Stand Your Ground: A Novel (11 page)

I leaned away from him and folded my arms across my chest. Was Tyrone getting ready to smile? How could he smile now when I wasn’t sure that I’d ever smile again?

He took my hand. “Come with me,” he said.

I wanted to snatch my hand away and stay in my mad state of mind, but when the doorbell rang again, curiosity made me slide off the bar stool and let him lead me.

Tyrone held me with one hand, and with the other, he opened the door. And there stood Raj.

I growled.

Raj stepped aside and then, I burst into tears.

M
y best friend was a teeny tiny little thing—at least compared to me. I dwarfed Syreeta’s five-foot-two-inch frame with my own, which had me standing just a little over five seven. And last week at this time, I weighed a good one-sixty, one-seventy. That was before death had taken more than my heart; it’d stolen my appetite, too.

But no matter what I weighed, I still jumped into Syreeta’s arms as if she were the larger of the two of us.

“What are you doing here?”

Syreeta gasped as if she were struggling to breathe. “What do you think?” she said, sounding like a frog.

“I’m sorry,” I said, even though I wasn’t. I pulled her into the house. “How did you get here?”

“Well”—she followed me inside—“they have this new invention called the airplane.”

Tears still rolled from my eyes when I laughed and turned to Tyrone. “You knew about this?”

“He knew about it; he arranged it,” Syreeta answered for my husband. “I mean, I was coming anyway, but Tyrone got me on that red-eye last night. He said you needed me.”

She had barely explained it all before I had my arms wrapped around Tyrone. “Thank you,” I whispered into his ear.

Syreeta said, “And then I couldn’t fly into Philly because all of those flights were full. So I flew to New York and Raj picked me up early this morning.”

I had forgotten about my brother-in-law, seemingly forgiven by all except for me. But I was proud that I was able to get “thank you” out of my mouth, then stop there without adding a curse word.

Turning back to Syreeta, I hugged my best friend again. “I am so glad you’re here.”

“There is no place else I’d want to be right now.” Leaning away from me, she added, “Jan, I still can’t believe this.” Her words were a trigger, shooting tears into her eyes.

I sat on the second stair and she lowered herself next to me right as Tyrone’s cell phone rang. I hardly noticed when he and Raj stepped away from us and into the living room.

She held my hand when she asked, “How are you getting through this?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. I’m really shocked that I’m still breathing, and the world is still spinning without Marquis. Kind of feels like everything should’ve stopped.”

She nodded. “I couldn’t stop thinking about Marquis on the plane. I kept remembering when he was born, and when he was five, and when I got him his first Hot Wheels set, and then, when I bought him his first cell phone. How can he be gone?” she wailed. “And for what reason? His life was taken away for nothing.”

Syreeta’s words had been my thoughts all night long.

“And Raj said that the medical examiner still has our baby.”

But then, Tyrone rushed from the living room to where we sat. “They don’t have our son anymore,” he said.

Syreeta and I looked up with matching frowns.

Tyrone reached for my hand, pulled me up, and as he wrapped his arms around me, he said, “We don’t have to wait anymore, baby. We can go see our son.”

I didn’t dare lean away to ask him if his words were true.
Because I would’ve been so hurt if somehow his words had gotten jumbled in my head and he hadn’t just told me that I could see Marquis.

“Are you saying that the ME has released him?” my best friend asked for me.

Tyrone leaned back just a little so that he could look at me, but at the same time, he still held me as if he knew I needed his strength. “Yes, I just got the call. This is one of the things we’ve been working on, but I didn’t want to tell you. Didn’t want to get your hopes up.”

“So you got the police to release him? For real?”

“We did,” Tyrone said, glancing at Raj. “It just took a little bit of—”

I didn’t even let him finish before I wrapped my arms around his neck. I wanted to say thank you aloud, but I couldn’t get words past the clog in my throat. “Where is he?” I asked. There were tears in my eyes and a smile on my face, the manifestation of all that I was feeling: elation . . . I was going to see my son . . . devastation . . . I was going to see my dead son.

“They sent Marquis where I told them . . . to Marshalls Funeral Home. That’s where you wanted him, right?”

I had never thought about where I would send the body of anyone that I loved. But Marshalls was a staple in our neighborhood.

“That’s fine,” I said. “Can we go now?”

“Yes.”

That was all I needed to hear. I didn’t even look around for my purse. Tyrone would be with me; I wouldn’t need a wallet, I didn’t need makeup. I just needed to go.

Spinning around, I was the first one to the door, but as I grabbed the knob, three voices behind me shouted, “Wait!”

I turned around and frowned. As long as I’d waited, I couldn’t imagine why these people were standing there, telling me to wait.

It was my best friend who stepped up. “I know this has been tough, girl. And I know your heart is broken. And I’m going to be with you all the way.” She paused. “But I am never going to go anywhere with you while you’re dressed like that!”

Her words didn’t make sense. Until I looked down, and took in my bathrobe and slipper-covered feet.

Really? If they hadn’t been here, would I have walked out of the house dressed like this?

I looked back up, then down again. And when I raised my head and looked into their faces, I laughed. I mean, I really laughed. I leaned my head back and let go of a big one. I laughed in a way that I’d never thought would happen again. I laughed until tears came out of my eyes.

I
waited for the appropriate time. I waited until after Vincent and Pamela Marshall met us at the door of their funeral home and led us into a room where Tyrone, Syreeta, and I sat on one side of the table and the funeral-home directors sat on the other.

I waited until the Marshalls gave us their appropriate condolences and then waited through all of their promises of how they were going to take care of us and our son. I let them get through all of that, not really hearing too many of their words, before I asked the only question that was important to me. “Is Marquis here now?”

“Yes.” Pam nodded solemnly. “He arrived just an hour ago,” she said as if my son had come to her place of business of his own volition.

Again I let an appropriate moment pass. Then, “I want to see my son.”

Vincent Marshall nodded. “We’re thinking that we’ll just need a few days. We’ll work straight through the weekend and you can have the funeral on Monday. I know that’s soon, but you’ve been waiting so long. And it would be a week since.” He paused, and when neither Tyrone nor I responded, he asked, “Is Monday a good day, or do you want a little more time?”

I shrugged because I hadn’t thought about any of that. There was only one thing on my mind. I said, “We haven’t decided.” Then I looked at Tyrone for confirmation. When my husband nodded, I continued, “What I’m saying is that I want to see Marquis. Like right now.”

I startled both Mr. and Mrs. Mortician. At least that’s what I thought by the way they pushed back in their chairs, then with wide eyes glanced at each other as if my words were blasphemous.

“Well,” the wife began.

“That’s quite unusual,” the husband finished. “Marquis is not ready for you. We have to prepare him. And like I said, we’re willing to work over the weekend.”

He went on to explain all the things a mortician had to do, and it all sounded like blah, blah, blah to me. Didn’t he realize that I didn’t care about the length of time my son had been dead and the need for embalming? He didn’t need to be cleaned up for me.

I wanted to see Marquis, hold Marquis, kiss Marquis before they drained the blood from him. I had to see my dead son for myself.

When the mortician paused, I said, “I know this is unusual, but I really want to see Marquis before . . . before . . . before he’s not there anymore.”

Now the morticians didn’t just glance at each other. They looked at Tyrone and Syreeta as if they were asking for help. As if they were trying to say that one of them needed to explain to me that my son was already gone.

But I hadn’t lost my mind. These were the thoughts of a mother.

My husband said, “We’ll only be back there for a few minutes,” as if he understood my need. “Just take us to our son.”

I could’ve
hugged him, kissed him, but all I did was thank him with a squeeze of his hand.

There was another round of glances, but they could have looked at each other all day. I had waited all this time. A few more minutes, a few more hours, a few more exchanged glances didn’t mean a thing to me.

Mr. Marshall tried one last time. “We just want him to be ready for you.”

“He’s my son. He’s ready now.”

With a sigh and a nod, Mr. Marshall stood, and his wife did the same. Tyrone held my hand as we followed them, but it wasn’t until we were at the door that I realized that Syreeta was still sitting at the table.

“Come on,” I said, wondering what she was waiting for.

She shook her head. “No. This first time. This is for you and Tyrone.”

Now I shook my head. “You loved him, too. Come with us.”

I knew without even looking at Tyrone that he was nodding his agreement. When Syreeta stood, I was relieved. I wasn’t going to be able to do this without her and Tyrone. I’d need them both, one on each side to hold me up.

It was the longest walk down that hall, to the room at the end. Mr. Marshall paused for a moment, as if giving me a final chance to change my mind. I nodded and he opened the door.

I would never be able to recall what the room looked like or what else was in it. Because my eyes focused right away on the long table at the far wall in front of us. A table with a body covered to his neck by a white sheet.

The place where my son lay.

Like I had hoped, Tyrone stood on one side and my petite
friend was on the other as we made the slow jaunt down the center of the room.

As I walked, my eyes didn’t even blink.

Even though seeing Marquis was all I’d been able to think about, I’m not sure what I expected. Sure, I figured that plenty of tears might fall, and I might even pass out.

But it wasn’t like that at all.

“Marquis,” I whispered when we finally stood over him. “What happened?”

The heat of my emotions were behind my lids, but not a tear dropped, though my heart cracked. I knew that I would never be the same.

But even with all of that pain, there was something else.

There was an angelic peace over Marquis. He looked like he was asleep. He looked like he was happy.

He looked like he’d seen the face of God.

And with that, there was nothing for me to cry about.

I tried to lean forward but Tyrone and Syreeta each had their own vise grip on me.

“I’m fine,” I said, shaking from their grasps. When I was free, I waited just a moment, then leaned down and lifted my baby’s head and held him to my chest.

He was so cold, he was so stiff, all the things I imagined a dead body to be. None of the ways that I ever expected to see my son.

“I’m so sorry,” I told him as I rocked him, even in that awkward stance. “I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there to save you.”

Closing my eyes, I set my mind free and I saw all the hopes and dreams I had for Marquis: his graduation from high school, then college, probably graduate school. Eight years from now, he would’ve had his doctorate, though never once had Marquis said
anything about a Ph.D. But now, as I held him in this state, I could see that.

I saw the doctorate that he would never receive, the run for president of the United States of America that would never happen. I saw his wedding and then his children, my grandchildren who would never come from his loins. I held my son and imagined his destiny, a destiny that would never be.

As the first tears warmed my cheeks, I said a little prayer thanking God. Because even if God had told me on the day that Marquis was born that he was going to walk this earth for this short while, not even living to celebrate his eighteenth birthday, I still would’ve told God to bring him on. Because these had been the best seventeen years of my life.

Thank you, Lord, I said inside. Thank you so much for what you gave to me.

“Jan,” Tyrone whispered in my ear. “Come on, baby. Come on.”

Tyrone wanted me to let Marquis go and I knew that it was time. So I kissed the top of his head, then gently rested him back onto the metal table before I stood up straight.

With the backs of my hands, I flicked every single tear away. I didn’t want to cry anymore. Tears didn’t ease the pain anyway. Tears only drained me, and now I needed to get myself together. Because over the next few days, whatever I did would be my very last acts for Marquis.

So, no tears. Just strength.

“Okay,” I said to Tyrone and Syreeta. My eyes were still on my son when I said, “I’m ready.”

With a final kiss to Marquis’s forehead, I turned and hooked my arm through Syreeta’s.

She sobbed as we walked toward the door, and now I was the one who held her up.

But then . . . I’d taken at least a dozen steps before I noticed that my husband wasn’t by my side. “Tyrone?” I whispered his name.

Together, Syreeta and I turned and saw Tyrone right where we’d left him—standing over Marquis. His shoulders shook, and for just a moment, he wailed.

“Oh, God!” Syreeta tried to pull away from me, but I didn’t let her go.

“I’m going to get him,” she cried.

I shook my head. “No. He needs time with his son.”

Syreeta hesitated as if she wasn’t sure that she should trust my words. But then she stepped back and held my hand as sobs raked through my husband’s body. Just like Syreeta, I so wanted to go to him. But just like Tyrone knew what I needed, I knew what he needed. Even though he wasn’t really alone, it was just him and Marquis. Father to son. Man to young man.