The Winter Wedding

by Rhonda McKnight

  We came to a traffic stop and he looked in my direction.

  His expression relaxed me. “Doesn’t it take time to hear back?”

  “I have a celebrity agent, so I think I thought I’d get pushed to the top of the pile, or at least I was hoping I would.”

  “I look forward to reading it. Let me know when I can.”

  I smiled. He smiled back. The light changed and he moved the car through the intersection.

  “Sorry about the memoir thing. I don’t know why it even popped in my head.”

  Heat rose in my belly to my chest. “I’m just uncomfortable with it. But it’s not the first time it’s been mentioned.”

  “I’m surprised the agent didn’t suggest it.”

  “She didn’t. I’m praying something happens with what she has.”

  We pulled into the driveway of my father’s house. He turned off the vehicle.

  “How’s the ankle?”

  He gripped the steering wheel and let out a long breath. “I feel great.”

  “Good.”

  “Yeah.”

  I hesitated for a moment and then said, “Well, I better get inside.”

  Stephen reached for my hand. “Wait. Can we talk?”

  I cleared my throat. “About?”

  “You know what.” He looked away and out the window before turning back to face me. “I can’t be the only one that feels this,” he squeezed my hand. “I want to talk about us.”

  Heat rushed to my face. “We’re doing a good job co-parenting Isaiah. After everything that’s happened, we’re civil. That’s a miracle. Let’s leave things the way they are.”

  “Let’s not.” He turned his body in my direction. “I miss you.”

  I laughed. “You miss me.”

  “What’s hard to believe about that?”

  I sighed. “You miss me because what, I look beautiful tonight?”

  “No, it’s not like that.”

  “It seems to be an out of sight, out of mind thing for you. For twelve years you didn’t care and for the past few months—”

  “Tay, I’ve been dealing with this injury. I’ve been in pain and honestly, fighting wanting to feel this way about you and then I was angry about Isaiah, but now, I’m not angry anymore and I’m not in pain anymore. I miss you.”

  I didn’t even know what to say.

  “You’re always on my mind.” Stephen continued. “I can’t go a day without thinking about you. Wanting you. Why do you think I’m here?”

  “It’s Mother’s Day weekend. I saw your mom’s car parked at your uncle’s house on the way in.”

  “I’m not here for my mother.” He frowned. “I’m not even talking to my mother.”

  It was my turn to frown. “Not talking to her?”

  He looked away. “I told you. I’m not letting her get away with what she did. I’m here for you. I knew about your father’s party. I came because I’m doing the same thing I’ve done for twelve years. Wait for you. Watch for you. Hope you show up so I can…” He growled. It was a frustrated, angry sound that did not inspire confidence in his feelings.

  I opened the door. “I can’t. I don’t want to do it again.” I stepped out.

  Stephen was behind me before I could reach the door. He grabbed my elbow and pulled me into his arms. He held me in a tight embrace, pressing my head into his chest and clutching me like he couldn’t make it without me. “Tay, I –”

  “Don’t say it.” I pulled back. “Please. I’m just getting my head together and feeling good about me. I spoke today. In front of a crowd.”

  “What am I, bad karma? Why can’t we feel good about ourselves together?”

  I shook my head. “Because we can’t. You’re all over the place Stephen. Angry at me, not angry with me. And now you’re mad at your mother.”

  Stephen took a deep breath and shook his head. “My mother and I will eventually work it out.”

  “Of course, you will,” I said. “But you need to get back to football and get to know Isaiah. That’s what you need to do, and I need to take care of my aunt and figure out who I want to be.”

  Stephen’s jaw clenched. “None of those are things we need to do alone.”

  “I liked my life better when I was alone.”

  Stephen shook his head. “No, you didn’t.” He took a few steps down and onto the walkway. “You didn’t.” He cleared his throat. “Just to be sure, this isn’t about Debra is it?”

  “No.”

  “I know it’s not about living public anymore. You spoke today. You reached out to Melissa.”

  I swallowed. He was right.

  Stephen nodded. “I know you better than you think. I said I’d wait for you. I mean that, so think about it.”

  I removed my key and inserted it in the door.

  “Don’t be afraid of happiness, Tamar. Your mother would want you to be happy. I could make you happy. We could make each other happy.”

  I stared at him for a minute. I didn’t say anything and neither did he. Then I turned and stepped inside.

  I got on the other side of the door. A vision of my mother’s reflection in the mirror came to me again.

  “Stephen’s a nice young man. I think you’ve already found your love.”

  The tears fell. I turned on the foyer light and listened for the engine to Stephen’s truck. He’d started it, but he had not moved. We were both frozen in place. Me inside and him out. I didn’t know how to be happy. I released a heavy sigh with the revelation. I was too afraid to be happy.

  I looked up and the flowers my father had received this morning caught my eyes. The blooms had opened. It was an incredible arrangement and clearly expensive. Curious about who had spent so much money, I picked up the card. I was surprised to see my name and not my dad’s. I read the note:

  “Tamar, Thank you for my son. He’s an amazing young man. I appreciate you bringing him into the world and adding to my legacy – Love, Stephen.”

  Love Stephen. I thought about love. God had shown me the true meaning of 1 Corinthians 13 last year when Stephen and I rekindled our love. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails.

  Think about it.

  I could make you happy.

  We could make each other happy.

  I turned back to the door and peeked through the curtain. I could see the taillights of his truck moving away from the house.

  I wait for you. I watch for you.

  I wasn’t ready. I hadn’t been ready in December, and I wasn’t ready now.

  I turned on the porch light for my dad and climbed the stairs.

  Chapter 31

  “You’re at eighty percent, Stephen. Unfortunately, that’s not good enough.”

  I felt like I’d had the wind knocked out of me. Six weeks from training camp and I wasn’t cleared to play?

  “My PT has gone great. My therapist told me so. And I feel like myself.” I protested.

  “I know all of this, but you don’t have enough function,” Dr. Hogan said.

  “You’ve said that a player’s capacity can only really be realized on the field.” I replied, quoting him from a pep talk he’d given me last month.

  “I meant that a player who was testing in the range of ninety percent or better. Stephen, you know we’re not talking about every day usage. We’re not even talking about playing in a game. We’re talking about training and conditioning. Running stairs, squats and everything else you have to do to be strong on the field,” Doctor Hogan said. “And not being strong on the field puts you at risk for reinjury or even another injury. You could get hurt again, possibly worse.”

  I groaned. This was painful, but I knew he was right. I wasn’t ready.

  “I think you have the potential, but you’re just not as far along as I’d hoped. You’re less than two months out from camp—”

  “So, you’re talking about the season?”
/>
  “I’m not going to speculate,” Dr. Hogan said. “You need more time to heal. This is not an easy injury to recover from.”

  “Thanks, Doc.”

  “Continue the therapy. Maybe take a week or so off with light exercises. You could use a break. It might do you good to not be focused on it.” He offered a few other suggestions and left the room.

  I sighed. “No football.” I never anticipated I’d hear that. In my mind, I was going to go out like one of the greats – Tiki Barber, Emmitt Smith, and the Pro Football Hall of Fame. I wanted to be like Michael Strahan, fifteen years with the Giants organization and retire on a career high. Michael had called me, and I hadn’t called him back. Maybe I should.

  Call me.

  I closed my eyes to the sound of the voice of the Holy Spirit. I’d been calling on God my entire life and still, I was here dealing with the worst news of my career. I stood and left the examination room. I exited the center with a legion of pats on the back from my teammates. I didn’t stop to see the coaches. No doubt they already knew what was happening. They were probably busy figuring out the strategy for a season without me.

  I pushed the exit door open and made a quick trip to my SUV. I didn’t want to see another soul. I didn’t want any more sympathy, or pity, or whatever people were feeling toward me. My cell phone rang. Clyde. I silenced the call, climbed inside my truck and cried. I cried like a baby.

  Hours later, I was lying in my bed when my cell phone woke me. I had taken a muscle relaxer, not because I needed it, but because they always put me to sleep. I didn’t want to be awake anymore today. It was Tamar’s number on the screen. I sighed and let it go to voicemail.

  I went to Instagram. Read some of the comments fans had left for me and realized there was a story about me on ESPN, so I went to their page. It was an interview with Coach Nye.

  “From the time we finish, until the time we start in Rutherford, is between five and six weeks. That’s plenty of time,”

  “I’m completely comfortable with him running when he’s ready and the doctors say he’s almost ready. He’s totally engaged in every aspect of what we’re doing mentally. The physical part for a guy like him, I think you’ve got to work at it. But I’m not worried about it. I’m comfortable with the process that is in place. We expect him to make it camp and start like he has since his rookie season.

  “I’m not worried at all.”

  I grunted and put down the phone. Coach wasn’t worried. Yeah, right.

  I stood and headed toward the bathroom. In the sliver of moonlight that swept the room, a picture of Isaiah that I kept on my dresser caught my eye.

  That’s when it hit me, I couldn’t ignore Tamar’s calls. My son lived with her. I rushed back to the phone and listened to the message. It was Isaiah. I returned the call.

  Tamar answered.

  “Hey, Isaiah called me.”

  “Hey, yourself,” she said it with enough snark to let me know I was being rude.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve had a rough day.”

  “You a rough day? Lord, is the eastern sky going to split?”

  I was slow to respond, because it had split, at least for me anyway and I’d been left behind. “Maybe you can just put him on for me.”

  “I’m sorry, it was just a little humor.” She paused. “Are you sure you want to talk to him like this? He’s way too excited for a grumpy dad.”

  My heart was a crushing weight in my chest. “What’s he excited about?” I asked, trying to keep my voice even.

  “Something about the baseball finals. I’ll let him tell you, but is there something I can help with? I’m a good listener.”

  I couldn’t even answer her. The realization that I might not be playing hadn’t fully sunk in yet. Right now, I didn’t want a sounding board. I wanted to disappear. I wanted her and not for a pep talk.

  Hearing her voice reminded me of what I’d been thinking about prior to going to sleep. I’d been thinking about the only thing I thought would distract me – disappearing in a woman. I’d had to knock myself out to stop the urge from sending me out to some club to look for one. I was twenty minutes from NYC. There was always a club, always a party, always somewhere a pro-athlete could find a woman.

  “Stephen,” she called. “Is it…” Hesitation on the other end. “…your ankle?”

  I dropped my head. Pushed bass into my struggling voice. “Yeah, it’s my ankle.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t tell him I called,” I said. I felt like I was going to lose it again. “I’ll call back later when I’m better, okay?”

  “Okay,” she said. “Stephen?”

  I waited.

  “It’s going to be okay.”

  “It’s not, Tay. I don’t think it ever will be.”

  “You can’t think like that. You have to remain optimistic.”

  I was silent for a long time. Optimism wasn’t what I was thinking about.

  “Would you?” I started. The next words out of my mouth were going to be to ask her to come up here. I wanted to ask her to drop everything and just come be with me. Hug me, kiss me, lie with me, love me, but we weren’t those people anymore. I wasn’t her husband. I wasn’t even her man.

  If I was completely honest, I still blamed her a little. Any time I got bad news about my ankle, I thought about how distracted I was by our breakup. That was crazy. This wasn’t Tamar’s fault, but I kept revisiting the thought. The devil.

  “Would I what?”

  “Would you pray for me, Tay? I really need prayer.” I didn’t wait for her response. It would include a what and a why, so I ended the call and turned off my cell phone.

  Chapter 32

  I hated cancer so much. It was ugly, evil, and vile. I couldn’t stop the tears. I didn’t like for people to see me cry. I’d gotten good at keeping my tears under control. My public life toughed me up, but this was not me. This was not upset over a video. This was my aunt’s life, the lack of quality of life she had, and all the pain. I was wrecked.

  A text message came in from Isaiah.

  How is mama?

  A loud sob erupted from my belly. I raised my hand to wipe my face. I needed tissues. I needed to clean up. I couldn’t let the hospital staff or, God forbid, Aunt Joe see me like this. I escaped into the restroom.

  My phone rang. It was Aunt Joe’s pastor, Reverend Kelly. I answered.

  “I’ve been told Sister Josephine is in the hospital.”

  “We’re at the ER, pastor. She had a bad reaction after the chemo. She’s being seen right now.”

  “I’m on my way back from Alabama, so I’m sending one of the members of the prayer board to join you. I heard your pain, Tamar. Stay strong in God. This weeping will only endure for the night. We know that God is a healer and joy will come in the morning when Sister Josephine is healed. I want you to speak words in the Spirit over her. Do it as you care for her. Not out loud, but in your heart.”

  “Words?”

  “Aunt Joe will live and not die. The sickness is not unto death. Things like that. Use scriptures. Cancer can be just as much a spiritual battle as it is a physical one. Stand in the gap for her, Sister Tamar.”

  I nodded. “I understand.”

  “I know you know. I just want to remind you. I know in the moment it can be hard to remember what to do. I’m praying for her. We are all praying without ceasing.”

  “Thank you, pastor.”

  He assured me he would visit tomorrow, and we ended the call.

  Aunt Joe was so sick that I thought she might die. Chemo is worse than the disease. It’s said so often it sounds like a cliché, but once you see it up close, watch it tear its way through a person’s body, you understood. You understood why people say it.

  I didn’t want Isaiah seeing how sick she was. I didn’t want him to remember her this way.

  I texted him back:

  The doctors are helping her. I’ll call as s
oon as I can.

  I took a deep breath, washed my face, and pulled myself together. I left the restroom and went back across the hall to Aunt Joe’s room.

  Aunt Joe turned her head in my direction. I went to the bed and took her hand.

  “I feel better,” she said.

  She didn’t look better. Her voice was a little stronger, but I knew that might be her sheer will to get out of the ER. She hated hospitals.

  The ER doc that had been taking care of her entered the room. “I talked to Doctor Mowry, and she wants to admit you at least overnight. Get some fluids in you, okay?”

  Aunt Joe groaned. “I guess if I don’t have a choice.”

  “No choice right now,” he said. “We’ll get you a room and take good care of you.”

  Aunt Joe nodded and he left.

  I was so relieved. If they sent her home tonight, I would have died myself.

  “I’m tired of this place,” Aunt Joe said.

  “Auntie, it’s a good thing. Like they said, it’s just overnight. You vomited so much. You need the fluids.”

  “Hospitals are full of germs. I could catch something worse overnight in this place,” Aunt Joe said. “You know people get sick in the hospital, especially people who’ve had chemo.”

  “They’ll take care of you.”

  Aunt Joe groaned. She turned her back to me and closed her eyes. Within a few minutes, she had fallen asleep again.

  I closed my eyes and whispered, “You will live and not die. By His stripes you are healed and made whole.” I said it over and over again until I felt the burden of my sorrow lift from my heart. This is a season. It’s a hard one, but it will pass.

  My thoughts were interrupted by a transport team. I followed as they moved her to the Intensive Care Unit.

  I waited until she got settled in and comfortable and then once she fell asleep, I left. The nurses and doctor insisted. I could only visit her for short periods of time. They’d given her something to help her sleep, so she wouldn’t even know I was there.

  They didn’t have to do much convincing. I had been up all of the night before and then hovering over her all day. I was tired.