“That’s fine with me. Whatever I can do to help.”

  Yawning and cracking his neck, he told her, “It would also help if you talked with those people before Thursday. Do I really have to keep asking you about this?”

  “I have to be honest with you. I’m not comfortable with bothering the Robinson family. My recklessness has already cost them so much. I wouldn’t know what to say to them.”

  “I told you what to say. We need to move this thing out of court and into arbitration. The last thing I need is for your accident to swing back and bite me.”

  Alexis felt awful on both ends. She had ruined a young man’s life, and now she was hurting her husband’s business deal. She felt powerless to do anything about either situation. Alexis couldn’t deal with the knowledge that she had caused harm to someone else. She wanted to block the whole terrible nightmare from her mind.

  “Put it this way, Lex. You like helping people, right?”

  “Yes, of course I do.”

  “Well, the boy you hit needs another surgery.”

  “How do you know that?”

  With a flick of the wrist, he waved off the importance of the information he was about to share. “The kid’s attorney called the office claiming they didn’t have the money for his next operation because the dad lost the job that paid for the previous operations.”

  “Is his dad working now? Will they be able to get the insurance?”

  “If they drop this court business and go to arbitration, this whole thing would be solved.”

  “Why don’t you stop postponing the case? Just let them have their day in court.”

  Michael shook his head. “They should have taken the insurance money. I’m not going to let them run over us and take what I’ve worked so hard for all of my life because you accidently hit that kid. That’s what insurance is for.”

  “Stop being so stubborn, Michael. Why can’t we just find out how much money they need and give it to them?”

  “The kid’s father is the one who’s being stubborn. Our attorneys have made contact with their attorney, but the dad won’t budge. He wants to go to court, but I’m not letting that happen. I will keep pushing the court date back so I can get through the sale of the company. So if that’s the game the dad wants to play, then his son will not get that surgery.”

  “But you just told me that he needs that surgery.”

  Michael yawned, stretched, stood up. “I’m going to bed.”

  But Alexis couldn’t sleep. She went into her walk-in closet, sat down on the floor, leaned her back against the wall, and stared at all the designer clothes and shoes in her oversize closet, wrapping her arms around her legs as she rocked back and forth. She cried and cried and cried. She cried so hard that snot ran down her nose and dripped onto her lap.

  She felt like such an imposter. This wasn’t the life she was supposed to have. Girls like her don’t usually get fairytale endings. Girls like her who never go to college shouldn’t still be able to buy anything they want. Her children were happy and healthy. They attended a good school and would be able to take care of themselves when they became adults. She owed it all to Michael.

  She was terrified of what would happen if she ruined this deal for her husband. If he stopped loving her, what kind of life would she and her children have then? But the fear she had about ruining Michael’s business deal paled in comparison to the terror she felt at facing the young man she had caused so much harm.

  “What am I going to do?” She lifted her eyes heavenward. “I really need help. Can You please show me what to do?”

  Alexis went into the bathroom, blew her nose, and washed her face. She prayed Michael hadn’t heard her crying like a blubbering idiot. She didn’t have the strength for that conversation. When she stepped back into the bedroom, Michael was asleep and snoring like a man who’d known peace and easy days all of his life.

  If only, she thought as she sighed. If only. She climbed into bed and prepared herself for a sleepless night.

  Chapter 7

  Trish was on the back patio sipping iced tea with her mother. Her name was Lillian Thornton, but no one ever called her Lillian. All the family called her Sister because her baby sister couldn’t pronounce Lillian, so she kept calling her Sister until that just became her name. Even Jon-Jon called her Grandma Sister. Not even the people at church called her by her given name. It was Sister Lil. For Trish, her mother was no sister. Lillian was too controlling and always in Trish’s business, telling her what to do, to be a sister.

  As the two women sat there taking in the moment of peace, Trish breathed in the fresh air.

  “What’s going on with you, girl?” Sister asked.

  “Nothing’s going on.”

  “Dwayne tells me you done moved out of y’alls bedroom and you’re moping around this house as if you have no hope.”

  “Mama, can’t we just sit out here and enjoy the fresh breeze and the warm sun?” One of the reasons Trish convinced Dwayne that they had to buy this house was because of the back patio. She used to sit out here, prop her feet up on the lawn furniture, take in the warm breeze, and look to heaven, praying about all the things that needed praying about that day. Since Jon-Jon’s accident, there’d been no time to sit out on the patio and sip her tea, no time for happy-go-lucky moments.

  “Now, I don’t want to get into your business, Trish. I know you’re a full-grown woman with a child of your own, but—”

  “But you’re going to get in my business anyway, right, Sister Lil?” Trish loved her mother dearly, but their relationship was complicated. Sister Lil didn’t think Christians should be sad or depressed because they had Jesus. But Jesus wasn’t paying Trish’s bills or healing her son or making Dwayne act like he had some sense.

  Sister’s lips tightened. “Don‘t hold that tone with me, Trish. I’m just here to tell you what’s what.”

  This patio had been Trish’s happy place, yet nothing seemed to make her happy these days—not the sun or the warm breeze, not the iced tea, and certainly not her mother with all her “what’s what.” Trish had had it with all the bad she’d been going through every single day. She didn’t want to talk anymore.

  “I’m going back inside.”

  “That’s fine,” Sister said, “but first tell me what’s wrong?”

  Trish leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She wanted to block out her reality and her son’s. “How can you ask me what’s wrong? Where have you been these last six months?”

  “I know Jon-Jon got hurt, but that doesn’t answer my question about what’s wrong with you?”

  Sighing deeply, Trish turned her head. She looked up at the sky like she was trying to find something she’d lost up there. “Jon-Jon doesn’t want to live anymore, and I’m all out of answers.”

  “Sounds to me like you want to dig your own grave right next to his.”

  “Did you hear what I said, Mom? My son doesn’t want to live.”

  Sister leaned forward so that she and Trish were eye to eye. “And I’m asking, what are you going to do about it? Are you going to fall apart or be the woman God created you to be?”

  Here we go. She was about to get the “we don’t act like this” speech. Couldn’t her mother understand that life had done Trish and her family wrong? She and Dwayne used to laugh and joke together. They used to go to Jon-Jon’s games. They used to go out to eat. They used to do a lot of things before everything changed with the blink of an eye. “Things have been so bad for so long that I guess I don’t even know what to ask God for.”

  Sister nudged Trish. “You just said it, hon. If things are bad and you don’t want them to be that way, why not ask God for something good and see if He don’t come through for you?”

  She heard her mother, but at that moment she was completely numb.

  “When’s the last time you took a hot bath?”

  “It’s been a while.” One of Trish’s favorite things to do was run super-hot water with lots of bubbles in the tub. She would then get in and soak until the water turned cool. Trish loved to listen to praise music or read a book during her private time in the tub.

  “Why don’t you let me hang out with Jon-Jon while you soak in the tub?”

  She fixed her mouth to decline the offer, but the idea of a hot bath was too good to pass up.

  While her mother went to Jon-Jon’s room, Trish went to soak in the tub. She ran her water, put in her favorite bubble bath, turned her praise music on, got in, and managed to relax for forty minutes.

  When she got out of the tub, Trish thanked her mother. “I needed that.”

  “I figured. It always helped when you were younger.”

  Grinning, Trish said, “You know me so well.”

  “I’m your mama. Don’t forget that. And call me if you need help.”

  Trish agreed. “I will.”

  * * *

  When her mother left, Trish walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge to grab a snack. Dwayne was standing in front of the sink, washing the dishes.

  “Are you ready to talk to me?” Dwayne asked.

  She closed the door, swung around, and laid into him. “So you told my mother that I’m a basket case, huh?”

  Dwayne took his hands out of the water and dried them off. “I didn’t call you a basket case. I told your mother that you haven’t been yourself lately. I’m sure I’m partly to blame for all of this, but we have to figure something out. If not for us, we’ve got to do something different around here for Jon-Jon.”

  “Why?” She put her hands on her hips. “So he can stop being so lazy and laying around while you go off to work?”

  “Look, Trish, I don’t want to argue. We’ve been arguing for months now and getting nowhere. Like I said, it’s time for us to do something different.”

  He was sounding too reasonable for her. She couldn’t argue with Dwayne while he was standing in front of the sink, washing dishes, and trying to talk calmly with her for a change. She didn’t want to continue the conversation because things would soon go left if she talked to him for more than a minute.

  Walking out of the kitchen and away from an issue she wasn’t ready to deal with yet, she stepped into Jon-Jon’s room for the first time since they arrived home from the doctor two days ago. It was time to deal with the giant that was trying to strangle the life out of her son. “How’s my handsome son doing today?”

  Jon-Jon had the remote control in his hand. He changed the channel to Chopped on the Food Network, then glanced in his mother’s direction. “Grandma Sister said you weren’t feeling well.”

  The bath had given her a moment’s reprieve from all the ills of the world and allowed her to clear her head and think about what Jon-Jon needed from her, rather than her own selfish need to wallow in pity.

  Leaning against the door jamb, Trish’s lips twisted as guilt filled her heart. She’d been devoted to Jon-Jon from the day they brought him home from the hospital. His accident hadn’t changed that. Jon-Jon made her smile just by being in his presence.

  “I’m so sorry I bailed on you these last couple of days. When the doctor told us that you didn’t want to live anymore, and I saw the way you just gave up during physical therapy, I don’t know. I guess I just needed some time to regroup.” He didn’t respond to her telling him that she knew what he’d said to Dr. Phillips, so she went another route. “Has your dad been taking good care of you?”

  “He’s all right. Just wish I wasn’t such a burden to you and dad. I wish I hadn’t been on the road at the same time as that lady who hit me.”

  Trish wished he hadn’t been on that road either. Wished that woman had some compassion and would let them have their day in court. She tried not to think about the woman who caused all these problems in their lives, because then she’d have to admit that she had another person on her list that she needed to forgive.

  Stepping closer to his bed, Trish shook her head. “You got to stop feeling sorry for yourself, Jon-Jon.” Her voice caught, and she got a lump in her throat. “And me and your daddy have got to stop feeling sorry for you and ourselves.”

  Jon-Jon slammed his fist against his mattress. “It’s not fair, Mama! I’m supposed to be in my second year of college right now, getting ready to go pro.”

  “What happened to you isn’t right nor is it fair, hon. Fact is, you need another surgery that we can’t pay for right now. And if you don’t get it soon . . .” She trailed off, not wanting to start crying again. “You looked so depressed during physical therapy, and it just about broke my heart.”

  “I was in pain. I’m in pain all the time, Mama.” A tear rolled down his face. He swatted it away.

  “That’s because you need this final surgery and more therapy. Once you get that done, there’s a chance that you’ll be able to walk again.”

  “But not run . . . and I’ll never be able to play football again. If I can’t play football, then what good am I?”

  Trish had thought she was all out of answers, but hearing her son say he was nothing without football caused anger to boil in her. “You are more than some football player. Think of it like this, Jon-Jon: the game runs out for most men around age thirty to thirty-five. The next half of their lives is spent without football being at the center of everything. Do you think they just call it a life, lay down, and do nothing else with their lives?”

  With frustration written all over his face, he yelled, “What else am I supposed to do, Mama? I’m twenty years old and all I’ve ever been trained to do is catch a football!”

  “Not true.” Trish pointed at the television. Chopped was still on. You used to get in the kitchen with me or your Grandma Sister and bake like a pastry chef. I know you didn’t want any of your friends to know you enjoyed baking so much, but maybe that’s just another gift God gave you. And maybe you can make a career out of that.”

  He gave his mother an oh-really look. “I was trying to be the next Emmitt Smith, not the next Bobby Flay.”

  “Give it a chance, Jon-Jon. That’s all I’m suggesting. Do you think Bobby Flay thought in his wildest imagination that he would become as well-known of a celebrity chef as he is today?”

  “What am I supposed to do? Wheel myself around the kitchen, bumping into everything? Oh, yeah, that has celebrity chef written all over it.”

  “Boy, your mama is just trying to encourage you. Why you gotta be so flippant like that?”

  Out the side of her eye, Trish watched Dwayne enter the room. She didn’t know whether to thank him for setting Jon-Jon straight or to duck because the next verbal blow he’d throw would probably be aimed right at her. Her husband didn’t know how to deal with conflict without yelling. Trish had put up with his behavior for so long that the yelling seemed normal at the Robinson household. But she was tired of it. No way would she live like this for a lifetime. So if he thought he was about to yell at her, she was going to let him have it. No more keeping quiet and letting things blow over. You come for me, I’m coming for you.

  When he looked her way, she braced herself for a belittling comment about the way she was handling this situation. “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said, “but Jon-Jon was just being too flippant for me, when all you’re trying to do is help him.”

  Trish’s arms wrapped around her chest as if she were trying to protect her heart. Dwayne walked out of the room, leaving her confused and dazed as she stared at the backside of him that she had come to know so well. He turned his back on her every night when they went to sleep, before she moved into the guest room. He turned his back on her after Jon-Jon’s accident, when he couldn’t understand why she wasn’t as angry as he was.

  Somehow, as he walked away this time, it felt different, but she didn’t know if this was the wind of change or a temporary sprinkle that would dry up and leave her feeling like the biggest fool God ever created for thinking Dwayne John Robinson could be anything but who he was. Even as she bet against her husband’s ability to change, Trish began to wonder if there was hope for them after all.

  Falling asleep was tough that night. She had a restless sleep and a crook in her neck when she woke the next morning. She pulled herself out of bed. “I will sing a fruitful song . . .” She helped Jon-Jon get to the bathroom so he could clean himself up in the walk-in shower that had a shower seat.

  When Jon-Jon was done in the bathroom, she rolled his wheelchair as close to his bed as she could get it and then allowed Jon-Jon to lean on her shoulder as she lifted him onto the bed. It amazed her that she had enough strength to lift her son. She guessed it was like that woman who lifted a one-ton car to save a little boy. You never know how much strength you have until you’re tested.

  Dwayne came into the room, barking into the phone. “No! No! That’s not good enough. I’m starting to think you’re getting a kickback from the other team.”

  Rolling her eyes, Trish turned back to Jon-Jon. “I’m going to finish your breakfast.”

  She went back to the kitchen, trying to get away from Dwayne and his irate phone conversation. She was sure he was talking to the attorney, and her head was beginning to hurt from lack of sleep, so the last thing she wanted to do was deal with any of what Dwayne had going on. She finished boiling the grits and frying the sausages and eggs. She was making Jon-Jon’s plate when Dwayne came into the kitchen, yelling his head off. She knew that the real Dwayne would show up sooner rather than later. And here he was.

  “I can’t believe them. Those blood-sucking lawyers are in cahoots together, and you can’t tell me no different.”

  “What happened now?” She didn’t want to hear it, but she would be accused of giving him the silent treatment if she didn’t respond.

  “What’s happening is that Jon-Jon’s court case has been postponed again. How does she keep getting these postponements? You think a little bit of white privilege might be going on? Maybe she knows the judge . . . golfing buddies or something.”

  Taking the grits pot off the stove, Trish scooped a couple of spoonfuls on Jon-Jon’s plate. “Why don’t we just give up on the court stuff and take the insurance payment. We really need to get Jon-Jon’s surgery scheduled.”