Faith

by Michelle Larks

  Marcus felt like he’d taken a hit to the gut. That same thought had been haunting him all morning. “Don’t you think I’ve thought of that myself?” His voice was barely above a whisper. “It’s tearing me apart to see Monet lying in the hospital bed beaten and battered. I’m doing the best I can to help the police and be there for my wife. Try to keep those types of comments to a minimum, please.” There was a hint of a tremble in Marcus’s voice.

  Duane realized his brother-in-law was holding on to his emotions by a tenacious thread. He walked over to Marcus and patted his arm. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean to come off sounding so harsh. You’re Monet’s husband and a police officer, and I know that you’ll do anything to find who did this terrible thing to our sister and bring him to justice,” he said apologetically.

  The brothers were identical twins. They shared the same light complexion as their sister and had hazel colored eyes, courtesy of their father, who was of Creole lineage from New Orleans. They were average in height, five feet ten inches, and that’s where the resemblance ended. Derek was muscular in build, with heavy facial hair covering his face, and he favored hip hop clothing. Derek was slim like Monet, clean shaven, and was more conservative in dress. Derek wore his curly hair clipped low on the top and sides and slightly longer in the back, while Duane made sure he went to the barbershop every Saturday to keep his waves immaculate. The brothers refused to settle down and marry, much to Monet’s consternation. She said the family wasn’t procreating, and that her brothers needed to remedy the situation.

  Derek nodded at his brother’s rant appreciatively. “Who would have thought little brother had it in him? That’s usually my role. But we’re all family, and we’ve got to stick together, and make sure big sister comes through this ordeal in one piece. Marc, we got your back, and we’ll go by all the decisions you make,” he said.

  “I agree,” Duane said quickly. “But if Derek and I have suggestions, I hope you’ll at least listen to us.”

  “Definitely, and I promise to keep you in the loop about the investigation,” Marcus said. “I’m heading home to shower and change clothes and bring some stuff back to the hospital for Monet. I’ll see you later.”

  “Duane looked at his brother, and said, “What do you say about us getting some flowers for Monet? You know how she loves plants; maybe that will cheer her up.”

  “Good thinking, bro, I second that motion,” Derek replied. “We’ll go to a florist, and then come back here. There’s one not too far from here. The flowers here at the hospital are too expensive.”

  “Monet is probably still asleep anyway. By the time you get back, she should be awake,” Marcus said.

  The three men left the hospital together, each equally concerned about their loved one on the fifth floor.

  Upstairs in Monet’s room, Liz continued to sit vigil in a chair next to her bed, reading the Daily Word pamphlet. She read the entry for the day and the scripture accompanying the message in her Bible, which she always kept in her oversized tote bag. Liz looked up when she heard Monet stirring.

  “Hey sister, how are you feeling?” Liz asked.

  Monet’s eyes filled with tears. “I hurt all over, and I know I look like I was hit by a truck. Liz, I’ve never been more afraid in my life.”

  Liz quickly stood up and sat on the bed. “Will it hurt if I give you a hug?” she asked Monet, patting her arm.

  “Probably. Just be gentle,” Monet murmured as Liz changed her mind and patted Monet’s hand.

  “Go ahead and cry and get it out of your system. Monet, do you realize how blessed you are?” Liz asked.

  “I don’t know what you mean?” Monet’s eyes widened and she looked at Liz like her friend was crazy. “I was beaten up and sexually assaulted. How could you consider that as being blessed?” She leaned back in the bed.

  “Because you weren’t killed, nor were any of your bones broken. All your injuries are temporary ones that will heal. I know what happened was horrendous, and it proves how many sick people are out there roaming the streets. But God had your back, Monet. And for that you have to be grateful.”

  “I am,” Monet said in a teeny voice. “I really am. Before I blacked out, I remember reciting the Twenty-Third Psalm, and I prayed the Lord would see me through the attack. But every time I close my eyes, I see and feel him on me. I feel so dirty.”

  Liz rubbed Monet’s arm. “Trust me, it wasn’t your fault. Don’t try to put that guilt on yourself.”

  “I know Marcus must hate me. If only I had let Dave walk me to my car, none of this would have happened. And Marcus called and asked me if I wanted a ride home, and I turned him down.” Tears trickled down Monet’s face.

  “Marcus doesn’t hate you, so get that thought out of your mind. Everything happens for a reason. We don’t understand why sometimes, and we may never, but I know this incident could be a test of your faith. Monet, when you think about the positives, they far outweigh the negatives. You may need counseling with Reverend Wilcox to get past the trauma. But trust me when I say you’re lucky, no, not lucky, it’s God’s will that you’re still here and that I’m in this room talking to you.”

  “I guess so.” Monet’s voice trailed off. She turned away from Liz.

  “I have something I want to read to you, and I want you to listen to the words. Will you promise me that?” Liz looked over at Monet and could see her head bobbing up and down.

  Liz opened her Bible to Hebrews 13:5 and 6 and read, “Let your conversation be without covetousness and be content with such things as ye have; for he hath said, I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee. So that we may boldly say, the Lord is my helper, and I will not fear what any man shall do unto me. Do you know right now, lying in that bed, that you are a witness to that scripture? We know the Lord didn’t forsake you, you are so blessed, and I want you to repeat with me, ‘I will not fear what any man shall do unto me.’”

  Monet turned over in the bed, cautiously favoring her sore arm. Then she said the words with Liz.

  Liz sat back on the bed, and asked, “Can I pray for you?”

  Monet nodded, and Liz took her hand. The women closed their eyes and bowed their heads as Liz proceeded to pray. “Gracious Father, my savior and redeemer. I give thanks today that you spared my sister’s life last night, and as you promised, you didn’t forsake her. Lord, give Monet the wisdom to know that the things that happen in life are temporary, and we are just on a journey to attain your grace so that we might reside in heaven with you and our loved ones who have gone on before us. Lord, I know Monet is hurt and she’ll weep tonight, but I know with your mercy, joy will come in the morning, and that in time this crisis, too, shall pass. Lord, give Monet and Marcus strength. It’s not an easy road they are going to walk, but let them feel a sense of comfort knowing that you will be right there with them when they falter. In the midst of this ordeal, I praise your name, Lord. Father, these blessings I ask in your Son’s name. Amen.”

  Liz continued holding Monet’s hand as she cried silently. She whispered to Monet, “I promise if you lean on the Lord, better days are ahead for you and Marcus.”

  There was a knock at the closed door. A nurse walked into the room carrying a tray of medicine. A volunteer followed behind him with a cart full of flowers.

  He asked Monet, “Where should I put these?”

  “How about on the shelf on the other side of the room,” Liz said.

  “They are beautiful, but where did all these flowers come from?” Monet asked.

  “I’ll let you know when the nurse is done dispensing your meds,” Liz said.

  “How are you feeling, Nurse Caldwell?” the male nurse asked Monet.

  “I’m still sore, and my head is still hurting a little bit, but not as bad as before,” she responded.

  “I guess I’m on time then since it’s time for your next dose of medicine.” He handed Monet two pills, and while Liz poured her a cup of water, he said, “I want you to know the nurses are keeping you in ou
r prayers.”

  “Thanks, Morton, I appreciate it,” Monet said, after she had ingested the pills and washed them down with water. She felt overwhelmed by the showing of love. “One can never have enough prayers.” She turned to the volunteer, and said, “If I get any more flowers, would you take them to some of the elderly patients on the floor?”

  The volunteer said to Liz and Morton, “And she wonders why she’s loved?” Not waiting for an answer, she turned to Monet and said, “Nurse Caldwell, it’s because of gestures like that . . . giving flowers to the elderly. Who else but you, in the midst of your pain, would do something like that?”

  “You’re right,” Liz replied, “and that’s why God was with you today, my sister.”

  After the nurse informed Monet to let her know if she needed anything else, he and the volunteer left her room.

  Liz walked over to the shelf and removed the cards from the floral displays. Then she walked back and sat in the chair and read the cards to Monet. Most of them were from various departments in the hospital. Everyone who knew Monet knew she was special. She always had a kind word and a bright cheery smile for her co-workers. She counseled many of them, and loaned a good number of them money when times were tight. She was active in the church, and in addition to singing in the choir, she also volunteered to keep the food pantry stocked. On her days off work, she could be found at church feeding the homeless. She had no major worries in the world, other than her inability to conceive a child.

  Liz glanced over at Monet. She had fallen asleep again. This time Liz noted that Monet’s face looked a little more relaxed. Liz hoped she had been able to bring some solace to her friend. She also wondered what, if any, news Wade had been able to discover about the attack. She wasn’t worried because like Marcus, Wade was a skilled detective. Liz knew that her husband wouldn’t leave any stone unturned.

  Chapter 5

  Marcus arrived at his and Monet’s tan, Colonial style, two story brick house. He unlocked the door and walked inside. Mitzi ran up to greet him. He picked her up and petted Monet’s baby, as he called the small brown and beige Pomeranian-bred dog.

  “Yeah, girl, I bet you’re hungry. Let me get you something to eat.” Marcus set the dog on the floor, reached inside the cabinet over the sink, and removed a can of dog food. He then placed it on the gold and white veined marble counter top. He bent down and picked up Mitzi’s water and food bowls from the floor. He washed and rinsed them, filled them with food and water, and set them back on the floor. Mitzi’s nails scratched the white and navy blue ceramic tile floor as she ran to her corner of the kitchen and began devouring her food.

  Marcus checked the messages on the answering machine and wasn’t surprised that it was full. There were many calls from members of The Temple, and some from Marcus’s co-workers. He saved some of the messages, then he went into the olive green living room where many beautiful varieties of potted plants were placed near the large beveled windows. He dropped down heavily on the cream-colored leather sectional couch. He closed his eyes and laid his head along the edge of the sofa. He couldn’t believe that his life had executed a 360 degree turn so quickly. Marcus likened his life to driving in an automobile, sliding on ice, and spinning until he stopped, facing the opposite direction.

  He stood and walked back into the kitchen and took the Yellow Pages out of the pantry. He quickly thumbed through the book until he found listings for locksmiths. He chided himself for not remembering to have the locks changed sooner. Mitzi walked into the living room and sat at his feet. She looked up and stared at him as if to say, where’s my mistress?

  The second locksmith Marcus called was available. After he explained who he was and what he wanted, the gentleman said that he’d seen the story about Monet’s attack on the news. He promised to be at the Caldwell house within an hour. Marcus then called his neighbor, Mr. Jamison, who had a key to the house, and asked him if he could let the locksmith in the house while he went back to the hospital. Mr. Jamison was more than happy to assist his neighbor. Like everyone else in the Caldwells’s neighborhood, Mr. Jamison was appalled and saddened by Monet’s attack. Marcus called the locksmith back and gave him Mr. Jamison’s telephone number. He instructed the locksmith to call Mr. Jamison when he arrived at the house, alerting that his neighbor would allow him access inside.

  Marcus’s mind tried to process how, not even twenty-four hours ago, he and Monet had made love in hopes of conceiving a child. Afterward Marcus had departed for work, feeling satisfied and looking forward to dinner and a movie with his wife over the weekend. Instead, Monet was now lying in a hospital bed, and he was at home trying to put back together the shattered pieces of their lives.

  He had a bone to pick with his Heavenly Father. He was angry that God had allowed his wife to be harmed. The Caldwells lived what Marcus considered a quiet Christian life. The Sundays they didn’t have to work, he and Monet attended church faithfully. They gave money freely and did whatever tasks the church asked of them.

  Marcus sighed. Then he stood and walked into the kitchen to get a bottle of cranberry juice out of the refrigerator. He unscrewed the top, drank greedily, and then set the bottle on the table. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and went upstairs to the bathroom. He turned on the water to warm it up for his shower, then stripped off his clothing.

  Half an hour later, Marcus was dressed in a pair of jeans and a pullover shirt. He picked up the cordless phone from the nightstand and called the hospital to check on Monet. Duane answered the telephone.

  “How is Monet doing?” Marcus asked. He walked to his dresser, took out a pair of socks, and sat on the bed.

  “She can’t eat yet because of the hairline fracture of her jawbone, so they’re feeding her through an IV for lunch. The nurse gave her medicine for the pain, and now she’s asleep. Do you want us to stay here until you get back?” Duane asked, as he glanced at his sister.

  “Is Liz still there?” Marcus asked.

  “No, she left a little while after we got here. She said she’d be back later.” The nurse’s aide brought more flowers to Monet’s room. Duane pointed to the counter near the closet for the nurse to put them there.

  “Okay, I’ll be there in about forty-five minutes. I’m going to pack a bag for Monet, and then I’ll be on my way.”

  “We’ll see you when you get here,” Duane replied.

  “Later, man,” Marcus said, then clicked off the telephone and finished putting on his socks and shoes.

  He went inside their walk-in closet, took out Monet’s beige and green floral overnight bag, and laid it on the bed. Then he opened her dresser drawer and removed some nightgowns with matching robes and put them in the suitcase. Marcus was debating what else he should pack when the doorbell chimed. He walked downstairs to the front door and opened it to find Liz.

  “Well, come on in. Talk about perfect timing.” He stepped aside so she could enter.

  “I thought I’d come over and help you pack some things to take to the hospital for Monet. I know you need my help, don’t you?” Liz pecked him on his cheek.

  “Yeah,” Marcus said, holding up his hands as if in surrender. “I knew about the nightgowns, but I wasn’t sure what else she needed.”

  “See, that’s where a best friend comes in handy. Let me help you pack. I know you’re itching to get back to the hospital,” Liz said.

  “You’re right. Follow me.” She trailed Marcus to the master bedroom. He scratched his head, then pointed to the bed. Liz took off her jacket and laid it on the bed next to the suitcase. “Most of her stuff is in the armoire, and the stuff for her hair is on the vanity over there.” He nodded toward a brass and glass vanity on the south wall of the bedroom.

  Liz had always admired the bridge oak bedroom set, complemented by rust colored carpeting. A large screen television sat on a brass stand opposite the bed. Liz pulled open a drawer and removed underwear and put them inside the suitcase. The drawer was scented by a jasmine sachet.

  Fi
fteen minutes later, Liz had completed her task. Marcus turned off the light in the bedroom, and they went downstairs to the kitchen.

  “Would you like something to drink?” Marcus asked, looking around the room, trying to recall if he may have forgotten something.

  “No, I’m fine and ready to go. I know you’re ready to return to the hospital, and I’m sure if Monet is awake, she’s probably wondering where you are. How are you holding up, Marcus?” Liz stood near the sink and took her car keys out of her pants pocket.

  “Still a little angry, but I’m trying to come to terms with all that’s happened.” Marcus opened the refrigerator and put the juice back inside of it.

  “You’ve got to let the anger go,” Liz scolded lightly.

  “I will do the best I can,” Marcus conceded. “But I’ve made a vow to find the guy that did that to Monet, even if it takes my last breath.”

  “You really don’t have to do anything but let God handle this. You know that, don’t you?” Liz could sympathize with what happened, but knew that Marcus could be hot tempered at times.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. But it’s my job to bring the bad guys to justice, and I would be less than a man if I didn’t do the same for my wife,” Marcus answered definitively, his expression resolute.

  “I’m not saying don’t do anything. You’re a policeman like Wade, so it’s your nature to correct the world of all the ills. I’m just saying don’t become obsessed. Leave justice to God. We all reap what we sow, and Monet’s attacker is no different. God will tend to him,” Liz replied unwaveringly.

  Marcus looked at his watch impatiently. “I hear you, Liz. Now, if you’re ready, I need to get back to the hospital.”

  “I’ve said my peace, and I hope you heed my words. It wouldn’t hurt for both of you to get counseling, whether it’s with a psychologist or with Reverend Wilcox. You and Monet have been through a terrible ordeal. Don’t be too proud to ask for help,” Liz implored.