by T. D. Jakes
“First of all, let me ask a question. Don’t you and Mrs. Johnson attend Lifeway Bible Church?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, we do. How’d you know?”
“Actually, I go there, too, with my son. We’ve been coming for about a year now.”
“Is that right? Well, that’s kind of coincidental, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, I guess so. I was pretty sure I remembered your names from when Pastor Wilkes said something during morning worship.”
“Yeah, G.A. likes to embarrass me whenever he gets the chance.” He gave a little chuckle.
“Well, anyway, as I said, I noticed you called and I just wanted to follow up. Is Mrs. Johnson working with anybody on her physical therapy?”
“No, not yet. But I think she’s anxious to get started.”
“Great. Is there any chance you’d consider coming in and letting me take a look, talk to you both for a bit, and give you some idea of what we’d recommend?”
“Ah . . . sure, I don’t see why not. Let me talk to Clarice. When do you have an opening?”
They agreed on a time at the beginning of the next week and Julie penciled it in on her schedule. He exchanged a few more pleasantries, saying they’d be looking for her in church next Sunday.
When she hung up, she was smiling. It was nice to feel good about her work for a change. Who knew? Maybe she and Bryson would make a couple new friends.
Chapter Six
Clarice could tell David was in a happy mood as soon as she heard him walk in the door from the garage. She watched as he tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter. He was humming to himself and did a little boogaloo move, dancing to whatever song was in his head.
“Hey, baby girl,” he said, walking toward her. “Give your man a little cupcake, what you think?” He leaned down and she gave him the most obligatory kiss she thought she could get by with. His face registered disappointment for an instant, but then he got all jiggy again.
“I got some good news for you, girl,” he said. “We got us an appointment with a physical therapist next Tuesday. How you like that?”
She tried to show some enthusiasm, she really did. “Who is it?”
“Turns out she goes to church with us. Name is Julie Sawyer. She works in the clinic at the hospital.”
“Really? How’d you get in touch with her?”
“I called there a couple of days ago to get some information, and she called today to follow up. She sounded cool, so I went ahead and made an appointment. That okay with you?”
“Well, yes . . . sure, I guess so.”
“What’s wrong, baby?”
How could she tell him? How could she admit to someone else that she was fighting depression? Since she’d gotten home from the accident and the reality of her injury had started to soak in—every time she rolled over in bed, every time she wanted to move from one place to another, every time she went to the bathroom, for goodness’ sake—Clarice had been fighting to keep her head above water.
She forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. “Sorry, David. I’m just having a kind of down day.”
“Well, that’s all fit’n to change, sistuh. We gon’ get you in there next Tuesday and they gon’ get you back on the road to lookin’ good in the hood, you know what I’m sayin’?” He scooted in beside her and put a hand on the back of her neck. “Now, how about a little of something that’s good for both of us?” He leaned in for a kiss.
She turned her head and started reaching for her crutches. “David, please. I don’t feel that way right now.”
“What’s wrong, baby? I thought you’d be happy. You wanting to get out of that cast, right? I thought I was helping.”
She pulled herself to her feet. “You were. Are. I do want to get better and I appreciate what you did, I really do. I just—” She started moving toward the bedroom.
“You just what? Come on, Reesie. You got to talk to me, Shorty.”
“I don’t know. I can’t right now, David. I’m sorry. I just need to lie down for a while.”
She went into their bedroom and fell headlong onto the bed. She wished she could cry, or scream, or . . . something. Anything would be preferable to the gray, empty nothing she felt inside. It was scaring her, but she couldn’t admit that to David. She could barely admit it to herself. Maybe he was right. Maybe seeing a therapist and doing something would give her a track to run on. Maybe feeling she had some ability to get her life back would pull her out of this weird emotional swamp she was stranded in. She probably ought to be grateful to David, in all honesty. She probably ought to give him what he was wanting. He was probably sulking on the couch right now, staring at the wall and wondering why his wife could barely stand to be in the same room with him. She wished it weren’t that way; she wished she felt like getting skin-to-skin with him right now, right there in the living room on the couch. But she didn’t. In fact, she couldn’t. The thought was as hateful to her as crawling on broken glass. And that just made her feel even more guilty and helpless.
Why was her life slipping out of her control? All sorts of people got broken legs—sometimes people were laid up in bed for months. And they got better, didn’t they? What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she snap out of this nasty funk that was sucking the life out of her?
She could hear David moving around in the kitchen. Glasses clinked and the silverware rattled in the drawer. He was getting himself something to eat. He’d eat by himself again tonight, as he had for quite a few nights in a row.
She ought to get up and go in there. She ought to try to talk to him, to show some interest in what he had to say. But her body refused to obey her intentions. The fog closed in on her and weighed her down.
Bryson crouched on the starting block, tensing for the signal. Julie sat in the stands with her fists gripped in her lap, her eyes glued on the lean white body of her son as he readied himself.
It was a tri-city meet and this was Bryson’s first time to swim on the boys’ fourteen-and-under 200-meter relay. Bryson had the first leg, a position not as critical as the anchor but strategically important for setting the pace. Compared to the rest of the kids on the blocks and waiting at either end of the pool, he looked so small. He was three years younger than most of the kids in this race, and those three years made a huge difference at this time of a boy’s life.
But if he was nervous, he didn’t show it. In the car on the way to the meet, he’d been reading the newest Harry Potter book. He’d eaten his usual pre-meet breakfast: orange juice, cereal and milk, and three strips of bacon. She’d had to practically roll him onto the floor to get him awake. He was fine. She, on the other hand, was a nervous wreck.
The horn hooted and the racers arrowed into the water. Bryson came up first, arms churning. By the time they reached twenty-five meters, he was actually opening up a lead. He touched the side, as nearly as she could gauge, a little more than an arm’s length before his nearest rival. The boy on the second leg made a clean start and maintained the lead Bryson had given him. The third-leg racer gave up a little; it was all going to come down to the anchor legs, and there were three teams within a body’s length of each other. The anchors flashed into the water and the crowd was on its feet. The finish was going to be incredibly close. At the end, Bryson’s team won by a few hundredths of a second—less than the length of a forearm. Julie was screaming and hugging people she didn’t even know.
At the end of the pool, Bryson’s teammates were surrounding him, clapping him on the shoulders and hugging him. Julie felt her eyes stinging with tears; the acceptance, not to mention enthusiastic appreciation, of these older boys would be like the rarest wine to her son. Now they were all hugging and high-fiving each other.
And then she remembered. Ted wasn’t here. She saw Bryson’s face turn toward her. He raised his fist in the air and pumped it in victory. Then she saw his eyes roving the crowd, looking for another face he wasn’t going to find. After a few seconds he turned his attention back to his teammates an
d their coach, who had now joined them for some backslapping and handshaking.
Bryson kept his medal on the whole way home. He couldn’t stop smiling.
“So, what were you thinking during the race?”
He stared out the window for a few seconds. “Well, when I’m in the water, I don’t really think. I just am. You know?”
“In the zone, they call it.”
“Yeah. Like that. I guess instinct kind of takes over.”
“Makes sense to me. What about when your leg was done and the other guys were in the water?”
“It was weird. Once I was finished and out of the water, I was . . .” he looked at her, “I was nervous. I mean, with butterflies in my stomach and everything.”
She glanced at him. “What’s so weird about that?”
“I’ve never felt that way before. I’ve never been in a team event before, see? Every other time, when I get out of the water I know what the results are right then. But today . . .”
“You had to wait and depend on someone else.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s it. I’m not used to that.”
“Well, I hate to tell you this, kiddo, but a lot of life is going to involve those two things.”
He nodded his head and stared out his window for a while.
“I’m going to have to work on it then,” he said finally.
“Yeah. We all do, one time or another.” Some of us more successfully than others, Bryson.
That night she made sure he had his favorite supper: homemade mashed potatoes (boiled and mashed in her very own kitchen) with brown gravy (from a packet, of course) and extra-crispy fried chicken (from the Colonel). They sat in the living room on the floor in front of the television and watched a Disney movie about a bunch of misfit kids who form a hockey team and conquer the world. It was about the four hundredth time Bryson watched it, but it had been one of his favorites since he was old enough to walk. The videotape was getting worn and the movie was hardly visible in some places through the static, but Bryson knew every line and scene. One of these days she was going to have to break down and buy him a DVD player so they could get the movie with a little longer life span. And to be honest, Julie loved the scene where the unlikely team defeats the heavily favored bad guys as much as her son did. Who didn’t love it when the underdog came out ahead?
When the movie ended, she sent him to the showers. “Church tomorrow, bud. Get cleaned up and get some sleep.”
He went down the hall, and in a few minutes Julie heard the water start. For some reason, though, she couldn’t quite make herself get up and take the greasy paper plates and used glasses back to the kitchen. The VCR whirred to the end of its rewind cycle and clicked off, and still she sat and stared at the blank blue screen of her television.
Today, for just a few minutes, she’d been able to forget about all the less-than-optimal facts in her life and simply rejoice in her son’s success. It was a good moment, and she was grateful she’d been able to recognize and enjoy it. Sure, the junk came crowding back in soon enough, but somehow, having those few minutes of clarity made the junk easier to manage. Sometimes, she thought, you just need reminders that good exists. You need a reason to hope things won’t always be difficult. Today, Bryson had given her that reminder. Sitting there in front of her blank TV with greasy paper plates in her hands, Julie said a silent little prayer of thanks.
Dave woke up and looked at the clock. Time to get going. He sat up on the edge of the bed and rubbed his face and the top of his head to get a little circulation started.
He’d awakened with “Three Times a Lady” playing in his head. When he turned and realized Clarice was already out of bed and somewhere else in the house, he felt the return of the sadness that had been his constant companion since his clumsy attempt at lovemaking three days before.
He got up and went into the bathroom. Some hot water in the face would do him good; maybe it would rinse away some of these hangdog blues. After drying off he threw on a bathrobe and went into the kitchen. Clarice was sitting at the counter, her crutches leaning on the bar stool next to her, sipping coffee and staring out across the living room.
“You feel like going today?” he said.
She nodded her head.
“I don’t mind going by myself, if you’d rather not,” he said.
She gave him a quick look, then her eyes moved away again. “No, I want to go to church, David. I’ll be ready in a few minutes.”
“Okay, that’s fine.” He doctored his coffee with sweetener and milk, then carried his mug back to the bathroom.
It was like talking to somebody who wasn’t really there. And the worst part of it was that he felt more and more as if he weren’t really there, as if he were just saying lines somebody else had written. When had he started feeling this way with her?
While he was shaving, he heard her moving around in the bedroom, scooting hangers back and forth in her closet. This, at least, was normal: Clarice’s morning ritual had always involved what appeared to Dave to be a large amount of unnecessary agonizing over which outfit to wear. Clarice always looked good; why did she think she had to fret so much over it? Even on her crutches, she’d be the one people would pick out of a crowd. She had that kind of presence. He guessed that was part of what made her a good real estate agent: Her appearance and manner inspired confidence. You looked at her and figured she had to know what she was talking about.
Dave padded across the bedroom toward his closet. Clarice was sitting on the corner of the bed, trying to reach the toenails of her right foot with a pair of clippers. But the cast was throwing off her balance and she couldn’t quite manage it.
“You need some help, baby?”
He said it without thinking and almost immediately regretted it. Why’d I say anything? It was one more setup, one more opportunity for rejection, one more chance for her to remind him that she’d rather have just about anything before she’d want any help from him.
She looked at him, and he braced himself for the inevitable. But then he looked more closely at her face, and he realized something was there besides the blank stare she’d been wearing for most of the last week. There was indecision, uncertainty, and maybe a little fear.
What did she have to be afraid of? Didn’t she know he’d walk barefoot across broken glass to do whatever he could for her?
“Yes, David,” she said finally. “Would you mind?”
“Of course not, Reesie. Here, let me see.”
He kneeled down and cradled her foot in his hand. He clipped the ragged, chipped toenails she hadn’t been able to reach. “There you go, baby girl. Is that all right?”
He looked at her and saw the faintest glimmer of a look he hadn’t gotten from her in longer than he could remember: appreciation. Right then, it was like showing a water fountain to a man who’d been digging ditches in the hot sun all day.
“Thank you, David.”
He nodded and handed her the clippers. Then he went to his closet. For once, he didn’t try to say or do too much.
Maybe there is still something there, Dave thought. Maybe Clarice would start to see that he really cared for her, really wanted to make her life better. He knew the part of him that wanted the best for her was still alive, still trying to hang on.
They drove to church in Clarice’s car. Dave remembered again that he was supposed to call the insurance people about a replacement for his pickup. It was pretty inconvenient in his line of work not to have plenty of hauling space.
“Hopefully, here in a few days you’ll have your car back,” he said. “You’ll be back blowing and going before you know it.”
She gave him a little nod and tried to smile.
Dave parked in their usual spot in the church parking lot and came around to help Clarice out of the car. As usual, ten or twelve people stopped them to talk on the way to the sanctuary. By the time they got into their accustomed pew, the choir had already started the opening anthem.
When the service w
as over, as Dave was helping Clarice onto her crutches, someone tapped his shoulder. He turned and saw a woman of medium height with shoulder-length brownish-blonde hair. She stuck out her hand.
“Dave Johnson? I’m Julie Sawyer, from the physical therapy clinic. I talked to you on the phone?”
“Oh yes, hello!” He shook her hand and introduced her to Clarice.
“So, you guys still going to be able to make it on Tuesday?”
Dave looked at Clarice and she nodded. “Yes, Julie, we’re planning to be there. I sure hope you can give me some good news.”
“Well, we’ll do the best we can. The important thing is to get started and I’m sure—” she turned around to see a young boy who was clearly her son holding out a stack of papers.
“Mom, can you hold this stuff for me? They gave it to us in Bible class.”
“Bryson, can you say hello to Mr. and Mrs. Johnson?”
“Hi.” Bryson nodded and waved.
“Hello there, Bryson,” Dave said, grabbing the boy’s hand and giving it a firm shake. “What are you, about twelve?”
“Eleven.” He smiled and waved at Clarice.
“I’m pretty proud of this guy,” Julie said, laying a hand on Bryson’s shoulder. “His swim relay team won a gold at the tri-city meet yesterday.”
“Is that a fact? Well, congratulations, Bryson.”
Bryson grinned and ducked his head. “So, Mom, can you take that stuff?”
“I guess.”
He handed her the sheaf of papers and vanished into the crowd.
“Good-looking boy,” Dave said.
“Yes, he takes after his mother,” Clarice said.
“Thanks. Well, I guess I’ll see you guys on Tuesday. Just wanted to say hi.”
“She seems nice,” Clarice said, as they watched her walk away.
“Yeah. I think we’re going to like her.”
Chapter Seven
The physical therapy clinic for All-Saints’ was in a low brown building on the east side of the hospital complex. Dave parked as close as he could to the front door, then went around and helped Clarice out of the car. The parking lot sloped up slightly toward the building, so they had to take it kind of easy. Clarice was still not as steady on her crutches as she needed to be. Dave hoped that with a few sessions here she wouldn’t need to get too much more familiar with them.
