Too Much of a Good Thing

by J. J. Murray

  I nod.

  “The noises weren’t in the original script. I’ll bet it was because of this ...”

  He opens the door and turns on the light ... to a completely empty room.

  “I had the boys move all the furniture down to the basement, so I imagine they broke something, maybe a lamp or a lightbulb.”

  I am standing in a completely empty bedroom that used to belong to a woman who just spoke to me and is now up in heaven looking down on me looking at her completely empty room. I am still a goose bump.

  “I’ll have to refinish the floor, of course, but ... I want you to do the rest. Curtains, carpet if you want it, furniture, bedding, comforter, the works.”

  I step to the closet, open the door, and then step into the closet. There isn’t a stitch of clothing hanging inside. I look at Joe.

  “Salvation Army,” he says. “Good idea. They were so grateful.”

  “Wow,” I say. “This is ... wow.”

  “It was Rose’s idea. Tabula rasa, she called it. A blank slate.”

  Rose has definitely lost all of her thorns with me now. “But where will you sleep until then?”

  “I’ll probably bunk with Jimmy for a while.”

  I stand in the middle of the room, not a shred of Cheryl anywhere. This isn’t a blank slate—it’s a clean slate. Rose is a wise child.

  “So, what do you think?” he asks.

  I smile. “I’ll have to take some measurements. Um, you’ll want a king size bed, won’t you?”

  “Whatever you want.”

  “It might crowd the room some ... Maybe a queen size.”

  He holds me from behind, his arms around my middle. “The better to hold you, my dear.”

  I like the sound of that. “How about satin sheets?”

  “Aren’t they expensive?”

  “Probably. I’ve never priced them.” Two hundred thread count sheets are fine for me. “We’ll need a fluffy down comforter, too.”

  “Keep talking.”

  “And lots of pillows, all shapes and sizes.”

  He kisses the back of my neck, and I almost wilt. “Is the closet big enough?”

  “I could fit my clothes and my kids’ clothes in there.” I turn to him, draping my arms around his neck. “But that will give me space for all the clothes you’ll buy me, right?”

  “Right.”

  I kiss his chin. “Mirrored headboard?”

  “Interesting.”

  “Candles everywhere, too?”

  I feel his heart racing. “Shawna?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You’re making me ... excited.”

  My heart is racing, too, bouncing against his. “Me, too.”

  We kiss deeply, and just as we start to do a little slow grinding, we hear a beep.

  “Their timing couldn’t be worse,” Joe says.

  “Yeah.”

  But a few minutes later as I show off my ring to our kids, I realize that their timing or our timing isn’t important.

  God’s timing is.

  We have an on-time God.

  47

  Joe

  After that, the days and weeks fly by.

  And Rose gives me a hug every single morning.

  And Shawna does drive me for that checkup, sitting in the waiting room for hours while the doctor prods, pokes, draws blood, and generally gives my body a thorough examination in ways that are uncomfortable and seem excessive. When all the tests come back—and there were so many!—we find that I am a healthy forty-year-old man who needs to work on his “bad” cholesterol level and lose a few pounds. And that’s it. After all that invasion, I have to get one number to drop and I need to drop some weight. While I’m happy, Shawna is overjoyed. She hasn’t come right out and said it, but I think she’s glad that she’s made a good investment. My body will give her many years of service. I know her joy, however, has a tinge of sadness. What if she had done the same for Rodney? Would it have made any difference in what happened to him? Would I even have met her or have the happiness I have right now because of her?

  I try not to dwell on all that. I just know that God is in control, and I have to trust that He knows what He’s doing.

  My parents are thrilled I found someone. Even when I mention her race to them, neither “blinks” over the phone.

  “As long as you love her and she loves you,” Mom says.

  “That’s all that matters,” Dad says. “I agree with your mother, Joe.”

  Dad always agrees with Mom. That’s probably why they’ve been married for forty-six years.

  Dad does add, however, that it would be best if Shawna likes to fish—“But that’s just me,” he says.

  “Mama asked, ‘When we gonna meet him?’ and Daddy said, ‘All right,’” Shawna tells me.

  “That’s all they said?” I ask.

  “That’s all,” she says.

  We both come from families who don’t like to waste words.

  Sundays we visit area churches, looking for a new spiritual home for all of us, then after lunch at our house we sit discussing the pros and cons of each. Too many old people, too many kids, not enough music, too much music, short sermon, long sermon, too much emphasis on money, not enough emphasis on the Bible, not multicultural enough—

  We usually get eight different opinions.

  My kids want to stay with “our” church, Shenandoah Baptist; her kids want to stay with “their” church, Pilgrim Baptist.

  “We can’t split up like that every Sunday,” Shawna says. “We must worship together. We’ll find the right church. It’s out there. We just have to find it.”

  Both of our churches are willing to marry us—which is a blessing—but we’re not expecting many folks to attend. Shenandoah’s sanctuary is a cavern; Pilgrim’s is just right, seating at most a couple hundred. Thus, we’ll be married at Pilgrim. And of all the churches we’ve visited, from Rainbow Forest out in Botetourt County to Valley Word in Roanoke County, I feel most at home at Pilgrim. The boys feel the same way.

  Only Rose feels out of place.

  “Daddy, I am the only white girl there most Sundays,” she tells me. “At least Jimmy and Joey have each other.”

  “We’re not there to be with our own race, Rose,” I tell her. “We’re there to worship God.”

  “I know. It’s just ...”

  “What?”

  “Truth be told, Daddy, the service at Pilgrim is just too long. I know, I know. God doesn’t have a watch because He is the watch”—one of Shawna’s favorite sayings—“but three hours? Doesn’t God get tired of listening?”

  Shawna has a solution, and although I don’t think it will work, it does. Shawna and the girls arrive each Sunday “fashionably late” so the service doesn’t seem so long for Rose. After a few Sundays of “being seen,” Rose relaxes, and when we’re all ready as a family, we will become members at Pilgrim.

  On weekdays, Shawna and I often go on walks in Wasena Park, always with Toni as our chaperone, while the boys play basketball or hit the skate park under the bridge, and they “hit” the skate park often. We bring a cooler of ice and sandwich bags for their bruises, just in case. Crystal has yet to join us for anything but church.

  “Freedom,” Shawna says. “That’s what Crystal wants, and that’s what I’ve been preparing her for.”

  Though Crystal will be moving out after graduation, we’re preparing the house for her just in case. We’ve added a full size bed to Joey’s room, a bunk bed to Jimmy’s room, and a brand-new bedroom suite in our room—but without mirrors.

  “We’re too old for that kind of thing,” Shawna says. “Why look in a mirror when I can just look and see you?”

  So, the house is ready, and the date for our wedding is tentatively set for early September. Crystal has found a job at JCPenney and a roommate to share an apartment. Shawna is heartbroken about that, but she puts on a brave face, glad that at least Crystal is going to graduate without summer school, which is “another miracle,” acc
ording to Shawna.

  Life is coming together.

  But.

  But.

  My mind is coming apart. I guess I’m getting cold feet. I’ve just had too many life changes in a short time, too many stressful life events. I’m thinking of putting off the whole wedding process for a few months, maybe even a year. Too fast. All this has happened much too fast for my mind to process. I want to slow down, consider all this prayerfully. And when I tell Shawna of my hesitation, she agrees.

  Sort of.

  “I didn’t know you felt this way, Joe,” she says. “You should have told me sooner or as soon as you started having these feelings.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s, well, it’s been on my mind for a while. I just haven’t sat down and really thought about it that much. It’s like riding the wind, and now that things have calmed down ... I hope you understand. I just don’t want to rush.”

  “How long do you want to wait?” she asks.

  “I don’t know,” I say, and I really don’t. “A few weeks. Maybe a few months, I don’t know.”

  “A few ... months.” She’s quiet for a long time.

  “This will also give the kids time to digest everything, you know, get fully used to the idea.”

  “I guess ... I guess I can wait,” she says, finally. “Just don’t keep me waiting too long, Joe Murphy.”

  And after that ... things change.

  We don’t slow down as much as we quiet down. Our lunch meetings at McDonald’s are shorter, more silence than conversation. The same is true of our phone conversations. I’m already doubting my doubt—if that’s possible—so I call Arnie for advice.

  “I am a wreck, Arnie.”

  Arnie laughs. “Moses started out as a basket case, too, Joe, so you’re in good company.”

  “Very funny.” I tell him all about my doubts, my fears, my hesitation.

  “Do you doubt your love for Shawna?” he asks.

  “No. I guess I’m just afraid of losing her, you know, like I lost Cheryl. I don’t ever want to go through that kind of pain again.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Arnie says, his voice getting gruffer. “You’re backing away from a woman because you’re afraid of losing her.”

  Just protecting my heart the only way I know how. “I know it makes no sense.”

  “Why would you hesitate when you obviously have a Proverbs 31 woman ready to marry you?”

  Not that again. “Arnie, Shawna is not really—”

  “Sure she is,” he interrupts. “Everything about her says Proverbs 31 woman.”

  “You’ve only met her a few times at church, Arnie,” I say.

  “I am a good judge of character, Joe. Now tell me, can she sew?”

  “Look, Arnie, I’ve read that passage in Proverbs, and—”

  “Just humor an old man. Can she sew?”

  “I don’t know. Her kids are always nicely dressed.”

  “That counts. Does she get up early?”

  “Every day.”

  “And stay up late?”

  “I think so.” We seem to have most of our main conversations late at night after all our kids are safely asleep.

  “Does she garden?”

  “She lives in an apartment, Arnie. She does have a few houseplants.”

  “Are they alive?”

  “Yes.”

  “She can garden, then. Does she have strong arms and legs?” He clears his throat. “Not that it’s any of my business.”

  “Yes. She’s a good hugger and she stays on her feet all day.”

  “A good hugger. That’s good, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Arnie.”

  “Hmm. Is she charitable?”

  “Yes.” I tell him about Shawna’s continuing work with LivingWithDeath.com. “And she loves me.”

  “You think you’re a charity case, Joe?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Is she wise?”

  “Yes, in a down-to-earth way. She can cut right to the heart of a problem in an instant.”

  He laughs. “Then you should be discussing all this with her, not me.”

  He has a point.

  “Is she kind?” he asks.

  “Always.”

  “Do her kids respect her?”

  “Yes. Mine, too.”

  “Does she fear the Lord?”

  “Yes.”

  “She’s a Proverbs 31 woman, all right. You’d be a fool not to tell her that you’ve been a fool for having your doubts.”

  I have been a fool, but ... “Arnie, I think I’m still in love with Cheryl. Everywhere I look in this house I see Cheryl. I see her in the faces of my children and hear her in Rose’s voice. It’s almost as if I’m cheating on her or something.”

  “You aren’t cheating on your wife, Joe,” Arnie says. “Didn’t Solomon have a thousand wives? And David had a fair share, too.”

  Why am I still asking advice of a confirmed, lifelong bachelor about all this? I see Rose hovering in the hallway. I mouth, “Do you need the phone?” She shakes her head, but she still hovers. Maybe she wants to talk.

  “Arnie, I have to go. Thanks for all your advice.”

  “My pleasure.”

  I hang up, and Rose comes into the family room.

  “What’s up?” she asks.

  That’s usually what I ask her. Hmm. “Nothing,” I say, echoing her usual response.

  “Um, how’s Shawna?”

  And now she’s asking about Shawna? “She’s okay.”

  “Just ... okay?”

  “She’s fine, Rose. What’s on your mind?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. If I were her, I wouldn’t be okay. I mean, she had her heart all set, and then ...”

  Rose has my attention. “And then ... what?”

  “Junior told me about this separation idea of yours, Daddy. I think it’s silly and a waste of time.”

  “You ... do? I thought you’d be all for it.”

  She shakes her head. “I’m not. She loves you, and you love her. You’re lonely. It’s time ... you got ... married again.”

  I blink. “Really?”

  She takes my hand and squeezes it. “I have to be honest. I was ... uncomfortable with Shawna as my future stepmother, but when I saw how happy she made you, how happy you’ve been, and how happy you aren’t now ... Besides, I have a whole new respect for you now.”

  This is one amazing young lady. “You do?”

  “Yeah. You’re being a rebel, Daddy.”

  “I am?”

  “Sure. You’re marrying outside your race. You’re marrying a woman with three kids. You’re marrying a woman your own age when most men your age would have a midlife crisis and marry a teenager.” She grasps my hand with both of her soft hands. “Now I know where I get my rebellious streak.”

  “You think I’m a rebel.”

  “Yep.”

  “All this time I’ve been worried that you would never accept Shawna and that you might even one day leave us like Crystal did.”

  She punches me in the shoulder, like the tomboy Rose of old. “I’m nothing like Crystal, Daddy. Besides, someone has to take care of this house. Two parents working ... I mean, who will make sure Jimmy does his homework every day? Who’ll make sure Toni keeps her room clean?” She presses her shoulder against mine. “You need me around, Daddy. You need me to help make your marriage work.”

  “So, does that mean I have your blessing?”

  She kisses my cheek. “Yes.”

  I wrap my firstborn in my arms and hold her close. “What was I thinking, Rose? I love Shawna. Why would I want to put off being with her?”

  “The same reason I didn’t want you to be with her. We both still love Mom.”

  “Yeah.” I kiss her forehead. “What should I do now? Call her? No, she’s working a double shift tonight. I could go visit her.”

  Rose shakes her head. “She’ll be tired and cranky, Daddy. Why don’t you ... write to her? Have an e-mail waiting for her when she gets
home.”

  “Would that be romantic?”

  Rose nods. “It’s kind of like you’re at home waiting for her, you know?”

  “Yeah. That’ll work. Thank you, Rose.”

  “Any time, Daddy.”

  48

  Shawna

  I’m glad we’re not that busy. I’m going through the motions anyway. Tonight this store isn’t going to be all that clean. I just can’t seem to motivate myself to motivate anyone else because Joe has thrown me a curve.

  I really don’t blame him, I mean, what was I thinking? I can’t replace Cheryl, and I don’t want to take up space. How in the world could I ever be a white housewife? How could I ever truly fit in Joe’s world? Cheryl was a homebody, practically doting on her kids, the perfect stay-at-home mom. I’m not built that way. I’ve been getting a paycheck since I was sixteen, and I expect my kids to be able to fend and do for themselves. And in her house? I feel like a visitor there. I know I’d make some changes so it will be my house eventually, but ...

  “Dining room’s swept,” Chuckie says.

  “All right,” I say. “You can clock out.”

  Chuckie looks at me strangely.

  “Go clock out, Charles,” I say, and he bolts for the back. Normally I’d check his work or lack of work and make him do it again, but tonight I have some work to do in my mind.

  Lord, I’ve been alone so long. I’m too set in my ways. Rodney and I jelled. Oh, it didn’t happen overnight, oh, no. It took work, hard work, daily work ... and eventually it became easy. Clockwork. Rodney and I were like clockwork. Do I want to go through all that trouble to whip another man into shape? I mean, Crystal hates him ... although Junior respects him and Toni likes him. If I don’t marry Joe, Crystal might come back home, and all my babies would be under my roof again, and then ... and then ...

  I’d be lonely all over again.

  I just ... I miss Joe. My hands are getting sweaty just thinking about him. And sitting in church without him—he and his family went to Shenandoah last Sunday—was ... lonely. As Pastor Reed likes to say, I was just “settin’ on the premises instead of standin’ on the promises.” And Pastor Reed’s sermon was ... different. I’m sure Joe and I would have had a nice conversation about it. Who preaches from Habakkuk? “Write the vision,” Pastor Reed kept saying. “Write the vision and wait for it, because it will surely come.”