Darius Jones

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by Mary B. Morrison


  I looked down on him and asked, “You know if my wife is dead or alive in there?”

  His smile disappeared. Before he replied, a nurse opened the door, saving his life and mine. “Mr. Jones, you can come in now.”

  “Ma, don’t leave yet.”

  “I won’t be far. Honey is upstairs supposedly delivering Grant’s babies.”

  Honey? Grant? Babies? I shook my head. Quietly I entered Intensive Care, followed the nurse to my wife’s bedside. Bandages surrounded my wife’s head and face like she was a mummy from the chin up. I couldn’t tell if the bandages made her head bigger or if her head was swollen.

  She was connected to a breathing machine. IVs and shit were in her arms. A monitor was strapped to her middle finger. “Baby, if you can hear me, hang in there. I love you,” I said, gently touching her hand. Maybe if I hadn’t been texting she wouldn’t have been upset with me, and the accident wouldn’t have happened. They let me see my wife for fifteen minutes while they prepared room 3117.

  I asked the nurse, “You sure you can move her in her condition?”

  “Your wife is at the best hospital. We have a state-of-art room that she’ll be in. You’ll see.” The nurse spoke in a soft tone. “Don’t take this the wrong way but I wish the media would show this vulnerable side of you; however they’re not allowed on this floor. They’re so quick to condemn, but you’re one special man, Darius Jones. I can vouch for that. You have no idea how many injured people are admitted here and their so-called loved ones don’t visit them at all.”

  Her words were comforting but she couldn’t vouch for shit about me. Like the groupies and the media, she didn’t know me. I’d only seen Anita Harris for a few minutes. My eyes drifted away from her. The numbers 777 and Arizona flashed in my mind. I looked at my wife. The person responsible for this is going to pay.

  Nurse Harris entered information into her electronic device. I stood by my wife’s side.

  “You can go to room three-one-one-seven now. We’ll bring her there soon.” The nurse ushered me from the room.

  Mom was gone. I didn’t know how but I made my way to 3117. I sat in my wife’s room waiting for them to bring her in. “Damn, it’s cold in here.” The room had a sitting area off to the side, away from the patient’s bed. A small circular coffee table with magazines was between two chairs. I sat in a low-back bucket-shaped lime chair next to my wife’s bed.

  I posted to my Facebook profile, What would you do if the one you loved was instantly taken away from you? Pray for my wife and my family. Scanning my iPhone applications, I pressed TVU Player to watch live television. See if the news was reporting my situation accurately.

  The news reporter said, “Darius Jones just posted to his Facebook page a comment that has condolences pouring in from his fans. Is Darius Jones’s wife dead? Stay tuned for up-to-date news on the number-one news station in Los Angeles.”

  Fucking idiot reporter. I posted, My wife is NOT DEAD!

  Mom texted, We’re in the waiting room on the ninth floor.

  Honestly, I’d hoped that Moms would be here for and with me when they brought my wife to the room, but she was keeping that hawk watch over Grant. Time alone for me was good and bad. Too much had happened in a short time. I wanted to yell, “This is fucked up! Why? Why did this fucked up shit happen to us?” I kept replaying how that white pickup truck forced us into the intersection but had no idea why. Worse, didn’t know who’d done it. Made a mental note to ask Nurse Harris what room the woman in that SUV was in.

  A woman in gray sweats entered the room, stood a few feet in front of me. “Hey, you okay?” she whispered in a raspy voice before closing the door.

  “Nah, I’m fucked up in the head right now. You work here? Where’s my wife?” This chick was dressed too casual to be on staff. Yankee cap on her head, sunglasses. Wondered if she was a jump off. For her sake I prayed she wasn’t, ’cause I’d lose it.

  “It’s my day off. I heard about your wife’s accident. Came by to help you any way I can. Here’s my card. If you need anything, call me.”

  I put the card on my wife’s stand without looking at it. “No disrespect, but could you please leave?” I sensed she was lying but didn’t want to offend her if she were telling the truth, and if she’d have to take care of Fancy tomorrow, didn’t want her having no attitude.

  “Oh, look. They forgot the other patient’s bag in your room.” She walked toward the door, picked up a teal bag with lavender straps that was next to the door. “I’ll get rid of it. Don’t forget to call me if you need anything. I’ll do anything for you,” she said, closing the door.

  CHAPTER 16

  Darius

  Glad the woman in sweats left, I had time to reflect. How did I go from proposing to my wife to praying for her life? I sat by my wife’s empty bedside thinking, I came from a broken family. I refuse to have one. I always had money. I was never broke. But Moms was Mom. She had her struggles. I’d forgiven her for lying to me about my biological father.

  Forgiveness eases the pain; it didn’t erase the pain. Had Maxine, Ciara, and Ashlee forgiven me? Should I care? Of the times I’d cried, I’d never cried for any of my exes. I cried when MaDear died, and now. I’d never cried this much in my life. I wondered how many tears my exes had shed for me.

  The door opened again. This time it was Ladycat. Two nurses rolled her in. They slid her body from a smaller bed to a bed the size of a twin. Disconnected and reconnected her oxygen tank. Made certain all of her machines were functioning properly. Raised, then locked the guardrails. I didn’t want to be rude but I wanted them to leave so I could be alone with my wife.

  Nurse Anita said, “The doctor will be in shortly. Your wife’s belongings are in—” She paused, then asked the other nurse, “Did you move the teal bag that I put Mrs. Jones’s belongings in?”

  “Oh, the one with the lavender straps?” I asked.

  “Oh, thank God. You have it already,” Anita said.

  I shook my head. “No, the other nurse said that bag belonged to someone else.” Wishing they’d leave, I didn’t give a damn about that tote bag.

  The nurses exchanged blank stares. Nurse Anita said, “We’ll find her bag.”

  I’d never seen that bag before. “My wife’s purse was—” Fuck, in our SUV. I needed my mom. I was in no condition to call credit card companies. Besides, I didn’t know what numbers to call. It was too late to call my banker. I prayed no one would steal my wife’s identity.

  As the nurses exited the room, I whispered, “Thanks.” Couldn’t get any other words out before the tears gushed again.

  I wasn’t much of a prayer man but I needed God. MaDear told me, “Baby, God always has open arms. His arms are wide enough to hug us all at the same time. Don’t you ever be too prideful or too ashamed to call His name.”

  Kneeling beside Fancy’s bed, I wanted to pray silently but the loudest, “Dear God, please don’t take her from me!” belted from my gut. “Please, I’m begging You.” My tears streamed over the mucous escaping my nostrils. I didn’t care.

  I pulled my chair closer to her bed, sat by her side, then held my wife’s hand. Her hand was cold, mine too. Wish they could turn on some heat. I stared at Fancy. She slept like an angel. Her eyes and nose were all I saw. She didn’t move her hand, didn’t open her eyes. She lay there motionless.

  “Baby, do you remember the night we met? I do. New Year’s Eve. Of all places, church. When I saw you standing in the doorway soaking wet in that sexy designer gown and”—I laughed, then continued—“with your weave dripping water to the floor. You were gorgeous then and you’re more beautiful now. You were tough then and you’re tougher now. I remember how I wanted you to come to my house that night or invite me to yours and you made me drop you off at your place.

  “I knew I liked you then. I’d wanted to get at you for over a year before you gave me a chance. Waiting one more night was cool but you made a brotha put in OT. It was worth it. You’re worth it. And, baby, do you remem
ber the time you got me off in the hallway at your condo building? That’s when I knew for sho you were the one. And what about that day we met that psychic lady in Berkeley by Skates? She was the real deal. I could use her help now and you know I don’t believe in psychics.” I paused, then whispered, “I love you, baby.”

  Recalling what that psychic lady told me, “Death follows you,” my breath stopped at the edge of my nostrils. Was this accident God’s plan? Was He breaking me down to build me up? Was he going to take from me the person I loved most? The psychic lady had also said, “You’ll be happy again.”

  Until a couple of hours ago, I was happy. “Lord, I’m begging You. Please don’t do this to—”

  The doctor entered the room interrupting my flow but that was cool. His role was more important than mine. My mother entered behind him carrying DJ. Thankfully DJ was asleep and Grant wasn’t with them. I hugged my mom tight. Didn’t want to let her go but had to.

  Mom covered her mouth when she saw Fancy. “Oh, Darius. What on earth happened?”

  I knew Mom seeing Fancy was a shocker considering DJ had surface scars and I had none. “Not now, Ma. I’ll tell you later. I’m glad you’re here.” I hugged my mom’s waist, then asked, “Doc, give it to me straight.”

  “I’m Doctor Duke. Mr. Jones. Your wife has to remain in guarded condition because she’s in a coma. We’re doing all we can to bring her out. Temporary comas are not uncommon for auto accident victims. Those air bags and seat belts saved both of you. Don’t know how you walked away or how your wife doesn’t have any broken bones but someone up there is looking out for your family.”

  I looked at Mom. “We know exactly who.”

  The doc continued. “Your wife responds to pain by opening her eyes but she doesn’t respond to light touches or sound. When the minor swelling in her brain dissipates, that should relieve pressure on the stem. Accident patients sometimes regain consciousness within a few days, or it could be several weeks. Or sometimes not at all.”

  I never imagined being a single dad or having to make it on my own without Fancy. Maybe if I did some good in the world, the way Shaq and LeBron always gave back to their community, God would heal Fancy. Maybe if I donated a few million to the people in Haiti or built a few homes for the forgotten Katrina victims, my wife would regain consciousness. And if I apologized to my exes, would God let my wife be normal again? Damn, what if she suffers permanent brain damage? Will she remember me? Will our lives be the same if my wife is permanently disabled?

  “Your talking to your wife is good. Do that as much as you can. She may be hearing you, though I’m not sure because she’s not responding at a high level. But she is responding. If you want to spend the night, I can have another bed delivered immediately.”

  I nodded so as not to interrupt him, then glanced at my son. DJ was still asleep. How could my wife be fighting for her life while we were healthy enough to go home?

  “We’ll check on her around the clock. I’m staying the night just in case an emergency develops. Any questions?”

  I had mad love and respect for Doc. I had to do it. I hugged him. “Thanks, man.”

  Mom asked, “Can I stay with her when my son is not here?”

  “Afraid not,” the doctor answered. “Under her circumstances I shouldn’t allow Mr. Jones to stay overnight.” He paused, looked up at me, then said, “but he is the league’s MVP. I’m personally making this exception for you, Darius.” He patted me on the back, then left the room.

  “Ma, when I’m not here, stay as long as they’ll let you. Please. Right now I need for you to take DJ home.” Who would watch DJ, when I was traveling and my mom was here with Fancy?

  DJ opened his eyes. “Daddy!” he said, reaching for me. I held my son. “Who’s that?” he asked, looking at the bandages around my wife’s face.

  “That’s Fancy, my man.” Handing my son back to my mom, I said, “Get him outta here, please.”

  “Of, course. Anything for you, hon—baby,” she said, changing her word. My mom hugged me, told me, “I love you,” and left.

  I pressed my fingers deep into my eye sockets. Something so soft, tears, still managed to escape. My wife was gentle and strong like that. She held it down when I was a boy trying to be the man. When I didn’t understand what it meant to be a man. I’m so glad I didn’t take my wife for granted. My tears were partially out of regret. I wished I had given her the attention she’d deserved instead of texting.

  I kissed her bandage, then whispered, “Baby, hang in there. I need you.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Jada

  I was trying not to come undone. Two events changed my life.

  I knew we shouldn’t have gone to that premiere. If we had stayed in Atlanta, if we had gone to dinner with Darius and Fancy, maybe Fancy wouldn’t be hospitalized, and Grant and I would’ve been happy not knowing Honey was pregnant.

  I dialed Bambi’s number. She never did answer my question yesterday when I asked where she was.

  “Hi, Jada. How’s Fancy?” Bambi asked.

  “Too soon to tell,” I said.

  “I’m here for you. What do you want me to do?”

  That was why I’d hired her. Bambi was eager to complete any task. She’d made a drastic change from when I’d seen her at Darius’s high school graduation. I still had to introduce her to Darius. Maybe Bambi could stay at my house here in Los Angeles and watch DJ while I went to the hospital.

  “Come by my house,” I said, giving her my address in the Valley. “I need you to pick up my key card, go to Grant’s hotel room, get my things, and drop them off here. And I might need you to stay here with DJ for a few hours while I go check on Fancy.”

  “I’m on my way, but I should let you know I’ve never watched any kids. I’m sure I can manage though.”

  I hadn’t thought about Bambi not having any siblings or kids. DJ was a good kid but I shouldn’t have expected Bambi to watch him on a regular basis the way I’d expected Grant to.

  Secretly Grant had hoped he’d see Honey yesterday. Whether or not he knew she was pregnant was irrelevant. My heart was with Darius, my prayers with Fancy. Hadn’t heard from Grant since last night. Felt foolish sitting in that waiting room for hours. I had to find a non-confrontational way to make Grant have a paternity test.

  He refused to ask Honey to let me watch the birth. He insisted on staying at the hospital in the room with Honey. Guess he was standing in the viewing window right this minute basking in the moment of believing he was a father.

  Having my grandson was a delightful detour to obsessing full-time over Grant’s inconsideration. I set a poolside table for two. While my chef prepared breakfast, I decorated the round glass top with black and blue Batman placemats, gold silverware, Batman plates, bowls, and eight-ounce glasses.

  DJ ran out of the house onto the patio. “Can I swim a little while, Grandma, till the food is ready?”

  “No, baby. Not with your bandages on.”

  “Please, Grandma? Please?”

  I exhaled. “Okay. Just a few minutes. And right after breakfast I’ll have to clean you up and change your bandages.” Somebody should have fun. I sat close to my pool, in case I had to dive in. Next to being a mom, being a grandmother was my greatest joy. DJ was adorable. He ran toward the deep end, jumped off the side, bent his knees, then made a big splash.

  I missed LA. If things didn’t work out with Grant, I was staying in LA and selling my house in Atlanta. Darius was grown. He didn’t need me at all of his games. I checked my cell hoping I’d missed a call, text, or e-mail from Grant. Opening his e-mail, I started to delete the picture of the twins. I placed my phone inside the towel beside my chair.

  “Get in with me, Grandma!”

  Normally I would but I wasn’t in a good mood, wasn’t up to faking it. “Let Grandma see you float.”

  Fancy had taught DJ how to float, swim, and dog-paddle. She was great with DJ. After what Ashlee had done to Fancy, I was shocked Fancy was so forgiving.
No way would I raise a woman’s child after she’d killed mine. Maybe taking DJ away from Ashlee was Fancy’s way of adopting a child. I asked God to bless Darius and Fancy with a child of their own and Ashlee with peace of mind. I knew Darius had driven Ashlee insane, but there was nothing I could do to protect that child’s sanity.

  The sun beamed brighter than yesterday. Silently, I prayed. “Dear God, I know with you all things are possible. Please lay Thy healing hands on Fancy and Darius. I know You won’t give us more than we can bear. I know my son has caused a lot of women tremendous pain but I ask that You be merciful, Jesus.”

  Hopefully God would show my son favor and not let him suffer long. Before the accident, I hadn’t seen my son that happy in his life. I looked up to the sunshine as a good sign for each of us.

  My phone rang. I held up the cell and called out to DJ, “It’s your daddy.”

  He came running. “Stop. What did I tell you about running by the pool?”

  “Sorry, Grandma. Oh, give me the phone. I wanna talk to him.”

  “Just a moment. Dry yourself off first,” I told DJ, then answered my son, “Hi, sweetheart.”

  “Ma, she opened her eyes to the sound of my voice,” he cried.

  Holding back my tears, I said, “Baby, that’s wonderful news.”

  “I know, Ma. I think she’s going to make a full recovery. I need your advice. What should I do about my game coming up? I was supposed to leave today. I mean, I can miss this one day but at some point in the next two days I’ma have to go.”

  “Sleep on it, baby. Stay the night with Fancy. See how she progresses tomorrow. Being on the court will be good for you but don’t rush it. When you decide to leave, I’ll keep an eye on Fancy while you’re away. I promise.”

 

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