If The Shoe Fits

“I have forgiven you.” Another box of low-carb bars, the ones I’d bought off of a cable shopping network during a bout of insomnia, tumbled down out of the cabinet. I forced the box back into the cabinet and when it refused to stay, I wedged a box of low-carb pancake mix in front of it, wishing I had something to prop myself up with. Why hadn’t I stayed at church and let Tad give me a full pedicure? Someday I’d learn to take my blessings where I could get them.

Jordan continued. “Your head may have forgiven me, but not your heart. If so, you wouldn’t retract whenever I come near you, or look away when I enter a room. The sight of me brings you pain. I know that. If not for Jericho, I wouldn’t have stayed in this town. But I have to stay. You of all people should understand that. I have to make things better for him if I can. You did well with him. Better than I ever could have.”

“But still not good enough, or we wouldn’t be here hoping a baby won’t be born in the next room. I did everything to keep him from turning into you—into us—but it wasn’t enough. He messed up anyway.”

Shocked that I’d actually said that, I grabbed the three Coke cans they’d left on the counter and rinsed them before crushing them in my new Can Killer (another insomnia-induced purchase) and tossing them into the recycle bin. It wasn’t as gratifying as kicking people, but much safer.

“So that was your parenting goal? Keeping Jericho from becoming me? From becoming us?”

I scrubbed the counters as if my life depended on their cleanliness. “Us? That was a bad choice of words. There is no us. There never was. I don’t have your name. I only have your child. That was the only blessing that came out of my sin.”

Jordan’s face sobered. “You make it sound so horrible, like my leaving was God’s punishment to you for being with me.”

I shrugged. What difference did it make? I’d sowed a lot of bad seeds with Jordan and reaped every one. In the midst of it, God had given me more than I could ask for: His love, friends, family, a handsome, intelligent son, a business I loved. The questions didn’t matter anymore. The answer remained the same—Jesus Christ.

“We were young, Chelle. We didn’t know. We didn’t get it.”

“Didn’t we?” I stirred the soup like a madwoman, trying to hide my trembling hands. “It doesn’t matter whether we knew or not, Jordan. God knew. He’s loving, but He’s holy. He couldn’t change that for us.” I leaned forward to listen for Shemika. Nothing. “He can’t change it for them, either. It is what it is—”

Jordan kissed the back of my neck.

Even after so many years, my body melted at his butterfly kiss, reserved for times when words wouldn’t suffice. My womanhood leaped to her feet and sighed in satisfaction. I pushed her back. And him, too.

My heel crunched down on his toes. I was embarrassed and sorry for doing it, but he wasn’t going to toy with me like this. I’d come too far, been through too much. I was past angry now. I was “salty,” as his sister Dana would say.

“Ow!”

We both turned. Shemika’s voice carried over Jordan’s grumbling. I stared at the clock—11:26 a.m. This one was closer. Too close.

Jordan gave me a puzzled look and let his hurt foot drop to the floor. He took my shoulders into his big, brown hands.

“It’s time, isn’t it?” he asked in a steady tone.

I nodded and pulled away, turning off the stove and grabbing my protein bars plus the extra pack I’d so carefully put back. I tossed the soup pot into the dishwater to soak. Jordan looked at me as if I was insane. I sucked my teeth. “Nobody else has to think about later, but I do. When I come back home, I’ll be alone.”

Jordan ignored my words. “Just tell me what to do. I’m here for you. For us. Whatever you need.”

How I’d love to believe that, but I just can’t.

“Thanks.”

It took us a lot of stopping and starting between contractions to make it to the living room. When we made it there, the doorbell rang.

No one moved at first.

“I’ll get that if you’d like,” Jordan said.

I nodded. There was no way I could untangle myself from Shemika now if I tried. Her arms were around my neck, her hair in my face…and my son was holding up the both of us.

As entwined as I was, I heard the woman’s voice at the door. Terri, Jordan’s girlfriend.

“I never thought it’d be this bad,” Shemika whispered as we struggled forward after the next contraction.

“It’s not bad, even though it feels bad,” I said. “It’s good. It’s bringing your daughter to you. To us. Now hold my hand. We’re all here for you.”

Terri fluttered toward us like a bird made of pink silk. I tried to ignore her, but that was a tall order.

“That’s right, darling. I’m here. Breathe just like we did in the class. Puff! Puff! Puff!” Jordan’s girlfriend pushed around me to reach for Shemika’s hand, but I couldn’t get out of the way. Nor did I want to. Puffing was good if you were trying to smoke a cigarette, but it wouldn’t help now. Reading books about having babies and actually having them were two different things. I was about to tell Miss Thing so, but Jordan beat me to it.

“Terri, thanks for being so supportive, honey, but I’m going to need for you to go.”

One of her rings, a starburst diamond, almost gouged out my eye as she whirled around. “What?”

“You heard me, hon. We’re going to the hospital now. My family needs me.”

Her bottom lip quivered. I looked away. Terri wasn’t my favorite person, but this was a private thing.

“But…but…aren’t I your family too, Jordan?”

He took a deep breath. “If we were married, you could come. We’re not. This is Rochelle’s home, sweetheart. You shouldn’t have come here. We talked about that, remember? Now, relax and go home. I’ll be back soon.” He smiled. “Hopefully with baby pictures.”

With that, he took Shemika’s hand and pulled her to the door. Jericho and I helped her outside, one of her arms over each of our shoulders. Jordan joined us again as we paused for two more contractions then finally got Shemika into the car. It wasn’t until the hospital floor chilled my bare soles that I realized that I’d never put on any shoes.

Chapter three

Shemika made it to the trash can. Then she went down just where I did, in the lobby of Saint Elizabeth Hospital, by the west entrance. The security guard took one look at us and shook his head.

“Oh no. I’m not delivering any more babies out here this week. Had one looking just like her the other night. I had to do the whole thing.” He wiped his forehead. “Don’t think I ever will get over it.” He jogged to a wheelchair and pushed it toward us.

Shemika doubled over before he reached us. She let out a low rumbling noise, letting the earthquake inside her fill the room.

The security guard’s eyes widened. “The other one, she made that sound, too! Right before she fell out and…” He pinched his eyes shut and grabbed Jordan’s sleeve. “Help me get her in the chair, man. I’m going to have to run for it!”

Jordan looked at me and then back at the man, who looked to weigh about a hundred pounds—well, maybe if he was under water holding dumbbells he’d be that heavy. There was no chance of him running Shemika anywhere in a wheelchair.

“I’ve got it, man,” Jordan said as, to my amazement and shock, he did for Shemika just what he’d done for me seventeen years before—picked her up and made for the elevator like only a former basketball star can.

The security guard followed in a limping run. “The second elevator,” he shouted before a fit of coughing overtook him. Before I realized it, I was running too, along with Jericho, who was less than thrilled with his gray-headed father’s show of athleticism. Shemika was a big girl and Jordan was about fifty pounds lighter than he’d been back in the day. His gait showed the strain. My son’s face showed it, too. “Dad, slow down!”

“Triage elevator. Right there.” The security guard pointed us in the right direction and explained to the approaching nurse what was going on.

The last in line for the elevator, I ended up taking the nurse’s questions as we waited for the elevator to arrive.

“Who’s her doctor? I can call that up for you at least.”

I smiled, embarrassed to have no response to a question any grandmother should be able to answer. “Um…Jericho?”

My son punched the button with one hand, with his other hand he tried to comfort his girlfriend, now standing on her own but making faces. “It’s Dr. Wallace.”

Shemika shook her head. “No, it’s his midwife, Chris,” she managed to say as the elevator arrived.

The nurse smiled. “Great. I’ll call it up.” She patted my hand. “Good luck, Grandma.”

I filed my new title in the back of my head as we all squeezed into the elevator. Once the door slammed shut, a manly quiet, the kind of silence that only males at an impending birth can muster, filled the elevator as Shemika turned into a brown spider, legs and arms everywhere, trying to climb away from the pain.

Though Jordan had helped usher her to the elevator, it was my son who held Shemika now, rubbing her back, trying to get her to calm down.

“Breathe, babe,” he said in a voice I’d never heard.

Shemika tried to suck in a breath, but screamed instead, her arms swimming against a wave of contractions.

After several blows to his back and shoulders, Jordan moved into the front corner of the elevator. I fought against the urge to be happy that she’d landed a few blows. The image of his girlfriend in my living room would be forever stained on my mind. I flattened myself to the front, too, leaving my son to endure the kicks. During first births, I tried to stay out of the way and not take anything personally. I did hope she’d calm down upstairs, though, before she wore herself out.

Moments later, as we spilled from the elevator, I touched Shemika’s hand, hoping a soft touch would help her relax. We made it to triage quickly. Jordan opened the door, while my son and I helped Shemika inside.

I tried to encourage her. “Remember our deal? You relax, your body works and your baby comes.”

Shemika didn’t look convinced. Evidently my birth-speak was a little rusty. It’d been a full year since I’d attended a laboring mom, but it was all coming back. Good thing, since my friend Tracey would be delivering soon. She lived out of town, but I hoped to be there somehow. “I know I’m making it sound easy, but really—”

Shemika grunted in response.

“Are you okay? Just a few more steps…”

Shemika didn’t even try to answer. She just started sliding to the floor. Jericho and I grabbed her, but Shemika’s weight, combined with her flailing arms and legs, proved too much for both of us. We were all still standing, but heading for the floor. Where was Jordan?

“Let me help you.” The voice stung like hail.

Tad.

One look at him and I lost my grip. The whole wild, pregnant mess that was the three of us landed in his arms, including my supersize son. Jericho jumped as though he’d touched a hot stove. Must be a man thing.

As we untangled, Jericho helped Shemika up. I looked into Tad’s kind eyes and at his bruised chin. Bless his heart, now here I was about to beat up the rest of him. “You poor thing. What are you doing here?”

He smiled. “I got a call from someone on the Men’s Fellowship prayer chain.”

I shrugged. Who’d made the call I didn’t know, but I was thankful. For all Tad’s annoying traits, he was calm in a crisis.

Jordan’s face glistened with sweat. His eyes looked bloodshot. Maybe this whole birth thing was weighing on him harder than I’d thought. He shook Tad’s hand. “Thanks for coming. Sorry for calling you out of service, but you said—”

Tad nodded. “I said call anytime. And I meant it.” He spoke to Jordan, but his eyes were locked on me.

And my bare feet.

Shemika managed to get herself into a tan gown and we were guided behind a series of curtains and asked to wait for a nurse. Shemika latched on to Jericho’s hand with a death grip. Or maybe a life grip.

My son gave her a smile, then leaned down to me with wide eyes I’d seen only a few times, one of them on the day he’d met his father for the first time. “I have a bad feeling, Mom.”

A snort escaped my lips. “Me, too, but my bad feeling was about nine months ago.”

“No, really,” he said, trying to whisper but forgetting to do so. “And she’s grabbed my hand so hard. It was almost like she was…pushing?”

“Pushing?”

My voice must have really carried, because a nurse emerged from what seemed a thousand layers of curtains. “Who’s pushing?”

Cringing from the way his girlfriend was squeezing his hand, my son nodded slightly. “I’m not sure, but she’s doing something.”

The nurse’s eyes narrowed. “Okay. I’ll check her. Could you all step outside? And Grandma, can you stop at the desk and answer some questions?”

Grandma.

“Sure,” I said.

As Tad led the way, a woman behind one of the curtains let out a scream worthy of a horror movie. Jordan cringed. “Whoa…”

I snickered. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.” I wanted to say that he’d have seen worse if he’d stuck around with me, but that water was under the bridge. And over it.

Conscious again of my bare feet and lack of preparedness, I fumbled in the suitcase-size bag that serves as my purse as we approached the front desk. I immediately stumbled on my wet, ruined shoes. Who’d slipped those in for me? It didn’t matter. This time, I was much happier to see them.

Jordan’s voice creaked as he spoke to the nurse. “Yes, ma’am. She’s thirty-six weeks, six days according to the wheel. Thirty-seven by the ultrasound…”

I felt jealous for a moment and suddenly wished I’d been the one to let the kids stay with me, the one who’d taken Shemika to her doctor’s appointments. At least they’d listened to me and preregistered for the hospital.

“Her medical card?” the nurse said coolly. “The number wasn’t filled out on the form that was mailed in. We’ll need to copy that card.”

Jordan and Tad looked blankly at me.

Known to be quick on my feet, even when they’re cold and wet, I started mumbling. “In our haste, we—they—don’t have the cards handy, but I’ll stop home and get them once she’s in a room. Until then, perhaps the doctor’s office could provide the number by phone?”

The woman tried but failed to smile. “They will, but we’ll still need the cards. I’ll be back shortly.”

Jordan’s arm brushed mine as I ransacked my purse for my emergency copy of the big, gold card that signified my son’s inability to take care of his child.

Though covered by my self-employed insurance, there was no policy clause for the offspring of unmarried dependents. It turned out that Shemika already had a state medical card anyway. I dug for my copy of it now, knowing it probably wasn’t there. Didn’t my mother used to go through her pocketbook like this? Yes. And it had freaked me out. Totally. I was officially turning into her.

“That’s fine. Perhaps you want to go to the waiting room for a while? They’re probably going to get her a room.”

We went quietly, dividing in the waiting room. I dropped into a chair to continue attacking my purse. Tad went to the window. Jordan approached the TV. Suddenly, he looked more interested in the game show prizes than the birth of his first grandchild. For once, I wasn’t sure if I blamed him. This was a wonderful, horrible day.

I rifled through the contents of my life, dumped on the next chair: cell phone, nail files, Bible memory cards, old church bulletins, Franklin planner, Montblanc pen, a key to Dana’s store and a handful of low-carb bars I’d stupidly brought along for Shemika.

She needs carbs. She’s in labor, not a beauty pageant.

Still, I hoped her hairweave was tight enough to endure labor. In my post-birth pictures, I’d looked as if my hair had been rotated ninety degrees—without bringing my head along. Shemika would look much better, so much better than I did. She had to. I’d make sure of it.

Shemika rolled by on a gurney and Tad and Jordan shot out of the room like toothpaste from a new tube. I shoved my things into my purse, jabbed my feet into my shoes and ran to catch up. I guessed that chivalry was dead during emergencies.

Without my consent, the memory of my son’s birth came to me—a blur of helplessness. I forced it back. This wasn’t my birth. And my son wasn’t going to run out on this girl. Thoughts of today replaced my memories—images of me with Shemika’s head cradled to my chest on the ride over, the sound of my voice saying, “You are strong, Shemika. And beautiful.” My heart ached as I walked down the long hall, realizing that I’d shown Shemika more kindness today than in all the time I’d known her.

Though still far-off, I could make out Shemika’s birth soundtrack—a ballad of moans and wide, wonderful sounds. Sounds that make men very, very afraid.

“It hurts…” she said in a low wail, not a scream anymore but a moan of discovery, a beach that seemed lifetimes away.

I was running now, purse banging against my shins. On the right, I passed a room where a woman was shouting at her husband. He waved at me and munched ice chips. He’d done this before, too.

Jordan took my hand and I reached the room, where I heard a different cry, the birth call of my grandchild. It played in my ears like a symphony.

In my nightmares, there is a monster with a pink cell phone. In real life, she has a matching Prada bag, the messenger model that I admire but would never pay that much for, and the love of my high-school sweetheart. No doubt Terri bought it for use as a diaper bag. Dealing with Jordan is one thing, but this chick? She’s going to make me go Tae Bo all over again.

“I kept calling the hospital for news. Imagine when I heard the baby had been born! I sped right over, love.”

Jordan deflected my eyes. “Oh. Yeah. I was going to call once we saw the baby. We’re waiting.” He tried to slither out of Terri’s grip, but she wound him up like my son would soon be winding a baby swing.

I held my breath for a moment, fighting the urge to pull Tad toward me, inferring a relationship that didn’t exist. Being the gentleman he was, Tad took a step toward me…and away from the nauseating couple. He brushed the bruise on his chin, then extended his hand to Terri. “I’m Thaddeus, Jordan’s prayer partner in the Men’s Fellowship. And Rochelle and I run the singles group at the church as well. We’d love to have both of you—”

The inference that she was single and the thought of Jordan praying with anybody didn’t seem to go over well. “I know who you are. I’ve seen you at church. Thanks anyway, but we’re getting married, the singles group isn’t the place for us. We already live together—”

“I’m going to go get a drink. Anybody want something?” Jordan’s voice was even. Detached.

Tad pursed his lips. “Sure. Get me some coffee.”

Terri smiled, pulling Jordan closer. “Sugar? They probably make it stiff here.”

I silently prayed that the coffee would be strong enough to shock some sense into her or wake Jordan up from the fog of stupidity he was living in.

Tad shrugged. “Sure. Two sugars.”

“Got it. Anything for you, Chelle?” Jordan looked at a spot just above my head.

I stared right into his eyes, trying to see something better, something different than what I’d seen seventeen years before. Looked the same to me.

“I don’t think so, J.” Why was I calling him “J” again? All I wanted was to get back into that room with my grandbaby, not all this drama. The hospital staff had shooed us out like flies. Needed to check a few more things, they’d said, but I didn’t feel right out here.

Jordan nodded. “Right.”

My stomach turned as Jordan and Terri walked away, taking the stairs instead of the elevator, probably going straight to her car. I closed my eyes, wondering if I shouldn’t be thankful. At least Tad would pray with me if I came down to it. Jordan seemed to put his faith and his family on layaway, investing a little bit at a time. I liked to live debt-free myself.

“Sorry about all that,” Tad said. “I meant what I said to Jordan. I know this can’t be easy. But I do believe God is working on him.”

I didn’t know what God was doing to Jordan and I wasn’t sure that I cared. “It meant a lot for you to be here today. I know it may have been difficult.” In truth, it probably wasn’t difficult at all. Answering Jordan’s call as a member of the Men’s Fellowship would have been much easier than responding to my call as a friend. I didn’t dare think past friendship—it made my head hurt. Either way, he’d come.

I squared my shoulders and turned to Tad. “Two sugars you said?” As much as I wanted to be with my grandbaby, getting Tad a cup of coffee was the least I could do. Hadn’t there been a coffeepot back in triage? Maybe they’d be kind enough to let me get a cup. Jordan had left me with the bag again. Everything was on me now. As usual.

Tad stared toward the stairway Jordan had left by a short time before. His eyes narrowed. “They went for coffee. You don’t need to—” Slowly understanding spread across Tad’s face. He shook his head. “I don’t know Jordan as well as you do, but I don’t think he’d make the same mistake again. I don’t think he’d leave.”

I didn’t need to think. I knew. “Two sugars?”

Tad stared at the floor. “Make it black.”

Ten minutes later, I drank the black coffee. I’m a tea girl, and burnt hospital coffee is a hot, slow way to die, but I had to play it off somehow.

Jordan wasn’t buying it.

“Here, take this tea,” he said, opening a cup with a milky streak running through it. I took creamer in my tea. Everyone but Jordan had always thought that strange. He’d always laughed at my old habit. He held out the cup and produced two packets of Equal from his pocket, another trend of mine he’d obviously picked up on.

Somehow I turned down the perfect cup of tea. “You have it. I’m fine, thanks.” If drinking black glue was fine, then fine I was. In my anger, I turned down even that small peace offering.

Tad sipped his just-right coffee with a smile, obviously grateful that Jordan had returned to prove him right. Something else—pity or understanding, I wasn’t sure—tinged his eyes.

Jordan took a pack of sugar from his pocket and emptied it into the tea. One stir with his finger and he took a gulp even though it was still steaming. He’d always been crazy like that.

Terri, who’d almost tricked me into thinking she had one sensible brain cell, refused to stay silent. “You didn’t think we were coming back, did you?”

I sighed, surveying the duck wallpaper. What did she want me to say? “No, I didn’t.”

Terri’s face clouded with anger. Her pink exterior shifted black. “You see, J? You see? She’ll never believe anything you say. I don’t know why you try so hard. Your son forgives you. Why don’t you move on so we can move on? It’s like she holds you captive or something.” She reached for Jordan, but he pulled away, taking a sip of my once-perfect tea.

He shook his head at Terri, then took my hand. “I don’t blame you. I haven’t given you any reason to believe in me. But I just thought—I thought that maybe you could.”

Why was I always the villain? “I have forgiven you, Jordan. Some things are just hard to forget.” I looked around the waiting room. Were those ducks the same ones from when my family had waited in this room? Surely not. Maybe they’d bought the stuff in bulk.

Jordan smiled weakly at Tad. “I guess some things don’t change no matter how much you pray.” His wide palm smacked Tad’s shoulder, before Jordan took a few steps and plopped down in front of the television. The NBA finals, of course.

Tad passed Jordan’s weak smile on to me with his own mouth. He scanned my face as if looking for something. Whatever it was, he didn’t find it. I pitied him. I knew the feeling. I wish I could say that Jordan’s pain or Tad’s frustration moved me, but I’d be lying. And Terri? Well, she was doing good to still be standing.