Shame Game
That’s what he gets,” Wendy said as she drove me to the USC Medical Center where Jake was taken in an ambulance. The hospital called and said he was in stable condition.
She tapped my hand. “It’s going to be okay. He’s going to be fine … but still, that’s what he gets.”
Chill and shivers quaked through my body. I wanted to curl up in a ball and get back under the covers where I’d run and hidden after managing to drive myself home. I was worse off, in no condition to drive, unable to handle large machinery just as the small label on the prescription bottle read. Three little white pills left over from my accident I’d swallowed without water to make me numb. I’d swallowed the pills the same as I’d swallowed the painful unbridled truth of what I’d seen. I may not have believed Jake was capable of beating someone to death, but this crime I saw with my very own eyes.
Wendy stroked my arm. “I’ve got some tissue in my purse.”
I used my sleeve. “I’m fine, please keep both hands on the steering wheel.”
“You must be okay, giving orders,” she said, taking her hand of comfort back and putting more diligence into getting us to the hospital in one piece. I don’t know why I was worried. She’d managed to drive all the way to my mom and dad’s house to drop off Mya with very little instruction from me. She’d hit the freeway running, going ninety miles an hour, and hadn’t once fretted about how crazy everyone else drove.
“This is just all too weird, I mean, the way this is playing out is kind of kismet, don’t you think?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “That’s what he gets.”
Wendy pulled the car to the emergency entrance. The double doors opened to a serene picture of orderliness and calm. There were so many directions, so many different ways to go. Where did they house husbands who’d been struck down after being caught with another woman? I sidled up to the friendliest-looking triage nurse. “My name is Venus Parson. My husband’s name is Jake Parson. He was admitted a couple of hours ago.”
The woman peeked over her glasses and calmly said, “Have a seat.” Wendy took my arm and guided me back, away from the glass partition. She knew I had no plans on sitting anywhere, let alone waiting around for when the receptionist decided to do a patient check.
The receptionist punched a few keys on her keyboard then twirled her chair to another computer to type again. I watched her every move, deciding if she hadn’t called my name in the proceeding few minutes, I’d planned to go through the double doors and find Jake myself.
“Mrs. Parson?”
Relief washed over Wendy, who was more afraid of what the situation might entail. “Over here.” She waved, rushing me back to the window.
“Mr. Parson is in Triage A. Go through these doors, make a right, and follow the red line all the way back to room eleven.” She pushed up her glasses and went back to her computer.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
The hallway corridor seemed endless. The red line became wavy and blurred. I stopped. “I can’t do this. Why am I even here?” I wiped the endless stream of tears from my eyes and nose.
Wendy turned to face me, giving me a long warm hug. “You love him, that’s why you’re here. You just love you some him, sweetie. And it’s okay. That’s good. You know how I know? There wouldn’t be all these tears if you didn’t. So, let it out, it’s okay.”
I couldn’t begin to count how many times I’d cried on Wendy’s shoulder. She was there when it counted, always on time regardless of the distance in our life. I wiped my face. My sleeve had become soggy for all the work it was doing.
“He’s going to be fine. You guys are going to get through this.”
I took a deep breath and believed what she’d said. We strolled the rest of the red line, stopping in front of the room. “I’ll wait out here.” She stayed outside the door while I went inside. Jake lay with his eyes closed, though I knew he wasn’t sleeping just by the tenseness of his facial muscles, the placement of his hands across his middle. He was thinking, not sleeping.
His eyes opened slightly when I took the first step. I couldn’t go any closer. The tubing clipped into his nostrils prevented him from lifting or turning for a better glimpse. “I’m sorry, babe. I’m so sorry,” he said into the air.
“I’m sorry, too.” I swallowed and fought hard to keep it together. “Are you going to be all right?”
He didn’t answer. I moved one more step closer. I could see the stream of tears rolling down the side of his face. I moved even closer, arriving at the side of his bed. I used the fabric from the pillowcase and patted the next fluid stream before it could tickle past his ear. A box of tissue was on the other side on the white countertop, but seemed too far away. I kissed the cool skin of his forehead, then the bridge of his nose.
“You’re going to be all right.” I squeezed his hand.
“It never happened,” he said. “I swear, it never happened.”
I shook my head, letting him know I didn’t want to talk about it. I peeked at the various monitors and knew enough to understand I was affecting the extra bleeps on the screen and the numbers jumping up and down. I backed away. “I better go.”
“No, baby, please don’t leave me.”
“It’s okay, I’m not leaving, just right out there.” I pointed past the door. But Jake knew what I meant, and I knew what he meant when he’d asked, please don’t leave me.
Outside the door, Wendy stuck her hands in her jean pockets and walked slowly toward me. “What’s the diagnosis?” Her question asked more than for a simple answer.
“I don’t know.”
“So I guess you’re waiting to hear from the doctor.” Her eyebrow went up. “And here he comes.” She looked past me. We both faced Clint as he strolled toward us. I was taken aback. He looked tired, thin, like he’d lost a lot of weight. As he got closer, he tried to pull up a smile.
He hugged Wendy first. “How you doing, Wen-Dixie? Long time no see.” He cupped both hands over her tiny curls and ruffled them a bit with approval. “Cut it all off, huh? I know what that means.”
“That’s right, don’t start none, won’t be none.” Wendy handed him off to me.
I reached around his shoulders and forced myself not to inhale his familiarity. His friendship. His shoulders seemed frail, breakable, but he squeezed tight with undeniable strength.
“You okay?” He asked near my ear.
“Fine.” I backed away, depending on the stability of my sneakers to keep me grounded. “You’re like the Fairy God-Doctor. You magically appear every time I’m in a hospital.”
Wendy shook her head. “He wasn’t there when you delivered Mya. That reminds me, I thought you were a pediatrician. What’re you doing around gunshot wounds and stabbings?”
I cut my eyes at Wendy.
“I left Jackson Memorial,” he said in stride.” “I took this position until something else comes through. I’m looking to move back to the East Coast.” He omitted the whole ordeal of the state board of health investigating him and charging him with negligence. Lucky to have any position in medicine, let alone emergency medicine.
My eyes grudgingly turned to the door where Jake lay quietly waiting for judgment. “So it was you. I wondered how anyone would know to call me.”
“Soon as I saw him, I recognized him and took extra care because I knew who I’d be dealing with if anything went wrong.” He sort of grinned but it smoothed out quickly to seriousness. “He went into a state of hypoxia.” Noticing the haze, he cut it down to layman’s terms. “Loss of oxygen to the brain. Not a good thing. He’s lucky.”
I gave Wendy another look; she ignored me.
“What?” Clint noticed the unspoken communication between Wendy and me. “What’s that about?”
“No. Nothing. I’m just glad he’s fine.” I bit the inside of my jaw, grateful God hadn’t heard my call. Only for a millisecond had I wished upon Jake a slow suffering death. Then we would never have to talk about what happened, what I
witnessed with my own eyes and never have to deal with it. Instead, now it would become a mainstay of our marriage, a stain on the carpet eventually accepted and ignored. But newcomers would see it, notice the wide dark circle, not sure what caused the stain in the first place. They’d notice how we hardly touched, hardly smiled or truly looked each other in the eye. Maybe they’d assume it was from time, simple wear and tear.
Clint looked closer, nudged my arm. “You sure?”
“Ahum. Wendy, I’m hungry, you think you could check for something edible in the cafeteria?” I squinted my tired eyes.
“Sure. Yeah. Okay. Be right back. Not right back. I’ll be back a little later. Take your time,” Wendy said, turning and walking away with no sure direction.
Clint and I faced each other. “I just wanted to know how you’re doing. Everything, you know.”
“As long as Jake is fine, I’m fine,” I said, wishing my face hadn’t given me away.
“It’s okay,” he whispered, coming toward me with comforting arms.
I took a step back. With a solid deep breath I decided to get it together. “What about you? How are you, really?”
“Kandi and I are trying to work everything out. We’re seeing a counselor.”
I nodded my head. “I hope it does. I hope everything works out. I’m going back inside, see how he’s doing.”
“V, I’ve thought about calling,” Clint said quietly. “Do you think it’d be okay … if I called?”
I shook my head. “Probably not.”
He let the answer linger for a moment, understanding its full meaning. “Okay.” He nodded his head in acceptance. “Okay.”
I blinked my tired eyes, returning the same understanding. I went inside and found my way next to Jake.
Aftermath
The next day I brought my husband home. We said no more than two or three words to each other in the car. He asked where was Mya; I said with my parents. I helped him up the stairs and into a hot shower. I shoved all his clothes into the laundry basket and then came back when I heard the distinct sound of his cell phone ringing. I pulled his pants out and dug into his pocket. The animated envelope spun around to announce a message. I flipped the silver phone open and pushed a few buttons, until I figured it out.
The text message showed up, “I hope u r all right,” it read. “Called hospital no info.”
It was from her. I closed the phone. On second thought, I opened it back up, “F-i-n-e,” I typed in. I pushed send and waited. The next response read, “Call OK.”
I closed the phone, and then opened it back up. I couldn’t resist. I listened as the water continued to run in the shower. I took the phone downstairs. Someplace quiet. Out to my car parked in the garage. I got inside and locked the doors. I didn’t want anyone to hear what I was about to say or do. I didn’t want it leaking out into the air like poison, lingering on the walls or the furniture, settling into cracks or flowing through vents.
She picked up on the first ring.
“I’m only going to say this one time, and you better know I’m serious. If I see you, if I hear you, if I even think you’re lurking around, I am going to find you and give you a beatdown you will not live to regret. Do you understand?” The rest that followed was probably only for therapeutic purposes because she’d hung up long before I was through screaming into the phone.
It felt good, if only for a few relieving seconds. Tearing her down, ripping her to shreds, envisioning all kinds of heinous acts against the two-faced bitch sent my adrenaline racing. Thoughts rushed in and out, swirling thoughts of Jake, what I’d seen even before opening the door all the way. The scene would forever be etched into my mind. I wondered how, if ever, we were really going to get through to the other side. Make it back to where we’d started.
I heard a tapping sound on the window. My heart nearly leaped out of my chest. I dropped the phone, letting it slip between the seat and the gearshift.
“What’re you doing down here?” Jake was leaning against the door.
I got out of the car, heart still beating wildly. “You should be upstairs.” I tried to keep my eyes centered on his chest, his throat, anywhere but on the worry and heartache in his eyes.
He had no idea why I was sitting in the car, but that’s where he’d found me. He reached out and pulled me close. His body trembled, still moist from the shower. “Please don’t leave me,” he breathed into my hair, against my face. “Please,” he whispered, assuming I was planning a getaway.
“You shouldn’t be moving around like this,” I said, somewhat satisfied. I helped him back upstairs and into bed.
Wherever I landed, he was underfoot. It went on like that for days. He didn’t go back to the studio for almost a week. He said it was okay—he just wanted to be at home with me. I think he thought the day he came home after being gone, I wouldn’t be there. I thought it, too. I thought, the minute he leaves, I’m right behind him, out the door, running screaming, like a madwoman. But I stayed, and I held my breath, and watched my words because I didn’t want to shame him the way he’d shamed me. It wasn’t any fun and I didn’t have the energy required to follow through.
“Do you think it would be okay if I went to the studio?” He looked tired and miserable. I wanted to say, It doesn’t feel too good does it, staying home all day feeling of no use to anyone?
“I haven’t stopped you from going anywhere, from doing anything. Don’t ask me if you can leave the house like I’m keeping you here. I’m not. I’m not keeping you anywhere. You want to go, go.”
He stepped away, as if I’d given him exactly the reaction he’d expected.
I paced around the house, still glad my mom and dad had kept Mya. “You guys need time to heal,” Pauletta said over the phone when I couldn’t get all the words out. “Don’t worry about it. Take as long as you need.”
The minute I heard Jake’s car pull out of the garage, I got dressed, pored through the yellow pages, and landed on Josie’s House of Style. The ad was the biggest on the page. Relaxers. Weaves. Color. All in seventy-two-point font. No customer leaves Josie’s unhappy.
Josie’s House
“What I don’t understand is if old-school hottie is still hooked on you and you still seem to be catching feelings for him, why didn’t you just take the opportunity and make it happen, get it over with and out of your system for good?” For the last hour, Shane had listened compassionately, right along with the rest of the salon populace. They all listened, waiting for the next dramatic part of the story. So many parts I’d left out because husbands and wives are allowed their secrets.
I threw my head back. “I’m in love with my husband. And regardless of what happened, I know he loves me, too.”
“He had a fine way of showing it,” a woman from a couple of stations away added. A liberal amount of get right cream covered around her temples. Her eyes cut through me. “So I guess you believed him when he said it never happened.” She coughed out a mild laugh. “You gon’ believe me or your lying eyes. That’s a classic.”
I ignored her sarcasm. Of course I didn’t believe him. I was no fool. And yet, I did believe him, though ashamed to say it out loud. Jake was allowed this one mistake. Just one.
“Now you say this woman whose mouth accidentally swallowed your man’s tongue, was one of those gorgeous got-it-all-together types? So this is your way of fighting fire with fire?” Carmena nearly burned her customer’s hair pausing too long with the flat iron near her ear. A light billow of smoke rose from the hair.
The customer squealed.
“I’m sorry, I’ll get some ice.” Carmena rushed off.
Josie leaned over Shane’s shoulder. “It’s a crying shame to straighten all that virgin hair, but I ain’t gone lie, you about to knock your man off his feet,” Josie hummed moving back to her own station. “Straighten up and fly right.”
“So did this Kandi, the doctor’s wife, have the baby?” Shane whispered, still stuck in the epilogue of the real drama, better than Da
ys of Our Lives and The Young and the Restless. Forget about Nikki and Victor, these were real characters with real heartache and pain.
Just the mention of her name left me squirming uncomfortably in my chair. I wanted to feel sorry for Kandi, to be so insecure, to be so desperate to do what she had. “She hasn’t had the baby yet. Hopefully, she’ll be better by the time it comes. She’s in counseling.”
“What about the guy … stealing the drugs, where ishe?”
“He’s gone. No one has seen him. I doubt if he can be hired anywhere. I don’t think he’ll be working in any more hospitals.”
“That’s a shame. I was born at Jackson,” Tikki piped in. “That guy should’ve been arrested.”
I closed my eyes briefly, still not sure of who was doing what. Kandi or Jasper. Either one or both could have been responsible for the malicious acts. But the fire. I knew who’d caused the fire, and the anger still burned in my soul.
“Oh lordy, she needs a healing. See when people stop going to church, then all hell breaks loose.”
“She needs to go to jail. In there you find Jesus real quick,” Tikki added.
Another customer spoke up, “And did you beat the little hussy down who was messing with your man?”
“Look, this ain’t the ghetto chronicles, y’all,” Shane announced. “We’re talking about the high and mighty—they do things differently.”
Carmena cleared her throat. “Not much. Remember Lionel Richie’s wife? She beat Lionel and his little floozy down to the ground. Kicked his butt all the way to divorce court.”
The salon crowd whooped and hollered.
Shane tapped me on the shoulder. “Okay,” he said, pointing out the four separate trays of relaxer he’d stirred into creamy perfection for each massive section of hair, posing it somewhat as a question. The room fell silent, waiting for the drum roll.
I peered at the woman on the end who’d been the quietest of the bunch. No longer screaming mad about her bad weave job. She had a full crowning glory of soft opulent hair. A glowing reddish tint straight with a soft curl on the end. She stared at herself in the mirror. From her beaming smile, anyone could tell she’d been transformed. All was right with the world. She had plans, big plans. A wedding to tend to. A man who’d won her heart. Her confidence overflowed, sweeping a gust of satisfaction over the salon.
Nappily Married Page 24