by Briana Cole
“He doesn’t even look like himself.” For the first time, Keon’s voice cracked, an outward display of the raw emotions he was trying his best to hide. One look in his eyes, the inner turmoil shown like a mirror reflection of my own.
The doctor touched my mother’s shoulder and walked off, leaving her standing there in a daze. Watching her, nausea settled in the pit of my stomach. The way silent tears slipped down her face as she stared off into space like some mindless zombie, the tissue falling from her fingers and fluttering in surrender to the tile floor, we knew there wasn’t any good news in our future.
Chapter 22
Sunlight seeped through the glass windows and spilled on the downcast faces of the congregation packing the pews. Such a stark contrast to the mood. Rain would have been more appropriate. The sunshine frankly was adding anger to my grief. Just another reminder that the sun had risen on another day. Yet one more day without Pastor Michael Davis in it, and life was moving on without him.
We buried my father on a Tuesday morning. For midweek, attendance was better than it had been on any given Sunday as of late. I didn’t know whether that was a good thing or bad thing. I knew my father was well loved and certainly at one point well respected, but where the hell was that support when he was alive? No, they had pretty much shunned him, leaving him to fend for himself and try to keep his passion alive. All because of their judgment toward me. That pissed me off more than anything. And as far as I was concerned, they could save their condolences and phony ass tears. He had lost everything, including himself.
My mom had always been a take-charge woman. Strong like my dad. That’s why the two worked so well together. One half of the same soul, they used to say. Never before had I seen her break that control. But even this was too much to handle.
He was on life support for two weeks before they laid everything on the table. Physically, he was here. His body was frail, his head balding from the alopecia, his skin ashen from the illness, medication, or maybe a combination of both. So, yeah, his body was definitely here, only because of the machines that pumped oxygen and simulated life to keep him hanging on for us. His mind and spirit were long gone.
I knew it from when I would talk to him in that hospital room, clutching his hand in mine. He was hollow, and my words seemed to echo around much like cries in an empty room. Yet still, I talked, prayed, held pictures of Jamaal in front of his closed eyelids in the hopes that maybe, just maybe it was all strong enough to pull him back from his unconsciousness. But then my mama had told me with a weary voice that it was time.
I stood at the door of the sanctuary trying to be strong, but I was crumbling inside. I didn’t even think it was possible to shed as many tears as I had.
One by one people filed in shaking my hand, murmuring quiet apologies, pulling me into hugs that did nothing but add to my discomfort. But I was on autopilot as I nodded my fake gratitude, wishing I were anywhere but here.
The funerals of Lena, Leo’s second wife, and then Leo himself, as staged as it was, didn’t touch my heart. Sad, yes, but I couldn’t bring myself to grieve the lives of people I barely knew. More like co-workers in the little business arrangement. But my dad, there were no words to express my sorrow. No emotion to accurately capture the part of me that had been lost as his heart rate monitor flatlined. Whose baby girl was I now?
“I’m sorry for your loss,” someone whispered, and I blinked to keep from sobbing out loud. Sorry. Loss. Are you really sorry? Do you know how much I really lost? You’re thinking of a pastor. I’m thinking of a father, friend, counselor, mentor, provider, husband. I’m thinking of the late-night talker, the jokester. Dessert sneaker after my mom would put me on punishment when I was a little girl. Shoulder to cry on. Comforter. Protector. I had lost more than any of these people could possibly be sorry for.
Keon crossed the aisle and took my arm. He probably knew my legs were about to give out. I was trembling, or maybe that was him as we walked together to the front.
Adria immediately grabbed my hand as I sat down next to her. She squeezed as if giving me strength neither one of us had.
I couldn’t bring myself to look at the casket. My mom had insisted on it being closed so “everyone could remember him at his finest.” But still I couldn’t help but picture his body resting on the plush cushions inside of the brown-and-bronze box. The idea of it had me nauseated. Because that’s all it was: a box. My dad deserved better. Like commanding that pulpit instead of lying at the foot of it.
One of the associate pastors began the service with a welcome prayer. I bowed my head and clenched the program where my dad’s smiling face looked up at me. I held my breath to keep from crying out from my soul.
When it was time for the eulogy, I stood on shaky legs I didn’t trust and took delicate steps to the podium. There were so many people in that room whose eyes ripped between me and the casket I stood behind. Some eyes were completely closed to try and block the tears. Muffled cries seemed to hum together in a song, sniffs, hitched breaths, whimpers all blending together. I looked out at the crowd and saw a blur.
“To all of us, my dad was a pastor,” I started, trying to remember the speech I had prepared. “But he was more than that to me. Never did I think I would have to live without him. Never did I think there would be a time I would need him and he wouldn’t be here for me.” I finally chanced looking down at the elaborate floral arrangement on top of the casket. The four walls of this building felt as confined as that box. “He was supposed to walk me down the aisle at my wedding,” I whispered. “There was more for you to teach me, Daddy. There was more life to live. You left and took a piece of all of us with you.”
I was supposed to talk more on what a wonderful man, a wonderful person my father was. I had found one of Lena’s poems to read that I thought would be appropriate. I was supposed to lead the choir in a song. But I just remember my weakened legs finally giving out and suddenly collapsing to the floor, my wails like pleading calls to Heaven before I was lifted into someone’s arms and carried from the front.
The pain had long since surpassed mental and emotional. It felt like my entire body was crying and aching from the tension that coursed through my muscles. My vision wavered and blackened around the edges so all I saw was the sanctuary door I was being carried toward. Then the familiar furniture of the church foyer came into view.
I was lowered to a chair and, as if on reflex, I bent over to put my head between my knees.
When I was sure I wouldn’t throw up my insides all over this beautiful carpet, I sighed and leaned up, shutting my eyes against the sting of harsh reality.
My lips curved in appreciation as Jahmad’s hand stroked my back. That did offer some comfort. Even more so when his lips touched my cheek.
“Thanks, Jahmad,” I murmured. “I needed that.”
A pause, then, “You’re welcome.”
My eyes snatched open. No, not Jahmad. Leo. My back straightened, and shock had me blinking several times to make sure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me.
“Leo, I . . .” Embarrassment warmed my cheeks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you would be here. How did you . . .” I trailed off, remembering the story of my father’s passing had populated every local news outlet for the past two weeks. What had been disgusting was the fact that a few had even tried to toss my own story back in the mix, interweaving the sordid truth with the lies so well it was impossible to tell one from the other anymore.
“You really didn’t have to come,” I said.
“Yes, I did. You needed me.”
I really didn’t want to minimize his compassion by correcting him that it wasn’t him I needed, so I just nodded in response.
The door slid open, and Adria, Tyree, and Jahmad approached me, their steps deliberate with concern.
“Kimmy—”
“I’m fine,” I said, immediately trying to dispel Adria’s worry. I was far from fine, that much was clear, but Adria kept her mouth shut. She flicked a look
at Leo.
I started to make introductions and just as quickly decided against it. This really was not the place nor the time. But I could see all three of the questioning gazes at the man at my side, entirely too close for casual friends.
Leo had tensed beside me and so had I, which I could only attribute to Jahmad standing there. Suddenly, I felt like I was suffocating.
“You sure you good, boo?” This time it was Tyree who spoke up, and I nodded and stood, satisfied when they didn’t give out on me again.
I turned to Leo. “I have to get back in there. But thank you. I really appreciate it.”
A little smile touched his lips, but he didn’t comment. I did, however, feel him watching us as we made our way back inside to finish my father’s service.
* * *
Everyone had collected back at the church cafeteria for light refreshments, though I don’t see how anyone had an appetite after watching my dad being lowered into the ground.
I found a little corner that I hoped hid me well as light chatter filled the air, along with the clinking of utensils as people picked from the meatballs, pasta salad, and fruit my mother had spread out banquet-style.
I was just here for the sake of being here at this point. I wanted nothing more than to go pick up my son from the childcare center and take him home so I could cry in peace. That didn’t appear to be happening anytime soon.
All eyes were on me. At least it damn sure felt that way. Someone approached the table and slid a plate of food in front me, murmuring that I needed to eat. I nodded and they kept on.
Right now, I was wondering where my mother got her strength. She stood to the side surrounded by church members, and she appeared to be engaged in polite conversation. If I were her, this little gathering would have shut down a long time ago. No sense in these people trying to act like they knew how I felt.
The vibration from inside my black clutch had me reaching inside for my phone. A text from some random number. So sorry for your loss. I texted back a quick thank-you. Guess I would have to get used to that. I’m sure I would be getting it a lot now. Immediately, another text. You sitting over there alone. Do you need Leo to come rescue you again? Lol.
I frowned and looked up. As if she had been waiting, my eyes caught Tina’s stare. She blended right in with her black, mid-calf dress and black pillbox hat. In fact, I almost had to do a double take to ensure it was her. But when a little smirk touched her lips and she wagged her fingers in my direction, I rose. I hadn’t seen Leo since the service, but I really couldn’t wait on his protection right now. This bitch knew something, and I needed to find out what.
She didn’t appear fazed as I made a beeline in her direction. In fact, her smile widened. “Kimera Davis,” she said as I approached, and just to piss me off, or maybe it was for show, she pulled me into a hug. I stiffened under the contact. I wouldn’t dare cause a scene in my dad’s church, at his funeral.
“What are you doing here, Tina?” I said through tight lips.
“I came to pay my respects. Your father was a wonderful pastor.” She touched her heart. “And a very, very wonderful man.” Something about the way she said it made me suspicious. What the hell was she insinuating?
“Tina, I don’t know what your problem is, but you need to leave me alone. I know you’ve been messing with me, and the shit ends. Now.”
Tina exaggerated a gasp. “The language,” she said. “In the house of the Lord.”
I rolled my eyes and took a step closer, keeping my voice low. “Don’t play with me.”
“Or what?” she taunted, crossing her arms over her chest.
A quick vision of me dragging this bitch outside and whooping her ass came to mind. Oh, the satisfaction.
“Relax, Kimmy,” Tina spoke up again. “I at least thought we could be friends. So much time has passed, and here you are, still holding grudges.”
“Grudges? You’re the one bothering me.” I thought about the fire, my son, my father. I couldn’t be sure, but somehow she had to be linked to this. It was entirely too coincidental. And for what? Leo?
“Look, you can have Leo,” I said. “You’re trying to ruin my life over him? Really?”
Tina rolled her eyes. “Trying to ruin your life? Don’t you think that’s a bit extreme?”
“For you? Hell, no.”
Tina chuckled. “Well, I’m flattered, really. But I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She was lying. She didn’t even bother trying to keep the sarcasm out of her tone.
Tina pivoted and walked away, putting some distance between us before she turned back and added, “By the way, how is your baby?”
The question appeared innocent but was laced with amusement, so I knew exactly what this bitch meant. I remembered how I woke up to my son not breathing, the hospital stay. He almost died and she was up here with that humorous twinkle in her eyes.
“Mama wants you,” Keon said, stepping in front of me.
I didn’t answer, could only watch paralyzed in rage as Tina sauntered away. She had hurt my child. I was going to kill that bitch.
Chapter 23
It was another level of emptiness at my parents’ house. The rooms felt entirely too cold, the walls too thin. The air was still and hollow. It was as if everything had died with my father.
It had been a week since his funeral, but that had done nothing to dull the ache in my heart. Of course being around his things brought back too many memories, and I often would just sit in his lounge chair and sniff the fading remnants of his cologne that had seeped into the cushions. I tried my best to be there for my mother, but, hell, I couldn’t even be there for myself. The only bit of life between us was Jamaal, who continued into his easy routine with the innocence of a child, unbeknownst to him the horrors and trauma of life. Damn, if only we all had that blissful ignorance.
Keon and Adria came over every day with food that none of us had an appetite for, so stacks of Tupperware and aluminum foil–covered dishes began to clutter the refrigerator. Their brief visits usually brought a little life to my mom’s eyes. Keon carried my father’s smile and warm eyes and for a moment, even a small one, it was as if he was reminiscent of young Daddy.
And Adria, bless her heart, was trying to keep our spirits up with her ultrasound pictures and clothes she’d purchased for my niece or nephew. She was certainly showing more in her hips and stomach, and to be honest, it was a welcome distraction from my own turmoil.
My mom was a strong woman, had always been. But I knew this was taking a toll on her. She suddenly looked older, more frail, her eyes sunken with the weariness of heartache and too many tears. Reality was slowing beginning to set in, like a camera lens coming into focus. Daddy was nowhere, yet everywhere, and it toggled her on the edges of sanity. It was a wonder she could bring herself to sleep in the same bed now, alone.
Which was where I figured she would be this morning when I heard the doorbell ring for the third time and she still hadn’t answered.
I took a peek at Jamaal sleeping in the bassinet beside me before climbing from the bed. I didn’t bother with a robe to cover my oversize t-shirt. Hell, it couldn’t have been any later than nine o’clock in the morning, so whoever the hell it was, they were lucky I was even answering at all.
Jahmad stood in the glare of the morning sun, and I had to squint to see his handsome face actually had a little smile.
“Good morning,” he greeted. “Sorry, I didn’t realize it was so early.”
I nodded and stepped to the side to allow him room to enter. He carried a drink tray with cups of coffee in one hand and a Dunkin Donuts bag in the other. Whatever it was did smell good.
“Figured you ladies needed some breakfast,” he said, leading the way into the kitchen.
“Thanks, but I’m really not hungry.”
“Kimmy, you need to eat.” He took one of the coffee cups and set it on the table with packs of cream and sugar. He looked at me and pointed to the dining chair. “Sit,” he ordered. �
�Drink. Get something on your stomach.” I did as he said, my mouth almost watering at the delicious aroma of coffee beans.
Jahmad remembered how I liked my coffee, because he had dumped two creamers and a ton of Splenda on the table in front of me. “Did Keon send you on his behalf?” I asked, ripping open the sugar packets. “Usually he and Adria do the food runs.”
“No, I needed to come for myself. See how y’all were doing. Mom still asleep?”
“Yeah I’m not going to wake her right now. She hasn’t been sleeping much.” And I was hoping after the sleeping pills I gave her last night, she could get as much rest as possible.
Jahmad pulled two wrapped sandwiches from the bag and set one down in front of me. I knew I wouldn’t eat it, but I didn’t move to stop him.
“What about you, Kimmy?” he asked, sitting down opposite me. “How you holding up?”
I took a delicate sip of the hot liquid, let it linger a bit before swallowing. Anything to make sure I wouldn’t bust out into another round of fresh tears. Sure I would be able to keep my composure, I sighed. “It’s hard,” I admitted. “I miss him so much, Jahmad. And watching my mother trying to cope is heartbreaking.”
Jahmad’s face went slack with the mutual emotions. “I know. Your dad was like a father to me too. Always has been, since I never . . .” He trailed off, and I knew exactly what he was going to say.
He never knew his father. His mother tried her best with the single mother thing, but she always worked so much trying to provide for herself and her only son. Her absence allowed Jahmad to run the streets, and though he never got into serious trouble, he did take pride in sexing every piece of tender ass this side of metro Atlanta. And when he joined the basketball team and met my brother, he was always around, since there was nothing at home for him. No home-cooked meals, no family time. My parents being the Christian folks they were, they eagerly accepted Jahmad into our little family, hoping to fill the void he often seemed to be looking to fill with other females.
