Secret place, p.11
Secret Place, page 11
Gideon pressed his hands deeper into his forehead as he continued to speak. “How can I go see another psychiatrist in this city, in this state, anywhere in this world without someone talking? I’m known in my field. I’m seen as an expert. A lot of people have respect for me. How do I explain where I am right now?”
“Where are you?” Her whisper was soft.
“Baby, I’m depressed. I’ve been depressed. I’ve been fighting depression for as long as I can remember, and now it’s just too much. I can’t stop feeling this way. Most of the time, I don’t even want to live.”
“Gideon, I—”
“No, listen, Charisma. You have no idea what this is like for me. Yes, you went through this with your mother, and I never meant to bring you down this road with me, but there’s no doctor I can see, no unit for me to go where somebody hasn’t heard of me. The medical community talks, Care, and if they find out how low I’ve gotten, I’ll never be respected again. You see how nobody from Baltimore Metropolitan Hospital even talks to me anymore. They don’t even talk about me, like I never existed. I’m a shame to them, a mark.”
“Gideon, those are just wrong, evil thoughts that the enemy has you believing.” She wondered if she should tell him about the invitation.
“Charisma, I don’t know if it’s Satan or just me. All I know is that my career is over, and I don’t know why my life shouldn’t be over as well. I’m down, baby, I’m down. I just need more faith, that’s all I need. Jesus, Jesus. Healing in the name of Jesus.” His hands covered his face. Charisma studied the faint glimmer of the gold wedding ring on his finger. “Things are rough right now. You’re depressed, severely depressed, but like you told me with my mother, that’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s something to get help for. And getting help is worth it because I need you as a husband, and April needs you as a father.” She glanced back to the living room, where she could see only April’s knees peeking from the steps, her hands a tight ball on her still lap.
“I understand,” she continued. “You’re embarrassed because you want to be seen as the helper, not the victim; the doctor, not the patient. Don’t let that pride get in the way of our family getting whole. Nobody will look down on you for getting yourself better. We need you better, Gideon. Our house is a mess, and April and I are tired of walking on pins and needles around you. We need to resume a normal, regular, functioning life. You can’t get so upset when I want to clean up or bring food home. Why don’t you find someone you can talk to? And what about those pills you’ve been keeping on the table?”
“No!” His shout made April jump in the other room. He quickly lowered his voice. “I mean, I’m sorry, Charisma.” He shook and flinched at her touch. “It’s just, if I take that medicine, it will mean I’m not trusting God for deliverance, right?”
“Gideon, you told me yourself that God can use science and medicine and counseling to get His healing through. Healing is right there. It ain’t that He’s holding it back from you. Sometimes, you just got to go get it. If you had a headache, you’d take Tylenol. If you had strep throat, you’d take an antibiotic. If you’re as depressed as you say you are, it’s okay to take medicine to feel better. You’ve told countless patients that. Why can’t you receive that for yourself?”
“You don’t understand. I need to do this my way. I promise, I’ll get better. I promise. Just let me do this my way.”
“They want you to speak.” The words blurted out.
“Speak? Who? What are you talking about?”
“The invitation.” Charisma closed her eyes and shook her head. “You got an invitation in the mail a few weeks ago for the hospital’s one hundredth-year celebration gala and fundraiser. You and I are invited, and they want you to speak.” The card was in her tote bag at the other end of the table. She took it out, smoothed the ribbons, traced the embossed letters, showed him. “See, you’re still respected. You’re depressed, Gideon, but you’ve never stopped being a great man.”
Gideon’s fingers trembled as he took the invitation. “I can’t . . . Oh, God . . . What do I say . . .”
“Miles will be there too.” His name felt sinful on her tongue. Gideon’s eyes darkened.
“I forgot about him. I heard they gave him my position. Have you seen him at the hospital?”
Charisma did not know how to answer.
“Of all people . . .” Gideon shook his head, “He can’t know . . . Charisma, I’m going to accept that invitation. I’m going to go down to the hospital tomorrow to accept the invitation personally. They put me on medical leave for undisclosed health reasons. The last time they saw me was when I locked myself in my office for four days. I have to go there in person so they can see there’s nothing wrong with me. I have to accept the invitation. This is the only way for me to get out of this, to reclaim my sanity, Care. This is the only way I have a chance at getting back my career, getting back my income. I’m going to get you a nice house again, Charisma, a better life, I promise. Tomorrow, I have to show BMH that I’m fine. ” There was finality in his words.
“Tomorrow?” Charisma studied her husband. Sitting at the table, unshaved, unclean, unkempt, a blue bathrobe hanging off his bare bones, hair dirty, knotty, bushy, uncombed. Ash, pallor. “Tomorrow?” she blinked. “Won’t that mean leaving the house? You haven’t done that in nine months.”
She could see Gideon freeze, his arms and legs stiffen. She watched as he licked then bit a dry, cracked lip.
“Tomorrow,” he whispered, the finality weakened.
“Gideon, don’t you think you should first—”
“Let me do this my way!” Gideon slammed both fists on the table.
“I just think—”
“Charisma, please!” Panic filled his voice. “Let me do this or let me die!”
The phone was ringing. As Charisma left the kitchen to answer it, she gave April a thumbs up. The girl rolled her eyes.
“Hello . . . Sister Pepperdine?”
“The patient presented on emergency petition at approximately 2:00 A.M. with signs of acute severe psychosis including homicidal ideations and auditory and visual hallucinations. She was accompanied by her parents, sister, and a family friend. Upon admission she immediately required restraint and an injection of Haldol IM for de-escalation before being secluded on the unit. Diagnosis: schizophrenia. A treatment planning meeting will be scheduled by the unit social worker.”
Miles clicked off the dictation recorder and set it on his desk.
“Man, what a day, and it’s still not over.” He opened a cola and leaned back in his leather seat. The unit was quiet now, but Miles knew another admission would be coming soon. The weekends seemed to bring on the worst cases sometimes. This Sunday night was no different.
He did not mind the challenge though. The pressure was his time to shine, to show the hospital chiefs they made the right decision to bring him aboard. He was good at what he did. And of course, when the shift was over, he’d find plenty of ways to unwind and release himself. The new nurse from the ER was still waiting for him to accept her invitation for a late night drink. Fine as she was, he had no intention of keeping her waiting much longer. If only he didn’t have the big bandage on his cheek. Miles touched the gauze on his face and winced. Six stitches and almost a day later there was still no sign of Maya. Miles did not know whether to feel on guard or be relieved. Either way, there was no way he would let that girl come within two feet of him. Somebody needed to emergency petition her, get her escorted to the psych ward.
“Dr. Logan, call on line one.” The unit secretary buzzed his intercom.
“Thanks, Katy. I’ll take it.” Hopefully it was good news.
“This is Dr. Logan. How may I help you?”
“Oh good, I’ve finally gotten through to you.” The female voice had a sharp accent, a Spanish-speaker. “This is Martina Rodriguez. I’m in charge of planning the hospital’s one hundredth anniversary and fund-raising gala scheduled in a few weeks.”
“Yes, I know who you are.” Miles rolled his eyes. He’d gotten several memos, letters, and phone messages requesting a response to an invitation to speak. As much as he liked working at BMH, he did not want to be there on the few weekends he was off. Saturdays, especially Saturday nights, were his time. But he knew the protocol, the expectation. Might as well accept the inevitable.
“Do you think that you will be able to fill in for the opening comments at Saturday’s brunch?”
“Saturday, hmm. I thought you already had someone to do that.” Miles didn’t know what the woman had, but he needed to stall her as he checked and re-checked his calendar to see what other plans he could come up with for that weekend.
“We did, actually. Or rather, I had sent out an invitation to your predecessor, Dr. Gideon Joel, but I’ve met a lot of resistance here at the hospital.”
“Resistance?” Miles slowly put the calendar back down. “Isn’t Dr. Joel on leave to complete some research?”
“That’s what I thought, but from what I hear, Dr. Joel was placed on medical leave.”
“Is that so?” Miles tapped a pencil on the dictation tape recorder. In the three conversations he’d had with Charisma Joel over the last week, she’d made no mention of Gideon being ill. A slow smile spread across his face. What is Charisma hiding from me? And why? He licked his lips.
“Tell you what, Ms. Rodriguez, I’m going to help you with whatever you need. Gideon Joel is an old friend of mine, whom, unfortunately I’ve lost touch with over the years. I’ll contact him tomorrow and see if maybe we can both play a role in the anniversary brunch. How’s that?”
“Uh, if you think that would be okay. Like I said, I’m not sure what happened to Gideon Joel.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll bring him out of hiding.” And maybe get his wife too, he grinned as he hung up the receiver. It was too easy. He squeaked his chair around and found what he was looking for with no effort. The box. Enserrer. Charisma had practically run away from him when he unearthed it the other night, and he had not heard from her since.
Now he knew why.
Miles had never forgotten that conversation, that kiss by the mantle. And from the way Charisma had run out of his office, he was sure that she had not forgotten either.
It was time to pay his dear good friend a visit. Miles picked up the simple cardboard box and sifted through the packaging peanuts. Maybe he’d wrap it for them. A get-well present.
Sunday evening. Only a few hours remained until her self-imposed deadline.
“I need to get out of here.” Maya whispered to herself as she sat alone in the bus terminal. She’d been sitting there for a while, checking schedules, ticket prices. She still needed a good plan to get her money. A fool-proof plan to make Madelyn sign over all at once the entire inheritance due her.
“Memphis,” she drawled the word. The perfect place to match her new voice, her new identity. Far away enough, and in her mind, foreign enough, to start a new life, a new name. She checked the departure times and saw that the motorcoach bus was not scheduled to leave until Monday evening, way past her deadline, but possibly worth the change in plans. Her mother would be able to access the funds only during business hours, so the extra time was a good thing, she consoled herself.
“One-way ticket to Memphis.” She slammed three credit cards on the counter. One of them was sure to work.
“Sorry, ma’am.” A wiry woman with silver-streaked hair pulled back in a fake bun handed all three back after several attempted swipes. “Declined.”
Maya rolled her eyes and dug through the paper and trash in her wallet for one of her other five credit cards. “Try these.” She gave a quick smile. If none of those worked, then she’d have to get another one. It was easier to find a way to open a new account than it was to pay off a maxed-out one. Late fees, finance charges. Most of the time when she saw the bills, she tore them up and found a way to buy more off the account. It was like laughing in the creditors’ faces.
“Sorry, ma’am,” the woman shook her head again, “seems like you’d be better off paying in cash if you can. Next in line, please.”
Paying in cash. Maya knew what she had to do. A plan was already forming. She was getting on that bus to Memphis. Madelyn would have no choice but to give her the money.
CHAPTER 17
“You want me to come over now?” Pepperdine was already stocking her purse with fresh tissues, peppermints, and a pocket-sized Bible. Ministry tools. Charisma cried softly on the other end of the phone.
“We need help. My family. My husband . . .”
“I can bring one of the deacons with me to talk to your husband, if you’d like.” Pepperdine scanned the emptying corridor outside the church office door. It looked like only Deacon Caddaway was left. She groaned. He must have heard her words because he spun around on the heels of his brown shoes and started walking back her way.
“Praise de Lawd, Sista Waters! You need me to go out and help bring a lost sheep back into the fold? Who’s the wayward soul that needs repentin’?” He immediately took the phone out of Pepperdine’s hands. “Who is this?”
“Charisma Joel.”
“Mmm hmm. We’ll be there in fifteen minutes. C’mon, Pepper.” Without another word, he hung up the phone and put his hat on his head. All Pepperdine could do was catch up with him at his Cadillac to drive the few miles to the Joel residence.
Charisma took one look at her living room, where Gideon now lay sleeping on the sofa, and knew that only a miracle equivalent to the parting of the Red Sea would get her home in the kind of condition acceptable for receiving visitors. Especially a visitor like Deacon Caddaway. Jesus, what have I done? She had moved only one stack of dusty books into a closet when the knock came.
“Hallelujah, amen. Today is the day of salvation. Where is the lost sheep? Pepperdine, go get my prayer cloth from the back seat.” Deacon Caddaway pushed his way through the door. “What the devil is that smell? A rumbay, rumbay, rumbay, rumbay, rumbay.” The deacon closed his eyes and spoke a few more words that sounded like tongues. “Mmm hmm, da Lawd done told me to tell you, Sista Joel, that you need to get your house in order if you want your husband to stop cheating.”
“Cheating? He’s—”
“Don’t interrupt the Spirit of the Lawd!” Deacon Caddaway pushed out a hand. “I feel a spirit of rebellion in this house, a spirit of deep, dark wickedness the likes of Jezebel. And it’s emanating from that corner over there. Pepper, go find some Crisco in that kitchen so we can bless it and use it to anoint that side table. I forgot my oil.”
Pepperdine groaned. “Now, Earnest, we need to—”
“Oh, Jesus, the rebellion is spreading.” Deacon Caddaway cut her off. “Quick, Lord, break the strongholds in this house.”
“My husband is not cheating.” Charisma’s voice was weak, soft. Tired. “He is depressed.”
“Depressed?” The deacon noticed for the first time the sleeping, half-clothed man lying on the couch. “Oh, that’s an easy deliverance.” He stomped over to Gideon and grabbed him by the wrists. “Wake up.”
Pepperdine gave Charisma a reassuring smile and quickly followed the deacon to the sofa. As much as she wanted to shake the old deacon, she knew from past church meetings and pastoral interventions, little could be said or done to sway Deacon Calloway. She proceeded cautiously. “Earnest, we can pray together and ask Jesus to guide this family to the right help, the right services, and right medication if necessary.”
“Medication?” Deacon Caddway looked offended. “All this boy needs to do is repent of his sin and walk in faith. And you too, wife.” He shook a finger at Charisma. “That’s it. Now, I said wake up.” He shook Gideon harder now.
Gideon rubbed crust from the corners of his eyes and mouth and slowly rose to the side of the sofa. “Deacon Caddaway, Pepperdine,” he acknowledged them while keeping his eyes to the floor. “Charisma, you didn’t tell me we were having company.”
She saw the shame of her husband and never remembered feeling so low. Forget the house. For anyone to see her husband like this was almost more than she could bear.
“Repent in the name of Jesus for your disobedience, for your lack of trust in Him.” The deacon was standing with his Bible open, walking in a circle around the room. “It’s your faith that is the problem. If you really believed God, if you really took Him at His word, you wouldn’t be this filthy mess. You wouldn’t be so down. You don’t need no doctor. You don’t need no prescriptions. You just need to repent and trust God.” The deacon’s voice roared through the room as Gideon’s head slunk lower to his chest. April sat frozen on the steps.
“If you can’t trust Him, don’t blame nobody else for your condition. If you are depressed, it’s because that’s how you want to be!” His words howled and rumbled and seemed to shake the windows. Charisma was sure she’d hear something from Mrs. Windemere about “the noise over there” before the night was over.
“Earnest, do you think yelling at Brother Joel is the best way to get through to him?” Pepperdine was trying her best not to yell at the old deacon.
“He needs to hear the truth, Pepperdine. The Bible says it’s the truth that sets you free. He ain’t depressed, he’s just backslidden. Now’s the time for him to pull himself together and get free. Sweet talkin’ and back rubbin’ ain’t gonna save him at this point. Show me one sample from the Bible when God was all gentle-like dealing with the disobedience of depression.”
“Elijah.” Pepperdine let the name settle in Deacon Caddaway’s ears. “First Kings chapter nineteen says the prophet was so down he wanted nothing more to do than lay down under a tree and die. God gave him space, gave him time, and through an angel—outside help—gave him food and water—inside help—to keep on living. God recognized the hardness of the journey the man had to take, and only after he was finally of the right mind and strength to take it, God showed Elijah Himself. And the Lord wasn’t in a wind, or an earthquake, or a fire. He was in a still, small voice.
