The Vigil (11 page)

I hadn't told him all the details about Carlton. Only enough, it seemed to pique his interest. “I wish I had the whole story, too. I'm still working on it. I'll let you know if I learn more.”

“Good night, Cheryl.” He gently closed my car door.

Good night, Beau,” I whispered in the car as I watched him walk away. I wiped the perspiration from my palms onto my jeans and started the engine. As I drove out the parking lot, I glimpsed Beau getting into his car. Still handsome after all these years. Should I include Beau in my hunt for Lady S? A tiny voice in my head answered.
No
.

 

 

 

 

Douze

 

“Good morning, Carlton.” I stood at the foot of his bed and hoped he had forgotten yesterday's episode or at least forgiven my prying.

“Hey...I'm sorry ‘bout yester...day,” he said. He hadn't forgotten.

I sensed a change in him today. Carlton wasn't the type to apologize, so I tugged on his big toe. “No problem.” I should give up trying to find Lady S.

I reviewed the night shift's notes and took care of his needs before settling in the chair next to his bed. “Would you like me to read the letters today?”

He nodded. As I reached for the letters, he grabbed my hand. His blue eyes pierced. “She can't know I'm here.” The intensity from yesterday flashed in his eyes.

Fear snaked through me. I didn't want to upset him. “Carlton, is it better if we don't read the letters?”

He shook his head and released his grip. “No. I need them.”

“OK. Your secret is safe with me.” I stood and leaned over his bed. “You know that don't you?”

He nodded. “Yep.”

The question about God continued to nag at me. Should I call a priest or pastor to minister to him?

I returned to my seat, grabbed the letters from the nightstand, and pulled the next one out of the string-tied bundle. “Carlton, before I read, I have a question for you. Just answer yes or no. OK?”

He nodded.

“Would you like for me to call a priest or pastor to come visit you?”

“Why?”

“You asked about God yesterday, and they'd be able to answer your questions better than I can.”

“Devil's...got me.”

I paused. Had I heard him correctly?

“Really? Why would you think that?” No sooner had the words escaped my lips, my stomach pitted. I had no right to ask that question, but the more he revealed the more of a mystery he became.

I didn't give him time to answer. “It's not too late.”

“It is for me.”

“You never answered my question about calling someone.”

He shrugged his shoulders but didn't say anything.

“I'll take that as a yes.”

“Can...we read?”

I slid the letter from the envelope and thought about his response. He hadn't said no, so I could ask around for a priest or pastor who could minister to Carlton. Maybe Aunt Melanie's pastor. It was the least I could do. And what if he died before he could repent of whatever sin had been eating away at him more feverishly than the cancer cells? Could I ever forgive myself for not trying?

He gazed at the letter in my hands. He cleared his throat, lifted his eyebrows, and pointed toward the letter.

“OK, OK.” I smiled. “I'm ready, already. Don't get your panties in a wad.”

He smiled back—an unexpected response. “Don't wear...panties. Boxers.”

I laughed, shook my head, and began reading the sixth letter.

 

My dearest Carlton,

Merry Christmas! It breaks my heart wondering where you are tonight. Are you safe? Are you warm? My biggest wish this Christmas is that you return safely to me. I would give up a lifetime of Christmas presents just to have that one.

The family is here, my Aunt and her girls made the trip from Arkansas. It has been so nice to see everyone again and be with family. My heart still has this big empty spot because you are not here. Any word on getting leave? I have been saving my money, and maybe I could fly somewhere so we could see each other?

I pray you are safe and will continue to pray for you every day until you are in my arms. Then I will pray for our life together.

All my love,

Your Lady S.

 

I glanced toward Carlton. His attention was fixed on the letter in my hand and a single tear streamed down his cheek. He was engrossed in his world, and I imagined Lady S there with him. I reached for the tissue box next to his bed. As gently as possible, I wiped the moisture from his cheek careful not to disturb his reverie. Typical of our past readings, he didn't speak or acknowledge my presence.

I returned the letter to the nightstand and slipped out of his room. From the kitchen window, I watched the field grass blow in the slight breeze until the sight blurred from my tears. Had Carlton's questions about God sparked something long dead in me?
Oh Lord, what can I do?

The day flew by. I didn't offer to read any more letters, and Carlton didn't ask. He stayed longer in his world after each reading, and I felt guilty for being the one to put him there. Although, I sensed a deep regret in him and suspected the memories tormented him, the letters seemed to bring temporary peace. What could have happened between him and Lady S to cause this much anguish and pain? Had he hurt her in some way? Had she hurt him? I knew she was still alive. He'd said so. Did he really not want to see her? Maybe, just maybe, if he could apologize, he could die in peace?

“Quit, Cheryl.” I chastised myself. Once again I was trying to do exactly what Carlton didn't want. Why couldn't I leave things alone?

 

****

 

Notes for the upcoming
fais do do
lay strewn on my dining room table amid the take-out shrimp salad I'd picked up.

Debra sat next to me, reviewing each idea. “We could call the
fais do do
, The Revolution,” she said.

“That sounds a little too revolting.”

She wrinkled her nose. “No pun intended, of course.”

I laughed. It felt good to laugh and forget all the heavy things occupying my mind. “Totally intended.”

“It has to be something in tune with Independence Day but also something that reflects our life here in South Louisiana.”

I nodded. “How about a costume
fais do do
that reflects the importance of community? Have people dress as their favorite person. It could be a friend, relative, shop owner, public official, or even just their neighbor. Make it a hometown
fais do do
.”

“Oh, that sounds fun. I like it. We can present it to the committee members at our next meeting,” she said.

“Good.” Glad that our meeting time had been somewhat productive, I gathered all the notes from the table. “Deb, would you like another cup of coffee?”

“Yes, I would. Besides I hope you don't mind if I stay a little longer. There's something I wanted to talk about.”

I filled her cup and my own, wondering what could elicit the seriousness of her look. “Let's sit on the couch. It's much more comfortable.”

We settled on my thick couch with Mr. Bojangles nestled on the rug at my feet. I tucked my leg under me and turned to face her. “What's up?”

“It's about Beau.”

“What about Beau?” I tried to keep my face from showing the emotion that crept in at the mention of his name.

She sighed. “Cheryl, this is hard. I know we've not been in contact for a while, but I feel that since you've returned, we've picked up where we left off. I love having my good friend back, and I hope you feel the same.”

I tapped her knee. “Are you kidding? I'm lovin' this. Do you know how long it's been since I've had coffee with a girlfriend I could trust?”

She squeezed her lips together. “I'm glad. It's just that there are rumors around town that you and Beau are an item.” She lifted her hands. “Don't worry. I put a stop to it—a few carefully placed words to the right person.”

I shook my head. “Wow, that didn't take long. We had coffee at Sammy's Diner once. Do
you
think there's something going on?”

“I don't…the Cheryl I knew wouldn't have an affair with a married man. I believe that's the Cheryl I still know. I remember how much you loved him at one time. And his situation...”

I stared at her for a while, unable to identify the emotions brewing in me. My heart stirred when I thought of Beau, but it also became as heavy as an anvil when I thought of his wife.

“Deb, nothing is going on between me and Beau. He's married. Period.”

“I believe you. I wish things were different for you.” She grasped my hand. “It's good to see the two of you as friends. I'm glad the past hasn't stopped you from being his friend.”

Tears stung my eyes. For a second I debated telling the truth. Her wide eyes and compassionate touch propelled. I so needed to have a friend I could trust. “Deb?

“Yes.”

“I want to be his friend, but I do struggle with seeing him as more. He's so kind and considerate. I question if I let Mr. Right get away.”

“Oh, honey.” She curled her fingers around mine. “I'm so sorry.”

“It's my fault. I thought he was a young girl's crush. I had to see what was out there for me.” I fought the rush of tears. “No way could I ever settle for a small town boy who was content to stay there. What a fool, I've been. There's been no one
out there
who's come close to him. Sad part is I didn't realize that until I saw him again.”

“He is a good man. Too good to have to go through what he's going through.”

“I know. He wants to be friends. And so do I. But there's a part that wonders if I can be happy just being his friend. Would I want more? And what about Annie? Would being friends with Beau disrespect her?”

“That's tough. I can't answer your questions. Examine your heart.” Her eyes held compassion and understanding. She slid her hands around mine. “Can I pray for you?”

The question seemed strange until I realized she meant right then. No one had ever prayed out loud for me. No one had ever asked to. Not wanting to hurt her feelings, I simply nodded.

She closed her eyes and bowed her head.

I followed her lead.

“Dear Lord, I lift Cheryl up to you today. Father, we know You have her life in Your hands, and You want the best for her. Guide Cheryl in this situation with Beau. Keep them in Your hands and keep them from falling away from You. You know the end of this story, and I ask that You give Cheryl peace that You will bring her to where she is meant to be. Let her have faith that You will use her to show Your character to everyone she encounters. She's Your child, and You love her. Let her see You in everything. We ask this through the name of Your son, Jesus. Amen.”

I kept my eyes closed and head bowed. I hid the moisture collecting in my eyes. Her prayer stirred my heart. I felt special. Loved. It had been a long time since I'd felt those emotions. My thoughts darted to Carlton. After a moment, when I felt confident I could speak without stammering or fighting a ball of emotion in my throat, I gazed at Debra. “Thank you.” The words seemed lame compared to my heart-filled gratitude.

Her smiling face greeted me. “It's good to have you back, Cheryl. I've missed you.”

I smiled back and gave her a quick hug. “I've missed you, too.”

Would she know someone I could ask to speak to Carlton? I told her about the situation with Carlton without divulging his name or any of his information, especially the part about Lady S. “Would your pastor be willing to talk to him?” I asked.

“Oh, yes, I know he would.”

“How can you be so sure?” I asked.

“Because I'm married to him.”

I gaped. “Married to him? Chuck, a pastor?”

She smiled, a Cheshire cat grin. “Yep. Can you believe it? He's the pastor of Grace Community Church.”

“Wow, I would have never guessed.”

Would Carlton be upset if I brought him to his bedside? After all, he'd not said no when I'd asked if he wanted to see someone. There was only one way to find out—bring Pastor Hebert to see him.

 

 

 

 

Treize

 

“Carlton, this is Pastor Hebert.” I pulled the chair from next to Carlton's bed and placed it facing him. “He wanted to visit with you for a while. Is that OK?”

Carlton's blank look gave no indication of his thoughts. He simply nodded.

“I'll leave you two to visit.”

“Thank you, Cheryl.” Chuck Hebert sat in the chair next to Carlton's bed.

I never would have thought the rabble-rouser, Chuckie, would have become a pastor. Debra had mentioned she married Chuck when we'd spoken that first night, but she didn't say anything about him being a pastor. Especially one at such a large church as Grace Community. The church sat on ten acres off of the interstate between Bijou Bayou and Point Duson where Carlton lived. I passed by it every day on my way to and from work. I'd only given it a passing glance.

It was hard to forget the first time I'd seen Chuck. Debra and I had been driving home from a friend's house late one night and found him walking down the lonely winding road, dressed only in his underwear. His friends had dropped him off as some sort of weird initiation into their motorcycle group. I guessed he'd changed since those days. At least, I hoped so. He had agreed to see Carlton when Debra had mentioned it to him that night. I couldn't think of one more suited to minister to my patient.

The sound of laughter drifted into the kitchen. Carlton's laughter. The sound mingling with Chuck's deep resonating mirth comforted my soul.

Thank you, Lord.
The prayer surprised me, but when I examined my heart, I found gratitude filled it.