Choose Me (44 page)

“Congratulations. I’m happy for you. Did you finally settle on a title?”

“In the Absence of Fathers.”
He said it like a movie preview announcer.

“I like it.”

“Why are you changing the subject?”

Caught, I didn’t reply. I brought the coffee cup to my mouth, but I didn’t drink, just used it as a prop to hide part of my
face.

“What about you? What have you been working on?” he then asked.

“I wrote a series on school shootings and gun control for
Diaspora.
I didn’t think I could ever write about it, but it just came out.”

“I read them,” he said, and I tried to keep from looking pleased. “My mom’s a subscriber. I thought they were very … powerful.
That part about you feeling Tony’s spirit leaving his body, it was … deep.”

I had been glancing back and forth, from him to the couple whose faces were so close to each other that any minute I thought
they’d merge into one another. It was hard to keep my eyes fixed on Adam, the paleness of his skin, his gaunt face naked without
the massive mane. He was a ghost of the old Adam. He was still handsome, his facial structure more defined and rugged. But
the change was more than physical; there was something else, something deeper. I knew he was probably wrestling with his own
demons, but I wasn’t ready to share battle wounds, not yet, so I didn’t pry. We continued to drink silently.

“I did sort of the same thing, with my screen writing,” he continued. “I found myself transferring the cancer onto my main
character and it helped a lot.”

“They’ve made me their staff education writer.
Diaspora
” I added, aware that we were now talking
at
each other rather than
to
each other. Turning my attention to the couple, I saw the man kneeling in front of the woman and palming her skeletal face
tenderly in his hands like she was glass. He was speaking and even though I couldn’t hear what was being said, the amorous
way she looked at him told me she was captivated by his words. I used to say that what I missed most about men was kissing.
But now I realized what I missed most was the way Adam had held my face the same way, looked into my eyes. Until then I hadn’t
realized how much I missed his voice, his eyes, his smile, and his laugh.

“That’s great,” I heard Adam say. Then I heard him shift in his chair. I could feel his eyes on me as I pretended to be mesmerized
by the blueness of the sky. “Eva … Mirame.”

I turned to face him and tried to make eye contact. “Very good,” I praised him, adding a smile to cover up for my discomfort.
“You’re still not rolling your ‘r’—”

“I know I’m not as cute as I used to be,” he interrupted, then smiled. “But I’m still me.”

“You’re still cute,” I teased. Then I realized that he might construe the comment as flirtatious, and again I changed the
subject. “How’s your treatment going?”

“I’m finished with chemo. I’m getting my strength back. I just came in for some tests today. Now I have to have this surgery
and then hopefully, I’ll be cured.”

“I hope so.”

“I pray to God that I am.” My eyebrows shot up before I could stop them and he chuckled. “Yes, I’m a praying man again.”

“Well, praise God,” I said automatically, happy for him. Now I knew what I had sensed—his changed spirit.

“All the time.” He was smiling broadly, almost proudly, waiting for me to question him, and when I didn’t, he filled me in.
“I got saved. Again. Baptized in the Holy Spirit and water, joined the church, the whole
enchilada.
”

This time, I had to smile. “You need to stop with the ethnic epithets.”

“What?” he said innocently, still smiling.

“So when did this happen? Where?” I asked, intrigued.

“Technically at the lakefront, about a month ago. Officially, on March 10. At TCCC.”

“TCCC? You got baptized at
my
church?”

“I didn’t know it was
your
church,” he said, amused.

“How come I haven’t seen you?”

“You know I’m an early bird. I go to the eight o’clock service.”

I attended the eleven o’clock service, so that explained why we never bumped into each other. But why would he join my church
and not his mother’s?

“I figured I pass by it all the time,” he said, as if he read my mind. “It’s closer than my mama’s church on Eighty-ninth.”
Then he got serious. “What about you? Are you still a praying woman?”

I finished my coffee and set the cup on the table between us. Folding my hands in my lap, I leaned back and looked out the
windows. The truth was that since my breakthrough at the lakefront, my faith had gone on mechanical mode. I was still going
to church regularly, “religiously,” but I wasn’t
there.
My prayers were becoming perfunctory, my singing dispassionate; worse, I wasn’t feeling God. I remembered the very first
night Adam walked me to my car, how I had thought I’d dread the day the Lord would test me and I would stop believing, and
prayed that day would never come. But I hadn’t stopped believing, not really, and I tried to convince myself of this every
day as I became more apathetic. I kept telling myself it was only temporary, but my lackadaisical attitude was beginning to
frighten me.

“I still pray,” I finally replied briefly.

From the corner of my eye, I saw him lean forward and reach out; for some reason I flinched, not significantly, but enough
so that it was obvious. I could only envision his face because I didn’t look at him.

“Don’t worry. I’m not contagious,” he said.

I glanced at him, slightly offended at his suggestion. “I know that. I’ve just been very jumpy lately.”

“You still having those migraines?”

“Not as bad, not as often. Just every once in a while.”

“Jade said she saw you in Target a couple of weeks ago,” he said.

I knew that was coming. I had seen the children first, at the end of the health and beauty aisle; Daelen sitting in the front
basket of the shopping cart, and Kia inside the cart, surrounded by dishwashing liquid, toothpaste, and other sundries.

“Hi, Kia. Hi, Daelen.”

They stared at me with their identical almond-shaped eyes, bluntly and warily, as only children could look at strangers and
get away with it. Of course, they didn’t remember me since it had been months since I last saw them.

“Hello, Eva.” I looked up to see Jade peek around the end of the aisle, eyeing me coldly.

“Hi, Jade. How’re you?”

“Fine,” she said, curtly. “You?”

“Good.” I reached over to squeeze one of Daelen’s cheeks because they were so irresistibly plump and because they reminded
me of my own sons’ cheeks when they were little. But the look on Jade’s face stopped me, the look of a lioness protecting
her cubs. Instead I said, “I used to put my sons in the cart the same way, one in the front, one in the back.”

“Oh,” she cried out, her face, tone, and demeanor suddenly changing. “I heard … I’m sorry about your sons. How are you holding
up?”

“Okay. Taking it one day at a time.” I hated that people felt they needed to treat me with special care because of Tony, but
I was beginning to accept the fact that his death would forever be a part of my identity.

“I don’t know if you know, but Adam’s sick,” she then said. “The cancer came back.”

Part of me thought the reason he hadn’t called was because he had finally realized I wasn’t worth it, that I was a waste of
time and we were better off apart, not as friends, but as two people who had departed as was expected with certain relationships,
the kind that could bump into each other later down the road and let bygones be bygones. But part of me still thought that
perhaps something had happened to prevent him from calling. Something bad. Ever since Maya had broken her ties with Luciano,
I hadn’t heard anything about him or Adam.

“I was going to stop by …” I started. “I was going to call …” It was the truth, but it still sounded weak and pathetic, inadequate.

“Why didn’t you?” he asked quietly, and I sensed an edge to his voice. He took a long swallow from his water bottle.

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.”

I looked out past the buildings outlining the cloudless sky, at the water so clear and blue, so perfect and so blissful.

“I don’t know,” I said again. “I just thought it’d be easier if we left things as they were.”

“Unresolved?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” He finished the rest of his water and sat back.

“No,” I then said. “It’s not okay. When Jade told me you were sick, I didn’t think I could handle it. Seeing you sick after
watching my son … Tony never regained consciousness. I didn’t just lose my son, I lost a part of my life. He had always been
the man of the house, my helper, my strength.”

“I know. The first time I saw him, I saw how protective he was of you.”

“I needed someone to lean on; I was in no condition to offer you support.”

“We could’ve leaned on each other,” he suggested. Then he quickly added, “But I understand.”

“Do you?”

“I watched my father die, remember? It’s a hard thing to watch.” He paused and sighed. “I finally went to the cemetery last
month.”

“You did? How was it?”

“I went there with all these preconceptions, about what I wasn’t going to do, what I wasn’t going to feel. But I broke down.
I guess the cancer has thrown my emotions out of whack.”

“Why, because you don’t usually cry?”

“No, I don’t,” he protested a little too adamantly.

I smiled.

“Well, I haven’t cried in a long, long,
long
time,” he admitted, cracking a smile.

“I used to cry every day. Now I’m down to once a week.”

He sat up again, sideways in the chair, and waited until I looked at him. He reached over and unhooked my hands from their
habitual position, and pulled me upright, facing him, our knees bumping. His touch was warm and familiar, but still I felt
I should pull away before it was too late. I looked into his eyes and tried to determine if lurking in his mind was some veiled
attempt to bring up the past.
Don’t go there, please,
I thought. But he looked tired and sad, not at all roused by our closeness.

“Are you still boxing?” he asked.

“Yes, why?”

“Hands are getting kind of rough there,” he teased, causing me to laugh. He inspected my fingers closely. “Still biting your
nails too, I see.”

“Shut
up.
” I tried to pull my hands away but he tightened his grip.

“Do you want me to pray for you?” he asked quietly.

“What for?” I replied without thinking, and immediately regretted it. When someone wants to pray for you, you shouldn’t question
it.

But he didn’t flinch. “For your peace of mind. To ease your pain. And Eli’s.”

A lump formed in my throat as I nodded with contrition and closed my eyes. He recited the King James version of Psalm 23 in
a subdued voice. I had always thought it was one of the simplest psalms, but as Adam spoke the words, I began to visualize
myself lying in a pasture beside a still river, my head being anointed with oil. When he was finished, I felt him slide his
left hand into mine and interlock our fingers like we were about to wrestle. I kept my eyes closed.

“Think a brothah can call you every once in a while? Or maybe a sistah can call a brothah? Or we can e-mail, whatever.”

His request seemed casual, like it didn’t matter to him one way or another whether we kept in contact. What I had expected
him to say was that he wanted to pick up where we left off, to try again now that he was the man I had prayed for: a man of
God. I didn’t trust myself to respond. Grief had triggered an erosion of my strong woman persona, a sapping of my hard-core
strength.

Just then, we heard a whoop. Startled, I looked over at the couple. I had forgotten all about them.

“Hey, my girl said ‘yes’!” the man screamed in our direction and then turned toward the glass. “Hey, God, did you hear? She
said ‘yes’! Whoo!”

“Congratulations,” Adam told them, smiling.

“Do you know them?” I asked.

“I’ve seen them around, talked to them a couple of times, but I don’t really
know
them. She has a rare brain cancer.”

I felt like crying. “That’s so sad. They’re getting married and she’s going to die.”

“Who said she was going to die?” Puzzled, he looked at me as he stood up, still holding my hand. “Listen, I got to get ready
to roll.”

“I’ll call you,” I promised.

“Don’t say you’re going to call me and then not call,” he said.

“When I say ‘I’ll call,’ I’ll call.”

“I heard that before,” he said sourly, curling his lip, but then he slipped into a tight smile. He finally released my hand
as he started walking away. I couldn’t help thinking he was walking away from me for good. That he was giving up, finally.
Something told me to call him back.
Don’t go,
I thought.

“What’d you say?” he asked, turning around.

I didn’t realize I had vocalized the words. I cleared my throat. “I said, ‘don’t go.’”

He strolled back and stood in front of me, his hands pressed together with his fingers spread like a starfish. “You want to
talk now?” he asked.

“I do, but I can’t,” I said, looking at my watch with regret.

“That’s right. Eli.”

“No, it’s not that. He’ll be tied up for another hour and a half. I was supposed to meet Simone and Maya for lunch fifteen
minutes ago.” I could have rescheduled, but I had already done so twice, and they were giving me grief. “Want to join us?”

“Nah. I’ll leave you females to your little hen party.”

I reached out to punch him in jest, but at the last minute decided against it and stood up. “I’ll ride down with you.”

We descended in silence, though it was a more comfortable silence, laced with quiet smiles and coy glances as other patrons
entered and exited, impeding any privacy. It seemed as if we reached the second floor too soon, which was connected to the
hospital parking garage by a enclosed bridge. As he exited, he held the doors, much to the chagrin of two young women who
remained on the elevator.