The Morning After (24 page)

After a deep inhale, Jerrod said, “What you got to feel guilty about? You ain't the one who let me down. This ain't your fault. You loved Ma. You bought the ring. She's the one who messed it up.” Jerrod slumped in his chair and stared at the ceiling. “I can't believe she did this.”

T.K. pulled the ring from the jewelry box and held it in his hand. “Me either, kid. But you know what? I've spent enough hours asking myself where I went wrong and asking God why He allowed it to happen. I thought I'd found the one this time, but I was wrong. Jen has made her choice, and somehow I have to respect it. And you know what? So do you.”

Jerrod sat up straight and stared at T.K. “How? How am I supposed to respect that? How am I supposed to respect him? That man ain't never did nothing for me, Coach. How he just gonna come pop out of the blue and expect me to call him Daddy?” Jerrod's chin quivered and he lost the battle with his tears. “Everything was going so good. The morning after Ms. Essie died, it felt like the world was coming to an end. Then somehow, with your help, I was able to get it together. I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't been there for me.”

“And I'll always be here, Jerrod. That's what I need you to know and believe. I will always be here for you. No matter what.”

Jerrod used his shirt tail as a handkerchief. “It ain't the same. What if he don't let me spend no time with you? What if he won't let me go to church with you? What if he moves us away somewhere to some other city or some other state, and I don't never get the chance to see you no more?”

T.K. stiffened like that last scenario hadn't entered his mind until now.

“I don't think I can do it, Coach D,” Jerrod mumbled. “I ain't gonna be able to take living with him if you can't be a part of my life too.” His tears had limited his sight, but Jerrod could feel T.K.'s strong hands as they planted firmly on his shoulders.

“Then we're gonna pray,” T.K. said. “We're going to pray together that God will work everything out. He has to work it out, kid. Because to tell the truth, I won't be able to live with that either.”

Four hours ago, he'd pulled the chair close to the bed so that he could hold his sleeping wife's hand while she battled for consciousness. In those four hours, he hadn't left the chair once. Mason had lost count of the number of people that had stopped in since Elaine's early morning admittance. If visitation was an indication of alliance, Elaine sure had her share of friends.

Those that couldn't come because of obligations or distance had kept the local florists busy. The windowsill of Elaine's private room looked like an extension of the Atlanta Botanical Garden. Roses, sunflowers, carnations, dandelions, violets, irises, green ferns . . . they were all accounted for. Mason's cell phone had been ringing frequently too. Even his mother—a woman who'd never said two nice words about Elaine in all the years they'd been married—sounded genuine when Mason called to update her on Elaine's status. More glowing words had never been heard than the ones Georgia Mae Demps had said about her daughter-in-law today. She'd used unfamiliar phrases like “perfect wife for you” and “couldn't have happened to a nicer person.” One time, she even said, “If I need to pack a suitcase and come to Atlanta, just let me know. There are always flights out of Dallas to Atlanta, and I don't mind coming and helping out while Elaine is recuperating; bless her sweet heart.”

Bless her sweet heart?
That time, Mason had to pull the cell phone from his ear just to double-check to see if he'd dialed the right number. If Elaine had died on the side of the road on Braxton Way, Mason imagined that there wasn't a living, breathing soul anywhere who would have outshone his mother at the funeral. Either Georgia Mae was putting on a Tony Award winning performance with her kind words, or God was in the process of working a turn-water-into-wine kind of miracle on her. Mason prayed it was the latter.

The hospital room was quiet now; a welcomed sound. But the revolving door of earlier visitors replayed in Mason's head. T.K., Jerrod; there were even visits from some of the local staff writers from a couple of the magazines to which Elaine contributed articles and short stories. Then there was Reverend Owens, flanked by a few of the members of Temple of God's Word, who sat with Mason for a while. Reverend Owens lingered around even after the church members had dispersed. He'd helped himself to most of the grapes in one of the fruit baskets that had been delivered, then dozed off in one of the empty chairs.

Mason was surprised when Reverend and Mrs. Tides walked in the door. They had been the last visitors to stop in. Mason had called Reverend Tides to let him know that he wouldn't make their counseling session tonight due to Elaine's illness, but he never expected the prominent pastor to make a personal appearance. And when the Tideses walked in, they did so with a purpose. Mrs. Tides carried a small, burgundy, leather bound Bible in her hand, and Reverend Tides had a personal size bottle of anointed oil wrapped in his closed fist. Before engaging in any long, casual conversations, they each stood on either side of Elaine's bed and held her hands in theirs. In lowered voices, they sang a worship song; then Mrs. Tides read a passage of scripture before Reverend Tides dabbed the top of Elaine's hair with oil and placed a gentle hand on her bandaged forehead. The prayer that followed was spoken in a soft tone, but the Holy Spirit's presence in the room was so powerful that Mason felt the hairs on his arms come to attention.

But as moving as the moment was, it was equally as awkward. Reverend Owens was still there at the time, and he'd greeted Reverend and Mrs. Tides with what appeared to be genuine warmth. However, Reverend Owens was obviously thwarted that Mason had apparently called on another pastor—one whose church he wasn't a member of—to come and pray for his wife's healing. Mason felt the need to defend himself. To tell Reverend Owens that he hadn't asked Reverend Tides to come, let alone pray. The leader of New Hope had made those decisions on his own. Besides, Reverend Owens had been there a good hour before the Tideses arrived. If he'd wanted to pray, he certainly had plenty of opportunity to do so. Mason couldn't help but feel a bit bad at the thought that Reverend Owens felt slighted, but he wasn't about to turn down any prayers in order to nurse his pastor's unwarranted bruised ego.

There had been other visitors too. Angel had stopped in early that morning. Colin came by on his lunch break and was thoughtful enough to bring lunch for Mason too. Until he caught the aroma of the Zaxby's meal, Mason hadn't realized how hungry he was. They ate lunch together in the room where Elaine lay sleeping. They talked a little and even shared a few much-needed laughs, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to decipher that something was weighing on Colin's mind. When Angel came by, she'd seemed preoccupied at times too. Mason got the feeling that something unsettling was going on between Colin and Angel. What had disturbed the nest of the quintessential lovebirds, he didn't know. Mason was too concerned with Elaine's well-being to pry, but he was sure that his assumption wasn't wrong.

For the last four hours, it had been just the two of them: Mason and Elaine. Occasionally, they were interrupted by a pretty, blond-haired, overweight nurse named Felicity, whose smile never faded as she answered all of Mason's calls to the nurse's station. The meds in those bags hanging behind Elaine's bed were apparently quite potent. Never before had Mason seen anyone have such a restless sleep. Elaine's tossing and turning started shortly after Reverend Tides left the room. Often times, the excess movement was accompanied by mumbling; like she had a whole conversation going on inside of her wounded head. Her episodes were frightening at times; so much so that Mason had made frequent use of the call button.

“I know you're concerned, Mr. Demps,” Felicity said when she'd been called in for the fourth time, “and that's totally understandable. But I assure you that there's nothing abnormal about your wife's behavior. In fact, this is a good sign.” While she spoke, the nurse took Elaine's vitals and checked the contents of the bags of fluid being fed into the patient. “Mrs. Demps was severely dehydrated and malnourished when she was brought in, and her concussion was pretty severe. The doctor predicted that it would probably be a good twenty-four hours before the fluids and meds took full effect, and maybe a bit longer before she would become fully alert.” The nurse charted something on her clipboard, then looked at Mason, who sat only a few feet from where she stood. Felicity smiled like a toothpaste model. “At the rate she's going right now, I wouldn't be surprised if she wakes up before nightfall.”

She turned and began walking toward the door, adding, “Look at it this way, Mr. Demps. As long as she's moving around and making noises it means she's alive. I know Dr. Zbornak already told you how close she came to death. Bulimia, in and of itself, is a serious thing. Coupling it with the rigorous exercise you've told us that your wife was doing on a regular basis is a recipe for disaster.” Felicity turned back to face Mason just before leaving him alone with his wife. “She's a miracle, Mr. Demps. Maybe she's talking to God. After all, she sure does have a reason to be thanking Him.”

The nurse's parting words gave Mason renewed faith. Not that he feared his wife would die. Dr. Zbornak had assured him that she'd be fine, but all of the unsettling behavior he'd watched her display made Mason wonder if she'd be the same Elaine he knew and loved when she awakened. He worried that maybe the impact that her head made with the pavement—the impact that left a sizeable contusion on her forehead—had done more damage than the doctor had been able to detect during his examination. Elaine looked so frail lying there. Mason shook his head, still not understanding his wife's maddening need to lose so much weight. He never would have guessed that she was bulimic, and if the tests the doctors had run hadn't proved it, Mason would have disputed them without a second thought.

Bulimia
. “I must be the worst husband in the world,” he whispered to himself, lowering his head in regret. “I stood by and watched you half-kill yourself and didn't say a word. I might not have known you were bulimic, but I knew something was up and didn't confront you about it. I don't care how headstrong you can be, it was my duty to say something.” Mason brought the back of Elaine's hand to his mouth and grazed it with his lips, careful not to disturb the needle that was inserted there; held securely by a strip of surgical tape. “I should have put my foot down and been a man about it.”

A man
. Mason felt like anything but. He knew why he hadn't been more adamant about intercepting Elaine's so-called health kick. Mason hadn't felt worthy to make any kinds of demands regarding what his wife should or should not do with her body. A body he hadn't touched in months. A body he knew she wanted him to touch. A body he knew she
needed
him to touch.

But Mason knew he couldn't deliver. And if he couldn't meet his wife's basic needs, he had no grounds to take his place as head of household. That was the way he thought then—and God help him—it was the way he thought now. Even with the counseling, the renewed faith, and the increased dedication to God, Mason knew he'd always feel inadequate as long as he was unable to fulfill all of his duties as a husband.

Mason looked toward the partially closed blinds. He had been at the hospital for almost eight hours. The day was winding down now, and it wouldn't be long before the sun would disappear completely. If Felicity was right, his quiet time with Elaine would end soon. If he were going to say anything to his wife; talk to her like Reverend Tides had told him to do during their first session, he needed to do it now.

“I'm so sorry, babe,” Mason whispered, standing from his chair. He continued to hold her right hand in his left, but used his right hand to brush his fingers across her cheek. Her skin felt warm. And soft. It had been a long time since he'd touched her face. A heavy sigh preceded his next words. “I should have talked to you a long time ago and explained myself. You deserved to know what was going on inside of me.”

Elaine was moving and mumbling again, and Mason hushed to see if he could make out any of what she was trying to say. Just like the times before, nothing was coherent. If she were indeed fighting to awaken from her injury-induced sleep, Mason figured that he'd better start talking faster. He'd feel much better saying what he had to say if he were certain that she couldn't really hear him. It was the way of a coward, but it was the only way he could bring himself to do it. He sank back down in his seat.

“I just want you to know that this sleeping on the sofa thing . . . it stopped being about you a long time ago.” Mason used his free hand to wipe beads of perspiration from his hairline. Even without her ability to comprehend what he was saying, the words were painful to form. “I know you think I'm doing it because I'm still upset about what you did, and to tell the truth, I do still have days when that whole thing still messes with my head. But that ain't the main reason why I've been sleeping apart from you.”

Mason released Elaine's hand and stood up again. He paced the floor behind the chair; his heart racing like a thoroughbred. He hated to think of how difficult of an admission this would be if Elaine had been awake; eyes wide open with her ears hanging on to his every word. Mason turned his face to the wall, closed his eyes, and tried to pray for help. This was a lot harder than he imagined it would be. He took another breath, rubbed his sweaty palms against his pants legs, and then spoke again.

“Something's happened to me, Elaine.” Mason couldn't even bring himself to look at his wife as he continued. Even knowing she couldn't hear him didn't erase the utter embarrassment. “I'm not sure when it happened or why, but I've . . . I've”—he swallowed the bitterness of the words—“I've lost the ability to . . . you know . . .
function
like a real man.” Mason shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the hospital floor. The waxed and buffed tiling looked so shiny that he was afraid it would reflect his image. An image he didn't want to see. Mason brought his eyes back to the cream-colored wall.

“That's how I met Reverend Tides,” he admitted. “Remember when I told you I'd run into him, and he invited me to his church? Well, the real way that I came about seeing him was because I went to him for counseling, trying to find some answers; trying to find out why I can no longer . . .
perform
.” It wasn't easy to come up with words that didn't sound as terrible and as permanent as the proper scientific terminology. Saying the words
I've got ED
or
I'm impotent
just wasn't an option for Mason. He inhaled and said, “Reverend Tides prayed with me, and he believes that although I've said that I forgive you, I really haven't. Not the way God commands that we forgive. There are parts of this whole thing that I haven't been able to let go for some reason, and the poison from harboring it is killing me. Parts of me anyway.”

Mason removed his hands from his pockets, brought them together and blew into them as though they were frigid and needed to thaw. Cold . . . hot . . . cold . . . hot; he had lost the sensation of both. All Mason truly felt was disgrace.

“I want to forgive you, Elaine. I really do,” he continued. “If we're gonna make this marriage work, I know I'm gonna have to. We've been together for a long time now. I know how healthy your . . .
appetite
is, and I know you won't be able to stay in a celibate marriage for much longer. It's only by the grace of God that you've lasted this long. I can't tell you how much I thank Him
and
you for hanging in there. But I ain't stupid. I know that if I don't man up, you're gonna leave me soon.” Mason was blindsided by the fluid that rose in his eyes. He wiped away the uninvited moisture with his hands. “I don't want to lose you, babe. Despite everything we've been through, I love you. And I want this marriage to work.”