by Candice Dow
Tears filled her eyes. My heart dropped. It was selfish, but I was thinking: Not now, Bishop. Not now. She took a deep breath, and it seemed several minutes passed before she spoke. “He had a stroke and it appears that his voice is gone.”
That news was like loud cymbals clapping in my ears. That was probably worse than death for him. Words evaded me as I looked for the right thing to say to console her. I hugged her again. Taylor looked at me as if she needed me to say something, to do something, but I felt weak at the moment.
I said, “Where’s the doctor? Is that what the doctor’s saying? Is it temporary?”
Taylor’s oldest sister, Toni, looked at me and shrugged. Taylor hung her head, and Mrs. Jabowski said, “Why don’t you talk to him, Devin? Please.”
I looked at Toni’s husband, Walter, who sat there useless and wondered why hadn’t they designated him to do the talking. Rather than entertain that, I took on the challenge. My wife, her mother, and her sister needed me. I headed to the nurses’ station to investigate. Just as I stepped up to the desk, one of the nurses looked up at me like she’d worked all day without a break and I was the last thing she needed to exert her energy on. Her face scrunched up, but I greeted her with a smile.
“I’m so sorry to bother you. I would like to know if I could speak to the doctor taking care of Jacob Jabowski.”
She took a deep, irritated breath. I spoke before she could: “I know that my family has probably been worrying you, but have you ever heard of Zion Baptist Church?”
Her frown lifted slightly. “Why?”
“That’s the pastor, Bishop Jacob Jabowski, in there, and we just want to know what’s going on.”
I smiled at her again. Somebody had to care about the man of God. She sighed and scooted back from the desk. “I’ll have him come right out. You can stand here or have a seat and I’ll tell him to come over.”
Something told me my chances were greater if I simply stood patiently in front of her, than if I went away. I nodded. “I’ll just wait here, sweetheart. Thank you so much.”
She sucked her teeth, but said, “No problem.”
After five minutes or so, a young doctor emerged and before he talked to the nurse, I reached my hand out and shook his hand. “Good evening, Doctor…” I said, squinting as if I was attempting to read his name tag.
He said, “Fisher. I’m Dr. Fisher.”
“Dr. Fisher, I’m with the Jabowski family and we want to know about Bishop Jabowski’s prognosis.”
He flipped through his clipboard and flicked his pen. “I’ve spoken to the family several times. At this moment, everything is still the same. He suffered a chronic stroke, and right now his speech is gone.”
“I mean, do you foresee it returning anytime soon?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. You can never really tell with strokes.”
I shook my head. “Nah, this can’t be.”
“Sir, I wish I had better news, but right now that’s the way it is.”
“Are you a specialist?”
“No, but I have in my chart for him to be seen by a specialist once he’s on the floor.”
“When will he get on the floor?”
“It looks like he’s in stable condition right now. So they’ll be moving him shortly.”
I hoped to be the hero returning with better news, but I strolled back to the waiting area with the same prognosis. And it didn’t look good. I almost wanted to lie as I approached the three helpless women. Each of them looked at me as if I was the pillar of hope. I said, “He’s pretty much saying the same thing that he told you guys, but I believe that only a specialist can really give a clear prognosis.”
“What kind of specialist?” Mrs. Jabowski asked.
“A neurologist can give a better opinion. I’m sure it’s not as cut and dried as he’s making it. He’s just trying to move him onto the floor.”
Mrs. Jabowski shook her head. “It just doesn’t make any kind of sense how they treat us.”
I looked at Taylor staring at the wall. It bothered me the way she was handling this challenge. I sat down on the arm of the chair beside her and stroked her back. “You okay, baby?”
She huffed. “My father almost died. What do you think?”
“Taylor, he’s alive.”
“But he can’t talk.”
I could see that making her feel better was not happening so I just stopped talking. Somehow, I needed to find a way to get her to open up to me. I continued to just rub her back. Finally, she rested her arm on my leg and began taking deep breaths. She looked up at me and said, “I’m hungry.”
“Let’s go to the cafeteria.” She stood up, and I looked at everyone else and asked, “Does anyone else want anything?”
Mrs. Jabowski stood. “I’m going to go with you.”
No, lady. I need to talk to my wife. Instead, I smiled and put my arm around her shoulder and grabbed Taylor’s hand. With the ball of her thumb, she stroked our clasped hands. I felt her relaxing. Truth be told, I’ve never dealt with any major illness with my parents. So I really didn’t know what she was going through. All I could do was be supportive, but it would be a lot easier if I didn’t have something to tell her.
After going the wrong way, following bogus directions, we arrived at the cafeteria several minutes later. Mrs. Jabowski was doing all the talking. Taylor seemed to be in a daze, and I was concocting a smooth way to transition into discussing my run for Congress. I asked them what they wanted and told them to have a seat.
While I was ordering the food, Curtis called. “You tell her yet, man?”
“Can you believe her father had a stroke today?”
“No,” he said, almost as if he was humored.
“Nah, seriously. And it ain’t looking good. They’re saying he could possibly not speak again.”
“Dawg, that’s tragic.”
“Exactly.”
“Man, you just going to have to spring it on her. I got the press and everything lined up for tomorrow morning. She has to be there. You have to be there.”
I sighed. “You think I don’t know that?”
“Nah, I’m just making sure we’re on track. We’re depending on you.”
“Yeah, I know.”
As I walked over to the table carrying their food, I realized that it was now or never, do or die. I put the tray down and went back to get the drinks and condiments. I came back to them discussing plans to call the assistant pastors and deacons and the spokesperson at the church. I said, “Do you guys think it may be premature to put out there that his voice is gone?”
“Devin, it’s Friday. What are we going to do about Sunday? Somebody else has to preach and we need to make sure they’re prepared,” Taylor snapped.
“I know, baby. I’m just saying that maybe we let them know he’s been hospitalized and ask them to give the family space. We don’t need the whole county talking about him losing his voice.”
Mrs. Jabowski put her hand on top of my hand. “Devin, I think you’re right. We don’t want people trying to snatch Bishop’s throne before he’s ready.”
Taylor huffed, “Ma, someone’s going to have to take his throne if he can’t speak.”
Shaking her head and sighing as if the thought upset her, Mrs. Jabowski rested her hand on her chest and said, “Taylor, prayer changes things.”
“Mrs. J, I agree.”
Taylor’s eyes darted in my direction, like she felt I was patronizing her mother in vain. She said, “Ma, you have to accept the fact that the church may have to make some major organizational changes.”
“Not until I speak to my husband,” Mrs. J said humbly, and folded her arms.
I smiled at her, because that was what made her special. She knew how to be the wife of a powerful man. In spite of her husband’s condition, she still looked at him as the leader, voice or no voice. She wasn’t moving until she received his nod of approval and she knew that didn’t make her any less of a woman.
Taylor shook her head. “M
a, you can’t wait until then to start making decisions. That could be next week.”
I interjected, “I think it’s best that you should announce that he’s been hospitalized. Have Rev. Baker preach on Sunday and deal with this next week. Can you imagine the hysteria that would surround your father losing his voice?”
Taylor smirked and appeared more resistant. Mrs. J nodded. “You’re right, Devin. You’re so right.” She sighed. “You know, I prayed for you.”
Both Taylor and I frowned, confused by where she was going. She continued, “It’s always been Bishop’s hope that his son would take his place when he was no longer able to.” She chuckled. “Being that we had all girls, we prayed so many nights that they would marry men with a calling.”
I was silent, because I definitely had a calling, but it wasn’t ministry. My calling was to help communities, all communities. My message was wider than what a church could hold.
She smiled. “Devin, you got ministry written all over you. You should stop fighting it.”
“Nah, that’s not me. I…” It felt like the opportune time to announce the election, but I changed my mind. “I have a lot of growing to do and…”
I looked at Taylor, thinking she’d co-sign. She shrugged. My neck snapped back, trying to interpret her response. We’d discussed this. In fact, she was the least religious person in her family. Certainly, she didn’t want to be married to a preacher.
Taylor rolled her eyes. “Well, Devin. I’m not saying you’ve been called to preach, but I definitely think you have ministry on you.”
What? I thought for sure that she knew I had no plans of preaching, but the look in her eyes said she’d been praying with her parents. Okay, I meet her dropping-it-like-it’s-hot at a party, we have a hot-steamy romance, I marry her, and now she wants me to take over her father’s church. I looked at her again. Who is this girl?
“Yeah, my ministry is to help people.” I looked deep into Mrs. J’s eyes and then into Taylor’s eyes. “That’s the ministry you guys see. In fact, I plan to announce tomorrow that I’ve filed to run for Congress, District Four.”
Taylor snapped, “What the—” She stopped abruptly.
I shrugged, and Mrs. J looked at Taylor. “You didn’t know.”
Taylor’s eyes burned through me like torches. “Devin, what are you talking about? I thought you said—”
I nodded. “I know what I said. Congressman Grayford decided to retire two weeks ago and he called me himself. It was perfect timing, and chances are it could be my only time.” I shrugged. “What was I supposed to do?”
“Talk to me. That’s what you were supposed to do.” Her voice was loud, piercing, obviously shocked and hurt.
I reached across the table to touch her. She snatched her arm back and got up from the table. I stood to follow her and Mrs. J grabbed my arm. “Devin, have a seat. Let her calm down.”
I took a deep breath and contemplated if I should chase her. Then I looked at Mrs. J and she appeared calm and open. She was what I needed at the moment. When I sat back down, she said, “Weren’t you married before?” I nodded, baffled. She continued, “Where do you think you went wrong in that relationship?”
“Well, my ex-wife tricked me. She trapped me by getting pregnant, and when I found out—”
“You left her. Is that what you did?”
I took a deep breath. That sounded harsh, but I shrugged, because I guess technically that’s what happened.
“Do you think there was any other alternative?”
“No, not really. After that, I resented her and I felt like she was a liar.”
“Is there a difference between a liar and someone who just didn’t tell the truth?”
I paused and reflected and wondered if, in fact, there was a difference. Instead of responding, I shrugged and nodded in her direction for her to continue.
“If you want your marriage to last, there is no difference. A lie is the same as withholding the truth, the same as not exposing your intentions, the same as blatantly not giving your business partner access to the company documents.”
My head lowered. I felt embarrassed. She lifted my chin with her finger. “Don’t feel bad. Feel informed. You guys rushed to the altar. Bishop didn’t do your marriage counseling because you’d been married before and you know he doesn’t condone second marriages. But the fact that you had been married before is all the more reason to counsel you, because you think quitting is an option. Devin, quitting, lying, withholding the truth, these are not options when you make a vow to another person.” She cleared her throat and continued to strike. “Honest communication is the only way marriages last. You are not a single man anymore. You are a unit, and decisions are made as a unit—as a family. Here you are running for Congress, and Taylor is the last to know. That’s not right.”
“You’re right, Mrs. J. I really never looked at it like that.”
“Now you go out there and find your wife and let her know that this won’t happen again.”
I leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. Thank God. He put all the rules in the Good Book.”
I went searching for Taylor. I walked the same path we took to the cafeteria but couldn’t find her anywhere. I called her cell phone and she answered. No greeting, she just started speaking. “I refuse to be a wife of a politician at this age!”
“Are you saying you want out of our marriage?”
“No, I’m saying I want you to pull out. We said three to four years from now. What is the urgency?” she shouted.
“First of all, calm down and tell me where you are so we can talk face-to-face.”
“Devin, I really don’t want to see you right now. I’m shocked. I’m hurt and I feel betrayed. I feel like you knew you planned to run and you cornered me into a position that I would have to agree.” She sniffed. “We’ve been married for six months. We’re still learning to cope with this marriage and you decided that now is a great time to run. Devin, you are self-absorbed.”
She hung up, and I stood there shaking my head. I really had no intentions of hurting her. I was just a prepared man approached with an opportunity to follow my dream, awaiting the right opportunity to prepare my wife. And it just so happens, the perfect timing turned into the worst timing, and now I looked like an asshole. I wandered back to the ICU. Taylor sat there looking like a live volcano, as if sulfur were rising from her ears and hot lava pouring from her scalp. Clearly she was hot to the touch, so I stood steps away from her. Toni and Walter looked at me pitifully. Trying to maintain my composure, I nodded and asked, “So, what are they saying?”
Toni huffed, obviously feeding off of her sister’s emotions. “They’re moving him to a floor now. We’re just waiting for Mom to come down. Where is she?”
I gasped. “Ah, man, she’s still in the cafeteria. Let me go back up there and find her.”
Taylor brushed past me. “Don’t worry. I’ll go.”
Damn if I really wanted to deal with this in the hospital. I thought maybe I should follow her. Then opted not to. I slouched down in my chair and put my head in my hands and began to wonder if I was really cut out for all the “unit” shit that Mrs. J explained. Isn’t flexibility a part of marriage, too? There should be no time constraint on wanting your partner to be all they can be.
8
CLARK
I blamed him and he blamed me and nobody was talking. Our house was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop. I was tired of living like this, because each day it felt like we’d grown more and more distant. He discovered something ugly about me and he showed me an ugly side of him, but was it worth the noncommunication? I felt lonely in my own home and I wanted to make it right.
The television in the sitting area in my bedroom woke me and I stretched out to find him missing for the twelfth straight night. I sat up and looked around the column separating the first portion of our bedroom, and Kenneth was stretched out on the couch. Our sexual encounters for so long h
ad been orchestrated: Have sex at 2 a.m. this night, that will make your chances better. Don’t have sex while taking this medication. And, etc., etc. I thought for sure he’d be anxious to make passionate love, with no worries of conceiving or not.
I looked down at myself in embarrassment. A black bustier, garter belt, stockings. Still, my husband preferred to look at news clips of sweaty men running up and down the court. Fighting the notion that he was no longer attracted to me, I called his name. Partially hoping this was unintentional behavior was something my insecurities were just reading more into, I prayed he didn’t answer. Maybe he’d been so tired for the last couple of nights that he stumbled on the couch, planning to get in the bed after SportsCenter went off but falling asleep before he had the chance. My heart dropped when he said, “Yes.”
He was wide awake. Had he been up all night or was he just waking, like me? Whatever the case, why was he over there and I over here, lonely? I said, “Come, get in the bed.”
He drew in a long, deep breath that rattled me. What the hell was going on with this man? Finally, he answered, “You know the Mental Health Summit is today at the center. I need to get up and start getting things together.”
“I know, but isn’t the staff handling the setup and all? I mean—”
“Didn’t they handle it the last time and there were missing mics and missing vendor tables?” he snapped.
“I mean, okay. But it’s six o’clock. Are you leaving now?” He huffed, and suddenly I became irritated. “Kenneth, I’m just asking.”
“Clark, you know I have a lot on my mind and I like to meditate before major events. So why are you asking a million questions?”
“Did I ask a million or did I ask two?”