Not Easily Broken

by T. D. Jakes

  “Sir, she’s in Meeting Room A, down the—”

  The attendant pointed and Dave dashed off before he could finish his sentence. He found the room and pulled the door open.

  Julie was inside, sitting on a couch. An older man with a chaplain’s badge was with her. When she looked up and saw Dave, she gave a low, keening moan and stood, holding out her arms. Dave grabbed her and held her close, feeling her sobs against his neck.

  “Oh, Dave, he’s gone, he’s gone. Oh, God, my baby’s gone.”

  “Shh now, easy, baby. Easy now, just take it easy.”

  In the face of her overwhelming grief, Dave felt his own throat closing with the urge to weep. The fog was back in his brain, obscuring his vision, tangling his thoughts around each other. All he could do was hold her and pat her gently on the back and keep saying the words that already sounded all but meaningless: “Easy, baby. It’s all right. I’m here. Easy, now . . .”

  The chaplain stepped close. “I’ll leave for a bit. I’ll be right outside if you need me, though.”

  Dave nodded and the chaplain went out.

  “He was at a practice with the relay team,” she said. “They were finished, just goofing around before going to change. The older boys started doing stupid dives off the one-meter board, seeing who could do the worst belly flop, make the biggest splash. They said Bryson was trying to run backwards off the end of the board. He slipped . . .” Her words drowned in another surge of deep sobs.

  Dave held her in his arms and felt her body shuddering against his. At that moment, he would have stepped in front of an oncoming train if he thought it would ease her pain. He would have picked her up and carried her until she felt strong enough to walk again—if that was what she wanted. He tried to add up the sum of what she was feeling, tried to measure the depth of the pit that had swallowed her up, but his mind reeled back, completely overthrown by the magnitude of her suffering. He was defenseless against it, helpless as he contemplated it. There was absolutely nothing else he could do right now except hold Julie, stay with her, and promise to help her any way he could. He hoped that would be enough.

  “They had him on a respirator when they first brought him in,” she said a few minutes later. “They kept him on it until I got here. But I could tell he was already gone.” She looked up at Dave, her eyes silently screaming for understanding, for a hint of why. “His chest was moving up and down with the respirator, but Bryson wasn’t there. He just . . . he wasn’t there.”

  By now, her voice was a ragged, breathy rasp. She sounded drained. Maybe she’d wept herself dry for a while.

  “You want to sit down, or maybe walk somewhere?” Dave said.

  “They came and asked me about donating his organs,” Julie said, as if she hadn’t heard him. “It’s funny—I never even gave it a second thought. My son’s dead. If somebody else’s son can live, why not help?” For the first time since he’d walked in the door, she looked up at him with something like recognition in her eyes. “You think I did right, Dave?”

  “No doubt about it. Bryson would’ve wanted it that way. That’s the kind of person he was.”

  “I wonder when his dad’ll get here,” Julie said.

  “Has anybody called him?”

  She nodded. “The hospital called his cell and his home phone. No answer either place. I don’t think I want to see him. I don’t think I even care if he shows up or not.”

  “Don’t try to take that on right now, okay? You got enough on your plate. Think you could drink some coffee or something?”

  She thought about it a few seconds, then nodded. Dave put an arm around her shoulders to guide her, then pushed open the door.

  The chaplain was there and he was holding some papers on a clipboard.

  “Mrs. Sawyer, the medical examiner’s office needs you to sign these. For the autopsy.”

  Julie took the pen and clipboard and scratched her signature wherever the chaplain pointed. She handed him back the forms.

  “Anything I can get for you?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “We’ll be down in the cafeteria if they need her for anything,” Dave said. The chaplain nodded. He gripped Julie’s shoulder for a couple of seconds, then walked away to deliver the forms.

  Dave kept his arm around her as they walked; the way she was moving blindly forward, he thought maybe she’d faint any second. But they made it to the cafeteria and into a booth. She waited there while he got two paper cups full of coffee from the self-serve bar and paid the cashier.

  “You want anything in yours?” he said when he got back to the booth.

  She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. Doubt I can taste anything, anyway.”

  He slid into the booth across from her and cupped his hands around his paper cup. He looked at her; she was staring at the tabletop and her eyes were as dull as burned-out bulbs. Dave guessed you couldn’t come any closer to seeing the face of death and still be looking at somebody who had a pulse.

  “What do you need?” he said, after maybe two minutes of silence.

  After a few seconds, she shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said, after another few seconds passed. She looked up at him. “I really don’t know. How do I keep on from here? Bryson was everything I lived for. What’s left?”

  He covered one of her hands with his. “Listen, Julie. I’m not going to try to tell you I understand, because I don’t. Nobody does. My grandmother used to say that pain can’t be shared, it can only have company. I’ll be company for you, Julie. I’ll stay with you, or I’ll get somebody else to stay. Whatever. I’ll make sure you don’t have to be alone unless you want to be. But I’m telling you, even if it’s too early for you to hear it, that the world needs Julie Sawyer. You hear me? The world needs you. Bryson doesn’t, not anymore. You still need him, but he’s taken care of now. I believe that, Julie, and I think you do, too. He’s taken care of, so now we got to figure out how to take care of you. And I’m going to help. You don’t have to get through this alone, you hear what I’m saying? Not alone. You gon’ have help. That’s a straight-up promise.”

  She looked at him and when she tried to smile, Dave thought it was maybe the most heroic thing he’d ever seen anybody do.

  “Thanks, Dave. I believe you.”

  They sat some more. Nobody spoke for a long time. Dave figured there wasn’t a whole lot that needed saying. But he kept his hand on hers, and she didn’t pull away.

  Julie? Oh my God, our son, Julie, what’s happened?”

  They looked up, and a man was coming toward them, followed by one of the trauma center nurses. The man was holding onto a woman who looked maybe ten years younger than he. He was of medium height and had a narrow, rangy build. Dave took one look at him and recognized where Bryson had gotten many of his features. It had to be Ted.

  He was weeping uncontrollably; the young woman with him seemed to be almost carrying him at times. Julie watched him coming with an unchanged expression. As he neared the table, Dave got up and scooted a chair over from a nearby table. Ted collapsed into it, holding his face in his hands.

  “His cell phone was turned off,” the young woman said. “We came here as soon as he got the message.”

  “Ted, get ahold of yourself,” Julie said. As Dave watched, she seemed to stiffen, almost to grow. “He’s gone, Ted. I’m sorry. But we’ve got to deal with it.” She was becoming more collected as her ex-husband continued falling to pieces.

  “I just can’t believe it,” Ted sobbed, shaking his head. “I just can’t. Bryson . . . Bryson . . .”

  Julie looked up at the young woman. “Have they taken you to see him, Kate?”

  She shook her head. “When we got here, Ted asked for you. He said he had to see you.”

  Julie closed her eyes with an expression that suggested she was trying to find some previously overlooked stash of patience. She turned to the trauma nurse. “Can you take him down to the morgue? I think that’s where the body is. He should see Bryson
at least once more.”

  The nurse nodded. She and Kate gathered Ted up by the arms and led him off, still sobbing and moaning.

  Julie watched them go for a few seconds, then turned back to Dave. “He hasn’t seen Bryson or talked to him on the phone for over a week.”

  Dave shook his head. “I’m sorry, Julie.”

  “I think I’m ready to get out of here,” she said. “I’m pretty sure I’ve signed everything there is to sign. I want to go home.”

  “You want me to call somebody to come over?”

  She looked at him, and her eyes were as steady as if she were taking an oath. “Not really. But I guess you should, for your sake.”

  They called one of the women in Julie’s Sunday school class and by the time Dave had driven her home, the other woman’s car was parked alongside the curb near Julie’s driveway. She got out and met them by the car, enfolding Julie in a hug that lasted quite a while. Dave could hear soft sobs and sniffs as the two women held each other and patted each other on the back. The other woman had a daughter Bryson’s age and a couple of older kids, Julie had told him.

  Dave promised Julie he’d bring her car back from the hospital parking lot. He saw the two women inside and was turning to leave when Julie called his name. He turned around and she came to him, gathering him close. He could feel her tears moistening his neck.

  “Thank you so much,” she said in a near-whisper. “I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t come.”

  “Ain’t no thing, sister,” he said, trying to smile. “Anytime, day or night.”

  She nodded and released him.

  Driving home, Dave felt the loss crashing in on him again. He kept replaying scenes of Bryson in his head: swimming, sending wild pitches in from right field, taking his cuts at the plate and connecting with the ball, sitting across from Dave at Gino’s, the day of the meet. It made no sense; it was so random it made Dave angry at God. He tried to pray away the bad feelings, but they wouldn’t go. About the best he could do was a half-hearted apology to the Almighty for his ambivalence, followed by a weak promise to get back in touch later.

  He got to his street and pressed the garage remote. The door ratcheted up and Dave realized the garage was empty. Clarice’s Accord was gone.

  Clarice. Dave hadn’t given her a thought since pulling into the hospital parking lot. Was she really gone, or was she just out somewhere, driving around until she cooled off? Right now, he was too emotionally drained to care. He drove the pickup in on his side of the garage, switched off the engine, and pushed the button to close the garage door.

  He walked into the house, half expecting to see a handwritten note on the counter explaining Clarice’s absence, but there was nothing. The TV was off and the house was dark.

  He walked through the living room and entered the bedroom, which was also dark. Dave reached for the wall switch and when the light came on, it revealed signs of recent frantic activity on Clarice’s side of the room: some of her dresser drawers were open, while others, though closed, had clothing hanging out of them; her closet door was open and Dave could see the empty spaces where dresses, skirts, and blouses had once hung. He went into the bathroom and saw that her vanity area was almost devoid of cosmetics.

  So she really was gone.

  Dave searched around inside himself for feelings of remorse. He came up mostly dry. He replayed their confrontation just before his leaving and remembered his unbelieving anger; how could she be so callous toward Julie’s grief as to put her own anxieties at the front of the line?

  He looked at his watch. It was nearly one in the morning; he’d been gone nearly three hours. Plenty of time for her to pack her suitcases and go . . . where? Dave didn’t know, and right at that moment, he didn’t care.

  He thought about Brock. Should he call and inform him about Bryson? Dave decided to let Brock sleep. And besides, Julie could tell him, in her own way and her own time. Dave just didn’t have the strength right now to talk about it with anyone.

  He undressed and fell into bed. Dave closed his eyes and tried to empty his mind. He hoped he could get at least a little sleep. Maybe then, in the morning, he’d start figuring out what to do about . . . everything.

  Chapter Nineteen

  When David walked out, Clarice stood in the same spot without moving for probably five minutes. Her mind was a blur. Everything was shouting at her at once: Bryson’s shocking death, the agony Julie must be feeling, David’s anger, the searing pain he was experiencing, her own fear, and closely allied to it, her indignation. She felt like someone standing in a room with a hundred leaks in the roof; which one do you tend to first?

  None of them, she decided finally. You just walk out of the room.

  She made herself move toward the bedroom, made herself start packing. She watched her hands and arms getting down her suitcase and overnight bag. They seemed like the arms of a stranger—or maybe a puppet. It was almost as if she’d lost all feeling, all sensation. But somewhere down in the well of her mind, she was determined to do what she’d decided to do. She grabbed clothes out of the drawers, not paying much attention to what she was packing. A part of her mind hoped that somewhere in the tangled heap she had shoved into her suitcase were enough necessary articles to clothe herself for work. Where was she going? She wasn’t sure. Just out of here. For tonight, she could get a hotel room somewhere. Tomorrow she might see about something more permanent.

  She scooped an armload of underwear into her suitcase, then carried her overnight bag into the bathroom and raked most of her makeup, creams, and perfumes off the counter. She went to the closet and started grabbing hangers.

  Clarice carried everything to her car and dumped it in the backseat. She thumbed her remote to open the garage door and started the engine as she waited for the door to open.

  As it rose, she realized she was holding on to the faint hope that David’s pickup would still be there, maybe idling in the driveway as he pondered his decision. But it wasn’t there. He had gone to be with Julie, and that was that, and it was up to Clarice to decide what she was going to do in response. Well, she’d told him. She’d given him every chance to reconsider, and he’d still gone out the door, and she was going ahead with what she’d settled in her mind.

  Clarice backed out of the driveway and closed the garage door behind her. She pulled into the street, took a last long look at her house, and drove away.

  For a while, she wasn’t really conscious of where she was going. It was sometime between ten thirty and eleven, so the traffic in the neighborhood was somewhere between light and nonexistent. She coasted along, stopping at the stop signs and red lights, thinking of everything at once and nothing in particular, just trying to sort out what to do next, whom to call, what to say.

  Should she call Carmen? Pastor Wilkes? She even thought about trying to reach Michelle, but she quickly shied away from that. Most likely, Michelle would sense something was wrong the minute Clarice walked into her office; she seemed to have some kind of radar. And once that happened, Clarice would wind up telling her pretty much whatever she wanted to know. It was strange. Michelle was younger and actually worked for Clarice, but there were times when Clarice felt as if Michelle was senior to her, as if she were some kind of older sister. Michelle was a more experienced guide, helping her navigate in places where the currents were shifting and uncertain.

  Uncertain was definitely the word right now. Though Clarice had been able to keep her cool when she was presenting her ultimatum to David, she felt anything but calm and in control at this moment.

  Though she tried to resist the impulse, Clarice found herself remembering Mama’s advice: “You got to take care of yourself in this life, ’cause nobody else gonna do it for you. The more you depend on you, the better off you gonna be.” She hated to admit it, but Mama might be right after all. She probably ought to call Mama and let her know what was going on. But not tonight.

  Clarice realized she was getting close to the freeway. She s
aw the sign for a hotel that had interior doors and was reasonably priced. She pulled in beneath the covered parking and went into the lobby.

  The clerk on duty was a bored-looking girl with multiple facial piercings. “Help you, ma’am?” she said in a flat voice.

  They had a single nonsmoking room left, the girl told Clarice, but it was a king-size bed in a room with a whirlpool tub. “The rate’s a hundred and ten dollars, plus tax,” she said.

  Clarice thought about objecting, but she really didn’t have the strength. She slid her credit card across the faux marble counter.

  She parked and wrangled her luggage out of the car, through the glass doors, and into the lobby, then found the elevators. She pressed the up button and waited.

  For a few seconds she permitted herself to wonder where David was and what he might be doing. A small part of her mind made the timid suggestion that she’d perhaps been a bit hasty about her decision to leave the house, that maybe David really was the person whom Julie most needed in her hour of crisis. Shouldn’t she at least consider going back home and trying to talk through the situation as Carmen had outlined at their last counseling session?

  Then the elevator dinged and the door slid open. She’d already paid for the room, after all, and maybe a night away was what she needed to clear her mind and decide what to do next. She stepped inside, hauling her suitcase in behind her, and the silver brushed-aluminum doors slid shut.

  She found her third-floor room and finally managed to get the card key to work. The LED on the latch switched from red to green and the lock snicked back. Clarice turned the handle, leaned against the door, and half stumbled into her room.

  She ran the tub full of the hottest water she could stand and slipped out of her clothes, dropping them in a heap on the tile floor of the bathroom. She submerged herself gingerly in the steaming bath until her face was the only part of her above the surface. She was hoping the heat and steam would iron out the kinks and tangles in her mind and body, allowing her to sleep. Clarice longed deeply for the sanctuary of unconsciousness—just for a few hours. In the morning she’d resume the obstacle course of her life. But tonight all she wanted was to switch off her mind and sink into oblivion.