Deliver Me (10 page)

Eli turned, and Monica could tell by the look on his face that this was
going to be a battle.
 
She cut him
off before he could voice another negative thought. “Just give it a chance.”

He shook his head, a patronizing smile on his lips.

Monica nearly screamed in frustration. How was she supposed to accomplish
anything if he wasn’t willing to give her even an inch? If there was an ounce
of credence to his reputation of aggressively pursuing things he held near and
dear to his heart, why was he being so narrow-minded about saving the Parenting
Center?

Monica decided to ask him just that. “Why exactly are you being so
pigheaded about this?” His head reared back as if she’d slapped him, but Monica
wasn’t finished. “You’re ready to shoot down anything I say before I have the
chance to say it. For someone who supposedly cares so much about this
community, you’re willing to give up on them a little too easily for my taste,
Doctor.”

His eyes turned glacial. He took a step toward her, and Monica tried hard
to stand her ground. “Do not question my concern for the Parenting Center,” he
said with steely resolve. “If it were not for me, that place would have been
closed a long time ago.”

Well, duh! Didn’t he see her point?

“Then why are you ready to sit back and let it close?” She held her hands
out, pleading.

He stared at her for what seemed like forever. An uneasy feeling traveled
up her back. It was the same feeling she’d had in Dr. Slessinger’s office
yesterday.

He said, “Enjoy the rest of your lunch hour, Doctor Gardner,” before
edging past her and walking out the door.

Nothing had changed.

Her grandmother’s clock still rested on the mantel over the fireplace,
right below the Bernard Stanley Hoyes print Jeffrey had surprised her with a
few anniversaries ago. He had known how much she loved the artist’s work, and
that the painting she had been eyeing in her favorite gallery was the perfect
gift to lift her spirits. They’d suffered through another failed attempt at
in-vitro the week before.

The delight over receiving the painting had been no match for the
sickening despair that had wrapped its arms around her. Although she’d
convinced Jeffrey she was okay, Amanda had known something was wrong. Long
after her husband had come to grips with his disappointment, Amanda had felt as
if she were still drowning in it and soon realized she was sinking into one of
her episodes.

The depression had overwhelmed her. She could still remember lying in
bed, too weak to move a single muscle. She had been so afraid Jeffery would
sense there was something more to her “blues” and start to suspect that she
carried the same mental illness that had stolen her mother. Jeffrey always said
how grateful he was that Amanda had not inherited bipolar disorder.

If he only knew.

But he wouldn’t know. Amanda had made sure of it. Unlike her mother, she
had sought help as soon as she’d suspected something wasn’t quite right. The
medications had kept her symptoms at bay. Until the baby.

Amanda’s heart lifted at the thought of her baby. She cradled her
widening girth with both hands, gently massaging the baby from the outside.
This little one knew how to make his presence known. He’d kept her up half the
night kicking.

A smile touched the edges of her mouth.

She would take a thousand kicks a minute if it meant she’d get a healthy
baby in three months.

A baby
.

Instant tears welled in her eyes. Not the sad tears, but the ones she
craved. Happy tears. A familiar sense of awe overwhelmed her at the thought of
the tiny life growing inside of her.
 
She could stare at her protruding belly for hours on end, and still not
believe she this was finally happening.

Once she and Jeffrey had made the decision to start a family, Amanda had
made sure her bipolar meds were safe to use during pregnancy. But, soon, they
realized it was taking longer than expected to get pregnant.

Even now Amanda’s chest constricted with the fear she’d felt when she
thought she would have to go off her meds in order to start fertility
treatments. Luckily, her doctor had found a drug regimen that was safe to use
during fertility treatments, but Amanda had been warned those same drugs might
lose their effectiveness once she became pregnant. Hormones did weird things to
the body. And the mind.

Amanda swiped at the escaped tear as those awful memories seized her.
When she thought about the excited anticipation of walking through the clinic
doors just knowing they were going to get good news and then the
soul-shattering disappointment of learning they were, yet again, unsuccessful,
her heart broke all over again. There were no words to describe the elation she’d
experienced when their fourth in vitro attempt had proven successful.

Then things had changed.

Her world began to fall apart. Jeffrey seemed to stay out later each
night. He’d claimed he was working overtime to cover the extra medical bills,
and even though his check stubs proved it to be true, Amanda could not shake
the feeling that Jeffrey had been messing around. His clothes began to reek
with the smell of cheap perfume, and she was certain it had been his Ford Explorer
parked at a motel she passed on her drive home from school. It hadn’t mattered
that she couldn’t explain how he’d made it back to their house before she had.

Amanda’s gut told her she had been wrong to accuse Jeffrey of being
unfaithful, but her mind told a different story.

Then, a visit to her doctor’s had confirmed Amanda’s fears. Her valproic
acid levels had fallen dramatically. As predicted, the pregnancy hormones had
caused her bipolar meds to lose their effectiveness. That’s when Amanda had
realized her husband’s infidelity had been just a figment of her twisted
imagination. She’d known, then, what she’d had to do. She had to let him go.

How ironic that the child she and Jeffrey had prayed so hard for during
their marriage would be conceived on the same day she met with her lawyer to
start divorce proceedings.

An ache settled in her chest. The pain had become a familiar companion,
slicing through her heart every time she thought of her and Jeffrey’s impending
divorce. It had been the hardest decision she’d ever had to make, but after
realizing there was a possibility her bipolar medication would no longer
control her symptoms, Amanda had known it was only fair. Jeffrey didn’t deserve
to be stuck in a marriage with a woman who, on some days, couldn’t tell fiction
from reality.

Amanda moved to the sofa and slid onto the plush cushions. She hugged one
of the throw pillows close to her chest, settling her chin on top of it.

She couldn’t take living here again. Not with Jeffrey. Every corner held
a memory. Every inch of space marked an event in their lives together. Her gaze
roamed their spacious living room and landed on the silver-framed picture that
had rested on the built-in bookshelf for eleven years.

She, wearing the off-white fishtailed dress her mother had been married
in nearly forty years ago. Jeffrey, looking like a
GQ
centerfold in his midnight black tuxedo. The smiles beaming on
their faces were real. They were happy that day.

But she had killed that happiness, and it was too late to turn back now.

Amanda could not halt the tumultuous deluge of emotion that overcame her.
Tears sluiced down her cheeks, darkening the deep green fabric of the throw
pillow. Her body heaved from the force of uncontrollable sobs.

She loved him so much!

She would always love him. She’d accepted it as her destiny. But her love
was not enough to hold their marriage together. They would never be the happy
couple staring at her from the picture. Soon, they would not be a couple at
all.

Her limbs weak, Amanda lay across the deep sofa cushions and cried
herself to sleep.

***

The unmistakable aroma of roux wafted through the kitchen window Margo Holmes
always left open as she cooked her family’s dinner. Although a roux was the
basis for any number of his mother’s dishes, Eli knew she was making chicken
and sausage gumbo. He had a sixth sense when it came to Mama’s cooking.

Eli made it up the wooden steps and pulled open the door to the screened
porch. He battled his way through dozens of potted and hanging plants. Toby had
threatened to hang a sign with
Margo’s
Jungle
on the door. If his younger brother didn’t do it, Eli would.

When he opened the back door and walked into his mother’s kitchen, Eli
almost fell to his knees. The teaser that flowed from the window was nothing
compared to the full assault once he walked through the door. The rich bouquet
of spicy flavors filled his nostrils and set Eli’s mouth to watering.

“Well, hello,” his mother said, turning from the cast iron pot. Her gumbo
pot. Eli smiled.

He walked over to the stove and planted a kiss on his mother’s cheek. “I
could smell that gumbo when I turned down the street. You’ve got the dogs in
the neighborhood howling.”

“That’s when you know it’s good.” She winked.

“How much longer?” Eli asked, looking over her head and into the pot.

“Just until the chicken gets tender. Reach in the cabinet and get me the
rice cooker.”

Eli moved the coffeemaker from the counter and set up the electric rice
cooker in its place. He took the bag of rice out of the pantry and measured
four cups, then brought the pot under the kitchen faucet and filled it until
the water came up just above his fingertip. Margo had taught her boys to cook
at a young age.

“I’ve got that,” she said, taking the rice pot out of his hands. “Why don’t
you go into the living room? Alexander and Jasmine are in there. They’re
watching the video of her dance recital. You can see the part you missed,” she
said with her infamous pointed look.

“I guess a regular apology won’t cut it, huh?”

“I’m not saying a thing, Elijah.” It was his turn for the pointed look. “Remember
her birthday coming up. You can make it up to your one and only niece then.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve already bought her gift.”

“That’s my boy,” Margo said, positioning her cheek for another kiss,
which he gave to her. “Now go in the other room. I think there’s something for
you in there.” She finished with a curious smile.

Huh? What’s that about?

Eli could hear the music from the recital as he walked through the dining
room on his way to the front of the shotgun house where the living room now
was. At one time it was his and Toby’s room, but after their father died, his
mother bought the connecting house and converted that side to bedrooms. The
door to the other side of the house swung open, nearly taking him out.

“Uncle Eli!” Jasmine exclaimed. She caught him in the stomach with her
head as she wrapped her arms around his hips.

“What’s up, Magnolia Blossom.”

“When you gonna say my right name, Uncle Eli?”

“Never,” he answered, pulling on her ponytail.

“You wanna watch me dance on the stage? Daddy’s watching it. I learnt him
how to work the DVD player.”

“You taught him, baby, not learnt.” He was going to have to get this girl
Hooked on Phonics
or something.

Eli followed his niece into the living room and stopped cold. Right
there, sitting on his mother’s floral-brocade sofa, was Tosha Culpepper, his
old high school girlfriend.

This must be the
something
Mama
had mentioned waiting for him in the living room. What was Mama up to?

“Eli,” Tosha squealed. She ran up to him, capturing him in a
huge hug. Eli eyed Alex who sat on the sofa, smiling like a clown. Alex clicked
off the DVD and threw the remote on the coffee table.

“Tosha, what are you doing here? In town, I mean? I thought you were in
Philadelphia,” Eli asked.

“Actually, I just moved to Atlanta, so I’m back in the South.”

“Wow. That’s...um...great. So, you’re visiting your family?”

“I came down for Sienna’s graduation.”

“That’s right. Mama said she was getting her Master’s degree?”

“Yep. The last of us.”

Back in the day, the Culpepper girls had been as popular as the Holmes
brothers. Their father had owned a chain of barbershops, so he could afford to
send his daughters to St. Mary’s Academy, the premier African American Catholic
School for girls. Tosha, the eldest, was the same age as Eli. The middle
sister, Ivana, was a year younger, and the baby, Sienna, was Toby’s age.

Of the three, Sienna was probably the sanest. Even though Tosha had a
good head on her shoulders, book-wise, she had the common sense of a Q-tip.
Last Eli heard Ivana was a Voodoo priestess somewhere in the Quarter.

“So, how are things going? Are you still working for that pharmaceutical
company?”