The First Lady (28 page)

I was shaking with fear. Thomas Kelly had always been a big man, but right now he looked like a giant, with a voice to match. I could see the anger burning behind his eyes and the tension straining to be released through his bulging neck muscles. Right now he was not a man to be played with.

“It’s not what it looks like,” I protested weakly. My mind raced as I tried to come up with a way out of this situation with the crack still in my possession. I gripped the plastic bags tightly in one hand and the tinfoil stem in the other as I watched Thomas Kelly to see what his next move would be.

He took a step closer. “Then what is it? ‘Cause it sure looks like you’re in my house about to get high.”

I glanced at the stem in my hand, then put it behind my back as if Thomas Kelly hadn’t already seen it. “Naw, I wasn’t,” I lied hopelessly, though I couldn’t think of any other explanation to offer. “I told you it’s not what it looks like.”

“Don’t lie to me, Marlene. Not after everything I’ve done for you.” He stepped closer and grabbed my wrist. Although I kept my fist closed, parts of the plastic bags peeped through my fingers. “Why did you bring this stuff into my house?”

“I didn’t bring it in here. Lisa Mae and her friend Loretta brought it in here.”

He grabbed my shoulders, and for a brief moment, I really thought he might rear back and hit me if he loosened his vicelike grip. “You know what?” he began in a voice that expressed both fury and disgust. “I want you out of my house. If you’re going to make up lies like that, you can’t stay here. Get out.”

“I ain’t lying,” I protested as the reality of my situation sunk in. I was about to be homeless if I couldn’t convince Thomas Kelly to give me another chance. “They came over just after you left. Please, Thomas Kelly, you think I had time to go to the other side of town to get crack, then be back before you got here? I swear to you that Lisa Mae and Loretta brought it here.”

“So, they just brought it here for you to get high, right? Just handed it to you like they were bringing over a cake or something, right? They didn’t want to get high with you; they just wanted to bring you some crack. Do you realize how that sounds? Just admit that you called one of your old dealers to bring it to you.”

“Thomas Kelly, I’ve been broke since I got here. Where do you think I would get money to buy drugs?”

“I don’t know where you got it from. Maybe you didn’t even pay with money,” he said with a small shudder, “but Lord knows I’m not trying to figure it out. I just know you said you wanted help, but it’s obvious to me you just came here for a place to stay. You’re not going to lay up in my house and smoke that stuff, Marlene.”

“Thomas Kelly, that’s not my intention. You’ve got to believe me.”

He ignored my pleas as he pulled me roughly out of the chair.

“Please, Thomas Kelly. Look at me. Can’t you see how much I’ve changed since I’ve been here? If I was still using that stuff, I would still look like it.”

His eyes went straight to my hair, the dry, unhealthy tangles a reminder of my addiction. Then he changed his focus to the drugs I was still clutching. “You know what? It doesn’t matter how they got here. What matters is that you’re clutching them in your hand when you should be holding the Bible.” With one strong hand he pushed me toward the kitchen door, and with the other he reached for the bags in my hand. “Get out, Marlene.”

Something came over me, sending me into a mad fit. I wrestled with Thomas Kelly, trying to retrieve the plastic bags he now held. A few of them fell to the floor. We scrambled vigorously, each trying to keep the other from getting the bags first. Although I managed to collect two of the bags, Thomas Kelly’s strength was too much for me. I gave up on the others.

He stood up, panting vigorously from our struggle. “Get out!” he screamed ferociously.

“Thomas Kelly, please! I swear to God I didn’t bring that stuff into your house.”

“Don’t swear to my God and lie.”

“Thomas Kelly, please don’t kick me out. I wanna get clean.”

“Yeah, right. You wanna get clean, but I walk in here less than two hours after leaving you alone to find you with a readymade stem, about to destroy whatever brain cells you have left.”

By now I was sobbing. “Thomas Kelly, I don’t have to remind you how hard it is for a recovering addict to resist temptation. I know it’s been years, but you have firsthand knowledge. You remember …” I brought my tears under control and pleaded with him to recall what it was like, to understand how difficult this was for me. “I know you remember. I’m not trying to defend what you saw when you walked in here. I only want you to believe what’s in my heart. I’m an addict—a struggling one. But, please, whatever you do, don’t put me out like this. Thomas Kelly, you gotta help me.”

He grabbed my shoulders harshly again. “Ever since the day you knocked on my back door asking for help, I’ve wanted nothing more than to see you get clean. Today, I’ve been made to feel I was a fool for letting you in here.” He squeezed tighter, as if he were trying to crush bone. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t wanna get high.”

I stared at him, knowing I couldn’t deny how much I wanted a hit. If I admitted my weakness, he might just give me one final shove out the door, but I had no choice. He would see right through my lies anyway. And besides, I felt like I owed him the truth after all he had done for me and my kids.

“I won’t lie anymore, Thomas Kelly. I do wanna get high …” When he didn’t make an immediate move toward the door, I continued. “But I want to get clean even more.”

He was unmoved by my words and replied harshly as he took a step closer to the door. “That sounds real good, Marlene, but actions speak louder than words.”

He was right. Thomas Kelly had every reason to distrust me after what he had just witnessed. But I knew that just as the devil had sent Lisa Mae and Loretta into my path to test me, God had sent Thomas Kelly and Savannah to me, to guide me back onto the right track. I couldn’t let Lisa Mae and Loretta win. It was up to me to accept God’s gift, and there was only one way to prove myself to Thomas Kelly.

“You’re right, Thomas Kelly, actions do speak louder than words.” I reached over and dropped the drugs into his waiting hands, and he wrapped his strong arms around me, holding me as I cried.

Sitting nervously now in the abortion clinic, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was in a butcher shop, waiting for my turn to get slaughtered on the chopping board. My fingernails dug into the padding on the chair arms as I willed myself to stay seated, to not run screaming out the door. It had not been easy to reach the decision that brought me to this place, and now it was even harder to make myself stay put.

After my conversation with Trustee Black, I had left the church an emotional mess. I had raced home and thrown myself across the bed, where I lay for hours, unable to comprehend how my life had spiraled so out of control. Not too long ago, I had been pretty content with my life. Sure, I was single and didn’t necessarily want to be, but at least my life was uncomplicated. I went to church every Sunday, where I had perfected the art of ignoring the women’s jealous stares and enjoyed the attention of the many men who admired my good looks. Now I was carrying the bishop’s child, wondering if I would ever be able to show my face at the church again. Even worse, I worried that I was actually leaning toward the solution that Trustee Black had suggested, endangering my soul for eternity.

Before I’d spoken to Trustee Black, I thought that I would never consider abortion. Taking the life of an unborn child was just not right for a Christian woman. But Trustee Black had convinced me that there were really no other options. The bishop didn’t want me, and from what his friend James had said, he wouldn’t really want our child, either. When it came right down to it, I had to make a choice between myself and the bishop. I could either have the child, then sit back and watch the ensuing controversy destroy the bishop and First Jamaica Ministries, or I could make the ultimate sacrifice. In the end, I decided I would rather condemn my soul to burn in hell for eternity than to hurt Bishop T.K. Wilson.

As I reached this heartbreaking conclusion, I lay crying, soaking my bedcovers with salty tears until I drifted into a fitful sleep. When I awoke a while later, the room was dark and evening had arrived. A knock at my door forced me to finally lift my body off the bed.

I was shocked to see Sister Alison at the door, but my heart ached so badly that I didn’t even stop to think before I invited her in and began to unload my painful story. Only when she asked me again who the child’s father was did I hold back. If I were having an abortion to protect the bishop, then I would have to take his identity to the grave with me.

“I’m sorry, Sister Alison. You’ve been such a good listener, and I appreciate how kind you’ve been to me through all of this, but I just can’t tell you who he is. I know it might sound crazy to protect a man who doesn’t even want me, but then you’ll just have to call me crazy. I can’t reveal his name because I don’t want to do anything to hurt this man.”

To my relief, Sister Alison did not push me any harder. I don’t know if she agreed with my determination to protect him, but she respected the decision as mine to make. Even more amazing to me, she refused to pass judgment even when I tearfully admitted that I was planning to have an abortion. Her eyes grew wide, and I don’t know, maybe she had to work hard to bite her tongue, but I appreciated the fact that she did so. She didn’t utter one word to try to convince me to change my mind. She just held my hand and listened, and when I was done, she said quietly, “I’ll come with you if you want.”

So now we were sitting together in the abortion clinic in Long Island City, where the chances of running into anyone from the church were slim. Although Sister Alison had made the journey with me and occasionally reached out to pat my hand, I still felt alone. I scanned the waiting room, where nearly two dozen women sat in silence. One couple looked like they were barely out of diapers themselves. Some appeared to be grandmothers who had come to their senses and realized that it was ridiculous to be pregnant at the same time as their daughters. There was even one woman who was visibly pregnant and would definitely be going under general anesthesia for her termination, if they allowed her to have one at all. She was so far along that if they didn’t hurry up and call her number, she’d spit that baby out right there in the waiting room.

“Are you okay?” Sister Alison asked me as she took my hand in hers.

I had come to consider her a true friend. She’d been there with me every step of the way, consistently offering support, even when I didn’t think I wanted it or needed it. During the ten days since I’d made the decision to have an abortion, she’d comforted me, listened to me, and even cried with me. She knew that I had decided this was the best choice, so even when I’d waffled a bit and considered backing out, she helped me stay strong. If this was the decision I had reached after careful thought, she said, then it was probably the best decision for me. “Don’t secondguess yourself,” she said. I considered this to be pretty amazing, since many others would have tried talking me out of abortion. Sister Alison kept her judgments to herself and supported me, and I appreciated her for that.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” I said listlessly. “But no, I guess …” I sighed. “I don’t know. How am I supposed to feel?”

“Maybe it’s just the picketers out there carrying those signs with the disgusting pictures of aborted babies that got to you. I know they got to me.”

“Yeah, maybe that’s it,” I half-heartedly agreed.

Or maybe, I thought, it was the fact that I really didn’t want to be having an abortion. What I really wanted was to be with T.K. right now, joyously anticipating the birth of our first child and making plans for many happy years together. But those things were fantasies, no longer options, and they hadn’t been since that day in T.K.'s office when he told me about Lisa Mae.

“How I feel right now doesn’t really matter, Sister Alison,” I informed her. “It’s just something I have to do.” I held back the tears that were threatening to escape.

“Well, what has the father said about all this? I wish you would just go ahead and tell me who he is.”

“Sister Alison, please,” I said, irritated that she would choose now to start badgering me for that information. I thought I had already made it clear why I couldn’t tell her his name.

“I’m sorry, Sister Monique, but I just want to make sure that you have really thought this thing through, because you know once you’re in there,” she said, pointing toward the examination rooms, “there’s no turning back.”

I was taken aback by her statement. Not once in the days leading up to this office visit had she advised me to rethink my decision, but now when I needed support the most, she wasn’t offering it so freely. Maybe those abortion posters outside really had
her
shaken up. I was glad I had looked the other way when we passed by them.

She’s right,
I thought sadly,
I can’t do this. I can’t do this.
But I had to do it. Keeping this baby would mean destroying T.K.'s life. I loved him too much to ever hurt him like that.

Then a thought entered my mind. It wasn’t the first time I’d considered it, but I had rejected the idea long ago. Maybe I could find a way to keep the baby without T.K. ever knowing. Trustee Black was the only person in the church who knew, and he would certainly keep it a secret from the bishop if he could. Yeah, I could come up with a way to keep the news from spreading throughout First Jamaica Ministries. I could get up right now and run out of this place. I could go home, pack my things, and use the money Trustee Black had given me to move to the West Coast or something.

I bolted from my seat, invigorated by my new plan, but then the nurse’s voice came like a bucket of ice water dousing my enthusiasm.

“Monique Johnson,” she said, entering the waiting area with a yellow folder in her hands. It was probably my medical record, where she would ask me to sign on the dotted line, like an executioner signing a death warrant for her own child.