The Vigil (13 page)

“...let me think about it. OK?”

That was more than I expected. But I suspected there was more to her response. “Sure. Will you help me find a dress?”

“Yes. You want to do it now?”

I glanced at the kitchen clock. Ten thirty. “I don't have much time. How about this weekend?”

She smiled. “Maybe Melanie can help, too.” Her eyes lit up. “She may want to be Mawmaw at her age. Wouldn't that work for you?”

Mama had missed the point. This would be a grandmother-mother-daughter thing. Not a grandmother-aunt-niece thing.

“I've already made other plans for the
fais do do
.” She lowered her eyes refusing to meet mine.

“Yeah? Anything special?”

She kept her head tilted toward her coffee cup. “Oh, just a weekend away.”

“Care to share?”

She shook her head. “It's nothing.”

I knew not to press her further; she wasn't going to tell me more.

“Mama?” I wrapped both hands around my cup and leaned in closer.

“Yes.”

“Why didn't you tell me about the schizophrenia?”

She ran her finger along the rim of her coffee for what seemed an eternity. Just when I'd given up hope that she'd answer me, she lifted her head and met my gaze. The glint of her eyes dimmed from the glistening moisture. She expelled a long breath that brushed the tips of my fingers. Her lips twitched into a quasi-smile. “Guess this conversation is long overdue.”

I nodded.

She took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

“When your father died, things really escalated. The symptoms became worse. Mawmaw helped as much as she could. But your grandfather was sick and dying. There wasn't much money. I was also embarrassed. I had two children to raise alone. I didn't want you or Anthony to think less of me—to think your Mama couldn't take care of you. I never wanted you to feel like you couldn't trust me, but I was drowning, and I didn't know where to turn. Then Elray came along.”

“But he hurt you.”

She shook her head. “No, he didn't.”

I thought this conversation would be a breakthrough. But, once again, she chose to deny the abuse she'd suffered from her husband, because she'd been too spoiled to leave him.

“Mama, how could you say he didn't hurt you? I saw the bruises on your arms. Do you really think that was OK?”

“Did you ever go without?” she asked, ignoring my question.

“No.” Elray had a good job. He'd provided us with all we needed and many times what we wanted. I didn't see how that was more important than withstanding the abuse he'd inflicted.

“He never hurt you or Anthony, did he?”

I shook my head. “No, just you.”

“Cheryl.” She leaned closer and met my eyes with searing intensity. “I hurt me.”

Once again, she justified his actions. “Mama, don't you see—”

She lifted both hands, palms facing me. “Cheryl, listen. My...condition had worsened. I hadn't been fully diagnosed at that time.” She paused and looked off toward the kitchen window. A single tear slid along the side of her face. She turned back toward me—her eyes pools of water.

“I attacked him. He never hit me. It was me.” She jabbed her index finger into her chest. “The bruises you saw were from me striking him. And him trying to defend himself from my blows. I was out of control.” She paused again. Her tears flowed freely and produced streaks where carefully applied makeup had been. She lowered her lashes causing a fresh flow of moisture. “But, most importantly, he protected you and Anthony.”

Her words slammed into me like a wrecking ball. Their enormity settled into my gut with the weight of an anvil. I'd blamed Elray all those years. I hadn't even gone to his funeral. To find out he'd protected us from Mama's abuse was almost more than I could bear.

The image of him sitting at the kitchen table reading his Bible flashed. I'd thought him a hypocrite. No words seemed appropriate to fully capture the tornado of emotions whirling through me. I slid into the giant sinkhole opening beneath me and was swallowed along with everything I'd ever known. Spiraling down, down, down—drowning in all my misshapen memories and truths.

I looked at this woman who was Mama and realized that I truly saw her for the first time in my life.

I saw her sacrifice and shame.

I saw her love and strength.

And finally, I saw the burden she'd carried and understood so much. For the first time in my life, love for Elray spread through me. He'd taken care of her and
us.

I stood and hugged her and then whispered in her ear, “Mama, I'm so sorry.” The words seemed lame in light of what I'd just learned, but I knew no other words could effectively convey the bevy of emotions reeling through me.

She wrapped her arms around my shoulders and held on with intense ferocity. “I'm so sorry, honey. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me.”

My vision blurred. How could I have not known this? Guilt wrapped its cruel talons around my heart and squeezed. I pulled away and looked into her tear-streaked face. “Oh, Mama, I was so hateful to Elray. I can't imagine what he thought of my ungrateful attitude.”

Her lips parted into a slow smile while her eyes glistened with tears. “Honey, he knew. We decided you and Anthony would not know. So he was OK with taking the blame. He was a very special man.”

I couldn't speak. Raw emotion bubbled through me and speaking would unleash a torrent I could not control.

 

****

 

Carlton, sat wide-eyed and alert when I walked into his room carrying the lunch the housekeeper prepared.

I tried to process the bomb Mama dropped earlier. As I hurried to arrange things on his tray, I dropped a bowl. Thankfully, the plastic just bounced off the floor. “Sheesh,” I pushed through gritted teeth.

“What's got your...goat t'day?” he asked as I walked into the bedroom.

I shook my head. How could he have heard me? I tried to smile. “Oh, it's nothing.”

“Mus' be some...tin'. Not like you...to...” He let the words linger and took in a deep breath. “...mope and cuss.”

“I'm not moping. Or cussing. Just have something on my mind is all.” I laid the bed tray over his lap.

He shook his head. “You're mopin'.”

I stood next to his bed and propped my fisted hands on my hips. “And what makes you so sure?”

He jutted out his bottom lip like a grade school kid. “Jus' know.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Wanna talk?”

Would this man never cease to amaze me? He had sat clammed up for the past few weeks, and now he wanted to talk about my issues. “Wouldn't you rather I read to you?”

“Not...in your bad mood.” He lifted the spoonful of soup to his mouth.

I let out an audible sigh. “I'm not in a bad mood.”

He arched his brows. “Really?” A smile spread his cracked lips. The effort made me cringe. It must be painful, but Carlton's eyes matched the sentiment. “Your turn...to share.”

I plopped into the chair next to him. “OK, but not until you eat all your lunch.”

He smiled again—a devilish child-like grin—which made me laugh out loud. He seemed good today. Like maybe there was hope he'd pulled through. The doctors had said six to eight months before...

But that was six months ago.

And the only reason he stayed in bed or in the chair next to his bed was because walking was so taxing.

I glanced toward him. This man I'd grown to love like a grandfather. It crushed my heart that he didn't have any family, people who loved him, to be at his bedside. His last dollars were spent on the extra care Darcy and I provided, not handed down to love ones.

He slurped his soup and crunched on the crackers a bit more hurried today. Could he want to hear
my
story? He'd never showed interest in anything but the letters from Lady S. He'd never asked any personal questions when I came to work here. He'd simply accepted my help at times and refused it at other times.

“Slow down, Sergeant. You'll choke on those crackers.”

He gulped the rest of his milk. “Ah, love milk.” He swiped the napkin across his crusted lips and then dropped it into the tray.

I handed him a tube of lip balm.

Sharing Mama's story with Carlton seemed a daunting task. Would opening up to him change our professional relationship too much? Or would it deepen the trust between us?

Once I'd gathered his tray and returned from the kitchen, he sat straighter against the headboard with pillows under each arm propping his elbows. His alert gaze followed me as I approached his bed. Then he pointed to the recliner next to his bed.

Hopeful, I asked, “Would you like to sit in the recliner?”

He shook his head and pointed at me. “Pull it closer.”

I did as he asked and sat in the cushioned chair on the left side of his bed near his feet. “You look different from this angle.”

He grinned, jutted his chin and turned his head slightly. “This...my good side.”

“Yeah, handsome for sure.” I tucked one leg beneath me and leaned back. Our banter and his snarky mood chased away the haunting dissonance sitting like a bowl of ball bearings in my gut. Mama's story came rushing back. So did the weight.

I glanced toward Carlton who sat in his bed looking like a five-year-old on library day anxiously awaiting a story.

“Spit...it out.” He cupped his left ear. “My good ear.” The significance of his words wasn't lost.

I swallowed the wedge of emotion lodged in my throat.

He cared.

 

 

 

 

Quinze

 

I turned away from Carlton and cleared my throat. With my gaze fixed on the hanging branches of the willow tree at the corner of his front yard, I told him my story beginning with Jarrod and my exodus from Houston, and then about Vivian and her startling revelation. I didn't give him names, just the facts, and shared with him about the guilt entrapping my heart.

“How could I not know?” I turned toward him.

Compassion from his soft eyes enveloped me like a roaring fire on a cold winter night. He smiled for a while, but the quiver of his lips took over. He stared. After a few deep breaths and a pause that lasted an eternity he spoke. “We...see what we want.” He sucked in more air and continued. “Hard to...swallow when...the truth...is not what we think.”

We locked gazes. It seemed he was trying to tell me something more. Was it the breathing that stopped him? Or something else? I waited for him to continue.

“Your pastor...friend.”

“Chuck?” I asked.

He nodded. “He knows. Ask him ‘bout forgive...ness.”

“Is that what the two of you talked about?”

He nodded. After a deep inhale, he adjusted the prongs of his tubing into his nostrils. “Hardest to for...give.” He pointed to his chest. “Yourself.”

I nodded.

Neither of us spoke.

The hum of the concentrator pumping oxygen to Carlton's lungs dominated the room. The steady drone accompanied the thoughts circling through my brain. My whole life I couldn't forgive Mama. It was easy to blame her for all the hardness in my heart and for any poor choices I'd made as a result. But what now? The truth had set Vivian free. I no longer blamed her. But now I hated myself for how I'd acted and what I'd thought toward her. Toward Elray. The truth had not set me free.

I'm not sure how much time passed, but late afternoon shadows played on the worn oak flooring of Carlton's bedroom. I expected him to be asleep, but when I glanced toward him, his eyes met mine.

He lifted the index finger of his left hand. “And...'nother thing. No man--” He punched the air with his finger and pursed his lips. “--No man...hits you.” He took several labored breaths. “...or anything else.” His glare bored into me. “Hear?”

I nodded. “Those days are over, Carlton.”

“Good.” He exhaled long and slow, and then slid down into the bed. I helped him rearrange his pillows. The exchange had exhausted him.

And me. I clicked the bedside lamp and a soft glow replaced the shadows. “Need anything?”

He shook his head and then pointed toward me. “Talk to pastor.”

“Did he answer your questions about God?” I asked.

He nodded. “Said...you can't have both.”

Just as I was about to ask him what he meant, he spoke again. “God...and no forgiveness.”

“Yoo-hoo, it's me,” Darcy whispered as she entered the room. “Cheryl, can you help me unload the groceries?”

“Sure.” I glanced toward Carlton and then at my watch. The afternoon had flown by. A quick glance back to Carlton revealed arched eyebrows and a questioning look.

Once the groceries were put up and I'd given Darcy Carlton's updates, I gathered my belongings and went into his room.

“Just wanted to say good night and thanks for listening today.”

He smiled. “Thank you...for sharing.” His eyebrows arched. “Too late for me...not for you. Talk to pastor.”

“OK, I will. But only if you quit thinking it's too late for you.”

He shook his head. “Don't give up...do ya?”

I tugged on his foot. “Nope. See ya tomorrow.”

“I'll be here.” He adjusted his blanket. “I hope.”

“G'night, Carlton.”

“Night, Cheryl.”

I walked out the door. My chest tightened when I realized that was the first time he'd called me by my name.

 

****

 

As morning beckoned, the day's first sunbeams peeked through the pine trees standing guard along the edge of the bayou that ran next to Oak Grove Cemetery.

“I know this pales in comparison to what you did for me.” I fitted the bouquet of fresh daisies into the vase attached to Elray's tombstone. “Also, I'm sorry. Sorry for everything. The way I treated you, the things I said about you, and for how I blamed you for the abuse. You were a better man than I gave you credit for, and I missed out on so much for not ever really knowing you.”