by Neta Jackson
“Hey, man,” I heard Denny say. “What’s with the double eye patches? You’re taking this pirate thing too far.”
Bad joke, Denny. But I grabbed Nony’s arm. “What’s happening, Nony? Why does Mark have both eyes patched? I thought . . .”
She sighed. “I’m sorry, Jodi. I should have called somebody, let Yada Yada know. Asked you to pray. But it’s just so . . . crazy sometimes.”
“But what happened? ”
She set the plastic bowl in the center of the square wooden table in the kitchen and got out five stoneware plates. Her usually sculpted hair was hidden beneath a black silk head wrap, matching a pair of wide-legged, silky black pants. “Mark’s doctor referred him to an eye specialist at the University of Illinois. I took him today; we were down there almost four hours.” Her lip trembled. “They did a dozen different tests, but . . . the ophthalmologist doubts that they can save his left eye. He has major retinal detachment and . . . lots of hemorrhage from the beating. They did some laser staples today—oh, Jodi. It was so painful. I could hardly bear to watch.”
I took the flatware from her hand and set the table. “But why are both eyes bandaged? I thought the right one—”
“It’s all right. But the doctor bandaged both eyes to keep the left one totally still. He’s supposed to stay immobile for the next five days, which on top of everything else . . .” Her voice broke.
“Oh, Nony.” I wrapped her in a hug and let her cry for a few minutes.
She sniffed, grabbed a tissue, and wiped her face. “We’ll be all right. It’s hardest on Mark, because he’s more aware now. But he can’t see, and he’s not supposed to move.”
“Hard on you too.” I got glasses from the cupboard and filled them with ice and water from the dispenser in the door of the top of the-line refrigerator. “You end up having to be his eyes, his hands and feet, his link to the world. Right? ”
She looked at me gratefully. “Exactly.” The front door opened, and I heard Marcus and Michael tromp noisily into the house. “Oh, there’s Hoshi and the boys. She took them to the park.”
“That’s OK.We’ve really got to go. I’ve got hungry kids at home too. Oh.” I grimaced sheepishly. “I meant to bring some crusty bread to go with that salad, but . . . it’s a long story. Sorry.”
She took the cover off the bowl and smiled. “Looks fabulous. We’ll be fine.”
I stopped into the living room. Denny was leaning forward, elbows on his knees in a straight-back chair, talking to Mark. I gave Mark a hug. “Sorry to take Denny away, Mark. Did he tell you his good news? ”
“What good news? ” Mark’s speech was still slow, a little slurred.
Denny cut his eyes at me, then turned back to Mark. “Well, don’t know yet if it’s good news. Got offered the AD job at West Rogers High.Total surprise.”
Mark seemed to digest this. Then a grin slowly lit up his battered face. “Athletic director? ” He held out his hand, searching for Denny’s. The two men’s hands met in a street grip. “Awesome, man. Congrats.”
“JODI, PLEASE,” Denny said when we got back in the car. “Don’t tell a lot of people about this job offer yet, OK? I’m not sure what I’m going to do. I need to think about it. We need to pray about it.”
“I’m sorry.” Was I? I wanted to get on the phone and tell Yada Yada the good news. Tell my folks, tell Denny’s folks—yeah, the Senior Baxters would be happy. “About time,” his father would say. But I needed to respect Denny’s process. “Just . . . talk to me, Denny. Let me in on what you’re thinking, OK? ”
“I will.”
But he didn’t. Not much, anyway, for the next few days. “Wish I could talk to Mark,” he said. “I mean, really talk to him about it. I need a brother who can give me some advice. But I don’t know if he’s up for that kind of thing yet.”
That hurt.What was I? Chopped liver?
Wait a minute, Jodi. You’ve got a whole circle of sisters you talk to, talk with, pray with. Don’t deny that kind of input and support for Denny. OK. I decided not to be offended. “What about Peter Douglass? Or Pastor Clark? You’ll see both of them at the men’s breakfast on Saturday.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. Maybe so.”
The weekend rolled around. Third Saturday in July. Josh took off early, catching the el to Jesus People. JPUSA was refurbishing the emergency shelter the group managed for homeless women with children and needed all the volunteer help they could get. I dropped off Denny at Uptown so I could have the car, then called Ruth. In one way, it felt like a reckless thing to do.What if all that stuff I’d found on the Internet came popping out of my mouth? On the other hand, I really wanted to stay close to Ruth during this pregnancy. She was going to need all the support she could get.
“Ruth! It’s Jodi.What are you doing this morning? Can I take you out for coffee or something? ”
She groaned right in my ear. “Coffee, schmoffee. The smell still makes me want to puke. But you can take me shopping.Will Ben take me? No. He says to buy baby furniture is foolishness right now. So what, I said. Then he says—”
I laughed. “Shopping would be great, Ruth. I’ll pick you up at ten.”
SHOPPING FOR BABY FURNITURE with Ruth was dizzying. And exhausting.We started out at Lazar’s Juvenile Furniture on Lincoln Avenue, with a swing through Target’s collection, then ended up at Golf Mill Shopping Center, gawking at cribs, bassinettes, and car seats at J. C. Penney. At her command, a harried sales clerk took apart an amazing contraption that was a stroller, infant carrier, and car seat all in one and put it together again to show her how it worked; then rolled her eyes when Ruth didn’t buy. “Nudnik,” Ruth huffed as she propelled me to the next store. “We have to compare quality and prices at other stores, don’t we? ”
“Only the best for the new grandchild, right? ” gloated a greedy male clerk as we hunted for price tags on matching oak furniture.
Ruth nailed him with a look. “We want your opinion,we’ll ask.” Chastened, he backed up and tried to fade into the next display, the same furniture in cherry. “So. How much for just the crib? ” Ruth hollered after him.
I pulled Ruth toward the infant clothes. Onesies and booties would be safe.
“Do you know the sex of the baby? ” a young female clerk tried pleasantly as Ruth held up a blue outfit, then a pink outfit.
“What is this, an I.Q. test? ” Ruth shot back. “I’ll take one of each.”
This was getting ridiculous. “No, she won’t. Here.” I handed the clerk the same outfit in mint green. “Pay up, Ruth, then let’s find a place to sit down before your feet fall off.” Or mine.
We found the food court in the mall and gave in to the temptation of a magnificently huge, gooey cinnamon bun, which Ruth sawed in half with a plastic knife. Coffee for me,milk for Ruth. She blathered on about baby this and baby that, due near Christmas, wouldn’t that be fun—then suddenly she stopped in midchew.
“I have to find the restroom. Right now.”
She headed toward the sign for Women so fast I lost sight of her by the time I grabbed her bulgy purse and her purchases. “Ruth? ” I called to the row of stalls. “Are you OK? ”
No answer. Then a stall door swung open and Ruth came out, her eyes terrified, her face pale beneath the frowsy dark hair.
“Jodi. Drive me to the hospital. I’m . . . spotting.”
10
Should have called an ambulance. I didn’t have a clue where the closest hospital was! But Ruth said “Golf Road and Gross Pointe” through gritted teeth, so I headed that way and ended up at Rush North Shore Medical Center. Pulled right up to the emergency room entrance, ran in, and gasped, “Pregnant . . . bleeding . . . ” Two orderlies immediately ran out with a wheelchair. They seemed momentarily confused when they saw Ruth, but they gently lifted her out of the car, into the chair, and whisked her away.
I parked and called Ben. Then I called home and left a message on the answering machine, all the while praying, Oh God, Oh God, don’t let an
ything happen to Ruth or her baby. Ben showed up in twenty minutes, groused, “I’m the husband,” and they let him into the inner sanctum. I saw the intake nurse and the receptionist lift their eyebrows at each other, then follow him with their eyes as his white wavy hair and slight stoop disappeared beyond the double doors.
Yeah, well, guess it wasn’t every day a pregnant woman came in whose husband looked like he qualified for Social Security.
Ben came out half an hour later. “They’re going to keep her overnight for observation. She told me to tell you to go home.”
“But what about the baby? Did she . . . miscarry? ”
Ben shook his head, his face a big frown. As he turned away, I heard him mumble, “Better if she had. Better to lose the baby this way . . .”
I W0AS STILL STEAMING WHEN I GOT HOME.
“Ben Garfield makes me so mad, Denny. I mean, he practically said he wished Ruth would have a miscarriage! That is so . . . so . . .” I couldn’t think of a word terrible enough. Not one I dared say aloud, anyway. “That man is so selfish. Just doesn’t want to be bothered with a baby.”
Denny looked at me sideways.We were sitting on the back porch swing munching tuna sandwiches and washing them down with iced tea, while I tried to catch him up on what had happened that morning. “Take it easy on Ben, Jodi. Seems to me like you freaked a couple of weeks ago when I mentioned us having another kid.”
“That’s not fair.” I stuck out my lip. “We were talking hypothetical. Ben and Ruth have an actual muffin in the oven.”
Denny dropped it. We finished our sandwiches, idly pushing the swing back and forth. After a while, he said, “Wonder what Ben meant by ‘better to lose the baby this way’? ”
I didn’t have a clue. Come to think of it, it was a strange thing to say. I decided to change the subject. “You guys have a good time at the men’s breakfast? ”
“Yeah. Nobody showed up from New Morning, though. I was kind of disappointed, but as it turned out, it was for the best.”
“What do you mean? ”
Denny drained the last of his iced tea. “Well, Pastor Clark brought up the fact that we’ve maxed out our space at Uptown. Sometimes we even run out of chairs, and people have to stand.”
I snickered. “They’re the lucky ones. I really hope we don’t buy any more of those terrible folding chairs.”
“That option did come up.” Denny grinned. “But Pastor Clark said the real issue is whether it’s time to sell the building and buy a bigger space.”
“Whoa. Isn’t that something all the members should talk about? ”
“Don’t get bent out of shape, Jodi. The pastor just brought it up as something we should be praying about. Except . . .” His words retreated, as if having a private conversation in his head.
“Except what? ” I prompted.
“Oh. Except Peter Douglass was there, and he said there was another option, one that God had already been speaking to him about the past couple of months.”
I held my breath. Peter Douglass’s “suggestions” usually had the effect on you of being dangled over a roaring river from a high cliff. Either sink or fly.
“The option being to sell the current building and invest the money in New Morning—to finish off the remodeling of their new space, buy chairs and equipment, so that it can be used sooner.”
I blinked. “You mean . . .? ”
“Yeah. Merge the two churches. That’s what he meant.”
HAD TO ADMIT I WAS STUNNED. True, Peter Douglass had brought up the idea of a merger before, when Mark Smith had been attacked after that White Pride rally. He said the incident could drive us apart, or we could thwart the devil and let it bring us together. But sell our building and put all the money into New Morning? I couldn’t imagine the folks at Uptown agreeing to something that radical! I mean, that committed us big-time.With no escape hatch if things went south.
The idea stirred up both excitement and fear in my spirit. But I couldn’t think about it now; had to send an e-mail to Yada Yada about Ruth ending up at the hospital. But the moment I hit Send, I realized some sisters might not look at their e-mail before Ruth got sent home. Had to make phone calls.We needed to be praying.
Mostly I got answering machines. Not too surprising on a Saturday afternoon. But as I dialed Avis’s number, the excitement and fear in my bones took on a new face: excitement about Denny’s job promotion, fear about losing mine. OK, so why didn’t I just ask Avis? Be done with the guesswork. Might help Denny make his decision if he knew we were on the cusp of becoming a one-pay-check family.
“Hello, you’ve reached the Douglass household,” said a masculine voice. Recorded. “Please leave a—” I hung up. No way was I going to ask about my job via voice mail. Then I realized I hadn’t left the message about Ruth either, so I had to call back.
Becky Wallace was one of the few Yada Yadas who actually answered the phone. “So Ruth’s goin’ to be OK, right? ” she asked. “She must want that baby real bad. Don’ know what I’d do if I was in her shoes. But I’ll tell Stu when she comes in. Say, Jodi. You or Denny heard of any jobs yet? My PO says I gotta have a job inter view or appointment to go to; I can’t just go wanderin’ around lookin’.”
I stifled a groan. Only jobs I knew about were with the public school system. No way Chicago schools would hire someone with a violent felony on her record. Stu’s contacts at DCFS wouldn’t be much better. “I’m sorry, Becky. I really don’t.” Silence on the other end. “Becky? ”
“Yeah. OK. It’s just—damn it, Jodi. I wanna get a place of my own so I can get Little Andy back. I gotta get a job first, save some money. But I can’t get no job with this” —she blistered my ear with a string of profanity— “around my blasted ankle.Might as well be hog-tied and dumped in the Chicago River.”
I felt really bad for Becky, but helpless too. She was caught in a web that seemed like freedom at first hoot—getting out of prison on early parole—but at this point felt like checkmate. Can’t move this way; can’t move that.Was tempted for a flash second to remind her that Stu’s apartment was a presidential suite compared to a cell at Lincoln Correctional, but then I remembered how I felt when Denny and I “lost” Little Andy at the Taste of Chicago, how one minute without that little boy had felt like a hundred hours. Must be even worse for his mother.
DREAMED ALL NIGHT ABOUT SPIDER WEBS—mesmerized by their intricate patterns, delicate and iridescent in the morning dew. But in the dreams when I tried to move, I felt as if I was swimming through a gossamer maze. Deadly beauty . . .
Couldn’t shake the dreams even as I woke to a beautiful Sunday morning—cloudless, low humidity, pearly pink sky, a sweet warm breeze off the lake rustling the leaves along Lunt Avenue. Not bad for late July. But the dreams—what was that all about? The feeling of wading through the webs persisted even as I let the dog out, filled the bird feeder, and started the coffee. Made me want to get into the shower and wash off all the sticky, clinging mess . . .
As I stood under the tepid water, letting it pour over my head, flattening and parting my dark brown hair into shoulder-length rivulets, I realized Becky wasn’t the only one caught in a web that wasn’t as shimmering as it first appeared. Look at Chanda. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed about her lottery winnings, but when we’d finally staggered out of that time-share “sales reception,” seemed to me she’d gotten herself into a silver-lined trap. But what could I say? She seemed happy, so maybe that’s what counted. Maybe I shouldn’t worry . . .
Then there was Denny’s job. I mean, seemed like we ought to be shouting and praising God for such a wonderful promotion. But we were still tiptoeing around the subject, like a relative who’d come to visit we were slightly ashamed of. “Not sure if it’s good news.” Denny’s words. Even though the budget-cutting axe was hanging over my job. Of course, I hadn’t told him yet. Probably should. We needed to get this thing in perspective.
And Ruth. So ecstatic that she was finally pregnant. Should be a happy time for he
r. Baby showers. Pregnant woman jokes. Starting a college fund. Except, it was beginning to feel like a ticking time bomb instead of a baby that she was carrying around.How many more times would she end up in the hospital before—
I shut off the water. Ruth was laying up there in the hospital all by herself! Or maybe Ben was there, which could be worse, the old grouch. Either way, she had to be worried. Maybe frightened. While the rest of us just went off to church to sing praises.
Uh-uh.No way.
Wrapping a towel around my wet body, I scurried down the hall to our bedroom. Denny was sitting up on the side of the bed, only half awake. “Denny, can I drop you and the kids off at church? I want to go see Ruth in the hospital.”
“Oh. S’pose so,” he mumbled. “Can’t you go this afternoon? ”
“Nope.” I didn’t say she’d probably get discharged by noon. For some reason it seemed important to go see her in the hospital this morning. For Ruth’s sake? Or mine?
“HEY, YOU. Are you awake? ”
Ruth’s eyes were closed when I peeked into her room at Rush North Shore Medical Center. But they immediately popped open, adding spitfire to the pale face and dark hair propped up on two starchy-white hospital pillows.
“How you doing? ” I asked.
Ruth beamed. “Never better. Especially since I put Ben on my ‘visitors not wanted’ list. Blood pressure went right down.”
I giggled, setting the pink azalea I’d picked up at the grocery store on the windowsill. “Wow. A private room. How do you rate? ”
“Ben insisted. Me, I’m grateful. Fewer nudniks. Every nurse who comes through that door thinks she’s the first one to notice I’m not twenty-five.”
I dragged a chair over to the bed and took her hand. On the way to the hospital, I’d decided not to beat around the bush. “Ruth. I want the real deal. How are you? How is the baby? And ‘fine’ is not an acceptable answer.”
She looked annoyed. “What, you want bad news? We are fine.”
“No, no, I don’t want bad news! I just don’t want a one-word answer.What does the doctor say? Why were you spotting? Is the baby growing all right? How’s your blood pressure? Any—”
