A Time to Stand

by Robert Whitlow

  “They designed this with strollers in mind,” Luke said when they’d taken a few steps. “It’s not bad at all.”

  Jane came alongside him and pushed a few strands of hair away from her face. She lightly placed her hand on Luke’s shoulder. He glanced at her and smiled. The path wound its way through a grove of hardwood trees. Luke heard a loud plop at the edge of the water.

  “There goes a frog,” he said. “I wish I could catch one and show it to Ashley.”

  “She wouldn’t appreciate it for another year or so,” Jane replied. “I would be afraid she’d try to put it in her mouth.”

  Luke pushed a little harder as the stroller rolled over a root that had invaded the path.

  “I wonder where I’ll be in another year or so,” he said.

  “Please, Luke,” Jane said. “That’s not why I brought it up.”

  “I know, but it’s something we should talk about. One of the mistakes we’ve made so far is ignoring what might happen, which makes it twice as tough to deal with when it does.”

  Jane didn’t reply. She walked beside him with her head down.

  “If things don’t go well, I want you to leave Campbellton and move in with your mother,” he said. “Orlando is such a big place that no one will care who you are or ask where your husband is. And if it ever came up, you could say I’m working in Georgia, because the prison officials will have me cutting right-of-way along the highways. As a former cop, I wouldn’t be safe with the general prison population. I’ve heard they have dorms in some facilities where they keep prisoners who would be at risk of being attacked.”

  “I appreciate you trying to plan ahead,” Jane said. “But I’d rather make this a getaway day.”

  “Okay,” he replied. “So long as you don’t ever forget that I love you and Ashley.”

  Jane slipped her arm through his and gave his strong bicep a squeeze. “No matter what happens, I know that will always be true.”

  They made their way around the lake. Close to the picnic table, a frog hopped out of the weeds near the edge of the water. Ashley saw it and squealed with delight as it plopped into the pond.

  “See, she likes frogs,” Luke said. “Now I know what to buy her for Christmas. Stuffed, not live, of course.”

  “And we’ll both watch her open the package as we sit around the tree in our house,” Jane said resolutely.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  ADISA STOPPED BY the Jackson House Restaurant and ordered a four-vegetable plate to go. Ten minutes later she was on her way to the hospital with the fragrance of sweet potatoes, creamed corn, collard greens, okra, tomatoes, and two fresh pieces of corn bread filling the inside of her car. She fully intended to share what she could with Aunt Josie, but the idea of letting the older woman eat most of the collard greens was difficult to accept. When she entered the elevator and turned around, she caught a glimpse of Thelma Armistead approaching. Adisa tried to push the button to reopen the doors but couldn’t maneuver the heavy Styrofoam container of food in time to do so.

  Aunt Josie was sitting up in bed with Dr. Dewberry standing beside her.

  “You’re just in time for the good news!” Aunt Josie exclaimed. “Tomorrow is freedom day! I’m going home!”

  Adisa glanced at Dr. Dewberry.

  “You’re a lawyer, so you know about a trial,” the neurologist said. “For this one you’re going to have to be the jury and give me a verdict on how your aunt functions and any problems that come up. I’m arranging for an occupational therapist to make sure the house is set up to accommodate Ms. Adams’s restrictions, and I’ll write an order for a physical therapist to work with her on increasing her mobility, manual dexterity, and strength. It’s going to take a lot of hard work.”

  “That’s all I’ve ever known,” Aunt Josie said exuberantly. “And you know I’m going to do my part.”

  “I don’t doubt that for a moment,” the doctor replied with a smile. “I wish all my patients had your grit and determination.”

  “We’re in the process of finding someone to stay with her during the day,” Adisa said.

  “That’s what she told me. It needs to be someone strong enough to help if she trips or falls. She’s been ambulating better here in the hospital, but she’s going to be at risk for the foreseeable future. She needs to respect what her body tells her about limitations.”

  Aunt Josie raised her right hand and made an attempt at a military salute but ended up poking herself in the eye.

  “That’s an example of trying to do too much,” the doctor said. “Your right hand is still more like a puppet on a string.”

  “What time will she be discharged?” Adisa asked.

  “Midmorning.”

  “And you should call Reggie as soon as possible about someone who can come to the house and help us.”

  Dr. Dewberry reached over and patted Aunt Josie on the arm. “I’ll stop by again early in the morning, and my office will be in touch about scheduling a follow-up appointment.”

  The doctor turned to leave and then stopped and faced them. “Oh, one other thing. I know you’ve both been interested in how Deshaun Hamlin is progressing. He’s in prep for surgery. In a few hours Dr. Steiner is going to try to remove the bullet that’s lodged in his brain.”

  After Dr. Dewberry left, Aunt Josie immediately closed her eyes and prayed for Deshaun.

  “It’s in God’s hands,” she said when she finished. “And I believe that the Lord’s angels will assist with the surgery.”

  Adisa nodded.

  “Now, let me guess what’s in the box without looking,” Aunt Josie said. “Put it on the hospital tray but don’t raise the lid.”

  Adisa placed the container on the narrow rolling table. Aunt Josie inhaled several times.

  “Are you planning on sharing this food with me, or are you going to torture me by making me watch you eat it?” the older woman asked.

  “Torture wasn’t a consideration, but I’m starving. And you’ve been eating and snacking all day.”

  “Don’t insult the collard greens, sweet potatoes, stewed tomatoes, and corn bread from the Jackson House you’ve brought by comparing them to what they’ve put in front of me here at the hospital. Am I right?”

  “Mostly. There’s also creamed corn, and it’s okra and tomatoes, not stewed tomatoes.”

  “Even better.”

  The older woman ate slowly, and Adisa did the same to make sure she didn’t eat too much before Aunt Josie received all she wanted.

  “Feed yourself,” Aunt Josie insisted. “Don’t wait on me. I’m such a slowpoke.”

  “No, this is fine. Let me cut some more collard greens for you.”

  “That sounds so strange,” Aunt Josie replied. “Who in the world cuts collard greens with a knife?”

  Adisa divided the stringy vegetable so that Aunt Josie could take smaller bites. The older woman chewed contentedly.

  “Tell me about your job,” she said when she swallowed. “How are you getting along?”

  Adisa filled her in on what she could in general terms. While she talked, Aunt Josie focused on eating creamed corn.

  “Has anybody been hateful to you for agreeing to help represent the officer who shot Thelma’s grandson?” Aunt Josie asked.

  Adisa hesitated.

  “Oh, I already know about Reggie,” Aunt Josie continued. “He’s like most men who spout off at the mouth before their minds are in gear.”

  “What did he say to you?” Adisa asked in surprise.

  “He told me about the two of you getting into a spat at the hospital snack bar.”

  “Did he seem sorry about it?”

  “No.” Aunt Josie shook her head. “He was trying to convince me that he was right and I should jump on his side and pressure you to quit the case.”

  “That’s not right!” Adisa replied, her voice rising. “He should leave you out of this.”

  Aunt Josie touched the side of her head. “In Reggie’s mind, he believes he’ll be doing you a f
avor. I started to tell him how stubborn you could be but decided that wouldn’t do any good.”

  “Shanika is the stubborn one.”

  “Maybe,” Aunt Josie slowly admitted. “But once you set your mind, you’re determined to move forward. Remember, just because two of God’s children disagree about one thing doesn’t mean they can’t talk about other things.”

  “That’s true, but I don’t want to listen to him accuse me of betraying my roots. These things are more complicated than he’s willing to admit. It’s not just about the color of someone’s skin.”

  “If you want to stamp out prejudice, there has to be an admission that it exists.”

  Adisa thought about her preliminary effort to confront Luke. The officer wasn’t willing to seriously consider that he might have erred in firing his weapon at Deshaun, much less dig out any slivers of latent racism that influenced his finger pulling the trigger. Aunt Josie pointed at her skinny, dark right forearm.

  “I’ve taken this arm with me my whole life, and its color has made a difference in how folks look at me and treat me. I can’t change that, and I hope the hardships I’ve faced have made me stronger. But God looks at the heart. Reggie knows that’s true in his spirit; he just needs to apply it. Be patient with him. Politicians and people on TV are pretty good at talking about problems, but they’re pitiful when it comes to solutions.” Aunt Josie pointed to the ceiling with a slightly bent left index finger. “The kind of love that removes bricks in the wall of prejudice only comes from above. Anything else is like a Band-Aid on cancer.”

  “Yes,” Adisa agreed. “But you don’t hear many people say things like that, even folks who go to church.”

  “The only part of the world we can change is the part we touch. I’m glad you’re working for Theo Grayson and can be here in Campbellton to help look after me, but your biggest job in life is to show God’s unconditional love to a world that desperately needs to see it.”

  “Between you and Thelma Armistead, I can’t ignore the power of love,” Adisa said.

  “There’s value in gray hair beyond good looks,” Aunt Josie replied with a smile. “Now, could I have that last crumb of corn bread, please?”

  After Aunt Josie went to sleep, Adisa stayed at the hospital to pray for Deshaun during his surgery. She walked the halls, spent time in the tiny chapel, and sat on a bench under the night sky in the garden outside. The only place she avoided was the waiting area for family members. It was after midnight when she passed through the lobby and saw a group of ten people congregating near a large potted plant. Reggie was among them. Adisa started to do a quick about-face, but the young preacher saw her and immediately started walking rapidly toward her. Adisa waited. Reggie’s face was serious, and she couldn’t tell anything about the success or failure of the surgery by his expression.

  “How is Deshaun?” she asked anxiously. “Aunt Josie’s neurologist told us about the surgery.”

  “He’s alive,” Reggie replied. “Dr. Steiner was able to remove the bullet.”

  Adisa burst into tears of relief as the pent-up stress of the past few hours was suddenly released in a torrent. She’d left her purse in Aunt Josie’s room and didn’t have any tissues. Reggie reached into his pocket and handed her a clean handkerchief so she could wipe her eyes. He then put one arm around her shoulders and gave her a quick hug. Adisa didn’t pull away as she blinked back tears.

  “Thanks,” she said. “I’m so glad to know. Aunt Josie prayed earlier and seemed confident about the outcome.”

  “Pastor!” one of the members of the group called out.

  “I have to go,” Reggie said to Adisa. “Maybe we can talk later.”

  “I’d like that,” Adisa replied and held out the handkerchief.

  “No, you keep it. That way I know I’ll see you again.”

  Adisa smiled through her remaining tears. She admired how Reggie naturally moved through life as a pillar of support for those around him, including her.

  After a short night’s sleep, Adisa was back at the hospital to assist with Aunt Josie’s discharge home. Shortly after ten o’clock they turned onto Baxter Street and the house came into view. The exertion of getting ready had exhausted the older woman, who spent part of the short drive from the hospital with her eyes closed and her head resting against the back of the seat. Her breathing made Adisa wonder if she’d dozed off.

  “You’re home,” Adisa said softly.

  “I know,” Aunt Josie replied, opening her eyes. “I was making sure the first thing I did before getting out of the car was thank the Lord for bringing me here.”

  Adisa retrieved a walker from the trunk and placed it beside the passenger door. Aunt Josie struggled to get out. Adisa helped.

  “There’s so many little things I’ve taken for granted,” Aunt Josie said. “Who would have thought the door to your little car would seem heavier than the barn door at my great-uncle’s place on Cuthbertson Road? It rested on iron rollers and would squeal and complain something fierce. It took both me and your grandfather working together to push it open so we could sneak inside to play on the hay bales.”

  Adisa held Aunt Josie’s left arm to steady her as she stood up and leaned on the walker. The older woman walked resolutely to the front stoop but stopped at the first step.

  “You’d better help,” Aunt Josie said. “I’ll use the railing, too.”

  With Adisa beside her, Aunt Josie navigated up the three steps. When they made it through the front door, Aunt Josie stopped and inhaled.

  “I don’t smell any dead plants.”

  “There may be a couple on life support, but I don’t think there have been any fatalities,” Adisa answered. “Where do you want to sit or lie down?”

  “Not in my bedroom. I want to use that for sleeping.”

  Adisa followed her aunt into the living room and helped her to lie down on a cream-colored sofa.

  “A pillow would be nice,” Aunt Josie said. “And maybe the afghan I keep at the foot of my bed. You’ve got the air-conditioning turned way down. Aren’t you worried about running up my power bill?”

  “I’ll pay it,” Adisa answered as she left the room to get the pillow and multicolored throw.

  No sooner was the older woman tucked in than she promptly fell asleep. She didn’t stir as Adisa unloaded the car and set up her laptop on the kitchen table. One of the first things she did was prepare the standard form request for information guaranteed to a defendant under the Georgia criminal law statutes, and she added a specific request for production of the bullet taken from Deshaun’s brain by Dr. Steiner. Typing the words brought back some of the emotion she’d felt the previous night at the hospital. Reggie’s handkerchief was still on the nightstand beside her bed.

  Adisa began researching the qualifications of expert witnesses in the areas she’d identified at the hearing in front of Judge Andrews. After collecting ten names, she checked on Aunt Josie, who remained sound asleep. Going into the guest bedroom, Adisa closed the door and started making phone calls. Now that she was in the case and not debating her role, Adisa’s determination kicked in. Emerging two hours later, with several breaks to check on Aunt Josie, she felt like she’d plunged into icy water. To prepare the case properly was going to be more expensive than she’d thought. Standing in the middle of the kitchen, she called Theo Grayson.

  TWENTY-SIX

  LUKE PARKED HIS truck in front of the shooting range. The only other vehicle in sight belonged to Charlie. Luke checked his pistol to make sure it was empty. There were two boxes of bullets in his satchel. Without the benefit of a paycheck, he knew he’d have to carefully ration his remaining supply of ammunition.

  He spent the next thirty minutes efficiently pinging the targets from various distances. Toward the end of the session, Charlie came outside to watch. After hitting nine out of ten targets at 150 feet, Luke turned around with a satisfied expression on his face. Charlie was no longer alone.

  Beside him was Jamie Standard, the newspap
er reporter, along with the photographer who’d been with her at the courthouse. The photographer kept his camera raised for a few more moments and then lowered it. Luke ripped off the ear protectors and threw them to the ground. The photographer took more pictures.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

  “Recording your shooting session,” the reporter replied. “It sounded like you didn’t miss. Am I right?”

  Luke stormed back to the table. “This is private property,” Luke said to the range owner. “Can’t you kick them out?”

  Ms. Standard turned toward Charlie. “Mr. Sellers, how often does Officer Nelson come here to practice? And is he usually as accurate as what we just saw?”

  “Uh, I don’t want to get involved,” Charlie replied, glancing nervously at Luke.

  “I’m out of here,” Luke said, brushing past the reporter. He then turned around and pointed his finger at her. “And I’d better not find you snooping around my house and trespassing on my property.”

  “Is that a threat?” the reporter replied.

  “No, but you ought to show some respect for a person’s privacy.”

  His anger boiling, Luke stormed through the indoor range and into the parking lot. The reporter had parked her vehicle, a small import, beside his truck. Luke had to resist the urge to bang his door into the car. But that would have messed up the paint job on his truck. He spun the tires of the truck in the gravel lot as he drove away. What had been a sanctuary for him since the shooting had been violated. Several miles down the road, he called the gun range. Charlie answered.

  “Did the reporter hang around after I left?” Luke asked.

  “Yeah, but when I wouldn’t give her anything except my name, rank, and serial number she gave up. The photographer took a few more pictures of the front of the building. I wouldn’t let them take a photo of me.”

  “Anything else come up about me?”

  “Not really. I told her I give anyone who works in law enforcement a discount because I believe it’s my public duty to support the police. I’m sure she thinks I’m a gun nut, but it won’t be the first time the media labeled a person who believes in the Second Amendment an extremist. I guarantee you that if she writes an article and mentions the range, there will be a big uptick in business the following week.”