The Retreat

by Dijorn Moss

“I go to church, but I wouldn’t necessarily say I’m good.”

  “You’re better than most men,” Mylessa said as she looked back to a group of guys who had been eyeing her and chuckling ever since she’d walked over to Jamal’s cubicle. “Some other time.”

  “Have fun tonight and be safe,” Jamal said as he returned to his computer. But he was unable to shake thoughts of the curvaceous Mylessa.

  Terry, Jamal’s coworker, walked past Mylessa and stared at her from behind. Jamal saw Terry coming and decided to turn on his iPod with Marvin Sapp playing.

  “What’s up, pimpin?” Terry asked.

  “Nothing, just trying to get work done,” Jamal said while typing on his computer.

  “So what did big-booty Mylessa want?”

  “She invited me to Club Infusion.” Jamal shrugged.

  “You’re going to go, right?” Terry leaned in.

  “Naw, I have plans.”

  “What plans could you possibly have that beat getting the hottest girl in the office to make you grits butt-naked?”

  Therein lay the reason Jamal did not like to interact with Terry. Thirty years old and Terry was still mistaking the office for a school playground. Jamal ignored him, and eventually Terry left. The day was almost over, but it was only Monday and the week was still young. Jamal felt the vibration from his cell phone, and a familiar number appeared. Jamal pressed talk to answer the phone, but held it down by his black slacks until he made it to the lounge, which was across the way.

  “What’s up?” Jamal asked.

  “The results came in,” Chantel said.

  Jamal’s heart nearly jumped out of his chest. He knew the results would be in today, but he was not sure if that was good news or bad.

  “I’m on my way.” Jamal hung up the phone. Two pieces of news in one day.

  Jamal left the lounge and went back to his desk to shut down his computer and grab his black messenger bag. He made his way toward the elevator and passed by his coworker, Christal.

  “You leaving early?” Christal asked with her mouth open.

  Christal reminded Jamal of Serena Williams. She had both Serena’s facial features and curves. Even though Jamal found her attractive, she spent way too much time in the club, and while at work, she made gossiping her full-time job.

  “Yeah, I got to take care of something,” Jamal replied.

  “But the sun is still out.” Christal pointed toward the window, where a gorgeous blue sky awaited Jamal.

  “Oh, so you’re trying to shoot?” Jamal asked.

  “No, I’m not trying to clown you. I’m just saying that I hardly see you leave when the sun is still out.”

  “Have a good evening.” Jamal turned away from Christal and headed toward the door.

  From the elevator, Jamal made his way to the parking lot. Jamal opened his car door and tossed his messenger bag in the passenger seat. He put the key in the ignition and tried to start the car. The engine sounded like a record being scratched.

  “Come on, don’t do this now. Please, God!” Jamal pleaded.

  Jamal tried to turn his car on several more times, but he could not get the engine to start. He assumed that the battery had died and he would need a jump. For now, the most important results in his life were on hold.

  Chauncey knew he was not supposed to find pleasure in his brother Henry’s death. Well, technically, his brother was not dead yet.

  But the air was thick with the putrid smell of Henry’s frail body as Chauncey pushed open the hospital room door. Chauncey had forewarned his brother that the path he chose in life would eventually lead to destruction. Henry did not heed his older brother’s advice, and indulged in sex and drugs until he alienated everything and everyone around him; all except for sin.

  Now Chauncey stood over his brother a proud champion of the faith, with no trace of the fear he’d displayed in the park. Whenever Chauncey would visit his brother, he would bring his blue leather-bound King James Version Bible. This was the Bible out of which he had prophesized to Henry numerous times that the wage of sin was death. With only a thin layer of auburn skin over Henry’s bones, it was clear that sin would complete its work.

  Chauncey finally acknowledged his baby sister, Nicole, sitting across the hospital bed from him. The darkest one of the siblings, Nicole’s mocha complexion made her the desire of all the boys in Chauncey’s neighborhood. She did, however, have the signature McClendon lips, which seemed to be permanently in pout mode. At this moment, the pout almost seemed like a grimace. Chauncey turned his back to his brother. The Bible was so thick that it required him to hold it with both hands. He held the Bible midway toward his chest.

  “I’m having trouble keeping food down. All I feel is pain all the time,” Henry said before he swallowed hard.

  “That’s because you don’t know that by His stripes you are healed,” Chauncey said.

  “Chauncey,” Nicole pleaded from the other side of the bed. She shook her head as a sign for Chauncey not to get on his soapbox. Chauncey did not know how long he could stay in this room without being able to speak his mind.

  “The doctors ain’t saying nothing either, and when that happens that’s not good. I’m having visions that in the end I’m alone in this hospital bed with the cancer and my demons,” Henry said, trying to hold back tears.

  Nicole got up and rubbed her frail brother’s bald head, bending to give him some water in a beige cup with a straw. Chauncey could see Henry’s throat take in the water.

  “They aren’t the ones who have the final say. God is the author and finisher of your faith,” Nicole said with a forced smile that highlighted her full ruby lips.

  “Nicole, don’t give him no half-truths. God is the author and the finisher of his faith. But you have to have faith first.” Chauncey’s eyebrows arched.

  Nicole used her dark brown eyes to cut into Chauncey’s chest. His little sister had a mean side, but this was about souls. For the sake of the Gospel, he could not be moved on what was the truth.

  “Chauncey, could I talk to you outside for a moment?” Nicole stood up and headed toward the door.

  Chauncey extended his hand like an usher and followed her outside.

  “Would it kill you to come down from your mountaintop and show your brother a little compassion?” Nicole asked.

  “What do you want me to do, lie to him? You and I both know that if he ain’t saved, then none of the Bible’s promises apply to him.”

  “You’re not God, so you can’t judge him. God sees his heart and Henry knows better,” Nicole said.

  “You Baptists are nuttier than fruitcakes. I don’t know what they teach at your church, but at my church we teach that unless you are born again, you will not see the kingdom of heaven.”

  Nicole put both of her hands up in a choking motion and grunted in disgust. “You act so high and mighty!”

  “High? He stole from both of us to get high! You act like he didn’t steal from you or mess up your credit. I can’t get a Macy’s credit card because my brother got high. All I ever wanted from him was for him to get his life straight with the Lord. Even now, in the midst of his sin and illness, he lies up there unrepentant and wanting someone to pity him,” Chauncey said with frustration.

  “Those things we can get back. We have one brother and right now he’s scared, and we’re the only family he’s got.” Nicole pointed toward Henry’s room.

  “I’ve sat in AA meetings and therapy sessions just to hear my brother use me as a scapegoat for why he couldn’t get clean. I’m tired of it and I don’t have time.” Chauncey looked at his watch.

  “Where you got to go now?” Nicole asked.

  “The Men’s Retreat is Thursday; I got a couple of things before then to take care of.”

  Nicole let out a sarcastic laugh, and with her hands on her hips, she started to tap her black leather flats on the hospital’s mint checkered floor.

  “Are you serious? It’s Monday, bighead! You have all week. What’s more impo
rtant? Being a good deacon or being there for your brother when he needs you the most?” Nicole asked.

  Chauncey did not even bother to dignify Nicole’s question with an answer. He brushed by her and went back into the room. Henry’s eyes were full with tears, and Chauncey was certain that he had caught most of the conversation.

  Chauncey placed his hands over his brother’s head. His brother closed his eyes as a sign of pleasure. “Father, we ask that you touch my brother’s body. In the name of Jesus that you heal him. I ask in the matchless name of Jesus, Amen.” Chauncey turned and headed toward the door.

  “Don’t leave,” Henry pleaded.

  “I’ve got to go. I’ve got some important matters to attend to, but you don’t need me; you need the Lord.”

  “Please,” Henry said with his eyes full of tears.

  Chauncey should have been moved by this pathetic display, but he wasn’t. All he could think of was how Henry was the most stubborn person on the planet. Instead of making it right with the Lord, he preferred to call on his brother to save him. But even Chauncey could not save his brother. Chauncey walked past Nicole, who was still at the door, and did not bother to say a word.

  “Bye, bighead,” Nicole shouted.

  The nickname Nicole used to call Chauncey when they were kids still conveyed a sense of love and affection.

  Chauncey did not break his stride as he continued to walk, and held up his hand as a sign that he had heard his younger sibling. He was always treated as the enemy. All Chauncey ever tried to do for his brother and sister was equip them with a spiritual foundation. As far as he was concerned, both his sister and his brother might end up in hell.

  Chapter Four

  In school, Chantel had been fascinated with Japanese culture. She welcomed the rumors that she was half black, half Asian. Her tight lids gave weight to the rumors. So the fact that the living room of her two-bedroom apartment was decked out in Japanese decor was not a shock to Jamal.

  The answer to a two-year mystery lay in a manila envelope that sat on a Japanese-inspired table. Every day doubt grew while certainty regressed. Truth was abstract, and while Jamal could coach himself into believing that the results did not matter, deep down inside he knew that the result made a world of difference.

  Chantel placed her petite hand on top of Jamal’s stony hand. When she smiled, her cheeks looked like she had swallowed golf balls. Jamal considered it an honor to even be in her presence. Timing and guilt had so much to do with why they were not together; it had everything to do with where they were now.

  She broke the seal of the envelope and removed the contents from inside. She held her breath as her almond eyes scanned the document. Chantel took in a deep breath and did not exhale as she handed the document over to Jamal. It was confirmed. The mystery had been solved, and like many mysteries, the truth left Jamal and Chantel more confused than they were before. He was not sure if ignorance was bliss, but what he was sure of was that his world would never be the same.

  “Daddy.” Jamir ran from his room and sat on Jamal’s lap.

  Jamal and Jamir both had bronze skin. They both had jet-black hair. Jamir was everything that Jamal desired in a son, and for Jamir he would give the world. But no matter what Jamal would sacrifice for two-year-old Jamir, he would never be his son.

  “High five!” Jamal stuck his hand out.

  Jamir smacked his hand with glee.

  “Here you go.” Jamal gave Jamir some building blocks from a playpen near the TV.

  He sat Jamir down on the carpet. Jamal sat down behind Jamir and pointed to the block he wanted him to pick up. Jamir reached for a building block and played with it. Jamal placed a kiss on top of Jamir’s head. While Jamir’s attention was on the building blocks, Jamal turned his sights toward Chantel, and followed her into the kitchen. She’d retreated to the kitchen to weep. With her back turned, Jamal approached her and wrapped his arms round her waist. Chantel turned around and embraced him. Her damp face pressed against Jamal’s beard.

  “How could this happen?” Jamal whispered.

  “I don’t know,” Chantel whimpered.

  Jamal broke away from Chantel, but he maintained his reserved tone. “It doesn’t make sense. You were six weeks pregnant when Clay died, and you said that you two had stopped sleeping with each other two months prior.”

  “That’s because he liked to sleep with any little skank who winked at him. I didn’t want to risk catching something.”

  “Meanwhile, you and I continued to have sex, so you must have a messed-up calendar.”

  “I didn’t, I’m sure of it.” Chantel diverted her eyes.

  If Chantel was sure, then Jamal was certain that he had been kept out of the loop. Was it possible that Clay was the father? Yes, but the improbability of that scenario was what had Jamal perplexed. For two years, he’d allowed the death of Clay and the life of Jamir to blind him from seeking the truth. For two years, Jamir’s physical features favored his mother more, and Jamal could barely find anything that resembled him. Now, with so much at stake, he had to probe and get to the core of the issue. Jamal could not go into the next phase of his life with doubt.

  “Let me ask you something.” Jamal paused to see Chantel’s eyes lock in with his. “You knew, didn’t you?”

  Jamal watched Chantel’s eyes and saw that she did not respond in outrage, but stood there frozen, as if she was searching for a lie to tell but had drawn a blank.

  “You did, didn’t you?” Her silence took the wind out of Jamal as he sat down on the chair next to the kitchen counter.

  “I knew that more than likely you were not the father. That was wrong and I’d understand if you didn’t want to have anything to do with me or my son. But everything I did, whether foul or not, I did for my son.” Chantel pointed at Jamir, who was still in the next room, playing.

  “I didn’t want my son to grow up hearing about his father being killed in the streets. I would rather have his father be a hardworking man of God. That’s the example I wanted for Jamir.”

  Chantel was not a churchgoer, but she always respected Jamal and his faith. Despite her deception, her reasoning was well placed.

  “I’m sorry; I didn’t want to hurt you. I just hoped that maybe things would work out.” In a faint voice, she added, “Why is this happening?”

  Jamal clenched Chantel closer. His heart did not even register the fact that she had deceived him. He knew that deep down Chantel never wanted to hurt him. She wanted the best for her son, and because of her mistakes, Chantel did not feel worthy of love. Jamal felt that she was worthy of his love and redemption. He hoped he could squeeze all of the sorrow out of her and replace it with the love that he had for her.

  It was a love too strong to ignore, but not strong enough to trump principle. There was a shortage of good women in the hood. The same could be said for men, but Jamal was certain that the woman whose arms were firmly wrapped around his shoulders was one of a kind. Jamal broke away from her grip and reached into his front jeans pocket. He removed a white envelope.

  “This is for Jamir’s day care.” Jamal extended the envelope to Chantel.

  “I can’t accept this.” Chantel pushed the envelope against Jamal’s chest.

  Jamal did not even attempt to put the envelope back in her hands; he just laid the envelope on the white kitchen counter.

  “I still want to be in Jamir’s life, and if Clay were here, I know he would want the same.”

  Clay had been Jamal’s best friend, and the test results showed that Clay was probably Jamir’s father. He wished Clay were here, even if that meant things between him and Chantel would be different. The test results brought forth another frustrating matter. Jamal and Chantel would have to have a candid talk with Clay’s parents and let them know the truth.

  “I can’t ask you to take on a responsibility that’s not yours,” Chantel said with her hands on her hips.

  “Look, Momma!” Jamir said from the living room.

  Both Jam
al and Chantel turned to see that Jamir had started to put together a tower.

  “That’s great, baby.” Chantel wiped more tears from her eyes.

  Jamal now knew that part of his best friend lived on through his son. Maybe in Jamir, Jamal would get a second chance to right a wrong.

  Sometimes God’s opportunities for redemption came in the most unique packages.

  “You want some coffee?” Chantel asked.

  “Sure,” Jamal accepted.

  Chantel’s eyes were edged with tears. She put a teapot on the stove, then went into the cabinet next to her refrigerator and produced two fire engine red cups. Moments later she handed Jamal a cup with the steam evaporating like a snake.

  “There’s something else,” Jamal said after he took a sip.

  Chantel started to wipe down the counter to appear busy. She looked up to let Jamal know that he had her full attention.

  “They offered me the promotion.”

  Chantel gave Jamal a look like her world had just spun off of its axis. “Well that’s great, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know. It would mean that I wouldn’t be able to spend much time with Jamir.”

  “Don’t throw your future away,” Chantel said as she looked at Jamir.

  Jamal gazed at her profile. Her hair was in a ponytail with bangs like curly fries.

  “You look—” Jamal started.

  “I know.” Chantel shot Jamal a smile.

  Chantel put her palm underneath her chin as her eyes rotated up and down at Jamal. He recognized that smile as utter content, but he could not find anything that she would be content about in this moment.

  “What?” Jamal asked.

  “Look at you, all grown up. I’m proud of the man you’ve become,” Chantel stated.

  “You act like I was a player or something,” Jamal said with a smile.

  “You were a player. You and Clay used to run around school thinking y’all were some pimps.”

  “You got with Clay,” Jamal reminded her.

  “That’s because he had better game than you.” Chantel followed her comment with a laugh.