47
Chandler was getting fidgety. He'd counted floor tiles and checked his watch so often, even the nurses were starting to watch him. He looked like he'd escaped from a psycho-ward with his unshaven and messy appearance.
Only five minutes had passed but it seemed more like an hour. He wished he could hear something from Jasper's room but he couldn't. He was tempted to rush in with or without the proper sterilized garments. But he'd promised Zipporah time to do whatever she needed to do to get things straight with her newly discovered father.
Inside Jasper's room Zipporah allowed her eyes to adjust to the low lights. Even the illumination from all of Las Vegas's nightlife, bright as it was, couldn't shed enough light on this problem.
Jasper watched Zipporah scanning the room. He liked that she was cautious. Had he been, the two of them would not be in such an uncomfortable and foreign mess.
“Ten minutes before the end of visiting hours,” the announcement warned.
Zipporah willed her feet to hurry. The rubber-meeting-tile noise from her sandals sounded eerily loud as she got closer to Jasper's bed. She finally stood next to him. His faceâshe decided to study his face. Could she see a bit of herself in it? She looked closer, almost bending over to get a better look. He appeared to have splashes of green in his hazel eyes. She only had that when the light shone on hers in a particular manner.
Zipporah's eyes traced the outline under the sheets, all the while knowing that the man had not looked away. He was definitely a tall man, taller than she first thought. His feet reached the bottom of the bed with no space to spare. He looked very thin. Had he always been thin? She couldn't tell if he was gaunt from his illness or not. His hair was straight, thin, and a snow-white color. Under normal circumstances she'd have described his hair as a gorgeous white. It still looked healthy despite his illness.
She'd learned from Chandler that years ago he'd been a singer of some fame, in the gospel music world. She'd also learned some time ago that what you sang and how you lived didn't always match.
A sudden beep from his heart monitor caused her to jump. And when she did his eyes caught hold of hers.
“Five minutes before visiting hours are over.” The announcement seemed rushed and directed at her, urging her to get on with it.
There was so much she wanted to say. So many questions she wanted to ask. She didn't realize it right away, but their eyes were still locked. Neither was willing to look away. One was unable to speak, and the other wouldn't.
Zipporah wouldn't have been able to explain her next move if paid a million dollars. She moved to the head of Jasper's bed and gently lifted his left hand. She tried to make sure that the IV needle didn't move or slip out as she did.
Zipporah examined his leaf birthmark, intently. It was larger than hers but shaped the same. She let her finger trace it, hoping it wouldn't disturb him. He didn't move. She thought he smiled.
There was a faint greenish-bluish hue to his leaf, probably because the blood didn't properly reach it. At least that was the explanation a doctor once gave her when she'd asked why hers had the same distinct coloring to it. She even counted the points on his leafâtwo points on each side culminating into a wider shape. She'd always thought hers resembled a maple leaf. His did, too.
“Please be advised, the visiting hours are now over. Please be advised, the visiting hours are now over.” It was as though the announcement was saying, “Zipporah, your time is up. You blew it.”
The man, her father, still would not look away. He'd begun a struggle to speak. His words were urgent and mumbled. He was trying to grab Zipporah's hand, not seeming to care whether his IV came undone or not.
Zipporah saw the light brighten in the outer room. It meant that the nurse was probably coming in to order her to leave. She quickly removed her hand from his and took the envelope from her pocket. Zipporah bent over and kissed his forehead, soothing and silently urging him to calm down. She took out the pictures of her childhood and the letter and under his gaze, she placed them to her heart.
“I'm sorry, miss,” the nurse said politely, “but the visiting hours in ICU are over. Please say your good-byes.”
How could she say good-bye when she hadn't said hello? Zipporah fought the urge to throw the nurse out into the hallway, lock the door, and continue.
Jasper mumbled and Zipporah saw the look of desperation and sadness on his face. Again, he reached out to her. This time, she took his hand and placed it to her heart, and when she laid his hand back on the bed, she placed the pictures and the letter, too.
He could keep them so he'd know she was aware of their connection. Chandler had made copies and even if he hadn't, she'd have left these with Jasper.
“I'll come back,” Zipporah promised. She'd wanted to add, “Dad.” She couldn't. Perhaps, she would one day and hopefully not too late.
It was as though Zipporah's promise held healing powers. Jasper stopped struggling and the beeps from his heart monitor slowed a bit. Even the hose from the oxygen tank, when it collapsed and refilled, was slower. Somehow it seemed that Jasper Epps willed his death to slow down; he'd take his time dying. He knew his daughter needed him.
Chandler jumped up as soon as Zipporah came out of the room. She looked different, almost like some of the people he'd seen as a child after a deliverance service at church.
Zipporah hadn't cried. She'd thought she would. It was a feeling of weightlessness that crept over her. Years of not knowing who she was or where she came from had the possibility of an answer. Just that hope, alone, gave her more freedom than she'd experienced in quite some time.
Zipporah didn't say anything as she allowed Chandler to take her hand. What could she say? There were some things that only a parent and a child could share. Yet, even with all that she'd just witnessed, she was sure Chandler still knew far more than she. Even though he hadn't mentioned her birth mother, she was sure he had information. And, if he didn't, then she knew who did.
But there was time. In her soul she felt confident of it. And, whether Sasha wanted to or not, she was going to tell her the truth.
After all,
Zipporah thought as they walked to Chandler's car,
the old woman is my aunt.
Chandler was trying to make up his mind on how much of what happened between Zipporah and Jasper he should delve into when his cell phone vibrated in his pocket.
“Please give me a moment,” he said as he pulled out his phone. It was the first thing he'd said to Zipporah and the best he could come up with. Chandler checked his messages and frowned.
“What's wrong?” Zipporah finally spoke up, out of concern.
“Alicia's trying to reach me.”
“That's got you upset?”
“No.”
“Well, what then?” Zipporah didn't like the way his entire body had started to slump. She hadn't seen him this way before.
“It's my godmother.” Chandler said. “Hotel security's holding her.”
“Sister Betty!” Zipporah thought someone was surely playing a joke on him or he was teasing her.
“Yes, Sister Betty.” Chandler whipped open the passenger side door, almost tossing Zipporah inside.
“Where are Mother Blister and Mother Pray Onn?”
“I'll give you two guesses and the first one won't count.”
48
Chandler was moving so fast Zipporah thought she'd have to take off her sandals to keep up. He flew through the hotel lobby pushing other guests aside without as much as an “excuse me.” It was Zipporah who kept issuing apologies all the way to the security office.
Chandler burst into the office and came face to face with the head of security. He was a short, squatty man who wore an outdated Jerri Curl. He was in his fifties with brown teeth to match his brown mustache. He was walking around with one hand in his pocket, and his name tag read, “Steve Darling.” Steve Darling was anything but at that moment. He stood on his tiptoes, snarling at a much taller security guard. With spittle flying like darts out the corner of his thick lips, he as much as told the guard that he was in charge and whatever he said was law. He stopped ranting immediately and gave a wide smile when he recognized Zipporah.
“Good evening, Miss Moses,” spit-tossing Steve Darling said softly. “I caught your show, twice. I loved it.” He motioned for the other security guard to leave while he kept cheesing at Zipporah. He offered her a seat and totally ignored Chandler. “What can I do for you?”
“Mr. Lamb and I received word that you have detained several mothers from the Mothers Board.”
“Oh, really,” he said. “Let me check.” He scanned the clipboard. “I don't see anyone listed here that would be from a Mothers Board.”
Chandler had tried to be quiet and let Zipporah handle an obvious admirer, but his frayed nerves were on a hair trigger. Steve Darling and his leering at Zipporah had just set it off.
“Where's my godmother?” Chandler stood at least a foot and a half taller than Steve Darling.
Steve Darling didn't budge. “And who is your godmother?”
“Her name is Sister Betty and she's here with Mothers Bea Blister and Sasha Pray Onn,” Zipporah offered. She'd butted in, hoping that the two of them didn't get into a row over something stupid as most men would.
“Does one wear an ugly hat with a feather?”
“Yes,” Zipporah answered.
“The other one, does she have a deadly weapon such as a cane?”
“That would be Mother Sasha Pray Onn,” Zipporah said while watching Chandler's face turn beet red.
“Oh, they're in the back,” Steve Darling answered.
“What about Mother Bea Blister?” Zipporah had thought about not bringing her up, but she couldn't just leave Bea there.
“She's in the other office.”
“Why?”
“She plugged up two of the toilets and we believe she did it on purpose. That caused property damage and we can't have that here at the Luxor.”
By the time Steve Darling finished explaining the circumstances of the old women's detainment, along with his shock that they were actually church women, Sister Betty, Sasha, and Bea were led out in single file by a guard. They took one look at their surroundings and dropped their heads in shame.
Zipporah rushed forward and thanked Steve Darling with a quick, a very quick, peck on his cheek and a promise to dedicate a song to him when she performed again.
Chandler on the other hand wasn't feeling the sweetness. He lit into the old women like they'd been caught shoplifting at the Family Dollar Store. “What were you thinking?” he asked Sister Betty. “Since when do you follow the likes of those two?” He pointed directly at Bea and Sasha, followed by a look that dared them to sass him back.
They didn't.
“I was trying to do the Lord's work,” Sister Betty tried to explain, humbly, and even as she did, she heard how ridiculous she sounded.
“You were gambling,” Chandler snapped. “How is that the Lord's work?”
“Well, Chandler.” Sister Betty was so ashamed that her godson had to scold her in front of the others that she'd forgotten to use her pet name, June Bug. “In the book of Matthew, the twenty-first chapter and the twelfth verse, it talks about how Jesus went into the temple and drove out all the money changers.” She stopped and smiled, still forgetting she'd not put in her partials.
But Chandler wasn't falling for her bald-gums sham. “I suppose you were placing bets to blend in and snare the other bettors?”
“That sounds good,” Sister Betty replied. It wasn't quite the way she'd have explained it, but if it worked for him, fine.
“And, when you decided that it was time to chase out the money changers by snatching back your bet before the wheel stopped, were you doing the Lord's work?”
“I sure was.” Sister Betty gave a nervous laugh. “When I saw that wheel slow down and that it wasn't going to come around to my number again, I simply took my money off the number. It didn't make sense to waste it. Besides, I'd already gotten paid for that zero three times. Three is a holy number and it was a sign that it was time to do the Lord's work.” She turned around to Bea and Sasha for confirmation.
Chandler's mouth dropped open in disbelief.
Zipporah was then certain beyond a doubt that old people were crazy.
But Sasha and Bea had nothing but admiration for Sister Betty as they returned her smile. She'd arrived at their way of thinking. They felt so proud.
Bea and Sasha, their arms folded across their chests, inched over and stood defiant, in front of Sister Betty. It was enough to make Chandler back off before he ended up in jail for the night.
Steve Darling couldn't wait to get all of them out of the security office. He even decided that if Zipporah was a part of that nut pack, he wasn't going to her shows and she could forget they'd ever met.
While Chandler, Zipporah, and Sister Betty marched on ahead, Bea and Sasha fell back.
“Where do you think the two of them were?” Bea whispered to Sasha.
“I'm not too sure. But if they went back to the hospital, I think we'd know about it by now.” Sasha caught Chandler glaring at them, meaning that they should speed things up. She returned his stare with one of hers while defiantly tugging on Bea's arm to slow her down.
“I guess you're right,” Bea admitted. “There's no way she found out everything and didn't tear your munchkin butt apart.”
Sasha dropped Bea's arm like it was a snake and hobbled away, trying to catch up with the others.
Chandler was still seething by the time he and Zipporah arrived at her suite. He'd almost gnawed a hole in his tongue to keep from spanking all three of those old women when he escorted them back to their respective suites. He hadn't bothered to get promises that they'd stay put because at that moment, he just didn't care.
“I've got to shower and change,” Chandler finally said, standing in the doorway, after making sure Zipporah was okay. “I've only two more days off before I have to return to the conference center. I hope they will not be as crazy as this day.” He caught himself. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean it to include what you're going through.”
“I know,” Zipporah said. “I'm not sleepy. I should be but I'm not.”
Chandler smiled for the first time in an hour or so. “I'm not so much sleepy as I am funky.” He raised the material from his underarm to sniff. He pretended to fall back from the odor, causing Zipporah to reach for him.
“Chandler!” Zipporah caught him by his elbow as though she were his anchor.
“Hold on,” Chandler teased, kissing her hand as he lifted it from his elbow. “I really need to take a shower. I can smell me.”
“You don't smell so bad,” Zipporah said softly. “Not too bad, at all.”
Chandler walked back into the living room and stood with both hands on his hips. “You really don't want to be alone, do you?” He laughed. “You'd suffer the smell of body odor?”
“Yes.” She walked toward the television cabinet, turned the set on, and muted the sound. It was as though she were using the television as a third party in the room. Giving him a one-word answer was the best she could do despite her desire to say more. She wanted to do more, too.
She shot a quick glance over to where Chandler still stood, pretending to look past him. Her body tingled as though pins pricked her, but not in a bad way. Yes, she'd do everything except what her body suddenly felt like doing. She wasn't going to get involved in pity sex or a romp just to take her mind off unfinished business.
Zipporah, without another word, retraced her path past Chandler and went into the small kitchenette. She knew that he'd still be able to keep his eye on her from where he stood, but she wasn't concerned. She was certain that they both could use something to drink,
Chandler watched Zipporah moving about in her small kitchenette. She seemed to almost levitate as she moved. She appeared to be filling glasses or something, so he closed the door behind him. He sat down on the sofa and yawned. Watching her, he wondered,
are we both thinking about the same things?
He quickly looked away when she glanced his way. Leafing through a magazine, he thought hard about his situation. Zipporah, she was truly getting to him. He glanced over at her again, giving a half smile. If she looked any more beautiful or innocent than she did at that moment, he was going to have to reconsider his commitment to remaining celibate.
The more he moved about, the more his body odor seemed to permeate the air. Chandler imagined it hovering over them like a toxic green cloud. He became increasingly embarrassed as he continued fidgeting. If one good thing could come of funk, he thought, perhaps it would be a sexual deterrent. With his arms spread out across the back of the sofa, he leaned back and continued pretending he wasn't watching her.
Back at the Las Vegas hospital on the ICU floor, there was hardly a sound heard in or around the nurses' station. Even the hospital personnel dashing back and forth, handling one emergency after another, seemed to move in silence.
But as quiet as it was on the outside, inside Jasper's room the constant whirring from the machines had begun to grind away at his nerves. He was deep in thought and kept his head turned to the wall. Even so, he knew what was going on around him. Every time a nurse would enter to record or check his vitals, he wanted to scream out, “Leave me alone.”
He'd fought the drowsiness brought on by the medication so he could remember how she looked. He'd watched her as she'd examined their common birthmarks and he was pleased. There was an eerily sweet aura about her, unlike the disposition of her sister, Ima.
Jasper suddenly shook and coughed as he remembered his other daughter. He had never claimed Ima, either. Pangs of guilt temporarily rocked him like a direct torpedo hit. He felt like he'd had to choose between an Esau and a Jacob.
Ima was just like her mother. She was Areal reincarnateâevil to a fault like all those Hellraisers. But not his Zipporah; she was more like him. He could feel the rhythm of his heart calming down.
He coughed again, but he wasn't uncomfortable. Instead, he sighed, remembering that Zipporah had kissed him on his forehead. It was a light airy kiss she'd given him before she'd left with a promise to return. And, she'd done it after meeting him for the first time. Jasper hadn't heard her say what he'd wanted to hear, which was for her to call him “Daddy.” But that would come later, he was certain.
He had a lot to atone for and he wasn't above repeatedly begging God for mercy. He'd grovel before God on his hands and knees if need be. Now, with tubes and monitors helping him to remain on this side of the grave, he could only mentally beg God, from his sickbed, for divine mercy and grace. He'd repent over and over until he was sure God heard him.
It was cool inside Jasper's ICU room. And yet perspiration suddenly broke out on Jasper's forehead. Pain came like someone had scorched him with a hot poker. He didn't know who or why, but he felt the pain tear through his arm and travel across his shoulders, causing him to almost double over in the bed.
Then there was the tunnel. Somehow Jasper found that he was in a tunnel. He knew for certain he was because every sound had an echo. The machines humming had echoes and the voices suddenly appearing out of nowhere, they had echoes, too. But then the pain disappeared. Where had the pain gone? How could he fall as fast as he was falling, without the pain that caused it?
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At the same time, inside her hotel room, Zipporah had continued moving about the kitchenette when suddenly it began to feel smaller, as though everything in it could fit inside a dollhouse.
Zipporah heard the air conditioner in the living room suddenly kick on as though it weren't already cold enough. She hadn't touched it and she was almost certain that Chandler hadn't either. She went into the living room to check.
Zipporah's hand shook but not from the coldness in the room. She was sure about that. The shaking caused her to drop the glass she was about to set on the coffee table. She leaned her head straining to hear a low sound that kept eluding her, but she could hear her own voice and it sounded strange, as though it had too much reverb in it. Suddenly, her entire body went limp and her head just barely missed hitting the edge of the television cabinet. She tried to call out to Chandler as she fell. He wasn't there.