“I’ll be sure to take you directly to the train station as soon as service is over. I don’t want you to miss your train.” Sister Murphy tapped her leg. “You do have your ticket, don’t you?”
Helen knew she had the ticket. She’d been double-and triple-checking her purse all morning. One more time wouldn’t hurt. She opened her purse and pulled out the envelope that contained the pictures Micah had sent her and the one-way train ticket her brother sent her for Chicago to Emeryville, California.
“I got everything right here.” Helen smiled and held on to the envelope with all of her strength.
“Don’t forget to call me when you get to Hollywood, and send me some pictures of movie stars.”
Helen shook her head and smacked her lips. “Lula, how many times do I have to tell you? I’m going to Northern California, near San Francisco; not Los Angeles. And movie stars don’t just hang out in the street waiting for somebody to walk up and take their picture.”
Lula frowned. “Oh, well, but don’t forget to write me sometime, and you can call me or I’ll call you collect. Since you’ll be living in a mansion and all, you can afford the call.”
Helen laughed and started to tell her friend that a four-bedroom house was not a mansion, but figured Lula, who she considered a country bumpkin, wouldn’t understand.
“Don’t you get out west and forget your friends in the Windy City,” Lula told her.
Helen placed her arm around Lula. “You’re the only real friend I got here. That’s why I gave you my brother’s address and phone number. I want you to keep in touch, just in case I need you to pray.”
Lula returned her hug. “Anytime, anytime.”
Helen arose to her feet for praise and worship. Lula tapped her on the arm and asked, “What are you doing? I ain’t never seen you stand and praise the Lord.”
“This is my last day here, and I’m going to give it all I got!” Helen yelled over the praise and worship singers. She then fixed her eyes on the big screen containing the words to the song, and for the first time, she sung along. She became so caught up with the song, Helen started dancing in the Spirit.
“Yes, Lord! Thank you, Jesus! I love you, Lord!” Helen shouted as she danced across the front of the sanctuary with her hands raised.
Lula was so happy for her friend that she jumped up and danced with her. She tried to keep up with Helen’s pace, but Helen was moving to a beat no one could grasp but her.
Helen danced until she was tired, then fell to her knees at the end of the front pew.
“Thank you, Father!” she cried and gripped her chest. She repeated those words until the pain in her chest stopped and she reached total peace.
“Are you going to dance today?” Matthew asked Micah right before the start of Sunday service.
“I might.” Micah squeezed his shoulder. Since his ordeal, Matthew made a habit of sitting next to Micah during service.
“If you do, I’m going to dance too.” Matthew smiled and showed the empty space in his mouth from his missing baby tooth.
Micah certainly felt like dancing, and he had many reasons to celebrate. First and foremost, he was saved. His relationship with Pamela was moving along slowly, but moving nonetheless. There were moments when he thought Pamela was ready to make a permanent commitment. Then there were those times when she was distant and would pull away from him. He constantly had to reassure her that it was she he desired and not Richard.
The three of them had fallen back into their weekly routine of dinner together three times a week and Saturday afternoon outings. Matthew’s counseling sessions were going better than expected. The therapist planned to end the sessions at the end of the month. Micah’s foot healed sooner than expected, and he was back at work. But what filled his heart with unexplainable joy was his mother’s anticipated arrival in three days.
Micah never thought he could feel so happy about seeing his mother. He planned to pick her up and spin her around the moment he saw her. God certainly worked a miracle; Helen Stevenson was a changed woman. Every time he thought about how his mother was motivated to stop drinking simply because he told her that he loved her, he had to choke back tears. Thinking back to his birthday, he reasoned it must have been the Holy Spirit that made him utter those three words on that day. He remembered vividly that he didn’t want to speak to her at all. That was all in the past. He now looked forward to their weekly chats.
Last night they talked for over an hour. Helen went on and on about how she couldn’t wait to see him and how she was going to make him a big dinner when she got there, even gave him a grocery list. What she didn’t know was that Micah had AC call in a favor from a buddy of his. Pastor Jackson and Micah were going to pick up Helen from the train station in a white stretch limousine, and then whisk her off to dinner at Fisherman’s Wharf in San Francisco. Helen loved seafood, and Micah was going to make sure she had all that she could handle. For the following evening, Pamela and his aunt had arranged a “Welcome to California” dinner with family and close friends. Micah knew she would like that too since Helen hadn’t seen some of her relatives in over twenty years. He also knew she would like Pamela and Matthew.
Praise and worship was just about over when Micah noticed that Pastor Jackson hadn’t made his arrival to the pulpit. This was unusual for him. Pastor Jackson liked to take part in as much of the service as possible.
“Go sit with your mother; I’m going to check on Pastor Jackson,” Micah instructed Matthew who readily obeyed.
No sooner had Matthew made it across the sanctuary to Pamela, the first lady beckoned for Pamela to join her in the pastor’s office. Micah stepped from his row to find AC in the aisle motioning for him to follow.
“Pastor needs to see you in his office,” AC said somberly.
“Is he all right?” Micah asked, but AC didn’t answer, just turned and started toward the pastor’s office.
From her seat, Jessica prayed. She didn’t know what was going on, but whatever it was it had to be major for both Pastor Jackson and First Lady to be out of service on Sunday morning.
Cautiously, Micah stepped inside Pastor Jackson’s office and into the eerie atmosphere. Pastor Jackson sat at his desk and his wife stood next to him with her arm around him, comforting him. Pamela moved beside Micah and intertwined her arm with his. Micah recognized the sadness in her eyes, but couldn’t identify the source.
He looked back at his uncle and asked, “What’s going on?”
Pastor Jackson propped his elbows on the desk, and then laced his fingers together underneath his chin. “Son, I am so sorry to have to tell you this,” he began, then paused to gain control of his emotions.
“What’s going on?” Micah asked for the second time, this time more urgent than the first.
Pastor Jackson sighed. “I received a call from Cook County Hospital.” He paused again. “Your mother, my baby sister, died this morning.”
Micah completely blocked the words from penetrating his brain. “So what’s the problem?” He shrugged his shoulders.
His nonchalant response only made it harder for Pastor Jackson to repeat the dreaded words. “I’m sorry, but Helen died of an apparent heart attack,” Pastor Jackson repeated somberly.
Micah shook his head. “They’re mistaken. My mother is on a train at this very moment headed to California.”
Pastor Jackson sadly shook his head. “No, she’s not. She suffered a heart attack in service this morning and died,” he stated for the third time, then pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face.
“I just talked to her last night.” Micah refused to accept his uncle’s words. “She’s coming to see me. We’re taking her to dinner on Wednesday, and we have the party on Thursday.” Micah looked at his aunt. His eyes pleaded with her to confirm their plans.
“I’m sorry, baby,” First Lady whispered. “Your mother is gone.”
Micah turned to his right to Pamela, and she nodded in confirmation. “Honey, it’s true.” He l
ooked back at AC who also nodded affirmatively. Micah’s eyes slammed shut as excruciating pain filled his chest cavity. He thought he was having a heart attack and gripped his chest with both hands. The ache in his heart was so strong that he fell to his knees and wept violently. If the choir had not been in full swing, Micah’s cries would have been heard throughout the sanctuary.
“Oh God, why? Why now? Why my mother?” Micah cried out between sobs.
Pastor Jackson lowered his head and wept on his desk.
“My mother is gone!” Micah wailed repeatedly as he lay in the fetal position on the floor. He cried so hard and so long that his breathing became labored, and AC had to prop him upright in a chair so air could circulate through his lungs. Pamela loosed his tie and unbuttoned the top button on his shirt. As he lay limp, She wiped his nose and dried his chin.
“Ever since she told me she was coming, I could hardly think of anything else. I was so happy that she was moving here. I wanted to sit beside my mother in church and talk with her about the Lord. Now that will never happen. She will never have the cute grandchildren she talked so much about,” Micah rambled.
“She didn’t suffer,” Pastor Jackson said after the room quieted again. “Her friend, Lula Murphy, said she went praising God. She said she’d never seen Helen so happy.”
Except for frequent sniffles the room grew silent again.
“I want to see her,” Micah said weakly.
“I have Sister Davis checking with the airlines as we speak. More than likely, we’ll be on the first plane in the morning,” Pastor Jackson answered.
“Thank you,” Micah whispered, not because his uncle was taking care of his travel arrangements, but because he was going to accompany him back to Chicago.
“I have to stop at my safe deposit box first and get her life insurance policy before we leave.”
That was news to Micah. “My mother has an insurance policy?”
“She sure does. Helen took out a policy for $250,000 right after your father died. Your mother wanted to make sure you would be taken care of just in case she drunk herself to death. She made you the beneficiary, but sent the policy to me for safekeeping since you were underage,” Pastor Jackson explained.
“That was a long time ago. More than likely the policy lapsed years ago for nonpayment. We barely had money for food. I’m sure she wasn’t able to keep up with the premiums,” Micah surmised after blowing his nose.
“Oh, this policy is good,” Pastor Jackson said with surety. “Your mother may have spent most of her fixed income on alcohol, but she made sure she paid the insurance every month. When she didn’t have the money, she called and had me pay it. In fact, that was about the only time she would let me minister to her about Jesus, when she needed money for her insurance.”
“Baby, even after you turned eighteen, Helen kept up with that policy. Helen said that policy was the only thing she had of value to leave you and for us to make sure you get your money,” his aunt added.
Micah closed his eyes and recalled his mother’s instructions. If anything were to happen to her, he was to look in her phone book and call Uncle Robert and Aunt Faye. Micah bent over with his face in his hands and wept some more. He had no idea his mother had left him anything. He didn’t know all those years his mother neglected him that she was really looking out for him in the best way she knew how. Micah longed for his mother even more now. He would give anything, including the money, to have his mother on that train coming to see him.
Pamela wrapped her arms around him in an effort to comfort him.
Sister Davis stepped into the office. “Pastor, I can get you on a 6:00 A.M. flight to Midway.”
“The bank doesn’t open until nine,” Pastor Jackson responded.
“I can take First Lady to the bank first thing in the morning, then fax you the information,” AC suggested. “I’m sure whatever mortuary you choose will have a fax machine.”
“If not, the hotel will have one,” Sister Davis added.
“All right.” Pastor Jackson nodded his approval. Micah’s head was still in his hands, but he nodded his approval of the arrangements also.
Sister Davis opened the door to leave just as Jessica was about to knock.
“Is everything all right?” Jessica noticed the gloomy expressions on everyone’s face and heard Micah’s soft cries.
“No.” AC stepped back into the hallway with her and closed the door behind him. When he reentered the office a few minutes later, Jessica informed Pamela she’d take Matthew home with her tonight and drop him off at summer day camp in the morning.
Pamela acknowledged the offer with a nod, but kept her attention on Micah.
After Jessica left, Pastor Jackson suggested that Pamela take Micah home. Pamela thought that was a good idea, but Micah refused to move, refused to lift his head.
“I’ll bring your vehicle home when Pastor and I pick you up in the morning.” AC lifted Micah to his feet. When Micah reached his full height, he slumped onto AC and embraced him hard. He lost control of his emotions again.
“I got you, man,” AC said as he choked back his own tears. “We’re friends, remember?” Micah nodded against his shoulder and reached for Pamela. She encircled Micah with her arms and proceeded to pray for him. Pastor Jackson and the first lady joined in. They prayed until Micah’s tears ceased and he was composed enough to walk to the car.
Micah relaxed in the reclined front passenger seat of Pamela’s Altima. No words left his mouth during the entire ride to his apartment.
The inside of the small outdated elevator in the apartment complex felt more like a coffin to Micah than a vehicle used to take him from one level to another. He’d never been claustrophobic before, but today, the tight, cold, slow-moving boxcar made him sweat and nearly hyperventilate.
“We’re almost there.” Pamela squeezed his hand. She looked over at him and thought in his grief-stricken state he was still handsome. Allowing her to see him in this vulnerable state made her love him even more. She moved her mouth to tell him what was in her heart, but couldn’t find her voice soon enough. The car stopped, and the moment passed. The doors opened about the same time Micah completely removed his dress shirt, revealing his soaked T-shirt.
Once inside his apartment, Micah broke down again when the gift basket he had Pamela create for Helen’s arrival came into view. When he finished crying, Pamela talked him into taking a shower. She took advantage of the time and placed the basket in her car, and then ordered him some chicken wonton soup from the Chinese restaurant around the corner.
Pamela returned to find Micah sitting on the futon in navy sweats and a white T-shirt, his face void of expression. She started to ask how he felt, but remembered how much she hated that question when Marlon died. People constantly asked, “How do you feel? Are you all right? Do you need anything?” She wanted to scream, “I feel horrible, and I’m not all right. I need my husband.”
Pamela imagined that’s exactly how Micah felt right now, so she didn’t ask him anything. She opted to feed him some of the soup instead. Pamela figured he’d talk when he was ready. He accepted the soup she quietly spoon-fed him. About a fourth of the way through, he shook his head, indicating he didn’t want any more, then leaned his head back so that it rested against the wall. Pamela covered the round Styrofoam container and set it on the glass coffee table.
“Do you want something else?”
“No,” he answered without opening his eyes. Pamela scooted to the opposite end of the futon.
“Come here.” She patted her lap. The apprehension he felt showed on his face.
“It’s all right.” She invited him again.
Micah laid his head in her lap and relaxed to the soft feel of her fingertips as she massaged his head. In no time, he drifted off to sleep.
Pamela awakened a few hours later just as the sun was setting. She yawned and stretched her arms, then surveyed the small living room. She didn’t see Micah. She stood and followed the movements she hea
rd coming from his bedroom. The open door offered an unobstructed view. She didn’t make her presence known but stood quietly in the doorway observing. Micah busied himself with packing a suitcase and a garment bag.
Pamela blinked her eyes repeatedly. She lowered her head into her hands, then looked up again and tried to focus on the present and not the past. Watching Micah pack his clothes sent her mind reeling back to the day before her husband died. The incident resurfaced so strong that she heard the conversation in her head verbatim and smelled Marlon’s cologne.
“Marlon, please don’t go!” Pamela begged “Why can’t you stay here with me and Matthew?”
“Look, Pam, I told you, I’ll be back. Marlon continued to get dressed. “I always come back, don’t I?”
“Why do you want to be with her in the first place? I’m your wife, and that’s your son. She pointed at Matthew sleeping in his crib. “You’re supposed to be here with us, not running the streets with your girlfriend!”
“How many times do I have to tell you I’ll be back? The boy is too young to miss me anyway.” He raised his voice, and Pamela started crying.
“What’s wrong with me? Why don’t you want to be with me? Why do you always push me away?”
Marlon hated to see her cry. After splashing on cologne, he sat down on the bed next to her and held her, then lifted her chin and kissed her so deeply she stopped crying and moaned with pleasure. Marlon held her face in his hands as he voiced the words, “Pamela Roberts, I love you. You are my wife. If I didn’ t want to be with you, you wouldn’t be wearing my ring and carrying my last name. Do you understand that?”
“Yes,” Pamela said faintly.
“What I do with Angie or anyone else doesn’t mean anything. It’s just fun. Tonight I’m going to have some fun, then I’m coming back home to you.”
This time when Marlon kissed her, she felt like regurgitating on him. Pamela hated herself for being so weak and gullible. She pushed away from him.
Right Package, Wrong Baggage Page 17
