Stepping Down

by Michelle Stimpson

  Sharla wasn’t having it. Not now, not in a million years. Amani had expressed a desire to see his “birth” family since the age of eight, but Sharla figured what the boy didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. Truth was, the Logans were an ungodly, sheisty bunch with a history of alcoholism, repeated incarcerations, abuse, poverty, and teenage pregnancies.

  Sharla knew all too well what it was like to grow up under those circumstances. She was thankful that God had pulled her out of the vicious cycle. Even more grateful to pull someone else out of it, particularly an African-American boy. Maybe Sharla hadn’t done everything right when it came to adopting Amani, but like the saying goes: You can’t unscramble eggs.

  Sharla stood in her bathroom mirror checking out her appearance. Rather, someone else’s appearance. The short curly wig, ruby red lipstick and Bamboo earrings were definitely not her style. And the dumpy denim button-down shirt with those cotton pants that shouldn’t ever be worn in public, denied all sense of class. She would fit right in with the type of around-the-way girls she imagined Bria hung with.

  She grabbed her broadest, darkest pair of shades from the collection atop her dresser and headed to the garage, then on to Ben Taub Hospital. After a bit of online research, Sharla guessed Bria had been transported there because they are a Level 1 Trauma care hospital. She couldn’t get any information by phone about Bria’s condition other than the ambiguous one-word medical term: critical.

  Critical didn’t tell Sharla what she needed to know. Would Bria live or die? If she lived, would she retain her mental capacities? Most importantly, would she be coherent enough to continue with her effort to butt back into Amani’s life?

  There really was no plan for this visit. Sharla wasn’t even sure what she would do once she got there, but she needed to see Bria’s condition for herself. Beyond that, she wondered if Bria looked like Amani. How much did she look like Amani? Did her other children look like Amani, too?

  The curiosity was eating Sharla alive. In previous years, she’d been almost obsessed with Bria Logan, searching for her back in the MySpace days, looking for her Facebook profile, Googling her name and image, all to no avail. Who was this woman who had given birth to the son Sharla loved?

  Sharla stopped at the information desk and got the room number. Bria was still in ICU.

  “Thank you,” Sharla said, thanking God that hospitals were nothing like airports, making sure everyone had official business before allowing them beyond the perimeter.

  However, when she reached the proper floor, she learned that she’d have to wait until three o’clock to visit, nearly twenty minutes, because the nurses were changing shifts. This unwelcomed news made Sharla uneasy. What am I doing here?

  Nonetheless, she’d come this far. She had to see it through. She joined about fifteen people in the ICU waiting room. Some looked as though they’d been camped out there most of the day, with blankets and empty McDonald’s sacks scattered around their campgrounds.

  These people were the real visitors. They had loved ones who were hanging in life’s balance and, presumably, were gathered out of genuine concern. The wall-mounted television blared an old I Love Lucy episode that always made Sharla smile. But she knew these people in the waiting room probably couldn’t have smiled if they wanted to.

  Sharla could almost feel the guilt pressing down on her trunk, causing her to sink into one of the room’s cushioned seats. She grabbed a magazine to take her mind off the situation, but there was no mistaking the idea that she should leave.

  “You get in touch with Bria’s job?” a lady in a purple maxi dress asked the elderly man sitting next to her.

  Sharla nearly jumped at the mention of the name. She buried her face between an ad for perfume on the left and one for lipstick on the right, her ears at full attention.

  He answered, “Yeah, I told them. Didn’t you see the flowers the company sent her up on the counter by the light switch?”

  “Ooh, that was nice. She works with some really good people,” a grandmotherly figure commented.

  Flowers? The fact that Bria had a job was a shock to Sharla—let alone a job that actually sent flowers to its sick employees. The last time Sharla peeked into Bria’s life, the girl had been failing drug tests; she couldn’t have gotten a decent job to save her life.

  The grandmother sat on a different sofa, which led Sharla to wonder just how much space Bria’s relatives had taken up in the room. For all she knew, she could be sitting next to Bria’s best friend.

  Sharla stole a glance at the woman who’d started the conversation. She was slender, with a killer white Michael Kors bag and a natural nail manicure. Buffed. Not quite the triple-acrylic, rhinestone-bearing claw nails Sharla had expected to see on members of Bria’s entourage.

  “I just hope we get to the bottom of this and the pastor does right by her,” maxi-dress girl added.

  “Yeah, me, too,” from Grandma. “Wonder why he didn’t swerve to hit his side of the car instead of Bria’s. A man of God ought to sacrifice himself before innocent people.”

  Innocent? According to Mark, Bria had taken it upon herself to hop her happy behind in Mark’s vehicle. These people had it all wrong!

  Maxi-dress woman wagged her finger. “All I know is, when Bria wakes up again, I’m going to tell her to leave Boomie the heck alone forever. He is crazy. I hope they get him, shootin’ all in people’s cars like a maniac.”

  The news of Bria having been conscious and possibly able to comprehend, stirred Sharla in a way she hadn’t anticipated. For Amani’s sake, Sharla hoped she would live. But for her own sake, Sharla wanted Bria to…well…not die, but not pose a threat to her own stable life with Mark and Amani.

  As far as the courts were concerned, Bria had no right to have any part in Amani’s life. After months in Sharla and Mark’s home as a foster child, they had fallen in love with the baby and asked about adopting him even though the social worker, Demetria, had told them from the beginning that Amani would probably be returned to his mother. The father was unknown to everyone, including Bria. She claimed to have narrowed the possibilities down to three men, but there was no test conducted.

  Bria had been taking parenting classes and learning to be a good mother, supposedly. But after the social worker discovered that she’d given the six month old a heavy dose of cold medicine to keep him knocked out while Bria went clubbing during one of Amani’s weekend visits, the case changed dramatically. Bria was charged with child endangerment and suddenly, the door to claim Amani as her own forever cracked opened for Sharla.

  Amani celebrated his first birthday with the Carters. By that time, there was no way on earth Sharla could give him back. She’d fallen hopelessly in love with the baby, and it was obvious Amani had bonded with his new parents. She couldn’t imagine that a court would jeopardize the good life she and Mark could provide.

  The only One who seemed to be oblivious was God. Sharla and Mark were also busy trying to make a brother or sister for Amani, but Sharla’s body wasn’t cooperating.

  When it was clear that Bria was in no position to get Amani back, some of her family members tried to step forward and claim the baby. It was clear to Sharla, by way of Demetria, who was more than sympathetic to Sharla by that point, that the only reason they wanted to adopt Amani was because they would receive some financial support from the state for having adopted him out of the foster care system.

  Both Sharla and Mark had talked about how stupid it was to consider removing Amani from their stable home to place him with the very people who’d raised Bria to be an unfit mother.

  With Demetria’s help and a little work from a private detective, Sharla had put a stop to all those endeavors. By that point, Amani was almost two. Bria had cleaned up her act, or so she claimed, and wanted Amani back.

  Sharla wasn’t giving him up, and she blamed the court system for dragging the whole adoption thing out so long. Ridiculous government bureaucracy. Sharla would move to Mexico before giving up the only child
she would ever have.

  Right or wrong, Sharla had done everything within her power to make sure Amani didn’t return to his birth mother…by any means necessary.

  After reviewing the big picture as it pertained to Bria and Amani, Sharla didn’t feel so guilty anymore. If anybody was wrong, it was Bria for having put them all in that situation. At least that’s what Sharla had to keep telling herself in order to hold her place in the waiting room.

  “Has anyone from her church been by here to check on her?” a teenager half-way engrossed in her cell phone asked. Sharla noticed the exceptional quality of the girl’s weave. Definitely not cheap. “She’s been going there for, like, three weeks now, and she had even asked me to go so I could be part of this new family she said she had in Christ.”

  “Please,” from Maxi-dress woman, “the church is what got her in this predicament to begin with. The last thing she needs is somebody from her church coming by here. I hope she sues that no-good pastor.”

  No-good pastor? Sharla could call Mark all kinds of ugly names in her head, but no one else had the right to do so—especially not out loud! She tried to think of a way to butt into their conversation, but nothing appropriate came to mind.

  Unsure of what or when to speak, Sharla kept her mouth shut. It was bad enough she was snooping, worse to try to pick Bria’s family for information.

  Speaking of such, Sharla tapped the name “Boomie” in her phone’s notes. The police seemed to be unsure of who had been chasing Mark and Bria, but obviously her family knew. Maybe they were adhering to the unspoken no-snitch rules of the hood in keeping this clue from the police, but Sharla didn’t have to play by those rules anymore. She was going straight to Detective Rozanno with the suspect’s name.

  The grandmother checked her watch. “We should be able to go back in to see Bria now.”

  Simultaneously, six people, including those Sharla already knew were there for Bria, began shuffling. They slid shoes back onto their feet, folded up the blankets, and stuffed reading material back into backpacks.

  Sharla hadn’t expected to see so many people there in support of Bria, the baby-abandoner, baby-drugger. They knew her as someone else. Bria the friend, the sister, the granddaughter, the loved one.

  Come to think of it, Bria probably had more family support than Sharla would have had if she’d been in ICU for several days. Besides Mark and Amani, the only others she could count on to at least act like they cared would have been the members of the church.

  “Oh, excuse me,” the young man said as he stepped over Sharla’s dangling foot.

  “No, you’re fine.” She glanced up at his face and caught a vision of what Amani would surely look like in another ten years.

  He paused. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

  Sharla’s heart pounded. She lowered her face, burying it in the magazine again. “No. I don’t think so.”

  “Mmm. I’d like to know you.”

  Thank God, he was only flirting. “I’m married,” she muttered.

  “Happily?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Francis, leave her alone! Married women are off limits,” maxi-dress-woman said, slapping him on the arm.

  “I’m just asking,” he joked with the woman as though Sharla were suddenly invisible.

  Francis…Francis…Francis! He was one of the money-hungry uncles who’d tried to get custody of Amani when he found out there was a small paycheck to be had by adopting him.

  The grandmother rested her hand on Sharla’s knee as she passed by. “You’ll have to excuse my grandson. He thinks he’s Casanova.”

  With her head down, Sharla obliged, “Yes, ma’am.”

  “We ain’t seen you here the past days. Who you here for?”

  Out of respect, Sharla answered the nosy woman. “Oh…umm…a…co-worker.”

  “My goodness. What happened to her?”

  “She had…a…stroke.”

  “Yeah, that’ll do it every time. She lucky to be alive, my mother passed after her stroke. You reckon your co-worker gon’ pull through?”

  “I hope so,” Sharla said with uncertainty.

  “I’ll be praying for you.” She tapped Sharla’s leg twice more and then tagged along with the rest of Bria’s family.

  Francis had almost done Sharla in with that near-miss. Plus, now that she’d lied to the grandmother, there was no way Sharla could get in that room without a million questions from Bria’s family.

  What am I doing here anyway? Sharla slapped the magazine closed, grabbed her bag and left the waiting room. I don’t need to be here wearing this silly disguise. What if Mark found out? What if the church found out? The media? What would I say?

  This whole thing is stupid. Amani was hers, Mark would heal, and her life would be fine in about six months, hopefully. She had no business at the hospital pulling this soap opera-ish stunt. I am a grown woman with better things to do with my time.

  Sharla sped to the elevators and pressed the down button repeatedly, despite the fact that the light indicating her request had been processed was already lit. She couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

  Ding! Finally, the elevator arrived. When the doors parted, Sharla found herself face-to-face with someone whose image sent ice up her spine. Lisa Logan. Bria’s mother. Dressed in a too-tight jumpsuit and six-inch platforms. She looked more like she was going to the club than to visit her sick daughter. Some things don’t change.

  Sharla looked past Lisa, waited for the woman to exit the elevator, then quickly traded places. She took a breath, thankful to have escaped notice, and pressed the button that would take her back to her car, back to a life of sanity.

  But just as the doors were closing, she heard, “Sharla.”

  Out of sheer habit, Sharla lifted her head, locking eyes with Lisa.

  Sharla cringed inside as she realized she’d just given herself away.

  Chapter 18

  Though the fate of his right arm was still undetermined by doctors, Mark had made up in his mind to believe God for full restoration. In the meanwhile, he was more determined than ever to live his life the way God wanted him to. If that meant a megachurch, great. If not, whatever. Through the dreams, visions, and hit-or-miss memories Mark had experienced while partially sedated, one thing stood clear to him: God had delayed Mark’s transfer to heaven for a reason. People like Bria needed to hear the life-changing, eternity-sealing gospel of Christ, and Mark would preach it, megachurch or not.

  As far as Mark was concerned, the fact that his medical insurance was in question actually worked in his favor. The hospital was eager to release him as soon as he could take a meal without gagging. A social worker had come to talk with him about following up with local clinics and charities. He’d listened patiently to the woman, who exuded a sense of compassion for the misfortunate.

  “God bless you, ma’am, but I won’t be needing the free services. My insurance will pay once I’m cleared through the investigation,” he said as soon as he found a break in her speech.

  “Well, just in case they don’t,” she said by way of a warning, “here’s my card.”

  Mark took the card from the middle-age woman, thinking that she would be an asset to New Vision if he ever got the opportunity to hire more staff. He read her name. Hope Green. “Miss Green, if you died today, would you go to heaven or hell?”

  She sucked in her breath, leaned back in her chair as though he’d just taken a swing at her. Her eyes widened behind her bifocals. “Heaven, I hope.”

  “Do you know?”

  “I guess,” she faltered. “I’ve lived a good life, followed the golden rule. I go to church sometimes.”

  Mark smiled gently at her. “But have you met Jesus?”

  Her thick, pink lips poked out. “Yeah. I pray to God.”

  Surprised that she was still with him at that point in the conversation, Mark wasted no time. “The only way to God is through Jesus. We’ve all sinned, but Christ came to forgive us for
being…human. No matter what we do, it’s not good enough. But Christ is good enough for you and me. He wants to come into your life and be your salvation, Miss Green. Will you let Him in?”

  She smiled, her eyes brimming. “No one’s ever explained it to me like that before.”

  “I’ve never had the courage to share Him like this, either, close up and personal,” Mark admitted. “But He is good.”

  Miss Green blinked rapidly, steering herself out of the trance. “I will definitely keep this in mind, Mr. Carter. Thank you.”

  He’d settle for a watered seed. God would be responsible for the growth. “I’ll be praying for you. Thanks for sharing the resources.”

  He was surprised to see that Amani had come with Sharla to take him home from the hospital. It was one of the last days of school. Amani didn’t need to miss any last-minute reviews before the final exams.

  “He begged me. He wanted to help make sure you got home comfortably,” Sharla intervened when Mark accosted Amani about his absence.

  Mark wished she’d let the boy speak for himself, but now wasn’t the time to argue. “Just don’t let this be the reason you get a bad grade on a test.”

  “I’m cool, dad. You know I always pull through when it counts.”

  Mark had to give it to his wife; she’d done an excellent job of making sure Amani mastered the basics when he was homeschooled. With a firm foundation in reading, writing, and math, the only real challenges Amani faced in high school were due to lack of organization and perseverance—never his academic ability to complete the work.

  Sharla and Amani had just finished gathering up all the flowers and cards when Rev. Jackson arrived to help as well.

  “Pastor, you ready to blow this joint?”

  “Most definitely. I’m ready to get back into the swing of things. I’m already thinking about Wednesday night’s sermon.”