God had plans for me? Plans to prosper me and not harm me. I guess prosper can mean different things to different people in different circumstances. I didn’t particularly feel like I had prospered, but I wasn’t destitute, either.
I thought about the time Jarrod had struck me. He could have seriously injured me. Had God been watching out for me back then? Had He done the same when Mama brought Elray into our lives? To give me hope and a future. Was coming home to discover the truth, hope for my future?
While reading the next lines, my heart stirred.
“Then you will call on Me and come and pray to Me, and I will listen to you. You will seek Me and find Me when you seek Me with all your heart.”
I remembered praying to God when Mr. Bojangles ran into the street, when Mawmaw had her stroke, when she had climbed on the ladder and I thought she’d fall, and when I felt helpless in how to care for Carlton. Some of those things were minor and some were major, but one thing struck me: I hadn’t consciously thought about those prayers. They’d come automatically. And I’m pretty sure God had heard me.
I volleyed the idea of whether or not to go to church for a moment. Then I downed the last sip of my coffee, cared for Mr. Bojangles, and headed to my room to change. I’d go today. Lord, show me what You want me to be.
****
Monday morning, the sweet aroma of pancakes enveloped me as I walked into Carlton’s house. Darcy walked into the kitchen, a dishtowel draped over her right shoulder and her long brown ponytail swinging back and forth. “Mornin’ Cheryl. How are you?”
“Doing well. You?”
“I’m OK. Ready to get home to bed.”
“Did Carlton have a bad night?”
“He woke up a couple of times last night crying about Sherri. I don’t know who this gal is, but I’d like to meet her to give her a piece of my mind. She sure broke his heart but good.”
I nodded. “I’d like to meet her, too.”
I helped Darcy clean the kitchen.
She filled me in on what Carlton needed before she headed out the door.
When I entered Carlton’s room, his raspy breathing and snoring filled the air. I tiptoed out and headed for the kitchen table wishing I’d brought something to read or at least my knitting. I ventured into his living room to see if he had any books. I’d never been there before, never really had a need.
An old, vinyl brown sofa sat against the right wall in the sparse rectangular room. Thick drapes hung from a picture window above it. Next to the sofa sat a worn wooden rocking chair. Both faced a bank of shelves where a television with a circular knob to change channels rested on the middle shelf.
A few books stood upright above and to the right of the television. I stood on my toes and tilted my head to read the titles. Phantom of the Opera, Middlemarch, Cyrano de Bergerac, and Notre Dame de Paris. Had Carlton read these? They didn’t seem like the type of books he’d read. A theme emerged. These were all books about unrequited love. My thoughts zipped back to Lady S.
Poor Carlton. Darcy had nailed the truth. Sherri had hurt him but good.
A black binder sat on the shelf below the books. Nothing fancy, just an office three-ring type with the word Pictures written on a label attached to the cover. Maybe Carlton would like to look through these.
I grabbed the binder and carried it to the kitchen table. Carlton loved a mid-morning cup of coffee, so I made a fresh pot. Another cup would awaken my tired body. I hadn’t slept much last night. Stirrings from Chuck’s sermon yesterday kept my mind racing way past my bedtime. I couldn’t wait to share them with Carlton.
Chuck had preached on the importance of forgiveness. His words worked like a soothing balm to soften the rough edges and showed me I did the best I could with the knowledge I had. Elray would have forgiven me and, because I asked with a repentant heart, I knew God had forgiven me, also.
The scent of fresh coffee permeated throughout the house, and I figured if anything could wake Carlton it would be the lure of a cup of coffee.
I glanced at the clock. Ten. I returned to Carlton’s room and listened. Same snoring and raspy breathing. He’d slept longer than usual. I debated waking him so he would sleep tonight but abandoned the idea. His body needed rest when he could get it. So I checked his oxygen levels, returned to the kitchen, and filled my coffee cup.
The binder beckoned.
Should I take a peek? I reached for the cover. Perhaps in a few minutes, I would know the identity of Lady S.
A soft voice inside admonished. Don’t. It’s his privacy.
I pushed the binder to the other side of the table far away from where I sat. Carlton trusted me, and I valued that trust. I had a feeling opening that binder would be like opening Pandora’s Box, and I’d lose something valuable in the process.
Dix Huit
Carlton’s hacking cough invaded the silence of the kitchen. I rushed to his room. He had removed his oxygen tube and coughed into a handful of tissue. Droplets of blood stained the white paper, and his body jerked from the violent coughs.
I dashed into the bathroom and dampened a facecloth with cool water.
Carlton settled back onto his pillow with his tubing in place.
I wiped his face leaving the cloth to linger over his eyes.
“Mornin’...missed ya,” he said, his voice cracking more than usual.
We exchanged the facecloth for a glass of water and his medication. I laid the towel on the nightstand while Carlton took the pills with several small sips of water.
“Better?”
“Yep.” He handed the glass to me.
A couple of bloodstains dotted the old blue blanket so I removed it from his bed. He pointed to his closet. “Other blanket in there.”
After I placed the new blanket on his bed and started the washer to clean the blue one, I returned to his bedside. “Do you need anything?”
“Yep. Lady S’s letters.”
The ashen gray of his complexion broke my heart. The end for him fast approached. Was there nothing I could do to give him peace? Chuck had also preached on missed opportunity. I didn’t want Carlton to die without the opportunity to forgive or be forgiven, whatever his case.
I walked toward the dresser where I’d left the letters in the top drawer. “Carlton, would you like to meet with Pastor Chuck again?’
“Did you see him?”
“I did. We had a nice chat. He helped me understand a little about forgiveness. I also attended his church yesterday. He’s a good preacher. I’m still thinking about all he said.”
“Don’t think...do,” he said.
Was he avoiding my question? “Would you like to meet with Pastor Chuck again?”
“Don’t think so.” He pursed his lips and met my gaze when I approached the bed. “I don’t care...anymore. Jus’ ready to go.”
His words splintered my heart. I knew he grew weary, but I didn’t think he’d gone this far. Chuck’s question loomed in my mind. Did God want to use me to minister to Carlton? If he did, now would be a great time to give me the words because I didn’t know how to respond or whether I could get past the tangled knot in my esophagus. Lord, help me here.
I lifted his bony hand and let my warmth mingle with the coldness in his fingers. It was as though he’d already left and only an empty shell remained. Until I looked into his eyes. The glistening there reflected his pain and longing.
He wasn’t an empty shell.
He still lived, and I became more determined than ever to make his days as content and comfortable as possible.
“Carlton, I can’t say I understand how you feel. I don’t. But I can only imagine how hard this is for you.”
“Past time...should be gone by now.”
I wrapped both my hands around his fingers and brought them to my lips where I gently blew on them, hoping to infuse him with warmth and life. “Maybe God has something He needs you to do before you go. A job of some sort.”
He snorted. “Me?”
“Yeah, yo
u. He could have taken you yesterday, last night, or two weeks ago, but He hasn’t. There’s a reason He’s kept you around.” I continued to blow warmth onto his fingertips.
His lips slowly spread into a grin. The cowboy grin I’d fallen in love with the first time he’d revealed it to me covered his face. I knew he had shaken his mood, if only for a moment. “To keep...you in line,” he smarted.
I squeezed his hand and laughed through tears. “Not a chance, Buster. I’m keeping you in line.”
His smiled broadened. “How ‘bout...a letter?”
“You got it. But first, can you answer a question?”
“Depends...on the question.”
I drew in a deep breath and exhaled long and slow. Time slipped away and I needed to be bold. “Why don’t you want me to contact Lady S?”
He closed his eyes, and I feared the question would jetty him back into his depression or worse, a raging fit that would further erode his remaining time. Instead, he opened his eyes and spoke between labored breaths. “She don’t need...me remindin’ her of past mis...takes. Got a good...life with...out me.” He paused for a moment, and I debated whether or not to speak. He continued. “Love her too...much to hurt her...again...or her family.”
So he hurt her. I garnered each precious tidbit of information he divulged. “Ever think that she might want to see you?”
“She doesn’t.” His conviction held, and I knew pushing this would be fruitless.
“OK. But if you change your mind and want me to contact her, please tell me who she is, and I will call her for you.”
He nodded.
I turned my attention to the letters on my lap and sensed I’d need extra courage to read today. Were the words of Lady S the only thing keeping Carlton alive? I thumbed through the stack. My chest tightened. Five letters remained.
I unfolded the top letter.
My Dearest Carlton,
I got your last letter. My heart exploded with joy when I saw your handwriting. Yes, I am taking care of myself. I want to be in tiptop shape when you come home. Yes, I am learning as much as possible and yes, I’m reading the books you bought me before you left. Thank you, again. They keep my heart calm at night before I fall asleep. And, just like you with me, you are the last thing I think of at night and the first thing when I awake.
Christmas was wonderful but sad without you. I saw your mama today at Marcel’s General Market. She smiled at me and nodded, but she didn’t come to me. I wanted so badly to go to her and tell her I understand how she feels, but I didn’t. I respect your wishes that we keep our relationship a secret from our parents. My best friend knows. She is actually dating your brother. So we talk about our letters and how anxious we are for this war to be over. My Mama knows, but she hasn’t said anything to Papa, and I feel bad that I’m causing her to keep things from her husband. But she knows how angry he’d be, and I think she believes we’ll grow tired of one another. I don’t think she’s ever been truly in love with Papa. I see how they are together, and I can’t imagine them ever having what you and I have. I don’t see love between them. Only obligation. Sometimes I think they got married as a business deal or because it’s who their parents wanted them to marry. I thank God that’s not us. Please stay safe. I pray every day morning, noon, and night for your safety. I know God brought us together, and I can’t imagine my life without you by my side. I can’t imagine life without our kids trampling around my feet. But I can’t imagine waking up mornings like now, without your head on the pillow next to mine.
I am waiting so impatiently for your return and our wedding day. It will be the happiest day of my life!
Yours forever,
The future Mrs. Carlton Perlouix - Lady S
The steady drone of Carlton’s concentrator yanked me back into the present. Unlike after the other letters, where he stared off into space, this morning he stared at me. A curious, questioning gaze hid behind the moisture pooled in his eyes. “Ever...been in love?” His eyes bored into mine. “Truly in love?”
I stared back and wondered. Had I? I thought I loved Beau deeply, but was what we had in high school true love? And if it was, how could I have so easily walked away from him?
“I’m not sure, Carlton. I know I loved someone in high school, and I regret terribly that I walked away from him. I believe given more time and maturity, it could have been true love.”
“Can you...go to him now?”
“Only as a friend.”
He nodded. “I see.” He flicked his fingers to draw me closer.
I leaned in toward his bed.
“Regrets...are hard. Don’t let...” He paused and took several deep breaths. “...them steal your...joy.”
I reached for his hand and held it tightly. I’d allow so many things to steal my joy. The more his comment permeated through my brain, the more I came to understand that I’d never really had joy. I’d spent my youth hating a man who didn’t deserve it, my early twenties searching for something to fill the bottomless void, and my late twenties with men who didn’t really love me. Ones, I never loved. Carlton was right. If I continued at this rate, my life would be one big regret.
He squeezed my hand and our gazes locked. “Understand...me?”
“I do. I do understand.” Not able to stand the scrutiny of his glare, I turned toward the window and watched the flittering leaves of the sycamore tree.
Who was I? What had I done that if I died today people would know I existed? How could I find joy when I’d messed up so many opportunities I’d been given?
Carlton cleared his throat and drew my attention back to him. “Forgive your...self yet?”
I smiled and rolled my bottom lip between my teeth. This man had ferried his way into my heart. “Yes, I’m getting there. Still have moments of guilt that attack, but I’m making a conscious effort to let go. What about you?”
“Trying to.”
“What’s holding you back?”
“Stubborn...I guess.”
A small chuckle escaped my lips. “I’d say that is probably true for both of us.”
“Sup’ose...Pastor was right.”
“About what?”
“For...giveness is freedom.”
Funny how harbored guilt and resentment made it so easy to miss the one thing we all searched for—freedom.
“Guess he is right. Question is, do you want to be free of this nagging burden, or do you feel that it’s your punishment?” I asked.
Carlton’s eyelids closed, and he pushed them open again. He’d waged a battle to stay awake and despite the importance of our conversation, the drugs I’d given him earlier were wining.
He turned his hand in mine and tapped with his index finger. “Freedom,” he said and closed his eyes. A few moments later, he nodded off to sleep.
Carlton’s steady raspy breaths, the whirr of his concentrator, the shush-shush of the wind through the sycamores, and the tweets of the little birds in the branches spoke to me, saying, “He’s right. He’s right. He’s right.”
My heart stirred and moved in a way like never before. Praying felt important. Felt right. So I knelt and spoke to a God I had turned away from long before I had gotten a chance to really know Him.
Dix-Neuf
Over the next several days, I read three of the remaining five letters from Lady S to Carlton. In each letter, she poured out her love to him and hinted he had done the same in his letters to her. His condition remained the same. Not worse, but not better. While I expected as much, it broke my heart.
I’d spoken to Debra at our Fourth of July fais do do planning session and learned that Annie’s condition had worsened. She’d developed pneumonia and was not responding to the treatments.
After the conversation with Carlton about regrets, I didn’t want to regret not offering my help to Beau during this time. After a moment, I picked up the phone from my nightstand. As I dialed his number, my pulse quickened. Please, Lord, let me say the right words.
“Hello, this is B
eau.”
“It’s Cheryl.”
“Cheryl, hi.”
I detected a hint of sadness that betrayed his words. “Beau, Debra told me about Annie. I’ll be there next Saturday. Is there anything else you need me to do?”
“That’s very kind. There is one thing you can do for me. Pray. Pray that, if this is Annie’s time, that God would be merciful and relieve her suffering. And please pray that I have wisdom in all this. I feel so helpless.”
His words shattered my resolve and the hot sting of tears pressed my eyes. I wanted to be strong for him. I swallowed and sighed. “Sure. I can do that and I will.”
“Thanks, Cheryl. That means a lot to me. I know it’s not something that’s a big part of your life, but it’s what has kept me going these past few years.”
So that was how Beau managed throughout his horrific ordeal. “I’m thankful your faith has been such a comfort to you.”
“It’s that peace that passes all understanding.”
I didn’t quite understand his comment, but I guessed it had something to do with being at peace when your world was in chaos. I would like to have that. “Is that from the Bible?”
“It is, worded a bit differently, in Philippians 4:17.”
“I’ll look that up. How is Annie today?”
“Not well. I think this might be the beginning of the end. It’s been so hard watching her wither away. I’ve tried to come here every night after work.”
I thought of Carlton and his struggle. At least he communicated. Annie had been silent for two years. “Beau, I know this is hard. Please, know I will be praying. And if there is anything more you need me to do, just call.”
“Thanks, Cheryl. I will.”
After I’d hung up, I retrieved the Bible Chuck gave me from my nightstand and read the passage. Peace. The word itself offered hope for a place I longed to be. A place I had denied myself because of guilt, misunderstandings, and secrets that served no purpose.
The Vigil Page 13
