Embrace Me

by Lisa Samson

  “I was thinking yellow.”

  “A nice goldy yellow. We don’t want it to look like a girl’s room.”

  “Definitely not.”

  Two hours later we’ve got the supplies. Dad even does a little taping around the windows. “This is a fine idea, Son. This place could use a face-lift. You know, you could start a halfway house or something here.”

  “That takes more cash than we have. We’d have to add on too. And you know, Dad, if we ever take this one step further, I was thinking about a place for kids. Older kids.”

  “You do well with children.”

  Charmaine buzzes in an hour later. “I heard you were buying paint down at the hardware store!”

  “How did you hear that?” I tip some more golden paint into the tray.

  “You can’t do nothin’ in Mount Oak without somebody seeing. You know that, Gus. I’m here to help! Like the IRS.” She chuckles at her own joke.

  Oh, Charmaine.

  “How are you at painting around the ceilings?”

  “They don’t call me Sure-hand Charmaine for nothing! You got a ladder?”

  I set her up. She climbs and starts singing as she cuts the paint in around the ceiling.

  “I’m done taping the baseboards.” Bobby.

  “Good, I’m done scrubbing the walls. You go ahead and follow Mrs. Hopewell and paint down by the baseboards. I’ll follow you with the roller.

  Dad finishes the windows. “Nap time for me.”

  “You go on, Mr. Parrish.” Charmaine. “When you wake up it’ll look like the sun came for a visit and decided to stay.”

  Two weeks since Val left. I’ve caught myself thinking of her as Daisy, and I’ve forced myself to stop. She asked me to.

  Blaze said she heard from her. She’s just traveling around and is fine. She said she’ll probably visit her dad for a while.

  Dad offered to pay for new tile flooring in the main room and the kitchen and, not about to pass up a gift like that, I got the floor man in here the next day. Bobby helped pick it out.

  “I like the stuff that looks like flower pots.” He indicated the terra-cotta tiles.

  “Nice choice.”

  It looks good in here now. Nothing fancy, but cleaner and more inviting. Who knows what God will do with this place?

  It seems strange, drinking tea with my dad in the evenings. Sometimes we read quietly. If the time is right, we pray the offices together. I finally came right out and asked him if he was really a Christian. I know that’s between God and him, but as I said, “I’ll do so much better after you’re gone if I know.”

  He smiles. He’s been smiling a lot more and it changes him completely. I misused smiling back at Elysian Heights, but a genuine smile is the greatest thing. And if it’s accompanied by a laugh, there’s no telling what it will do.

  “Yes, Son, I am.”

  “When?”

  “Just before I got cancer.”

  “Before?!”

  He nods. “Odd, isn’t it? It’s as if God knew what I’d need to get me through.”

  Okay, maybe it’s not so strange after all.

  “What happened?”

  “You sure you want to hear this?”

  “Positive.”

  He closes his eyes, then opens them. “I was taking Communion at the church the president goes to. I’ve been taking Communion for years, so I didn’t think anything about it.

  “All of a sudden, the wafer tasted like dead, rotting flesh, and the wine turned into sawdust. It was the most horrible thing I’ve ever had in my mouth. And I heard a voice inside say, ‘This is what you’ve made of Me. What you make of Me right now.’

  “I went back to the house and fell on my knees right there in the foyer. Thank goodness Malena takes off on Sundays. I wept like a baby and the words of your mother kept pouring over me, sin after sin, compromise after compromise.

  “Son, I repented and I asked God to take me if He’d have me. I’d listened to enough sermons to know He would.”

  “Wow.” Just one moment and he repented right away. He didn’t take months like I did. “Wow.”

  “Pretty crazy, isn’t it?”

  “No. It was just right. It was your personal Pentecost.”

  “Yes. God meets us where we are, though heaven knows we don’t deserve it at all, none of it. I stayed in my house for several months, only going out for medical tests, and I read the Gospels again and again. Hopefully some of it sank in.” He lifts one side of his mouth. “Son, what you’re doing here is what this country needs.”

  “Some food, God’s love. I’d say you’re right. Besides, I gave up politics years ago, Dad.”

  “Well, it’s probably just as well. Look what it did to me.”

  And yet here you are.

  “Want some more tea?”

  “Yes, I’d like that. You make a good pot of tea.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  VALENTINE

  I pull my camper into the narrow driveway to the left of Dad and Jody’s house. It’s actually Jody’s house. They met on eHarmony, hit it off, and he moved up to Lexington after they got married.

  Their downtown home is really a glorified shotgun shack. But it’s been completely redone inside and they don’t need more than one bedroom, or so Jody said when I called her and asked to visit. “You sleep on couch, okay? Very comfortable.”

  “I’ll have my camper.”

  “Okay too.”

  As I extract myself from the truck, they pour down the front steps. I’m ashamed this is my first visit. That I’ve kept myself from the person who loves me the most.

  Dad pulls me into a close hug and kisses the top of my head. Jody, black Asian hair soaking up the sunshine and holding it close, pats my back as he does so and says, “Is good. Is good. Thanks be to God.”

  I laugh as I pull back. I’m not foolish enough to think I’m home, but I’m so glad I’ve come.

  “Now you sure you sleep in that truck?” Jody lays out lunch meats, cheese, and bread for sandwiches.

  “Positive. It’s a nice little setup. So how’s everything going, you two? You still selling your cards?”

  Jody nods. “They going like pancakes! Stores can’t keep enough in. I make ’em, cards cards cards, night and day.”

  “And your beads, Dad?”

  “Revamped the Web sites, lowered the prices a bit, and it’s going great! You got any more work you want me to put up? Everything else has sold. Well, except for that ugly marcasite one you did … with the carnelian.”

  “What was I thinking?”

  “Don’t know, honey.”

  “I’ve got a big box in the truck from this winter. And I’ll make more while I’m here too.”

  “Good. You can go through the storeroom and pick out anything you’d like.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  We sit and munch on sandwiches. When we finish I help Jody clear the plates, after which she says, “Gotta work. Sorry, Daisy. Order due tomorrow. Fifty cards!”

  “We’ll finish up here.” Dad hands me an apron.

  “Who uses aprons anymore?”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “Oh, well.” I tie it around my waist.

  He hands me a dish towel. “You dry.”

  “I can do that.”

  He ties on his own apron. “It’s good to see you, Daze. Quite unexpected, though. Not that it’s a problem!”

  “I just wanted to visit before I head back out on the road.”

  “Won’t be long now.” He turns on a stream of water, adjusts the temperature, then fills the basin, adding a shot of dish liquid.

  “No. Next week.”

  “You sound thrilled.”

  “Lella left the show.”

  “Oh, honey. I’m sorry. You can always move to Lexington.”

  “And do what?”

  He shrugs. “You could help me with the business, and Jody would welcome some help with her greeting cards.”

  The Laundromat comes to mind
. “No offense, Dad, but I’ve got to figure out my own life.”

  “Good for you. I heard from your grandmother,” he says.

  “What did she want?”

  He wipes a lunch plate with a soapy dishrag. “Your mother’s been dead for three years now. She thought I should be reminded. Since she blames me and all.”

  I take the plate after he rinses it. “Hard to move on with her around to remind you all the time.”

  “Not at all.”

  “Really?” I set the plate in the drainer. “How is that even possible?”

  “I don’t know, honey. I guess we’re responsible for our own moving on, don’t you think? I’ve got a good life. Jody’s wonderful. We have a nice routine, things to do, places we’re known—like the coffee shop and what have you. Your mother’s dead. She shot us all with her shotgun and now she’s gone. If we keep picking at the scabs, it’s our own fault.”

  “Like it’s that easy.”

  “In any case, she can’t make things right, and neither can we.”

  “Do you think she would have ever come to her senses and tried?”

  “I doubt it.” He sighs. “No. Can’t picture it.”

  “I don’t know, Dad. It’s hard to move on.”

  He hands me a glass. “I know, sweetheart. But we all do sooner or later. Maybe we just have to figure it’s where we’re meant to go.

  And it helps to have some gratitude for where we are, sometimes even where we’ve been.”

  “That’s impossible in my case.”

  “Is it?”

  “How could you stand being married to that woman?”

  “I just did what I had to do.”

  “And me?”

  “I wasn’t much help at all.”

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry, honey.”

  For some reason it’s easy to forgive my father. But I’ve never doubted my father loves me.

  So much pain and heartache. Why couldn’t Mom and Drew have just been content with what they’d been given?

  I grab a pad of paper and a pen from the kitchen drawer.

  Okay, Dad, I’ll write down what I’m thankful for.

  I begin to make a list and I find that almost every single one of them but Dad and Jody are in Mount Oak. And I’ve decided to go on the road? In black ink it makes little sense.

  I show him the list.

  “So what are you doing here?”

  “Drew Parrish, that’s what!”

  “From everything you’ve told me, he’s different now. I admit it, I can hardly believe it myself. But the kind of life he’s living isn’t some kind of act. Nobody would do all that for show. And not in Mount Oak! Sounds like he’s undergone a real spiritual transformation.”

  “So what you’re saying is that I’m doubting God’s ability to transform a scum-sucking hypocrite into a man of God?”

  “Well, not in those words exactly. But what about you? Have you been transformed?”

  “I don’t know now. I thought so, but when it all came slamming into my face …”

  “Sounds to me you need to give yourself a little time.”

  “Can I just stay here a little while longer, Dad?”

  “What about the show? Although, I have to admit, I don’t know how healing that would prove to be. Not with Lella gone.”

  “Not to mention displaying myself.”

  “True.”

  “I’ll call Roland and tell him I’m not going on the road.”

  “Stay as long as you like.”

  I make myself a cup of tea in my camper. Jesus looks down with His disciples from the icon I set up on the dinette.

  “There’s nothing more Drew can do to prove himself to me. So will you help me forgive him?”

  You’ll have to make peace with your mother while you’re at it.

  Oh, God! Why me?

  I walk into a small church around the corner. An AME church, red brick, old wooden pews.

  Empty.

  ’Fess up, Daisy.

  I know, Lord, I know.

  A black woman enters and sits down on the pew in front of me. She turns and I gasp. Her face. She doesn’t smile.

  Half of her face looks just like mine.

  I pull down my scarf. “How did yours happen?”

  “Bad boyfriend. What about you?”

  “I did it to myself.”

  And there sits the truth of it all.

  I wanted to get away from my mother. I didn’t have the guts to do it on my own. I signed the surgical consent forms. I auditioned. I used sex to try and snag Drew. I let myself be led by the nose by two people who only wanted to use me.

  “Have you forgiven yourself?” the lady asks me.

  “I’m doing that right now.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  AUGUSTINE

  I held his hand when he died. He hadn’t spoken for two days, just lay there peacefully. The hospice nurses walked us through step by step and made the dying process somehow, well, godly.

  And as I ready myself for his funeral, I can say I truly loved my father. The last five months of his life were a gift of grace.

  Monica enters my bunkroom and pats me on the back as I face the mirror, tying my tie. “You look nice.”

  “I haven’t worn a suit in years.”

  “You still look nice. Are you sure you can do this? Reverend Hopewell would be happy to fill in for you.”

  “No, Mom. Surprisingly enough, this is Shalom’s first funeral. There’ll be others, I’m sure. It’s fitting the first was Dad’s.” I turn to face her. “Did you make your peace with him? In the end?”

  “Yes, Drew. I did. It wasn’t easy.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s too bad he wasn’t like this his whole life. It would have been a nice life.”

  “I know.”

  She adjusts my tie. “You don’t match that suit at all.”

  I grin. “Yeah. I know.”

  She pats my shoulder. “Let’s go. The musicians are setting up.”

  Some folks from the orchestra at Port of Peace Assemblies volunteered to help us consign my father to the ground. Charmaine’s going to sing.

  We’ve set up chairs in the main room. The funeral home delivered my father’s body and now it’s time to begin.

  The casket remains closed, and the neighborhood folks file by and pay their respects. Somehow Charles Parrish made an impression all his own on them with his faithful appearances in the main room, lending a hand when he felt strong enough.

  Bobby cries louder than anybody. My father reached out and gave Bobby a growing dignity. He made sure his lawyer left Bobby enough for a college education. In fact, that’s what his estate’s going for, a college fund for the kids here in the neighborhood. His idea. Not mine.

  Finally, it begins.

  Jessica leads us in the prayers. Justin in Communion. I give the eulogy, talking about his months at Shalom, realizing afresh that it was all we really had together over the course of my lifetime.

  But it is enough. It has to be and it is.

  Father Brian stands in the back, praying. He always says that’s 90 percent of his job.

  Charmaine sings another song at the gravesite. “His Eye Is on the Sparrow.” One of her signature numbers.

  His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me. I sing because I’m happy. I sing because I’m free.

  When the Son sets you free, you shall be free indeed.

  I throw the first shovelful of dirt on the casket. Monica follows suit. We file away from the cemetery.

  A flash of magenta scours the corner of my eye. I turn my head.

  “Valentine!”

  I run in her direction, dodging gravestones, jumping over markers.

  She does the same.

  “Augustine!”

  She slams her body into mine, our arms snapping around each other.

  I hold her to me, embracing her as tightly as a mother grasps her hurting child. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”r />
  Her eyes shine. “I know. It’s done, Augustine. It’s done.”

  My father is in the ground, and I understand the final piece, why he came to me. We need forgiveness so badly. Maybe it’s selfish to even ask, but in the receiving we are made free.

  I will see my father again, when we are all raised as He was raised.

  But the true miracle of the resurrection wasn’t so much the raising. Is something like that too hard for the God who made the universe? The true miracle is in the forgiving. And though we are bruised and burned, blind and broken, we are forgiven.

  Charles Parrish made terrible choices for many years, seismic repercussions swallowing us into its circle. I repeated those choices in my own fashion.

  But all is forgiven now. All is forgiven.

  AUGUSTINE: ONE YEAR LATER

  Val’s bed is set up in the women’s bunkroom these days. She made her formal vows, same as mine, a few months ago. Something good always bubbles in the kitchen, and word’s gotten around that if you need food, Shalom’s the place.

  “Good morning, Mother Superior. What’s for breakfast?” I ask.

  “Oatmeal with cinnamon and brown sugar.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Do you know how blessed we are to have you here?”

  “Hey, people need to eat. That’s all I know.”

  “I thought maybe we’d get some more folks who wanted to join in on our work.”

  She crosses her forefingers like I’m a vampire. “That’s enough of that, Gus.”

  She’s right.

  “And when did numbers replace mission? During the Great Awakening or Albert Finney or something? I have no idea.”

  “Uh, Val. It’s Charles Finney.”

  “Whatever.” She spoons me up a bowl of oatmeal. Smiles. I can tell because her eyes crinkle. She still won’t get rid of the scarf.

  One day one of the kids said, “Hey, lady, how come you look like that? It’s kinda weird.”

  “Well, looks don’t mean everything,” Val replied with her characteristic snap.

  That sure is the truth.

  “Time for morning prayers, Gus. Where you heading?”

  “Oh, just walking around the neighborhood, I guess.”

  “Good. That’s very good.” She turns her back on me and slides the pot of oatmeal into the refrigerator someone donated a few weeks ago.