Born at Dawn, page 19
Either way, at this point, Marvin didn’t care because God was obviously too busy or not listening to their petition for Cynthia’s safe return. And it provided him the opportunity to do what he did best. While the boys were out, Marvin entertained his lady friends. He had a steady stream of them on rotation after Jade who lasted three months.
He didn’t manhandle any of the others after Jade since the police were still sniffing around from time to time. With no body and no clues, Cynthia had Marvin looking like the black Scott Peterson who was convicted of murdering his wife back in 2002.
None of Marvin’s women, until Bridget Johnson, could really handle his erratic behavior, the drinking, and the boys. Keith was too grown and James was silent and weird. She was the next runner up in Marvin’s Be My Wife pageant.
Marvin never really thought twice about the new dynamics of his family until he returned from work at about seven o’clock one Friday evening. He stopped in the kitchen to wash his hands in the sink and get a beer. When the top of the beer can snapped, Keith called out to his father from his bedroom followed by Bridget from their bedroom. Marvin determined from the desperation in each voice that both of them had been waiting for Mar-vin to come home, hoping for the coveted opportunity to be the first person to report what had transpired between them that day.
Marvin hustled into his son’s room. The door squeaked as Marvin pushed it open and glanced at James’s empty bed. “Where’s your brother?”
“He’s at Grandma’s. Pops, I need to talk to you about something,” Keith said in a deep voice that marked his passage from child to his teen.
Marvin cringed every time Keith called him Pops. He never complained though. Marvin didn’t think a fourteen-year-old almost as tall as him should be calling him Daddy anymore.
“Shoot. You want a beer?” Marvin asked, toppling over with laughter. Keith’s stoic look told Marvin that this was no laughing matter. “Sorry, I was just joking.”
“Can you close the door?”
Marvin closed the door and took a seat on the bed beside his son. “What’s up, man?”
“Why do you keep telling these chicks that our mother is dead?’
“Huh? You lost me at chicks. What chicks?”
“Women. Why do you tell these women that our mother is dead?”
“Keith, if you met a girl and she told you her old man left her, wouldn’t you want to know what happened?”
“I guess so.” Keith shrugged his shoulders then asked, “What does that have to do with Ma?”
“What do you think happens when I meet a woman and have to tell her my wife left me and my two sons?” Marvin rose from Keith’s bed and stepped in the center of the room. “Well, what do you think happens?”
“I’m sorry, Pops. I didn’t think you wanted me to actually answer that.”
“Knock it off. Just tell the truth. You don’t know what happens.” Marvin paused, giving Keith a moment to think about what that conversation actually sounded like. “I’ll tell you what happens, most women don’t ask. Either she’s the kind of woman who thinks she’s a love doctor and can repair my broken heart or one who’s scared to be hurt so they run like I’ve got a disease or something because no woman runs off and leaves her kids behind unless the husband is some kind of a whack job.”
“When they do ask, you don’t have to tell them that she’s dead,” Keith said softly.
“I never told anyone that she’s dead,” Marvin said, clearly confused about where his son was getting his info from.
“We heard Bridget on the phone this morning saying Ma is dead. Jimmy lost it. He broke down crying, threw his plate on the floor, and spit on Bridget. I had hold her down and try to keep Jimmy off of her at the same time. Now if you didn’t tell her that, where did she get that from?”
“You know it ain’t none of your business what I tell her, but since I’m so glad you’re speaking to me, I’ll humor you. I didn’t tell her she was dead. I told her she’s gone. She assumed I meant she died, and I never corrected her. Is that all?”
Keith lowered his eyes to the ground and nodded. Marvin took a few steps toward the door then abruptly stopped.
“Wherever she is, she’s never coming back, so what’s the difference?” he asked looking back at his son.
“Pops, on Sunday Pastor David said Christians have the power to speak things into existence. I don’t know if that works for people like you, but if Pastor David is right, then I’m right my mama isn’t dead. She’s alive, and she’s going to come back for me.”
Marvin pulled the door shut tightly behind him. He looked up and gazed into Cynthia’s eyes. He drifted past each photo of her holding the boys in her lap. He smiled at Cynthia in the photo, thanking her for them.
“What happened?” he asked the photo, rubbing her face. “We could have gotten through it like we always did.” He stared into her almond eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Mar-vin,” Bridget hollered from the bedroom in her haughty voice. “Mar-vin.”
“I’m coming,” he answered, then resumed his conversation with the photo of his wife. “Cyn, I’m sorry, but it’s time for me to let go.” He put his beer can on the floor and proceeded to lift each picture frame from its mount on the wall. For a moment, he stood in the hall with his hands full of frames and pondered whether he should chuck them.
Bridget continued to scream his name, interrupting his decision-making process. Marvin really wasn’t sure whether taking down the pictures would help. On more than one occasion he’d caught the boys in the hallway staring at her photo as if they were trying to memorize what she looked like. He on the other hand didn’t want or need a visual reminder of what was missing from his life. Finally, he decided to leave them on the table for the boys to sort through. They could keep them if they wanted or burn them. Marvin turned off the light and shuffled down the hall.
He opened the bedroom door and found Bridget splayed across the bed in a bejeweled royal blue satin nightgown that hugged her body like a glove. The scent of cinnamon filled the room, and the tea light candles placed on the windowsill added ambience. Marvin did an about face.
“What is it, Marv?”
“I forgot my beer.”
“I got something better, baby.” She jumped out of the bed and opened the top drawer of Cynthia’s armoire, pulling out two glasses and a bottle of brandy. She filled each glass to the brim. Bridget sashayed over to Marvin at the door and placed his glass in his hand and shut the door behind him. She kissed his neck.
“Bridge, I know the boys ain’t easy, but cut them some slack,” he instructed as she kissed his neck. “Don’t talk about their mother in front of them.”
“Mar-vin,” she cried, sucking her teeth, “do you know what Keith did to me? He put his hands on me and James spit on me.”
Marvin stepped back until he was near the door to create a little separation between them, “I don’t care.” He walked over to the bed, took a seat on the end, and began to remove his work clothes. “I don’t care what they did or what they said. You were talking about his mother right in front of them. What did you expect to happen?” Marvin pulled the covers over him. “Put those candles out before you start a fire.”
Chapter 33
The walls of Mount Carmel rocked with rejoicing when the men’s choir commandeered control of the pulpit from Pastor David. Every person in the congregation rose to their feet with their arms lifted as they began to sing “He That Believeth.”
“Aren’t you glad about everlasting life? It’s not only in the future that we have access to these promises. In this world, also we will be blessed by God. He’s ready and waiting to fulfill our heart’s desire if we are willing to fulfill His Word.”
Pastor David stared at Keith and James in their long black and royal blue choir robes. They’d become faithful members of the congregation in the two years that had passed since Cynthia left. Sister Mildred served as a good steward over the master’s sheep by helping get them there, and once they were there, it was all business.
The boys focused on the sermon, sat still, and soaked up whatever they could from the message. A dark cloud hung over their heads, especially James, who seemed to be there in the physical but not in spirit; he didn’t even open his mouth to sing while he was on the pulpit with the choir.
Pastor David could see the oppression of the enemy trying to surround them. At the end of every service, Pastor David tried to greet every parishioner, and his spirit urged him to be sure to catch the boys before they walked out the door.
“Church, we’ve got to get it together and remember who the blesser is and how He works. God is moved by faith. Your faith that Jesus Christ is the son of God, Lord over heaven and the earth, compels God the Father to make a move on your behalf. Hebrews 11:6 tells us we must first believe He is and that He rewards those who diligently seek Him. Do you believe that He is?”
The amens came rolling out. One sister with a red hat that sat on top of her head like a fan threw her hat on the floor and broke out into a chorus of hallelujahs!
“If you know that He is then, seek Him. Look high and low for Him, and He will bring the things that you want if they be in His will for you to have.” A hush fell over the crowd. “Oh, Mount Carmel, what’s the matter now? You didn’t hear the words you wanted? Well, He’s not going to give you something out of His will and you shouldn’t want anything out of His will. You should want His fullness. Wake up early to meet Him, and go to sleep late expecting His coming, and He will bless you, church. Amen.”
Pastor David turned the pulpit over to the evangelist to run the altar call and administer the benediction before dismissing the congregation. He wanted to be free and ready to greet the boys as soon as the service ended. James was the first he approached. Pastor David fixed the collar on James’s navy blue suit. “You’re looking mighty sharp there, young brother. God is blessing you, I see.” James nodded at him. “You’re not even going to give my God some praise?”
“Please excuse him, Pastor,” Mildred said rising to her feet in James’s defense. “He doesn’t speak to anyone. I think a mute spirit done took a hold of his tongue. When you have a moment, Pastor, please pray for my little grandson.”
Pastor David motioned to one of his deacons to bring him anointing oil, then let the oil drip onto James’s head and tapped his chin for him to open his mouth.
“Stop!” Keith exclaimed. “He doesn’t need that. He stopped speaking when she left. Can’t anyone see that? His voice went out the door with her.” Keith’s nostrils flared, he swallowed hard, and he held his eyelids open to imprison the tears building up. “I don’t know where she went, but she took his voice with her. Why won’t God make her bring it back? Why won’t He make her bring back his voice?”
Keith’s pain jumped out of his throat and slapped his grandmother in the face, backing her into a seat on the first pew. Tears streamed down her face like the rapids of a river. Pastor David wrapped his arms around Keith and pulled him close to him.
“I know she’s coming back. She’s coming back for me, but she’s been gone so long with his voice. How long can James wait? Pastor, why won’t God make her bring back his voice?”
“You have to understand something about God, Keith.” Pastor David bent down and stared into his eyes. They weren’t the eyes of a fourteen-year-old. They were the haunting eyes of an old, tortured soul. “God loves us very much, so He doesn’t make us do things. God will not make your mother come back. If she returns, it—”
“When she returns,” Keith interjected. “When she returns.”
“All right, brother. You got it. Last month’s sermon, the power of the tongue; let’s speak this thing into existence. When she returns, it’s going to be on her own, and when she’s ready. What you have to do, son, is be steadfast. Love God with all of your heart, stay away from all evil, pray for her, and thank God for her.”
“How long?”
Pastor David paused and questioned Keith with his eyes. He didn’t like this question. This was a dangerous one, the sort that gets you tangled up with the devil because you can’t wait for God to work things out.
“How long am I supposed to wait?” he asked again.
“Until it’s done, but have faith and praise Him knowing that it is so,” Pastor David said with full assurance.
“My father says she’s not coming back.”
“Keith, what do you believe?”
“She’s coming back, Pastor. I believe she’s coming back.”
Chapter 34
“What did you say your name was again?” Marvin asked, shrugging his shoulders to shake himself out of Bridget’s grip. She was using her fingers and lips to explore the rugged terrain of Marvin’s body, making it hard for Marvin to focus on something as simple as a name.
“Yes, this is Marvin Barclay, but who is this?”
“Mr. Barclay, this is Ms. Reid, the social worker at Leadership Academy,” she said, carefully pronouncing each word. “I am sorry that you have to begin your Monday this way, Mr. Barclay. Keith’s promotion is in doubt and James’s teachers would like to know if he has been receiving any sort of speech therapy or counseling.”
“Promotion in doubt? Counseling? For what? There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s just not that talkative,” Marvin said, attempting to deny the crisis that had besieged the family two years ago.
“Mr. Barclay, do you know what PTSD is?”
“Yeah, it’s a nice way for y’all to call soldiers crazy. My boys ain’t crazy,” Marvin declared slightly on the defensive.
“No one is saying they are crazy. Keith has become more aggressive and less focused on his coursework, and it is my understanding James has not spoken since your wife left. I think it’s time you sought some professional help for your family.”
Marvin cleared his throat, readying himself to deflate her ideas. “Listen, miss, my boys are doing just fine. The next time you’re looking for someone’s business to mind, make sure it ain’t mine.”
Bridget pumped her fist beside Marvin’s and nodded in agreement.
“Mr. Barclay, this is a courtesy and my suggestion isn’t really optional. Many teachers have voiced their concerns about both Keith and James to me, and if they don’t begin attending some sort of counseling program then I will be getting child services involved.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“No, I’m just doing my job, Mr. Barclay, and it’s time for you to begin doing yours. I know that mental health issues are touchy, especially in the African American community, but this is not a time to let pride or stigma get in your way. You must find someone to counsel the boys. When you come in to sign the papers stating you are aware that Keith may be held back, you can let us know who is providing your sons counseling, or we can assist you in finding a good match. The guidance counselor is available to meet with you any day this week. For which day of the week should I schedule the appointment?”
“I’ll get back to you.” Marvin pressed the talk button on the house phone and slammed the receiver down onto the table. Reclining in the chair with his arms folded and his foot rapidly tapping the ground he conjured up as many excuses as he could to invalidate what the social worker suggested.
His excuses turned into wishes. He wished he could get some guidance from his own father right now, but even if he were alive, his advice probably would not have been beneficial.
The more Marvin thought about his own father, he realized when it came to the maintenance of his household he had become an absentee landlord just like him. His father was diligent in taking care of all the surface matters. Marvin and his mother always had food, a roof over their heads, and a little pocket change; however, when it came to the interior, his father was nowhere to be found. The most Marvin could recall getting out of him by way of conversation was, “Take care of your mom when I’m not around, kid.”
Interrupting his musings, Bridget gently gripped his thigh and asked, “What happened, Marv?”
Bridget was perched beside him on the edge of the couch staring intensely at him. This was what he wanted, someone with whom to share his pain, but he wasn’t satisfied with her presence. His wish was that Cynthia was there, then he wouldn’t be facing this alone. Teenagers are bound to get into something, and whatever the boys got themselves into, it would have been easier to handle with her by his side.
“Marvin, talk to me. What is it?” Bridget asked with her lips poked out to form a little pout.
“The school says I have to take the boys to counseling.”
Bridget turned up her lip. “Counseling? Do you want those people all up in our business?”
The world seemed to be closing in on him again. Johnnie Walker Black could take care of this, or he could actually take care of this, but how? Rising from his spot on the couch, Marvin began pacing.
“Marvin—”
“Shush,” he said, cutting Bridget off. “This is way too much for Monday morning. I just need to figure out how I’m going to do this. That low-rate health insurance Milton offers doesn’t cover counseling, and you’re right, I don’t want them all in my business.”
All the muscles in Marvin’s back tightened as the thought of displaying his dirty laundry to a stranger entered his head. There was no way he was going to sit in front of someone and boohoo about his problems and have his sons sitting up there crying about how hard life was.
Bridget slithered up behind him. The satin of her nightgown brushed against his skin as she began rubbing his back. “Don’t get all worked up.”
“That’s easy for you to say.” Marvin wriggled out of her grasp. “You’re not going to have social services investigating you or trying to take your kids away.”
“Don’t get short with me. This ain’t my fault,” Bridget insisted.
