Rain Storm

by Vanessa Miller

  ***

  At home Keith prayed and fasted, fasted and prayed for Cynda. It drained him to see her. Her life was full of so much pain that he didn’t know how to help her heal. But he knew the One who could heal her. It was his job to pray and ask the Father to have mercy and deliver her. “Show her Your great love, Father.”

  25

  “He raped me. Okay. Are you happy now?” Cynda barked at Dr. Philmon.

  “Why does it still hurt so much?” Dr. Philmon asked.

  Her eyes turned cartwheels. “Duh. Because eight-year-olds aren’t supposed to have sex. They’re not supposed to know that life hurts.”

  “What are eight-year-old little girls supposed to do?”

  Cynda closed her eyes. She blocked out Dr. Philmon’s mahogany desk and the uncomfortable wooden chair she was sitting in and drifted.

  Dr. Philmon persisted, “What are eight-year-old girls supposed to do, Cynda?”

  “They’re supposed to have tea parties with their friends, play hop scotch, and double-dutch. They’re supposed to have fun at the park. They’re supposed to have a mommy who’ll protect them.”

  “Did you do any of those things when you were eight?”

  “No!” she screamed. “The kids didn’t want to play with the child of a whore. And my mother was too busy whoring to protect me.”

  “What happened when you were nine? Did things change?”

  Her chin quivered as tears cascaded down her face. “When I turned nine my mother’s pimp raped me again. He said it was my present for being such a big girl.”

  “What did your mother do about it?”

  A bitter laugh escaped Cynda’s lips. “Nothing. She didn’t care about me. She loved that pedophile enough to let him have her only child. Then she let him kill her.”

  “Do you miss your mother?”

  “Nope. I hate her,” she said matter-of-factly. “If she was still alive, I probably would have killed her myself by now.”

  Dr. Philmon opened his mouth to ask another question.

  Cynda raised her hand, halting him. “Look, can we talk about something else. My mother is a non-issue. I hate her, but she’s dead – move on.”

  He took a moment to write in his note pad. When he looked back at Cynda he asked, “Should we talk about your husband or your daughter?”

  “Leave my daughter out of this too – I ruined her life just as much as my mother ruined mine. She’s in therapy now herself, did I tell you that?”

  “No, you didn’t. But it’s probably a good idea to have her see someone. How does that make you feel?”

  Rubbing her hands on her pants leg, she said, “Like I want to get high. Just get so buzzed that I don’t care how bad I’ve messed her life up.”

  “Do you think you’ll do that when you get released?”

  “To tell you the truth, doc, I don’t know.”

  During their next session, Dr. Philmon tried to pull more information out of Cynda. She wasn’t as talkative this time, so he asked, “What bothering you today?”

  “I’ve got some things on my mind, doc,” Cynda sighed.

  “Would you like to share?”

  “Just been thinking about all the stuff I’ve done to Keith.”

  He looked at his notes. “Keith is your husband, right?”

  “Don’t ask me why, but yes, he is.” Cynda shook her head. “I never lied to him. He knew exactly who I was when he married me. But sometimes I feel like he drew the short straw, you know what I mean?”

  “Does he feel that way?”

  Cynda rolled her eyes. “Keith is not normal. He’s got to feel like God and Satan are playing head games with him, but he rarely acts as if he regrets marrying me.”

  Jotting in his note pad, Dr. Philmon said, “Maybe he doesn’t.”

  “He will doc, believe me. He will.”

  ***

  The week that Cynda was to be released, Keith sat with her in the visiting room and asked, “So are you excited about coming home? Sleeping in your own bed?”

  She put her hands in her lap and twisted her gold wedding band. “I might as well tell you now.”

  Keith smiled. “Tell me what?”

  Without hesitation she broke his heart in two. “I’m pregnant.”

  The smile faded and the wind gushed out of him as she continued, “So if you don’t want me to come home with you, I’ll understand.”

  He was too numb to speak. Too beaten down to get right back up.

  “Before you ask, I’m three months pregnant so I conceived since we were married. And we both know there’s no chance of you being the father.” When Keith still didn’t respond she asked, “You want me to have an abortion or what?”

  Snapping out of his numb state he asked, “What kind of monster do you think I am?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think you’re a monster. You’re good; too good for me that’s for sure.”

  “Then how could you ask if I want you to abort our baby?” It hurt him to use the word our in association with a baby that could have been fathered by any number of men. But he’d taken vows, married this woman and he would accept this baby.

  “First of all, this isn’t our baby. I have no idea who the father of this child is. And secondly, having an abortion is no big deal. I’ve had about three or four already. It’s a thirty-minute procedure, tops.”

  Keith looked to his heavenly Father and asked, is there anything this woman hasn’t done?

  No, my son, her sins are great.

  “We’re keeping our baby. And that’s final,” Keith said with authority.

  She rolled her eyes. “Whatever, man. I just don’t understand how you can say that this baby is yours?”

  “Because I married you. In doing that I accepted the fact that what you have is mine and what I have is yours.”

  When Keith left the rehab center, he got in his car and sat there without putting the key in the ignition, without putting his seat belt on. He cried for Cynda, for the life she’d led. Cried for himself. Because over a decade ago, before he knew the Lord, he’d actually escorted three different women to the abortion clinic and paid for them to have his children sucked out of their bodies. He hadn’t wanted to be tied down to women he didn’t love just because they had a child together. He had only confessed this sin to Nina. And she had lovingly told him about God forgiving murderers like Moses, and King David.

  Now he was tied to a woman who was carrying someone else’s baby. The pain she caused him was like being gutted. The ache was soul deep. How he wished God had chosen someone else. He put his head in his hands, ashamed of the fact that he didn’t want this burden. Didn’t think he could endure much more. He remembered reading a scripture that said, if you suffer with Jesus, you shall also reign with Him. How puffed up had he been when he told the Lord he would gladly suffer for him.

  “Take it away, Jesus,” Keith begged. “This is too much for me. I’m not as holy as you are.” He rocked in his seat. Blinding tears hindered his vision.

  Someone knocked on the window. “Hey buddy, you’re in a public parking area. Quit acting like a punk.”

  Another tap on the window. “Go home and do all that crying.”

  Another said, “Yeah, we visit our dope head relatives without falling apart. What’s his problem?”

  Keith wanted to get out of his car and beat them to a pulp; Show them how much of a man he was. But he didn’t feel very manly with this ache in his heart.

  He told his Lord, “This woman causes me to feel every emotion b-but love. I don’t suffer well, Father.” He lay on the front seat of his car and wailed. People passed by pointing and laughing at him, but he didn’t care. He had to get through to his Daddy. Had to let Him know how he was feeling. “This hurts.”

  I know it does, son. I feel that kind of pain everyday.

  Keith found a handkerchief and blew his nose. He allowed God’s words to sink into his spirit. And then he realized an immeasurable truth: God chooses to love us anew eve
ryday, even after we break His heart by doing our own thing and ignoring His will for our lives.

  For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son. That whosoever believeth on Him should not perish but have ever lasting life.

  Jesus became the ultimate sacrifice. That was God’s great love. “Strengthen me, Father. So that I might be able to do Your will.” And with that he put the key in the ignition and drove home to fast and pray some more.

  26

  “Have you lost weight?” Cynda asked when Keith picked her up from the rehab.

  “Maybe a little,” he answered.

  She hesitated. “You came to take me home? Even with the baby?”

  He reached out a hand and took her bag. “Let’s go, lady.”

  Cynda put her arm in his. “Well, when I get you home I’m going to fatten you up. I have a few recipes that my grammy taught me. You’ll be back to your normal weight in no time.”

  He smiled.

  When they arrived home, Cynda went to their bedroom and started unpacking the clothes she brought from rehab; conservative, non-street walking clothes. However, the last item in her suitcase was the brown leather mini-skirt she wore the day she checked into the rehab. She lifted it out of her suitcase, studied it and frowned. She couldn’t fit this thing the day she had it on. And with the ten pounds she put on with her pregnancy, there was no way she was getting in it again. But would she want to wear something as itsy bitsy as this butt-cheek-showing skirt if she could still fit it?

  Keith walked in and she showed the skirt to him. “What do you think? Keep it, or trash it?”

  He laughed. “Oh, I get a choice?”

  “Yeah. Would you want me walking down the street with you in this skirt? Yes or no?”

  Twisting his lip he answered as honestly as he could, “No. Sorry, I just don’t like it.”

  She threw the skirt on the floor. “I don’t like it either. It’s going in the trash.”

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her out of their bedroom. “I’ve got something to show you.” He opened the door to the guest bedroom next to their room.

  Cynda walked in and immediately turned to Keith with an open mouth. In astonishment she asked, “How… I mean, why would you do this?”

  The guest bed had been taken out of the room. In its place was a solid oak crib. A changing table sat against the wall next to the bed. A rocking chair was in the middle of the room.

  Keith said, “I figure we’ll paint the room once we know if it will be a girl or boy.”

  Cynda turned and ran out of the room.

  Keith caught up with her in the hall. He made her face him. “What’s wrong?”

  She yelled at him. “Why are you so good to me? Why don’t you just treat me how I deserve to be treated?”

  He brushed back her hair as he placed a gentle kiss on her neck. “God didn’t do that to me, Cynda. He loved me even when I did things He didn’t condone.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “Is that what you’re doing, being like God again?”

  “I am called to be Christ-like. So, yeah, I guess that is what I’m doing again.”

  She couldn’t take it anymore. There was no way she could be with a man like Keith. She was going to the devil and he was ascending to that holy place her grandmother used to talk about. All that lip service about how opposites attract was bull. Opposites repelled, they grated on each others nerves until one of them bought a gun. News at eleven. “Get away from me, Keith.” She was shaking as she screamed. “I can’t stand being around you.”

  He backed up, lifted a hand to halt her tirade. “Calm down. I have a couple things to finish up in the baby’s room. I’ll just work on that and we can talk later.”

  She watched him go into the baby’s room. Why would he make a baby’s room? She thought. This isn’t his baby. She put her hands to her head. She could feel the onslaught of a killer headache. Get away from him.

  Yes, that’s what she needed to do. She grabbed his car keys off the kitchen counter and got in his truck and took off. She had no idea where she was going, and as usual, she wasn’t much of a planner. She left her purse behind – not that she had any money in it – and she only had a half tank of gas.

  The only friend she had in this town was Jasmine. But she was clean now and Jasmine wasn’t. Dr. Philmon told the group that they had to stay away from the places they used to haunt if they wanted to stay clean. But where else could she go? Certainly not back to that Good Samaritan husband of hers. She would just tell Jasmine the deal up front. No more drugs, but she needed a place to crash for a couple of weeks while she figured out what she would do with her life. She didn’t want to go back to tricking, but in reality, that was all she was ever good at.

  Cynda pulled up in front of Jasmine’s place. The door was ajar at Jasmine’s place. Loud rap music blared from the house. That Jasmine was always partying. Probably had a house full of people in there – every last one of them high as a kite. Not a one of them had the good sense to close a door. Cynda clung to the steering wheel. The last time she visited Jasmine she had to sell her goods to keep from getting raped.

  ***

  Keith sat in his kitchen listening to the drip, drip, dripping of the faucet and decided that he’d had enough. How much could one man take? He’d let her stay when he caught her selling her body – in his house. He’d gone to get her after she let someone tear his house up – found her on drugs and selling her body again. Accepted the baby she was carrying. Looking to heaven, Keith reminded God – that was not his.

  To thank him, she ran away again. But this time she stole his car. Well, he’d get his car back, but if she was out whoring again, she could stay on the corner of her choice – he was done.

  He picked up the phone and called officer Darryl. “Hey man, how’s it going?” Keith said into the phone receiver.

  Officer Darryl said, “Things are good. What’s up with you?”

  “Look man, I’m not going to play games with you. Cynda just stole my car. I was hoping you could help me get it back.”

  “That blue Ford Ranger you drive to church?”

  “It’s the only car I have right now.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  ***

  Cynda sat in the truck for an hour waiting on some of the crowd to leave. But no one had gone in or come out of Jasmine’s since she had pulled up. Maybe they had gotten so zooted out that they’d fallen asleep. Right now, sleep sounded like a real good idea. For the last month the baby had been making her drowsy, needing naps in the afternoon and evening. That was another thing; if she wasn’t going to stay with Keith, she’d have to figure out what she was going to do with this baby.

  She’d think about that tomorrow – after a good nights sleep. She decided to just go ahead and get out of the truck and go into Jasmine’s house. Go Head by Gucci Man was blaring through the house as she entered. A pizza box with half eaten pepperoni and ham pizza lay open on the table. Cans of Miller Lite, Budweiser, and several forty-ounces were strewn across the dirty hardwood floor. A dark skinned, scraggly haired man was passed out on the couch. A white woman with blonde hair lay on the floor next to the couch – comatose.

  “Jasmine!” Cynda yelled for her friend several times.

  When she didn’t get an answer, she stepped over a KFC box and two bottles of beer to get to the stereo and shut Gucci Man up. “Jasmine!” she called again as she headed up the stairs. Beer bottles and a couple of McDonald’s bags lined the stairway. Jasmine needed her butt kicked for letting people destroy her place like this. “Girl, where you at?” she asked as she pushed open her friend’s bedroom door.

  And that’s when the wave of terror she’d only felt one other time in her life hit her. Somebody had done more than kick Jasmine’s butt. They’d cut up her face and slit her throat. The cut line ran in between the flaps of fat around her neck. The blood on her body was her only covering.

  Cynda backed into the corner across from Jasmine’s be
d. She opened her mouth, but she couldn’t scream. She crouched on the floor, wrapped her arms around her legs and kept her mouth open, waiting for her vocal cords to work.

  ***

  “We found your truck, man,” Darryl said when Keith picked up the phone. He gave Keith the address, and then added. “You might want to bring Cynda’s lawyer with you.”

  Keith was tempted not to call Jim. He wanted to just go get his truck and let Cynda dig her way out of whatever she’d gotten into the best way she could. But no matter how much Keith lamented the fact, that woman was still his wife.

  When Jim picked him up, Keith couldn’t look him in the eye. He’d endured a lifetime share of humiliation and didn’t have strength for another blow. He’d asked for paradise, but God had given him swampland. He was tired of trying to swim through the muck and mire.

  “Are you coming in?” Jim asked as he opened his car door and stepped out.

  “No. Just ask Darryl to bring my keys so I can go back home,” Keith said as he watched a police car pull up next to the ambulance as if the three police cars already there weren’t enough. What had Cynda done now?

  Nope, he wouldn’t go there. Wouldn’t ask questions – this was no longer any of his business. She proved to him today that she wanted nothing to do with him. So, he would stay out of her business.

  Jim walked into the house as two medics came out carrying a body bag. “What? Do body bags follow this woman around?” Jim said under his breath.

  Keith put his hand on the door as two more medics appeared with another body bag. Bile rose in Keith’s throat as he went back twenty years – standing outside watching his mother’s body being carried out of one of the rooms of a run down motel. Keith remembered asking the paramedics. “What happened?”

  “Another whore got her throat slashed,” the pimply faced medic told him.

  But that whore had been Keith’s mother. “Lord, please tell me Cynda is not in one of those bags,” he pleaded as he got out of the car and ran to the door. What was going on here? Why hadn’t Darryl said more than, “bring Cynda’s lawyer with you.” Had she killed someone and then died herself?