The Crossover (20 page)

“Jo, can you hear me?!”

Jo screamed back.

“Yes, I can hear you,” she yelled from her front door. “Clay, you’re not gonna find me in there, silly.”

I was so happy to find Jo alive and well. I thought I’d never see her again. I thought she was dead and I mourned for her.

“Jo, I’ve called your landline all day but you didn’t answer. You scared me,” I said as I walked towards her.

I gave her an unexpected brotherly hug. I didn’t want to let her go. She could tell I really was worried.

“Clay, come inside you goof ball. I keep telling you, if you want to reach me, call me on my cell. I unplugged my landline a while ago. I got tired of solicitors calling all the time.”

Jo closed the door behind me and offered me a cup of tea.

While I was sipping tea Jo made a move that confused me.

Jo stood and removed her turtleneck sweater and tossed it on the sofa. She had a black sports bra underneath.

“Clay, come here. I want you to feel something.”

I stood directly in front of her wondering what was to follow. Jo wouldn’t proposition me, or would she?

“Feel what?” I asked.

Jo grabbed my hand and raised it past her breast up to her neck.

“Feel right here,” she said.

“Jo, I don’t feel anything,” I responded.

“That’s what I wanted you to say,” Jo said with a big smile.

“Jo, I haven’t played doctor since the third grade. What’s goin’ on?”

“Clay, my lymph nodes are returning to their normal size. That’s why I always wore turtlenecks to hide them, they jutted out. I felt like Frankenstein. I have my scan next week and I feel really optimistic.”

I was relieved and somewhat ashamed of my initial thoughts.

After we finished our tea I had to inquire about her date.

“So, how did your date go?”

Jo slumped back on the sofa.

“Clay, I wish I knew. The last thing I remember was we were eating at a steakhouse and we had a few drinks. I must have gotten really drunk because I don’t remember much after that. I don’t even know how I got home. He probably thinks I’m easy. I’m not going to call him; I’ll let him call me if he wants to get in touch.”

“Jo, just be careful. If you meet someone and you want me to check ‘em out, just let me know. I’ll get Carl to...”

“I’m a big girl, I think I can handle myself,” Jo replied as she walked me to the door.

I couldn’t wait to tell Monet that Jo was safe and sound.

“Hey, Mom. I got your
Facebook
message. Is everything all right?”

“Are you sitting down, Clay?”

I couldn’t take much more drama; I braced myself for the worst.

“Mom, are you okay?” I asked worriedly.

“Yes, honey. I’m fine. It’s the house. It’s too much for me to look after. I decided to sell it and move into a smaller place without stairs. It’s getting tough climbing up and down the stairs every day.”

“Whew, I thought it was something serious.”

“You’re not upset? This is your childhood home. Your dad always wanted to leave it to you.”

“Mom, don’t worry about me. Home is where you are, wherever you are.”

“Bless your heart. There are some things your dad wanted you to have. I have everything in a box. I’ll mail it to you when I get a chance, all right?”

“No, Mom. I’m coming to see you. I’ll bring it home.”

“Hey, Jo. I’m taking Monet to the airport in a few minutes.”

“Jo, it was so nice meeting you. Here’s my email address. I want us to keep in contact. If I get this job, you might see more of me,” Monet said.

Monet and Jo hugged each other, Monet choked up a little. I knew why.

We drove off with Jo waving from her front door.

I hated having to take Monet to the airport. Whenever I was with her it didn’t feel like a holiday or vacation, it just felt natural. We both were solemn the entire way not knowing when we would see each other again.

I thought of an idea. I told Monet that I would see her after I visited my mom. She smiled and kissed the side of my face. We had something to look forward to. It wouldn’t be long before I’d see her again. Not long at all.

I was so glad to see my mom. It had been over a year since I’d seen her last. She was a bit more frail and a little slower, but she was just as lovely as ever in her golden years. The grass had overgrown and some of the taps had constant drips. I organized a plumber and a cleaning service,
The Pink Ladies,
to come by and tidy things up. Mom was so thankful for that.

Mom had a box of my dad’s things sitting in the center of my old bedroom. As I opened the door to my old room, hundreds of memories from high school flooded my mind. It still had the same feel to it. The last time I slept in that bed was 6 August 1979. Whenever I visited I always slept on the couch in the living room.

The box in the center of the room was marked
Dad’s Stuff
in a black marker. I sat Indian-style in front of the box wondering what was inside. I opened it carefully and saw everything was neatly packed.

I was surprised that dad kept all my letters dating back from boot camp. Even more surprising was a letter that he never mailed to me. It was like he was speaking from the grave. It was a letter that included a business plan for the two of us to pursue. Dad wanted us to go into men’s clothing for pastors and clergy. While I was in Japan I sent dad a tailor-made suit which impressed many other pastors in the community.

My second surprise was finding out my dad was a Lamplighter in his early ministry days. A Lamplighter was someone who taught a spiritual program designed to
educate not indoctrinate
new converts into the word of Christ. To feel the pages across my fingertips, the same pages he wrote on more than 40 years ago was almost spiritual. I felt a powerful connection with my dad. I kept flashing back to Winnie’s message,
Hold up the Light.
It was crystal clear to me at that moment; those were indeed my dad’s words. It was overwhelming, feeling so close to my dad in death. The message was clear, but the answer was lost on me. How would I honor my dad’s wishes? I knew the light meant the word, the gospel. There was just one problem, I wasn’t called to preach.

After scouring through letters, scrapbooks, written sermons and old pictures, I found my final revelation. His diary from 1959, two years before I was born. The cover was tattered and the pages were faded yellow. My dad was a passionate man and it was slightly uncomfortable to read how he fancied my mom while they dated. I skipped right over that as fast as I could. There was no doubt my dad loved my mother with all his heart.

Apparently, after my mom and dad married in 1959, they moved into a house that had been in the family for over fifty years. There were two problems that were clear in his writings, Gerald and Delcine. I think they lived upstairs in the two-family home. My dad’s writings about Gerald and Delcine were disturbing. The couple destroyed some of my parents’ possessions and stole from them. The diary never explained why Gerald and Delcine were allowed to stay, given their bizarre behavior. The last page that mentioned them was on 24 December 1959. There was a secret family meeting, a meeting that would decide Gerald and Delcine’s fate. That’s where the journal ended. I was curious what happened during the meeting. It was a well-guarded secret, a secret that lasted 50 years until now. I needed to find out what the family did with Gerald and Delcine.

Getting dressed for church without dad was hard. No longer would I see him preach from the pulpit where he ministered for over 33 years. I longed to reminisce and walk the halls of the church he claimed to be his second home. The church where I matured into a young man. The church where I attended so many weddings and funerals, including his.

My mom insisted on driving and I waved to friends on the street, friends I hadn’t seen in over twenty years.

I could see Alpha Baptist Church just up the road and I mentally prepared myself. The last time I was there was dad’s funeral on 9 February 2007. I got choked up.

“Mom, you just passed the church. It’s back there,” I commented.

She continued driving: things got strange.

“Honey, I don’t go to Alpha anymore. After your dad passed the vultures came out. There was a fight to see who would succeed him and I was caught in the middle. The church secretary seized your dad’s accounts and almost made me homeless. I had to go to court just to get our own money back. I was told I was no longer welcome. They were glad to see me go. I go to Broadview Baptist Church now.”

I was angry and sad.

“But what about dad’s portrait in the corridor?”

“It’s in the spare bedroom covered up?” mom replied.

“But what about his CD library in the conference room? Members always borrowed the CDs to listen to his renowned sermons dating back to the early days. That was his legacy.”

Mom was getting misty-eyed.

“Baby, those CDs are in my bedroom closet.”

I felt a part of my soul ripped out. My dad did so much for that church. He bled for the church. When the church hit hard times my dad remortgaged his house to keep it going. It wasn’t fair and it hurt me deeply. As far as I was concerned this was an assault on my father’s legacy. I had to make this right somehow. I wouldn’t let this go, not in this lifetime.

M
om, that was the best home-cooked meal I’ve had since the last time I was here,” I said, scooting back from the table.

“I miss cooking for two. Your father loved my cooking,” mom reflected.

“Hey, Mom, remember dad ran a herbal tea business out of the house? He had a growing clientele when I joined the Marines, why did he stop?”

“We had a few good years selling
Golden Seal
products but his main supplier opened a store down the street. Speaking of herbal tea, whatever happened to Prince, your high school buddy? You know, the fella who always wore that black fedora. He was one of your dad’s biggest customers before you joined the Marines.”

“Prince? We kinda lost contact after I enlisted.”

Mom momentarily stopped washing the dishes and turned around.