The Vigil (16 page)

“Cheryl, in here.” Her muted voice drifted from her bedroom.

As I peered around the doorframe, my heart did a two-step. “Mawmaw, what are you doing?”

She stood on the top rung of her stepladder, leaning over to adjust the curtains over the window above her bed. “Just can't get the curtains closed. Every morning a slit of sunshine hits me right smack dab in the eyes. I'm tired of it.”

“OK.” I held the ladder to keep it from tipping over. “Why don't you come down and let me do that for you?”

She stretched a little more. “Almost got it.”

I held my breath.
Please Lord, don't let her fall.

Even Mr. Bojangles seemed to have stopped breathing. With his leash on the floor beside him, he waited at the door with his dark eyes fixed on Mawmaw.

“There.” She leaned back toward the center. “I think that'll do it.”

I placed my hands on her sides and guided her off the ladder.

“Please don't ever do that again.” I placed my hand on my heart. “You about scared me to death.”

“Oh, Cheryl, I've told you a million times not to exaggerate.” She flashed her mischievous smile toward me and then giggled.

“Mawmaw, you could have fallen and broken a bone. Then where would you be? Living with Mama, for sure.”

“Oh, thanks for painting that picture. C'mon, pooch, I've got your treat ready.” She walked toward the door and a bouncing Mr. Bojangles.

I followed behind, ladder in hand. “Please wait for one of us to do those things for you.”

She held up her hands. “OK, I give. Are we still going for our afternoon walk, or will you keep lecturing me?”

“Yes, our walk and no more lectures.”

“Good.” She fed the treat to my now impatient dog.

With Mr. Bojangles on my left side and Mawmaw on my right, we strolled our small neighborhood. Giant live oaks lined our street, their large out-reaching branches forming a canopy over our heads.

I wanted desperately to broach the subject of Carlton but didn't feel the time was right. When would it be?

“Hear your brother's gonna take that Guidry girl out again. ‘Bout time he gets off his keister and connects wit' that girl. They were a good match.” Her walking cane tapped against the asphalt.

“Yep. I hope things work out for them. I liked her.”

“What about you, Cheryl? When you gonna find someone to spend your life wit'?”

“I don't know. Evidently Mr. Right hasn't made his presence known.”

Mr. Bojangles tugged on his leash and pulled my arm forward as a squirrel ferried up the bark of one of the large trees.

“Are you sure he hasn't made his presence known?”

I stopped and turned toward her. “What do you mean?”

“Seems I remember you were pretty sweet on Beau Battice there in high school.”

“Mawmaw, you know he's married. But I find myself wondering if he was my Mr. Right, and I let him get away.”

“I know he's married, and I'm certainly not saying you should be involved with a married man, but you could do a lot worse than hooking up wit' someone like him. There are a lot of guys like him around here.”

After quieting Mr. Bojangles and untangling his leash from around my ankles, I resumed our forward progression. “I'm too busy to think about starting a relationship with anyone right now. The timing is wrong, and there really isn't anyone I've met who fits the bill.”

“Well, there is a lot to be said for timing. The right man will come along when you're receptive to the idea. The good Lord will send you someone when he knows you're ready.”

That was the second time today I'd been reminded that good things happen when my heart is open and receptive. Maybe I should listen.

We walked a few more blocks in silence and then turned around just as the sun was sinking low on the horizon. Its rays cast a soft glow through the branches of the oaks.

Mawmaw stopped walking for a moment. “You know, I hear Beau's wife is not doing real well. She got pneumonia or something and has taken a turn for the worse. That poor woman, she's had a hard time, not to mention how tough this whole thing has been on Beau and Steven. Just breaks my heart for dem.”

“I know. I can't imagine how difficult it's been for everyone.” I removed Mr. Bojangles' leash and scratched his belly.

We climbed the steps onto Mawmaw's porch and sat on the hanging swing. She turned to me with a distant look in her eyes. “Cheryl, I know what it feels like to think you've lost Mr. Right. That one person who could, how do you young people say it, rock your world. The person who made you feel so alive the very thought of life without dem tears your heart into shreds.”

Was Mawmaw talking about Carlton? Dare I ask? I tapped my fingers on my thighs while gathering the nerve to ask. “Mawmaw—”

A flash of white bolted past me and off the porch. Mr. Bojangles darted through the yard, toward the street in full chase of a squirrel.

I gasped and dashed after him.

The headlights of an oncoming car illuminated the squirrel's path.

“Oh, no. Mr. Bojangles, stop!” I waved my arms to get the driver's attention. The car approached.

I huffed and puffed—reminded of how out of shape I'd become. “C'mon.” I waved again and just as I turned to face the oncoming car, it turned into Mawmaw's driveway. Anthony. “Thank you, Jesus.”

I trotted across the street to gather my dog. He'd scared me half to death. When I bent over to pick him up, he hopped into my arms and licked my face—his tactic to deflect my anger. It worked. His big dark eyes and bushy eyebrows had a way of melting me like wax in the midday sun. I carried him back to the porch, at a slower pace. “No… running off…again.” His scolding came between gasps.

“Sis, I haven't seen you run that fast since we were in high school and Mr. Avery's bull got loose from his pasture.” Anthony walked up and lifted Mr. Bojangles from my arms. “Come with nice Uncle Tony.”

“Angelle.” I gasped again but began to catch my breath.

She nodded. “Hello, Cheryl. It's been awhile.”

“Oh, my, yes it has. Probably since the year I ran from Mr. Avery's bull.” I chuckled.

She laughed softly and nodded. “You're right.”

I linked my arm with hers and guided her up the stairs to where Mawmaw waited on the porch.

Anthony followed with Mr. Bojangles.

We sat on the porch for a couple of hours drinking iced tea with citronella candles burning and the ceiling fan whirling. Our smooth, easy conversation mingled well with the symphony of cicadas and the flashes of light from the lightning bugs. It felt right having her around again.

I loved seeing the pure joy and contentment on my brother's face. Happiness for him filled my heart. It was nice to feel good for a change.

 

****

 

Sunday morning I awoke at 4:00 AM. Wide awake. No more coffee for me after 5:00 PM.

I'd been invited by Chuck and Debra to attend worship service at their church. The thought of going to church left me unsettled. The services I'd attended in the past were staunch and ritualistic. I'd left feeling relieved to be out in fresh air. I
should
not feel this way when leaving church. So I'd abandon all ties to religion and just lived my life. I guess the problem was, I'd lived it without God. Could God really make that much of a difference? Enough to change a bad boy like Chuck into a pastor? I had to admit that was quite a transformation.

I punched my pillow and rolled over in an attempt to return to sleep. Thoughts of Anthony and Angelle, Mama and Elray, Mawmaw and Carlton, Beau and Annie, and Steven whizzed through my mind jostling to see which one claimed the coveted forefront position. I couldn't calm my brain. After wrestling for an hour, I threw the covers back and marched into the kitchen.

The steady hum of the air conditioner provided a backdrop to the quietness of the morning.

Mr. Bojangles slept soundly in his bed in the laundry room.

I rustled into the kitchen and fixed my black gold—coffee. I carried my cup into the living room and settled into the corner of the couch ready to tackle my mail from the past few days.

Beau weighed heavy on my mind and my heart. I could only imagine what he was going through. I'd started to call when I got home from Mawmaw's last night and then realized it was past ten, and I didn't want to bother him that late. I loved being his friend, but something kept pulling me back. I didn't want Beau to get the wrong impression. Or was it Beau I was really worried about? I wrestled with my true feelings. Was I concerned more about what others thought? Did I battle with some of the old feelings I'd had for him?

He was married. I pushed thoughts of Annie, so close to death, away. I didn't want to think about her for fear I may have thoughts I couldn't be proud of. I didn't want her to die. But I also didn't want Beau to suffer the way he'd suffered. The situation was all so confusing and unsettling.

I turned to the mail stack on my lap—credit card applications, subscription requests for magazines months from expiration, and bills. On the table next to the couch, sat the Bible Chuck had given me. I opened the cover to the short note he'd scribbled on the inside.

Cheryl, Thanks so much for coming to see me and trusting me. Remember God can use any one of us at any time to serve His purposes. Love in Christ, Chuck.

Below his signature he had written in very neat print,
Jeremiah 29:11-13.

I flipped pages to Jeremiah and read the verse Chuck had quoted. “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

God had plans for me? Plans to prosper me and not harm me
.
I guess prosper can mean different things to different people in different circumstances. I didn't particularly feel like I had prospered, but I wasn't destitute, either.

I thought about the time Jarrod had struck me. He could have seriously injured me. Had God been watching out for me back then? Had He done the same when Mama brought Elray into our lives? To give me hope and a future.
Was coming home to discover the truth, hope for my future?

While reading the next lines, my heart stirred.

“Then you will call on Me and come and pray to Me, and I will listen to you. You will seek Me and find Me when you seek Me with all your heart.”

I remembered praying to God when Mr. Bojangles ran into the street, when Mawmaw had her stroke, when she had climbed on the ladder and I thought she'd fall, and when I felt helpless in how to care for Carlton. Some of those things were minor and some were major, but one thing struck me: I hadn't consciously thought about those prayers. They'd come automatically. And I'm pretty sure God had heard me.

I volleyed the idea of whether or not to go to church for a moment. Then I downed the last sip of my coffee, cared for Mr. Bojangles, and headed to my room to change. I'd go today.
Lord, show me what You want me to be.

 

****

 

Monday morning, the sweet aroma of pancakes enveloped me as I walked into Carlton's house. Darcy walked into the kitchen, a dishtowel draped over her right shoulder and her long brown ponytail swinging back and forth. “Mornin' Cheryl. How are you?”

“Doing well. You?”

“I'm OK. Ready to get home to bed.”

“Did Carlton have a bad night?”

“He woke up a couple of times last night crying about Sherri. I don't know who this gal is, but I'd like to meet her to give her a piece of my mind. She sure broke his heart but good.”

I nodded. “I'd like to meet her, too.”

I helped Darcy clean the kitchen.

She filled me in on what Carlton needed before she headed out the door.

When I entered Carlton's room, his raspy breathing and snoring filled the air. I tiptoed out and headed for the kitchen table wishing I'd brought something to read or at least my knitting. I ventured into his living room to see if he had any books. I'd never been there before, never really had a need.

An old, vinyl brown sofa sat against the right wall in the sparse rectangular room. Thick drapes hung from a picture window above it. Next to the sofa sat a worn wooden rocking chair. Both faced a bank of shelves where a television with a circular knob to change channels rested on the middle shelf.

A few books stood upright above and to the right of the television. I stood on my toes and tilted my head to read the titles.
Phantom of the Opera, Middlemarch, Cyrano de Bergerac,
and
Notre Dame de Paris.
Had Carlton read these? They didn't seem like the type of books he'd read. A theme emerged. These were all books about unrequited love. My thoughts zipped back to Lady S.

Poor Carlton. Darcy had nailed the truth. Sherri had hurt him but good.

A black binder sat on the shelf below the books. Nothing fancy, just an office three-ring type with the word
Pictures
written on a label attached to the cover. Maybe Carlton would like to look through these.

I grabbed the binder and carried it to the kitchen table. Carlton loved a mid-morning cup of coffee, so I made a fresh pot. Another cup would awaken my tired body. I hadn't slept much last night. Stirrings from Chuck's sermon yesterday kept my mind racing way past my bedtime. I couldn't wait to share them with Carlton.

Chuck had preached on the importance of forgiveness. His words worked like a soothing balm to soften the rough edges and showed me I did the best I could with the knowledge I had. Elray would have forgiven me and, because I asked with a repentant heart, I knew God had forgiven me, also.

The scent of fresh coffee permeated throughout the house, and I figured if anything could wake Carlton it would be the lure of a cup of coffee.

I glanced at the clock. Ten. I returned to Carlton's room and listened. Same snoring and raspy breathing. He'd slept longer than usual. I debated waking him so he would sleep tonight but abandoned the idea. His body needed rest when he could get it. So I checked his oxygen levels, returned to the kitchen, and filled my coffee cup.