The Remedy for Regret (5 page)

T
he gate is crowded with other travelers as I wait for my flight to be called. I am anxious to be airborne. The longer I sit in the terminal at O’Hare the more I feel like Simon has arrived home and has seen my note. I want to be far away when he reads it. I don’t know why.

There is a woman sitting next to me as we wait in plastic chairs. She is holding a baby. Two other children are sitting at her feet as all the other chairs are taken. I’ve seen many tall, slender black women in Chicago in the five years I have lived here but this is the first one that looks so much like Corinthia Mayhew. I catch myself looking at her purse as her little girl, who I guess to be three or four, rifles through it, pulling out keys, a comb and a tiny package of tissues.

“Abigail, put that stuff back,” the woman says to the little girl. “When they call our seats, we need to be ready.”

The little girl looks up from the purse.

“I want gum,” she says.

The mother, jiggling the baby in her arms to keep it distracted or contented, I can’t tell which, says, “Well, I don’t have any. Put it all back.”

The little boy at her feet looks up at his mother. He looks like he’s about five.

“I gotta go potty,” he says.

“Lordamercy, Simon, I told you to go before we left Nana’s,” the mother says.

I am startled to hear Simon’s name.

“But I didn’t have to go then. Now I do,” the little boy named Simon says.

“King Jesus, you better help me out,” I hear the mother whisper under her breath. She looks at her watch, at the gate where the airline employees are getting ready to announce our flight, at the rest rooms across from our chairs, at the baby in her arms and then back to her little boy.

“Simon, you’re just gonna have to wait and go on the plane,” she finally says.

“But I can’t wait. I gotta go now!”

I feel funny sitting there, watching the little drama, fully able to help this woman who looks so much like Corinthia, but doing nothing.

“Can I help you?” I suddenly say, surprising myself.

The woman turns to me.

“Beg your pardon?” she says.

“I can go tell the people at the desk not to leave without you,” I said. “And I can come into the bathroom with you and hold the baby while your little boy uses the toilet.”

“Lord, that was quick,” she says, but not to me.

“What?” I say.

She turns to me and her eyes lock onto mine.

“That’s very kind of you, Miss. Very kind.” This she says to me.

I smile. “I’ll be right back,” I say, as I get up and make my way to the desk. I tell the agent at the desk not to leave without me and the family behind me, that we need to make a quick trip to the rest room.

The employee grins. “Okay,” he says. “But make it quick. We’re starting to board the first class passengers.”

I tell him thanks and then I walk back to the woman and her children.

“Okay, Simon, Abigail, let’s go,” the woman says, grabbing a diaper bag, her purse and a sack full of books and toys, all the while holding the baby.

We get to the ladies rest room and the little boy named Simon begins to complain.

“This one’s for girls!” he says.

“Simon Nathaniel, you know I can’t go in the men’s room and you know I will not let you go in there by yourself. So it’s either the ladies room or you wait and go in the rest room on the plane.”

Simon looks downcast, but he trudges into the ladies room and the rest of us follow. Thankfully the rest room is not crowded. The woman picks the handicap accessible stall to give her plenty of room.

“I have to go, too,” the little girl named Abigail says.

“Of course you do,” the woman says looking at me in mock exasperation. She drops her bags inside the stall, ushers her son and daughter into it and then turns to me. She hesitates a moment before handing the baby to me.

“I promise I won’t move a muscle,” I say to assure her that she can trust me.

She pauses another moment and then her face relaxes. She places the baby in my arms.

“I know you won’t. You’re the answer to my prayer.”

She turns, walks into the stall and closes the door. Within five minutes the children are at the sinks and their mother is helping them wash and dry their hands.

“Okay,” she says to me, trying to adjust her bags and purse so that she can take the baby, who has been studying my face the whole time.

“Would you like me to just follow you onto the plane and give your baby to you after you get the little ones seated?” I say.

She grins. “You’re one of the best ones He’s ever sent,” she says quickly and then turns to her children. “Let’s go, let’s go.”

We file out of the bathroom and I follow them to the gate as our seats have already been called. Once inside the plane, the woman settles Simon and Abigail into their seats and then reaches for her baby.

“May God bless you for your kindness to me,” she says to me and I can scarcely take my eyes off her. She is like Corinthia’s twin, come to soothe my soul with words from heaven itself.

I hand her the baby and mumble, “You’re welcome.”

I find my own seat several rows away and slide into it. The experience of helping the woman, short as it was, has left me feeling emotionally drained. It cannot be possible that I was the answer to her prayer. Cannot be possible. God feels as far away to me as He has ever been.

I try to let my thoughts wander as the plane prepares to taxi down the runway. I look at the airline’s magazine in the seat pocket. I stare out the window. I close my eyes and try to imagine my island. But my thoughts keep turning back to Corinthia.

My father and I did make it to the Mayhews’ for supper the day the movers came to our Arkansas house. Dad was a little hesitant to accept the invitation, not wanting to impose, he said. But I think he was a little afraid he was going to get preached at. I had told him about meeting Corinthia in the backyard and that she had five kids, that one was my age and that her husband was the pastor of the church on the corner of our street. When I told him that, his eyes widened a bit. He didn’t want anyone pressuring him to go to church—the church on the corner or any church. It wasn’t that my Dad thought church was a bad thing; he just didn’t want it for himself.
Church is for people who need God like a farmer needs rain
, he told me once. He didn’t need God like a farmer needs rain. He didn’t need God at all. It wasn’t that he minded the people who were like farmers when it came to God; it was just that he was a man of science. There are limitations to everything. Even God. And church people—people who need God like farmers need rain—think God has none.

In the end, though, he agreed. He and I were both tired of fast food and Spaghetti-O’s at the TLF. And the kitchen wasn’t fully unpacked by six o’clock anyway. So we walked across our front lawn to the Mayhews’ house. Over their front door was a little wooden plaque that said “The Mayhews—Peace to all who enter here.”

A young boy answered the door and then opened it wide for us to enter. He didn’t say anything, so it was kind of awkward for my dad and me. But then Corinthia came around the corner and welcomed us warmly.

“Come in, come in,” she said. “Welcome, welcome. Samuel, the neighbors are here!”

A tall, black man—tall as any man I had ever seen—stepped around the corner, smiling widely. He stuck out his hand to my father.

“Pleased to meet you,” he said. His voice was very low. I liked it. “I’m Samuel Mayhew.”

“Mark Longren,” my dad said, returning the handshake.

“You must be Tess,” Samuel Mayhew said, looking down at me from what seemed like three stories. I just nodded.

“Let’s get you inside and get your jackets,” Corinthia said, helping me off with my coat and taking my Dad’s as he handed it to her. “We can sit in the living room for just a few minutes while you meet the rest of the Mayhews.”

The house was warm and clean, but the carpet was worn in places and the furnishings were simple and sparse. Dad and I sat on a sofa that was soft and lumpy. Over its back was a beautiful hand-stitched quilt. Corinthia called for her other children.

The oldest I recognized right away as being Jewel even before Corinthia said her name, not just because Corinthia had told me she had a twelve-year-old daughter with that name but also because I had seen the girl at school. Jewel smiled at me. She was holding an infant in her arms. Corinthia moved on to the other children.

“Now this is Noble, he’s next after Jewel and he’s ten. This here’s Shepherd who opened the door for you and he’s eight. Here’s Renaissance, we call her Rena, and she’s four. And Jewel’s holding Marigold who is four weeks old today!”

I think my Dad was on the verge of laughing. Neither one of us had heard such interesting names before. I think he thought they were kind of ridiculous. But I thought they were wonderful. Each one meant something, made you think of something. I didn’t know if Tess meant anything at all. My dad had told me it was just my mother’s favorite name.

We were invited into the dining room, which was long and narrow; the table in its center filled it from one end to another. Jewel placed the infant in a cradle next to her chair like she already knew it would be her job to tend to her littlest sister if she made a fuss during the meal.

“Tess, you can sit by Jewel so y’all can get to know each other. Dr. Longren, you can sit by Samuel,” Corinthia said.

“Oh, you can just call me Mark.” My dad took a chair on the end by Jewel’s dad.

“No, no,” Corinthia said. “You worked hard to get that title. I’m surely going to use it! Now, Rena, you help me bring in the serving dishes.”

I recognized the ham, but there were some other things I hadn’t seen before. Okra was new to me then, as were the yams. But everything smelled wonderful. I had forgotten what it was like to be in a home where there was a mother who cooked.

When all the dishes were in place, Corinthia took her place at the other end of the table.

She held her hands out to Noble and Rena on either side of her.

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, may we hold hands while we ask the Lord to bless this meal?” Jewel’s father said to my dad.

My father looked a bit taken aback but he lifted his hands from his lap and extended them. “Sure,” he said. I lifted mine too. Jewel’s hand was soft and slender.

Pastor Mayhew began to pray.

“We thank you, Almighty God, for Your abundant goodness toward us, for your tender mercies, for your everlasting kindness. Bless this meal to our bodies. May it make us strong to live our lives in ways that please You. Bless our new friends Dr. Longren and Tess. May they always have your kind favor upon them. In the blessed name of Jesus, Amen.”

I felt funny opening my eyes after that. I think my dad did, too. We both looked at each other for a split-second. Then Jewel squeezed my hand and the prayer was over.

Jewel kept eying me during the meal like she wanted to talk to me but didn’t know where to begin. And I did the same thing. The adults found things to talk about; most of the dinner conversation centered on the places my dad had been stationed in his nearly twenty years in the Air Force.

When the meal was over, Corinthia invited me to help in the kitchen, which surprised me but touched me, too, as I think she knew it would. I had been asked to take part in a mother-child mini-event—the washing up of the dishes. Renaissance and Jewel started bringing dishes into the kitchen. Pastor Mayhew took the baby into the living room where he and my Dad continued their conversation on the political problems in the Middle East. I scraped the dishes while Corinthia rinsed them and then placed them in a dishpan of hot, soapy water. Dad and I did the dishes all the time like this, but it was different somehow doing it with Corinthia.

“I sure like your name, Tess,” she said to me as she plopped a plate into the water.

“You do?”

“It sounds soft like a lullaby,” she said. “I wonder what it means. Do you know?”

I shook my head. “My dad just told me it was my mother’s favorite name. I don’t think it means anything.”

“Oh, all names mean something. Maybe someday we should find out.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Okay.”

“I like the names you have for your kids,” I added after a moment of silence.

“They are a bit different,” Corinthia said, “But each one means something precious to me. Would you like to hear how Samuel and I chose them?”

I nodded. Jewel and Rena just kept bringing in dishes, not saying a word.

“Well,” she began. “Jewel was our firstborn of course and I had no idea how precious a child could be until we had her. She was beautiful and wonderful and I just wanted the world to know that her worth, like that of all children, is beyond reckoning. So she’s my Jewel. Now noble is a good thing to be when you are man. The world could use more noble men, don’t you think? So Samuel and me, we named our first son Noble to remind him that he is to be a honorable man who seeks after God.”

Corinthia took another dish from me and went on.

“We gave Shepherd his name because the Bible tells us Jesus is the Good Shepherd, and that He looks after us the same way a shepherd cares for his sheep, not just in any way but in the
good
way. Now Renaissance is a long, fancy name that most folks can hardly get used to using, but I love what it means. You ever heard of the Renaissance, Tess?”

I wasn’t sure.

“Does it have to do with art museums in France?” I asked.

Corinthia smiled. “Well, yes, in a way it does,” she said. “Renaissance means ‘re-birth.’ An’ there was a time when art had itself a kind of rebirth back in history. But all of us needs to have a re-birth, Tess. All of us needs to be recreated new. And do you know why? ’Cause we get born the first time in a broken world that doesn’t know God or love God. We get born the first time needin’ someone to rescue us. You know Who that someone is, Tess?”

I just blinked at her.

“Why, it’s Jesus,” she said simply, like she was saying, “Why, it’s seven o’clock.”

I was pondering the whole notion of a re-birth, thinking how wonderful it could be if I could just go back and do it over and this time my mother would live, when Corinthia moved on.

“Now, my Marigold, well, her name just makes me think of sunshine and flowers, like the most beautiful place you ever saw. Like heaven.” Corinthia laughed. “People don’t mind Marigold’s name as much. I think they’re just glad I didn’t name her something like ‘Beautiful Day’ or ‘Third Pretty Girl.’”

I laughed, too.

By this time, Jewel and Renaissance had joined us in the kitchen as all the dishes had been brought in.

“Jewel, why don’t you take Tess in to see your room? Rena and I can finish up here,” Corinthia said.

Jewel smiled shyly at me. “You wanna come?” she said.

“Okay,” I answered.

I followed her to a staircase by the front door that led up to the second story. Jewel’s room was the first one at the top of the stairs. It was painted yellow and there were books everywhere.

“I guess you can tell I like to read,” she said softly, smiling like she was embarrassed.

“I like to read, too,” I said.

Then I noticed that on her desk was an open sketchpad. A half-finished drawing of a giraffe was visible.

“That’s really good,” I said. And it was.

She just shrugged. “The neck isn’t long enough.”

She showed me the rest of her drawings and some of her favorite books. She was quiet and very unlike Blair, but I liked Jewel. She didn’t seem like the kind of person who would ever astonish me. I felt like she was transparent, honest. It was hard for me to imagine her ever being silly or disrespectful. Or unkind.

My dad called up the stairs a few minutes after that and said it was time to go. We still had to make up the beds and such. He seemed relaxed and at ease as we got ready to leave and so I was pretty sure Samuel Mayhew had not preached to him. I was glad my father seemed happy because I liked this house and I wanted us to come back. I liked how it smelled. I liked the sound of other children playing. I liked Jewel. And I liked Corinthia.

Over the next few weeks and months I spent a lot of time at the Mayhews’ house and with Jewel especially. A couple times I convinced Blair to come with me, but Blair liked being able to call the shots. For some reason, she didn’t feel comfortable doing that at Jewel’s house. She didn’t mind doing it at mine, though. When the three of us were at my house we usually did what Blair wanted to do.

One day in February, Corinthia sat me down at her kitchen table where she had a library book lying open.

“Remember how I said all names mean something?” she said to me and her eyes were twinkling. “Well, I found out what ‘Tess’ means.”

She pointed to a place on the right hand page of the open book. I read what was written there:

Tess: From the Spanish and Portuguese name
Teresa
. Believed to be derived from the Greek word
therizein:
“to harvest.”

She smiled broadly, like she had just discovered gold. It
was
like gold.
From the Portuguese
. I was speechless.

“So, now you know why this was your Momma’s favorite name,” she said. “Harvest is a time of blessing, Tess; a time when the fruit of all your hard labor is finally realized. It’s a time for gathering in all the good things you have worked hard for. Isn’t that amazing?”

I nodded and read the entry again. It felt weird to realize I had a name that actually meant something. I couldn’t help but wonder when I would be gathering in all the good things. It surely couldn’t have happened yet.