A Cold Piece of Work (31 page)

“Now I'm a child; okay,” Joseph said. “Well, I'm sure your
mother told you to never ride with kids, so let's see if you can get an adult to take you home.”

They stared at each other for a few seconds. He took the final bit of his drink and downed it, then took a puff of his cigar. He leaned over and blew the smoke in her face, and brushed past her and back into the party.

Michele was so livid she could have burst into tears. She was hurt, angry and fighting mad. She looked around the subdivision and had no idea where she was. She did not want to go back into the house, but she had no other recourse.

She entered and saw Joseph standing in the kitchen with a few guys. They all turned toward her, laughing. She found Deilah and asked her to call a cab.

“What? Why?” she asked.

When Michele explained that Joseph would not take her home, Deilah was not happy.

“Between you and me, the food isn't great,” she said. “But he's been a family friend for a long time, so we're in a real bind when it comes to looking at someone else to do the food.

“Whatever, I'm really disappointed he's being this way. My brother is here. He can take you home. You live all the way in DeKalb County, right? That's too long a drive for a taxi. Who knows how much that would cost?”

“If your brother doesn't mind—”

“Hold on,” Deilah said. She caught her brother Anthony's attention and waved him over.

During the introduction, they checked each other out.
Cute
, Michele said to herself.

Anthony was quickly impressed.
Yeah, she can ride; I mean, get a ride anytime.

“But you shouldn't leave now. We're about to sing ‘Happy
Birthday' and cut the cake; and Joseph did not make the cake,” Deilah said, laughing.

“How well do you know Joseph?” Michele said. “I don't want to cause any drama. I came here with him and was going to leave with him. But he's acting like a child.”

“I know him well, but we're not friends; he's my brother-inlaw's friend,” Anthony said. “So don't worry about that.”

He led Michele back downstairs, to the bar where they got a glass of Shiraz and sang “Happy Birthday” and generally enjoyed each other's company. Before long, she saw Joseph staring at her in the distance.

“I actually have to get up relatively early, so I'm ready when you are,” Anthony said.

“Let me thank your sister and I'm ready, too.”

On the way out, Joseph came by. “You ready to go?”

“I'm gone,” she answered. Anthony politely grabbed her by her elbow and led her out the door.

“I'm going to say you can charge his behavior to alcohol,” Anthony said of Joseph.

Michele liked that. He could have tried to squash Joseph to elevate himself. Instead, he seemed to believe he would get where he wanted to go on his own merits. That was different from a few guys she encountered who did all they could to make themselves look better by making another man look bad.

On top of that, Anthony was handsome and a gentleman. They talked and laughed all the way up Interstate 20 to the Candler Road exit.

“Why do you have to get up so early on the weekend?” Michele asked.

“Well, I work at Coca-Cola and we have an event that I have to help coordinate.”

And just like that, Solomon was back on her mind.

“Coca-Cola, huh? Do you know a guy there named Solomon?”

“I do,” Anthony said. “Good people. We've hung out a few times. He's definitely good people. How do you know him?”

Michele was confused on how to answer. Anthony had struck her attention, which was really good considering how the night had gone. Would telling him about her past with Solomon make a difference to him? Should it make a difference to her?

“Well, he's the father of my son,” Michele said.

“Hold up,” Anthony said, alternating between looking at her and the road as they drove along. “I've heard about you. This is crazy. I can't believe this.”

“What have you heard?”

Anthony did not have it in him to lie. Although he was more than mildly interested in Michele, he was a strict adherer to “man codes.”

“I heard that you all are not together now and that he's mad at you,” he said. “But I also heard that he's pretty much miserable without you. Guess how I heard this?

“He used to date my cousin, Marie. She told me. He ended it with her and told her all about you and basically how much he loved you.”

Michele's body warmed up. She knew Solomon to be ice cold, so, day by day, her hope of hearing from him diminished. This news gave her optimism, for she knew in the deepest recesses of her heart, she belonged to Solomon Singletary.

“Atlanta is too small,” she said. “In five minutes, I learned you know two people I know here and I don't know that many people.”

“Well, a woman once told me that if you play ‘Negro Geography' long enough, two people will find common friends,” he said. “And that's true.”

They arrived at Michele's door.

“Can I give you some gas money, please?” she said. “This was very nice of you.”

“I appreciate the offer; you'd be surprised how many women don't have that courtesy gene in their DNA. But I'm good. I'm really glad we met.”

“Thanks for everything,” Michele said.

“My pleasure,” Anthony said. “And good luck with Solomon. I think you love him, too.”

“Why do you say that?” Michele wanted to know.

“I can tell. You probably didn't even realize it,” he said, “but when I told you what my cousin said, an expression came over your face.”

“What are you, some kind of mind reader?”

“No, I just pay attention to detail,” Anthony said. “I noticed you didn't say I'm wrong… Goodnight. Nice to meet you.”

F
or all the vibes Michele and Solomon had floated in the universe, they still did not come together. Their pride and stubbornness ruled.

It was silly because they both missed each other, wanted to be together, but refused to make the initial contact that would at least start a dialogue about a possible reconciliation. This was not foolish pride; it was masochistic pride. They only hurt themselves.

And the only point they proved was that they could not live without each other.

“I want you to invite Michele over for dinner,” Solomon's friend, Ray, said.

“Not happening,” Solomon said quickly. “I haven't spoken to her in two months. I pick up Gerald through him calling me and we work it out. I pull up at her house and he comes out and jumps in the car. Or I pick him up from school and drop him off at her house. That's it.”

“That's crazy,” Ray said. “You telling me that you love this woman but you don't want her enough to reach out to her? You can't be that simple.”

Solomon laughed, but it wasn't funny. He didn't have an answer.

Another uneventful week went by and another, before drama invaded.

Solomon was interrupted during a meeting in a conference room at Coke. He excused himself from the long table to take a
call from Sonya, Michele's cousin, who was reporting an emergency.

“Hello,” he said into the phone.

She explained that during his lunch break Gerald had had a seizure in the school's cafeteria.

An ambulance was called—so was Michele, who frantically hurried to DeKalb Medical Center from a catering job she was setting up on the other side of town.

On the way, Michele called Sonya, who called Coca-Cola and tracked down Solomon. Michele did not ask her to; Sonya took it upon herself.

When she told him the severity of the situation with Gerald, he immediately addressed his manager and other representatives present.

“I'm sorry, but my son is in the hospital and I've got to get there now,” he said. “I can't apologize enough, but I must go.”

His manager understood his plight. “Solomon, go.”

Dozens of things ran through his mind en route to the hospital, none of them comforting. Worst was the thought that he could lose Gerald after recently finding him.

That thought made him panic.

He called Sonya as he pulled into the hospital's parking lot.

“Have you heard anything else?”

“No. Michele was way out in Douglasville, so she's not there yet,” Sonya said.

“I'm here,” he said. “I'll call you back. And Sonya…thanks for calling me.”

He ran into the emergency room with his head spinning.

“Ma'am,” he said to the attendant at the desk, “I'm here about my son; Gerald Williams. He was brought in from school with seizures.”

She looked at her computer and determined, “He's with the doctor now. You can take a seat over there. I'll let you know when the doctor is ready to see you.”

The attendant gathered his name and other information and Solomon took a seat and waited. All he could do was think the worst. He was mad at himself for that, but he could not stop it.

He wondered, and worried, about Michele. She would never be able to recover from such a loss. It would be devastating to him, but Michele would never be the same.

It was then that he got on his knees right there in the waiting room and prayed.

“God, I'm desperate right now,” he started. “I'm desperate for Your intervention and power to heal my son. Please bring him out of whatever trouble he is in. We need him to be all right. His mother needs him to be all right. God please spare us and make sure this boy is all right. In Jesus' precious name, I pray. Amen.”

He heard someone else say “Amen” as he did and turned to see Michele. Her eyes were fire-engine red.

Solomon rose to his feet. Whatever foolish pride and stubborn position that existed before was discarded like so much trash. He hugged Michele and held her tightly.

“He's going to be okay,” he said into her ear. “He's going to be okay.”

Michele, at first, was too shaken to speak. The emotions of her son's condition were magnified with Solomon's presence and emotion at the hospital.

“Have you heard anything?” she finally said. They were still embracing.

“Not yet,” he said. “Soon.”

He felt her tears on his shoulder.

“Come on. Sit down,” he said, and she obeyed.

He used his hand to wipe her face.

“Solomon, nothing can happen to him. I need him.”

“I know, but he's going to be all right because we're here for him. Before you got here, I was scared. Now, the power of both us being here—and God's will—will make him better. He'll be all right.”

The wait seemed interminable, when, in reality, Dr. Carter came out about ten minutes after Michele's arrival.

“Yes, we are the parents,” Solomon said.

“Your son suffered a seizure from a violent allergic reaction to peanuts,” the doc said. “Did you know he had that allergy?”

“No,” they said in unison. “Peanuts?” Michele said.

“How serious is this?” Solomon asked.

“We have to consider it serious until we get him completely stable,” the doctor said. “He had a anaphylactic reaction to the peanuts, which, in some cases, I'm sorry to say, have been fatal within minutes. We're beyond that point, so let's hope that he'll come around soon.”

Michele sobbed and Solomon hugged her tighter.

“We treated him right away with epinephrine. But the reaction to the allergy could recur, so we must maintain ongoing observation. He's resting now, but we're monitoring him closely to make sure he doesn't slip into a coma.”

“What? No,” Michele said. “Please, no.”

Solomon hugged her tightly. “Hey. Hey,” he said softly but firmly into her ear. “Listen to me. He'll be all right. He's our son. He's strong. He'll be all right.”

“Please stay here,” Dr. Carter said. “I'll be back to update you as soon as I know something.”

The doctor left and Solomon walked Michele back over to a seat. He held her as they sat, waiting. He was so consumed with
comforting Michele that he did not have time to address his own worry or fears.

“How did you get here before me?” she asked Solomon.

“Sonya called me at work and I just left,” he said. “I was so scared because I didn't know what to expect when I got here.”

“I didn't expect to see you here,” she said. “And I'm sorry I didn't call you. I didn't try to not call you. I was just, in such a state of panic, all I could think about was my baby and if he was all right.”

“I know; me, too.”

“He has to be okay. Solomon, I couldn't take something happening to him. I've heard of how severe allergic reactions can be.”

“Nothing's going to happen to Gerald,” he said. “I believe the more positive energy we put out there for him to hold on to, that's what we're going to get back; positive results, because he'll be able to draw off of our will.”

Michele did not respond. She wiped her tears and rested her head on Solomon's chest. He rubbed her arms and shoulders. She was quiet and still, and Solomon's thoughts began to carom off the hospital walls.

All the back-and-forth between him and Michele did not measure up to a bowl of rocks. It all seemed so pointless, so ridiculous. He loved her; loved a woman for the only time in his life, in fact. And to be without her because of a power struggle suddenly seemed shallow and stupid.

He learned in the family violence classes that it was more important to really hear someone else's point of view before trying to get his point of view across. Maybe if he understood the other's perspective his view might be altered, and drama could be averted. He questioned whether he really tried to understand her points.

And so, Solomon held Michele tighter, as if he was trying to extract the pain and worry from her and into him. He never allowed himself to care that much about a woman, to be that selfless, that, well,
righteous.