My Rock

by Pat Simmons

  Pushing away her plate, Aunt Tweet wore a crestfallen expression. “Live so you won’t have regrets.”

  Where did that come from? “Do you have regrets?” She waited for her aunt to say more.

  “I’m ready to go.” Aunt Tweet stood. Instead of taking her plate to the sink, she left it on the table. Unlike her.

  Tabitha was hoping she had forgotten about church, because she really could climb back in bed for a few hours. This was about what her aunt wanted, so she scooped up the last of her eggs, wiped her mouth, then reached for their plates.

  During the short drive, fear struck Tabitha. What was behind the sudden rush to attend church? Did her aunt sense death was imminent and she had regrets about something she did or didn’t do? God, please give her more time, or at least not while she’s in my care. She swallowed.

  Following the route to Bermuda Place, she saw the church before Aunt Tweet pointed to it. Tabitha parked and stared at the beautifully constructed white stone complex that housed Bethesda Temple. The entrance was inviting, as were those who greeted them in the parking lot and inside the large foyer. And imagine until today, the church had been nothing more than another dot on the landscape as she drove up and down Interstate 70. Inside, a representative gave them welcome badges, then a very handsome male usher led them to the sanctuary, which could easily accommodate a couple of thousand without feeling overpowering.

  Before they selected a seat, Tabitha could feel the charged energy in the atmosphere. She couldn’t recall the last time she had been to church, either on her own volition, or someone’s invitation. She panicked.

  Were her brain cells dying that she couldn’t remember something so simple? From her research, Tabitha learned to be susceptible to the disease she’d inherited mutations in genes on chromosomes twenty-one, fourteen, and one that was passed down to her father from Grandma Pearl. The Knicely girls could have gotten the gene mutations through him. Was that their connection to Alzheimer’s? Could their mutations be associated with other diseases like Lewy body dementia? Hold up. Too much information was making her too clinical.

  Relaxing, Tabitha admired the beautiful sanctuary that was swallowed up by enthusiasts serious about their worship. She smiled at little girls with braids adorned with bows and beads and boys in shirts and ties.

  She sighed. Would she ever have a family? She scanned the sanctuary for husband material. Tabitha didn’t see many who didn’t have a woman by his side. It didn’t matter. The timing wasn’t right for dating. Her focus was being a caregiver. Right now, she would prefer a nap over going out to dinner and a movie.

  A melodious sound drew Tabitha out of her reverie. Whipping her neck to the right, she could only stare as her aunt harmonized to the music. What an angelic sound. She had forgotten her aunt had possessed such a talent. Her father once said Aunt Tweet could rival Lena Horne, but she thought it was a myth. He was right. Wow. Closing her eyes, she a succumbed to the serenading of “How Great Thou Art.”

  Too soon, the singers quieted. Tabitha didn’t hide her disappointment as she squeezed her aunt’s hand. A middle-aged man stepped to a podium and introduced himself as Pastor George Nelson. Clean-shaven and minus a minister’s robe, he looked more like a businessman in a suit rather than a preacher.

  “Will our visitors please stand, so the church can welcome you?” he said in a strong voice that commanded attention.

  Aunt Tweet popped up, then Tabitha stood. Her aunt soaked in the attention as the audience released a hearty applause. Glancing around, she noted there were many visitors sprinkled throughout the sanctuary.

  “Thank you for joining us. We hope you will come back again. Please take your seats,” Pastor Nelson said. He directed everyone to open their Bibles to 1 Corinthians 15:51–52. Tabitha felt embarrassed. Not only did she not bring a Bible, she didn’t know where it was in the many boxes she’d stored in her basement. Good thing the scripture was displayed on an overhead screen for her to follow.

  “In this passage, Paul says, ‘Behold, I show you a mystery. We shall not all sleep’—or die, and it won’t be from the benefit of taking medication. While doctors practice medicine to prolong life, Christ will swap our old bodies out for a new one. Doctors’ services will no longer be needed.”

  Tabitha shifted in her seat. As a pharmaceutical sales rep, she was conditioned to believe in the drugs doctors prescribed and that the medication would be a game changer in some patients’ treatment plan. Although she was on the defensive, she was also a hypocrite. Tabitha avoided taking medicine—not even painkillers—because she was aware of the side effects.

  “Jesus will change our earthly bodies in a moment—in the twinkling of an eye—at the last trumpet sound. Imagine no more sickness, no more dying, no more popping pills to stay alive.” The pastor stepped back and clapped. “Whew. Rest assured, the trumpet shall sound, and the dead who live and die in Christ shall rise incorruptible for a final destination to heaven or hell. The choice is solely ours.

  “Until Jesus returns, the best we can do is exercise, eat healthy, and follow our doctors’ orders.” Now Pastor Nelson was speaking in Tabitha’s language. “Another passage, 3 John 2 says, ‘Beloved, I wish above all things that thou may prosper and be in health, even as thy soul prospers.’ So what is the medicine for the soul?”

  “Jesus!” someone shouted nearby and others followed.

  “Amen. Jesus has the remedy for whatever ailments we suffer in our body and soul. In First Corinthians, the mystery is revealed to those who have received the Lord’s Holy Ghost...”

  Aunt Tweet was riveted to the message while Tabitha had mixed emotions. Maybe she did need to read her Bible more, because some parts of the message lost her.

  Finally, the preacher ended the sermon with a plea to accept Jesus’ salvation. “Make a change in your life today.” The congregation stood. “How often do you say thank you, or I’m sorry—to God? Salvation begins with repentance. Talk to Jesus about your deeds, and repent...”

  The invitation was so compelling, Tabitha thought Aunt Tweet was going to trail others to the altar, but she didn’t to her relief. As the choir sang “Come to Jesus,” her aunt’s melodious voice blended in like an instrument.

  “You’ve been holding out on me. You could sing to me any time.”

  Aunt Tweet chuckled. “I used to all the time when you and the other girls were babies.”

  Her right mind was back. “Really? Why did you stop?”

  “I can’t remember.” She seemed frustrated.

  “It’s all right.” She slid her arm around her aunt’s shoulder. After the benediction, they made their way to the parking lot, smiling and nodding at folks along the path.

  Before heading home, they enjoyed a buffet until Aunt Tweet patted her stomach in fulfillment. Later that evening, Tabitha made a weekly Skype call to her sisters, so they could check in. During the chat, she mentioned their aunt waking her to go to church. “And you should have heard Aunt Tweet singing like a songbird.”

  “Really?” Kym grinned. “You’ve been holding back, Auntie. How could you bottle up all that talent and hold it in all these years? Sing for us.”

  They all laughed, even their aunt before she mumbled, “I don’t think I ever learned how to sing.”

  Huh? Tabitha was becoming confused by her aunt’s confusion. She wondered what other hidden talents were trapped inside Aunt Tweet. Soon, their aunt said her goodbyes and headed toward the stairs for her bedroom.

  “Bummer,” Rachel said. “I would give anything to hear her. Dad said Grandma bragged about Aunt Tweet singing in clubs and at parties, but something happened and she stopped.”

  “Add gospel to her repertoire.” Tabitha became quiet as she pondered how to tell them about the other developments without freaking them out. “Her angelic voice was the good thing that happened this week...”

  “Was there a bad thing?” Kym frowned. “How’s the job? Does Aunt Tweet like the adult daycare?”

  “She love
s Bermuda Place,” Tabitha said with relief. “She thinks she’s an employee instead of a client. I think she picked the church because we pass it on the way to the adult care everyday. The pharmaceutical industry is the same—different company, different drugs, and a tweaked training program. I do like my trainer, Ava Elise.”

  “I wish there was a proven drug to reverse dreaded dementia.” Kym gritted her teeth.

  Stalling about their aunt’s wandering, Tabitha settled into her clinical mode. “The brain is considered a complex organ, so it’s not a simple fix. There are about eighty drugs being tested now.”

  “That’s a lot,” Rachel said with a sad expression. “Besides the meds she’s on now, we need to make sure she eats healthy and gets plenty of exercise—”

  “About that exercise,” Tabitha interrupted, “our dear aunt has taken some unsupervised hikes in the morning—like sneaking out of the house and returning before I woke up.”

  “What?” Kym and Rachel shrieked at the same time.

  “I called myself being prepared for any scenario. I wasn’t expecting that. Thank God she was okay, but to make matters worse, she picked the wrong neighbor’s porch to sit on. He went ballistic on me.” Closing her eyes, Tabitha didn’t want to relive her moment of shame. When she opened them, her sisters were peering closer at the monitor.

  “That’s a concern,” Kym stated. “What if this neighbor had abducted or assaulted her?”

  “After chewing my head off about her trespassing, he threatened to call the police if she showed up again on his property.”

  Rachel groaned. “I don’t think I can handle another police call that one of my loved ones is in custody.”

  “Me either. He made me feel like a five-year-old.” Tabitha raised her voice.

  “Sisters,” Rachel cut in, “apparently, this was an isolated case. Auntie is okay, and you’re aware of it. You’re going to have to really watch her.”

  Tabitha thought twice about telling her sisters Aunt Tweet went missing more than once, and the last time caused her to be late on a new job and to have a breakdown on that job. Their aunt hadn’t been in her care for a month, and already she felt like a failure. Tears welled up in her eyes, then fell unchecked.

  “Tab, I’m sorry,” Kym said softly. “I know you have to adjust. I had winter and spring breaks when Aunt Tweet stayed with me. I took a short leave of absence in between, and when I returned to the university, she came along. Since she was in academia for so long, the familiar setup kept her in her element. I will always cherish our time together, especially since she could lose her memory of us at any time.”

  Dabbing her eyes, Tabitha sniffed. “Already happening. She’s called me Miss a few times.” She sighed. “Although we’re getting a stipend for her care, I’m accustomed to working. Plus, when she goes to live with Rachel for six months, her care allotment will follow. In lieu of taking a family medical leave, I changed jobs.”

  “No need to explain to us, sis,” Rachel said. “We’re in this together. “I wonder if getting a dog would keep her more settled.”

  Tabitha shook her head vehemently. “I can’t take on more responsibility. This is harder than I thought. I’m not used to this ever-changing version of her. She looks the same, but I have to remind myself that when she says and does things out of the norm, and the dementia is the culprit.”

  Kym looked thoughtful. “If you need more time to adjust with the new job and everything, I can bring Aunt Tweet back with me for, let’s say for three months.” Always in big sister mode, she believed in taking charge when she didn’t feel a situation was going as planned.

  “Nope.” Tabitha wasn’t a quitter, nor did she want a rescue—yet. “I needed to vent. That’s all” She exhaled. After all, she had prepared herself for the caregiver role, learning the stages and recognizing the symptoms. “Everything will work out.”

  “Think about activities to keep her occupied...and pets do make great companions for the elderly,” Rachel said. “We’re in this together.”

  It didn’t feel like it this week. “I got this,” Tabitha assured them before ending their Skype chat. She raced upstairs to make sure Aunt Tweet wouldn’t make a liar out of her with another visit to that mean old Mr. Jerk’s house. Let him call 9-1-1. She dared him.

  Chapter 7

  “Y

  ou were missing in action this weekend, bro,” Demetrius ribbed Marcus when he strolled through the door Monday morning. “Everything all right?”

  “Yep. A college buddy popped in town, and we spent Saturday hanging out and catching up.” He rested his laptop bag on the desk. “Sunday, I had brunch with the vice president of Enterprise Leasing, then we golfed for a few hours. I’d say I was in good company.” He was in a great mood to begin the work week.

  “Smooth, bro.” Demetrius exchanged a fist bump with Marcus. “I heard their contract with the current cleaning crew is expiring. Good time to network.”

  “You know it. Hey, have you checked in with Mom and Dad? I haven’t been able to reach them.”

  Sometimes John and Sylvia Whittington, who had both retired from the phone company and moved to North Carolina three years earlier, would take off for a mini-vacation at a moment’s notice. The tables had turned. Instead of the parents trying to keep up with their two little boys, their grown sons had to keep up with their aging parents.

  There was a knock at their door, and Chess stuck his head inside the room, then motioned for Demetrius to step outside. If their team leader wanted to speak with his brother, it must be serious.

  A few minutes later, he returned, telling Chess, “We’ll handle it.”

  “Hold on,” Marcus said. “Before we handle whatever it is, tell me about Mom and Dad.”

  Demetrius shrugged. “They went sailing with a stopover on Governors Island. They enjoyed it so much, they and their friends spent the night with no hurry to return home.”

  Shaking his head, Marcus envied their no-cares-in-the-world lifestyle. “They are living it up.”

  “Yep, and they were ecstatic when I told them you were out of pocket because you were in a complicated relationship with your neighbor and possibly on a date.” He snickered. “Mom seemed real interested.” So amused with himself, Demetrius bowled over, laughing as he returned to his desk.

  Marcus didn’t appreciate being the source of his brother’s amusement. “What?” He didn’t bother taming his roar. “My last and only complicated romantic relationship I had was with Chelsie. That was enough drama to last a lifetime.”

  “With that one, only money could buy her love. I’m glad you saw that and cut your losses.” Demetrius grinned.

  “So, what’s your fascination with my neighbor?” Marcus asked.

  “You tell me, bro. You come in mad about her aunt. Granted, you don’t get heated easily, but I’ve seen you mad, and when you talk about Tabitha, you ain’t mad enough to carry out your threat.” He twisted his mouth in a challenge.

  Humph. Marcus didn’t take the bait. His brother didn’t know him that well.

  Demetrius simmered down to soft chuckles before more laughter flared up again. “Sorry, your love life took the attention off me not having one. She accuses me of being too picky. Anyway, expect Mom to return your call tonight.” He boasted a puppy-dog expression. “You can thank me on your wedding day.”

  Not to that woman. He did his best to keep his irritation under wraps. “Whatever. So what situation do we need to handle?”

  Demetrius cleared his throat and patted his hands on his desk. “As we expected, Chess said Victor was a no-show on Friday.”

  He figured as much, but when he left the office on Friday, he didn’t want to think about it until he came back today. Marcus reached for his phone and flipped through the employee directory for Victor’s cell number. His live-in girl, also an employee, Latrice, answered. He could hear one of the babies crying in the background.

  After a short greeting, he asked for Victor. She was quiet before saying, “He’s
not here, Mr. Whittington,” she said softly.

  Victor had Latrice lying for him? Not only did Marcus not believe her, he suspected Victor was probably in the same room with her.

  “You’re going to fire him, aren’t you?” Her voice trembled.

  Mmm-hmm. Even she recognized her boyfriend’s behavior wasn’t favorable in the workplace. “I’m sorry, Latrice, but you know I can’t discuss personnel matters with you.” Her sniffles tore at his conscience. Yet, as the boss, even a pushover—per his brother—he had to stand his ground. “It’s going to be all right. God will help you.”

  Whoa. What made him say that? He had always been a firm believer that God helps those who help themselves. He later learned, to his shame, the phrase wasn’t even Biblical, but quoted by Ben Franklin in Poor Richard’s Almanac from 1757. The bottom line was Victor needed to man up.

  After that blunder was brought to his attention, he tried to keep God out of the conversation, since he wasn’t an authority on passages. His connection with God was limited to nightly in the bed prayers, because he was usually exhausted, and blessing his food. Marcus rarely stepped foot in church unless a special occasion called for it—weddings and reluctantly funerals.

  “Am I being let go too?” The panic in Latrice’s voice was real.

  “No,” he assured her. “Your work ethic is good. I wish it had rubbed off on your boyfriend. You show up on time and work overtime, if asked.”

  Marcus didn’t know what God’s plans were for Victor, or himself, for that matter. “Please ask him to call me. I want to save him a trip to the warehouse in case he’s in the mood to work.” He disconnected, then bowed his head. Victor called his bluff, leaving him no choice but to fire the man.

  “That must have been hard.”

  “Yeah.” Marcus exhaled. “It’s a good feeling putting someone on the payroll...it’s nothing to celebrate when we’re forced to fire them.” He glanced at their board of success stories. Some of their former employees had gone on the college, two of them grad school for social work.