Plan B

Plan b “Did you bring my Prince Cd?” Ishmael struggled to speak slowly, in a whisper. He grabbed his father’s hand and squeezed it tight. Vincent reached inside his winter jacket pocket and pulled out the cd case. He opened the case and removed the disc. His hands were shaking as he put it in the cd player and pressed the play button. The music came out in a blast of thumping bass beats. Vincent quickly lowered the volume to an acceptable level. Ishmael looked at his father. His eyes were wet. “Don’t cry, daddy. Don’t worry about me.” Vincent looked at the smile on his son’s face and wondered what he could possibly be smiling at. His life was backed into a corner. Did I not express to him the seriousness of his condition? Why isn’t he sad? It became more and more evident that spiritually and slowly his son was getting further and further away from him. It was as if he was looking at his son looking at him from the back seat of a car that was driving away and he was unable to stop the car from moving. Soon, his smile will be just a memory. Suddenly it was like a well had burst open, and Vincent cried so hard he couldn’t see Ishmael’s face. He was embarrassed and angry. He felt he was showing signs of weakness. He had vowed never to let his son see him cry, and there he was, crying like a baby in front of him. “Daddy, please don’t cry. Stop worrying. I’ll be alright.” Vincent tried to control his emotions, but he saw his son’s life flashed before his eyes, each scene like a ticker tape. “But that’s what parents do. We worry. Son, I love you so much. I don’t know what to say. I’m so embarrassed.” “But you see, mommy’s not worried. She’s sitting in the chair, sleeping.” He was right. Why is she able to sleep? I haven’t slept in two days.

“When granddaddy died you told me that we are on loan from God. We’re here to fulfill a purpose. We don’t know what it is, but if we’ve done it, God takes us back to be with Him as angels, in heaven. Remember when I asked you how do we know what that purpose is? You said that we need to be nice to everyone and be as helpful and considerate and giving as we’d like people to be to us. That might be the purpose, to help someone who might need our help. That means I’m going to see granddaddy soon. He was nice to everyone. I was nice to everyone, too. I was good, wasn’t I?” “You were good.” Vincent rubbed his son’s head, bald from the intense chemotherapy regimen that weakened his already frail little body. He looked at his brown eyes, yellowed from liver disease. Ishmael smiled as he slowly closed his eyes. My baby. So little. So smart for his age. Born with hepatoblastoma, a form of liver cancer, and because of his failure to respond to the chemotherapy regimen, he was due to pass on at any time. The doctors were amazed that he lived as long as he did; they didn’t give him much chance of survival past the age of five. He didn’t understand how Ishmael or any child would be able to sleep under the circumstances; Ishmael had wires from monitors, connecting to patches on his little chest, on his neck, nostrils, and inside the left side of his mouth. For the first time in his life, Vincent felt vulnerable. He was unable to explain why it happened to him, except to say that his mother had carried the gene and had unknowingly passed it on to him. Subconsciously he was angry, but he was afraid to admit it because his mother had told him during his childhood that you should never be angry with God, and that all things happen for a reason. She told Vincent that God could just as easily take everything else he had ever loved or idolized. As Ishmael’s grip loosened, Vincent began to sob loudly as he tried to tighten his grip. His son, this beautiful black child, the mirror image of himself. A source of pride, the one bright spot in a life that was smothered in routine. When monitors went from a series of beeps to one long piercing sound, Vincent bent down to kiss his son’s forehead as his life was being drained out of his body. His forehead was still warm.

How am I supposed to let him go, Lord God? God, please! This doesn’t make any sense. You know how badly I wanted a son, more than anything else in my entire life. The doctors told Layla that she could never bear children, and I refused to believe it because the God that I know can do all things. Lord, you know that I prayed and I prayed, and then you bless Layla and me with a child, a boy and then, before he turns 7, you take him away? Please, Lord, help me to understandThe alarm clock startled Vincent awake. He looked around the room, relieved that he had been dreaming. He thought about the dream, recalling the details. There were lots of small details. The dream seemed too real, right down to the wires, the monitors and the warmness of his son’s forehead. Even the sound of the monitors beeping. And the touch of his son’s hand as he gripped Vincent’s hand when he was beginning to fall asleep. He lied there, smiling, thanking God that it was a dream. While Layla slept beside him, he leaned in towards her to kiss her on the back of her neck. She wasn’t asleep. She turned towards him, her eyes reddened and wet with tears. She had been crying. He wanted to ask what was wrong, but he couldn’t open his mouth. He wondered if maybe she had had a dream just as worse, or if similar to the dream he had had. “I was thinking of that navy blue suit,” Layla said softly. From behind, she reached for Vincent’s arm and grabbed it and put on and around her waist. “He loved that suit. Remember when he wanted to wear a suit that looked just your favorite navy blue suit on Father’s day last year? And, putting his bible in there with him. Daddy gave him that bible for Christmas last year. He loved it more than the bike we had given him.” There. Vincent lied in bed on his side, holding his wife. He thought about what she was saying. There. There? What was she talking about? “You know, I’ve had this splitting headache, like off and on the past few days. Feels like something trying to hammer its way out of my head. Like, right above the eyes. And I can’t hold my food. I hope I’m not pregnant.” Vincent had heard Layla’s voice but he wasn’t listening to what she was saying. He had something more important on his mind. The reality of the situation had hit him. He had awakened

from a dream of what had actually happened. He remembered other details that were not in the dream, like taking Ishmael to the hospital when he had first complained of abdominal pain and Layla said he had had a fever and that he had been vomiting, and her noticing that he had lost some weight and watching nurses and physician’s assistants running to his room while recovering from surgery when a red light at the nurses’ station was flashing. Of grabbing his little hands and praying that his son would grip his hands. Then the truth hit him. There. There in the casket. During the ordeal, Vincent thought of his family situation as similar to that of Abraham and Isaac, in the Bible. Deep in his heart, he knew the ordeal was a test of his faith in God, but the human part of him didn’t want to see his son suffer. His heart ached every time he heard Layla beg Ishmael to try to eat something even if he wasn’t hungry, or every time he heard his son moan and groan in the middle of the night from the abdominal pain or struggle to walk anywhere or do anything because of his lack of energy. It would even be worse when Ishmael would ask his father why this was happening to him and if he would ever get better. Vincent never knew what to say that a child would understand. Vincent had known God since he was first able to speak; reared in the Pentecostal church, he had been raised to believe that all things happened for a reason, and that we should never question God. He knew that what his father had told Ishmael about people being put on Earth to fulfill a certain purpose was right, but this was a bit too personal. This was his son, his only son. His boy. He and Layla had been trying, during their ten years of marriage, to conceive. They had exhausted all the alternative options that were available to them and nothing seemed to work. It wasn’t until they had convinced themselves that childbirth wasn’t in the cards that they were able to relax and reluctantly consider adoption, that Layla discovered she was 3 months pregnant with Ishmael. Vincent had never doubted God before. He felt bad about doubting Him now. In his heart, Ishmael was his Isaac; he had convinced himself that God would find another sacrifice, that at the very last minute the chemotherapy would work, or the cancer would dissolve into nothing but a bad memory and Ishmael would

jump off the table, wanting his dad to play football with him, with no memory of the experience, but that didn’t happen. Resting his chin on the back of his wife’s neck, he held her tightly. There in the casket. And he cried. **************************************** Vincent was tired of lying to himself and his wife about his feelings. A year had passed since the death of his son. Vincent used to go to church about 4 times a week, from the regular Sunday morning service and the Sunday school preceding that service, the Wednesday night bible study, and the choir rehearsal, where Layla was the choir director, but he hadn’t been inside of a church since the evening before his son took his last breath. Their pastor, Elder Robbins called for an emergency prayer session that evening to focus on and pray for Ishmael Morrison. He said that there was power in numbers. Vincent refused to go. He preferred to sit by his son’s side in the hospital and watch him sleep. He loved God with all his heart and soul, but he was tired of praying. He felt that God knew what was needed of him and no amount of prayer would change what God had planned for his son. It didn’t help that the day after the first anniversary of Ishmael’s death, one crisis after another fell upon him. Layla had been plagued by headaches, vision problems, vomiting, slurring, an inability to stand when directing the choir, doing grocery shopping or doing housework, and she had a problem concentrating during the previous year. The construction company that he and his younger brother Malcolm took ownership of after his father passed away had lost money because the bank had backed out of a million-dollar condominium project loan due of a housing slump, leaving them with about sixty-percent of the project completed and financed. It was hard enough to get the loan that they did get. Then their medical insurance carrier dropped them instead of renewing their policy. Layla and Vincent were also going to marriage counseling, which didn’t seem to work. Layla was convinced that God was angry with Vincent for losing faith. He was the reason that God let Ishmael die, and for that she could or would never forgive him. Vincent was convinced that that was not how God or faith worked. The entire church had a shut-in, where the seven hundred-plus congregation was on

their knees at the altar or the pews, praying from ten that night until midnight, and Ishmael still died a little after eleven o’clock that next morning. When Vincent reluctantly sold his half of the company to his brother, below cost, so he could pay his son’s medical bills and so that he could focus on fixing his marriage, Layla had already filed for divorce. Her decision had surprised him; he didn’t think their problems had gotten to the point where divorce would even be on the table. That following Saturday choir rehearsal was interrupted because Layla (sitting in a chair because she was unable to stand) had collapsed shortly after staring off into space, unable to speak. After two days’ worth of x-rays, Mris, and ct scans she was diagnosed with a Pontine Glioma, an inoperable brain tumor. Malcolm, recently a born-again Christian (again), told him that unless he ‘got right with God’, his life would only get worse. For the first time since Ishmael died, Vincent fell to his knees and cried. Layla seemed to accept her situation. Still distraught over the death of her son and the failure of her marriage, she had reconciled herself, telling God that she was ready to die if He was ready for her to die. If you’re not ready for me to die, Lord God, please give me a sign! Layla thought about her life, recalling a statement her mother had always said at the end of every testimony she had given in church until the day she died when Layla was twenty years old; “on judgment day, I want God to be able to say to me, well done, my good and faithful servant.” Layla wondered if God was happy with how she had lived her life. She wondered if she had fulfilled her purpose. She wondered if she had done all she could have done to help everyone or anyone who needed her help. Is this a test? Or is this a curse? God, have I done something to cause your wrath? Dear Lord, please forgive me! Vincent couldn’t stand to see his wife lying in the hospital bed. He felt vulnerable. The whole situation was reminiscent of previous years with his son Ishmael. He was angry with himself. Layla, Elder Robbins and his brother Malcolm were right. He knew he had failed God; he was amazed with himself; he had known

God all his life, and he knew the importance of faith, but as soon as God had tested him, he ran in the opposite direction. But God, I know this is another test. I know it is! And Lord, I promise I will not fail this one! Lord God, I’m going to thank you in advance for Layla’s recovery. Dear Lord, her tumor is the type that can not be operated on, but I know you are bigger than the tumor. Lord, I’m sorry for giving up on my son! I am thanking you in advance for Layla! I refuse to fall in the trap I fell in before! I am thanking you as if the blessing has already been given to me, to us! He sat there, looking at Layla as she alternated between acceptance and fear. One minute she was talking about how she was too young to die, and the next she was talking about how she couldn’t wait to see Ishmael, once she realized that her statement about youth could be said about him as well. She looked over at Vincent, reaching for his hand. “Vinnie, I’m sorry. Come here.” He climbed in bed and lied next to her. He held her tightly. She was shivering. “ You know, this makes perfect damn sense. I just can’t have a tumor. No, I have to have an inoperable brain tumor. And not just an inoperable brain tumor, but the worse kind of them all. I wish God would just take me right now.” Vincent didn’t know what to say so he didn’t say anything. He just held her and prayed aloud as she cried. He could feel tears on the edge of his eyelids, but he refused to cry. He thought about how either he or Layla would lie in Ishmael’s bed at night, holding him until he fell asleep, and before he realized it, he was crying. He thought about his son, and what they endured trying to conceive him. It doesn’t make sense, God. I’m sorry. I know I said that I was not going to let sadness and doubt creep in. I was going to be hopeful from this point on, but God, I’m tired, and I just don’t understand. I can’t lie to you because you know what’s in my heart. Please, help me. Please help Layla. I can’t lose her. Layla awakened a few hours later, needing to vomit. Struggling to walk hurriedly to the bathroom as her mouth exploded, she caught a glance of herself in the mirror as she wiped her face. She gasped. She didn’t recognize the woman looking back at her. She had avoided the mirror for a month. She wanted to look away but she couldn’t. Her thick black hair, usually

shoulder-length, was shaved off to the length of a stubble. There were dark circles around her eyes, and her dark brown skin had darkerblotches. She forced her eyes closed, she couldn’t look at herself anymore. When she turned around to head back to the bed she opened her eyes and saw a little boy sitting in the chair. “Hello?” Layla asked him. “Are you lost? You looking for your parents?” The boy didn’t say anything. He smiled at her as if he knew her. Suddenly she felt a certain unexplainable connection to him. There was a feeling of familiarity, of warmth, with his smile. There was a question she wanted to ask, but she dared not to even utter the words because she knew that what she was thinking was impossible. It didn’t make sense. She found herself smiling, knowingly, back at him. “You look like.” She stopped. “Where are your parents?” “I left them.” “What do you mean, you left them? I’m sure they’re worried about you.” “No they’re not. They lost faith in me, so I left them.” She studied his eyes, as she carefully sat on the bed facing him. “Why are you in the hospital?” She looked at him. His voice was so soft, so familiar. That’s impossible. I’m dreaming .I’ll just go along. “My head. Something’s wrong with my head.” “Can I kiss it to make it better?” She laughed. “You remind me of someone.” “I know.” He stood up and walked over to her. She bent her forehead to meet his lips and he kissed it. Suddenly she felt a shiver and so she lied down under the covers. “What’s your name?” “Isaac.” When she lied down she gradually fell into a deep sleep. When she awakened the next morning, she found her husband lying in bed next to her. She remembered the little boy and looked over at the chair. It was empty. She knew the boy was a dream. She lied there, thinking about him, remembering the

sound of his voice, and how it shook her. He was about eight years old, real dark chocolate skin, big brown eyes, long lashes, a smile, and his black hair was braided in cornrows, from his forehead down to the back of his head. “Just like.” She stopped. She realized she was thinking out loud. “Good morning,” Vincent said. His back was against hers. She yawned. “Morning.” “Just like what?” He turned over and kissed her lightly on the left side of her face. Her face felt warm. He looked in her eyes. They seemed full. He was used to seeing the veins in her eyes but this morning her veins were decreased She looked at him and smiled. “ I had this strange dream last night.” She got out of bed and went to the bathroom. The sink and the walls were still showing signs of when she couldn’t get to the bathroom sink in time. “Maybe it wasn’t a dream. But it had to be a dream. Because, well…but maybe it wasn’t a dream. I don’t know. I’m confused.” “Honey, look at you!” Vincent sat up. His eyes were big. “What? I’m trying to tell you about this dream I had last night.” She used her face towels to wash the sink and she used another towel to watch her face. “Or, I think it was a dream. It had to be. Anyway, there was this little boy, and Vinnie, I know you’ll think I’m crazy, but the boy looked just like how Ishmael would have looked if he was a year older. He gave me a message, or I think it was a message. He said he left his parents because they didn’t believe in him. He asked if he could kiss me on my forehead to make me fell better. That’s all I remember. It was so strange.” He got out of bed and ran over to her. “Layla. Look at you! You’re walking as if you’re not in pain. Is your head hurting?” Layla looked at herself, surprised that she wasn’t in any pain. She had energy; for the first time in a while, her bones didn’t ache from all the chemotherapy and radiation treatments, and she was hungry. She hadn’t been hungry in a month. She looked down at her self, and up at Vincent, smiling. Then she remembered something else. “He said his name was Isaac.”

She realized she wasn’t squinting her eyes from the pain in her head because her head wasn’t hurting. Vincent grabbed her, hugged her and kissed her. They both fell to their knees to praise God, and were interrupted by her neurologist. 24 hours later, Layla was released from the doctor’s care. All the doctors were speechless. Nothing seemed to make sense. They had run a whole new battery of tests, from X-rays, to MRIs, to CT scans, and there was no sign of a tumor or any brain mass of any kind. All the test results were unremarkable. It was as if she never had the tumor. Layla woke up that following morning to the smell of bacon. She lied there, thinking about the little boy that literally kissed her pain away. As she lied there, she feared that it might have all been a dream. She lied there, frozen, afraid to even try to move. She knew the pain in her joints would still be there. She knew it in her heart. Then she realized that she had awakened not in a hospital bed, but in her own bedroom, at home. She thought about the boy, wishing it was possible that one kiss could have healed her, and without realizing it, she had gotten out of bed, put on her robe, and walked down the staircase without any pain or effort. She was at the last step before she realized the ease with which she was moving, and she was beaming. Praise God! Thank you for waking me up this morning! Thank you for everything. She walked in the kitchen to see Vincent at the stove, making breakfast. She walked over to him, surprising him with a kiss on the neck. “Honey, I wanted to feed you in bed.” “I’ve been bedridden for months. Do you realize how liberating it feels to be able to walk about, like this?” Vincent smiled at her. “I still don’t understand how. I know that God is awesome, but this miracle is like, well, I can’t even think of the right adjective. Miraculous is a major understatement.” “Well, He gave us another chance,” Layla said. “As I always say, there’s nothing too hard for God.” “Do you remember your doctor’s face when he saw the results of your X-ray’s? I never saw eyes that big before. He was

totally blown away. I tell you, God is good. By the way, you were telling me about some boy that visited you in the hospital?” Before Layla could answer, the phone ring. There was an accident at one of the worksites. A metal beam fell from the top level of the condominium Malcolm was building, hitting him and two of his employees. Malcolm fell seven stories to his death, breaking the fall of the two employees. A week later, Vincent, still angry, refused to speak. He felt there was nothing that could ever be said again that was worth saying, to God or anyone else. He was tired of crying. Why is this happening? Did I do something to make you curse my family? God, are you hearing me? One crisis after another! What next? He’s got a family. Lord, God, he’s got a family! Layla tried to remind Vincent of everything he knew about God, even reminding him of her blessing, but he was too angry to hear anything she had to say. He decided that maybe there was no God after all, and that doctors don’t know everything. Perhaps her cancer wasn’t the inoperable type after all. Whatever it was, it probably dissolved all by itself. Doctors don’t know everything. He felt numb inside, and he felt angry. He wanted to hit something, hard. He wanted to feel pain. He wanted to drink until his liver screamed for him to stop. His body was weak. He didn’t even want to get out of bed or leave the house for fear that something would happen to him, but he had to go to work; Vincent had re-inherited the construction company and all of its bills and problems. He didn’t want to work there when his brother was alive. He surely didn’t want to work there now that his brother was dead. He had tried to sell the company a few times when he shared it with Malcolm but he never got any reasonable bids. Two months later, Layla had gone to the hospital because of a lump in her left breast. When Layla told Vincent it was an ‘Invasive Ductal Carcinoma’, a fancy word for a type of breast cancer, and that she would have to get a mastectomy, he fell to his knees and cried again. He screamed. He was furious with God. “Damn, how much more can we take?” A week later he went in Ishmael’s room. After his death, when Vincent couldn’t sleep he would walk in the room and sit on

the side of the bed the way he used to do when Ishmael would have a nightmare. What used to soothe Ishmael’s nerves and calm him enough to make him fall asleep were his father’s stories about when he and Malcolm played football in high school, and his plans for Ishmael to be like Emmet Smith or Brett Favre, his idols. Layla had insisted many times that the room was too painful for her to even walk by. She wanted to get rid of every memory of her son, but Vincent thought the whole idea of what she wanted to do was cold, a bit harsh. Clearing the room and changing it to a sewing room or guest bedroom wouldn’t do anything to erase the memory of their son. Vincent wanted to keep everything as is, for the opposite reason; it made him feel closer. He would just sit, in the quietness of the room and look at the football posters that covered the walls, the football on his desk that was auto-graphed by Emmet Smith, and his Green Bay Packer uniform draped over the chair. He would try to will his son back to life, and when he failed he would cry. He would cry until he couldn’t cry anymore, then he would regain his composure and go back to his bedroom and fall asleep. He was furious with God for giving him and his wife something so precious and then taking him away. He thought about his wife having to battle breast cancer. What made him angrier was her casual attitude towards her condition; her saying The Lord Giveth and The Lord Taketh Away made him want to put his fist through the wall. That morning he walked in the room to find a little boy, asleep underneath the covers, curled up and laying on his side. It caught Vincent off-guard; he looked at the profile of the boy and he gasped. “Ishmael?” He said in a whisper. Vincent studied the boy’s face. Smooth, beautiful; skin the darkest black he had ever seen other than his own, Layla’s skin and their parent’s skin. His black hair, in cornrows. Was I dreaming before, or am I dreaming now? What’s going on? He was afraid to touch him. If he reached for him and felt the air, the agony would then be too much for him to bear and he feared a mental breakdown, but if he touched the side of his face , he would have both happy and angry with God. Happy that God had healed him of his afflictions, but angry that God was

obviously trying to teach him a lesson, and so, he slowly walked backwards out of the room, closed the door, and he turned around and walked to his bedroom. He lied on the bed, closing his eyes, confused. I’m gonna lie right here until I wake up, and when I do, Ishmael will be dead or awake, or…Lord, I don’t know what to believe! Layla awakened him to tell him that they had a guest stay the night. She told him that the boy didn’t have any place to go, and since it was after hours on Friday she asked if he could spend the weekend. Vincent said no. He was surprised that she would ask such a question considering that the boy might have run away from home. Surely his parents or legal guardians were sick with worry, wondering where he was and if he was safe, but Layla told him that this was the same boy that literally kissed her brain tumor away. Vincent didn’t believe it. “Vincent, this is Isaac. Isaac, this is Vincent,” she introduced him. “Isaac?” Vincent studied the boy’s face. Suddenly Vincent felt a certain unexplainable connection to the boy. There was a feeling of familiarity, of warmth, with his smile. There was a question Vincent wanted to ask, but he dared not to even utter the words because he knew that what he was thinking was impossible. It didn’t make sense. He found himself smiling, knowingly, back at him. “You look like.” He stopped. “Nice to meet you, Isaac.” He extended his little hand towards Vincent, and when Vincent touched it he could feel tears almost on the edge of his eyelids, begging to be released, but he didn’t release them. This is not Ishmael. Ishmael is dead. “Where are your parents? Layla, where are his parents, and why did you bring him home?” “I found him wondering around the hospital.” “Honey, you can’t be bringing someone’s child home. I’m sure his people are wondering where he is.” “Isaac, do you know your phone number?” “I left my parents. They didn’t believe in me, so I left them.” His voice. Sounds so much like…. “You left them? Why?” “They didn’t believe in me.”

“What do you mean, they didn’t believe in you?” “Vincent, remember I told you what happened in the hospital after I got sick and puked all over myself trying to get to the bathroom?” “Yes I remember you said that but …” “Can you do what you did in the hospital?” Layla looked at Isaac. Isaac smiled at Layla. She bent down so he could kiss her forehead. “Thank you,” she said, standing up. She smiled at Vincent. “Why are you….” “Isaac just healed me.” “What? What are you talking about.” “Honey, I can’t explain it, and I know it doesn’t make sense, but I’m pretty sure I don’t have the cancer anymore.” “Woman, have you lost your mind?” Layla grabbed Vincent’s hand and placed it on the bottom of the left side of her left breast. “Do you feel anything.?” “No.” “Let’s go to the hospital, right now. I have something to show you.” When they went to the hospital, her doctor was just about to leave for the day and Layla begged him to do another mammogram. He was reluctant to do so, but he remembered that Layla Morrison was the woman who was rumored to have been miraculously cured of a brain tumor that was inoperable and, if she was insisting that she was healed again, then maybe, in her case, it was true. At the very least, he wanted to see for himself, considering that he was the one who initially gave her the diagnosis of breast cancer. He was able to put a rush on the mammogram, biopsy, blood work and other lab reports and when he received them 5 days later, he was dumbfounded. The new reports didn’t show any abnormalities at all. He was literally dumbfounded. ************************** Made of white brick, standing two-stories high and stretching 2 square blocks, Golden Gates Pentecostal Church was the oldest and second largest predominately black church in the city.

Vincent and Layla met there in Sunday school in their teens, fell in love, and got married after Vincent’s first marriage ended in divorce. It was Vincent’s grandfather, Gabriel, who came up with the name of the church when it started out in his father’s living room. Vincent had a change of heart regarding Isaac. A week had passed since Isaac had been staying with them and there hadn’t been any news reports of any missing children. Vincent was relieved; he didn’t bother to bring the boys attention to anyone. He and Layla had been hiding him in the house and he was only allowed to go in the backyard. Vincent found himself getting attached to the boy. Isaac had so much in common with Ishmael, from favoring crunchy peanut butter and maple syrup sandwiches, to loving both the Dallas Cowboys and the Green Bay Packers, to even wanting to build houses when he grew up. He didn’t want to change anything about Ishmael’s bedroom. It was as if he had always lived there. He even liked Ishmael’s clothes. In his heart, Vincent couldn’t separate Isaac and Ishmael so when Isaac started calling him ‘daddy’, it make Vincent feel so good he cried. Vincent asked God for forgiveness because in his heart despite the fact that he had turned his back on God, he knew that God had given him an opportunity to love a child again, even if it was for a short time. He didn’t want to think about what was going to happen tomorrow or the day after. Isaac’s mere existence at this point in Vincent’s life was a blessing, and he was going to love him for as long as he could. In his heart he knew that Isaac’s parents would one day want him back, find him, and take him away. “Giving honor to God, Elder Robbins, and everyone here,” Layla began, standing up in the testimony portion of Sunday morning service, “God is a good God. Two weeks ago, as you know, I was diagnosed with breast cancer, and the doctor was scheduling me for a mastectomy, followed by radiation and chemotherapy, but I stand here today, cancer-free again. The doctor was astonished. Five days ago, he ran the tests, twice, and he thought the machines were broke, but I told him they weren’t broke, God had healed me!” Her words were followed by thunderous applause, and shouts of “Amen! Praise God!”

Two months had passed, and despite the bond that Layla and Vincent had with Isaac they were saddened because it was Ishmael’s birthday. He would have been nine years old. They were also sad because it didn’t make sense that all this time had passed and there were no news reports of any missing children. No black children missing at all. Layla and Vincent had wondered how a boy as sweet as Isaac could not be missing, and Vincent wondered what type of parents they were. Perhaps they didn’t love him. Perhaps he and Layla should try to adopt him. When Layla asked Isaac about his birthday, she was shocked to find that it was his ninth birthday as well, and so she had a birthday party ,against Vincent’s wishes, including only the people she could trust with his presence in their home. She hadn’t spent any time with Vanessa, Malcolm’s wife, since he passed away, and so she invited her and their kids, and her best friend Tanya and her family. Vincent was against it because of the boy’s uncanny resemblance to Ishmael. His mere existence would cause too much attention and confusion, and they themselves were confused enough. I know, I know, God.. Lean not to thy own understanding. And I know this goes for Morrison Construction as well. Morrison Construction had become a major headache for Vincent. Vincent wanted to file bankruptcy but he couldn’t because the families of the guys who fell on top of Malcolm (breaking their backs) had filed lawsuits against the company, and the court had frozen their business account. Layla had been home-schooling Isaac, but that day, on his birthday, she took him shopping. She wanted to buy him something special, but he said that all he wanted was her and Vincent’s love, which he already had, but she insisted on getting something else, so he asked for a navy blue suit. She even baked him his favorite cake. She didn’t have to ask him. He told her what it was, a red velvet cake. Oh My God, Ishmael’s favorite was red velvet too. Layla had prepared the guests for a secret. No one asked the reason for the party, they just assumed that since it would have been Ishmael’s ninth birthday that the party was to celebrate his life. Much to their surprise, when they were all assembled in the living room,. Layla had the guest of honor walk down the

staircase. It was Isaac. Everyone gasped. No one spoke. All their mouths were open but there was no sound. Vincent was pissed. This was exactly what he had expected; he knew that absolutely no amount of explanation would make sense. He had expected and heard the statement from Tanya’s husband; ‘but I was the pallbearer. I saw him in the coffin. My dad embalmed him.” And then from Tanya; “Ishmael had a twin? Why didn’t you let us know he had a twin? Layla, did you give him up because you guys couldn’t afford two children? Where has he been all this time?” Vincent looked at Layla. Why have I never thought of that? No, wait, her doctors would have told us if she was carrying twins. Wouldn’t they? We were having problems conceiving. Were we part of some wild conspiracy? Two babies for the price of one? No, uhuh, no. The party became more of a question and answer session than a celebration of his new age. Isaac didn’t seem to mind, but Vincent was feeling over-protective, however, he felt comfortable with Isaac’s vagueness. He wasn’t telling them anything Vincent didn’t want them to know, like where he actually lived; Vincent was afraid they would find out and try to communicate with Isaac’s parents. After Isaac made a wish and blew out the candles, and after everyone had a slice of cake and some vanilla ice cream and went out on to the patio, Layla and Vanessa stayed in the kitchen. She wanted to apologize for not having spent quality time with her after Malcolm’s death, and Vanessa responded by saying; “When you were diagnosed with breast cancer, I decided that now, it was more important than ever that I get a complete physical exam. I wasn’t feeling well, I had had a fever that went on for days, and I had lost my appetite. It’s been years since I had had a physical exam, and with Malcolm gone, I’m the only parent my kids have left. My mammogram was clear, thank God, but my liver enzymes were elevated. And I mean very elevated.” “Meaning?” “I’m pretty sure Malcolm was cheating on me.” “Why do you say that?” “Well, I don’t shoot up. I don’t have any tattoos. I don’t even have my ears pierced, Malcolm was the only man I ever had sex

with, but somehow I ended up contracting Hepatitis B. Don’t tell Tanya or anyone.” Her eyes were wet. Layla smiled. “Hold on a second, I’ll be right back.” Layla returned with Isaac. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but hear me out.” Layla told Vanessa the secret behind her being cured of breast cancer and her inoperable brain tumor, and with her permission, she asked Isaac to kiss Vanessa on the forehead. Vanessa didn’t believe it. It was blasphemy. Layla had taken the attention and praise away from God and applied it to Isaac, as if he was the second coming. Vanessa was very religious, but at the same time she was willing to try anything. She wasn’t in the position to turn any thing down, in case it was true. “But couldn’t He be manifesting Himself through Isaac? Couldn’t Isaac just be a vessel through which your blessings have come? “ When he kissed her on the forehead, she began to get painful abdominal cramps. Layla lead her to the sofa just before she became unconscious. Then she fell into a deep sleep. When Vanessa had awakened the next morning she looked around to find that she had slept all night on Layla and Vincent’s sofa. She smelled coffee. She sat up for a minute, thinking about a dream she had had, about Layla telling her that a little boy who was the reincarnation of Ishmael had swooped down from out of nowhere and cured her of cancer with a kiss to the forehead. She wished that it was true. She got up and walked to the dining room to see that it was definitely true, at least the existence of the boy who looked like he could be Ishmael’s identical twin brother. twin. Layla smiled. “How did you feel?” “Well, to be honest, this is the first time in about 10 days that I don’t feel lethargic. And I’m starving !” “Good, because I’m making pancakes , bacon and scrambled eggs.” Layla watched as Vanessa enjoyed her food. She had recalled the conversation from the evening before, where Vanessa said she hadn’t wanted to eat anything for 10 days. It made her smile. She’s healed. I know she is.

That following morning, Vanessa went to the doctor to have her run some tests. 10 days later she was summonsed to the hospital where she was given the results. Her liver enzymes were normal. Her doctor didn’t believe the results so she ran them again. All her results were normal, leaving her doctor and herself baffled, speechless, and scratching their heads. She ran them again, and got the same results. “This aint nothin’ but God!” Vanessa exclaimed to her doctor. Through Isaac. Layla wasn’t surprised with the results when Vanessa showed up at her home. Vanessa was so happy she offered to pay Layla, and Vincent, but she didn’t know how much because as she said, how does one put a price on a healing? Vincent said that a price could and should never be put on a healing because it came from God. Layla said she agreed, but she was angry with Vincent. With the business account frozen, Vincent had to lay off all his employees, and they were living off the funds they were saving for their retirement and Ishmael’s college education. They were in no position to turn down any money that came their way. When Malcolm was alive he was very tight with his money but he had a five million dollar Life and Accidental Death & Dismemberment insurance policy of which his wife and children were beneficiaries. She knew that Layla and Vincent were almost two and a half months behind on their mortgage, and two thousand dollars were burning a hole in Vanessa’s pocket so, behind Vincent’s back, Layla agreed to let her pay the mortgage. The rumor of Vanessa’s healing, as Tanya put it, had spread throughout the church like wildfire. She stopped by Layla and Vincent’s home to see if it was true. Though incredible, she had known Vanessa her entire life. She knew Vanessa to not be the type of person who would lie. Though Vanessa hadn’t advertised the fact that she was seriously ill, Tanya believed that if Vanessa said she was cured of her illness, then she was cured. But, she wondered, what were the odds of God using Isaac as a vessel through which to heal people, and to heal them so instantly? It seemed like something right out of the twilight zone. Or the Bible. She decided, she hoped that if it was true, then maybe he could heal her husband.

When Vanessa got to Layla’s house, she was surprised to see her husband’s car parked out front. She walked in the house to find Darryl on his knees before Isaac, crying and thanking him profusely for healing him of his insulin-dependent diabetes. A week later, Layla received a letter from Darryl’s attorneys in the mail offering to make a generous one-time out-of-court settlement for the families of the two men who broke their backs, pay off Morrison Construction’s debts and find a buyer for the company, at no expense to Layla and Vincent. The court decided to remove the freeze on the business account if the families of the two men agreed with the offer, which they did. Vincent was in Chicago at a football game with Isaac, but Layla knew that this would be an offer he wouldn’t turn down. This was just the beginning; she decided that more could be done with Isaac’s ‘obvious talents’, and so, she called Tanya and gave the okay to spread the word. When Vincent and Isaac got home, Layla told him about the offer from Darryl’s attorneys. She was disappointed with his response. She had expected him to be at least half as excited as she was, but he looked as if in deep thought. She couldn’t believe that he had to think about it when the answer was obvious. “Honey, we’re drowning in debt, and Darryl’s throwing us a life preserver. What do you need to think about?” “Layla, Isaac isn’t some circus freak. Don’t leave God out of it. God is working through him. Don’t forget that. We shouldn’t be benefiting from what he can do.” “Honey, I know he’s not a circus freak, but honey, like I said before, we are financially drowning. Do you really want to reject their offer? At the very least, think of the families of those two guys who might have died, had they not landed on Malcolm. They doubt they will ever walk again, and they’re both suing us. This sounds like a win-win to me. Darryl was having serious complications with diabetes, and his doctors are stumped. Vincent, this is a win-win. Hello!” Vincent agreed that the offer was something that he shouldn’t turn down, but he was uncomfortable; he felt they shouldn’t be rewarded for what God was allowing Isaac to do. Reluctantly, he agreed to the condition if Darryl’s attorneys were

willing to make a contribution to their church. He wanted God to be included in the blessing. Darryl’s parents agreed to make a donation to Golden Gates in Malcolm’s name. On the morning of the day the check for the sale of Morrison Construction had cleared their checking account, they were awakened by the doorbell. When Vincent opened the door, there was a barrage of reporters with cameras trying to force their way into the house. “Can we see Isaac?” Vincent had to use his knee against the door to help push the door closed. He panicked. He wondered if they were outside because of what God was doing through Isaac or because they found out that he had been missing and was probably kidnapped and held there against his will, but Layla had assured him that since there were no police cars parked outside, then they were probably after him because of what he can do, which angered Vincent. Layla had brought some unwanted attention to the family. He was concerned that whoever was taking care of Isaac would be looking for him. He thought about fighting for him but he knew he didn’t have a legal leg to stand on, and yet the question of their whereabouts and their indifference with his absence nagged him. As much as I loved Ishmael, there is no way in hell I wouldn’t be going crazy looking for him if he ran away. Vincent convinced himself that Isaac’s legal guardians’ indifference was the reason that he allowed himself and Layla to take care of him. He knew he was lying to himself, because he wondered what his reaction would be should they ever show up at his door, claiming Isaac. Would he hide the boy? Would he sneak out the back door with Isaac and run away, leaving Layla to lie about ever seeing the boy, or would they open the door and give him back? He didn’t know the answer. The doorbell rang again. Layla looked outside the window and saw Vanessa in front of the crowd. Layla opened the door and let Vanessa in. Holding Vanessa’s hand was an older Hispanic woman who followed her in the house. She was about five feet tall and weighed maybe ninety pounds. “Layla and Vincent, I need a favor. We-we need a favor. This is Miss Gonzalez. My client’s mother. I told her what you did for me, and she really needs a blessing. Is Isaac here?”

Vincent opened his mouth to speak, but Vanessa interrupted: “She had menstrual bleeding She’s had an ultrasound, a biopsy, pelvic exam, pap tests. Blood tests, urine test. All the diagnostic tests. She’s got uterine cancer. Before you say no, she’ll pay you seventeen hundred dollars. Cash. That’s all she can afford to scrape up. Please.” Layla was excited. She looked at Vincent. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” “No,” he responded. “We are not taking this ladies money.” “But, honey, she needs a blessing.” “We are not taking this poor ladies money.” “Vincent, please,” Vanessa said. “Honey, just imagine, all the money we could make, with Isaac. You’ve already taken Darryl’s money. What’s the fucking difference?” “What part of we are not taking this poor lady’s money did you not understand? Darryl is rich. This lady is poor. We weren’t in a position really, to tell him no, but now you’re being greedy and heartless, and you’re taking advantage of God, and this poor lady. We don’t need the money.” “What do you mean, taking advantage of God?” “Layla you are charging money for God’s blessings. Isaac is in our lives for a reason, and this isn’t it. God’s blessings are not for sale.” “Yes it is. How many times have we been preached to in church, to sow a seed? We’ve been told that the bigger the financial sacrifice, or offering, the bigger the blessing. That is shoved down our throats every single Sunday! Since when did you become so holier than thou? When Ishmael was on his death bed, I couldn’t drag you to church. ” “You do realize you’re being blasphemous, don’t you?” Layla couldn’t believe that Vincent was blind to the opportunity that presented itself. “Honey, we have a goldmine here. Isaac is our goldmine.” “Isaac is flesh and blood. He is not a thing. He’s a little boy.” “Honey, Vincent, listen. Of course he’s a little boy, but he’s not ours. I know you want him to be ours, but you gotta be real, for a minute. We don’t know howlong he’s going to be around. He’s not going to be with us forever. Shouldn’t we use him as

much as we can before his real parents show up and take him home?” Vincent turned around to see Isaac sitting on the bottom step. He had heard the conversation. He stood up and walked towards Vincent. He stood before him and grabbed Vincent’s hand, holding it tight. “Daddy, I thought I was at home,” he said, looking up into Vincent’s eyes. “You are, son.” Vincent kneeled down and gave Isaac a firm reassuring hug. “You are home.” Isaac looked at Miss Gonzalez as she and Vanessa smiled at him, approaching him cautiously. “Can I kiss you to make you feel better?” They all looked at Vincent for his reaction. “That’ll be seventeen hundred dollars, cash.” Layla’s hands were outstretched. “Shut up Layla,” Vincent said. He looked at Miss Gonzalez and smiled. “God,” he said, “is using Isaac to do his work.. The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. We can’t or shouldn’t take any of God’s blessings for granted because he could take it away as quickly as he gave it. Isaac, please help Miss Gonzales.” And he kissed her. Miss Gonzales was so overwhelmed with emotion that she burst into tears and hugged Isaac tightly. ‘Muchas gracias! Muchas gracias! Gracias, gracias!” Layla pulled Miss Gonzalez away from Isaac and she escorted her and Vanessa out the door where the news reporters were still waiting. Layla was so angry she wanted to kill Vincent. “I thought you loved me,” Isaac said to Layla. “I do.” “You do? Are you sure?” Layla’s eyes were squinting. “You never called me son.” “Because you’re not my son. My son died almost two years ago. You may look just like him. You may share all of his personality traits, his likes and his dislikes, but you are not

Ishmael.” “Why don’t you love me? Did I do something wrong?” Layla grabbed the top right side of her head. “You’re not my child!” she yelled. “So, you don’t love me? You want to use me?” “I told you, you are not Ishmael!” “Ok. He was my brother though. Just like in the Bible. Right, daddy?” Isaac looked at Vincent. Vincent kneeled down to him and hugged him tightly. “Right, daddy?” “My head is killing me.” Layla sat down on the sofa, both her hands on her head, her elbows on her knees. Isaac turned towards Layla and walked over to her. He looked at her for about half a minute. “Can I kiss your head?” She bent her forehead to meet his lips and he kissed it. She felt a shiver throughout her body and suddenly she felt weak. “Mom,” he said as she walked up the staircase. “Mom!” She looked at him. “Stop calling me that!” “The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Isn’t that what daddy said?” When she lied down she suddenly fell into a deep sleep. She had awakened a few days later with a tube from her mouth, connected to a monitor. What the hell? She looked around the room. Nothing looked familiar. It wasn’t her bedroom. The burgundy and cream wallpaper, the curtains and blanket, the potted plants, her dresser, were replaced by pure white walls, a wooden nightstand, and a stainless steel table with wheels. She was in a hospital bed. What the hell happened? How did I get here? She thought about the last thing she had heard. She whispered it to herself, slowly. The Lord Giveth, and the Lord taketh away She needed to vomit. She felt groggy. She wanted to get up but she was weak. Her limbs felt foreign, like they didn’t belong to her. There was a hand mirror on the nightstand. She barely had the strength to reach over to grab it, but when she got it and looked at herself, she gasped. She didn’t recognize the woman looking back at her. She wanted to look away but she couldn’t.

Her thick black hair was shaved off. She was completely bald. The blood vessels in her eyes, as pronounced as lines on a road map. Laying in bed, she looked under the covers. She lifted up the neckline so she could see her naked body. Her lean but muscular frame was now emaciated. Half of her body was gone. She forced her eyes closed; she couldn’t bare to look at herself anymore. She wondered where Vincent and Isaac was at. Frustrated, she wanted to cry but the tears wouldn’t fall. I can’t even cry. What the hell is going on? When she pulled the tubes from her mouth and nose, alarms went off and a skinny blond male nurse ran in the room. “Miss Morrison, you’re awake. Your husband had been here by your side the whole time. He just left. He said he had to pick up his son. He said he would be right back.” His son? She lied there in her bed trying to remember what happened the previous evening but her head was hurting to much for her to think clearly. She wondered what was happening to her. Then Miss Gonzalez’ face entered her mind. In her face she had initially seen someone desperate enough to give her right leg so that she could be healed. While lying in bed, in too much pain to move, she had the time to think about what Vincent was saying, and it pissed her off. She could not believe that he wouldn’t allow Miss Gonzalez to pay for her healing. But wait a minute. Am I not healed? What am I doing here? Isaac’s face entered her mind and she whispered it to herself again, pronouncing each word as if there was period at the end. The. Lord. Giveth. The. Lord. Taketh. Away. She watched the nurse as she pushed buttons on the monitor and wrote some notes on a chart. “Nurse, what am I doing here?” “You were in a coma. For five days. I need to get the doctor.” “What? What day is today?” “Tuesday.” “Tuesday?” “Yes, you lapsed into a coma last week after your surgery, Wednesday. In the middle of the night. I need to get the doctor.” “Surgery? For what? What happened?”

“There were complications during the surgery.” “Surgery? Complications?” Layla was getting excited. “Calm down. What’s important is that you survived.” I’ll find your doctor. He’ll need to run some tests. He can best answer all of your questions.” “Was I that close to dying?” The nurse left the room without answering her. Vincent’s face, and her life with him, floated across her eyes like a ticker tape, each moment like a snapshot. Their courtship. The church wedding. The honeymoon that they couldn’t afford to take to Paris until their fourth wedding anniversary. The look on Vincent’s face when she told him she was pregnant with Ishmael. After Ishmael died Layla thought there was nothing to live for, but it occurred to her that the thought of her coming so close to dying prompted memories of her husband, Vincent, and no one else. Nothing else. Vincent was important. She couldn’t imagine leaving him the way Ishmael did, even if it wasn’t intentional. Complications, during my surgery. God, what is going on? Her head was killing her again. It felt like a hammer was trying to knock its way out of the top of her head. With both hands she grabbed the top of her head and curled up in a fetal position in the bed. She felt sleepy but she was afraid to fall asleep. She wondered if her sleeping were actually blackouts. She was afraid because things seemed to occur while she slept. Things, like lapses of time, the appearance of children looking like her son, and supposed miraculous healings. Then she was awakened by the touch of Vincent’s hand, caressing her cheeks. His hand felt warm. He smiled at her but she couldn’t see him. Her vision was blurry. Layla grabbed his hand, smelling his palm. Smelling his familiar scent, she smiled. She felt drunk. “You scared us.” He said, after kissing her on the lips. Facing the light shining in the room from outside, she squinted her eyes to focus. She saw the silhouette of a smaller person next to Vincent. She couldn’t make out the face but she knew it was Isaac. “Didn’t you heal me?” She slurred. “Don’t you mean God?” Isaac said; his voice soft and small. “I thought I was cured.”

“You were cured.” “Were? I’m not anymore?” Layla grabbed his hands and rubbed them. She smelled them. She smiled. “Baby oil. I can smell it on your hands. I used to oil Isaac down every morning. His skin was so dry.” “Don’t your mean your son, Ishmael?” Her vision began to alternate between clear and blurry, but she was able to make out Isaac’s face. “Ishmael. I thought I lost you.” When she hugged him the tears began to fall. “Honey, Ishmael is dead.” Vincent told her. She couldn’t see his face, but she looked up towards the direction of his voice. Her eyes squinting, she opened her mouth to speak but nothing would come out. She wondered why she felt like she had been drinking. “This is Isaac.” “Isaac? You healed me, didn’t you?” “All I did was kiss you on your forehead.” “But you healed me. I know you did. I went to my doctor the next morning. He ran the reports. Twice, and he was dumbfounded. I was healed. You healed me. I know you did. Wait a minute. Vanessa! She had hepatitis, and the doctor told her that she was healed too, so I know I’m not imagining things. You healed me. Why are you denying it?” “All I did was kiss your forehead. You wanted to believe I healed you. You wanted Vanessa to believe I healed you. Vanessa wanted to believe I healed her. Even Darryl, but all I did was.” Layla heard a scream inside her head. It was her own voice she heard, telling her to shut up. Her vision became more blurry, the unclear figures of Vincent and Isaac dancing around in the space above her head. She screamed out loud; “I brought you into this world! Ishmael, how could you do this to me?” The reality of both her cancers hit her. Along with all her mistakes. She died 6 weeks later.