Made of Honor

by Marilyn Griffith

  Though I’d never been present for Mama’s three strokes, it didn’t happen like this. On TV, it was more…dramatic. Maybe this was Bell’s palsy, like Tracey had one summer in college. Her face drooped for a few weeks, but she recovered. Not that I had a few weeks to droop…. In fact, who would cover the store today?

  I tried to sit up. “Ineedsomeverraimpor—”

  Something pushed me back down as the ambulance pulled away. “Could you make that out?” Betadine asked.

  “A little,” said IV solution. “Let’s just get her there.” With that he proceeded to cut off my pantyhose.

  Miraculously, I found my voice. “Noooo! Eightsebentyfive!”

  Betadine scowled. “What’d she say?”

  “Eight seventy-five?”

  The first guy nodded. “The hose maybe? They look expensive.”

  “You would know, dude.”

  I lifted my lead lips and pushed through all the air I could muster as the last of the nylon was ripped away. “And they weren’t on sale.”

  He looked like a cartoon character. As I’d spent my childhood Saturdays watching TV, a cartoon guy he was.

  “You took us on quite a ride, Miss Rose.” He smiled reassuringly in that way doctors do. Usually I found it aggravating, but not today. Today, I took it for the life raft it was. I mean, if he was smiling like that, surely I couldn’t be totally dying. The Novocain lipstick seemed to have left my mouth. I could actually smile back at him. A pain shot up my arm, erasing my grin.

  And his.

  “Pain in the arm?”

  “Yes,” I said, stunned at the sound of my own voice, garbled, as though I were chewing a mouthful of spaghetti and trying to talk at the same time.

  He patted my arm with one hand and waved for the nurse with the other. “Don’t be surprised about your speech. It may take some time to return to normal.” He paused. “We’ll do therapy during your recovery.”

  I swallowed hard. “So, it was a stroke?”

  He nodded. “Yes. I don’t know how much you owe Visa, but you might want to pay them. That bill collector saved your life. We got you here in time to administer tPa, which bursts the clots, and from what we can tell, there was no permanent damage to your brain tissues—”

  A muffled sob escaped my lips. “Thank You, Jesus.”

  The doctor’s eyebrows raised a half inch or so, making him look very surprised. He looked up at the nurse, who’d been quietly checking my blood pressure, pulse and other vitals on the computer screen and on my person.

  She nodded. “Everything is normal. Her pain meds are probably just wearing off. Is the arm sore, hon?”

  Her beehive hairdo and southern honey voice made me smile—or at least attempt to—again. “Yes. Sore.”

  “Okay, when the doc is done I’ll come back and we’ll work on that.”

  I nodded, wondering if she’d return with an omelet and some hash browns from the thanks-and-come-again rhythm in her speech. I guess this place served up its one recipe day after day—a menu of healing. “Thank you.”

  The doctor grabbed the side rail. “There are many things that we’ll discuss with you in the next few days, but the most important ones I’ll say to you now. You got away this time, but you’ll have to make some changes. Fourteen percent of people who have a stroke, have another within the next year. Unfortunately, with African-Americans, the rate is even higher.” He took off his glasses. “As nice as you seem to be, I do not want to see you in this unit again. I sent your family downstairs because I didn’t want to alarm them until I’d talked to you….”

  His words turned to fuzz. Family? How long had I been there? And who had come? Oh, goodness.

  “However, when they come up, I’m going to explain to them as well about the need for lifestyle changes in diet, exercise and stress level. Your sister told me that you run a business alone. Is that right?”

  Dahlia? I nodded, rubbing my arm.

  “That will have to change. If you can’t afford a staff, I’d suggest closing the store or even selling it. Your life isn’t worth the risk.”

  Life? “I thought there was no damage.”

  “Not this time. The next time might not be so kind.” He gathered my chart and slipped it back into the groove at the back of the door. “I treated your mother. That was the only time in my practice that I was relieved a patient didn’t survive.”

  I jerked upright. “You were my mother’s doctor?” Why didn’t I remember his round face, button eyes? No, there was a taller man—

  “I was called in to consult. There was nothing to be done, but after the brain scan, I was almost thankful. Even though she got to the hospital fairly quickly, her attack was a bad one.” He reached for the doorknob. “And it wasn’t her first. Bottom line? Change your life or you’ll be disabled or dead.”

  My head fell back against the pillow. It was almost too much to take in. Dead? Disabled? I was barely thirty years old! No children. The shop was just getting off the ground. I was only beginning to live.

  I set before you life and death. Choose life.

  I couldn’t help but smile as the scripture zinged through my mind. God gave open book tests. Simple questions. He even provided the answers. I pulled a hand over my eyes, to give my throbbing arm another position and shield my tears from my imminent “family.” Pineapple and cilantro skipped along the bed rail like music. A chair screeched at my bedside. Though he didn’t say a word, Adrian was there. Grateful, I closed my eyes.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “So what are you going to do?”

  My father moved like a dancer between the pots and pans—jambalaya with chicken breast and shrimp for me and fried calamari and garlic bread for the rest. Not that it was really helpful to smell all that, but I appreciated the thought, as well as his question. After over a month of speech and occupational therapy, plenty of praying and talking to family and friends, I still didn’t have an answer.

  “I don’t know, Dad. I just don’t know.”

  “Hmph. Just let it go. If you need money, we’ll figure something out. I’m thinking about opening a restaurant—”

  I choked on my water. “What?”

  “It won’t be for a while. I’ve been working at Smokey’s and he really thinks I’ve got what it takes.”

  “Working? At the racetrack restaurant? I thought you were just—”

  “Betting? Drinking? I know. I can’t say I blame you for thinking that, but with my family back together I thought it was time I try to get myself together. Your mother would have wanted it this way.” He paused as if wanted to say more, then tunneled his words down his arm and into his spoon, whizzing around a bowl of cake batter faster than any electric mixer ever could.

  “It’s angel food. The strawberries are in the fridge. I hope you like it. I made it for her—the first time.” With halted words, Daddy turned to walk away, but I caught his arm. He pulled back, probably surprised at the strength of my touch—hey, weeks of biceps curls had to be good for something.

  “Why didn’t you all tell me about Mama’s first stroke? I remember her going to the emergency room those times.”

  He shook his head. “It seemed so harmless. Like this thing with you. I know now that it wasn’t.” He wiped his eye. “Don’t take a chance, moppet. Just don’t take a chance.”

  Water trickled down my throat as I pulled my glass back to my mouth. I appreciated Daddy’s concern, and truthfully, it matched my own, but what was I supposed to do, give up everything in my life and wait for death to come and claim me? Surely that wasn’t the life God had for me. I needed change, the people at the hospital had made that clear.

  In the four weeks I’d spent there, I’d lost twenty pounds and my blood pressure had plummeted. But what about now with work, church and all the drama of my family? Not to mention the shop, which Adrian and Dahlia were miraculously holding together.

  I was ashamed to admit that Dahlia’s appearance might have had some impact on the new sales figures, which sh
e proudly called in each evening. And Adrian had even pulled in Jordan and Trevor to help in Dahlia’s absence, which had to be a crazy mix. I could hardly imagine Trevor stacking jars with my name tattooed on his arm. Crazy. But somehow it was working.

  And they’d make it work as long as I needed—or at least until Trevor needed to get to work on his next album. They loved me enough to pick up the slack. Even my evil cousins and Aunt Cheryl were said to be seen pitching in on the weekends. Austin, too, when she wasn’t on the set.

  But as for what I really wanted to do, I wasn’t sure. I still lost my balance from time to time and had to slow down when speaking, but in many ways things seemed much like they’d been before. Yet, I couldn’t forget that doctor’s last phrase—disabled or dead.

  Adrian sauntered into the kitchen with a slice of watermelon for himself and one for me. I took it, thanking him graciously. “Where’d you get this?”

  “Bob brought it. The Visa man? The one who saved you by calling the ambulance?”

  Saved my life. At the sound of those words, the backs of my ears prickled. Though I tried not to think about it most days, the fact that I’d almost died was unavoidable. But for some reason, God had chosen to let me live. And He’d used the Visa guy to do it. “He’s here?”

  Adrian pointed at a muscular fellow with raven hair and a cross earring. Sort of a Latin Fabio with a Bible. Adrian waved in Bob’s direction and took my hand. “C’mon.”

  He didn’t have to tell me. I was already half-across the room, watermelon in hand. I stopped just short of him. “Bob?”

  He squinted at me. “Dana?”

  Adrian grabbed the watermelon just in time, and we hugged like old friends. “Thanks so much for saving my life.”

  He smiled. “Thank God, not me. I wasn’t trying to do anything that day but nail you. You were on my top ten most wanted list to actually talk to.”

  I shook my head thinking of how hard I’d been driving myself. “Well thanks for doing your job. And sorry about the bills and everything. I’m going to work that out.”

  Bob—who names a guy who looks like a movie star and smells like the ocean, Bob? I guess his mother couldn’t have predicted it—winked at Adrian. “Don’t sweat it. It’s all been taken care of.”

  My eyes, now squinty, went from the Visa guy to Adrian. I knew that code. It was the shut-up-I-didn’t-tell-her-yet look. I glared at my old friend. “What did you do?” Sure, I’d been sick, but he wasn’t my husband. This was too much.

  He grabbed my hand and tugged, then frowned at Bob. “Thanks, buddy! We’ll see you later.”

  The guy laughed and went back to the cluster of people he’d been standing with before. People I’d seen at church, but didn’t really know. Since when did the family gathering become the free-for-all hangout? While I was in the hospital, I suppose. I followed Adrian’s tug into the dining room where we sat down at the table. He tucked my soggy slice of watermelon in to one of the linen napkins as though it were a rose.

  He pulled out my chair, then quickly took a seat, raising one hand before I could go on my tirade.

  “Look, before you say anything, hear me out, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  His face went solemn. “I know you don’t want my help. I know that you don’t need it—”

  “You’re already helping at the store. Taking my appointments—”

  He cocked his head sideways. I reached for another slice of watermelon from a bowl on the table. I bit into it and the juice squirted onto his face. He smiled. “Let me finish. I need to help you right now. There is no resource that I have that I won’t use to keep you well.” He dragged a clenched fist across his nose. “Even you can’t deny me that.”

  “Deny you? I’m not trying to deny you anything, it’s just that…” My voice trailed as I tried to slow down and get my lips to cooperate with my words.

  Adrian took the opportunity to get a word in himself. “It is about denying me and everybody else. Why do you have to almost kill yourself before we can help you? Have you thought about that? I’ve been begging you since I came back to town for us to work together, so you wouldn’t have to work so hard.” He buried his head in his hands. “I can’t believe I let this happen.”

  My stomach knotted. “You?” I talked slow this time so the words would come out clear. “You’ve been nothing but kind. My hereditary put me on a path to this, but I charged up the road.”

  He kissed my cheek. “Yeah, but I let you go on, knowing it was too much. When we were just friends, it was so much easier. I could tell you what I thought and know that it was honest and for your best interest. Now…”

  Dahlia slipped into view in a pink and red paisley off-one-shoulder sundress. She started toward us. Adrian held on to my hand and never looked her way. The rest of the room, though, took to her like a cactus to water, drinking her in and holding on.

  “How are you feeling, sis?” she whispered into my mane of twists. Having a hairdresser who did house calls turned out to be a great idea.

  “Better,” I said. “Much better.”

  She nodded. “You look it. I guess having this guy around doesn’t hurt, does it?”

  When you’re here it does.

  Adrian looked up with a plastic smile. I eased out of his grip and stared at the placemats. Apples. Rochelle’s motif. She’d wanted to ditch my pansies for years. Much the same way that I needed to ditch the pain of what had passed between Adrian and Dahlia. It rose again now, like a bronco, breaking through the barrier where I’d corralled it. Why didn’t I just talk to him about it and get it over with? With her right here, too? “Speaking of Adrian, maybe we should…”

  Dahlia turned. “What?”

  I stared across at the empty seat where he’d been. “Nothing. Have a seat. Tell me all about the shop.”

  I tried not to be jealous, but I wasn’t so sure if I pulled it off. While Dahlia rattled off the sales figures, slipped the digital camera out of her purse and showed me the new store arrangements, her sketches for new labels and logos for each line—how many lines did I have again?—I really had to stay calm. When she pulled out a spreadsheet of the top sellers over the last six weeks plus a graph for the trends for the month to come, my breath left me. Sure, I had the creative thing going on, but my sister was good at this business thing.

  Really good.

  “Don’t look so surprised. I know you expect me to be stupid.” She snapped her purse shut.

  “It’s not that, it’s just that—”

  She smiled. “I know. You weren’t expecting it. Me, either. I mean sure, I’m good with shopping, and I got A’s in business school, but this is really my thing.”

  You mean my thing. As usual.

  I scratched my cheek.

  “I mean your thing, of course. It’s your business, but I’m—forget it. I can’t make everything up to you, but I’m trying to do what I can.” She stared at the ceiling. “Trying to make you proud of me.”

  I could almost hear that anonymous radio voice, saying, “This is a test. This is a test of the Christian response broadcast system.” For a moment, I thought it was a test I would fail. This was what Dahlia had been seeking all those times that she hurt me. Recognition. Approval. Love. Now, when she was seeking it in constructive ways, did I have the strength, the faith, to build her up? I didn’t. But Jesus did and He loaned me a little just before my little sister’s eyes clouded over.

  I gathered my sister into my arms. “I’m very proud of you.” I stared across the room at Sierra, bouncing on Jordan’s lap. “You are trying to pull your family together, you’re working hard to help me and regardless of what’s happened between us, you came back to try and make it right.”

  Her tears moistened my shoulder. “It was Trev who insisted we come back. But I’m glad we did. I need you.” She looked around the room and whispered, “All of you.” Just as quickly, Dahlia collected herself, wiped her tears, and nodded toward a handsome newcomer standing in the living room. “Who’s
the hunk?”

  I giggled, then stopped, swallowing my laughter. She was crying one minute and scoping the next. I had to remember who I was dealing with. “That’s Bob.”

  Her mouth opened just a bit. “Bob?”

  “The Visa guy who called the hospital when I had the stroke. Turns out he goes to the Spanish church down the street from ours.” I spoke the last words slowly, watching her watch him. Didn’t we have enough trouble? “Don’t get any ideas.”

  She looked hurt. “I was just curious, Dane. It’s not like that. The last thing I need is another man. I realize now I’ve had too many. That’s my problem. I just want more of Jesus.” She stared over at Trevor, sitting on the couch between Adrian and Jericho. He looked tired. Drained.

  Jesus had certainly been busy while I was away.

  Sierra rubbed her eyes and started to whine, but Trevor crossed the room and picked her up before anyone else could. He walked her out, eying Dahlia as he went.

  She ignored him, but moved to the edge of her seat when he disappeared down the hall. “One more thing. What’s the deal with this Tangela chick stiffing you for all that money? Why didn’t you tell me about that?”

  Tangela? I covered my mouth then let my fingers slip away. “Oh, no. Her wedding. I forgot all about it.”

  Dahlia narrowed her eyes as if I’d said the stupidest thing ever. “You had a stroke and you’re still worried about that woman? That’s how you got to the hospital in the first place. I know you love God, but business is business. When she showed up, I showed her the door. And don’t worry about the money she owed you. Lord willing, Trevor and I are still headed for the altar in a few weeks and you can be my maid of honor.”

  Maid of honor. If I was going to do it, it should be for family, but it’d be easy to say that and just be doing it for the money. Despite the hugs and pie graphs, I knew Dahlia could easily hurt me again.

  She pursed her lips. “Since you’re taking so long to even say anything, I’m sorry for asking.”