28

By the time Stu and I pulled into the parking garage at the hospital at five o’clock, I felt chagrined at my petty excuses. Everything got done. Somehow. We’d scratched our usual “sit-down Sunday dinner” and made sandwiches. Amanda agreed to run laundry loads while doing her homework. Probably trying to earn a few brownie points after breaking the rules last night, but so what? While I made phone calls to Yada Yada, Josh and Denny went to the hospital to see Mark and then took the grocery list to the store, along with a list from Hoshi for the Sisulu-Smith household. Of course, we ended up with Ben & Jerry’s Super Fudge Chunk ice cream instead of the store brand, a whole salmon sans its head, and two enormous bags of tortilla chips—but again, so what?

Everybody was trying.

Stu pointed out a WGN-TV news van parked outside the hospital, but we didn’t see any activity. Waiting for news—the vultures. Made me mad that the media dared to invade Nony’s personal crisis and reduce it to sound bites.

When we walked into the ICU waiting room, Delores and Edesa were already there; so were Yo-Yo, Ruth, and Ben. Ruth looked her usual frumpy self and kept fussing at Nony. “You look terrible. Vitamins you need. E and B-12. I’ll bring them tomorrow. You want Marcus and Michael to see their mother in the hospital too?”

Ruth must be feeling better.

The rest of us hung back until other visitors had a chance to offer condolences to Nony. Many were college age, probably some of Mark’s students. I wanted to grab Delores and ask how she was doing—we still hadn’t connected by phone since the last Yada Yada meeting—but I got waylaid by Ben Garfield. “Is Denny home? Do you think he’d mind if I hung out at your house till these two”—he jerked a thumb at Ruth and Yo-Yo—“need a ride home?”

“Oh. Sure. No problem.” I hoped. “I’ll bring Ruth and Yo-Yo to the house so you don’t have to come back up here.” Knowing Ben, he probably had a six-pack in the trunk of his Buick he’d be all too happy to share with Denny, but I wasn’t going to go there. Probably good for Denny to have company tonight, maybe watch a game on TV, I thought, as the silver-haired man headed for the elevator. Denny had been unusually subdued all weekend, and we hadn’t had much time to talk. Probably because both of us felt as though we were swimming through dark, murky water and were doing good just to keep from drowning in our turbulent emotions.

To my surprise, all the Yadas made it except Hoshi, who was taking care of Nony’s boys like a doting aunt. Even Chanda huffed up to the ICU floor, though she announced she’d have to leave early to meet with a real-estate agent. “To go tru’ me new ’ouse, you know,” she said by way of announcement.

“That’s nice, Chanda,” I said. But any interest Chanda hoped to spark in her new house got brushed aside as a nurse showed us into a “family consultation room” where we could have privacy for our prayer time. The room was a bit tight, and several sisters ended up sitting on the floor. I already knew from Denny and Josh that Mark was not yet conscious, even though the doctors had weaned him off the sedation. I desperately wanted to ask Nony what the doctors were saying about his prognosis, but I hesitated. I didn’t want to hear it if it was bad news. Didn’t want Nony to have to say it.

As if sensing my questions—and everyone else’s, no doubt—Nony’s eyes sought out Delores. “Delores? Please, could you explain what the doctor said this afternoon?” Her voice was strained, hoarse with fear and too many tears.

Delores nodded soberly. “Sí, of course. The good news is that they weaned Mark off the ventilator today, and he is breathing on his own—”

“Jesus! Thank ya!” Florida breathed.

“Also, they gradually reduced the artificial sedation, but . . .” Delores cleared her throat. “As yet, he is still unconscious. It is too soon to call it a true coma, but there is concern. They are monitoring the head injury for signs of pressure or swelling, but so far, everything is stable since the surgery.”

“Yeah.” Yo-Yo stuffed her hands inside the bib of her overalls, face glum. “But if he does wake up, he ain’t gonna be able to see nothin’ with those bandages on both eyes. That’d sure freak me out.”

“Eyes? What’s wrong wit ’is eyes?” Chanda broke in. “Why no one tell me not’ing?”

“Because we don’t know anything, Chanda.” Nony’s voice had an edge. “They were hoping he would wake up so he could tell them, you know, in an eye exam, what he can and cannot see. But he didn’t wake up, did he!” She buried her face in her hands.

Chanda’s lip trembled. A few eyes got wet.

Avis leaned forward. “Sisters. We don’t need to know all the particulars to pray. In fact, sometimes we ‘know’ too much. We let the facts, the circumstances, or what people are saying dictate our prayers. Like the disciples in the middle of the storm at sea, we give in to fear. But when the storm was at its worst, Jesus appeared to them, and He said, ‘It is I. Don’t be afraid.’ ”

“That’s right. That’s right,” Florida murmured, waving her hand in the air.

“In Matthew 18, Jesus promised that when two or three followers come together in His name, He is among them. We have come together in the name of Jesus to stand in the gap for Mark and for Nony and their children. Jesus is here. So we—”

Several voices chimed in. “—don’t need to be afraid!”

“That’s right. That’s right,” Florida said again.

“Oh God. Oh God!” Nony began to weep. “You are my refuge and strength, my ever-present help in trouble! Your Word says I don’t need to be afraid, though the earth gives way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea! But . . .” Fresh tears flowed. “Help me, Lord. Help me! Because I am afraid.”

Delores and Edesa, on either side of Nony, wrapped their arms around her. My vision blurred. I was afraid too. Afraid that Mark would die. Afraid that Nony and her boys would be left alone. Afraid of the spark fanned by the hate group. Afraid of what could so easily happen when emotions exploded. And afraid of . . . afraid of what could happen if Dr. Mark Smith, professor of history, died at the hands of—

“God, we’re all afraid.” Florida began to pray. “But we know the Evil One wants us to be afraid, ’cause then we take our eyes off You, and we gonna be sinkin’ just like ol’ Peter. But instead we gonna put on the armor of God and stand! Stand against that ol’ devil, who only comes to steal, kill, and destroy. But You! You’re the Good Shepherd, who gave His life for us sheep. We’re already under the blood. You already fought ol’ Satan and won. We’re gonna stand on that, Jesus. Stand together. You came to give us life. Life! Hallelujah! Oh Jesus! . . .”

WE PRAYED UP A GOOD STORM FOR THE NEXT HOUR. I felt my fear melting under the passion of the prayers of my sisters. God is who the Word says He is: Elohim—All-Powerful! Jehovah-Jireh—Provider! Jehovah-Rapha—Healer! El-Shaddai—the All-Sufficient One! Nony, too, prayed several times, her voice growing stronger each time. Don’t know what the nurses or other folks thought who walked past our closed door—we got kind of loud at times—but nobody came in to tell us to be quiet.

Chanda slipped out to meet her realtor, but as I scooted my knees over so she could get by, she leaned her mouth close to my ear. “Mind if I call you soon, Sista Jodee? De new ’ouse—it’s so beautiful. I want you to see.” She beamed at me and closed the door behind her.

Hmph. Maybe if the sun stands still to create more hours in the day. I hadn’t even had time to think about Josh’s graduation coming up in two weeks!

Before we left, Avis handed out a list of what she called “healing Scriptures,” and encouraged us to pray these verses every day on Mark’s behalf. Then Adele closed us out by starting the gospel song based on Proverbs 18:10: “The name of the Lord is a strong tower; the righteous run to it and are safe.”

I knew the song—the Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir sang it on one of the CDs we kept in the car. Later, as I headed the minivan toward my house where Ben was waiting for Ruth and Yo-Yo, I handed the CD to Yo-Yo and asked her to stick it into the player and turn up the volume.

The name of the Lord is . . . a strong tower!

The righteous run into it . . . and they are saved!

Ruth sat in the middle seat with Stu, fanning herself like a queen in exile, though she looked a little green around the gills. Yo-Yo and I were jammin’ in the front seat as we came to the chorus:

Jesus is the name of the Lord! . . .

I was still humming the song after the Garfields’ big Buick disappeared down Lunt Street, with Ruth fussing at Ben about something or other and Yo-Yo rolling her eyes. Still humming when Denny took the minivan to pick up the kids from youth group, which for some reason had ended up at the Reillys’ house. Still humming as I picked up the trail of dishes that had migrated from stem to stern of the Baxter domicile. Including two empty bottles of Michelob Light, which I dumped into the recycle bin. I didn’t care. I stuck the dishes in the dishwasher and just kept singing.

The prayer time at the hospital had not only been good for Nony but good for me. There’d been so much prayer, so much Word in that minuscule “family consultation room” that there’d been no room for fear.

The name of the Lord is . . . a strong tower!

The righteous run into—

The back door banged, and Amanda sailed through the kitchen without her usual kissy-face love fest with Willie Wonka. Or me. A moment later, I heard the bathroom door slam. Denny came in shortly after, pecked me on the cheek, and pulled open the refrigerator door.

I peered out the door. The backyard was empty. “Where’s Josh?”

Denny shrugged. “He wasn’t at the Reillys’ when I got there to pick up Amanda. Rick said he stayed at Uptown.” He pulled out a carton of orange juice, screwed off the cap, and chugged it down straight from the carton. I bit my tongue. Denny wiped his mouth. “From what Rick said, New Morning was still having a prayer meeting at Uptown when the kids got there for youth group. Miscommunication, I guess. Rick smoothed it over and got the kids over to his house—except Josh. Josh said he wanted to stay for a little while, listen to the service, and he’d be over shortly.” Denny shrugged. “But he never made it.”

“Denny! Aren’t you worried? What if something hap—”

“No! I’m not worried.” Denny’s reply came back so quickly, it almost snapped. “He’s eighteen. He’s been through a lot this weekend. He needs to work it out himself.” He headed for the living room, and I thought I heard him mutter, “Me too.”

I followed. “Did you and Ben have a good time? Hope it was OK he came over. He kinda invited himself.”

Denny sank down into the recliner. “Yeah. It was OK. We watched the Cubs pick up a few good hits. Not enough to win, but hey.” He tipped the recliner back with a thump and closed his eyes.

I wavered between taking the hint and pretending I was clueless. I went with clueless. “So. What do you think? Should we talk to Amanda about last night? With José, I mean.”

“Already did.” Denny’s eyes stayed closed.

“What do you mean? When?” I felt relieved. Then irritated. I didn’t really want to talk to Amanda tonight, but . . . where did Denny get off doing it without including me? Or at least telling me first. “What did you say?”

Denny’s eyes slowly opened, exuding forced patience. “In the car. Perfect opportunity. Had her to myself. I told her being in the house alone with José was verboten and she knew it. Told her falling asleep together was over the top and would never, ever happen again if she wanted José to step foot in this house again.”

“Did you bring up her ‘vow of purity’ at her quinceañera?”

“She said she didn’t mean to—you know, the Amanda ‘innocence wail.’ Then she said maybe it was ‘spiritual warfare.’ ”

My jaw dropped. Oh brother. “What did you say to—”

Footsteps on the front porch distracted me. My ears perked. A key turned in the front door lock. Josh was home. Thank You, Jesus! I quickly motioned to Denny that I still wanted an answer.

A grin slipped out on his face. “I told her temptation comes from the world, the flesh, and the devil. But in this case, she could forget the world and the devil.”