Stepping Down

by Michelle Stimpson

  The haze of anesthesia wore off, almost making Mark wish he could be put back under again. His entire body ached as though he’d climbed a ten-story building and jumped off. Twice.

  Not to mention the hunger pangs writhing through his stomach. He opened his eyes and beheld the white ceiling tiles. They moved about two feet to the left, then back to the right. Mark shut his eyes tight.

  “You up?”

  He tilted his head toward Sharla’s voice. He hoped that this time when his lids parted, the room—including his wife—would be stationary. Slowly, he let the light in again.

  “Thank God,” Sharla inhaled, cupping her mouth with both hands.

  “Yes,” Mark croaked. “Water.”

  Sharla rushed to the sink. Mark was too exhausted to follow her with his head. He waited, his neck fixed in same position. Now, in lieu of Sharla’s face, he saw the opposite wing of the hospital. Rows and rows of windows, behind which must have been dozens of sick people.

  And then it occurred to Mark that he must be sick, too, because he was laid up in bed looking out of one of these sick-people windows. “Sharla,” he mustered a whisper.

  She rushed back to his side with the small cup of water in hand. Seeing her standing there, Mark realized that he couldn’t possibly sip from the cup lying flat on his back.

  As though she’d read his mind, Sharla asked, “You want me to raise the top of the bed up a few inches?”

  The proposal didn’t sound like a good idea to Mark. “Get a straw.”

  Sharla laughed. “The doctors were afraid you might have sustained permanent brain damage. I’ll be happy to tell them you’re just as sharp as ever.”

  Sharla returned with the straw and cup. She bent down and stuck the straw through the bed railings.

  Mark took small sips. The cool trickle soothed his throat tremendously. “Thank you.”

  She withdrew the straw. “Are you in any pain?”

  “My arm.”

  “Okay. I’ll get the nurse in for meds.” She reached down, producing a white box. Mark watched as she pressed a button, then spoke to a woman through the mechanism, requesting pain relief.

  “I’ll be there in a second,” blared through the speaker.

  A second seemed like far too long to wait for relief. Perhaps if he knew the reason for his suffering, it might be easier to bear. “What happened to me?”

  Sharla stared down at him. “You were in a car accident.”

  Mark squinted, trying to rack his brain for a memory. “When?”

  “Three days ago,” Sharla said.

  “What’s today?”

  “Sunday.”

  “Who’s preaching?” he wanted to know.

  She rolled her neck to one side. “Mark, that’s the last thing you need to be worried about. You could have lost your life,” she informed him in lecture-mode. “And you almost lost your entire right arm.”

  He almost wished he didn’t have the limb at that moment. He could feel every pump of blood pulsing through the arm’s veins. There should be some kind of special pill for this degree of pain. Surely, modern medicine could find a way to give him some ease. If not, he might have to resort to his father’s methods: 100 proof whiskey.

  A nurse, dressed in Mickey Mouse scrubs, entered the room. “Hello there, Mr. Carter,” she said cheerfully. “It’s nice to see you alert.”

  “Mmmm,” he moaned in the most upbeat manner possible.

  She injected a solution into the IV line. “This’ll take effect shortly. It’ll probably make you drowsy at the same time, though. Can’t have it both ways.”

  “Thank you,” Sharla said on behalf of her husband. She stood over Mark again, breathing deeply.

  Mark could tell there was something else on his wife’s mind. Was he dying? Were both of his legs actually there or was the feeling only a phantom? To assure himself that he had use of his arms, Mark attempted to raise his left hand to Sharla’s cheek. Thankfully, his body obeyed.

  “What’s the matter, Mamasita?”

  She shook her head. “We can talk about it later. I don’t want to waste the time we have before you drift off again. I love you, Mark. I thank God for sparing your life.”

  He traced her chin with his forefinger. “What are you not telling me?”

  Sharla shifted her weight to one side. Her eyebrows drew close together.

  “Go ahead,” he encouraged her gently.

  “There were other…people...involved in the accident.”

  “What? How many people?”

  “Two other cars, but they weren’t too bad.”

  Mark sighed, “Bless God.”

  Anxiety seeped through Sharla’s glare. “And there was a woman. In your car.”

  “What woman?”

  “I don’t know exactly who she is…to you. They took her to a different hospital.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “I’m not sure. Her injuries were a lot worse than yours since it was her side that got rammed into the concrete median.”

  Median! Mark remembered careening out of control. And then, somehow, a large, flaming cat entered the picture. “A lion.”

  Sharla gave him duck-lips. “What?”

  His wife’s image grew fuzzy. “I saw a lion on a bookstand.”

  “It’s okay, Mark. The drugs are kicking in. Go on and get your rest before half of New Vision comes in to visit after first service, and the other half after second.”

  He couldn’t have kept his eyes open if he’d wanted to.

  “Faster!” she yelled. She twisted her body in the passenger’s seat, looking back at the driver in hot pursuit. “Oh my God! He’s crazy!”

  Mark made a left out of the lot onto a sleepy street, then another left leading to the intersection. Somehow, he imagined that they’d be safer on a busy street; the chaser wouldn’t endanger dozens of lives, would he?

  The SUV’s back windshield shattered as another bullet zipped between him and the woman, and lodged in the dashboard.

  On second thought, the person in that vehicle was a lunatic. A four-way light wouldn’t save them. Mark ignored his own stop sign, barely missing a convertible as he fishtailed onto the main street. If he could get a good thirty yards ahead on a long stretch, the Caddy would do the rest of the work.

  “He shot me!” the woman screamed.

  Quickly, Mark glanced over at his passenger. Blood seeped through her white shirt at the shoulder, momentarily arresting his attention from the road.

  A moment too long.

  When Mark looked up, there was a truck coming straight-on. He couldn’t fathom how he’d gotten into that position, but the only way out was to swerve into the median and hope for the best.

  In that instant, he felt a Presence pressing against him, bracing him for the impact.

  “Aaaaah!” Mark shouted.

  “Baby!” Sharla was suddenly at his side along with a host of other church members towering over him.

  “You alright, Pastor?” and “It’s gon’ be okay,” came from the small crowd.

  Mark could hardly get air with all these people in his space. “Sit me up.”

  Sharla took hold of the white box again. The incline came quickly, sending sharp jabs throughout his body. Mark grimaced, holding his breath while his bones and muscles fought against the movement. “That’s enough,” he exhaled.

  Amani pushed through the visitors and took first place at his father’s side. “Dad, you were having another nightmare.”

  Peering up at Amani loosed another flashback. The woman, whose name he now believed started with a B had said that Amani belonged to her. Now, comparing Amani to the last face Mark saw before the accident. Same doe eyes, thick eyelashes, chiseled cheekbones.

  For Amani’s sake, Mark had to know. He blurted out, “What happened to the woman who was in the car with me?”

  The crowd around his bed thinned quickly, giving one another awkward glances. Only Amani and Sharla were left to answer the question.

&nbs
p; “Honey, we don’t know who she was, so we really can’t get any information about her.” Sharla tried to keep a calm demeanor, but embarrassment etched itself into the lines around her mouth.

  “Do you know who she is?” Amani asked innocently.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Amani, go sit with everyone else for a moment,” Sharla ordered their son in a hushed tone.

  He obeyed reluctantly.

  Sharla inched in closer to Mark. With her back to the visitors, she whispered between clinched teeth, “Who is she?”

  “She said we’d wrongfully taken Amani from her.”

  Sharla clutched her shirt. A touch of anxiety stained her voice. “What? Who…who was she? His aunt? His…mother?”

  Mark couldn’t be sure of the details. “I don’t know, but he does look like her. Her named starts with a B…Brittney, Brenna…Do we know somebody with that name?”

  “No,” she replied quickly. Tears welled in Sharla’s eyes and, immediately, Mark regretted spilling the beans. His wife had always been insecure in her role as Amani’s adoptive mother, a fact that had loomed in their family since their first rounds of counseling when Amani became officially theirs. “Honey, it’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay. Wh-what were you doing with her?” She stuttered.

  “She got in my car and—”

  “How did she get in your car?”

  Sharla’s high pitch pierced Mark’s skull. “Can you keep it down, please?”

  “No. You had no business riding anywhere with another woman,” Sharla spoke louder.

  Rev. Jackson entered Mark’s line of vision. “Pastor, I think we’re all going to head on out now. You get some rest.”

  Mark recognized the Reverend’s effort to do damage control. “Thank you, Jackson.”

  “And don’t worry about anything at the church. We got it covered. Let’s have a word of prayer.”

  The visitors gathered around Mark’s bed, joined hands, and bowed their heads for prayer. Rev. Jackson added a generic strand for the “others” who had been involved in the accident.

  They all followed the prayer in unison, “Amen,” and scattered out with half-hearted promises to return soon.

  Chapter 16

  “Church members are rallying around their pastor after he was involved in a serious, suspicious car accident,” the ten o’clock news anchor blared.

  Mark winced but sat up in bed and focused on the television, wondering who on earth had suffered the same terrible coincidence as he.

  “Members of New Vision Community Church”—Wait! That’s my church!—“are speaking out against reports that their pastor was fleeing from a known gang leader, which led to this accident at the seven hundred block of Denbow Street.”

  The footage of Mark’s garbled Cadillac nearly made him vomit. He couldn’t believe he’d been in that vehicle. “My God,” he murmured to himself.

  Rev. Marshall’s wife, Esther, appeared on screen. From the background, he could tell she was on the church’s front lawn. “Our pastor is not a criminal. He does not run with shady types, and we do not appreciate the media painting him in a bad light. He’s an upstanding man of God, and we’re all behind him.”

  Applause erupted as the camera panned out to reveal at least thirty people standing behind Esther.

  A lump rose in Mark’s throat.

  Just then, Sharla entered the room with a bag from Panera Bread. He could have sworn she was ten pounds lighter.

  She took one look at Mark, then looked at the television screen. “Honey, you don’t need to be watching the news. Let me turn—”

  “No.” Mark wrapped his hand around the white control box.

  A grainy picture of Mark appeared on the screen. “Officers continue to investigate the accident. The pastor, seen here on the church’s website, is thirty-eight year old Mark Carter III.” The anchor’s face returned. “A female passenger in the pastor’s vehicle, who we understand was not his wife, was also injured in the accident. That woman remains in critical condition. We’ll keep you updated as we know more.”

  “What the heck?” Mark bristled. That “investigative report” was ridiculous! They might as well have said he was dealing drugs and sleeping around on his wife.

  Sharla yanked the remote from Mark and switched off the TV. “I can’t stand the media. They’ve been at the house all day trying to get a story out of me. Been trying to get in here, too. We’ve had to just about shut your room off to visitors.”

  “Let ‘em in. I need to defend myself,” Mark said. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “No. I’ve already talked to Danny Hernandez. The best thing for you to do is keep quiet,” she said.

  “You talked to our lawyer?”

  “I’ve talked to plenty of lawyers this week,” she informed him.

  “About what?”

  She motioned toward the blank screen. “You just saw it for yourself, Mark. You were in a high-speed chase, running from a criminal. Your car had bullet holes in it. You weren’t wearing your seatbelt, which is against the law. It’s a miracle you didn’t fly out the window.

  “Anyway, neither the car insurance nor the health insurance companies will agree to do anything until you’re cleared after the investigation.” Sharla put a hand on her forehead. “I don’t know what we’re going to do. The investigation could take weeks.”

  Mark felt as though Sharla had dumped the weight of the world on his lap. He couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for his wife to carry the burden alone, even if only for a few days. “Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I’ll make some phone calls. I still have contacts with StateWay.”

  “I want to know why there was a woman in your car,” Sharla changed courses, her hand flying to her hip.

  “I told you, she jumped in.”

  “A total stranger jumped into your car,” she added incorrect words to his.

  “No. I’ve seen her before. She’s been at the church,” he stumbled through.

  “So, you’ve talked to her?”

  “A couple of times.”

  Sharla smacked her lips. “When and where?”

  Mark knew he’d better address his wife’s real concern before she extracted any more dubious details out of him. “Sharla, I have never cheated on you. This woman was not a mistress, she was not an old friend, a new friend, she was not even an acquaintance. She did try to come on to me, but I shut her down—just like I’ve shut down every other women who has tried to take your place since the day I said ‘I do.’ Please don’t turn this into something that it’s not.”

  Sharla sighed. “Well, the media sure has.”

  “Don’t let them get into your head. Baby, come here.” Mark reached for her with his left hand. Slowly, Sharla responded. Once she was within a few feet, he pulled her even closer and wrapped his arm around her waist. She dropped her bags and leaned over him, embracing his head.

  Her hair swept against his face as warm tears dribbled onto his neck. “We could have lost you,” she cried. “I was so scared.”

  He rubbed her back. “But I’m still here.” He kissed her cheek gently. “I’m still here, Mamasita. Let’s pray.” He led his wife in a prayer of thanksgiving, a request for strength and peace, and a petition for the passenger woman’s recovery.

  Now that he was aware of all the drama his wife had been dealing with while he was laid up in the hospital, Mark was past ready to make a move. “When am I getting out of here?”

  “A few more days,” Sharla said as she resumed her composure. “Your right arm was…almost ripped off just below your elbow. You’ve got more surgeries ahead of you. Physical therapy.”

  “Yeah, but we don’t have to do all that today. Let’s get a doctor in here so we can get the ball rolling. And whatchu got in that bag? It smells a whole lot better than whatever that was they brought me for lunch. Ulk!”

  With that, Mark made up his mind that he would do whatever it took to get out of that
hospital, take over the things Sharla had been handling, and clear his name, which would mean getting in touch with the woman who’d jumped in his car—if that possibility existed.

  He split a sandwich and soup with Sharla. She looked so much thinner; he almost felt bad taking food from her. “Baby, you need to get yourself another batch of this tomorrow.”

  “No. I haven’t been too hungry lately.”

  “I see.”

  “Been too worried about you. Your Momma called to check on you. She wants to know if she should go ahead and get a plane ticket to come see you.”

  “You told her ‘no’, right?” Mark wanted to know.

  “I wasn’t sure for a while there,” Sharla said. “Until they finished all the x-rays and tests, we didn’t know how seriously you were injured. I did call her later and told her you were much better.”

  “Thank you,” Mark sighed. “I don’t need her coming down here with my sister and all their superstitious cures. I’m glad she called, though.”

  “What’d you expect? She is your mother,” Sharla reminded him. “Amani’s been worried about you, too. He’s dealing with it his own way, I guess. Staying in his room, keeping to himself.”

  “Hmmm. I’ll get Rev. Jackson to spend some time with him,” Mark said.

  “That might be good. He thinks of him as a grandfather.”

  Rev. Jackson was about the only grandfather-ish person in Amani’s life. Sharla’s father passed away when she was a teenager, and Mark’s father wouldn’t have been a good influence. Suddenly, Mark wondered if Amani had any older male relatives who could have just as easily stepped in from time to time to give his son guidance. Maybe including them in his life, as Amani wanted, wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen.

  But rather than run his thoughts by Sharla, Mark kept them to himself. She’d been through enough.

  Chapter 17

  Sharla had nearly passed out when Mark hinted at the woman’s name. Sharla knew exactly who Bria Logan was. She was the woman who had given birth to Amani. The woman who needed to let the past stay in the past and stop trying to ruin the life Sharla had so carefully tried to secure. Even if it wasn’t her first choice—which would have been to give birth to her own child—Sharla had done a good job of making sure plan B ran smoothly. How dare Bria Logan try to come and mess with the Carter family.