The Vigil

by Marian P. Merritt

  “Sure.” He followed me to the door and out into the hallway. Gerald was four years older than Annie and had been our protector when we were in grade school. He’d made sure no one gave us a hard time.

  “Still looking out for Annie, aren’t you?”

  He slid his hands into his pockets and walked with his head lowered. “Yeah, guess I am. I moved to Shreveport a few years ago, so I don’t get here as much as I’d like, but I come when I can. “

  I paused and turned toward him. “I’m sure she appreciates your visits.”

  “I wish I knew if she knows I’m even here. But if she does, I know she appreciates your visits, too. It’s nice of you to come see her. Ya know, Cheryl, she tried to contact you when she and Beau started seeing each other.”

  “She did?”

  “Yep, she wanted to know if it was OK with you. She valued your friendship and hated that you two drifted apart. She knew how crazy you’d been about Beau.”

  I sighed. “That was Annie. So considerate.” I swallowed the rising lump. “It’s not fair. She’s too good for this to happen to her.”

  “She didn’t deserve this. Neither did Beau and Steven.” Emotion slurred his words. Moisture glistening in his eyes reflected in the afternoon sun.

  “Gerald, do you think she’d be OK with me going to Steven’s game this afternoon?”

  He laid his hand on my shoulder. “She would love for you to be at Steven’s game. If she couldn’t go, I can’t think of anyone else she’d rather have there.”

  I stared at the crack in the sidewalk and waited until the emotion rising in my throat settled. When I finally found the courage to look at Gerald, his smile warmed me. “Thanks. I needed to hear that. Now go sit with your amazing sister.” I nudged him on the arm.

  He chuckled. “I will.”

  ****

  I drove through Toucoin’s Park negotiating the curves to the back of the park to the Little League fields. I swore the last time I was here, I’d never return. Yet here I was. Another never-say-never lesson learned.

  So many spots throughout the park brought back a cadre of memories. Did Beau remember the last time we were at this park together? The memory so vivid, my gut tightened thinking about that day, our last day of high school, and I’d met Beau here. He waited for me next to one of the picnic tables near the lake so handsome in his navy and gold football jersey, the number seventeen emblazoned on his back and sleeves. His dark hair feathered back in smooth layers, framed the unbridled joy on his face when he saw me approach. The tenderness of his brown eyes enveloped me, and I have never felt such acceptance and love since.

  On that day, I’d turned down his marriage proposal. The rejection tangled in the warmth of those brown eyes continued to haunt me.

  I drove around the lake and passed the picnic table. The tree next to it drew me, so much so that I had to stop. As I walked toward the mighty oak, I tried to imagine how different my life would have been had I said yes all those years ago.

  Looking up at the large trunk, I found what I’d come for. B & C carved into the hefty bark. Beau’s twinkling eyes after he’d finished the task filled my thoughts. So proud. There, future generations will know all about our love. He’d said those words with such confidence that we’d be together forever.

  Regret seemed such a useless emotion especially as I’ve realized things are the way they are and our stories have made us who we are. I’m not sure Beau and I would still be married had I said yes at eighteen.

  Certain things were becoming very clear.

  I needed to leave here.

  He needed to stay and marry Annie. Plain and simple.

  It had not been our time. I ran my fingers over the rough bark and the carved letters and then turned away from the towering tree and walked back to my car feeling more confident than I had in years.

  The parking lot at the last baseball diamond in the park held a throng of cars, SUVs, and trucks of every make and model. I parked my car and headed to the stands.

  Beau wasn’t hard to spot. He was the dad at the end of the row cheering with whoops and hollers rivaling any rapid, die-hard Saints fan. After all, Saints and LSU fans are the icons of Louisiana sports loyalty. If Louisiana had a pro-baseball team, I’m sure they’d get the same devotion.

  “C’mon, Steven, take it home!”

  I slid onto the bench next to him and glanced at the scoreboard. “Tied. Are you kidding me?”

  “Nope. It’s the bottom of the ninth. Bases are loaded. Two outs and Steven is at bat. You’ve got good timing, girl.”

  I smiled. Timing had nothing to do with it. If he’d only known where I’d stopped before coming here. “Glad I made it in time.”

  We watched as Steven swung at the first ball the pitcher fired his way and missed.

  “Strike one!” The umpire yelled.

  “C’mon, buddy. You can do this.” I barely heard Beau’s words as he stopped yelling and focused on the drama unfolding below us. Even though he remained seated, his knee bounced up and down. “C’mon. C’mon.”

  “Strike two.”

  A collective ahh spread throughout the stands.

  Steven, looking so much like his father, wiped his hands on his uniform pants and then tightened his grip on the bat.

  “C’mon, buddy. C’mon.” Beau spoke into his clasped hands.

  Whack. The ball connected with the bat and sailed past the right fielder’s head to the far end of the field.

  Beau and I jumped from our seats. “Run! Run!” we yelled in unison.

  Everyone in the stands cheered and the noise melted in one shout for Steven to run.

  When he zipped around third base and headed for home the outfielder retrieved the ball and threw to the cutoff man. Steven closed in on home as the ball flew toward the plate. The catcher, in his perfect catcher pose, awaited the ball. As though the action happened in slow motion, Steven lay back and let his feet slide forward in front of him while the ball dashed passed him. The ball stopped inside the catcher’s mitt seconds after Steven’s feet crossed the plate.

  “Safe!” the umpire yelled.

  The crowd’s volume tripled, something I didn’t think possible.

  Beau jumped up and down. “He did it. He did it.”

  I jumped up and down.

  We laughed loud. We laughed from deep places that had forgotten the pure joy of laughing, and over something as simple as a child’s baseball game.

  But to Steven this was the world and something he sorely needed after the last few months—well, years—of his life.

  “C’mon. Let’s go down closer to the field.” Beau guided me off the stands.

  Steven’s teammates lifted him onto their shoulders and pranced him around the field.

  Beau watched with a grin. A prouder papa could not be found.

  When the boys came back toward the team dugout, Steven spied his father and me. “Dad, I did it!”

  “Yes, you did, son. Good job.”

  “Miz Cheryl, you came! Did you see my homerun?”

  “I did. You were remarkable.”

  Several parents of Steven’s team members congratulated Steven. Many patted Beau on the back and asked about Annie. I stepped back and watched the scene. Beau had amazing community support, but with work, trips to sit with Annie, and trying to keep Steven’s life as normal as possible for a ten-year-old, he’d not had time to keep close friends. Like me, the friends he’d had in school had either left town or were busy with their own lives. So the community was what he had, and they’d rallied around him as best they could.

  The short time Beau had with Annie seemed filled with more of the things that mattered. I was thankful he’d had those years and the memories. A part of me battled the pangs of jealousy. I wanted those things, too. But I realized with blinding clarity that I’d passed that opportunity with Beau many years ago.

  I was grateful for the second chance I’d been given with Mama and accepted the contentment that I could be Beau’s and Steven
’s friend during their time of need. Those things had been more than I imagined possible. Thank you, Lord.

  Dix-Sept

  Later that afternoon, after Steven’s game I gathered Mr. Bojangles and walked the few blocks to Mawmaw’s house. He ran circles around my feet during the entire walk. Was he excited about being outdoors or getting the treat he knew Mawmaw had waiting for him?

  “Hello.” I walked into the back door. “Mawmaw?” Silence quickened my pulse. I ventured further into the house. “Mawmaw?” I raised my voice.

  “Cheryl, in here.” Her muted voice drifted from her bedroom.

  As I peered around the doorframe, my heart did a two-step. “Mawmaw, what are you doing?”

  She stood on the top rung of her stepladder, leaning over to adjust the curtains over the window above her bed. “Just can’t get the curtains closed. Every morning a slit of sunshine hits me right smack dab in the eyes. I’m tired of it.”

  “OK.” I held the ladder to keep it from tipping over. “Why don’t you come down and let me do that for you?”

  She stretched a little more. “Almost got it.”

  I held my breath. Please Lord, don’t let her fall.

  Even Mr. Bojangles seemed to have stopped breathing. With his leash on the floor beside him, he waited at the door with his dark eyes fixed on Mawmaw.

  “There.” She leaned back toward the center. “I think that’ll do it.”

  I placed my hands on her sides and guided her off the ladder.

  “Please don’t ever do that again.” I placed my hand on my heart. “You about scared me to death.”

  “Oh, Cheryl, I’ve told you a million times not to exaggerate.” She flashed her mischievous smile toward me and then giggled.

  “Mawmaw, you could have fallen and broken a bone. Then where would you be? Living with Mama, for sure.”

  “Oh, thanks for painting that picture. C’mon, pooch, I’ve got your treat ready.” She walked toward the door and a bouncing Mr. Bojangles.

  I followed behind, ladder in hand. “Please wait for one of us to do those things for you.”

  She held up her hands. “OK, I give. Are we still going for our afternoon walk, or will you keep lecturing me?”

  “Yes, our walk and no more lectures.”

  “Good.” She fed the treat to my now impatient dog.

  With Mr. Bojangles on my left side and Mawmaw on my right, we strolled our small neighborhood. Giant live oaks lined our street, their large out-reaching branches forming a canopy over our heads.

  I wanted desperately to broach the subject of Carlton but didn’t feel the time was right. When would it be?

  “Hear your brother’s gonna take that Guidry girl out again. ‘Bout time he gets off his keister and connects wit’ that girl. They were a good match.” Her walking cane tapped against the asphalt.

  “Yep. I hope things work out for them. I liked her.”

  “What about you, Cheryl? When you gonna find someone to spend your life wit’?”

  “I don’t know. Evidently Mr. Right hasn’t made his presence known.”

  Mr. Bojangles tugged on his leash and pulled my arm forward as a squirrel ferried up the bark of one of the large trees.

  “Are you sure he hasn’t made his presence known?”

  I stopped and turned toward her. “What do you mean?”

  “Seems I remember you were pretty sweet on Beau Battice there in high school.”

  “Mawmaw, you know he’s married. But I find myself wondering if he was my Mr. Right, and I let him get away.”

  “I know he’s married, and I’m certainly not saying you should be involved with a married man, but you could do a lot worse than hooking up wit’ someone like him. There are a lot of guys like him around here.”

  After quieting Mr. Bojangles and untangling his leash from around my ankles, I resumed our forward progression. “I’m too busy to think about starting a relationship with anyone right now. The timing is wrong, and there really isn’t anyone I’ve met who fits the bill.”

  “Well, there is a lot to be said for timing. The right man will come along when you’re receptive to the idea. The good Lord will send you someone when he knows you’re ready.”

  That was the second time today I’d been reminded that good things happen when my heart is open and receptive. Maybe I should listen.

  We walked a few more blocks in silence and then turned around just as the sun was sinking low on the horizon. Its rays cast a soft glow through the branches of the oaks.

  Mawmaw stopped walking for a moment. “You know, I hear Beau’s wife is not doing real well. She got pneumonia or something and has taken a turn for the worse. That poor woman, she’s had a hard time, not to mention how tough this whole thing has been on Beau and Steven. Just breaks my heart for dem.”

  “I know. I can’t imagine how difficult it’s been for everyone.” I removed Mr. Bojangles’ leash and scratched his belly.

  We climbed the steps onto Mawmaw’s porch and sat on the hanging swing. She turned to me with a distant look in her eyes. “Cheryl, I know what it feels like to think you’ve lost Mr. Right. That one person who could, how do you young people say it, rock your world. The person who made you feel so alive the very thought of life without dem tears your heart into shreds.”

  Was Mawmaw talking about Carlton? Dare I ask? I tapped my fingers on my thighs while gathering the nerve to ask. “Mawmaw—”

  A flash of white bolted past me and off the porch. Mr. Bojangles darted through the yard, toward the street in full chase of a squirrel.

  I gasped and dashed after him.

  The headlights of an oncoming car illuminated the squirrel’s path.

  “Oh, no. Mr. Bojangles, stop!” I waved my arms to get the driver’s attention. The car approached.

  I huffed and puffed—reminded of how out of shape I’d become. “C’mon.” I waved again and just as I turned to face the oncoming car, it turned into Mawmaw’s driveway. Anthony. “Thank you, Jesus.”

  I trotted across the street to gather my dog. He’d scared me half to death. When I bent over to pick him up, he hopped into my arms and licked my face—his tactic to deflect my anger. It worked. His big dark eyes and bushy eyebrows had a way of melting me like wax in the midday sun. I carried him back to the porch, at a slower pace. “No… running off…again.” His scolding came between gasps.

  “Sis, I haven’t seen you run that fast since we were in high school and Mr. Avery’s bull got loose from his pasture.” Anthony walked up and lifted Mr. Bojangles from my arms. “Come with nice Uncle Tony.”

  “Angelle.” I gasped again but began to catch my breath.

  She nodded. “Hello, Cheryl. It’s been awhile.”

  “Oh, my, yes it has. Probably since the year I ran from Mr. Avery’s bull.” I chuckled.

  She laughed softly and nodded. “You’re right.”

  I linked my arm with hers and guided her up the stairs to where Mawmaw waited on the porch.

  Anthony followed with Mr. Bojangles.

  We sat on the porch for a couple of hours drinking iced tea with citronella candles burning and the ceiling fan whirling. Our smooth, easy conversation mingled well with the symphony of cicadas and the flashes of light from the lightning bugs. It felt right having her around again.

  I loved seeing the pure joy and contentment on my brother’s face. Happiness for him filled my heart. It was nice to feel good for a change.

  ****

  Sunday morning I awoke at 4:00 AM. Wide awake. No more coffee for me after 5:00 PM.

  I’d been invited by Chuck and Debra to attend worship service at their church. The thought of going to church left me unsettled. The services I’d attended in the past were staunch and ritualistic. I’d left feeling relieved to be out in fresh air. I should not feel this way when leaving church. So I’d abandon all ties to religion and just lived my life. I guess the problem was, I’d lived it without God. Could God really make that much of a difference? Enough to change a bad
boy like Chuck into a pastor? I had to admit that was quite a transformation.

  I punched my pillow and rolled over in an attempt to return to sleep. Thoughts of Anthony and Angelle, Mama and Elray, Mawmaw and Carlton, Beau and Annie, and Steven whizzed through my mind jostling to see which one claimed the coveted forefront position. I couldn’t calm my brain. After wrestling for an hour, I threw the covers back and marched into the kitchen.

  The steady hum of the air conditioner provided a backdrop to the quietness of the morning.

  Mr. Bojangles slept soundly in his bed in the laundry room.

  I rustled into the kitchen and fixed my black gold—coffee. I carried my cup into the living room and settled into the corner of the couch ready to tackle my mail from the past few days.

  Beau weighed heavy on my mind and my heart. I could only imagine what he was going through. I’d started to call when I got home from Mawmaw’s last night and then realized it was past ten, and I didn’t want to bother him that late. I loved being his friend, but something kept pulling me back. I didn’t want Beau to get the wrong impression. Or was it Beau I was really worried about? I wrestled with my true feelings. Was I concerned more about what others thought? Did I battle with some of the old feelings I’d had for him?

  He was married. I pushed thoughts of Annie, so close to death, away. I didn’t want to think about her for fear I may have thoughts I couldn’t be proud of. I didn’t want her to die. But I also didn’t want Beau to suffer the way he’d suffered. The situation was all so confusing and unsettling.

  I turned to the mail stack on my lap—credit card applications, subscription requests for magazines months from expiration, and bills. On the table next to the couch, sat the Bible Chuck had given me. I opened the cover to the short note he’d scribbled on the inside.

  Cheryl, Thanks so much for coming to see me and trusting me. Remember God can use any one of us at any time to serve His purposes. Love in Christ, Chuck.

  Below his signature he had written in very neat print, Jeremiah 29:11-13.

  I flipped pages to Jeremiah and read the verse Chuck had quoted. “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”