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Shayla turned down the street that Wilson lived on, sweating like a cold drink on a hot summer day. For the last few years, she’d made it her business to stay out of his way and hadn’t seen much of him since Natasha went missing. Each time she was in his presence she felt the stinging mixture of sweet pain and pure joy. The pain of losing Camryn twisted and wrapped itself around the love she had for her former fiancé.
She’d been up since three a.m. praying and interceding on his behalf. She was rebuking and binding the devil on every hand and crying out to God to keep Wilson in perfect peace. But she also needed peace. She’d tried to reach him several times by phone but was unsuccessful.
They needed to talk.
Camryn Calloway was dead. Wilson blamed her for their daughter’s death. He was drunk during the last conversation between them, and had thrown several glasses at a wall, shattering it at her feet. She quickly hightailed it out of his house. That was five years ago.
She pulled her SUV in front of his ranch-style home and whispered a prayer before emerging from the vehicle. She walked up his driveway and made it to the front door.
The key was still in the lock. Shayla’s mouth dried up.
Shayla turned the doorknob. Knees knocking, she flashed to the last time she was here, and she called his name loudly.
A beat passed.
Shayla walked deeper into the house and called out to him once again.
The house was as quiet as the hospital chapel.
She crept past the foyer and into the living room.
Three pictures of Camryn on the mantle made her eyes wet with unshed tears.
Where is he?
From somewhere down the hall, she heard a groan.
Alarmed, Shayla made her way to his bedroom and found him in bed with a white sheet haphazardly thrown across his body.
She felt her pulse quicken.
The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want.
Shayla peered closer...
Was he naked?
He makes me to lie down in green pastures: he leaded... Lord have mercy... the realization that the only man she ever loved was lying there naked... Shayla closed her eyes and tried to focus on the reason she was there.
“Wilson... Wilson, get up,” Shayla demanded.
She glanced around the room, looking for something to throw.
This man needs to wake up and wake up fast. Lord, I need you to help me focus.
Shayla still loved him, regardless of how rude and mean he’d treated her in the past. She didn’t blame him really—she’d spent the better part of the last five years blaming herself.
She took tiny steps toward the bed. Her knees wobbled. His skin felt hot to the touch.
“Wilson.” She raised her voice as she shook him again.
Shayla sat down beside him.
His eyes opened.
She could feel him staring at her. Shayla released a shaky breath and braced herself for his scalding remarks.
“What are you doing here?” He threw his arm over his face shielding his eyes. His voice was dark and thick like day old coffee. He sat up and pulled the blanket to cover himself. “Why. Are. You. In. My. House?”
Shayla felt anxiety slithering through her like a snake. Help me, Lord.
He swung his long legs onto the side of the bed and tried to stand.
“I don’t want to leave you.”
She watched as his lips snarled, “You left me when you let my daughter die in the backseat of a car.”
Shayla’s heart exploded in her chest her anger roared and surged out of control. She stood up and slapped Wilson with every ounce of strength in her body. Her lungs deflated and threatened to collapse; her breathing was labored. She sucked in short
breaths of air. “How many years have you been saving that one up?”
Hot tears threatened to fall from her eyes, but Shayla refused to buckle under the weight of the pain she carried. She knew Wilson blamed her for the death of their daughter—there were times when she blamed herself, but none of this would bring the little girl back.
Wilson needed to release the angry venom he wore across his chest like a shirt. Shayla knew the only way to get him to do that was to come face to face with his pain.
He reached over and grabbed her by the arm. “How did you get in?”
She almost withered at his touch. He smelled of old cigarettes, liquor, and vomit. “Listen, I didn’t come here to fight with you. Wilson, how long have you been drinking?” She shook her arm hoping he would release her wrist.
“Don’t concern yourself with what I’m doing.”
Shayla wasn’t going to let him bully her. “Get dressed,” she ordered. “I’ll be waiting for you in the kitchen.”
He dropped his head, looking deflated.
Shayla left the room wondering, what happened to the man who had stolen her heart? The man in this house was nothing more than a broken vessel.
She couldn’t believe the sight before her in the kitchen. Stuff was everywhere. Paper, cups, and plastic plates lined the floors. What wasn’t covered by the plastic plates was covered in vomit. She almost heaved when she saw the liquor bottle pyramid he created against the wall.
She heard heavy footfalls as he made his way into the kitchen. Shayla met him at the door, asking, “How long has this been going on?”
He stared at her stone-faced. “How long was it before you realized you’d forgotten my daughter in the back seat of the car?” He pointed a long finger at her face.
Refusing to bulge, Shayla uttered a prayer, and asked, “How many times can I say I’m sorry?”
“You killed her?” Wilson hurled an empty bottle across the room.
“I need you to forgive me.”
The sound of it shattering against the wall gyrated on her already stretched thin nerves. She watched his chest heave as he fought back tears.
“Why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t you ask for help?” he wanted to know.
“Call you and say what?” Shayla shrugged her shoulders. “Call you and say I’m exhausted from working two jobs and going to school full-time and taking care of a sick parent?” She paused a moment, then added, “Call you and tell you the only time I can sleep is when you take the baby? Call you and tell you that I couldn’t handle it all on my own?” Her voice rose an octave higher. “And then what?”
“Because of your pride and selfishness, our daughter is dead. She cooked in the back seat of a car in the sweltering hot sun.” His voice was loud and full of rage. “All because you were too proud to ask for help?”
Shayla didn’t know what to say. What Wilson was saying was true. She had been too proud—she had been selfish. It didn’t matter that her intentions were good. She could barely hear herself think over all the slamming of doors and bottles breaking as Wilson tossed them in the trash.
She lifted her head and their eyes locked on one another “Wilson, I loved her, too.” She refused to break the stare. “I’ve spent the last five years in and out of court and in therapy trying to get over what I did.” She lifted her hands. “You don’t have to remind me of what happened to her. I was there.”
Shayla tried to maintain eye contact, but she could see the tears sliding down his face. She kept talking. “After Camryn and I returned from seeing you at school, I stayed up all night studying for my exam.”
“I asked you to stay.”
“Wilson please...,” Shayla interrupted. “I had been up all night. I got Camryn up, made her breakfast, then dressed her for daycare.” Shayla could not stop her sniffles or her tears. “I put her in the car seat. I was so tired, I was jittery. I remember horns blowing—I’d fallen asleep at the light. I don’t know what happened...I drove to the hospital for work. Swear to God... I thought I’d already dropped her off.” She shook her head. “I’d never hurt her intentionally—she was my baby.” Her voice cracked. “I’m sorry our daughter died.” She took a deep breath and raised her head to his eye level. “Wilson, can you please forgive me?” She couldn’t stop the ache in her heart and the tears from running down her face.
Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose. “Shayla, please stop crying.”
He walked over to her and raised his hand to sweep her hair off her forehead. He pulled her into a close embrace.
Shayla wrapped her arms around him for strength. She felt his torment when he dropped to his knees before her with his arms tightly clasped around her waist. She heard him whisper, “I don’t know if I can get over losing her?”
She closed her eyes as tears slipped down her face and gathered under her chin. “You don’t have to get over losing her. She will always be with us.” Shayla’s heart was breaking into jagged pieces. She’d never seen him this way before. She felt the Spirit of the Lord settle around them and began to pray for him... for her... for them both.
After they were able to compose themselves, Shayla grabbed a sponge, bucket, and cleaning supplies.
“You don’t have to do this.”
She smiled at him. “I want to do it. Besides, you need help. Don’t make the same mistake I made...”
After considering her words, Wilson nodded. “Thank you.”
After two hours of scrubbing, cleaning, sweeping and plain old-fashioned praying, Shayla wondered about God’s timing in all of this.