At least the beginning was the end. I would do everything I could to put what happened out of my head, and out of my heart. I had to, since I was sure this would never happen again.
20
Emily
My head was bowed and my eyes were closed, but my ears were not hearing the prayer that Deacon Brown was shouting through the sanctuary. Instead, my mind was on my husband. As the deacon went on and on about the grace of God in our lives, my thoughts were somewhere else.
Last night had been a shocker!
While Jamal had showered, I’d stayed in the front of the condo, ordering my salad, then I watched TV as I waited for my dinner to be delivered and for Jamal to join me. About forty minutes later, my food showed up, but Jamal hadn’t. When I went into our bedroom in search of my husband, I found him. In bed. Asleep. And it was barely eight o’clock.
For a couple of moments, I stood at the door, just watching, just waiting for him to jump up and say, “April Fool’s,” though we were in the middle of September. But Jamal didn’t move. Not even when I sat down on the edge of the bed, not so softly, hoping to wake him.
But even though he hadn’t told me he was going to bed, and even though I’d wanted to spend some time with him, I wasn’t mad. Yes, I needed my husband, but it was just as clear that right now, he needed me. Jamal had fallen back into the abyss.
All I could do was return to the living room, sit on the sofa, tuck my feet beneath me, turn on the TV, and watch a rerun of our favorite movie, Love Story, all by myself.
My mind, though, was on my husband the whole time.
Then, this morning, another shocker!
I’d been awakened with a bit of hope—Jamal’s kisses all over my shoulders, on my neck, on my head.
I rolled over to return his affection, but with a gentle touch, Jamal pushed me down and slid on top of me.
“Babe,” I giggled, until he pressed his lips against mine. It was such a soft kiss, such a Jamal kiss. When he raised his head, I said, “This is exactly what I’d wanted to do last night. But you fell asleep on me.” Playfully, I pouted. “Do you know how long it’s been since we made love?”
“I’m trying to fix that now,” he said with another kiss.
I waited until we broke apart before I said, “But we don’t have time.”
Still, he lowered his head again, his lips aimed for mine.
“We’re gonna be late for church,” I said. “And you know how Pastor wants us in the front row, especially since now you’ll be leading the Men’s Prayer Circle.”
He sighed and rolled onto his back. “I’m not going to church.”
“What?”
“I don’t feel well.”
Wait a minute. Wasn’t this the man who’d just tried to make love to me? “What’s wrong?” I placed my hand on his forehead.
“It’s not a cold or anything. I just don’t feel well.”
I stared at Jamal. This wasn’t the first time we’d missed church, though we hardly did because we were part of Pastor’s Leadership Council. He knew Pastor depended on us. So, if he was staying home, something was up and it wasn’t good.
I paused for a moment, trying to decide the best way to approach this. “Jamal,” I began.
But he shook his head before I could say anything. “Emily, no. We just did this two days ago. I know you think I should get out of the house. I know you think I’m strong. I know you think I’ll get through this.” His eyes were focused on the ceiling.
“No, hear me out,” I said, gently touching his arm. “You’re right about all of that, but there’s one other thing I know will help.” I took a breath, knowing I’d need fortitude for this hard sell.
I said, “You need someone to talk to. Everyone who is grieving does, there’s no way around that. Someone who can hear you and help pull you through.”
He was silent, which was better than him telling me no. So I continued, “I’m your wife, not your therapist. But I can set up an appointment with one of my colleagues.”
Jamal sucked in air.
I said, “You only have to go once and see. If it doesn’t work for you, don’t go back.”
More silence.
“I just know from my heart that getting out of the house is good, and talking with someone will make that better.”
He didn’t look at me when he said, “Give me some room. Give me some time.”
“Okay, okay,” I said, doing everything to keep my voice and tone soft. “But can I say one more thing about this?”
He hesitated again, then nodded.
“The reason why I’m called in to work at the beginning of any tragedy is because we know grief is physically, emotionally, and mentally painful, and the recovery process is slow. But the thing is, you have to begin the process immediately. It doesn’t mean that you will recover right away, just that you’ve taken the steps.” I paused, but he didn’t respond. “Grief plants roots, Jamal. And once the roots are planted, it’s hard to dig them up. You have to dig deeper and dig longer.”
The way he blinked, I could tell he was considering my words.
I finished with, “I don’t want to rush you through the process. I just want you to begin. I know it feels like I’m bugging you, but it’s just that I want to do everything I can to help you.”
Turning his head, he caressed my cheek with his fingertips. “I’ll think about it.”
“That’s all I’m asking,” I said. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, Emily. I really do.”
“I’ve never doubted that. I’ve never doubted you.”
He lowered his eyes.
I said, “So . . . what about church?”
He shook his head.
Church was where my husband needed to be, but there wasn’t any room for another lecture.
“Okay, then, I’ll play hooky with you. Let’s go out to breakfast.”
“No, Em. I’m cool here. You go.”
“I’m not going without you.”
“Go!” Then he rolled away from me. Discussion over.
I lay still, staring at him, trying to decide. Maybe it was best that I go, since it didn’t look like I’d be doing much if I stayed home. Maybe in church I’d hear a word I could bring back to Jamal.
And in church I could definitely pray. There was nothing like corporate prayer.
So that’s what I’d done. I’d showered, blow-dried my hair, did my makeup, dressed . . . and the whole time, Jamal stayed in bed. When I went over to him to kiss him good-bye, he was asleep once again.
“Amen!”
That shout brought me out of my thoughts, and I lifted my head like the other parishioners now that Deacon Brown had finished. Turning, I did another quick scan of the sanctuary. Miriam and Chauncey always sat next to me and Jamal, and Michellelee sat right behind us.
Well, Michellelee was in place, but Miriam wasn’t. Now I wished that I’d called her this morning.
When I heard Pastor Ford say, “Everyone, turn in your Bibles . . .” I twisted and faced the front of the church. Maybe Miriam was here, but didn’t think she should sit in the front anymore. Or maybe she’d chosen Jamal’s method of coping and she was still in bed.
The church filled with the rustling of Bible pages and I did the same, though I found the scripture that the pastor had directed us to, Deuteronomy 28:47, on my iPad.
Pastor Ford said, “With all that’s been going on in our community and right here in this church since the fire, I want to talk about the importance of guarding your heart. Especially during times of trouble, when you feel less joy and more sorrow, it’s important not to let the devil get ahold of your emotions.”
I nodded like everyone else in the sanctuary.
“Now, looking at those scriptures”—she lowered her eyes—“I can sum it up in a couple of words: if you do not serve God with joyfulness and gladness of heart for all that you have already received, you will be open to attacks from the enemy and that’s whom you will serve.” The pastor
looked up and slammed her hand against the podium. “Hello, somebody!”
Murmurs of agreement rose through the congregation.
“Let me explain how this applies to us right now.” Pastor Ford picked up her Bible and strutted in front of the altar. Holding the holy book above her head, she said, “If you love the Lord and are serving Him, you are aware of your abundant blessings. Blessings that are spiritual, financial, emotional, physical—it would take years to go through your life and write down every blessing you’ve received.
“But then something happens: you lose your job, you get divorced, or a devastating fire causes you to lose someone you love. What we tend to do is focus on this singular incident. But does that make sense? Does that wipe out everything that we know and all that we’ve experienced from God?”
“No!” the parishioners shouted.
Pastor Ford returned to the podium. “Now, I’m not saying that as Christians we will never find ourselves angry at God, or questioning God. We have big expectations for our Big God. But don’t get it twisted, keep all of that in check. Don’t go over the cliff with it, because whatever makes you bitter will keep you from getting better.”
“Amen!”
“Through Christ, you can crawl out of grief, you can flourish. But it won’t happen in the middle of your mumbling and grumbling and complaining. Thriving can only happen in the midst of joy. Understand what I’m saying: happiness and sadness are about circumstances. But joy, that’s your inner celebration. When all around you seems to be crumbling, you can have joy. Because you know whom you serve, and you know what He’s done, and you know what He’s doing and what He will do again.”
“Amen!” folks shouted.
“Oh, hear what I’m saying,” Pastor Ford sang. “Amp up your joy. Because the world didn’t give it to you, so how can you let the world and circumstances and losing a job and divorce and even death take that away!”
People were on their feet cheering, and it took a moment for the sanctuary to quiet enough to hear the rest of Pastor’s message. She went on to challenge us to find joy in our lives every day, to seek God so that He could remind us of the blessings we had. And to keep a gratitude journal so that we’d have someplace to go, we’d have words to review, if our pain ever got so deep that we couldn’t remember.
By the end of the sermon, we were all on our feet, shouting with praise. And, in the midst of it, I lowered my head and sent up a silent prayer for Jamal. I prayed that this message would reach his heart through me.
I was so encouraged by the time I held up my hands for the benediction. But when I stepped into the aisle once Pastor dismissed us, my thoughts rushed back to Miriam.
“You’re looking for her, too?” Michellelee said, moving from her seat and standing next to me.
I nodded. “Did you talk to her?”
“I talked to her yesterday morning before you guys were meeting for lunch, but I didn’t call her this morning. I just thought she’d be here.” Michellelee shrugged. “I’ll check on her later, ’cause I’ve got to get to the station.”
“On a Sunday?”
“I’m not working. I just want to see if there’s anything new about the arsonist. No one’s called, but I can get a lot more information there.”
“I’m still hoping it was some sort of accident, because the thought of one person doing this . . .” I shook my head as my eyes continued to scan the crowd.
Then I spotted Miriam, on the other side, all the way in the back. “There she is!” I pointed for Michellelee’s benefit.
We pushed our way through the congregation, even as some tried to stop Michellelee to chat. Members of Hope Chapel loved seeing the news star of Southern California every Sunday.
By the time we got to the back of the church, Miriam and Mama Cee were almost at the door.
“Miriam!” Michellelee and I called out at the same time.
At first, only Mama Cee paused. But then she pulled Miriam’s sleeve, and she turned around, too.
“Oh, hey, Emily,” Miriam said, without a bit of enthusiasm.
“You were going to leave without saying anything?” Michellelee asked as she hugged her.
“I didn’t know you guys were here.”
“Uh . . . yeah,” Michellelee said. “Where else would we be?”
“Good morning,” I said to Mama Cee, hugging her.
“Good morning, baby.”
Turning to Miriam, I said, “So, how are you?”
She shrugged as if that was a good enough answer.
“Where’s Charlie?” I asked.
“He went to round up the boys,” Mama Cee explained. Then she turned to Miriam. “I’m going to go to the ladies’ room; I’ll be right back.”
“You want me to go with you?” Miriam asked.
“Not unless you have to pee, too,” Mama Cee said.
Michellelee and I laughed.
Michellelee said, “Mama Cee, I don’t have to pee, but I’m gonna walk with you ’cause I’m parked on that side of the church and I have to get out of here.” She turned to Miriam. “I’ll call you later.” Then she pointed to me. “You, too.”
I waited until Mama Cee and Michellelee were a little bit away before I asked Miriam, “Why were you sitting back here?”
“Well, we were a little late. And with Mama Cee and Charlie with me . . . you know.”
Her tone was so flat, nothing at all like my friend I’d seen just twenty-four hours ago. “I’m sure Pastor Ford still wants you sitting up front.”
She lowered her eyes. “It really doesn’t matter. Her message is the same no matter where you sit, right?”
“Right.” I grinned and grabbed her hand. “And today was a good message.” I waited to see if Miriam would agree, and when she didn’t, I wondered if she was still mad at God. But maybe she wasn’t—she was in church. “When I didn’t see you, I thought you’d stayed home.”
Miriam shrugged. “Mama Cee said I needed to be here.”
“She’s right.” I sighed. “I wish she’d talk to Jamal.”
Miriam asked, “Where . . . is . . . he?”
“He didn’t want to come, can you believe it?” Miriam looked away as I continued, “Listen, I wanted to ask you about what happened yesterday?”
“Yesterday?” she said, still not looking at me.
“Yes, did anything happen when you guys went to lunch?”
“Lunch?”
I frowned. Why was she parroting me? “Yes, you and Jamal went to lunch, right?”
“Right.”
“So, was everything okay?”
“Okay?”
I tilted my head and spoke a little slower. “Yes, was it okay, because Jamal came home a little down. Like something had happened.”
This time, she didn’t repeat what I said, but she paused so long, I wondered if she was going to answer me at all. Finally, she said, “I don’t know what could’ve happened. We just . . . talked,” she said softly.
“About Chauncey?”
She nodded.
I sighed. “I think that really affected Jamal, really bothered him.”
Now her bright eyes became teary ones. “I’m really sorry, Emily.”
“Oh honey.” I hugged her. “I’m not blaming you. It’s really good that you and Jamal have each other to talk to. You need each other. I just wanted to make sure that’s all it was.”
She shook her head. “That’s all. We just talked.”
“Okay, I’m back!”
Miriam and I turned as Mama Cee walked up the aisle, and for the first time, I noticed the church had cleared out.
Miriam rushed to her mother-in-law’s side. “Here, let me help you.”
Mama Cee glared at Miriam as if she was trying to figure out what her daughter-in-law was doing.
I said, “Well, I parked on the other side of the building, too.”
“Okay, baby.” Mama Cee gave me a hug. “Charlie and I are leaving Tuesday, so I hope we get a chance to see you.”
She blinked rapidly, as if she was trying to keep tears away.
I said, “Love you.”
“Mean it,” Miriam said, so softly I could hardly hear her.
I stood in place as Miriam helped Mama Cee down the church steps, and my heart ached for my friend. Just like Jamal’s, her pain was palpable, and it killed me. I was a psychologist. I was supposed to be able to help them. But I felt just as helpless with Miriam as I felt with Jamal.
I turned toward the side exit door, but then stopped. Maybe there was something I could do. Pivoting, I moved down the center aisle and at the front of the church, I paused for a minute before I lowered myself to my knees.
The church was empty when I knelt down on the padded cushions, preparing to pray for Jamal and Miriam.
Empty, except for me and the Lord. And as long as He was there, no one and nothing else mattered.
21
Miriam
Either I was having a major heart attack or telling lies to my best friend was the best cardio workout ever. Because for the last half hour, my heart had pounded like I’d done ten one-hundred-yard sprints, which would’ve been quite a feat for me.
I didn’t know what I’d been thinking, but I wasn’t prepared to see Emily. When I spotted her pressing through the crowd in my direction, all I wanted to do was pick up Mama Cee and run like hell. But since that wasn’t going to happen, I acted like I hadn’t heard her calling. The only problem was, I hadn’t let Mama Cee in on my deception.
All I could do was stand there, remember to breathe in, breathe out, and pretend that I hadn’t just slept with my best friend’s husband.
But then Emily started questioning me about Jamal, and it was only because of my theatrical training that I was still able to stand on my wobbling legs and not sound like a babbling idiot. Or maybe I did sound like a fool, I didn’t know. All I remembered was talking and trying not to look into her eyes.
Now, as I sat behind Charlie, who was driving my van, I kept checking out the cars behind us, and when anyone pulled up beside us, I held my breath. I wanted to tell Charlie to put the pedal to the metal so that we could get far away from Emily. I was sure she was lurking somewhere, having figured it out. She would catch us at some red light, jump out of her car, and scream for the whole world to hear that I was a liar and a cheat and no friend of hers.
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