Songbird (39 page)

Harlan enters. “They're not going away. I thought surely they would leave once they realized you wouldn't talk to them.”

“You have a copy of the article?”

“Yep. It was delivered by courier this morning.”

“Can I read it?”

“I think you'd better.”

“But he seemed so nice, Harlan. Didn't he?”

“You think everybody's nice, Charmaine.” He turns to go into the living room.

“Harlan? Are you mad at me?”

“Of course not! We're in this together, Shug.”

I turn to Grandma Min. “Did you read it?”

She nods.

Harlan comes back in, handing me the paper. “Here you go.”

“Will you sit here with me while I read it?”

“I will. Let me put on the kettle. I could use a cup of tea right now.”

It starts out so nice, telling of our humble little house, the quaint meal from the Crock-Pot, kids playing outside on the swing set.

In fact there's a picture of Hope and Leo right there. Naturally I signed a consent form, thinking surely, after the fun time we'd had, that the article would be all good. I didn't even mind his barb about all the antiques so much. After all, they are Grandma's, not mine.

Then he continued on, talking about
The Port of Peace Hour,
Harlan's hard-line stance on psychology. There is a cute picture of the singers on the show and uplifting quotes from people who we've ministered to.

“I stopped blaming my past and going to every shrink in town for answers. And I started reading my Bible and my life has been healed. Just ask my family.”

“Prayer! Talking to Jesus in prayer has been the greatest therapy I’ve ever had!”

“The Hopewells saved my life!”

And then the other quotes begin. Things we'd never heard about.

“My son went off his medication due to the Hopewells’ advice and he eventually committed suicide.”

“My daughter and her husband stopped marriage counseling and she ended up in the hospital from his abuse. She's planning on going back with him once she's released.”

“If the Bible didn't say we shouldn't sue a brother in Christ, I’d do it.”

I feel twice as much air fill my mouth as it drops open at the next bit of my life. “The fifty thousand dollars Ms. Hopewell has received in royalties is nowhere to be found in the family accounts. The money has been traced to a mental hospital in Broughton, North Carolina, where Ms. Hopewell's mother, Isla Whitehead, is institutionalized for a disturbing mental illness. Although the fact is not well known, Ms. Hopewell has been undergoing treatment for depression for many years.”

Finally, Richard Lewellyn cast his net of doubt on one more area of my life. In the portion where he interviewed Bansy Pruitt, that lardy man who scouted me at Suds ‘N’ Strikes, I find out I’d engaged in sexual activity to further my career, which cast all manner of doubt on the conviction of Carl Bofa.

Oh, Jesus.

Harlan is in the living room, looking out the window. He turns around and walks back to the table. “They're starting to leave now. Guess it's getting too late to hang around.”

“Harlan. It's not true. I didn't sleep with that man.”

“I know you didn't, Shug.”

I stand up, put my arms around him, and rest my head his heart.

5

A
registered letter arrives two days later as Grandma Min and I school the children. The words within sting me like a wave of pepper over my eyes and I drop the paper to the floor.

“What is it?” Grandma asks.

“It's Grace's parents. They're suing for custody of Leo.”

I see it all on the news that night. Grace, with her family all rallied around her, looks so vulnerable. “I just want my baby back is all,” she says. “I’ve always wanted to be a good mother to him and now I have the chance.”

“Have you asked Ms. Hopewell to return your son?”

“Repeatedly,” says Grace.

“My daughter fell on hard times, sure,” says Mr. Underhill. “But we would have kept Leo with us. That Hopewell woman called every month for years and never even told us he existed.”

And Grace remained mute. Crying and blubbering.

I call the only lawyer I know, the prosecuting attorney who handled the Carl Bofa matter. He tells me I don't have a chance, not against the biological relatives who are more than capable of handling Leo's upbringing. “You can fight it, Charmaine, but I’ve got to be honest with you, I don't think you'll win but I’ll recommend someone up there for you if you want.”

I can't fight this battle. I pick up the phone and call the rehab home Grace was staying at. “Is Grace there?”

“No, I’m sorry. We don't have a Grace here.”

“Grace Underhill?”

“No, I’m sorry, we have no one by that name.”

“Did you ever?”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“Well, if you hear from this nonexistent Grace, tell her Charmaine is trying to get in touch with her. Tell her I’ll fight for Leo with every last breath I have.”

The kids and I pull into the driveway from a trip to the IGA.

“Come on y'all. Let's get inside and I’ll start supper.”

“Okay, Mama,” says Leo and I look back at him and we smile into each other's eyes like we always do. He winks. My lands, he's a good winker.

I grab two bags and hurry up the walk to unlock the door.

“Hey!”

Leo's yell turns my head. And I see them there, Grace and her parents.

“Stop that!” he yells.

I drop my bags and run toward him. But they beat me to him, pulling him by his spindly arms. “No!” I yell, putting my arms around his waist.

Mrs. Underhill pulls at my waist from behind but I hold tight. “No!” I cry. “No!”

I’m holding fast. Poor Leo. “Hang on, baby,” I say. “Mama's not going to let you go.”

“You're not his mama!” Grace shouts.

I hold tight.

“Hold tight, Grade,” Mr. Underhill says. “I’ll take care of her.”

A second later his fist makes contact with my jaw. I cry out, my hands automatically seeking my face as they rip Leo from me and make for their van parked across the street as fast as they can. He screams and I cry and say, “I love you, son! I love you.”

Grace shouts at him.
“I’m
your mama, Leo.”

“Mama!” he wails again and she shoves him inside the van.

Hope sobs beside me. “Leo! Leo!”

Screaming, I run to the van and pound on the door with my fists as it pulls away. “Stop!”

But Mr. Underhill steps on the gas and has turned the corner before my cry of despair rises from my heart and into my throat.

Wailing and sobbing, I crumble in the middle of the street.

When would enough heartache be enough?

Hope sits next to me and crosses her legs. “Mama.”

“Hopey.” I pick her up into my arms as we watch the empty street and weep.

6

G
randma Min pokes me. “Get up Charmaine.”

“Grandma, I’m just so tired.”

And I am. I haven't felt this way in so many years.

“Let me just sleep in for another fifteen minutes.”

“It's already noon.”

What Grandma doesn't know is that my medication ran out weeks ago. I thought I’d see if Harlan was right. If maybe I didn't have enough faith. If maybe I could lick this depression thing on my own, just me and God.

Not that God has been all that hot to me lately. I almost resent Him as much as I used to resent Mama. And the kicker is, I still believe and don't doubt that He sent His Son, but boy am I doubting His ability to look out for His children.

If God's the only father I really have, I’d say He's done a miserable job in sheltering His child. At least I did better by Hope and Leo, and they aren't even my own.

So why try? I think I’ll just follow God's lead and let everybody I love suffer and wonder what the heck
I’m
doing. Hey, Hope will survive. And all these trials will make her stronger. Isn't that right? Isn't that what I’ve heard all of my life?

Good then, Hope. Get strong. You'll be all the greater for it someday. And hopefully you'll be able to look at God and thank Him for the fact that I failed.

Maybe I should just stay in bed for the rest of my life and let the world think the worst.

I sit myself up just a tad, reach to the side of the bed, and grab my photo box and all the notes Leo ever wrote to me. I can't even bring myself look at them, but holding them in my arms seems to be enough to get me back to sleep.

Grandma stands at my bedroom door with her hands on her hips. “No more, Charmaine.”

“No more what?”

I hear the birds outside in the apple tree. It lost its blooms long ago and the leaves are no longer tender.

“I’m not bringing your meals in here anymore, not that you eat them, and I’m not taking care of Hope, either. The summer's here and she can walk over to the church and to Harlan if she needs something.”

“Where will you go?”

“I’m going to Broughton. I found a retirement community there with all the stages. Apartment living through nursing care.”

“I’m sorry, Grandma.”

“I can't live like this anymore, sweetie. Did you expect me to raise a crazy person then spend my last years caring for her daughter?”

I don't know what I was thinking, honestly. Not much. I’m so heavy on the chest. So full in the eyes.

Grandma sighs and turns away from me.

“God give me a little strength,” I whisper. “I’m not asking You to make it all better, or it all to go away, because I know better than to believe You'll answer that prayer. Just help me to go after her now, just this time. Just this once.”

I know she's not leaving right now. I have just a few more days to gather the strength.

Oh, Leo.

Poor Harlan is trying so hard. He had my medication refilled and brings it to me every day but I refuse. “Just a few more days, honey, and I’ll go back on if I can't kick it by then.”

I stare at the wall. There is another way, I know. And lately I’ve been wondering which method would be the easiest. There are no pills left in the house to swallow. No guns. Only cooking knives and a bathtub. I think that's truly my only option. I’ll have to make sure Hope isn't the one to find me.

Harlan enters the room. Daylight fades. “I’m taking Hope to Tanzel's now, Charmaine.”

That will make things easier.

“I can't keep Hope in this environment. Please Shug. Tell me what I need to do to make you better.”

My world slips away before my eyes and in the end I see myself alongside Mama, making swirls in a garden that is a mirror image of hers.

“Call Dr. Braselton. He's been caring for me since I moved here to Mount Oak.”

“I’ll get the phone book.”

“I’ll have to go back on medication, Harlan.”

“I wish you would.”

“I couldn't kick this thing on my own. I tried.”

I did it for him. But I don't tell him that.

“Well, now you know, Shug. Now you know you've got to do this.”

“Why did God make me like this?”

“That I can't answer. But if you want me to tell you about all the wonderful parts of you He also gave, well, I’ve got all day.”

And he does just that, pill in one hand, water glass in the other.

7

S
oup from my husband's hand tasted better than anything I can ever remember.

I look back at that day a month ago and I see a nail-scarred hand. If a better explanation is out there, I don't know what it is, so I’m sorry.

Harlan began quite a parade to get me back out into the world. Luella came down with the Reasins for an entire week. Ruby stayed a night or two. Then Francie Evans drove down with her brother James. Tanzel was over every afternoon with the funniest little poems and inspirational pieces that had me laughing like crazy.

We walked every morning, Harlan and I, down Route 44 through the country, we took drives and watched folks go about their lives and he didn't allow me to read any papers or watch any television. He created a healing cocoon for me and I felt loved.

Seeing all those people who touch my life in such a short time span made me see I am blessed. And I guess that's the hardest part about the battle of depression, seeing things for what they really are.

I am sitting on my lawn chair now, the summer dew still wet on the dried, heat-addled grass, and I sing to myself, knowing this battle will be with me for the rest of my life, but knowing I don't have to fight it alone. It won't be easy, I know this, but I finally don't believe I will end up hand in hand with Mama, with two swirly gardens and nothing but television.

I believe God healed me of that a long time ago.

8

D
ana Collier, interviewer extraordinaire leans slightly toward the camera, the lights of the studio sending sparks through her frosted pageboy. “Along with our celebrity features, we have a special interview planned for this evening's
Hot Topics.
More when we return after this.”

The red light on top of the camera dims and Dana turns to me. “You're doing all right, Mrs. Hopewell?”

I nod. “Please call me Charmaine.”

“I will. And you, Reverend Hopewell?”

“I’m just fine, thank you.”

When the
Post
failed to respond within a day to our request for an interview, Harlan called the network and they jumped at the chance. So here we are, sitting on a plum couch, Harlan and me, our fingers intertwined. Hope and Grandma are having lunch and a trip to FAO Schwarz during the taping. New York City is the place for me, let me tell you! It's as kooky and nonstop as I am.

Dana lays a quick hand on my knee. “I just want to thank you for giving me the exclusive on this. This whole thing has been such a mess, I think it's good for America to know at least one televangelist is sincere and human.”

“Human.” I laugh. “That would be us.”

“Now I’m going to ask what sound like hard-hitting questions to appease the viewers’ sense of vengeance about all this. They won't know I know your answer already, so it will give you the opportunity to respond with the truth. Understand?”

“Perfectly, Dana.” Oh, brother. If I found out this woman was made of plastic, I wouldn't be at all surprised.