Stepping Down (14 page)

If he didn’t get out of the house soon, Mark was going to pull his
eyelashes out one by one. The marvel of watching Sharla run the household had
worn off. And now that Amani was out of school for the summer, Mark found it
hard to watch how his wife and son interacted. She fussed at him perpetually,
and he bit back with comments that bordered between hilarious and
disrespectful.

Then Mark had to jump in on his wife’s side, but a part of him
wished Sharla would just be quiet and stop pestering the boy about every little
thing. “Amani, you didn’t make your bed right,” “Amani, sit a little further
back from the television,” “Amani, those shoes don’t match your outfit.”

Really, it was enough to make a grown man wild, let alone a
teenager trying to express himself. Mark wondered when Sharla had gone from
simply being a detail-oriented person to being a control-freak. He appreciated
all the hard work she obviously put into managing their household, but was it
really
that
serious?

He couldn’t take much more of it. The visitors from the church had
stopped coming by except for Rev. Jackson, who always joked around with Amani
every time he dropped by. Though Mark and Jackson might disagree about a lot of
things with regard to New Vision, they were friends and brothers in Christ
nonetheless. They had both mastered the art of weaving in and out of their roles
with ease.

He whispered to Jackson, “My wife’s driving me crazy. I gotta get
back to the office. Can I borrow your old pickup truck?”

“Now, Pastor, I would let you, but you know that truck is a stick.
You’d need both arms to drive it.”

“Aw, dang.” Mark chewed another nail and tapped his foot.

“Where you wanna go? I’ll be glad to take you somewhere.”

“Anywhere, I don’t care.”

“Let’s roll.”

Mark seized the opportunity. He sprang from the couch. “Sharla,
I’m leaving with Rev. Jackson. We’ll be back later.”

She was in the living room before they could make a move. “Where
are y’all going?”

“Riding around,” Mark said.

Sharla spoke to Rev. Jackson, “Mark’s on medication, you know? He
can’t go long without it or those nerves might start to acting up. And he can’t
have a lot of jarring action.”

“Sister, I’ll be extra careful with him.” Rev. Jackson put an arm
around Mark’s shoulder and escorted him to his own front door.

“Rev., are you sure?”

“Yes indeed. Talk to you later.”

“Bye, baby.” Mark quickly walked toward his friend’s car and
hopped in before Sharla could come up with another reason why he shouldn’t go.

Jackson started the car. The rumble of the engine swept through
Mark’s body. “Freedom!” he yelled.

“Aw now, Mark, don’t get so upset with her. You know that’s how
women are. They ain’t happy if they ain’t got nobody to worry after.”

“This is exhausting,” Mark confided. “It’s like she’s always
trying to make sure everything is perfect, and I don’t know why.”

“Some people just like that.” Jackson backed out of the driveway
and headed onto a main street. “Where to?”

“I don’t know. You hungry?”

“Not really,” Jackson said.

“Me, either.” Sharla made sure he ate so his body would have the
energy and nutrients to heal itself.

Jackson turned up his Neal Roberson CD. The old-school gospel
rhythms, the guitars, the tambourine, and the blues-like composition seemed a
perfect soundtrack for the moment. Mark rocked to the song,
My Mind is Gone
.
The heavy beat thumped deep down inside him.

They rode, listening to music for about fifteen minutes. Mark
thanked God for Jackson. Sharla couldn’t have ever just ridden in a car without
an agenda, without talking—unless she was purposely giving him the silent
treatment which, actually, was louder than words.

The highway wasn’t as crowded as he thought it would be. They
cruised another five minutes before nearing the exit to the hospital where Mark
had been a patient the week before. He was glad to be looking at the rows of
windows from far away.

Suddenly, the question plagued him: Was Bria still in the
hospital? “Rev., you heard anything else about the lady who was in the wreck
with me?”

“No, sir, I haven’t.”

“You think we ought to find out?”

“I reckon it couldn’t hurt. Maybe your
lawyer
can find out
for you,” he obviously tried to nip Mark’s wild idea in the bud.

The attempt didn’t work. “I was thinking…maybe we should go by
there. Check on her.”

“Now Mark, I can’t sign up for no kind of foolishness. We already
got the reporters coming to church and picking the members for dirt. Last thing
we need is you pokin’ around the hospital bed of the woman they think you
seein’ on the side.”

“But I’ve got you with me. We’re going on behalf of New Vision. If
the paparazzi are anywhere near, they’ll get their Sunday evening feel-good
story—Injured Pastor Visits Fellow Accident Victim,” Mark drew a rosy
picture.

“Or Suspect Visits Victim on Death Bed to Finish What He Started,”
Rev. Jackson dumped a bucket of black paint on Mark’s scene.

“Look, this isn’t about just me. It’s about ’Mani.” Mark knew he’d
struck a chord. Rev. Jackson had a soft spot in his heart for Amani. “I think
Bria is some kin to him.”

“Bria?”

“Yes. That’s her name.”

“Sounds like one of them young names,” Jackson estimated. “She his
cousin or something?”

“I’m not sure. I need to find out. I think Sharla already knows,
but she’s keeping her lips sealed,” he confided.

“Did you ask her what she knows about Bria?”

“No. ’Mani’s been dropping hints lately that he wants to get more
information about his birth family, but every time he does, Sharla gets touchy.
I think she feels like he’s trying to fill her spot in his life with someone
else,” he explained. “I’ve tried to tell her that no matter what, she’ll always
be the one who heard his first words, saw him take the first steps. It’s weird,
Rev. She’d never help me check on Bria.”

“So I gotta ask,” the elder probed, “if you know what can of beans
you might open if you go see this Bria woman, why do you
really
want to
go see her the first minute you get out of the house without your wife?” He
gave a sideways glance.

Mark couldn’t believe his ears. “Rev., are you kidding me?”

“I’m just askin’ for the record.”

“You of all people should know me better than that. I’m not a
cheater.”

“Don’t get all bent out of shape,” Jackson griped. “You was a man
before you was ever a minister. We all got temptations. I needed to hear it
straight from the horse’s mouth, that’s all.”

A hundred darts pierced Mark’s heart. If Rev. Jackson thought his
pastor capable and possibly guilty of sneaking around with Bria, it was no
wonder the rest of the world assumed the worst.

The rest of the trip to Ben Taub was unmarked by words. The pastor
would have to temporarily suspend the sense that his reputation had a big,
blotchy, red stain on it. Suffice it to say, however, that his resolve to see
Bria had only been strengthened. If people judged him when he’d done nothing
wrong, what difference would it make if he really
did
mess up?

Rev. Jackson parked near the main entrance. “You sure about this?”

“I’m not sure what
this
is, but I’m sure I need to check on
her. We almost died together,” Mark tried to give an explanation, but he was
sure Jackson couldn’t comprehend the ineffable bond.

“Come on, then. Ride or die.” Rev. Jackson exited the vehicle.

 Mark matched his stride toward the building. “Man, how you
go from darn near accusing me of cheating to standing by me?”

“I was gon’ stand by you whether you cheated or not. I just wanted
to know the truth so I could know
how
to stand for you—by your
side, in the gap, whatever,” Jackson spoke wisely.

“I guess you’re all right then, old man.” Mark slapped the
reverend on the shoulder. “Ride or die.”

They had to stop at the information desk to find out Bria’s room
number. “I’m sorry, but due to the press’s attempts to get in, we’re only
allowing family to see Bria at this time,” the long-hair, hippie throwback
receptionist apprised them.

“We’re her church family,” Rev. Jackson offered. “And this
gentleman here was actually in the accident with her.”

Mark raised his arm slightly.

The lady bunched her lips and twisted them to one side. “Okay. But
if you two are lying, may you burn in hell forever.”

Mark and Rev. Jackson both looked at each other, then back at the
woman.

“Do you know what you’re saying?” Mark asked.

“Yeah. Liars won’t go to heaven. Isn’t that what y’all believe?”

Mark ignored her cynical air, careful to stay in her good graces
so she’d give them the room number. “We believe that even a liar can be changed
through Christ because He has already decided to forgive every lie we might
ever tell.”

She redirected her attention to the computer screen. “You’re
definitely not the press. Room four ten.”

They took the elevators to the fourth floor which, Mark
gladly noted from wall signs, was the step-down unit from ICU. In all those
hours he'd spent at home bored out of his mind, he'd searched high and low to
find out if anyone had posted any kind of update on her status. No one had
written anything except to say that she was almost dead. Mark thanked God that
Bria's condition had improved.

He couldn't speak for Rev. Jackson, but when the elevator
doors opened, Mark was almost afraid of what might transpire when he saw Bria
again.  Would she be angry? Would she remember? What if she looked
terrible? In his years as a pastor, Mark had been called to many bedsides and
seen people's bodies deteriorate to the point where they were unrecognizable.
Of course, he always manned up for the family's sake. But he knew there was no
way he could have endured what he'd seen were it not for the grace of God.

"Here it is," Rev. Jackson sighed as they stood in
front of Bria's door.

They both nearly jumped when the door came swinging open and
they came face-to-face with a woman wearing a top that, unfortunately, left
nothing to the imagination and skin-tight jeans that traced every pothole in
her thighs. Her fire-red braids swung to stand-still, settling against her
arms.

She looked Mark up and down, disgust written across her
mouth. "Whatchu doin' here?"

"I came to check on Bria."

"Momma, who is it?" a groggy voice sputtered. The
beep-beep-beep of a machine competed with her volume.

Mark stepped to his right, trying to look past the woman
who'd made herself a barricade between him and Jackson on one side and Bria on
the other.

The woman glanced back over her shoulder. "Nobody. Just
some more nosy reporters."

Bria's mother put her hands on Marks and Rev. Jackson's
chest and pushed them both back into the hallway. "You got a lot of nerve
coming here."

"Mrs...Ma'am," Mark spoke in his most respectful
tone, "I don't mean any harm. I just came to check on her as her pastor
and as someone who survived that accident with her. How is she?"

The woman crossed her arms which, Mark noticed, squished her
chest up a few inches higher and exposed the muffin top above her pants.
Really, he wasn't trying to look at her body—but it looked at him.

"She's doing fine for somebody who got shot and whose head
got smashed into a windshield and right leg got crushed, thanks to you."

"How is it my fault?" Mark wanted to know. Rev.
Jackson put an arm on Mark's shoulder.

"'Cause you was the one driving, fool! You didn't have
no business with my daughter in your car, your wife chasin' y'all down the
street like she crazy," she said.

"My wife has nothing to do with this," Mark disagreed.

"You gon' wish she didn't after we finish suin' y'all
and that big ol' church you got. My daughter gon' be a handicap for life. And
she ain't gon' never look the same. Never get married, never find a man—least
not a good-lookin' one. He gon' be ugly."

She glanced at Mark's arm. "And what you walk out the
hospital with—a five dollar arm sling and some Tylenol?"

He couldn't answer the question because he was still stuck
on 'suin' y'all and that big ol' church'. "I don't know where you're
getting your information, but the person chasing us was not my wife. It was a
man, and Bria knew him."

"You tryin' to say my daughter was a slut? That she was
sleeping with somebody other than you?" The woman got in Mark's face.

Rev. Jackson stepped up. "Whoa, now. We didn't come
here for all of this. Why don't we all just let the police do their job and the
pastor and Bria can go on about the business of getting healed. It was nice to
meet you, ma'am. Please let Bria know that her church family cares about her,
alright?"