The Other Side of Goodness

by Vanessa Davis Griggs

  No, the best route—he and William had come to agree upon if he wasn’t a match—was to begin their much-discussed Operation Become a Possible Donor campaign.

  And that’s where they all were right now—in the midst of this possible bone marrow donor campaign. Of course, as predicted, Paris was giving him a fit about doing it, voicing what a ridiculous idea she thought it was.

  “Why do I care about somebody in need of some bone marrow transplant?” Paris said at the family gathering Lawrence had called to discuss his latest endeavor.

  Malachi laughed. “Leave it to Miss Compassionate over there to put voice to what she really thinks.”

  Paris rolled her eyes at her twenty-six-year-old chiseled brother. “It was not Miss Compassionate,” she said, believing he was talking about her win in the last pageant she was ever in. “It was Miss Congeniality, Malachi Everett.”

  “Yeah,” Malachi said with another round of laughter. “Right . . . right. How could I ever get those two things mixed up?” he teased.

  “Because maybe you’re not as smart as you want everybody to believe that you are, Mister Business Admin Grad Banker Exec,” Paris said.

  “That’s enough, you two,” Deidra said, looking at Paris first, then Malachi. “Paris, I think what your brother is trying to say is that what you just said is not a very compassionate thing to say.”

  “I’m merely saying what all of you are thinking, but too scared to say,” Paris said. “I don’t want to donate anything to anybody . . . ever. Least of all, donate anything from my body. I figure if God intended for us to have them, He would have given us spare parts when we were born.”

  “Oh, you mean like the two eyes, two ears, two arms, two legs we have? So we would have a spare if we needed it?” Malachi teased again. He stopped grinning when his mother shot him another look.

  “Well, to be honest: I’m just wondering whose bright campaign idea this was.” Deidra looked to her husband first, then over to William.

  “Probably William’s,” Paris said. “It sounds like something he would come up with. He’s always trying to devise some wild scheme to get Dad votes. He’s the genius behind Daddy switching to the Republican Party. I suppose that’s going over so horribly that they’re scrambling to find a way to take the focus off of that stupid move. Because if he tried to switch back, he’d be branded a real flip-flopper.”

  Deidra looked at William, who was neither confirming nor denying anything. She turned to her husband. “This really did just seem to come out of nowhere. I mean, I’ve known you all these years, and you’ve never shown even the least bit of interest in anything remotely like this. You won’t even donate blood. And now you want this entire family to subject ourselves to this in support of a bone marrow transplant? Is this someone that you or William happen to know? What? Help us all out here.”

  “Listen, we just wanted to bring attention to something that gets little attention, especially in the African American community.” William drew all eyes his way. “I personally think it’s a wonderful way to show compassion for our fellow man while serving the community and educating them on something few know about.”

  “In other words, we just found the mastermind behind this great idea,” Paris said, folding her arms and sitting back hard against the couch where she sat next to her husband. “Well, I for one am not doing it! I’m not. So you can count me out of this family function this time around.”

  “Surprise, surprise!” Malachi said. “Paris doesn’t want to do it.”

  “I wish you’d mind your own business, Malachi,” Paris said. “Oh, wait! That’s right; you don’t have much business to mind these days since your girlfriend found out you had two other women on the side and dumped you.”

  “Paris, stop it!” Deidra said.

  “Well, he started it,” Paris said. “All I said is that I don’t care to participate in Daddy’s or William’s or whomever the genius was that came up with this . . . lame plan. I have that right to decline, and I’m fully exercising my right! And anybody who doesn’t like it can—”

  “Paris!” Deidra gave her the look that said she was serious about her stopping, and she meant now.

  Paris shrugged. “Fine. So Malachi’s in. Who else?”

  “Hold up,” Malachi said. “Now I haven’t said I was in.”

  Paris grinned and danced her head around a few times. Deidra looked at her sternly again and Paris stopped and sat still.

  Lawrence covered his face with both hands. “Argh!” he yelled from between his fingers before taking his hands down. “Listen. I’m not asking anybody to be a donor. I’m merely asking us, as a family, to unite and show how truly caring we are when it comes to the plight of others.”

  “Yeah, but what happens if one of us turns out to be a match or something?” Malachi said. “Has anyone thought that far ahead?”

  “Can I be honest with you?” William said. “The likelihood of any of you being the level of match needed for the person we’ve chosen to highlight for this campaign is probably not all that high. It takes a lot even to be a good match. But just think: We could inspire someone who hadn’t considered this or didn’t even know there were folks in need like this, to come forward. And from our actions, someone out there may end up being a match. Wouldn’t that be a marvelous thing?”

  “But it’s like you’re asking us to put what’s ours out there to help someone who’s not even in our family,” Paris said.

  Imani laughed.

  Paris leaned forward and looked at Imani. “What’s so funny?”

  “I was just thinking about this scripture I just read the other day in the Bible,” Imani said.

  Paris chuckled. “Yeah, like you actually read the Bible just because. Imani, you really don’t have to try and impress anyone here. It’s just the family . . . and, of course, William. We’re not on the campaign trail trying to make Dad’s constituents think we’re the perfect little wholesome family who reads our Bibles daily.” She waved off Imani.

  “But I do read the Bible. And I happen to enjoy reading it,” Imani said.

  “She really does,” Deidra said. “Go on, Imani. What were you about to tell us?”

  Imani looked at Paris, then her brother, before letting her eyes rest on her mother. “It was the scripture about the Canaanite woman. The story in Matthew fifteen where this woman comes to Jesus about her daughter that was demon possessed and she was trying to get her daughter some help.”

  “For sure you can’t get any better help than coming to Jesus,” Lawrence said. “Go on, Imani.”

  “Well, the woman was a Gentile and, of course, Jesus was a Jew. When she asked Jesus to have mercy on her and to help her daughter, Jesus’s disciples started telling Jesus to send her away because the woman was bothering them,” Imani said.

  “That sounds familiar,” Paris said under her breath, but loud enough for her mother to give her a sideways look this time. Paris pantomimed the zipping of her lips and nodded.

  “Go on, baby,” Deidra said as though she didn’t know the story and was interested in hearing what happened.

  “Jesus told the woman that He wasn’t sent to folks like her, but to the lost sheep of the house of Israel. As I stated, the woman was a Gentile, as was her daughter, so Jesus was telling her that He wasn’t sent for them. But then the woman did something awesome. She came to Jesus and worshipped Him. She said, ‘Lord, help me.’ That was it. She didn’t say anything to insult Him or get back at him—nothing like that. She was merely trying to get help for her child.” Imani scooted more to the edge of the chair where she sat. “Do you know what Jesus’s answer was to her plea?”

  “He’s Jesus,” Paris said. “Of course we know. He either went and healed the woman’s daughter or He spoke a Word and her daughter was healed that way.”

  Imani smiled. “Nope. Jesus said, ‘It is not meet to take the children’s bread, and to cast it to dogs.’ That’s what Jesus said to her.”

  Paris jerked back. “What? Jesu
s said that? He called the woman and her daughter dogs?” Paris turned to her father. “See, Dad; there you go! There’s your answer, coming from the mouth of one who apparently studies the Bible way more than any of the rest of us do. Jesus called the woman and her daughter dogs. That means not everybody should be helped, which means that we as a family don’t have to care about this child we don’t even know or anybody else, for that matter.” Paris stood up. “So I suppose this means we can go home now. Come on, Andrew—”

  “Where again is that in the Bible?” Malachi asked, his cell phone out. “What scripture is that again?”

  “I’m not finished yet,” Imani said, more to Paris.

  “Well, you’ve said enough for me.” Paris put her hand on her hip. “Jesus called them dogs. It doesn’t get any worse than that. Dogs? He called them dogs?”

  “Sit down, Paris, and let your sister finish.” Deidra turned and smiled at Imani. “Go on and finish, Imani.”

  “Yes, please hurry up and finish, Imani, so those of us who don’t live here can go home.” Paris was still standing.

  “Malachi, it’s in Matthew 15:21–28,” Imani said. “I remember because I’m fifteen and Paris is almost twenty-eight.”

  Paris laughed, then quickly looked at her mother and stopped.

  “After Jesus said that, the woman said, ‘Truth, Lord; yet the dogs eat of the crumbs which fall from their masters’ table.’ ” Imani smiled. “Wasn’t that awesome?”

  Paris couldn’t hold it in any longer. She burst into an unrestrained laugh. “Oh, really awesome! ‘Yet the dogs eat of the crumbs that fall from their master’s table!’ ”

  “Paris, don’t you get it?” Imani beamed.

  “The way you’re grinning, I guess I don’t,” Paris said.

  “When Jesus used the term dogs, he wasn’t being mean. A dog in those days meant housedog. If you were a housedog, you had a master and were allowed to sit at the feet of your master. True, the children may have been well taken care of and got to sit at the table. But even the dogs, as the woman correctly pointed out, were allowed to eat the crumbs from their masters’ table. Have you ever seen children eat? The woman knew that even though she might not be considered family, she was still in the house. She still had access to the crumbs that fell from the Master’s table.”

  Malachi smiled. “And crumbs from the Master’s table are powerful.” He went over to Imani and hugged her. “And that, dear Imani, was powerful!” Malachi looked down at his cell phone. “In verse twenty-eight, Jesus confirmed what Imani just told us. It says, ‘Then Jesus answered and said unto her, O woman, great is thy faith: be it unto thee even as thou wilt. And her daughter was made whole from that very hour.’ ” Malachi hugged Imani again. “Powerful, little sister. ‘Be it unto thee even as thou wilt.’ ” Malachi released Imani. “Dad, you can count me in. The least we can do is to help in however way that we can. If this brings attention and will help, I’m in.”

  Lawrence nodded. “Thanks, Son. I appreciate that.” He hugged Malachi.

  “I’m in,” Imani said with a grin. Her father went and hugged her.

  “Okay, I don’t suppose I can’t let my children jump in and I sit out,” Deidra said. “Count me in.” Lawrence smiled at her, winked, then nodded.

  “Well, you can count me in, too,” Andrew said.

  Paris jerked around and stared down at Andrew.

  “You already know that I’m in,” William said.

  Paris looked at her father. “I thought this was just to our family?”

  “I want it to begin with our family. But our goal is to bring in as many people as we can,” Lawrence said. “So, Paris. Can we count on you, as a family?”

  “Sure. You can count on me, as a family.” Paris walked over to her father. “But I’m not participating in any bone marrow transplant campaign. It would just be my luck I end up being a perfect match. So I’m not going to even put myself in the position of finding out that I match, and then having to say no I’m not going through all of that.” She kissed her father on his cheek. “Sorry, Daddy. And that’s my final answer. Andrew, are you ready to go?”

  Andrew stood up. “I’ll be in touch to find out what I need to do next.”

  Deidra stood and hugged Andrew first, then Paris, escorting them to the door.

  Chapter 27

  But she that liveth in pleasure is dead while she liveth.

  —1 Timothy 5:6

  “I don’t believe how you acted at your folks’ today,” Andrew said as he walked behind Paris up the stairs to their bedroom. “That was absolutely something. That’s the nicest way I can describe how you were. I mean, I couldn’t say anything.”

  “Oh, you said plenty.” Paris tossed her purse onto the bed as soon as she entered the bedroom. She flopped down next to her purse and started unlatching the strap of her blue left shoe.

  Andrew came and stood over her. “I can understand you not wanting to participate, that I got. That’s classic Paris.”

  Paris slipped that shoe off, let it drop, and began undoing the other one. “Say whatever you want, Andrew, because I don’t care. Everybody wants something from me, but nobody ever seems to care what I might want.”

  “What are you talking about? It seems that’s all everybody does: cater to what you want. You don’t want to cook so we pretty much eat out every single night of the week. But you love boiled eggs, so we have plenty of eggs in the refrigerator.”

  “We don’t eat out every single night. You go over to your mother’s and we go to mine’s sometimes. And we order in.” Paris let the other shoe drop.

  Andrew threw his hands up. “Exactly! That’s exactly what I mean. Has it occurred to you that maybe, just maybe, I’d like to eat a home-cooked meal at home that my own wife cooked with her own hands?”

  Paris laughed. “See. That proves just how much I think of you. I can’t cook, Andrew; you knew that when you married me. So I actually do you a favor, sparing you the trouble of pretending what I’ve cooked is good by us eating elsewhere.”

  “If you were to ever practice, you’d see that you would get better at it.”

  Paris jumped up and strutted across the room in her bare feet. “That’s the thing, Andrew,” she yelled back as she walked toward the master bathroom. “I don’t want to get better at it! I don’t want to cook!” She went into the bathroom and came out a few minutes later wearing a flowing, silk, tan paisley caftan. “Why would I want to get better at something I don’t even like to do? Huh?”

  “Personally, I think the things you said at your folks’ house a while ago were kind of sad. It’s no wonder God hasn’t blessed us with a baby yet.”

  Paris stopped and walked over to the bed where Andrew was sitting. “Excuse me? So are you saying the reason I can’t get pregnant is because of the way I act? Is that what you’re saying, Andrew? That because I’m honest enough to say what I think, as opposed to y’all who say what’s politically correct, you’re asserting that that’s why God won’t allow me to get pregnant?”

  Andrew stood up; Paris pushed him back onto the bed. “Don’t be getting up,” Paris said. “You can answer the question from down there.”

  “Paris, I’d like to have a baby.”

  “As would I.”

  “But look at what you said. Do you really believe God thought highly of how uncaring you were today?”

  “I don’t want to be a donor of any kind. That’s me being honest. What’s so hard about that? I’m not going to pretend I’m going along with something that I know is pretty much a complete sham. I’m not. I’m not going to stand up there with Daddy at some press conference that William puts together, and lie about something I know I’m not going to do.” Paris moved her face in a bit closer to Andrew’s. “So if you want to say that God is punishing me in not allowing me to get pregnant, then you need to ask yourself why you’re being punished, too.”

  Andrew stood up. Paris put her hand on his chest again, fully intending to push him back down. He grabbed
her by the wrist and pushed her hand away from his chest, then started out of the room.

  “Where are you going?” Paris rushed after him. He kept walking. “Andrew! Where are you going?”

  She ran and caught up with him downstairs.

  Andrew turned to her. “I don’t get you, Paris,” Andrew said. “My mother tried to warn me about you.”

  “Oh, your mother has never liked me.”

  “My mother has tried her hardest to get along with you. But it’s things like this that make it difficult for anyone to . . .” He stopped. “You know what . . . just forget it.” He headed to the kitchen.

  Paris followed. “Oh, don’t stop on my account! Why don’t we get all of this out into the open, right here . . . right now? Come on. Bring it!”

  Andrew opened the refrigerator and took out the carton of eggs and a stick of butter and set them on the counter. He went to the sink and washed his hands, then took down a small glass bowl. He looked under the cabinet next to the oven and pulled out a medium-size, nonstick frying pan.

  “What are you doing?” Paris had her hand on her hip as she twisted her mouth from one side to the other.

  Andrew cracked four eggs as he heated a tablespoon of butter in the pan. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

  “It looks like you’re cooking.”

  “Okay, then.”

  “Why are you cooking, and why are you cooking breakfast food for dinner?”

  Andrew whipped the eggs with a fork. “I don’t know. Maybe because I’m . . . hungry?”

  “Oh, you’re just being funny now! I see exactly what you’re up to; you’re trying to make a point. All right, Andrew. I get it. I get it.”

  He turned the heat down to low, then poured the mixture into the pan, using a silicone spatula to push the mixture to the center, tilting the pan to allow the runny part to be touched by the heat from the stove.