AROUND NOON, when the girls at Corpus Christi spilled onto the playground, Johnny admitted to himself he had been foolish. There was nothing to worry about. They had done well for a Wednesday. They could make their goal of twenty dollars earlier than usual. He decided to take Wilhelmina out to dinner. It was four in the afternoon when he told her, “Let's call it quits.”
Wilhelmina had been full of smiles all day. A couple of the regular customers raved that Johnny was lucky to have a wife so happy and peaceful—full of joy, they said.
“That kind of woman makes even the poorest man think he's rich,” Johnny remembered Frank Stanton saying before he boarded the bus going home.
I am rich, Johnny thought as he watched Wilhelmina packing their things, signaling the end of the day.
The two of them were standing on the corner, waiting for the light to change when they heard what sounded like a car backfiring. Wilhelmina looked, hoping to locate the source of the noise. Instead, she saw people all around falling to the ground. She placed herself in front of Johnny, putting her arms around him while easing him to the ground.
When Davis Angelin, another regular customer, pulled Wilhelmina off Johnny, she had a bullet in the base of her head. They had to pry her arms from around him. Johnny lay on the ground, his face awash with tears.
The police never caught the men who, looking for fun and excitement that day, shot into a crowd of people at Galvez and Saint Bernard streets. Three other people were killed. Mr. Thompson, a man Johnny didn't know, and sweet old Alice Loften, who used to walk to the corner every day for exercise and to talk with Wilhelmina, who she always said she wished had been her daughter. Ms. Loften died an old maid. She had spent most of her life teaching school and when she retired, she said she had grown too comfortable to let a man interfere.
Johnny never went back to that corner. A month later he went to live with his cousin Rayford in the house on Bienville Street in the French Quarter. Johnny didn't leave that house for six years until the day he went for Sunday family dinner at Louisa's. She persuaded him to come out because his nieces and nephews were all begging to visit with him. “They miss you, Johnny. Can you come just for them? You haven't even seen a couple of your grandnieces.”
In the middle of the meal, Johnny excused himself to go to the bathroom. That's when he fainted in the hallway. The ambulance arrived, taking him to Charity Hospital.
ANTOINETTE, i WISHED you had met her. She wasn't no real pretty woman, not like you. But she had this way about her. You would've liked her. I know that.”
“Johnny, I'm sure I would have—even if she did steal you from me.”
“Yeah, she did. And Antoinette, she could cook some red beans and rice, way better than Ruby Ann, and we all know that woman could cook. But Wilhelmina, well, she might not have been able to do fancy cooking like you and Louisa and Alberta and Ruby Ann. But beans … she was a master. She could make grits with cheese too.
“That last day, that's what we had. Grits with cheese …” Then Johnny went silent. Antoinette had finished shaving him and moved to clip his hair, but she didn't hear him breathing.
“Johnny? Johnny!”
“What you shoutin’ for, Antoinette, something the matter?”
“No, you stopped talking, that's all.”
“I was thinking of that day. Wilhelmina was absolutely gorgeous. She had on that lime green suit she had found at the Goodwill; it hugged her small hips. And she was standing at the door, waiting on me with this huge smile. She could make a whole room glow with her smile—”
“Here, Johnny, take a look,” Antoinette said, holding the mirror before him. He turned away. After that Wednesday, he had never used a mirror.
“Thank you, Antoinette. Thank you,” he said, before returning to the nightmare of that Wednesday.
When Louisa and Alberta came to visit that evening, Antoinette was in the corner reading. Johnny lay in the bed. His eyes wide open. His face streaked with dried tears.
“Hey, Johnny,” Louisa called out as if she were in some parking lot, instead of a hospital. Alberta always had to tell her to lower her voice.
“Johnny,” Louisa called again, causing Antoinette to put down her book.
“Johnny!” Alberta said, before walking to the bed and placing her fingers on his neck to check his pulse. She put her hands over his eyes, closing the lids.
“Is he dead?” Antoinette asked. “What happened? No one came in. Aren't they supposed to come in when a patient stops breathing?”
“Don't worry.” Alberta put her arms around Antoinette. “It wasn't anything you did. It wasn't anything anyone did. The doctors never found out what was wrong with him.”
“Y'all didn't believe me. Doctors didn't believe me,” Louisa asserted as tears streamed down her face. “I told you he was suffering from grief. Plain and simple grief.”
The Story of Ruth
VICTORIA CHRISTOPHER MURRAY
THEY'D KISSED at least a million times, but each was better than the first.
Ruth pulled away, taking a moment to catch her breath. “We've got to stop.” She peeked through the windshield. “Your mother might see us.”
“So what?” Mahlon shrugged with a grin. “We're grown and we're married.”
He aimed his lips toward hers again, but she leaned away. “Sweetie, your mother's waiting.”
He sighed. “Okay, you go in. I'm gonna make this run, pick up the pies.”
“Don't worry, baby, we'll get back to this tonight.”
“Promise?”
She blew him a kiss, then jumped from the car before he could reach for her again. With a smile, she watched him drive their Honda away. Almost two years, and he still made her feel as if today were their beginning.
She trotted up the steps of the two-story house, but before she could knock, the door opened. Naomi stood, beaming as if she'd been waiting all day. “Baby girl!” she exclaimed, and pulled Ruth into her arms. She stepped back, looked toward the curb. “Where's my son?”
“He ran to the store to pick up dessert.”
Naomi waved her hand in the air. “He didn't have to do that.”
“I wanted him to,” Ruth said. “We never bring anything.”
Taking her daughter-in-law's hand, Naomi said, “I don't need you to bring anything but yourselves.” She led Ruth into the living room. “But at least this will give us a chance to catch up.” She sank onto the couch and then patted the spot next to her. “Tell me about your promotion.”
“I'm so excited about being an assistant editor. I have to pull double duty; I'm still an assistant too. But at least now I can acquire my own projects.”
“I'm so proud of you.” Naomi hugged her. “You've worked hard and today we're going to celebrate.”
“Thanks, but you didn't have to do this, you know.”
“Are you kidding? Anytime I get the chance to show my daughter-in-law how much I love her, I'm going to do it! And anyway, I don't get to see you and Mahlon nearly enough.”
“Sorry about that; we do have to make more time. How're you doing?”
“Really well. My asthma is under control and in every other way I'm in good health. This is a happy time for me.” Naomi leaned back and her eyes shone as if she'd just been told a joke. With her head tilted to the side, she said, “I saw you and my son in the car.”
Ruth bowed her head.
“I'm teasing.” Naomi chuckled. “It's just wonderful to see Mahlon happy. And that makes me happy.” She paused, and the glow she wore dimmed a bit. “There were days,” she began, her voice softer now, “when I thought neither Mahlon nor I would smile again.” Her eyes wandered toward the center of the room to the mantel above the fireplace where the pictorial history told the story of the Hendersons: Naomi, Edmund, and Mahlon, their only child. Naomi began again. “But you've returned the sunshine to our lives.”
The words were the same; every chance Naomi had, she thanked Ruth for bringing back joy after they'd lost their beloved husb
and and father to cancer three years before.
“I love you for saying that.”
“It's true. You've come into our lives and made it all better. You take care of Mahlon, take care of me. You've taken away all regrets that I once had about never having another child because I have you.”
Ruth's eyes watered like they always did when Naomi spoke such words. She had girlfriends who told tales of wicked mothers-in-law who'd stepped straight out of horror novels. But Naomi had opened her heart to her from the moment they met. She loved this woman as much as she did her own mother.
“Well, let's not sit here being all melancholy,” Naomi said. “Let's check on dinner.” She pushed herself from the sofa and paused at the window. “What's taking Mahlon so long?”
“You know my husband. He probably picked up a few other things besides the pies. He'll be here in a minute.” She hooked her arm through Naomi's and led her into the kitchen.
There Ruth watched as Naomi pulled pan after pan from the oven. Dishes filled with macaroni and cheese, baked chicken, and candied yams. On the stovetop, collard greens simmered and vegetables steamed. And then there were Naomi's famous corn muffins that Ruth insisted could get her mother-in-law a show on the Food Network. Ruth moaned with pleasure without taking a single bite.
Naomi smiled. “That must mean you're hungry.”
“I wasn't, but I am now.” The knock on the door stopped her from grabbing one of the muffins. “That's my husband.” She rushed toward the entry. “Honey,” she started before she swung the door open, “why didn't you use your—” She stopped, stared at the man in the uniform. “Can I help you?”
“Are you Naomi Henderson?”
“I'm Ruth Henderson. May I help you?”
The officer motioned to step inside, and she scooted to the left so that he could. Behind her, she heard Naomi's soft steps.
“Mahlon, what took you—” When Naomi stopped, Ruth knew that she was standing right behind her. “Ruth,” Naomi said. “What's wrong?”
“Mrs. Henderson?”
Naomi nodded at the officer.
“Do either of you know Mahlon Henderson?”
Ruth grasped Naomi's hand. “He's my son,” Naomi responded.
The officer nodded. And before he uttered a word, his slackened face told the story. “There's been a shooting … at the grocery store. And we found a driver's license with this address.”
The women gasped together.
“I'm sorry, but Mahlon is dead.”
Ruth heard the cry from Naomi before her own world faded to black.
RUTH SQUIRMED, then stretched. She opened her eyes and wondered why her body felt so heavy; why did she feel as if she'd been sleeping for a week?
She rolled over, and her eyes focused on the chair across from the bed. What was Naomi doing in her bedroom? Then she remembered.
She hadn't been sleeping for a week, but she wished she had. She wished she had been able to sleep through all the pain—the pain of the police officer reviving her, of having to identify Mahlon's body and then plan a funeral. And then the final pain—of walking into the church with Naomi at her side, and listening to others speak about the wonderful man Mahlon had been. And then watching the gravediggers lower the man she loved into the ground. This was not the way her fairy tale was supposed to end.
She moaned and Naomi sprang up from the recliner. “Are you all right?” she said as she sat on the bed's edge.
With a sigh, Ruth nodded. “I don't even remember coming up here.”
“Your mother and father convinced you to lie down after everyone left. It's been a couple of hours.”
Ruth glanced to the windows. She remembered her father encouraging her to rest just a little before four. And now the August sun had almost completed its daily bow to the night. “Are my parents still here?”
Naomi shook her head. “They were exhausted too. I sent them home and told them I'd call the moment you woke up.”
Ruth swung her legs over the side of the bed. “I hope you weren't sitting in the chair all this time.”
Naomi shook her head. “No, I cleaned up.”
“Wish you hadn't done that.”
“I had to do something.”
Ruth nodded and fought back the ever-present tears that had accompanied her since this nightmare began. She couldn't cry now; she had to be strong for her mother-in-law.
“Go ahead, let it out,” Naomi said as if she heard Ruth's thoughts.
“How do you do it? How are you so strong?”
She shrugged. “Don't be fooled. I'm not strong. It's just that I've been through so much I don't have many tears left.” She gave a small smile. “And I have to be strong … for you.”
“It's supposed to be the other way around.”
“We'll make a deal; we'll be strong for each other.”
Ruth nodded, but a moment later she turned away, trying to hide the single tear that crept down her face. “I might need a little time to hold up my end.”
Naomi pulled Ruth into her arms. “Take all the time you need,” she said as her daughter-in-law wept in her arms. “I promise we'll get through this. We'll get through this together and we'll get through this with God.”
THE DAYS TURNED into weeks; the weeks twisted to months. And like everyone said, time made her loss more bearable. The ache of missing Mahlon was always there. But almost five months later it was different now, sometimes her pain was accompanied with a smile.
Ruth always smiled more when she was with Naomi. Her parents were her rock, keeping her steady through the toughest of times. But Naomi was her pillow, a soft place to rest. She found special solace being with the woman whose pain was as deep as hers. Their shared loss drew them closer, and they found comfort in taking care of each other.
Most mornings Naomi would drop by, bringing Ruth breakfast before she left for work. Many evenings Ruth would stop at one of Naomi's favorite restaurants and purchase dinner for her. And in the in-between hours they shared phone calls.
“How's my favorite editor-in-chief,” Naomi would always say.
Ruth would laugh. “I'm only twenty-four; I'm not there yet.”
“You're on your way.” Naomi spoke with such confidence that Ruth began to believe that truth herself.
They shared much of their weekends as well, both fearing the long, empty hours. Sometimes they shopped, took in a movie, strolled on the beach. Sometimes they did nothing more than sit and cry together. But always they loved each other.
Now, as Ruth slipped her purse strap onto her shoulder, she checked her phone once again for a message from Naomi. There were very few mornings that she missed stopping by. She probably slept late, Ruth thought. That was good. Over the last few days Naomi had seemed tired, and Ruth had encouraged her to rest today. Maybe she's starting to listen to me. She smiled with that thought and rushed to her car. Inside, she paused as she always did. Closed her eyes, inhaled, and imagined Mahlon in her place: sitting behind the wheel, looking over at her, smiling and loving her with his glance.
Her ringing phone startled her from her reverie, and she flipped her cell open.
“Ruth?”
She frowned, not recognizing the voice.
“This is Madeline.”
“Oh, hello, Ms. Madeline,” she said. But her forehead was still creased with confusion. Why was Naomi's neighbor calling her?
“I just wanted to let you know that Naomi was just taken to the hospital.”
“What!”
“Now, don't worry, honey,” the neighbor said as if she couldn't get the words out fast enough. “It's her asthma. She was having trouble breathing.”
“Why didn't she call me?”
“She wanted to, but I wanted to get her to the hospital. I told her I would call you once the ambulance came. They're taking her to Daniel Freeman.”
“I'll be right there.” She clicked off the phone and punched the accelerator. The engine roared, but the car stayed still. She paused. Took a deep breat
h and inhaled calm. She couldn't afford to get into an accident. She had to get to Naomi.
She put the car in drive, edged from the curb, and drove as if her heart weren't fiercely pumping. Drove as if she didn't fear losing someone else she loved.
“Please, God,” she began her prayer. “Please, don't take Naomi away from me.”
It was only fifteen minutes, but it felt like hours had passed when Ruth finally swerved into the emergency room parking lot and then dashed into the lobby.
At the information desk, she tried to control her trembling as she waited for the woman who examined her nails as she chatted on the phone.
“Excuse me,” Ruth said again to the woman.
The woman held up her hand, motioning for Ruth to wait.
Isn't this a hospital? she wanted to scream.
“Ruth!”
She turned toward the voice. “Ms. Madeline, how's my mother-in-law?”
Madeline smiled. “She's fine.” And then she added, “Really,” knowing that was the part that Ruth needed to hear. “She's in the emergency room. Come on.”
She followed Ms. Madeline through the double doors, down a long corridor, past patients on gurneys, scurrying nurses, and doctors dressed in scrubs. Ruth marveled at how easily they moved through the chaos. Finally Madeline stopped and pointed to a small space partitioned off by curtains.
Taking a breath, Ruth stepped inside.
“Hi.” Naomi greeted her as if she were stretched out on the couch at home rather than on the flat padded stretcher.
“I was so worried about you.” She hugged Naomi.
“It was just my asthma.”
“So, you're fine?”
“Yes.” But she paused, as if there were more.
The pounding in Ruth's chest had settled, but Naomi's hesitation made her fear rise again.
“What is it?” she asked. Silence. “Tell me,” she insisted.
Naomi said, “I have to leave Los Angeles. It'll be better for my asthma. I'm moving to Arizona.”
“Arizona?” Ruth whispered.
She looked into her daughter-in-law's eyes. “I have to. The asthma, it's been so much worse.”
It's All Love Page 17