The Winter Wedding

by Rhonda McKnight

  “This is good.”

  “It feels horrible. My brand is not a cool thing. Only people who haven’t been through what I’ve been through think so.”

  “These people are serious about wanting a book. They can market fiction around the issues you’ve dealt with. The recent Melissa Teasley intervention probably helped put it on their minds. But a memoir, Tamar, a memoir would be gold.”

  I sighed. “I wasn’t expecting this.”

  “I know but think about it. Think about a bigger contribution to society, our culture. The same web that tore you apart can be used to restore others, if you’ll let yourself open up and share.”

  I had that feeling again. Like my stomach was rising into my chest. Fear.

  “Give it some thought. Make some notes and give me a call when you’re done. No commitment. We’ll just have a conversation about your notes.”

  I hung up, reached for my laptop, opened it and went to the manuscript I’d been working on. It read:

  The first time I saw Stephen Pierce was in church. I was six and I remember him because afterward, he offered me a piece of candy. It was an apple Jolly Rancher. My favorite. I hadn’t even asked for it. Getting that candy on the backsteps of my father’s church was one I never forgot. I think I fell in love with him then. At six. I don’t know when he fell in love with me, but he eventually did. And that love was the worst victim of the video.

  When I was done, she’d said. I was done. I had written a first draft of my memoir. Between the journal entries and my thoughts, it had written itself, but I couldn’t actually send it, could I?

  Take off the grave clothes, Tamar. Set yourself free, dropped into my spirit.

  I shook my head. “God, I’m scared.”

  I waited for anxiety to rise, for that sick feeling to come back, but it didn’t. My heart was beating fast, but the Holy Spirit’s voice had given me confidence. My hand trembled as I reached for my Bible. I went to the story of Lazarus and read it again. The man came back to life, but he needed someone to unwrap the cloth that bound him to truly be free.

  I opened my journal. I began to write a letter to God and then I prayed. I prayed about my fear and my shame. In prayer, I was assured that my suffering had a purpose. God had a plan for my life. I was out of the tomb, but I had to let this book be the thing that unraveled my grave clothes and set me free. I had to give power and purpose to my past and let those things overtake the fear and the shame. When I was finished, I had two pages of words and tear stains.

  “God, have I just thought of the introduction?” It was the only part of this book that wasn’t written.

  I turned more pages in my journal. I cried harder as I read the scriptures I’d been meditating on for the past few months.

  Jeremiah 29:11 For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

  1 John 2:20 But you have been anointed by the Holy One, and you all have knowledge.

  James 1:2-3 Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance.

  Romans 8:28 And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.

  Romans 8:37 In all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.

  Habakkuk 2:3 For still the vision awaits its appointed time; it hastens to the end – it will not lie. If it seems slow, wait for it, it will surely come; it will not delay.

  And then finally the words He gave me just last Christmas when I was praying about Stephen:

  Joel 2:25-26. I turned the pages until I found it.

  And I will restore to you the years that the locust hath eaten, the cankerworm, and the caterpillar, and the palmerworm, my great army which I sent among you. And ye shall eat in plenty, and be satisfied, and praise the name of the Lord your God, that hath dealt wondrously with you: and my people shall never be ashamed.

  But what if I can’t handle the pressure?

  The Holy Spirit whispered to my heart. “I am perfecting everything that concerns you.” Psalm 138. I knew it well.

  “I trust you, Lord.” I wiped a tear away. “I trust you.”

  My phone pinged. I had a text message from Kim. It was a simple message to say she was thinking about me. I texted her back:

  I’ve written my memoir. I know God wants me to publish it.

  She returned three smiley emojis and Give me a minute.

  I put my phone down and went into the restroom to wash my face. When I came back, I had a message from Kim.

  God is within her, she will not fail. Psalm 46:5

  And then she texted:

  I’m your girl. Send me that book!

  I laughed, but the word of the Lord was confirmed in my spirit. I was not going to be afraid. Not anymore.

  I jumped up and went outside. Stephen and Isaiah were leaning against my car like they were trying to figure something out.

  “She looks happy,” Stephen said, elbowing Isaiah.

  “She is,” I said. “My agent just told me none of the publishers want my novel.”

  Stephen frowned, and then looked at Isaiah who shrugged. He raised a hand to scratch his chin. “So, that’s something to be happy about?”

  I nodded and stuck my hands in my pockets. “It is, because they like my writing, and they are interested in me. They want my story.”

  Stephen’s face took on a curious expression. “I hate to say the dirty ‘m’ word, but is that what you’re talking about?”

  I shrugged. “It’s no longer dirty.”

  Stephen smiled and then wrapped his arms around me and squeezed. “Baby, that’s great news.”

  “What’s the ‘m’ word?” Isaiah asked.

  “Memoir,” I said.

  “Oh, a book about yourself,” Isaiah said. “So, you have to write another book?”

  I put a finger under his chin. “Actually, I’ve already written most of it. I’ve been kind of writing it for years.”

  I was answering Isaiah, but I was looking in Stephen’s eyes for approval. I know he’d told me he didn’t care about the memoir, but I had to be sure. I wanted to see the truth. I found what I was looking for. Unabashed support.

  “I still journal. I have all my old ones. I’ve read them over the past few months. I couldn’t stop myself from organizing my thoughts. Once I started typing, it just flowed.”

  Stephen released a satisfied sigh. “I’m proud of you.”

  My heart smiled. “God has been doing a work. You just don’t know.”

  “I think I’ve recently become familiar with how hard he can go.” Stephen chuckled.

  “So, you’re going to be rich,” Isaiah exclaimed. ‘I’m going to have two rich parents.”

  Hearing him call me his parent pushed even more emotions into my heart. He’d never said that before. Stephen noticed the misty condition of my eyes. He smiled warmly and nodded. “Two rich parents.”

  Then I noticed what I’d missed in my excitement – both of them were covered in oil. It was all over their hands and arms and faces and clothes. They looked like two grease monkeys.

  “Is the oil change complete, or are you two wearing the oil?”

  “It was fun,” Isaiah said. “But can I take a shower and go play videos games with Dante?”

  “Please make sure to use a lot of soap and wash your hair. Go straight to the laundry room and put those shoes and clothes into the washing machine.”

  Isaiah agreed and we watched as he left us to enter the house.

  Certain they were wearing more oil than could possibly be in my car, I crossed my arms. “So, is my oil actually changed?”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty much going to have to break this DIY date thing and either get the Range Rover down here or buy you another car. I can’t do nothing with my hand
s to fix the mess we made.” Stephen was amused.

  I gasped. “Are you serious? You ruined my car?”

  He shrugged. “It’s kind of an old car anyway.”

  “Dude, my car is not old.”

  “Well, it might not be old, but it durn sure won’t start. I don’ tore this up, babe.”

  I was fighting to put my lips back together. “I can’t believe you broke my car.”

  “The word says money answereth all things. Aren’t you glad you’re going to be rich?”

  I chuckled. “You got jokes.” I stepped right up to him. My face was inches from his. “I was going to kiss you, but you’re covered in grease.”

  He pulled me to him. I squealed, and he got grease all over me. I tried to escape him, but Stephen fell backward and pulled me to the ground with him. He began to tickle me.

  “Tell me this courtin’ thing is over. Tell me I’ve earned your love.”

  “No!” I screamed.

  He tickled me until I couldn’t take it anymore. “Okay!” I relented. “We’re done courting. You’re worthy. I’m lucky to have you.”

  Stephen’s expression became serious. He stroked the side of my face. “That’s what I’ve been waiting to hear.”

  My heart melted.

  “Tell me you love me.” His eyes beamed with anticipation.

  I teasingly hesitated and then when I knew he couldn’t take the delay anymore, I said “I love you, Stephen Pierce.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring my words. When he opened his eyes he said, “You a mess now, so you might as well give me a kiss.”

  I smiled. “I think you’ve earned it.” I gave him a quick peck on the lips.

  “So, can I be done with this dating on a shoestring? I’m about tapped out of ideas.”

  I shrugged. “I guess if I must settle for being in love with someone as scandalous as you, you might as well be spending money.”

  Stephen laughed. “You got jokes.”

  “I’m a writer.”

  “I think being with me will save you from Gerald.”

  I laughed. “You a step up from Gerald, but I’m the one really doing something for the culture. I’m saving you from the Debra’s of the world.”

  Stephen laughed again. It was a deep roar from his belly. “Tamar Johnson, baby, you win.”

  Chapter 39

  A bead of sweat the size of a football traveled down my back. Perspiration formed little beads all over my body. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirrored wall. My face, neck, and arms were glistening. I banged my leg back against the exam room table. Clyde looked up from his cell, cocked an eyebrow, and gave me the eye, like my father would when I was a kid getting into mischief.

  “What?” I asked, raising my arms.

  Clyde nodded in the direction of my bobbing legs.

  “I’m fine. If it can’t take a bang against a table, it won’t be able to take it on the field.”

  I looked through the glass wall that separated Clyde and I from Dr. Hogan and his associate. They been staring at films and other papers for five minutes. Five that felt like an eternity. They re-entered the room with Coach Nye dead on their heels. He and I had talked earlier, so he just gave me a nod and grabbed a spot against the wall next to Clyde.

  Dr. Hogan’s face revealed nothing. He had that stoic physician routine down in Oscar worthy fashion. I figured they must take a class in medical school on how to not show before telling.

  “Stephen, my colleague and I are in agreement.” My heart skittered wildly as his words traveled from his mouth in slow motion. “You are not ready for training camp.”

  The rest of what he was saying was like the womp, womp, womp of an adult Charlie Brown character.

  Coach Nye dropped his head. The burn of disappointment was on his face when he raised it. He responded to Dr. Hogan, but it was more womp, womp in my ear. I did however hear him say IR.

  Injured reserve. An involuntary shudder racked me from head to toe. I knew I’d been injured. I knew athletes got hurt and couldn’t play. But I never expected to come here today to be told I couldn’t. I released a long breath. I saw my career flash in images through my memory.

  Clyde stepped closer. “It’s going to be okay.” He patted me on the shoulder. “A few more months and you’ll be on the field.”

  Clyde continued his conversation with Coach Nye, but my thoughts drowned out his incessant chatter. My heart felt like it was caving in. I needed to think clearly. I needed a solitary moment. I slid off the table and backed to the door. “I need a minute.” I left the room, closing the door behind me.

  Once outside, a mixture of pain and sorrow fueled the energy I pushed into my hand. Flex-clench-release, flex-clench-release on repeat. I threw my head back against the wall and groaned the words, “This is happening,” on a long breath and then I spun into the wall.

  Lord, I wasn’t expecting this. You know I want to play football.

  Silence.

  I hope this is a delay and not a no, but I’ll do whatever You want me to do. I’m ready for whatever I have to deal with.

  More silence. I was lying. I didn’t mean what I said, but I was trying to mean it.

  I want to play football.

  I turned away from the wall, looked through the glass partition that separated me from one of the workout areas, into the faces of my teammates. The area was almost full. Players were here for mini-camp, but no one was working out. They were watching me. Watching the air deflate my soul. Wondering if they would have their starting running back to lead them to wins. I was sure they knew they would not.

  I thought about what Pastor Johnson told me.

  Have you ever considered that God may be trying to use you? It’s easy to praise Him and talk about His goodness when you’re up. None of them are impressed by the fact that you pray at games and talk about God. - Your teammates are circling, waiting to see what Stephen Pierce is going to do.

  I washed a hand over my face, opened and closed my fists for the last time, and went back into the room.

  Dr. Hogan, Coach Nye, and Clyde stood straighter.

  I pushed as much confidence as I could into my voice, and asked, “What’s the plan?” I hopped up on the exam table.

  Dr. Hogan tapped on an iPad. Using a stylus, he projected notes and images onto a big screen against the wall. We went over the treatment plan he’d put together. It was simple. It included light PT, work on my core, and rest.

  I was listening, trying, but I had to talk to God. I had to tap into His power. I wasn’t strong enough for this.

  I want to play again. But help me glorify You before these people. Help me keep it together, God. I have to make it out of this building.

  I repeated the prayer a few times before I felt peace. When I did, I whispered, “Amen.” No one heard me.

  “Okay, Stephen.” Coach Nye placed a hand on my shoulder. “We’ve got some paperwork for you in the office. We’ll talk.” He left the room.

  I gave the doctor my attention again. “You have an estimate for me?”

  “I think you’ll be ready early in the season. Remember the rest part. We don’t want a stress injury. There is such a thing as too much. Listen to your trainers.” He, too, gave me the man-I’m-sorry pat and left the room.

  It was just Clyde and I, and Clyde looked like he’d eaten a pound of sour grapes. He was rarely without words, but the taut twist of his lips conveyed he was struggling with them. “Look,” he began, “they’re going to hurt without you. We’re in the fourth year of this contract. Next year we were going to be negotiating anyway. It might not be terrible that they’ll miss you.”

  “Clyde.”

  “I’m trying to find the upside,” Clyde said. “I’m sorry. You’re not just a client. You’re my friend.”

  “I’m going to be okay.”

  “I know you’re going to be okay. You’re going to be great. This thing is a minor setback.”
>
  “Clyde,” I said firmly. “I’m okay. I’m good.”

  Clyde raised his hand to his chin. “You’re sure?”

  “I’m not going to trip. I trust God.”

  Clyde nodded. “Okay, that’s good. God is your answer here. We need God right now.”

  I chuckled. “We need God all the time. In good and bad times.”

  “I knew that,” Clyde said. “I’ve heard it before.”

  “Well, let me finish your speech,” I said. “Injured reserve is not the end of the world. I’m still on the team. I’m still getting paid. I have more time to heal and come back strong.”

  Clyde nodded. “That’s right. That’s exactly what I was going to say. More time to heal is better. You’ll be back on the field before we eat turkey.”

  We pounded and left the room.

  As we walked through the training area, I approached a few huddled teammates.

  “What’s up? What’s good? You ready for camp?” They asked.

  I shook my head. “I won’t make it to camp, but we’re optimistic that I’ll be back mid-season.”

  A round of “Cool, good, and a’ight,” filled the quiet.

  “I’m still coming to watch you clowns.”

  “No doubt, and we expect you,” they said in unison.

  I smiled and turned to join Clyde at the area that led to the exit.

  “Stephen,” one of the players called to me. I looked back. “Keep your head up.”

  “I keep it down,” I said, raising my hands and clasping them in an expression of prayer. “You know Who I trust.”

  They all nodded, and I felt good that I’d left that energy in the room.

  Clyde pushed the door open, and we walked through. “So, how are things with Isaiah and Tamar?”

  I smiled. “Excellent.”

  “Soon the Debra mess will be resolved. She’s big as a house. That baby is coming any second.”

  I shrugged. “We don’t even talk about Debra.”

  “You mean you and Tamar don’t watch the show?”

  I laughed. “I’ve watched a few minutes here and there. I needed to make sure she was keeping my name out of her mouth.”

  Clyde waved. “Don’t worry. Legal is on that. She utters your name one time and she loses all her money.”