Song of Solomon (12 page)

There was no doubt about it now. She was laying it on thick, and Neil nibbled at the corner of his bottom lip in an attempt to downplay his flattered pleasure. “I don't doubt your skills, M—Ms. Dasher.” He almost slipped and called her by her first name.

Apparently not convinced that she'd totally won him over, Margaret added, “I cook a pot roast that will make you want to slap your mama.”

Laughing at both her facial and verbal expressions, Neil said, “That must be some kinda pot roast.”

“Interested?” Margaret asked.

“Keep talking,” Neil egged. He was enjoying this far too much.

“Pot roast, smothered rice, corn on the cob, sweet potato pie . . .”

“Okay, okay, you've convinced me,” Neil said after swallowing back the water that had gathered in his jaws. He couldn't readily determine whether it was the food or the woman that was making him salivate.

“Good!” Margaret exclaimed. “Then it's a date. Dinner will be ready at seven o'clock sharp. Don't be late, you hear?”

“I won't,” Neil said as he watched her sashay out of his office. Even after the door closed behind her, he stared at it, not believing for a moment what had just transpired.
I just got asked out by my assistant.
He felt flushed as he replayed the clearly stated words,
then it's a date
, in his mind. Neil fell back in his chair and looked toward the ceiling. “Lord, have mercy,” he whispered into the air. “I just made a date with Margaret Dasher.”

By three o'clock, the halls were crowded with students making their way to their transportation. It always amazed Neil how noisy the ordinarily quiet school became at the sound of the final bell. As usual, he stood in his doorway and high-fived jubilant children, spoke to flirting female teachers, shook hands with a few passing male instructors, and carefully watched the end-of-the-day activities unfold.

“Hey, Dr. Taylor!”

Neil turned. “'Sup, Chase?” They exchanged a high five, and Neil's mind reverted back to his computer screen, where the image of Emmett Ford had been displayed for so long that it had become engrafted in his mind. He instantly noted how much the child resembled his father. “Are you headed home?”

“Yes.”

“What do you have planned for the weekend?”

“Mama's got a job.”

“Oh yeah?” Neil was pleased to hear that Shaylynn had been contracted. He knew how hard she had been working to get her business off the ground, and when possible, he'd been plugging it to a few people who he thought might need her services. Even without seeing Shaylynn's work, Neil had confidence in her abilities. “So she'll be working on redecorating somebody's house?”

“Yes. We went and saw the house yesterday. Mama said she's gonna have her work cut out for her.”

Laughing, Neil said, “That's good. The more work, the more money.”

“What are you gonna do this weekend?” Chase asked.

Neil squatted so that the two of them wouldn't have to talk so loud to communicate. “Not too much. My birthday is tomorrow so I thought I'd spend a little time with family.”

“Your birthday's tomorrow?”

“Yep.”

“Are you having a party?”

“Naaah.” Neil shook his head. “I'll have cake, though.”

“No presents and music and stuff?”

“I haven't had that kind of a birthday party in years, man.”

“Are you too old to have a birthday party, Dr. Taylor?”

Neil laughed. “That could be it.”

“How old are you gonna be?”

This was the longest one-on-one conversation that Neil had ever had with the child. For staged effect, Neil looked around to be sure there was no one else in listening range. Then he leaned in close to Chase's ear and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Forty-five.”

Demonstrating dramatics of his own, Chase stretched his eyes to the size of quarters. “Whoa! That
is
old.”

Neil burst into a hearty laugh and stood to his full height. “Go home, boy. Get out of my school.”

Chase giggled. “Bye!”

Neil continued to laugh while he watched Chase's uniform mix in the sea of others as he made a mad dash for the door.

At some point between the time he'd gone to bed last night and the time that he woke up this morning, Neil felt as though he'd been overtaken by a chronic case of midlife crisis. It was that “thing” that people had joked would assail him when he turned forty. However, on that day five years ago, nothing out of sorts had happened. He felt no differently at forty than he felt at thirty-nine. But something odd was transpiring today. Maybe overnight, it had sunk in that once he lived again the time he'd lived already, he would be Deacon Burgess's age. Today, he was halfway to ninety! Or maybe it was the fact that a woman who was fifteen years his senior had suddenly gained the courage to take off the mask and reveal her attraction to him. Why did Margaret wait for him to be on the brink of forty-five before she decided to do that? Was this the magic number that defined him as an old man?

Saturday was the one day of the week that Neil never got out of bed early. Monday through Friday, his job forced him to rise at six, and on Sunday, church obligations stirred him at eight. But on Saturday mornings, even when he had errands to run or chores to complete, Neil's feet didn't feel the cool hardwood of his bedroom floor before ten o'clock. But today was different. His eyelids opened just before five this morning, and Neil had been up ever since.

By five-fifteen, he was standing in front of the mirror counting the grey hairs on his head. By five-sixteen, he'd lost count and given up. By five-thirty, he was fully dressed in a T-shirt and a pair of sweat pants and was heading down LaVista Road toward the comprehensive LA Fitness club located there. By six, Neil was a full-fledged member, and twenty minutes later, he was running on the treadmill, tired and breathless, but refusing to be outdone by the Richie Cunningham lookalike on the apparatus beside him. The gentleman had to be at least twenty years his junior. Thirty-eight minutes in, Neil felt like he was ready to meet his Maker, and prayed that the redheaded devil beside him would tire out soon. Seven more minutes passed before God had mercy, but just to put an exclamation mark on his nonverbal victory, Neil kept running for a full fifteen seconds after the youngster had slowed his treadmill to a brisk walk.

When he was finally able to slow his pace too, Neil struggled not to audibly gasp as he battled for one breath after the next. Pains shot through every molecule of his body, and for a short time, Neil wondered if he were on the verge of a massive heart attack. How ironic it would be for him to drop dead in a place where good health and heightened levels of fitness were the order of the day. It would be highly embarrassing. Well, not really, since he'd be too dead to be ashamed of the news features that would be broadcast all over the local stations. But heart attack or not, there was no way he was going to allow his anguish to show on his face. Taking shallow breaths just to stay alive, Neil aimed to appear carefree as he rocked his head back and forth, trying to appear to be far more engaged than he actually was in the tune of an old Michael Jackson song that streamed on his mp3 player:
Beat it . . . Beat it . . . No one wants to be defeated.

The words couldn't have been timelier, and although Neil desperately wanted to turn off the treadmill completely and collapse to the floor, he couldn't help but feel a bit of victory in the fact that he'd challenged himself (and the redhead next to him) and won.

“Ughhhh.” Hidden by a shower curtain, Neil saw no need to continue the façade. He groaned as the shower waters in the gym stall pounded on his exhausted body. It had been months—okay, years—since he'd stepped foot in a fitness center, and that was a message that his muscles were communicating to him in high volumes. He was in decent physical shape, but most of it came compliments of the good genetics from his father's side of the family coupled with the fact that Neil ate well on most days. While some guys chose to spend their free summer days in a workout facility, Neil would rather be riding an all terrain vehicle. He used to drive his Yamaha Utility ATV every spring and summer. That was another thing that he and Dwayne used to do together. Another thing that his brother's death had changed. Neil rarely rode it now.

When he stepped from the shower stall, his eyes met those of the younger man who had been on the treadmill beside him. Instantly, Neil's guard shot up, and he straightened his slumped posture and flexed his muscles as he reached for a towel and wrapped it securely around his waist. He walked as confidently as he could to the locker to begin gathering his clean, dry clothes.

As he dried himself and got dressed, Richie Cunningham was tying his shoestrings nearby. Neil completed the dressing process and was ready to put on his shoes too, but he needed his treadmill challenger to leave so that he could start the painful process of bending down without being under scrutiny.

“Good workout, dude,” the boy said, walking toward Neil with an outstretched arm. He towered Neil by at least five inches, maybe six.

“You too,” Neil replied, gritting his teeth through the amplified aches of the firm handshake.

“Not many guys that I run into when I come here can match my pace, at least not for the length of time that you did. Are you a long distance runner?”

Been running for Jesus for a long time. Does that count?
Neil almost laughed at his own thought. “Not really,” he opted to say.

“Have you ever run the Peachtree Road Race?”

“Never.”

“You should think about entering this year,” the boy suggested while slipping on a red-and-white windbreaker that matched his pants, then running his hands through his spiked, still-damp hair.

“Man, I'm too old for that.” This time Neil did laugh. It was more of a chuckle. The pain around his ribcage wouldn't allow for much more. “I'd be forty-five years old running my first road race.”

With a happy-go-lucky shrug, the boy replied, “You'll be forty-five years old regardless, right?”

Neil tilted his head. “True, I suppose.”

“I'm serious, dude.” The boy slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a business card. “I'm Adam Schmitz, and I run it every year. I'm not nearly fast enough to win; don't even come close. But it's fun, and every year I challenge myself to do a little better. I'm in training now, so if you ever want to train with me, give me a call, and we can synchronize our gym visits or meet at one of the local tracks.”

Neil looked at the card and saw that Adam was a computer geek. For some reason, it didn't surprise him. “Thanks,” he said, knowing full well that he would have no use for the number unless his desktop contracted a virus. “I'm Neil.” He didn't see a need to give the boy his last name. They shook hands one final time.

Just as Adam reached the door to exit, he turned around. “Are you forty-five for real, or were you just pulling my leg?”

“Forty-five years old today,” Neil said.

“Oh, okay. Happy birthday, dude. You don't look that old, and I know guys who are a lot younger who don't have your wind. You'd be an awesome inspiration for some of the younger dudes I train with.”

One more
dude
and Neil was prepared to scream, but the compliment drew a smile out of him instead. “Thanks,” he responded. The temporary feel-good sensation that swept over him at the sound of the flattering remark was quickly wiped out by muscle aches when Neil finally began putting on his spare tennis shoes. The process that should have only taken a few seconds took a few minutes, and even while Neil exited the gym, he struggled not to show signs of the lingering pain.

On a weekday, the drive from LA Fitness in Tucker to Neil's mother's house in Powder Springs was about forty minutes. On Saturday, with less traffic, the trip could be made in less. Neil checked his watch upon climbing in his year-old black Toyota Land Cruiser and strapping on his seatbelt. His mother had asked him to come by early so that he could help her bake his birthday cake. It was a family tradition. Growing up, whenever one of the children had a birthday, they'd be required to help bake the celebratory cake, as though doing so was a privilege and was to be viewed as a part of their gift.

For as long as Neil could remember, his mom rose at six every morning. He would make it there at nine, and although that seemed early to him, he knew she would be in the full swing of things. In a half hour flat, Neil was navigating his SUV in his mother's driveway. She was standing in her open doorway, watching him as he climbed out of the vehicle and walked stiffly toward her porch.

“Boy, what's wrong with you?” she called out, examining him closely as he made his approach. “I know today is your birthday, but you ain't old enough to be walking like a man on social security.”

Neil laughed. “I went to the gym this morning and gave my body a workout. Now it's repaying the favor.”

“Well, I would hug you, but I'm scared I'll hurt you.”

“Oh, come on here,” Neil said, giving his mother a big bear-like hug despite his body aches. “How're you doing, Ms. Ella Mae?”

It was what Neil and his siblings had always called their mother. When they were small, Ella, who had no education to speak of, helped support her family by keeping neighborhood children. So that the other children would call her Ms. Ella Mae instead of Mama, she had her children do the same. And even though her babysitting days ended years ago, Ella was still known to many, including her own children, as Ms. Ella Mae.

Ella laughed at her son's question, and then said, “Better than you, apparently. What did you do at the gym that got you so crippled?”

“I ran a few miles on the treadmill.” Neil sat on the sofa and pulled a mint from his pocket. “Man, I didn't know I was so out of shape.”

“I bet you won't be going back no time soon.” His mother made her way to the loveseat and sat. “It ain't like you need to lose no weight.”

“I don't know, Ms. Ella Mae. I think I could stand to lose a pound or two. Got to fight this middle-aged spread, you know.” Neil patted his stomach as he spoke. “And my body feels like I've been in a car wreck. All of these sore muscles are a big wake-up call. Apparently, I need to be a little bit more active.”

Ella flipped her wrist and twisted her lips. “Whatever. You'll be done killed yourself, trying to make yourself healthier.”

“I don't know. I'm thinking of entering the Peachtree Road Race this year.” Neil had been giving Adam's offer more thought during the drive to his mother's home. “I was invited to train with some other guys. I might just do that if I can fit it in my schedule.”

“Leave it to you to wait till you start graying to want to get out in the hot sun and run with fifty thousand other crazy folks.”

Neil chuckled as he leaned back against the soft cushions and admired his mother. She wore a flattering, casual blue pants outfit, and he could tell that she'd visited the beautician recently. “What you been up to, sweetie? You're looking good.”

Fingering her hair like a bashful schoolgirl, Ella grinned and said, “Nothing much, really. Just serving God and trying to live right. You know we been having noonday prayer at my church on Wednesdays.” Eight years ago, Ella had transferred her church membership from Kingdom Builders to Bethel Cathedral. Bethel was a part of the New Hope Fellowship of Churches too, and it was much closer to where Ella lived.

“Yeah, you told me that a few weeks ago. How's it going?”

“Oh, the Lord has really been moving, Neil, but ain't nobody been showing up but the women.”

Neil readjusted his position to try to get more comfortable. It didn't work. The movement just brought more pain. “Well, it
is
in the middle of the day, Ms. Ella Mae. Most of the brothers are probably on the clock.”

“No, they ain't. They just ain't as faithful as they ought to be. A lot of the women work too, but they be there. Prayer is from twelve to one, and everybody get a lunch break, don't they? Deacon Alford Floyd works at the body shop one block from the church, and he don't even come. He probably be stuffing his face while we be praying. That's why he weighs four hundred pounds now. He needs to fast as well as pray. How 'bout you go down there and invite him to go to the gym with you? Now, that's a man who needs to be running on somebody's treadmill.” Ella huffed and sat back in her seat. “Po' treadmill probably couldn't even take that kind of punishment.”

Neil burst into a laughter that made his whole body throb.

“Ms. Ella Mae, that's not nice,” he scolded when he finally got back his breath.

“It ain't nice to have to look at all that come wobbling into church on Sunday either. You know they call him Fat Al behind his back. If everybody in the church is like me, they be praying to God that all that don't come sit next to them. I be putting anything on the bench next to me so it'll look like somebody's already sitting there.”

The ringing of the doorbell cut short Neil's second outburst. He turned and looked toward the front entrance, and then struggled to sit up straight. “You expecting company?”

“You just stay put,” Ella said. “Slow as you moving, my old bones can make it to the door faster.”

Neil's body was too appreciative to protest.

“Hey, Ms. Ella Mae!”

Neil leaned forward, to be sure that the voice he thought he heard was the voice that he'd actually heard. Momentarily forgetting his soreness, he rose to his feet and broke into a wide, beaming smile. “Val, is that you?”

His baby sister released their mother and ran to Neil, jumping into his arms like a teenaged cheerleader. The pain was excruciating, but Neil was too surprised and delighted not to catch her.