already—”
“Mom! It’s my hair. Afros are comin’ back in. I’m proud of my heritage, aren’t you?”
Heavens! Where was this coming from? “Of course, honey, but—”
“Hold it down, girls,” Dani said. “Let Dani do her thing. How about this, sweetheart?” The stylist flipped through a hair magazine and showed it to Tabby. “That should keep your mom happy and you happy too. What d’ya think?”
A slow smile spread across Tabby’s face as she looked at the model in the magazine. “Cool. Yeah, sure.”
Dani handed the magazine to Michelle with a smug smile, then whipped a black plastic cape around Tabby. Michelle looked at the picture. Three rows of tiny braids crowned the front of the model’s hair ear-to-ear, almost like a headband, while the rest of her hair behind the ears puffed out in a natural ’fro. It did look nice.
“Keisha’s ready for you in the third chair,” Dani said, waving Michelle away. “Go on—we already know what you want. Same ol’ perm to relax that bob, right? When you gonna let us give you a new style, girl? Ain’t you got an anniversary comin’ up—like twenty years or somethin’? Time to put some jazz back in your marriage, girl.”
Michelle slid into the chair. “I’ll think about it. The usual today, Keisha.”
* * *
When they got home a few hours later, Tabby headed for the phone to call Mrs. Singer and tell her they were back. Michelle found Jared down in the family room sitting in the recliner watching a White Sox game on TV.
“Hey, look at you. You made it downstairs.” Michelle gave her husband a kiss, then stood back and looked him over. “How’re you doing? You want something to eat?”
He nodded. “Better. And something to eat would be great.” But as she headed back up the stairs to the kitchen he said, “Uh, honey, I don’t think I can make the drive to Fort Wayne and back tomorrow. I should go real easy on my back another day. Can you take Tabby to your folks’ yourself? I mean, I gotta get over this muscle spasm so I can go back to work on Monday—and I can’t be on those muscle relaxants when I’m on duty.”
Michelle’s jaw tightened. Great. Just great. She’d been hoping the whole family would go, then they could celebrate Father’s Day with her dad and Jared with dinner in a nice restaurant in Fort Wayne before the drive home. But it was still early Saturday afternoon. She wasn’t going to give up their plans for Sunday yet.
Tabby had already made herself a quick PB&J and taken off down the street to the Singers. Michelle had to admit her daughter’s hair did look really nice—even if the back half still stood out in a ’fro about two-and-a-half inches. But Toni had washed and conditioned Tabby’s hair, gave it a trim, and then braided the front and styled it like the magazine picture. But would it stay that way during a week of rambunctious activity at cheer camp? No guarantee.
A note on the kitchen counter from Tavis said he was playing with DaShawn across the street, and another scrawl at the bottom just said, Out on bike doing job stuff. Back by supper. D.
“Doing job stuff” . . . What did that mean? Looking for work? Or trying to sell that energy drink for Greg Singer? Whatever. At least Destin was trying. Had he told his dad yet what he was doing? He’d asked her to let it be a surprise. But she didn’t like being the buffer between father and son.
Michelle perused the refrigerator. Pretty bare. She still needed to go food shopping. She fixed Jared a tuna sandwich, sliced an apple, and added a bag of his favorite chips, salsa, and the last Dr. Pepper. But she settled for a yogurt herself. She felt too tired to eat. And to be honest, her tummy felt unsettled. Not sick, just a bit “off.” Good thing she had a physical checkup coming up. Frankly, what she wanted right now was a nap. Jared was set up in front of the TV, the kids were gone, the house was quiet. Michelle kicked off her sandals and flopped on the living room couch . . .
Chapter 31
Michelle started the minivan the ne
xt morning and let it idle as Tabby threw her suitcase into the backseat and then jumped into the front passenger seat. “Can’t believe you’re skipping church to take me to camp. You never skip church!”
“Yeah, well . . .”
Was she being rebellious? Maybe a little. The whole idea of making a “family day” out of the trip to take Tabby to camp had crashed and burned with Jared’s back going out. The boys didn’t want to go either and put up a fuss. First one: “Aw, Mom. We just went to Bibi and Babu’s on Memorial Day weekend!” Then the other: “It’s no fun just riding in the car all day. Can’t we stay home?”
She didn’t argue. “Fun” had evaporated from her expectations too.
But having to drive the three-and-a-half hours to Fort Wayne and back again herself in the same day had made up her mind: Skip church. That way she could spend most of the afternoon with her folks and rest up before heading home alone.
Because she was still tired. Yesterday’s nap had felt good, but it meant running out to pick up groceries late in the afternoon and doing laundry in the evening so Tabby could pack for a week. And after spending all of Friday and half of Saturday in bed, Jared had wanted to stay up for a while, watching another ball game on TV in the family room downstairs—and the boys were bored. So when the Bentleys asked Tavis to sleep over, Michelle said yes easily. And when she told Estelle that Jared was still off his feet and she needed to drive Tabby to Indiana the next day, the Bentleys had invited Destin to sleep over as well. Said the boys could go to church with them too.
Bless them.
But it sure shot a hole in Father’s Day.
They were driving across the Skyway heading for Indiana when Tabby said, “Did I tell you Mrs. Singer asked if I’d be interested in babysitting for real sometime?”
“Really?” Michelle reached over and playfully punched Tabby on the arm. “See? I told you they liked you. The kids must too.” She let her eyes rest affectionately on her daughter for a brief moment before turning back to the road. “I saw how you related to Candy Blackwell. You’re good with younger kids, honey. I’m proud of you.”