The Winter Wedding

by Rhonda McKnight

  Melissa replied:

  Can I call you? I’ll open my message box for your number.

  I stared at the screen? Was this child kidding? She didn’t know who I was. I could be one of the bad guys.

  I sent her my work cell number.

  She and I did a brief Facetime chat. It was the only way I could prove to her that I was, in fact, Tamar Johnson. I was relieved she had the sense to ask me to prove it.

  We talked. An hour later, satisfied that I had helped her, I called Eva and told her we needed legal to reach out to her parents to make sure this young woman didn’t kill herself. She kept saying she wanted to die. I wasn’t sure if she meant it.

  I’d never had suicidal thoughts after my situation. But there was no Facebook or Twitter or Instagram. Social media was new, so blogs and television and radio were the primary sites for publication. I’d escaped all of that. I could only imagine what it was like for someone now. Well, I didn’t really have to imagine. I’d heard the tears and the pain in Melissa Teasley’s voice

  “I never thought something this terrible could happen. I thought he loved me,” she cried.

  I promised to reach out to her again. I settled back in my chair and opened my journal to add an entry about my experience with her. Then I reached under my bed for all my old journals I’d kept since I was a pre-teen. I opened the one that covered the period after the video came out and read. It was a painful journey back in time. I hadn’t realized I was writing nearly every day back during that season and continued to do entries a few times a week up until my book was rejected.

  I grunted. “That’s when I’d stopped writing for myself.”

  I’d stopped writing when I was rejected.

  My work cell phone pinged a text message. I looked and saw it was from Melissa. The message said:

  You saved my life. Thank you for caring.

  Saved her life. I thought about Aunt Joe. How much her words of encouragement and hugs meant at the time. I had been sliding into an abyss. She saved me.

  Chapter 26

  Isaiah helped take my mind off my problems. He was an easy kid to like. He was grateful for everything and mannerable like no child I’d ever met. I took him to a seafood restaurant on Thursday night and let him pick out his lobster. Just seeing the excitement on his face was enough to wash away some of the pain I felt about his earlier years.

  Tamar’s aunt had done a great job raising him, but it was time for him to come to New Jersey to live with me. They’d had him since birth. I wanted the next seven years of his childhood. Besides, he needed his father now more than ever. The teenage years were intense. There was also the issue of security and the quality of the high school. Aunt Joe was sick, so I was waiting to have this conversation, but I had rights and I was going to exercise them, one way or another.

  We spent the day shopping. I’d already brought an entire suitcase full of NFL and other athletic gear for him in an extra suitcase, but now it was time to get my son the right sneakers, jeans, and everything else a pre-teen needed.

  We grabbed dinner and rushed back to my hotel to get changed for his baseball game. Just as we were leaving, Isaiah asked, “Have you seen my glove?”

  We looked around for it.

  “I left it at home,” he cried.

  “I’m sure your coach has an extra, or you can borrow someone’s.”

  “No, it’s a special glove. It’s my lucky glove that I got at ESPN at Disney. I always play with it. Hank Aaron autographed it.”

  “What do you want me to do? Your Mom and Tamar aren’t back yet.”

  “I have my house key.”

  I nodded. “Okay, cool. We’ll go get it.”

  We got in the car and once I turned it on, Isaiah asked, “Is the time right on there?”

  I looked at the dash for the rental and checked it against my cell. I knew it was right, but I wanted to reassure him.

  “Yes.”

  “I have to line up twenty minutes before the game, or I can’t play.”

  I nodded again. “So, if we get the glove, you’ll be late, but if we don’t get the glove, you’ll be feeling some kind of way about not having your glove. You call it. What am I doing?”

  “I have an idea. You can drop me off at the game and then you can go get the glove.”

  I sighed. “I don’t know if I should be in your mom’s house like that.”

  “Please, Dad. I need my glove. She won’t mind.”

  The way my heart ached when he whined the word “Dad” made me realize there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for my son. That was a new feeling.

  I pulled out of the parking lot and headed for the recreation center where the games were played. I handed Isaiah over to the coach and explained that I was going to get the glove. The coach said it was okay for him to be left. Then I called Tamar’s phone to ask if it was okay to get the glove. The call went to voicemail.

  I started the car and decided to go get it. I entered the house. It was friendly and neat as always. I went to Isaiah’s room and found the glove on the floor in his closet, just where he said it would be.

  I exited the room and as I was walking to the door, I spotted Tamar’s laptop on the dining room table. There was a stack of paper and a printer next to it. I surmised she was writing again. Curiosity got the better of me. I wanted to see what she was doing. The stack of papers was a manuscript. I flipped to the next page and read the synopsis. Another novel. I was proud of her for trying again.

  There was a notebook next to the manuscript, marked “Journal.” I definitely shouldn’t have opened it, but once again, curiosity won out. I read an entry that had a Post-it tab sticking out on the page.

  I called Stephen today to let him know to expect the letter. All I can do is pray he forgives me. I pray he understands. I don’t think anyone knows where I was 12 years ago - not even Aunt Joe. I can’t make anyone understand, but I know you know, God. And if Stephen really loves me, he will too.

  I turned back a few pages and read more –

  Stephen didn’t call. He already hates me, and he doesn’t even know about Isaiah. Kim thinks I should write a letter. It seems cowardly, but maybe it’s the right way to go. Maybe I’m a coward. I don’t have the courage to face him. Lord, help me figure out how to handle this. I love this man. I love my son. I don’t know what to do.

  I love this man. Warmth filled my chest. She loves me, but she thinks I hate her. Why? I was tempted to keep reading, but I didn’t have the right to do this anymore than I had the right to look at her book. I made sure to leave her work as I’d found it.

  Once I arrived at Isaiah’s game, I searched my cell. Tamar’s entry about the phone call and the letter bothered me, because I didn’t get either. One missing, I could kind of understand – an unrecorded cell call happened, mail got lost from time to time, but both? That didn’t feel right.

  I opened my calendar to see where I was the day of Tamar’s entry about the phone call. There was something in the back of my mind about the date. Once I looked at my calendar, I realized it was the day I was discharged from the hospital the second time. I tried to log in to my phone account to see if I had a missed call on that day, but my data was spotty out here. It would have to wait until we got back to the hotel.

  Isaiah ran to me after the game. Another coach, one I hadn’t met was behind him.

  “Hey, Mr. Pierce. I’m Coach Gerald.” He extended his hand and we shook. “Isaiah had a good game.”

  I agreed. Speaking to Isaiah, I said, “I saw the way you jumped up in the air for that last ball. That was dope.”

  Isaiah blushed. “I’m going to be like you.” We high-fived and Isaiah said, “Our team has ice cream sandwiches. I’m going to get mine.”

  We both watched Isaiah run for the ice cream. “He’s a good kid.” Coach Gerald said. “Hey, I was wondering where Tamar was. She doesn’t miss the games.”

  I didn’t think I was hearing him correct
ly. Was this clown asking me about Tamar? I chuckled like he was a joke and crossed my hands over my chest. “Tay had something to do, so I’m here…if that’s okay with you?”

  “No, I mean, not that it’s not good for you to be here. I was just wondering.” He gave me a tight, punk smile and scooted away. I couldn’t help but wonder if that was his attempt at marking his territory.

  He called me Mr. Pierce, but he and Tay were on a first name basis. Once he got to where he was going, dude looked back at me. I knew that sweep he’d done. He was sizing me up – from a distance though. I smirked. “Yeah, take a good look, Gerald. You can’t compete with this.” But in truth, Gerald could compete. According to her journal, Tamar loved me, but I didn’t a bit more have her as my woman than I had a new football contract. The only thing I had right now was the love of the eleven-year-old who was walking toward me with ice cream smeared across his mouth. I scooped Isaiah up and turned my camera around to catch the moment with a selfie.

  I took Isaiah’s team out for a celebratory meal at a local pizza restaurant. Coach Gerald did not join us. Once we arrived back at my hotel, Isaiah took a shower and dropped off to sleep like a two-year-old needing a mid-day nap. Between the shopping and the game, he practically crawled into bed. I, however, was wide awake and ready to get to the bottom of the missing phone message situation. It had been nagging at me since I’d left Aunt Joe’s house.

  I logged into my cell phone account and went back to the records. Just as she’d said, I found an incoming call from Tamar that lasted two minutes. She had to have left a message because I hadn’t talked to her. The time was 11:11 a.m. That would have been a few hours before I was discharged.

  I went back in my memory to recall the flow of the day. I realized during the late morning, I was getting an MRI. My orthopedic doctor had wanted to get a new set of films before I checked out. I’d left my cell phone in my room. I know it was late morning because by the time I returned, my lunch had been delivered and I celebrated the fact that it was my last meal in that place.

  There was only one other person in my room that day. My mother. She’d had access to my phone when I was in radiology. But that wasn’t the only thing she had access to. She’d had access to my mail all the time. She came to the house every day to check on me and every day as was her custom whenever she visited, she brought the mail inside.

  I frowned. My mother had done this.

  My cell rang. It was Tamar.

  “How was the appointment for Aunt Joe?”

  “Good. I need to do a little more research, but it looks like they’re having some good results.” She sounded enthusiastic.

  “Well, if it’s positive, you’re going to go for it.”

  “I think it will be. I have to submit paperwork for the insurance. There’s a lot of it.”

  “She’s lucky to have you. Everyone needs to read the fine print or have someone in their circle who is willing to.”

  “How was the game?”

  “Good.” My pride came through strong. “He caught a few balls and tagged a player out.”

  “For real? I hate I missed it.”

  “Yeah, well Coach Gerald hated you missed it, too.”

  “Coach?”

  “He asked about you. Real friendly like.”

  Tamar laughed.

  “That’s funny. I mean is that how it goes? You date your son’s coaches?”

  “Stephen, I’m not dating anyone. I’m definitely not thinking about dating Coach Gerald. I don’t know why he asked about me.”

  Because why not? You’re beautiful.

  “I guess because he has eyes. Anyway, I’m just letting you know.”

  She didn’t say anything for a moment and then asked, “What’s Isaiah doing?”

  “He crashed a while ago. I wore him out.”

  “I guess. He’s never in bed at nine on a Friday. It’s his big night to stay up late.”

  “I can have that sedative effect on people.”

  She laughed. “Careful, that could mean you’re boring.”

  “I don’t think I ever heard you complain about that.”

  Tamar cleared her throat. “Well, I don’t want to hold you.”

  I frowned. “Hold me? It’s 9 pm in Yancy, Georgia, and my son is snoring like a bear. What could you be keeping me from?”

  She giggled. “Welcome to single-parent life.”

  I laughed with her. “I was thinking we’d rent or movie or something and he fell out.”

  “Well, I have to go. I need to read this paperwork and get some work done. Tell Isaiah to give us a call at some point tomorrow.”

  “I will,” I agreed. I was tempted to talk to her about the Debra story, but decided not to ruin her mood with it. Then I thought I should tell her I’d discovered she’d been telling the truth about the phone call, but it would be rushed on the phone. I also wanted to talk to my mother first.

  “Stephen, did you want to say something?”

  “Tell Aunt Joe hello for me.”

  “Thanks,” she replied. “Take care of our son and please do not let him talk you into an excessive amount of junk food. He’s already overweight.”

  “He’s exactly like I was at his age. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure to help him with the weight.” I thought about my plans to get Isaiah to New Jersey this summer. He could train with me, but now was not the time to bring it up. Serious conversations needed to be had face-to-face.

  Tamar and I exchanged a few more words and then we ended the call.

  I was wrong for calling her a liar the way I had. Keeping a secret and making up events were two different things. There was enough blame to pass around, but no one was getting my wrath more than my mother.

  ***

  I’d grown to hate physical therapy. The pain was excruciating; not as bad as the pain of the actual ankle being dislocated, but it was intense. I felt like I had a vice on my muscles and a thousand tiny knives sticking into my lower thighs. And with all I was going through, no one could promise me that I would still be able to play football.

  I’d never been so scared in my life. Football was everything to me. I hated to admit that, especially before God, but it was true. The threat of losing the game revealed who I truly was – a man who lived for the field and the fans. I wasn’t sure how I had gotten here, but I was here. I was also bitter about it.

  “Let’s try some of the shockwave therapy again.”

  I looked at my therapist. His eyes held sympathy for me. His eyes said, “I’m doing his job, but I’m not a miracle worker.” Or at least that’s what they’d say, if eyes could talk.

  “Are you in pain?” he asked.

  I thought, “Of course. This is painful.” But I replied, “I can take it.”

  We moved to another machine. I did more repetitions than I could stand and then he set up the shockwave treatment. I was glad for ice and a massage. Healing was as grueling as practicing.

  Dr. Hogan, my orthopedic surgeon, entered my station. “How are you doing?”

  I groaned one last time as I swung my leg over onto the side of the bench to stabilize it.

  “I’m feeling pretty good.”

  “Good. It looks like you’re working hard,” he said touching my ankle. “The surgery outcome was great. You had the best outcome we could have hoped for.”

  “So, what are my chances?”

  “You know this a wait-and-see situation. You have almost three months before you have to report for training.”

  “Give me an estimate.”

  “I think it’s too soon for a prognosis.”

  “Tell me something.”

  “I wish I could, but I can’t yet. Keep working hard. Celebrate the fact that your neck is healed.”

  My neck. It seemed like a problem in my distant past. I knew a neck or spinal injury could not only end an NFL career, they could put a player in a wheelchair. I was grateful for the neck, but I hadn’t stopped to
celebrate it without whining and wondering about my ankle.

  But the truth was, I didn’t have anyone I wanted to celebrate with. Not really. Tamar passed through my mind. We should be engaged by now and moving quickly toward marital bliss, but instead, I’d been judging her harshly for a choice she made as a teenager. Granted it was a big choice – one that robbed me of something I would have wanted, but still, I was starting to wonder if I was the one who had it wrong.

  I needed to spend some time in prayer. I stood and went to the spa. Praying was going to happen, right after I talked to my mother. I had a feeling I was going to have to add our relationship to my list of concerns.

  I was out. Out of here to meet with my mother – to confront her about deleting my message and stealing my mail.

  I loved my mother. As her only child, I was spoiled and doted on. My father was the one to bring balance and keep me grounded. So, while I appreciated her for the love and support she’d always given me, but I was the first to admit my mother could be extra. For some reason I’d never been able to figure out, probably because I chose to ignore it, she and Tamar had always had a complicated relationship. I was sick of it. It was time to get to the bottom of all my mother’s hatred toward the woman I loved.

  Chapter 27

  I heard the front door open, the alarm silenced, and I knew my mother had arrived. My parents, Tamar, and my housekeeper were the only people who had the key and the alarm code. My parents owned a house about five miles from me in an upscale neighborhood my money gained them access to. My dad loved Pine, but my mother was more than happy to let me know she wanted out as soon as I was financially in a position to give her the new house I’d always promised.

  She claimed she wanted to be close to the Giants’ home stadium. I supposed that was true since she and my father never missed a game and often came to watch me practice, but I also knew it was the proximity to her sorority sisters and New York City shopping and dining that appealed to her. Even though my father was still working, she took full advantage of the stipend I gave them every month to spend as she saw fit. With a paid-for house, they did well, but what good had my generosity done me when I’d been so disrespected by her?