I inched over to the edge of the bed, thinking the next time I laid my head down, Chauncey would really be gone forever. Reaching across the bed, I did what I’d been doing every day—I grabbed Chauncey’s pillow, held it to my chest, and inhaled, imagining that I could smell him. I squeezed, imagining that I could feel his strength. Then, I spoke to the pillow and imagined he could hear the words of love I had for him.
After a moment, I set Chauncey’s pillow back on his side of the bed and then slipped into my bathrobe before stepping out of my room.
The aroma of brewing coffee embraced me even though the house was still just-a-bit-after-dawn quiet. I stopped in the kitchen, poured myself a cup, then peeked into the backyard before I pushed the sliding door open and stepped outside.
I rested my cup on the patio table before I wrapped my arms around my mother-in-law. “Good morning.”
“Mornin’ baby.” As I sat next to her, she asked, “Did you rest well?”
I nodded as I sipped. “It was my best night so far, but now that it’s morning, now that it’s today . . .”
“You’re gonna make it, baby. We all are.” She patted the worn leather cover of the Bible on the table in front of her. “That’s one of the promises of God. He promises to turn our mourning into dancing.”
I took another sip, sure that I would never dance again.
“Yes,” Chauncey’s mother continued, “the Lord really does feel our pain and He’s shedding a tear or two for us.”
My mother-in-law gave me a sideways glance. I knew what she was thinking. Usually when she got to doing her little preaching, I was her Amen corner. Whenever she sang about how good God had been to her, I was her background singer, adding my praises, too.
But even though God had brought me so far, it felt like it had all been for nothing. He’d taken away the greatest treasure that He’d ever given to me. So, what was the point of all the other good things?
My mother-in-law opened her mouth in a perfectly shaped O, but before she could speak, Charlie slid open the patio door.
“You finished reading your Bible, Mama Cee?” he asked.
It took her a moment to unlock her eyes from me, but she nodded as she faced her son. “Been finished for a while now. Just sitting here, talkin’ about how in the midst, God is still good.”
Charlie paused for a moment, as if he was waiting for me. When I said nothing, he piped in with “Amen.”
I guessed he was going to play my position and I almost smiled.
Charlie slipped into the chair on the other side of me and then asked his mother, “Did you talk to Miriam yet?”
My eyes moved back and forth between them. “About what?”
To Charlie, Mama Cee said, “I haven’t had the chance.” To me, she said, “Charlie suggested something last night and I don’t know why I didn’t think of it.” She rested her hand over mine. “We want you and the boys to come live with us.”
“What?”
“Yeah,” Charlie said from the other side, making me feel as if I was surrounded by this idea. “It’s going to be a lot with the boys, and we can help.”
I shook my head. “Arizona? I don’t know. It’s hard for me to imagine my life past tomorrow.”
“I know,” Mama Cee said softly, in that voice that always made me want to lay my head on her chest. “But we’re your family and I want you close so that I can take care of you the way my son would want.”
In the last week, I’d had lots of reasons to cry, and my mother-in-law had just added another one. She’d given me lots of these tear-jerking, heartwarming moments over the years.
But I just couldn’t cry anymore, so I sighed deeply. “Can I think about this?”
“Of course. We just wanted you to know this is an option.”
“A good option,” Charlie added.
Mama Cee said, “An option we want to happen.”
Reaching across the table, I took my mother-in-law’s hand and then my brother-in-law’s, too. “I’m so grateful for you.”
“So, you’ll really think about it?” my mother-in-law asked.
“Definitely; there’s a lot to consider, though. Especially how it will be for the boys.”
“The Lord will lead you.” She patted my hand, and turned her gaze back to the rising sun.
We sat in the silence of the budding morning, and finally Charlie said, “You want me to get the boys up?”
“No,” I said softly, “I’ll do that.”
This was it. It was time. My legs were as heavy as my heart when I pushed my chair back. I took small steps, as if somehow slowing down could stop the inevitable.
As I stepped into the house, the doorbell rang and I released a deep breath. Today was going to be hard, but now that I heard that bell, I could do it. I rushed to the door, then fumbled with the locks, not releasing them fast enough. I was already smiling when I swung the door open, but then my smile faded right away.
“Oh.”
“Oh? That must be Swahili for ‘I’m so glad to see my best friend.’ ” Michellelee dumped the garment bag she was carrying onto the settee by the door, then hugged me. I still had the door open and I peeked outside, searching for another car. But only Michellelee’s Mercedes and Charlie’s rental car were in front of my house.
“Who were you expecting?” Michellelee asked.
I shut the door. “No one in particular. I mean, everyone has been stopping by. Anyway, Mama Cee made some coffee. Want a cup?”
“Definitely. And then”—she hooked her arm through mine—“I’m here to help you with whatever you need.”
“Thanks, but there’s something I’ve gotta tell you.”
“What?”
I opened my mouth to tell Michellelee about Mama Cee, Charlie, and Arizona. But then I took one last glance at the front door and in an instant decided to keep that news to myself.
At least for now.
“What do you have to tell me?” Michellelee asked.
“Only that I love you.”
“Awww . . . mean it,” she said as she gathered me into a hug.
10
Emily
Steam still filled the shower, even though it had been at least a minute since I’d stepped out. I wiped the mirror, making a small circle so that I could see my reflection.
I’d hoped that fifteen minutes under all of that steam would have been refreshing, but exhaustion was still written all over my face.
Talk about difficult times. I’d had five twelve-hour workdays in a row, each filled with nothing but sorrow. I’d even missed church yesterday because there were so many survivors to see. The countless siblings and classmates and friends left behind. There wasn’t any kind of training that taught me how to keep my emotions in check under these circumstances. It was impossible, and so often, I just lost it.
I wrapped myself inside the oversized towel and wished that today wasn’t today. Because if it had been a different day, I would’ve crawled back into bed and slept until my bones told me it was okay to rise. But today was the day and as exhausted as I was, I had to be strong for two people I loved so much: Miriam and Jamal.
When I opened the bathroom door, the sun was just beginning to make its debut, so the light in the room was dim. But I could see my husband clearly, sitting on the edge of our bed, wearing nothing but a pair of white briefs, a shocking and beautiful contrast to his skin. His head was down, his eyes were closed, and the tips of his fingers were pressed together, forming a steeple. He was a gorgeous sight: the perfection of his calves, his muscular thighs, his biceps that bulged.
But what was most attractive to me was seeing my husband in prayer. I wanted to join him, but I didn’t need to be next to him to do that. Even standing this far across the bedroom, I could hear his silent plea to God, I could feel his words. That’s just how we were—connected. It had always been that way. I knew it first, but it didn’t take long for Jamal to get the same clarity that I had about us . . .
April 18, 2001
That’s why I’d been up until just a little before dawn studying. Not that my professor would care that I was exhausted. Professor Gaylord, like the other teachers in the Psych department, was very strict and serious. The moment the clock struck nine, he was locking that door.
Glancing at the clock once again, I saw I would make it, if I got going now. I gathered my leather backpack and dashed out of the tiny apartment my parents had rented for me right across from the campus. But the moment I stepped outside, my cell phone rang.
Cell phones were really cool, but calls always came through at the most inopportune times. I started not to answer but curiosity grabbed ahold of me. I had to make it to class on time, but certainly I could talk and run at the same time.
“Hello,” I said, breaking into a trot.
“Emily?”
I recognized the voice right away and it stopped me cold—well, maybe it didn’t totally stop me, but it slowed me down. Even though I knew who was on the other end, I spoke as if I didn’t. “Yes, this is Emily Harrington.”
“Uh, Emily. This is Jamal.”
“Jamal?”
“Yes, Jamal Taylor, Chauncey’s friend.”
I let a couple of moments pass as if I was trying to connect the dots, even though I was sure that Jamal knew I was pretending. It was true that he and I weren’t friends, but we’d seen each other numerous times since he’d brushed me off three years ago. It was hard to stay out of each other’s path when our best friends were dating and then had finally married. But it didn’t matter the occasion: whenever I saw Jamal, I was aloof. He barely got a hello out of me and never a good-bye.
But now, here he was, on the other end of my phone.
“Oh, Jamal,” I said. “I didn’t recognize your voice.”
“That’s cool. It’s not like you hear me all the time. How’re you?”
“Good. What can I do for you?” I asked, keeping my words and my tone formal.
“If you have a moment, I want to talk to you about Miriam and Chauncey. You know their first anniversary is coming up in about two months.”
I waited a beat. “I know that. And . . .” I said, keeping my cool facade, though I was heating up just at the sound of his voice.
“Well, I wanted to do something special for them.”
“Like?” I wasn’t giving him an inch.
He proceeded. “I was thinking about doing something like a destination party. Having a first-anniversary celebration in Maui for them.”
I couldn’t help it. I stopped moving. Maui! Now, that was special. “Wow!” I said.
“Yeah,” he said, sounding as if he was pleased to get a positive word out of me. “I was hoping we could get a bunch of their friends to gather their pennies and go down there for a long weekend or something. I was going to pay for Miriam and Chauncey. You know, their airfare and hotel.”
“Wow!” I said again, hating myself for being impressed.
“So, that’s the idea,” he said, “but I need someone to help me work it out, and that’s why I’m calling.”
Oh, okay, was I really supposed to believe that? I was sure he really did need help, but this felt like a ruse to spend time with me. I knew it! I’d always known it: Jamal liked me.
Then he said, “I called Michellelee, but she told me that she was going to be in Indiana covering the upcoming McVeigh execution.”
And with just those few words, he’d blown up my world. I just needed to stop thinking that there would ever be anything between me and Jamal and just help him out for Miriam’s sake.
“So, what do you need from me?” I asked, speeding up my steps.
“Help with the planning. I need a partner to make sure that I do it right and don’t forget anything.”
“Sure, I’ll help.”
“Great, great. Well then, let’s get together. Maybe we could go out to dinner.”
Going out to dinner was one of the things I wanted to do with him from the moment he walked through our door. But I said, “Dinner would be difficult. My schedule is quite full. How about we just meet for coffee?”
“Okay.”
Did I detect a tinge of disappointment in his voice?
He said, “Do you have any time today or tomorrow?”
“No,” I said bluntly, even though my schedule, except for studying, was completely open. “I’m busy, so let’s do Saturday morning.”
“I was hoping to meet with you sooner.”
“Sorry, but like I said—”
“You’re busy,” he finished for me.
“Yes, so let’s do Saturday,” I said, feeling like, finally, I had some control. “At Magic’s Starbucks. The new one in Ladera.” That was right around the corner from Miriam’s and I could hook up with her afterward.
“That’ll work. You wanna meet around nine?”
“Let’s make it ten,” I said.
He laughed as if he was onto my game. “Okay, ten it is. Thanks, Emily.”
When I hung up the phone, I was mad at myself on so many levels. I was mad because I’d thought that he had called me, Emily Harrington, because he wanted to talk to me, Emily Harrington. And then I was mad because I even cared.
But at least I made it to my class on time, though I really could have done without the lecture. It was hard to concentrate with Jamal Taylor on my mind.
He stayed on my mind for the next two days. And he was really on my mind when I woke up on Saturday morning at five o’clock trying to decide what I was going to wear five hours later.
By eight, I was sick of myself, as I marched back and forth from my closet to my bed. “I’m just going to have coffee. This is no big deal.”
But the fact that half of my closet was thrown across my bed and shoes and boots were tossed everywhere let me know that something my daddy always told me was true: a fool could never fool himself.
Finally, I made a choice, but only because it was nine-fifteen and I refused to be late. I put on my rhinestone-studded jeans with the matching jacket, and I strutted up to Starbucks with nothing but confidence. That is, until I saw him sitting under one of the green umbrellas outside.
But I kept my stride as if he had no effect on me, and when he stood to greet me, I congratulated myself on still breathing.
“Hey,” he said in that voice. He reached out and held me in an awkward hug, and I quickly slipped away. “So, you wanna go in and get a drink?”
“That’s why I suggested Starbucks.” I started walking toward the door, not even waiting for him.
He was quick, though, and right behind me. I had no doubt his eyes were on me. Too bad there wasn’t much to see from behind. Now, if he was in front and walking backward, I would’ve given him quite a show.
We gave our orders to the barista: a chai tea latte for me, and the bold pick of the day for him. Straight, no chaser, no cream, no sugar—nothing but black coffee.
Once we had our drinks in hand, he said, “It’s kinda nice. Let’s sit outside.”
“Let’s sit in here,” I responded, and led the way. Sitting at the table, I pulled out my PalmPilot and got right to business. “I’m going to take some notes.”
“Wait a minute, Emily.” He reached across the table, touched my hand, and the electricity shot straight from my fingers down to my toes. He said, “I’ve wanted to apologize to you for a while now, but you never gave me much of a chance.”
At least he’d noticed that he’d been ignored.
“That’s why I called Michellelee first,” he said. “ ’Cause I had images of you hanging up on me, and I would’ve deserved it. But can I have a moment to explain?”
I leaned back in my chair, crossed my arms. That was my signal that he could go on.
“When we met, I really liked you and I thoug
ht we were going to be great friends. But then you called and were talking about dinner and going out, and I didn’t see you that way.”
“Why not? We talked for what, two, three hours? You liked me, I liked you. So what was it?” I put my finger to my head as if I was thinking for a moment. “Oh, yeah,” I said, as if I’d just remembered. “I was an ineligible player, all because I was . . .”
I stopped so that he could finish, but all he did was lower his eyes.
“That’s what I’m sorry about. Because I should’ve never said that. I should’ve just told you that I wanted to be friends and not said anything else.”
“You’re right about that.”
“I really wanted to be friends. You were so cool. You’re still cool.”
“How do you know that? I could have cooled off.”
“You haven’t.” He grinned. “Plus, I keep up with what’s going on with you through Miriam and Chauncey.”
“Oh really? Why?” I hoped my tone sounded like I was just curious and really didn’t care. But inside, my heart was doing some kind of thumpity-thump-thump thing.
“Because I wanted to know what was going on with you and I was mad at myself for missing out on a good friendship. So I apologize for the way it went down and I really hope that we can be friends.”
I shrugged. “Let’s just see what happens,” I said, knowing full well that when I got back to my apartment, I’d be dancing all night.
For the next couple of hours we talked and planned, forgetting that I was Emily, the white girl, and he was Jamal, the black guy. We were just Emily and Jamal, friends of Miriam and Chauncey, planning the surprise party of the century.
“Now about the expenses,” I said. “I can help out, and I’m sure Michellelee will want to help as well.”
“No, I got this. My grandmother left me some money back when she passed and I’ve been waiting for the right time to spend a little bit of it. This is it.”
Awww. I was trying my best not to look at him with puppy-dog eyes, but I was sure that, the way I was adoring him, he was soon going to be calling me Rover.
“Now, you guys,” he began, “y’all are gonna have to pay your own way. I ain’t that special.”
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