Keisha was the older of the twins and dominated Kendal, her younger sister. Keisha even tried to boss Ronnie Jr., her big brother. Adisa lowered the receiver. She knew better than to call back. Settling intrafamily disputes involving Keisha could take as much time as mediation in a lawsuit.
The relationship between Keisha and Kendal reminded her of Shanika and herself when they were little. So far, Adisa had resisted the urge to point out the obvious similarity in the relationships and tie it to the biblical principle of reaping what you sow. But that didn’t keep her from thinking about it.
Adisa and Shanika were six and eight when they first arrived at Aunt Josie’s house. Before that, the girls had been like feral animals, often left alone for hours at a time while their father was at a tavern after his shift at a lumberyard and their mother was in her bedroom in a drug-induced stupor. It was amazing that the girls hadn’t been seriously injured or burned down the ratty apartment building where they lived on the outskirts of Savannah.
Removed from their parents’ custody by the Chatham County Department of Family and Children Services, the sisters were placed with their great-aunt Josie, the only close relative willing to claim them. From that point it had taken Josephine Adams several years of consistent discipline and countless hugs to bring order to the girls’ lives.
Shanika was a two-sport athlete in high school with a type A personality. Adisa was more shy and bookish. Only in college did Adisa begin to flourish in an environment where she was surrounded by other smart, academically minded people. Law school was an even richer petri dish, and Adisa’s analytical skills came to life at a high level. She’d graduated in the top twenty-five percent of her class.
Slipping her cell phone into the pocket of her suit jacket, Adisa went to Catherine Summey’s office, but she was still upstairs in the meeting with Mr. Katner. Next in the chain of command was Lorenzo “Nick” Balsamo, a junior partner with dark hair and thick black-framed glasses. Nick could sit in front of a computer and work nonstop for hours at a stretch but had zero interest in the management aspects of law practice. Adisa found him parked in his usual spot staring at his laptop. He glanced up as she tapped lightly on the doorframe.
“What is it?” he asked, squinting his eyes slightly.
Adisa summarized the situation as quickly as possible. “I’d like to take the rest of the afternoon off so I can drive to Campbellton and check on her,” she said as she finished.
“Go,” Nick replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. “But if Catherine gets upset, don’t drag me into it.”
“Then what does ‘go’ mean?”
Nick had already refocused on the computer screen. Adisa returned to her office and sent Catherine an e-mail. She was confident enough in the relationship with her boss that leaving work early to tend to a family emergency wouldn’t be a serious problem.
Adisa parked her small imported car in a numbered spot on the sixth floor of a deck adjacent to the office. If she tried to leave between 5:00 p.m. and 6:00 p.m., it could take ten minutes to reach street level. At this midafternoon time, though, she was quickly on the streets of Atlanta, and four blocks later, she turned onto a ramp for the interstate highway that would take her away from the city. Her cell phone vibrated. It was Shanika.
“The receptionist told me you left,” her sister said. “Are you on your way to Campbellton?”
“Yes,” Adisa replied.
“Thank God you’ll be there to find out what’s really going on,” Shanika responded.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m getting mixed signals from the doctor who first called me and the nurse on duty. The doctor said he thought Aunt Josie probably had a TIA. I looked it up and that’s a—”
“Transient ischemic attack or ministroke,” Adisa finished.
“Yeah, but the nurse on the floor told me Aunt Josie is slurring her words and complaining about not being able to see clearly. She uses reading glasses, but otherwise her vision is okay.”
“I should be there in time for late-afternoon rounds by the physician. Hopefully, they’ve called in a neurologist by now. What’s the name of the doctor you talked to?”
“Dr. Smith or Sanders or Stephens; I’m not sure. He was in the ER.”
“As soon as I know anything specific, I’ll call you back,” Adisa said. “How are the kids? Did Keisha start a fire or hit Ronnie Jr. in the head with a block?”
“No, but she had a death grip on Kendal’s hair and wasn’t going to let go. Like mother, like daughter. Did I ever apologize to you for doing that? It was a dirty way to fight.”
Adisa smiled. “I’m not permanently scarred. And my retaliation was often worse than what you did. If you promise not to bring up my biting, I won’t bring up your hair grabbing.”
“Deal. Drive safely, and call as soon as you know something.”
An hour later, Adisa turned off the radio tuned to a classical station and exited the interstate. It was another forty-three miles on two-lane roads to Campbellton. The grass in the pastures was May green from the spring rains, and she passed many small farms with twenty or thirty cattle, a large garden spot, and an occasional chicken house. By midsummer, the humid Georgia heat would descend with such oppressive force that only biting flies stirred from noon till six.
Aunt Josie’s house didn’t have air-conditioning when Adisa and Shanika were little, and they spent many summer nights in their bedroom with a window fan vainly trying to suck out the sticky, hot air that built up in the house during the heat of the day.
Normally, Adisa enjoyed the drive to see Aunt Josie and loved crossing into Nash County. The rolling hills felt comfortable, and the branches of the trees held out their arms in welcome. Campbellton was not only Adisa’s childhood home; it was home to the first happy memories of her life. It had been over four months since she’d made the trip. Aunt Josie seemed satisfied with a Sunday-afternoon phone call every week, but Adisa felt guilty, knowing there was no substitute for a hug and a kiss.
The hospital was on the east side of town. It was a little past five o’clock when Adisa pulled into the parking lot. On her way to the main entrance, she passed the parking spaces reserved for doctors. Campbellton Memorial Hospital drew patients from three surrounding counties, and it was possible for a physician to make a decent living in the area. The expensive cars in the physician lot reflected prosperity. Opposite the doctor spaces were five clergy spots. There wasn’t a BMW or late-model Lexus among them.
Next to the sliding glass doors for the entrance was a green box containing the Campbellton News. The daily afternoon newspaper was a stubborn, ten-page dinosaur sustained by a local population that still liked a paper in the driveway at the end of the workday. Adisa read a bold headline that proclaimed “Local Police Officer Under Investigation for Shooting Black Teenager.” Adisa slowed and read the portion of the article that was visible before continuing inside to the information desk.
“Room number for Josephine Adams, please,” she asked a white-haired volunteer on duty.
The woman typed the name into her computer. “Second floor, room 2265,” she replied.
Adisa made her way to the elevators behind the information desk. As the doors were about to close, a man’s hand appeared in the narrow opening. In his grasp was a black Bible. The doors pressed against the Bible and jerked back open. A stocky young black man who looked to be about thirty years old and was wearing a dark suit, a white shirt, and a tie with a gray design joined her.
“Sorry,” he said.
“That was a different use of the Scriptures,” Adisa said.
The man patted the Bible. “This book is good for a lot more than people give it credit for,” he said in a pleasant baritone voice. “I’m Reggie Reynolds, pastor of Zion Hills Baptist Church.”
The minister’s hair was clipped short, and he sported a thin, well-groomed mustache. The fingers of his left hand that gripped the Bible looked strong. Adisa extended her right hand and he shook it.
/> “Adisa Johnson,” she said.
“What brings you to the hospital?” the minister asked.
The elevator doors opened, and they both got out.
“My great-aunt, Josephine Adams,” Adisa replied. “She had a stroke this morning.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” the minister said and then paused. “It seems like I’ve heard that name somewhere, but I can’t place it.”
“She’s a longtime member of Woodside Gospel Tabernacle, but you may have seen her around town. She likes to go for long walks and carries a big stick with her.”
“Yes,” the minister said and nodded. “I’ve seen her but never met her. A woman in my congregation told me your aunt prays for the city.”
“And the county. That’s Aunt Josie.”
“Would it be okay if I came by to visit while she’s here? I’d like to meet her. I know her home church is between pastors.”
“I’d better check with her first,” Adisa replied. “She may not be able to have visitors.”
“Of course,” the minister replied as he reached into his pocket and took out a card.
The ivory-colored card listed “Rev. Reginald Reynolds” as “Senior Pastor and Overseer.”
“Thanks, Reverend Reynolds,” she said.
“Call me Reggie. And don’t hesitate to call if I can help you or your family.”
The minister pressed the up button for the elevator.
“You’re not visiting someone on this floor?” Adisa asked.
“No, I’m going to the third floor.”
As she walked down the hallway, Adisa remembered Zion Hills Baptist as one of the larger churches in the area. Reggie seemed young to be a senior pastor.
She came face-to-face with a set of double doors that were closed. A sign beside the doors read “Ring for Assistance.” Adisa pressed a red button and waited.
“May I help you?” a female voice asked.
“I’m here to see Josephine Adams.”
“Come to the nurses’ station.”
A buzzer sounded, and the doors slowly swung outward so Adisa could pass through. The nursing area was directly in front of her. A middle-aged woman with brown hair looked up as Adisa approached. Two health-care workers wearing white masks passed by on their way down the hall.
“Why the extra precautions?” Adisa asked. “I thought my aunt had a mild stroke.”
“It’s not her. There are several patients who have to be in sterile environments. Your aunt is here until a regular room becomes available.”
“Okay,” Adisa said with relief. “Am I in time to speak with one of her doctors? My sister and I are the closest family she has.”
The nurse pulled out a folder and flipped it open. “Dr. Dewberry, the neurologist, should be here within the next hour or so.”
“I’ll wait in my aunt’s room.”
“She’s at the end of the hall on the right.”
Adisa made her way past the rooms marked with signs warning about avoiding the risk of infection. She reached 2265 and knocked lightly on the door. No one answered, and she slowly pushed it open.
Jane Nelson was introducing finger foods to Ashley’s diet, and the little girl was pushing pieces of slippery banana across the tray of her high chair. The couple’s first child had her mother’s blond hair and blue eyes and a dimple in the exact same spot as her father. Ashley giggled when a piece of banana became stuck on her finger. Carefully lifting the finger in the air, she admired it for a moment and then guided it into her mouth where she clamped down with her two lower teeth. Letting out a startled cry, she jerked the banana out of her mouth and flung it across the room where it remained on the white front of the refrigerator.
At that moment Luke came inside after working out in a home gym he’d set up in the garage. He wiped his face with a towel and threw the afternoon newspaper on the kitchen table.
“Take a look at this,” he said.
Jane scraped the banana from the refrigerator and picked up the paper.
“I think you should throw it away,” she said after she read the lead story about Luke and the shooting. “Just because they print something doesn’t make it true.”
“Yes, but Chief Lockhart told me he was going to work with the DA. Now all this talk about the grand jury makes me nervous. Lockhart practically guaranteed me I was going to be cleared after an internal investigation by the police department.”
“You told the truth. You believed your life was in danger and had to act quickly. What if that boy had pulled out a gun and shot you? Where would that leave Ashley and me?”
“I know, I know.”
Ashley successfully maneuvered two squishy pieces of banana into her mouth and swallowed them.
“I was reading my Bible this afternoon during Ashley’s nap, and a verse really jumped out at me,” Jane said. “Do you want to hear it?”
“Sure.”
When he was a teenager, Luke was active in the youth group at his local church. Since then, his religious commitment had lessened as work duties increased. As a police officer in Atlanta and now in Campbellton, he often volunteered to work on Sundays as a way to increase his income. He didn’t do anything to quash Jane’s interest in God, but he attended church with her only about once a month.
“Here it is,” Jane said as she returned to the kitchen with an open Bible in her hands. “It’s Matthew 10:26: ‘Do not be afraid of them, for there is nothing concealed that will not be disclosed, or hidden that will not be made known.’ That’s what I’m going to pray.”
Luke was puzzled. He didn’t want to disagree with Jane. She knew much more about the Bible than he did. But he wasn’t sure why she found the words helpful.
“I’m more worried than afraid,” he replied slowly. “Partly for myself, but mostly for you and Ashley. And I know what happened the night of the shooting. The problem is convincing the people in charge that I’m right about it.”
“The verse really spoke to my heart.”
“And I want you to pray what you think you should,” Luke quickly added. “For me, I feel a little hypocritical praying now that I’m in trouble.”
“You shouldn’t.”
Luke pointed at the newspaper. “Did you read about the big rally they held at that black church on the west side of town?”
“They’re fighting a battle based on what’s happened in other parts of the country, not here,” Jane said, shaking her head. “You and Rob Atwood have been close as brothers since you worked together as security guards at the mall. He was one of the groomsmen at our wedding, and you’ve always gotten along fine with the black men on the police force.”
“Rob is in California and can’t vouch for me, and I don’t know the guys here well enough for them to go to bat for me in the face of what people are saying about me.”
Jane cut off more pieces of banana and placed them on Ashley’s tray.
“When you first joined the police department in Atlanta, I remember Rob saying that a lot of blacks are suspicious of police officers because of the way they, or members of their families, have been treated over the years.”
“I faced that night after night in the city, but it hasn’t been a big issue here in Campbellton.”
Jane pointed to the newspaper article. “It is now.”
“And we don’t need the newspaper to rub our noses in it,” Luke said.
He picked up the newspaper and dropped it into the recycling bin on the pantry floor. Ashley reached for her sippy cup, which was perched precariously on the edge of the tray, and knocked it onto the floor. Luke retrieved it and handed it to her. The little girl raised it high and began to drink like a lumberjack chugging a beer at a bar. Luke smiled.
“I like that look,” Jane said as she reached over and touched Luke on the hand. “I’m trying to be strong and full of faith, but in a couple of hours you may have to drag me out of the ditch of depression.”
Luke wrapped his hand around hers and gently squeezed it. “I’ll
be here for you.”
FIVE
HER EYES CLOSED, Aunt Josie was lying with the head of the bed slightly elevated. Adisa quietly stepped closer. The faint rattle in her aunt’s throat let her know the elderly woman was asleep. She was wearing a pale-blue hospital gown with the sheet pulled up just beneath her bony shoulders. There was an IV in her left arm. Adisa glanced at the label on the bag. It was glucose. Adisa eased over to a chair at the foot of the bed and sat down. Although raspy, the sound of Aunt Josie’s steady breathing was better music to Adisa’s ears than the intricate notes of the Mozart concerto she’d listened to during the drive from Atlanta.
Watching her aunt sleep, Adisa remembered a time when she was a teenager and came down with the worst case of flu in her life. For three nights Aunt Josie let Adisa sleep propped up in the older woman’s bed, so as not to disturb Shanika, while Aunt Josie dozed in a worn-out recliner. Many times, Adisa awoke to the soothing touch of a cool rag on her burning forehead.
Aunt Josie moved her head slightly and groaned. Adisa jumped up from the chair and came closer. Her aunt’s hair seemed grayer than the last time she’d seen her.
“Aunt Josie,” she said softly. “It’s Adisa.”
The older woman’s eyes fluttered and then opened. Adisa waited for her to say her name. Aunt Josie’s lips moved, but the only sound that escaped her lips was something that came out like “baba sole lit to.”
“What?” Adisa asked.
Aunt Josie continued with words that sounded equally incomprehensible. Adisa glanced at the door and wondered if she should get a nurse. Instead, she touched the hand that didn’t have the IV and squeezed it gently.
“I’ve come to see you,” she said. “Is there anything I can get you?”
Aunt Josie closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them more gibberish came out of her mouth. Her aunt had always been a woman of precise speech with no wasted words. The effects of the stroke were worse than Adisa had suspected. Panic began to rise up in her chest. The door to the room opened. A young male doctor with thick, reddish-brown hair briskly entered the room.
A Time to Stand Page 5