A Time to Stand

by Robert Whitlow

“Then what am I doing here?” Aunt Josie asked irritably. “If I’m not getting better, I’d rather be sick at home in my own bed than stuck in here.”

  “Move your right arm,” Adisa said softly.

  The older woman shifted in her bed and then stared at her arm as if shocked that it didn’t do more than move a few inches across the sheet.

  “Now move the left one,” Adisa continued.

  Aunt Josie was able to lift her left hand to her face and touch her nose.

  “That’s great!” Adisa exclaimed. “Your left arm is back to where it was a couple of days ago.”

  “Great? It’s practically useless.”

  “No. The second stroke, or whatever it was, could have been a bigger setback. We’ll see what your therapist says when she comes in later to work with you.”

  “Child, I wasn’t cut out to be bedfast,” Aunt Josie said and sighed. “If this is what my life is going to be, I’d rather Jesus would take me home as soon as possible.”

  “That’s up to him, isn’t it?”

  Aunt Josie managed a slightly crooked smile that revealed the impact of the stroke on her facial movements. “What day is it?” the older woman asked.

  “Tuesday.”

  There was a knock on the door. Adisa opened it, and Reggie Reynolds, dressed in casual clothes and running shoes, greeted her.

  “Come in,” Adisa said.

  Reggie entered the room. Adisa prepared to introduce him to Aunt Josie.

  “Glory to God!” the older woman exclaimed.

  “Aunt Josie?” Adisa said hesitantly. “This is Reggie Reynolds, pastor at the Zion Hills Baptist Church.”

  Aunt Josie raised her trembling left hand, pointed it at the ceiling, and then let it drop back to her side.

  “What is it, Sister Adams?” Reggie asked, a respectful expression on his face.

  “Pastor, the presence of the Lord came into the room with you!” Aunt Josie said in the strongest voice Adisa had heard since the older woman’s stroke. “Can’t you feel it?”

  Reggie glanced over at Adisa, who shook her head.

  “No, ma’am,” he answered. “It must have been for your benefit.”

  “Well, I’ll take it,” Aunt Josie answered. “I haven’t felt a jolt like that since the move of God at Woodside Tabernacle thirty years ago.”

  “I’d like to know more about that,” Reggie said.

  “Sit here, and I’ll tell you,” Aunt Josie replied, patting the bed with her left hand.

  Reggie and Adisa spent the next forty-five minutes listening to stories about what happened at the local church long before Adisa and Shanika arrived on the scene. It had been a watershed event in the lives of many of the people who were now the older members of the congregation.

  “I’ve never heard most of this,” Adisa said when Aunt Josie paused and asked for a drink of sweet tea.

  The older woman took a long sip through the straw. “Just talking about it makes me feel better,” she said. “In the presence of the Lord there is great strength.”

  “That’s true,” Reggie said.

  Aunt Josie reached out with her left hand, and he took it in his right hand.

  “God is going to let you see mighty things if you stay true to him and his Word,” she said. “And stay humble. He opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Aunt Josie yawned. The older woman’s face seemed more symmetrical and less twisted.

  “I need to rest,” she said. “Will you pray with me before you go?”

  “Certainly. That’s why I came,” Reggie replied and bowed his head.

  Reggie prayed a shorter prayer than Adisa expected, but it included a heartfelt request that God would touch and heal Aunt Josie.

  “Amen,” he said.

  “Come again,” Aunt Josie said, yawning once more. “Even if Adisa isn’t here.”

  Within seconds, the older woman’s breathing was slow and steady.

  “She can go to sleep in a nanosecond,” Adisa said.

  Reggie shook his head. “Your aunt is an amazing woman. When I first saw her walking around town with that big stick, I thought she had a mental problem. But when I heard what she was doing, I came to respect her faith and perseverance. I’ve seen her bundled up in a big coat and going down Main Street on the coldest day of the year.”

  “You’re not telling me anything I don’t know,” Adisa said with a smile. “It embarrassed me when I was in high school, but heaven alone knows the good she’s done.”

  “How did you end up living with her?” Reggie asked, then quickly added, “I’m not trying to pry if that’s a bad question.”

  “It’s okay. Aunt Josie rescued my sister and me. We weren’t orphans when she took us in, but we might as well have been.”

  Adisa gave Reggie a brief account of how she and Shanika had come to live with their great-aunt in Campbellton.

  “She did a great job,” Reggie said. “I mean, look how you turned out.”

  Adisa laughed. “Don’t jump too quickly to a conclusion,” she said. “You barely know me.”

  “And I hope that changes,” Reggie said, standing up.

  Adisa paused for a moment. The young minister possessed a nice mix of kindness and confidence.

  “I’d like that,” she said.

  “Great.”

  Reggie stepped over to the door. Stopping, he turned and faced Adisa. “I have a question for you,” he said.

  Adisa realized the minister was going to ask her out to dinner. At this point in her life she hadn’t considered the possibility of meeting someone to date in Campbellton. Before he said the words, she decided she would say yes.

  “Would you like to visit Deshaun Hamlin with me?” he asked.

  Luke’s mind was in a fog when they left Theo Grayson’s office. He hadn’t mentioned it to Jane, but at times since the shooting he’d felt like an observer watching life unfold around him. It made him wonder if he was either going crazy or having a nervous breakdown. He’d had the weird out-of-body sensation partway through the meeting with the lawyer and had difficulty shaking it.

  “Do you really think Mr. Grayson is going to help me?” Luke asked as they pulled into the driveway of their house.

  “Unless he was lying,” Jane said and gave him a puzzled look. “But I’m still praying that the truth will come out and you won’t be indicted, which will make all this unnecessary.”

  As soon as the car rolled to a stop in the garage, Jane opened the passenger door.

  “I’d better relieve Jessica,” she said. “Her mother said she’s on a tight schedule.”

  Luke didn’t follow. If he went inside, there would be nothing for him to do except watch Jane take care of Ashley. The complete disruption of his daily work routine and forced inactivity didn’t help his mental status. And while Jane was praying for the truth to come out, Luke could try to find out for himself. He restarted the car’s engine and backed out of the driveway. When he reached the stop sign at the end of their street, he stopped to send Jane a text message:

  Going to the station for a minute. Back soon.

  Eight minutes later he pulled into the police department parking lot. It was several hours until the end of the first shift, and all the vehicles except one were on patrol. He parked in the visitor area and walked into the station, a modest, single-story gray brick building. There wasn’t a city jail. Prisoners were held in the county correctional center a couple of blocks to the west. The receptionist, a young woman in her twenties, looked up in surprise when he entered.

  “Hey, Luke,” she blurted out. “What’s going on? Oh, sorry. I mean, I know what’s going on. That just came out before I had a chance—”

  “It’s okay, Becky. Is the chief available?”

  “Let me check.”

  Luke stepped back to avoid overhearing Becky’s conversation with Chief Lockhart’s assistant. She lowered the receiver and motioned for him to pass.

  “He’s i
n his office.”

  “Thanks.”

  Luke made his way down a hallway to the largest office in the building. Chief Lockhart was sitting behind his desk. He didn’t get up when Luke knocked lightly on the doorframe.

  “Come in,” the chief said brusquely. “But next time call and make an appointment.”

  “Yes, sir. Sorry to barge in.”

  “Make it quick.”

  The chief motioned to the two chairs on the other side of his desk. When he was seated, Luke could see the photo of Chief Lockhart with his military unit in Iraq. He wanted to remind the chief about their last conversation but couldn’t come up with anything on the spur of the moment.

  “I’ve met twice with Mr. Grayson,” Luke began. “Thanks for setting that up for me.”

  “Which is something you’re not to repeat to anyone. No exceptions.”

  “I understand. Anyway, this morning he told me it looks like the DA is going to present the case to the grand jury.”

  Chief Lockhart nodded but didn’t speak. Luke cleared his throat.

  “Before that happens, would you be willing to fill me in on the details of Detective Maxwell’s investigation? Off the record, of course.”

  “No,” the police chief replied, leaning forward. “But I can tell you that the only officer testifying before the grand jury will be Bruce Alverez.”

  “That’s good,” Luke replied as he tried to process the significance of the chief’s revelation. “Bruce was the first person on the scene.”

  “Yes,” Lockhart replied. “He was.”

  Adisa and Reggie walked to the elevator together. Reggie pushed the up button.

  “Deshaun is on the third floor,” he said.

  “Why do you want me to see him?” Adisa asked.

  “I think you’ll understand when we get there.”

  “Are you still lobbying for me to get involved in the case against the police officer?”

  “You shut that door when you told me you were moving to Boston.”

  The elevator arrived. Adisa didn’t correct the minister’s mistaken assumption about her future.

  They reached the ICU waiting area, a small room with six plastic chairs and a vinyl sofa against one wall. Reggie approached the middle-aged white man on duty beside the door to the ICU area.

  “Good afternoon, Preacher,” the man said.

  Reggie introduced Adisa, who wrote her name on a sheet of paper for visitors to the ICU.

  “How is he doing?” Reggie asked the attendant as he added his name beneath Adisa’s.

  “Haven’t heard about any major changes. His brother was here for a couple of hours.”

  Reggie turned to Adisa. “Deshaun and his older brother have been on the outs for a couple of years. It was a breakthrough that K.C. came to the rally at the rec center. I encouraged him to visit Deshaun.”

  “I was at the rally, too.”

  “I saw you.”

  The attendant pressed a button that released the lock on the entrance to the ICU area. Reggie held the door open for Adisa. She glanced into the rooms they passed. One was occupied by a very old man with multiple tubes connected to his body. Beside his room, she saw a young woman who, except for a single IV in her arm, looked like she was simply taking a nap.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Adisa whispered, touching Reggie on the arm.

  “Drug overdose. There’s an increasing problem in Campbellton with black tar heroin.”

  Adisa wasn’t naive, but hearing Campbellton linked with such a powerful and dangerous street drug sounded strange. They reached Deshaun’s room.

  “Hello, Deshaun,” the preacher said, walking directly up to the bed. He leaned over and spoke into Deshaun’s left ear. “It’s Reggie Reynolds from the church. I’m glad to see you today.”

  Adisa held back and watched. Deshaun was breathing via a ventilator. There was a large bandage on the right side of his skull. His arms were lying on top of the sheet. Adisa noticed that his hands seemed extra large.

  “And I’ve brought someone with me,” Reggie continued, introducing Adisa.

  “Hey, Deshaun,” Adisa said, stepping closer and trying to act as if speaking to a man who couldn’t hear her were a natural thing to do.

  “Tell him that you’ve been spending a lot of time at the hospital with your aunt,” Reggie said.

  “Why?” Adisa asked in a soft voice.

  “Because it stimulates him. And one of these days I’m praying someone will say something to him and he’ll answer.”

  Knowing she’d jump out of her skin if Deshaun opened his eyes and spoke to her, Adisa awkwardly told him about Aunt Josie. She then talked about the neighborhood where they’d both lived and explained where Aunt Josie’s house was located.

  “It’s not far from your grandmother’s house,” Adisa said. “She’s a sweet lady. How many hats does she have? I bet she has as many hats as Steph Curry or LeBron James has basketball shoes. She loves you and is praying for you all the time.”

  The more Adisa talked, the more natural it felt. She reached out and gently touched one of Deshaun’s hands that lay inert on the sheet.

  “And I can see that you have big hands that are great for playing basketball. I believe you’re going to get better and do exactly that.”

  It was the kind of statement she could make to an unconscious boy without creating false hope. She had no idea what part of the brain had been damaged by the police officer’s bullet. Reggie pulled back the sheet and pointed to a place on Deshaun’s chest. Adisa could see the outline of a bandage beneath his hospital gown.

  “Here’s where he was shot in the chest. Thankfully, the bullet exited without hitting his spine and paralyzing him.”

  “What about the bullet in his brain? Are they going to try to remove it?”

  “They can’t attempt surgery until the swelling goes down. Dr. Steiner, the neurosurgeon, performed a craniotomy to help relieve the pressure. They’ll do another MRI and decide afterward whether to risk surgery,” Reggie said.

  Adisa looked more closely at the bandage on the right side of Deshaun’s head. Reggie pointed to a spot covered by a bandage.

  “There’s no question he’s lost the hearing in that ear. But the bullet didn’t break into fragments upon impact. If that had happened, he wouldn’t have survived.”

  Adisa thought about the destructive path of the metal projectile and shuddered.

  “It’s also confined to one quadrant, which increases the chance that other parts of the brain can pick up the slack,” Reggie continued.

  “How do you know all this?”

  “Sister Armistead asked me to be here when the family talked to Dr. Steiner.”

  Adisa shook her head sadly. “When I worked as a prosecutor, most of the shootings were black on black or white on white. In two years, I never worked on a homicide case that was white on black or black on white. Most of the cases were drug-or gang-related, with a few domestic disputes.”

  “My father was shot and killed in a drive-by shooting in Birmingham when I was five years old,” Reggie said. “He was an innocent bystander walking out of a barbershop in the middle of the day. The boy who shot him was younger than Deshaun. It was part of a gang initiation.”

  Adisa caught her breath. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

  “It’s not a secret,” Reggie replied, staring down at Deshaun. “My mother had two children younger than me, and my uncle and aunt stepped in to help out for a few months, which ended up being permanent. Like you with your aunt, I’m thankful for them. Without my uncle’s influence, I doubt I’d be doing what I am today. He’s a strong Christian.”

  “Does what happened to your father affect how you feel about Deshaun?”

  “Maybe a little bit, although it’s a totally different situation. A police officer is sworn to protect life, not recklessly threaten it. My job is to speak up for Deshaun because he can’t speak for himself.”

  “Yes,” Adisa said, also looking down at the un
conscious teenager. “A lot of voices need to speak up for him.”

  When Adisa returned to Aunt Josie’s room, the older woman was awake and alert.

  “What have you been up to?” Aunt Josie asked as soon as Adisa entered. “And where is Pastor Reynolds?”

  “He’s gone, but he’ll be back.”

  Adisa decided it was time to tell Aunt Josie about Deshaun Hamlin.

  “Thelma Armistead is real proud of that boy,” Aunt Josie said. “That’s real sad about him getting shot by mistake.”

  “It was more than a mistake,” Adisa responded. “I mean, a police officer has to have a very good reason to use deadly force. From what I’ve read, that wasn’t the case.”

  They spent most of the rest of the afternoon chatting. Aunt Josie seemed much improved, and Adisa was able to direct the conversation onto several topics she knew the older woman liked to discuss.

  “Have you had any more dreams about praying as you walk around town?” Adisa asked.

  “No,” Aunt Josie said and shook her head. “But I’d like to. You don’t have to be somewhere to go there.”

  Adisa paused to digest her aunt’s words.

  “Jesus would speak a word and someone would be healed across town,” Aunt Josie continued. “When a person prays, it goes where the Lord sends it.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Aunt Josie looked at the door of the room. “The next time Dr. Dewberry comes to see me, I’m going to talk to him about going home,” she said. “He sneaks in and out of here without me knowing it.”

  “He doesn’t sneak in and out. There have been times when you’ve been so out of it due to the stroke or the medication, you couldn’t have talked to him about anything.”

  “That won’t be the case tomorrow,” Aunt Josie said resolutely. “I’m going to be alert and pounce on him.”

  “Maybe I should tell the nurses to warn him,” Adisa replied with a smile.

  SIXTEEN

  AUNT JOSIE DRIFTED off for a midafternoon nap, and Adisa slipped out to grab a bite to eat. She drove to the center of town and parallel parked across from the courthouse, a cube-shaped building in the stark modern style of the 1960s. The courthouse had replaced a beautiful classic Greek Revival structure built in the 1870s that burned to the ground due to faulty electrical wiring.