by Neta Jackson
Both of her sons had been shot. They could be dead.
She should be grateful. She wanted to be grateful.
But the thoughts roaring in her ears threatened to come out in a scream: How could you let this happen, God?
Michelle sat slumped in a chair, holding onto Tavis’s hand as he slept. On top of all this, she was supposed to tell Jared that she was pregnant? No, no, she couldn’t do that to him. Bad news on top of bad news. Maybe . . . maybe she should just go ahead, get an abortion, be done with it. God would forgive her, wouldn’t he? Isn’t that what she told the women in her Hope and Healing groups? That there’s no sin so grievous that God can’t forgive. That God doesn’t want them to live burdened by guilt the rest of their lives. Wasn’t that what Grace Meredith said she’d needed to hear? That she didn’t need to “buy” God’s forgiveness by all her good works. That grace and mercy were hallmarks of God’s forgiveness.
Wouldn’t that apply to her too?
* * *
“Honey?” Michelle felt Jared gently shaking her shoulder. Her eyes flew open. She must’ve dozed off in the chair. “Honey, it’s almost eleven. I’m going to spend the night here with the boys. But I think you should take Tabby home, get some rest. You two can come back tomorrow morning.”
Michelle was about to protest, but one look at her daughter changed her mind. She needed to take care of Tabby too. “Okay.” She gathered her things. “I’ll be back,” she whispered as she kissed both boys.
For some reason her gaze swept the room. But she already knew she wouldn’t find a penny. The day was over and God hadn’t come through. In more ways than one.
Tabby was quiet as they walked to the car, which Jared had parked in the parking garage. “You okay, sweetie?” Michelle asked as they drove down the ramps.
“Guess so.” Tabby lapsed into silence as they headed home. Then . . . “I’m supposed to babysit for Mrs. Singer tomorrow. But I’m gonna call and cancel. I wanna go back to the hospital.”
“I’m sure they’ll understand, honey.” But Michelle felt a check in her spirit. Had Tabby heard Jared’s angry comment in the elevator blaming Greg Singer? “Uh, maybe you shouldn’t say anything to the Singers about why the boys got shot.”
Tabby gave her mom a funny look but said, “Okay.”
They were almost to Beecham Street when Michelle’s cell phone rang. “Can you get that, sweetie? Maybe it’s Daddy.”
Tabby dug around in her mother’s purse and pulled out the phone. “It’s not Daddy, Mom. It’s just a number.”
“Then forget it.” If it were a real call, whoever it was would leave a voicemail. She’d deal with it later. Or not.
But Tabby had already answered. “Hello?” She listened, then turned to her mom, wide-eyed. “It’s that little girl, Mom! Candy! . . . What, Candy? Say that again?”
Candy Blackwell? Why was a seven-year-old calling her at eleven at night? Michelle looked questioningly at her daughter, who had the phone pressed to her ear. O God, I can’t deal with anything else right now . . .
“Uh-huh . . . uh-huh . . . okay, okay, just hold on, Candy.” Tabby pushed the Mute button. “Mom! Candy’s crying, says their apartment burned up, and she and her mama and little brother don’t know what to do! She said you said she could call you anytime . . . Mom! Stop! Don’t just keep driving! She wants you to come!”
Michelle jerked the wheel and pulled over to the side of the street. “Tabby!” she hissed, breathing hard. “Your brothers just got shot! They’re in the hospital. We need to get home and get some rest. I can’t deal with work stuff right now.” She gripped the steering wheel as if hanging on for dear life.
“Mom!” Tabby’s face was pure shock. “It’s not work stuff! It’s . . . it’s Candy.”
* * *
The Blackwells’ street was a tangle of emergency vehicles and fire hoses, so Michelle had to park a block away. This was probably the craziest thing she’d ever done. Jared would have a fit if he knew where she was. Tonight especially.
Holding tight to Tabby’s hand, she walked quickly toward the now-familiar apartment building. Except half the building was eerily dark. Windows were broken out on the third floor along the front, but firemen had already unscrewed one of the big fire hoses from the fire hydrant across the street and were hauling it back toward the largest fire truck. The fire must be out. Residents of the building in assorted stages of dressed and undressed were standing in clumps here and there along the sidewalk.
Michelle scanned the crowd. “Do you see them?”
“Not yet,” Tabby said anxiously.
A police officer walked by carrying a large roll of yellow “crime scene” tape. “Excuse me . . . sir? We’re looking for one of our, uh, friends who lives in this building. Was anyone hurt? Have they taken anyone to the hospital?”
The police officer shook his head. “Far as we know, everyone got out. Ambulance is standing by, but the firemen did a thorough search of the whole building, didn’t find anybody. You might check that bunch over there.” He jerked a thumb at the people milling around on the sidewalk. “Red Cross should be here soon to help these folks find some shelter tonight.”
Michelle felt a tug on her arm. “Mom!” Tabby hissed. “I see her!”
Tabby started running across the dusty excuse for a front lawn toward a little girl standing near a group of adults. “Candy!” she yelled.
With a screech, the little girl threw herself into Tabby’s arms. “Tabby! Miz Jasper! You came!”
Tabby gently peeled the little girl’s arms from the stranglehold around her neck and set her down. “What’s this you got?”
The little girl was clutching something in the crook of one arm. She shyly held it out. “I saved it from the fire. I keep it under my pillow.”
Tabby’s music box.
Tabby took the music box with the shepherd on top and wound it up. The tinkling strains of “The Lord Is My Shepherd” caressed the tense night air.
“Are you okay, Candy?” Michelle asked. “Where’s your mom and little brother?”
Candy turned and pointed. Pookey was riding on his mother’s hip—thumb in mouth, dressed only in a diaper and shirt—while the wiry woman, hair awry, gestured wildly with her free hand, talking loudly at one of the police officers.
Candy lowered her voice. “Mama think Otto set the fire. He say Mama gonna be sorry she kick him out . . . an’ our apartment got burned up worst of anybody’s.”
“Oh, Candy.” Michelle wrapped the girl in another hug. “I’m so glad you’re safe.”
“Oh! I gots somethin’ else too.” Candy darted away, but a moment later she was back, lugging a backpack, which she unzipped and lifted out a heavy jar. “I been savin’ these for ever an’ ever . . . even Mama don’ know about it. ’Cause I wanted to buy a princess bike. They gots ’em at Walmart. But . . . I think Mama needs it more.”
The little girl shook the glass jar, which tinkled and rattled, and then held it up so Michelle could see inside by the glow of the streetlights. Pennies. Hundreds of pennies. Candy pushed the jar into Michelle’s hands. “Please, Miz Jasper, can you take this to one of those places that counts pennies and makes ’em into dollars? Maybe it’d help Mama find another place for us to live.”
Michelle couldn’t find her voice.
But Candy was busy fishing inside a pocket on her shorts. “Here, you can have this one, Miz Jasper. I saved it just for you—you know, for helping me with all those other ones.” Grinning, she held up a shiny new penny, waiting for Michelle to take it.
“Mom?” Tabby leaned in close. “Mom? Why are you crying?”
Chapter 42
Tabby was finally asleep.
They had stayed with the Blackwells until the Red Cross vans arrived to take them to an extended-stay motel for a few days until more permanent arrangements could be made. The Salvation Army soup truck had also showed up with hot soup and cold drinks.
God bless the Red Cross and the Salvation Army, Michelle
thought as she’d watched the displaced residents crowd around the soup truck and then board vans to take them to various shelters for the night. Even the neighbors in this rough part of the city had come out into the night with blankets and disposable diapers and bags of clothes and shoes.
By the time they got back to the car, she was exhausted and had to fight sleep every mile of the long ride home.
Now, shutting Tabby’s bedroom door quietly after one last peek, Michelle carried Candy’s jar of pennies into the master bedroom and set it on her dresser. Lighting several tea light candles in glass holders on the dresser top, she also lined up the pennies God had given her during the past week—just four because she no longer had the one from the tollbooth. But she still had the one from her apron pocket . . . the clothes dryer . . . the mall . . . and Candy’s shiny penny.
Yes, the pennies God had given her—Michelle knew it now. Knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that God was assuring her of his love and care.
Turning off the bedside lamps, she lay down on the bed staring at the display on her dresser. “O Lord,” she whispered, watching as the pennies in the jar seemed to dance and shimmer in the flickering candlelight. “You are so faithful! So faithful! Can you forgive me? Forgive me for not trusting you. For . . . for letting fear take the place of faith, for trying to convince myself there was an easy way out of this pregnancy.”
Tears once again slid down her cheeks. But this time the tears mingled with a strange and comforting peace.
As the tea lights burned out one by one, Michelle slept.
* * *
Her cell phone rang at 7 a.m. Michelle was instantly awake. The boys . . .
But it was Norma. “Michelle! Girl, I got a call from First Lady Donna last night that your boys got shot. Oh, honey, tell me it ain’t so!”
Michelle slid out of bed and groped for her robe and slippers with her free hand. “They’re all right, Norma. I mean, they will be. Both of them got wounded . . . but God spared them. Jared’s at the hospital, stayed overnight.” She stumbled toward the kitchen. “Tabby and I came home late to get some sleep, but we’ll be going back this morning.”
This morning. Second Saturday of July. Women’s ministry event.
“Norma, I need to ask a huge favor. Can you and the other committee members handle the second video and discussion this morning? I . . . I need to go back to the hospital and be with my boys.”
“Girl, you don’t even need to ask. Just got off the phone with Sister Shareese. She called, already wanting to know what she could do this morning. I think the prayer chain went viral last night. But I had to hear for myself your babies are okay.” Michelle could hear Norma start to choke up. “Oh, Michelle, I can’t believe it. Not Destin and Tavis! How—”
“I can’t go into that right now, Norma. Promise I’ll fill you in later. Just . . . pray, okay? I have a bunch of calls to make.”
“Okay. Love you bunches.”
Michelle started coffee, then realized the smell of dripping coffee made her feel queasy. She turned off the coffeemaker and turned on the teakettle.
Lifeline . . . she needed to call and cancel the post-abortion group this morning. Hated to do it, it was only their second time. But she had no choice. Hopefully the four women would understand. Retrieving her briefcase where she’d dumped it on the dining room table last night, she dug out the Hope and Healing folder with its list of participants and phone numbers. But she hesitated, not sure she had the emotional strength to make calls to these particular women . . . not after toying with the “easy way out” all week.
Bernice. Bernice would do it. The Lifeline receptionist didn’t usually come in until eight thirty. Did she have her home number? If she gave Bernice the names and phone numbers . . .
Ten minutes later she hung up the phone with Bernice, who promised to call the list and just say Mrs. Jasper had a family emergency, but to plan on meeting next week unless they heard differently. All except one participant . . . Grace Meredith.
Michelle really should call Grace herself.
And Estelle Bentley.
She owed it to both of them.
Not only that . . . but she wanted to. Of all the people in the neighborhood, Estelle and Grace had become not just neighbors but prayer sisters. She’d missed the last two Tuesday prayer times—helping Destin pack for camp last week, and then . . . to be honest, she’d avoided going this week because she hadn’t wanted to admit the struggle she was going through, didn’t want to tell anyone yet about the pregnancy. Just in case.
Deep down, Michelle suspected that Estelle and Grace had probably been praying for her this week, even without knowing why.
Something else she needed to do this morning before Tabby woke up. Some overdue quiet time alone with God . . . maybe listening more than talking this time.
* * *
Jared looked haggard when Michelle and Tabby walked into the hospital room that morning. “Didn’t get much sleep last night,” he admitted. A curtain was pulled around Tavis’s bed. “Tavis had a lot of pain during the night. They finally sedated him so he could sleep. Destin got a few hours though.”
“Hey, Mom. Hey, Tabby.” Destin was sitting up in bed, sucking on a straw poked into a plastic container of juice, his breakfast tray mostly demolished, the TV monitor on and the bedside controls for sound turned low. “Pastor Q was here already this morning.”
“That’s nice.” She gave Destin a kiss. Not surprised that the pastor would be their first visitor.
Tabby down sat on the edge of Destin’s bed next to his good leg, but he still winced. “Sorry,” she said. “But move that TV control over here so I can hear too.”
Michelle crept behind the room-dividing curtain and watched Tavis sleep for several minutes. She’d thought she was ready to come back to the hospital and sit with her boys, to be cheerful and positive. But her youngest looked so small lying there, his smooth skin the color of coffee beans standing out against the white sheets, his skinny middle swaddled in bandages. An IV was taped to his wrist, monitors attached here and there.
What if they had lost him? Or Destin?
Each of their children was a gift from God. Precious, precious. And now there was another to think about . . . a new life. Another gift from God?
She certainly hadn’t been thinking about her pregnancy that way. Had it taken almost losing both her sons to change her heart about the life she was carrying right now?
Leaning over and kissing Tavis gently on the forehead, Michelle went back to the others. “Have you had anything to eat, honey?” she asked her husband. “We’re here now, you could go.”
He pushed himself out of the chair gratefully. “Yeah, thanks. Guess I’ll do that.”
But as he headed for the door she changed her mind. “Wait. I’ll come with you.” She needed time with Jared as much as she needed time with her sons. Time alone. Michelle gave her cell phone to Tabby. “Text Dad’s phone if Tavis wakes up, okay?”
They sat in the hospital cafeteria as he ate his plate of scrambled eggs, hash browns, and sausage. Should she tell him now? She could say, “Jared, there’s something I need to tell you . . .” But just then he laid down his fork and sighed, his plate only half eaten. “Did you know Destin took money out of his college fund to buy cases and cases of that SlowBurn drink?”
Michelle’s mouth dropped open. “What? No. I thought . . . I don’t know what I thought. I knew he didn’t have any money, so I just figured it was on consignment or something.”
“Yeah, me too.” Jared took a sip of his lukewarm coffee, made a face, and set it down. “He seemed real upset in the middle of the night, said he didn’t know what to do now, didn’t know how he was going to pay us back for his basketball camp. I told him to forget it. But he said that’s not all . . . that’s when he told me. Believe me, Michelle, I was really pissed! Had to go walk up and down the hall just to let off steam. Huh. I was ready to rip that boy up one side and down the other, Singer too. But when I came back, he’
d actually fallen asleep. Good thing, I guess. Spent most of the night doing a lot of thinking . . .”
Jared got up, dumped his coffee, and got a hot refill. When he asked if she wanted some, Michelle shook her head. The smell made her feel queasy. They walked out of the cafeteria and found a lounge with a private corner.
“It’s tempting to blame all this on Singer. But the more I thought about it, Michelle, the more I realized . . .” Jared’s mouth twitched, as if his emotions were close to the surface. “I realized I’m also at fault here. Been riding that boy all summer about getting a job. But like you said, he was trying. Thing is, I just hung him out there, didn’t give him any direction, didn’t come alongside . . .” Jared’s voice broke and he shook his head. “Funny thing, it wasn’t until Pastor Q showed up this morning, making his hospital rounds, stopping by with a prayer and a word of encouragement, that it hit me. I’ve been trying to be like Pastor Q. Ready to do the work of the Lord at the drop of a hat! I admire the man, Michelle. He’s a good man, a good pastor . . . but he and Donna don’t have kids at home anymore.” Jared’s eyes brimmed. “I do. Three beautiful kids who need me. And most of the time I’m not even there.” The tears slid down his cheeks and he fished for his handkerchief.
“Oh, Jared.” Michelle scooted over and put her arms around her husband and just held him for a few minutes as they sat in the mostly empty lounge.
Finally he blew his nose and sighed. “I don’t know what the answer is, Michelle. But I need to be spending more time with my kids. Maybe especially now that they’re teenagers. Because we can’t take them for granted.” He looked at her soberly. “We could’ve lost both our boys yesterday. But we didn’t. God spared them. Maybe to give me another chance to take my job as a parent more seriously.”