by T. D. Jakes
“Okay, let’s go,” Dave said, getting in and shutting the door.
“How many dresses does she need?” Brock asked.
“How many trips you want to make if I get the wrong one?”
“I feel you.” Brock started backing out.
Dave grinned. “You fit’n to feel something else you don’t get us back to that hospital pretty quick,” Dave said. “Reesie wants a dress. That’s all you got to worry about right now, is getting it to her.”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right then. Now drive.”
Chapter Four
Clarice heard their voices bouncing down the corridor before she could see them. David walked in, and when she saw him she had to smile. He looked like some hawker from the Garment District in New York, with a dress held in either hand and another one hanging from the collar of his shirt.
“Here you go, ma’am, the latest in fashion for the woman who wants to go home from the hospital in style. Which one of these fine rags strikes your fancy?”
Standing behind David and grinning like a possum, Brock Houseman held out two more dresses for her inspection.
“Brock, how’d you get dragged into this fool’s business?” she asked.
“I’m just the driver, ma’am. I told him you’d want the turquoise-and-brown, but he told me I didn’t know what I was talking about.”
Clarice allowed the chuckle building inside to bubble out in laughter as she shook her head at the two men. “Y’all better be glad you can’t see yourselves, ’cause you’d be too ashamed to walk out of here.”
A nurse walked up and smiled at David and Brock. “Looks like the welcoming committee showed up,” she said.
“I swear I never saw these two before,” Clarice said, still laughing.
“How about we at least take one of those dresses off their hands so we can get you out of here. Which one?” the nurse replied.
Clarice shrugged and pointed at the dress in David’s left hand. “I don’t know—that one, I guess.”
David flashed Brock a triumphant grin. “Boy, what did I tell you?”
“Lucky guess,” Brock said.
“Here’s some shoes, Reesie,” David said, pulling her flip-flops from the back pocket he’d stuffed them in.
“I won’t need but one of those.”
“Will you gentlemen excuse us while we get her dressed?” The nurse started pulling a drape around Clarice’s bed.
When she was dressed the nurse helped her sit on the side of the bed. It was so much easier to move now that her leg was protected by the cast. The nurse pulled back the drape and asked David if he’d like to come help her transfer to the wheelchair.
“Am I going to have to stay in one of these things?” Clarice asked. David held her arm and eased her onto her healthy leg.
“I don’t think so,” the nurse replied. “Usually, you can just use crutches, as long as you feel like it. Your husband can pick up a pair for you at just about any surgical supply.”
The nurse held the chair and David helped her sit down. “What about a cane?” Clarice wondered aloud.
“I’d go easy on putting too much weight on that leg for a while,” the nurse said. “It’s all there in the brochure I gave your husband. You’ll want to start rebuilding strength, but don’t put too much weight on the bones, at least at first.”
“Mmm-hmm.” We’ll see about that. I can’t be hobbling around the office on crutches.
The nurse showed David how to adjust the leg support so it held her injured leg out in front of her like a battering ram.
“All right, I guess that’s about it,” the nurse said. “You take care, Mrs. Johnson, and call us if you need anything.”
David pushed Clarice out the door and down the hall.
“I want to read that brochure, David,” she said when they’d gone a little way. “I want to see for myself what it says about getting up and around.”
“Now, Reesie, you heard the nurse. You not going to do yourself any good if you try too much too soon.”
“Like I said, I want to read that brochure myself. It doesn’t hurt anything to be well-informed.”
Clarice could tell from the shape of the silence that David was having other thoughts.
“Too bad your cast is that fiberglass stuff,” Brock said lightly. “Hard to sign.”
“If she’d leave it on long enough for someone to sign,” David muttered.
“David, you might as well stop acting like my mother right now. I’m a grown woman and this isn’t the first broken leg in the history of the world. You just get me home and let me start doing my own worrying, all right?”
“Yes’m.”
“And stop it with the Stepin Fetchit, too.”
“Yes’m.”
“David!”
“Sorry, Reesie.”
Brock pulled his car beneath the covered entrance and David held Clarice’s hand as she levered herself up from the chair and into the front seat of Brock’s SUV. She was glad they’d brought Brock’s vehicle instead of her Accord; the higher seat was much easier to navigate. David handed her the bag with her bra, then got in back.
When they got home, David helped her out of the car and up the walk to the front door.
“Let me know what you need,” Brock said as he leaned out his window. “And call me if you change your mind about having me represent you on this.”
David waved him off and unlocked the front door. Clarice turned toward him and started to awkwardly move past, but then she turned and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
“Hey, baby girl. You all right?”
“Yes, David,” she said into his shoulder. “I’m all right. But I just realized . . . I haven’t once said thank you for taking care of everything at the hospital.”
“Aw, now that ain’t no thing,” he said, stroking her back softly. “That’s what I’m here for, don’t you know?” He held her and the warmth of him was sweet to her; she could feel the strength in his chest and arms, and for just a moment she was able to allow herself to sink into him as if she were a child wrapped in a parent’s embrace.
A couple of neighborhood kids wheeled past on their bikes. Clarice saw them grinning at each other, smirking behind their hands as they went by. Right then, she didn’t care; her husband was holding her and it felt completely right.
But after a few seconds, she realized the moment had evaporated. She pulled away from him. David held her elbow as she maneuvered the crutches over the threshold and into the house.
Was it really only a few hours ago they’d left here on their way to the dinner? As Clarice hopped on one foot toward the couch, she tried to imagine what her day was going to be like tomorrow. David would probably insist on hovering around like a mother hen, but she didn’t think she could take a whole day of that. She’d let him stay for the morning, maybe, but then he was going to need to leave her alone for both their sakes. Her mother always said a man had his uses, but taking care of the sick wasn’t one of them.
“What you need, baby?” he said, fussing with the pillow he was putting under her leg. “You want something to drink? You hungry? What can I get for you?”
“I’m fine, David, really. Do you have that brochure they gave us at the hospital?”
“Yeah, right here.” He fished it out of his pocket and handed it to her. She started reading.
Julie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She looked around at the others at the meeting, and their faces registered the same shock and confusion she was feeling. Cutting down on hours? Trimming therapists’ patient loads? The clinic was bursting at the seams! What were they thinking?
“We know these drastic measures may come as a shock to some of our personnel,” the manager standing at the podium said. “But we assure you we’ve taken into account every budgetary possibility and the simple fact is that in the current health care funding environment, we can’t continue to operate at present levels of staffing.”
“What are we
supposed to do?” someone said from the back of the room. “When are these changes you’re talking about going into effect?”
“We, ah, anticipate implementation will begin at the first of next month,” the suit said.
“Two weeks,” Julie said under her breath. “I’m taking a pay cut starting in two weeks?”
She felt despair dragging at her. Things were tight enough as it was, given Ted’s haphazard approach to paying child support. She knew therapists who went out on their own and made a lot more money than the clinic paid, but Julie hadn’t ever felt she could afford the risk of starting her own business, with all the expenses and liabilities that entailed. She had health insurance here, and a little retirement package, and the security of the clinic had always appealed to her, until now.
“I can go out and get private clients and not have to put up with this crap,” said someone in the row behind her. “I’ve been looking for an excuse to tell this management to take a flying leap, anyway.”
Julie heard much more grumbling as everyone left the meeting. People were talking about lawsuits and forming private associations. Julie wondered how many of them had a kid who was outgrowing his shoes and a car that needed repairs. She looked at her watch. She probably had time to get her hair done before picking up Bryson, but now she wondered if she could afford it.
Dave tried to talk her out of it, but the next Sunday Clarice insisted on going to church. Not only that, but she assured him she wasn’t going to sit anywhere but in their regular place, two-thirds of the way down front and on the left. She got up, got dressed, got made up, and tucked her crutches in the back of the Accord before Dave drove them to church.
Pastor Wilkes made an announcement from the pulpit about the accident and all their friends told Dave and Clarice how grateful they were no one was hurt worse. They got offers of casseroles and cold cuts, cakes and cobblers, fried chicken and mashed potatoes. Dave didn’t mind the food so much, of course, but as he watched Clarice downplay her injury and generally make light of her difficulties, he couldn’t help wishing he’d been more insistent on having her stay at home. She was doing what she always did: presenting her strong face to the world, not letting on that anything was wrong or that she required anyone’s help. It made him feel sad, and just a little weak and useless.
He chewed on it all the way through church. On the way home, he decided to say something about it. “Reesie, you got to take it easy this afternoon. I saw how hard you were working back there at church, making sure everybody knew you were just fine. You’re not just fine. Boo, you’ve got a badly broken leg, and you’re not doing yourself or me any favors by acting like it’s different than it is.”
“Oh, not doing you any favors, is it? Well, I’m sorry, David. I just happen to believe it doesn’t do me any good to limp around looking like the tail end of a hard-luck story. I believe in making my own way, and I intend to keep on doing that, broken leg or not.”
“I’m not saying you shouldn’t do all you can, baby. I’m just saying that sometimes you got to let other people help, for a change.”
“Why? So you can feel important?”
Her head and neck were swiveling; she looked like a prizefighter trying to land a jab. The discussion was turning nasty and he should have backed away, but he didn’t. Still, he managed to keep his voice even. “It’s not about me, Clarice. It’s about you. You’re driving too fast for too long at a time. You gon’ crash one of these days, and I don’t want to have to be around to see it.”
“Well, who’s asking you to stick around?”
“Now, Reesie, wait a minute—”
“Don’t start backpedaling now, David. You the one opened up this can of worms. Look to me like the brother better recognize.”
Clarice really had herself all worked up. He thought long and hard over his next words. Biting back the sarcasm that wanted to creep into his voice, he tried to calm things down.
“Clarice, let’s both take a breath here, okay?”
She sat wedged against her door, her arms folded, looking at him like his grandmother used to look at a cockroach.
“I’m not trying to tie you down. I’m not trying to make you anything you don’t want to be. I just want to . . . to take care of my woman. I want to help you. I want to protect you. Is that so bad a thing for a man to want?”
Her face softened a little, but she kept her arms tucked in as if she were trying to fend him off.
“I love you, baby girl. I love the way you light up when you’ve just closed a big sale. I love the excitement in your voice when you nail down a good listing. I love the way a room can change when you walk in—like somebody just found three or four more bulbs to switch on.” He couldn’t tell if any of this was soaking in or not, but at least she was still listening. “You got to believe me, Reesie. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.” He turned onto their home street and drove three blocks before she said anything else. He wasn’t sure whether her silence was good or bad.
“Do you love me enough to let me be who I am, instead of who you want me to be?” she said softly, just as he turned into their driveway.
Her voice wasn’t mean or accusing like a few minutes ago. Dave thought she was really asking him a question; straight up, no tricks. The trouble was, he wasn’t sure how he could answer. He switched off the engine and looked at her.
“Maybe I’m having trouble understanding who it is you want to be,” he said.
Her eyes held his for a few seconds, then she turned away. He got out and came around to help her out of the car, but she had already flung open her door. She was pulling herself out of the seat and onto her crutches. He reached toward her arm to help her, but she batted his hand away. Dave felt the dam breaking inside him.
“Fine, then!” He knew his voice was loud, but he’d lost the ability to care. “Go on with your bad self, since you don’t need anybody’s help.” He slammed the car door and stalked into the house ahead of her, wondering what a man had to do to get through to a woman as bullheaded as Clarice.
Clarice sat on the couch most of the afternoon, staring at the latest copies of her Realtor magazine, House Beautiful, and Essence. Every so often she’d turn a page, just to convince herself and anybody who might be watching that she was actually reading. But really she was thinking, over and over again, about what David had said to her in the car on the way home from church. In fact, she kept hoping she’d see something in one of her magazines that would interest her, that would lure her mind away from buzzing around and around David’s words like a bee circling a bloom under glass—trying to reach it but unable to figure out how to land. So far, no distraction she’d tried was working.
The trouble was, a part of what he’d said sounded enticing. Maybe that was what annoyed her most. If she was completely honest with herself, she had to admit that deep down, maybe so deep it was hidden even from her most of the time, she wanted to be cared for and protected. She wanted to be able to rest in the arms of someone who would never let her down, never disappoint her, never take her for granted, never devalue her in any way. But was David that person? For that matter, did such a person even exist?
Just about the first thing she could remember was her mother talking about how you had to depend on yourself. That was the real security, Mama said, the real strength of a person. And Mama had proved her belief by the way she’d lived her life. She worked two and sometimes three jobs to keep her children fed, clothed, and housed, and she expected them to contribute too, as soon as they were big enough. Clarice started bringing home her babysitting money when she was twelve, and her baby brother and sister had their list of household chores that Mama checked every day, and no excuses. Mama had seen to it they all worked hard, and it paid off. They all had the chance to go to college, even if a lot of the cost was covered by grants and loans. Even now, in retirement, Mama had little use for people who wouldn’t help themselves. Her phone conversations with Clarice often featured caustic assessments of her aging acq
uaintances who had, in her words, “decided to sit down on the front porch and wait for the undertaker.” Self-reliance was the chief virtue in Mama’s book, and she’d been preaching it day and night for as long as Clarice could remember.
When Clarice had met David, though, something happened to her she couldn’t quite explain. She was out of school and working in a local bank, and one day a tall, good-looking young man came to her desk to open a new account. His name was Dave Johnson, and he’d just moved to town to take his first job, teaching and coaching at one of the local high schools. When he looked at her, Clarice felt something stirring deep inside her. It was a feeling she’d never experienced—one Mama hadn’t covered in any of her lectures.
Now, she’d certainly had her college-girl flings, but none of them had ever gotten within shouting distance of her heart. This was a different kind of thing. Clarice wasn’t sure she was falling in love with this Dave Johnson, but she certainly wasn’t sure she wasn’t. And when she’d finished opening his account and he picked up one of her business cards, she was fairly certain she wanted him to use it.
She loved David’s big heart and the dreams he dreamed with it. He told her he wanted to make a difference in the lives of kids. He said that coaching wasn’t mostly about winning—not the way he saw it, anyway. It was about helping kids find out how much they could do, and then figuring out ways to do more. It was about showing them their potential, he said. When he talked about it, his face took on a look Clarice had never seen on anyone except maybe a preacher or one of the old ladies at church. The passion in him called out to her, pulled at her like a magnet. And pretty soon they were passing passion back and forth on a regular basis. When David asked her to marry him, it never occurred to Clarice to say anything but yes.
