Not Easily Broken

by T. D. Jakes

  He put her in the car with her parents and brother and walked to his pickup. How could she know that what she’d just said was like food to his soul? She needed him. How could he keep himself from responding?

  Some people from church came over; a few of the women from the Sunday school class were in the kitchen when Dave got there. They peeled back foil covers and found serving spoons and plates as they bustled around the kitchen and spoke to each other in low, efficient voices. Full plates were brought into the den, where Julie and her family sat, stared at the floor, and tried every now and then to make a little talk around what Dave knew had to be gaping holes in their hearts.

  He sat with them and listened to their stories about Bryson. The funny things he’d said when he was a baby; how soon he learned to walk; the way Julie could hardly keep him out of the bathtub from the time he was old enough to crawl. She said the sound of water running in the tub was enough to make him drop whatever he was doing—watching Barney, playing with his favorite toy, whatever—and come scooting into the bathroom as fast as his hands and knees could take him. “The only time he ever bit me was when I was trying to get him out of the tub and dry him off,” she said, chuckling a little. The smile on her face was barely a memory of what Dave remembered, but it was still good to see.

  When the ladies from the church had served everyone and made a couple of unsuccessful attempts to bring seconds or dessert, they packed up the rest of the food and somehow managed to shuffle it all into the fridge or freezer. They came and hugged everyone, then left.

  “I want to go look at his grave,” Julie said during the next lapse in the conversation. “Dave, will you take me out there?”

  “Honey, you sure about that?” her dad said.

  “Yes, Daddy. You and Mom don’t have to come. Dave’ll take me.” She looked at Dave again, and her expression didn’t carry a question—it was more of a command. Dave looked in her eyes and saw he had no choice.

  “Sure. We’ll be right back, folks.”

  He held the door for her as they went out.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Turn here,” Julie said when they’d gone to the end of her block. “That way.”

  “But the cemetery’s—”

  “I know. I was just saying that to get out of there. I’ve got to have some space; I was about to have a meltdown.”

  “Whatever you say. I’ll just drive till you say whoa.”

  “Thanks.”

  Dave cruised aimlessly up and down the streets of Julie’s neighborhood. It was one of the original “nice” neighborhoods in town, with lots of established old trees and houses. The homes were set well back from the street at the ends of curving sidewalks that might have been edged using barbers’ scissors. The sun was starting to set and there was a nice, calming orange glow settling down over everything. Dave let the pickup ease along at little more than an idle. Now and then he’d cut his eyes toward Julie. She sat with her arms lying limp in the seat on either side of her, like a life-size rag doll somebody had propped up to look like a passenger. Her eyes stared dead ahead.

  “You want to talk?” he said after they’d been driving for maybe ten minutes. She shook her head.

  “How about something to drink?”

  She was still for so long that Dave assumed the answer was no. Then she said, “How about something from Billy Bean’s?”

  Billy Bean’s was a place that served fresh-ground imported coffees with enough syrups and special flavorings to justify charging as much for a cup of java as Dave usually paid for lunch. “Sure,” he said.

  They got to the place; for some reason, there weren’t too many cars in the parking lot. When they got to the counter, Julie ordered a decaf mocha latté and told Dave she’d go get them a place to sit. Dave ordered a diet soft drink, paid when their order was ready, and turned around to look for Julie.

  Billy Bean’s was walled off into lots of nooks and crannies that were wonderful for promoting cozy, private discussions but lousy for finding somebody you were looking for, especially with the dim mood lighting they used in the evening. Dave finally located her, though, leaning into the corner of a nook that was completely filled by a round booth and table. She had her eyes closed. She reminded Dave of those pictures on the sports channel of people who’ve just finished a marathon. She had that same used-up, fragile appearance.

  “Here you go,” he said, sliding into the booth and scooting her drink toward her. She gingerly touched her lips to the surface of the steaming cup and took a quiet sip.

  She looked at his cup. “You didn’t get coffee?”

  “Never acquired the taste. My grandmother used to tell me it’d turn my toes white. Scared me plumb off.”

  She gave him a tired little smile.

  “Second smile today. Pretty good,” he said.

  “I’m scared, Dave.”

  He looked at her curiously.

  “I’m scared of the way the house will sound when everybody’s gone and it’s just me there. I’m scared of what I’ll do when I go to wake Bryson up for school and remember why he’s not in his room. I feel like I’m about ready to fly apart into a million pieces, and there won’t be any finding them all, much less putting them back together again.”

  She looked at him, and he could see the fear she was talking about. It was naked on her face, as open and unadorned as a child afraid of a thunderstorm.

  “Hey,” he said, scooting closer to her. He put an arm around her and she leaned into him, shuddering with dry sobs.

  “I told you, you not gon’ have to do this alone,” he said. “Somebody gon’ be there when you need them.”

  “Will you?” she said, her voice muffled by his shirt.

  “Sure, sometimes. You know I will. And the ladies from your Sunday school class—”

  “You’re my connection with Bryson,” she said. “You saw him closer to the way I do than anybody else on this earth. Even his own father. I need you, Dave. I really do.”

  She was saying it again, and the words were stirring up all kinds of feelings Dave didn’t know how to name. He didn’t trust himself to speak, so he didn’t. He just held her and patted her arm and tried to think of a way to keep from going down a path he knew he’d probably regret. What he was having trouble figuring out was how to do that without causing further damage to this woman who was as close to the edge as anybody he’d ever seen.

  They sat that way for a while, until Julie said, “Okay, I’m ready to go now.”

  She hadn’t touched her mocha latté other than that first tentative sip. “You want to bring this?” Dave said, pointing to it. She shook her head.

  They scooted out of the booth and walked to his pickup. He opened the door for her and walked around. When he got in, he realized she had scooted over on the seat so that she was sitting close to him. Very close.

  She watched him start the engine and studied the side of his face as he backed out of the parking space. He pulled into the street. Dave wouldn’t look at her; he didn’t trust himself that much.

  “Do you think Bryson can see us right now?” she asked him.

  “I don’t know. I guess so. I think my grandmother’s up there somewhere, too, watching out for me. So, sure, I guess he is.”

  “I think so, too. When he was a baby and he’d get croup, I’d always take him outside. The doctor told me the best thing for croup was moist air, so I’d walk outside with him and he’d look up at the stars and point.”

  She turned toward him; she was so close Dave could smell the hint of mocha on her breath. “Drive out to the hills above the airport, okay? The lights from town aren’t very bright out there; I want to look up at the stars.”

  They drove out past the edge of town, then Dave turned aside from the highway onto one of the narrow blacktop roads that wound up into the foothills just south of the city. There was a place he knew on this road where you could pull up close to a spot where part of the slope had broken away, leaving an unobstructed view of the skyli
ne. He tried to ignore the stab of guilt he felt; he used to bring Clarice up here when they were dating.

  He parked the pickup and Julie got out. She walked around to the back and climbed up into the bed of the pickup. “Oh, good, you’ve got one of those rubber bed liners,” she said. “Much more comfortable than metal.” She slid the baseball practice bag over and used it as a kind of lumpy pillow. She settled herself and stared up at the night sky.

  Dave stood beside the pickup and looked out over the city, trying to figure out how he was going to bring this episode to a graceful close.

  “Hey, turn on some music, okay?” Julie said.

  There was something about her voice that was worrying Dave—but in a good way. She sounded like she was talking further back in her throat, somehow . . . deeper, maybe. It was doing things to him he had to try not to think about.

  He punched the power on the radio and soon they could hear the sounds of the Motown oldies station he usually listened to. Gladys Knight and The Pips were shuffling their way through “Midnight Train to Georgia.” When that one faded, the Temptations started singing about Papa being a rolling stone.

  “Come back here with me, okay?” she said.

  “What’s the matter, can’t you find any stars?” Dave said. He tried to make it sound like a joke.

  “Yeah. Not the ones I’m looking for. Come on, Dave. Just this once, all right?”

  Boy, you know better than this, you know better, you know better . . .

  This was what ran through his mind as he climbed into the pickup bed and sat on the driver’s side wheel well.

  “No, come down here,” she said. “You can’t see what I’m talking about from up there.”

  “What do you mean? I can see just as much from here as you—”

  He’d turned around to look at the starry panorama, so the first hint he had she was coming was when he felt her hands on the front of his shirt. She dug in for a good grip so she could pull his face around and cover his mouth with hers. She pulled him down into the truck bed and Dave knew he could and should have resisted, but . . . her mouth was there and her tongue was soft and somehow, whatever the reasons had been that had made him so nervous earlier, they were fading away, blown by the warm night air along with the chorus from the Temptations.

  “I just want to feel something besides hurt, just for a few minutes,” she whispered into his ear. “Just give me that, Dave. Please, just for a few minutes.”

  Their hands were slipping effortlessly under each other’s clothing. Dave’s heart was pounding so hard his lungs could barely keep up. Julie’s breath was hot and sweet on his face, his neck, his chest.

  The Temptations dissolved into an instrumental lead-in that sounded vaguely familiar to Dave, even though his pulse was just about drowning out every other sound except Julie’s breathing. And then, Lionel Richie started singing about the times his lady had given him, about the memories and coming to the end of a rainbow.

  Dave pulled away from her and sat up.

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  He turned away and rubbed his face.

  What are you doing, man? To her, to Clarice, to yourself?

  He hauled himself over the side of the pickup. “I got to take you home, Julie. I’m sorry. I just can’t do this.”

  She sat up and held her face in her hands. “I’m sorry, Dave. I—”

  “No. It wasn’t just you. I knew better, too. This isn’t what you want, Julie. Not really. It’s not what either of us wants. And if Bryson was looking down on us right now, I can’t believe he’d be happy with seeing two people he loves and used to respect doing something they both know will end up hurting other people.”

  He heard her weeping softly into her hands. He kept his feet on the ground and reached over to grip her shoulder. “There’ll be a time, Julie. Believe it. There will be a time. But not here. Not like this. And . . . not with me.”

  She wiped her face with the palms of her hands. She looked at him. “You’re a good man, Dave. I hope Clarice figures out what she’s got.”

  “Well, I don’t know about any of that,” he said. “But I just learned I’ve got to find out.”

  He drove her back to the house, sticking to the main streets. He walked her to the door. “This still doesn’t mean you have to go through this alone,” he said. “We can make sure of that.”

  “Thanks,” she said, giving him a blurred smile. “I know. And I’ll call . . . somebody. I will. I’m going to make it, somehow.”

  “There you go. Sister talkin’ some sense now.” He smiled at her. “You better go on. Your mama and daddy might be getting worried about you.”

  She nodded. She gave him a little wave and went into the house, closing the door firmly behind her.

  Dave got in his pickup. For a few seconds, he leaned his head against the headrest and closed his eyes. He pulled in a deep breath and let it go. Then he backed out of the driveway and headed his pickup for home.

  He pulled into the driveway. He started to reach for the garage door opener, but picked up his cell phone instead. He punched a number on the speed dial and waited.

  “Hello?”

  “Reesie. It’s me.”

  “David?”

  “Yeah. We gotta talk. When can we get together?”

  “Well, why don’t you come on in the house? I’ve been waiting for you.”

  They sat on the couch and talked until well after midnight. Some of it wasn’t easy. Clarice told Dave she still wasn’t ready to talk about having children, and that if he wanted to keep her trust, he had to be accountable—not only to her, but to a male friend like Brock—for keeping his heart safe from longing for another woman. And Dave told Clarice that he felt just as strongly about his values of helping others, mentoring kids, and providing jobs for people with low skills as she did about becoming a top real estate agent and agency manager.

  They talked until they were both too tired to organize their thoughts in straight lines. And they still weren’t anywhere near a place where Dave felt affectionate toward Clarice; judging by her body language, the same was true for her. But for once, Dave came away from a conversation with his wife without feeling he had a bunch of old, sour-smelling cloth stuffed under his shirt. He’d been able to say everything he had on his mind without shouting or making demands, and he really had the sense Clarice was listening to him. A couple of times he thought she was going to jump in, but somehow, she managed to keep her cool and hear him out. And that felt good.

  “When can we see Carmen again?” he said as they were getting ready for bed.

  “I’ve already—that is, I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve already set up an appointment for next Tuesday at five.”

  “Ought to work,” he said. He climbed in on his side of the bed, and she climbed in on hers, and they both switched off their lights.

  Lying in the dark of their bedroom, Clarice thought about everything that had happened that day. Carmen had given her a surprised look when Clarice asked about Ecclesiastes. In some small part of herself, Clarice felt glad she’d finally said something her counselor could be surprised about. When Carmen asked for an explanation, Clarice told her about her experience in the hotel room and its strange coincidental repetition at the funeral.

  Carmen laughed out loud—actually laughed out loud!—and mumbled something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like “Praise the Lord.” She asked Clarice if she really wanted to try and keep her marriage together, despite what seemed to be highly inappropriate behavior demonstrated by her husband. Clarice said yes, the conviction was growing in her that she did.

  “Then you’re going to have to begin practicing a skill at home that you’ve obviously honed to a high level at work.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Listening. Think about it. What sets you apart from the other agents, I’d be willing to bet, is that you pick up on buying cues from your prospects that others miss. Is that about right?”

  Clarice nodded.<
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  “Well, why is it that when you get home and your husband tries to tell you something, you turn off those same receivers that are obviously working so well for you at the office?”

  Clarice hadn’t ever thought about it that way.

  “I see it all the time,” Carmen said. “My word, I even see it with my fellow counselors. I had one of them in here the other day because his wife told him if he didn’t get some help in learning to communicate with her, his next communication from her was going to be on an attorney’s letterhead.

  “What you’ve got to remember, Clarice, is that what’s obvious to you is far from obvious to Dave. And vice versa. It doesn’t make either one of you smarter than the other, it just means you’re two different people. And the hardest thing for two people to do—especially two people who live together—is shut up their internal voices long enough to really hear what the other person is saying.”

  Carmen had a lot of other things to say to her, some of which Clarice didn’t want to hear. She couldn’t assume, for example, that what was important to her was just as important to Dave. And nothing shut down communication quicker than one of the partners becoming reactive or defensive. And if you really want someone to love you, you have to give them the choice. “Slaves make lousy lovers,” was how Carmen put it. “Even God doesn’t force you to love him.”

  Clarice’s head was spinning when she drove away from Carmen’s office. She went back to Michelle’s house, but nobody was home when she got there. For a few minutes, she sat on the bed in the guest room she was using, just trying to figure out what to do next. She realized she wanted to go back to her own house. Dave would have to come home sooner or later, and when he did, she wanted to be there.

  Michelle came home as Clarice was putting the last few things in her suitcase; Clarice heard the front door shut and smiled.

  “What’s going on up in here?” Michelle said a few seconds later.

  Clarice turned around and saw Michelle standing there in the doorway with plastic grocery bags hanging from either hand.