He had a lot to atone for and he wasn’t above repeatedly begging God for mercy. He’d grovel before God on his hands and knees if need be. Now, with tubes and monitors helping him to remain on this side of the grave, he could only mentally beg God, from his sickbed, for divine mercy and grace. He’d repent over and over until he was sure God heard him.
It was cool inside Jasper’s ICU room. And yet perspiration suddenly broke out on Jasper’s forehead. Pain came like someone had scorched him with a hot poker. He didn’t know who or why, but he felt the pain tear through his arm and travel across his shoulders, causing him to almost double over in the bed.
Then there was the tunnel. Somehow Jasper found that he was in a tunnel. He knew for certain he was because every sound had an echo. The machines humming had echoes and the voices suddenly appearing out of nowhere, they had echoes, too. But then the pain disappeared. Where had the pain gone? How could he fall as fast as he was falling, without the pain that caused it?
At the same time, inside her hotel room, Zipporah had continued moving about the kitchenette when suddenly it began to feel smaller, as though everything in it could fit inside a dollhouse.
Zipporah heard the air conditioner in the living room suddenly kick on as though it weren’t already cold enough. She hadn’t touched it and she was almost certain that Chandler hadn’t either. She went into the living room to check.
Zipporah’s hand shook but not from the coldness in the room. She was sure about that. The shaking caused her to drop the glass she was about to set on the coffee table. She leaned her head straining to hear a low sound that kept eluding her, but she could hear her own voice and it sounded strange, as though it had too much reverb in it. Suddenly, her entire body went limp and her head just barely missed hitting the edge of the television cabinet. She tried to call out to Chandler as she fell. He wasn’t there.
Moments before, frustrated from marinating in his body odor, Chandler had gone inside Zipporah’s bathroom. With a pinky-swear promise to behave, he’d talked Zipporah into permitting him to use her shower as well as the extra bathrobe. Surrendering his tired body to the hot water that jabbed at his body, he’d been able to finally relax. With the sound of the bathroom’s ceiling fan strumming, and the water falling, he never heard her fall.
49
Bea was panting by the time she’d arrived at Zipporah’s room. She hadn’t called Sister Betty or Sasha when she got the news. When Chandler had phoned her to tell her what’d happened, she rushed over, wearing only her slip and a pair of SpongeBob house shoes. She’d taken the stairs, not waiting for the elevator to take her up the two floors.
“Zipporah.” Bea cradled Zipporah’s head, brushing her hair aside as she called her name. “Zipporah!” Bea called her name again, slowly trying to remove the anxiety from her voice. “You want me to call you a doctor?”
“She won’t let me call one,” Chandler said as he paced. He was moving around in a bathrobe.
Sister Betty flew into the room through the open door with Sasha only seconds behind.
“What happened?” Sister Betty asked as she watched Bea cradling Zipporah and mumbling.
“She fell and that’s all I know,” Chandler said bluntly.
“Did you hit her?” Sasha asked, raising her cane at Chandler. “That’s my niece and I won’t let nobody abuse her!”
Chandler hadn’t meant to shove his godmother so hard, but Mother Pray Onn had sucker punched him with her accusation. He rushed over to her and with all the respect he could muster, which would’ve filled a thimble at that moment, he blasted her.
“How dare you!” Chandler sniped as Sasha cowed. “Now she’s your niece. Wasn’t she your niece when you gave her away?”
Everything stopped. If the air flowed in that room, no one could feel it. There was a shift in the atmosphere and it wasn’t healthy.
“Don’t yell at my aunt,” Zipporah said softly.
All heads turned to Zipporah, who was still cradled in Bea’s arms.
“Say what!” Chandler snapped. He hadn’t meant to use that tone when it came to Zipporah, but her sudden allegiance to Mother Pray Onn caught him off guard.
Zipporah extricated her head from Bea’s grasp and sat up. Her eyes looked a bit unfocused but she spoke clearly. “Yelling at her won’t get us anywhere and it won’t tell me what I need.”
Sasha was dumbfounded. If Sister Betty weren’t standing only inches away to catch her, she’d have fallen completely out.
Chandler threw his hands up in defeat and his robe became undone.
All the women saw, but Sister Betty was the first to speak up. “My goodness, June Bug . . .” Sister Betty’s eyes widened. “You’ve changed since you were a child.”
Chandler grabbed his robe. Embarrassed, he ran into the other room.
“Now, didn’t that make you feel better?” Bea asked Zipporah.
It certainly hadn’t hurt things, Zipporah thought. Zipporah’s old self had slowly begun to return, but she didn’t answer Bea. Her words were trapped by the sight of all three women smiling at her and not one tooth showing between them. She turned her head away. Old people are truly crazy, she thought.
Inside Zipporah’s bathroom, Chandler had finally gotten over his embarrassment and acted as if he hadn’t shown the women his gift as he sauntered back inside Zipporah’s living room.
“You look better,” Chandler said to Zipporah, “and y’all need to be ashamed.”
“Probably, we should.” Bea laughed. “But I’m not.”
“That’s what you get for disrespecting your elders,” Sasha reprimanded. “And now that I know that my niece is in good hands, I’m taking my tired butt to bed. And I mean it this time.”
Sasha, her cane tapping lightly over the carpet, went over to Zipporah. Bea moved to the end of the couch so Sasha could sit.
“Zipporah,” Sasha said as she took her hand, “I don’t want to start off with an apology. That would take up the precious time you could use asking questions I know that you have.” Sasha looked around the room and smiled. “So, for right now, you get some rest. I promise I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
“We’ll come back later and have something to eat while we chat,” Bea blurted.
“I’ll come back later and perhaps over a meal, you and I will chat.” Sasha turned to Bea and nodded, making sure Bea understood their need for privacy, before turning back to Zipporah. “You promise to rest up?”
Zipporah didn’t promise. Instead, she took her hand from Sasha’s and hugged her.
Sasha’s body almost went limp. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had hugged her. She breathed hard and suppressed her tears.
Sister Betty watched it all. She was amazed. So much had happened in a week and she still wasn’t quite sure what it had to do with her. She started toward the door. “I’ve got to go. Everything here seems to be in good hands. Chandler, Zipporah, Bea, and you, too, Sasha, I’ll chat with you later.” And then she left.
Moments later, Bea and Sasha followed Sister Betty. Bea had secured a silent promise from Sasha’s nod that they’d talk later. Bea expected a full report from Sasha about the conversation with Zipporah.
After he’d closed the door, Chandler turned to Zipporah and asked, “Are you really okay?”
“I believe so.”
“What happened before you fell? Tell me again.”
Zipporah repeated as best she could remember the sensation she’d felt in the kitchen and then the darkness. “That’s all I can remember.”
“Why don’t you go and put some water on your face,” Chandler suggested. “You look about as bad as I smelled.”
“Okay.”
While Zipporah washed her face and freshened up in the bathroom, there was a knock at her door.
Chandler thought it was probably one of the women who’d forgotten something, so he didn’t mind opening it in nothing but a robe. Instead, he found Alicia. “Look at you,” he said, suddenly smiling.
Alicia had her hair swept to one side with a couple of strands teasing her cheeks. An expensive diamond pin held her hair in place. She was dressed in an off the shoulder floor-length black dress that seemed destined to burst if she breathed hard.
“I’ve been leaving messages for you,” Alicia said as she pushed aside a stray tress and stared, disapprovingly, at Chandler. She let her eyes slowly sweep across an opened part of the robe just above the knee, and then she looked up.
Chandler immediately grabbed his robe to keep it from reopening and invited her inside.
“You didn’t return my calls,” Alicia continued as she entered and faced him. She switched her purse from one hand to the other, smoothing her lipstick with a tongue that darted from side to side. Her eyes pierced through him as though she were trying to read his thoughts. “I thought I would give the message to Zipporah, in person.” She stopped and pulled a small envelope from her clutch purse but she didn’t offer it to him. “I didn’t want you to think I’d overstepped my boundaries since you’re the manager.” She was challenging him to explain without asking directly.
“Well, you’ve found me.” He reached for the envelope but she sidestepped him. Chandler had tried politeness but as usual, Alicia pushed when she didn’t have to.
“Where’s Zipporah?” she asked almost in a whisper.
“Zipporah,” Chandler called out. “We’ve got company.”
He knew Alicia would read more into the “we’ve” than he meant. As tired as he was, Chandler wasn’t above making Alicia uncomfortable, if that was indeed possible.
Zipporah came out of the bathroom. Her face showed surprise and puzzlement when she saw Alicia standing in the middle of her living room looking fabulous. She recovered quickly when she saw Alicia pretending not to look at Chandler.
“Good evening, Alicia. What’s going on?” Zipporah came closer and stood next to Chandler. She flicked an invisible speck from his robe in a move designed to mark him as taken.
Alicia smiled. She’d played that game far too many times not to know that move. However, she’d already made up her mind that Chandler and she were not going to happen. But it didn’t mean she wouldn’t practice a whorish move every now and then.
“I have something for you.” She waved the envelope teasingly under Chandler’s nose and gave it to Zipporah.
“Thank you.” Zipporah wanted to know what was in it but she wasn’t about to giggle like a schoolgirl or tear open the envelope in front of Alicia.
Alicia didn’t move.
“Is there something more or do you know what’s in this?” Zipporah stepped in front of Chandler. This was her suite and Alicia needed to play by her rules or better yet, leave.
“No, there’s nothing more. You already know that the opening act has changed and a new costume fitting is required. It needs to happen quickly.”
“No, I didn’t know that,” Zipporah replied, curtly.
“Really, I’m certain it was one of several messages I left on Chandler’s private number. Of course, he’s had time to check his voice mail. I’m sure he would’ve told you in time.” Alicia took a moment to let the implication sink in and test the temperature change between Zipporah and Chandler. Both of them looked uncomfortable and their bodies stiffened.
“I’ve got a date,” Alicia announced. Suddenly, it felt lukewarm and not as cozy as a moment ago. She was almost amused, noting that Chandler stood in one spot and had not commented one way or the other.
Chandler didn’t wait for Zipporah to handle Alicia; he jumped right in. He took Zipporah by the hand. They both walked ahead of Alicia, leading her to the door.
“Well, you have a good evening, Alicia,” Chandler said with a Cheshire cat grin. “Now Zipporah and I don’t have to rush what we were doing.”
“Rushing isn’t your style, Chandler.” Zipporah meant to get in her dig and she dug deep. “I’ll get to this”—she held up the envelope again—“when I have a moment.”
Alicia’s face reddened. Little beads of perspiration popped like popcorn across her brow. She yanked the doorknob and dashed out.
“Was it something I said?” Zipporah spun around in Chandler’s arms and laughed. She was almost happy Alicia had stopped by. Her antics had given Zipporah something to laugh about.
“What do you think?” Chandler said, smiling. “I don’t wanna get on your list.”
“I didn’t put her on it, she volunteered.”
Chandler stepped back and took a more serious tone. “Are you going to read what’s in the envelope?”
“I don’t know if I should.” She’d answered with concern, when just a nanosecond ago she was laughing. “Envelopes seemed to come with so much drama.”
“Do you want me to read it? I don’t think Alicia would’ve made the trip if it didn’t come with some importance. Whether or not she actually left a message about the costume changes tonight, I’ll have to check. It wouldn’t be the first time a show has been rescheduled.”
“So, I’m not fired?”
“Alicia’s a bit flirty but she’s not crazy.”
“You’re right. I can sing.”
“About the envelope—do you want me to read what’s in it? I’m curious.” He stuck out his hand, palm open.
“You might as well.” Again, Zipporah forced another smile as she laid the envelope in his hand. She turned away feeling that at the speed her emotional roller coaster was moving, she was going to land in schizoid-ville soon.
Chandler patted Zipporah on the shoulder to let her know that he would handle whatever it was. He must’ve reread the contents five times, trying to wrap his mind around the information.
“What time is it?” It wasn’t as much a question as something to utter aloud. He had to say something to keep from saying what he wanted to say.
Chandler looked over at Zipporah. He could tell by the way she was looking at him, her hands clasping and unclasping, that she was getting anxious. The words weren’t spoken but he knew she definitely wanted to know what the message was about.
But there was no easy way to tell her. The time stamp on the message was only about an hour old. The message must’ve arrived shortly after Zipporah had fainted. How Alicia got it, he didn’t know.
Chandler reread the message and for the life of him, he couldn’t find a way to let Zipporah know that Jasper Epps, the father she had never known, was dead.
50
It was Chandler who’d finally gotten Zipporah to stop sobbing. She’d cried so loud he was afraid security would call the police. Zipporah had thrown things and when there was nothing left to toss, she’d thrown herself on the floor and pounded it.
When he’d first tried to hold her to keep her from harming herself, she’d clawed at him. He had two long nail slashes he hoped would heal without scarring.
Zipporah had rocked and cried on the floor for at least five minutes if not longer. He watched her the entire time and couldn’t figure out how she’d not hurt herself. He decided to leave her like that until he could figure something out.
It was he who’d made the calls to Bea and Sasha. He’d seen no reason to involve Sister Betty. Obviously, Bea and Sasha had, because Sister Betty arrived half dressed in the hotel lobby with them.
Since Jasper was dead, Chandler hadn’t rushed. Before calling Mothers Blister and Pray Onn, he’d called the hospital and arranged for them not to remove Jasper’s body until his daughter arrived. They’d agreed to wait.
As soon as they’d stopped at a red light Chandler turned around to check on Zipporah and the other women. She looked like a zombie with her eyes still glassy and fixed. Bea, Sasha, and Sister Betty sat on both sides of her. “Is she okay?”
“She will be,” Sasha replied.
Chandler watched as the old women piled their hands atop Zipporah’s hand to comfort her. It seemed an odd thought, but he found himself comparing her to a painting he’d once seen. It was of the Hindu goddess Saraswati, playing a sitar with several pairs of h
ands that protruded from her body.
The path to the ICU seemed awkward. There was a supply cabinet overflowing with yellow and blue gowns and a shelf containing paper shoes. The sign read that they were to don them whether or not they were there to see a patient. They didn’t and no one stopped or chastised them.
Jasper’s room seemed a long way off. It hadn’t seemed that far earlier. “Have you waited long?” The question came from out of nowhere. Everyone turned around to meet the voice except Zipporah. She had to be steered.
“Miss Moses, I’m sorry for your loss.” The woman kept speaking as if she’d met them all before. “Let’s sit down.” She pointed to a small room that had a desk and several chairs.
Ms. Diaz was one of the hospital’s social workers who dealt with bereavement cases. She appeared to be in her mid- to late forties and wore long dreadlocks pulled back into a ponytail that peeked out from the center of a huge head wrap. Her rimless glasses perched upon a short, cinnamon-colored and freckled stubby nose.
Miss Diaz sat and waited for Chandler and the other women to sit as well. Zipporah, her eyes red and swollen, was seated next to him. “Again, please accept our condolences.” She immediately adopted a motherly demeanor as she turned and addressed Zipporah. She pulled several forms from her folder and handed them to Chandler, thinking he was Zipporah’s husband.
The meeting with Miss Diaz didn’t last too long. She gave permission for Zipporah, and the others if they’d wanted, about five to ten minutes to find closure with the deceased. And then she’d need information as to what was to happen with the body. Neither Zipporah nor the others had a clue as to how his remains would be disposed of.
“Mr. Epps had a stage-four lung cancer that had apparently spread to other parts of the body rather quickly. We haven’t had an autopsy, naturally, since he only died earlier this evening. However, according to the medical charts he also had congestive heart disease. If one thing hadn’t killed him the other did.” She flipped through the file, removed her glasses and quickly read one of the pages. “Apparently, Mr. Epps’s attorney faxed over some instructions. We’d notified all interested parties about the same time but I hadn’t realized someone, other than his immediate family, had responded so quickly.”
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