"What makes you think that," she asks him, and he glances at her neck.
"If that mark wasn't a dead giveaway, I would've guessed it. David can be - spoiled," he explains, and she listens with her lips agape. "That he gets from his mother babying him, but I take responsibility for his low self-esteem. I haven't always been the best father to him. He's been paired with many women in the past, but they never lasted a month. A lot of them fought back, and he couldn't handle it."
"So," she drones with her eyes glued to his left arm. He watches her. "If you knew that he was short-tempered, why'd you pair him with me?"
"That was Harriet's doing. She chooses the potential bride since I never have the time," he tells her, and she scoffs incredulously.
"I don't care whose decision it was," she quickly says with annoyance laced in her tone. "What I'm asking is why you two would offer a woman your damaged son?"
"David is almost twenty, and his mother and I don't want to leave this Earth without the blessing of grandchildren." He stares at his hands and says, "I'll also have faith in my son if he's changing, but if he hurt you, then that's a different story."
"Are you planning on talking to him," she asks, and he returns his attention to her.
"What's there to talk about? I didn't raise my son to be a woman beater," he argues with his brows drawn in.
"Technically, you didn't raise him. You were never in his life when he needed you," she reminds him, and he blinks his eyes wide from surprise.
"Excuse me? Not that it's any of your business, but as a man, some sacrifices have to be made for the good of our families." Douglas rises to his feet. "But you're a woman, and by nature, you think with your emotions instead of what's beneficial for the long term. The war took my father when I was young. Yes, I had him home, but his mind was lost and never in my life have I thought about raising my hand to a woman."
"I can see where his refusal to take responsibility for his actions comes from." He shuts his eyes for three seconds, then exhales sharply.
"Judith, I'm trying to be as polite as possible," he tells her.
"As am I." They stare at each other. "He doesn't hit me, Mr. Cambridge, but thank you for your concern. As always, I'm willing to put this incident behind us if he's also on board."
"I'll let him know." Douglas proceeds to the exit, and Judith stares at her fingers. He pauses in place, the knob in his left hand. After taking a deep breath with his head hung, he peeks over his shoulder at her. "There was a girl just like you. Melissa Hayworth was her name. She was the prettiest girl I've ever seen and very polite, then after time spent with my son, she found herself, quote-unquote, running into poles. Occasionally falling out of bed and developing cold sores that, to me, looked more like burst lips."
"What's the point that you're trying to make," she asks him, her eyes unable to remain on his.
"I didn't beat my son because she never admitted to what he did, but I knew it in my heart. Please come to me if not your father if my son would dare raise his hand to you." Judith briefly takes her bottom lip into her mouth and lowers her head. "That isn't a reflection of how I raised him, I can assure you."
"Maybe you should just talk to him yourself and see why he's the way that he is, Mr. Cambridge," she tells him, peering at him as she would if she were wearing her glasses; over the frame. "As for me, I won't give up on him yet. He's rough around the edges, but I can fix that. Especially since I know him and why he's violent."
Douglas looks at her like she's a lost cause. Without a word, he exits the room.
***
She awakens at six o'clock the next day, her parents standing outside the room with her doctor. The scent of pine-sol rushes into her nose before she's able to process where she is, and a wave of suppressed memories haunt her.
She's visited by a familiar face the color of cinnamon that sags like an English Bulldog. The woman, whose deep brown irises are full of warmth and joy, stares at Judith as if she were present, and her frozen grin plucks a tear from Judy's right eye.
It cascades across the bridge of her nose, and instinctively she sniffles, a burning sensation coursing through her sensitive nostrils no thanks to the cleaning supplies.
"Judith," Sheryl calls for her as she and Walter step into the room. Her voice is uneasy, and despite the sides of her mouth twitching, her face almost masks her concern.
"What's wrong?" She slowly pulls herself into the seated position and wipes her nose bridge. Judith's mother sits on the edge of the bed, and Walter stands over them with his hands in his pockets. "Is David okay?"
"David's fine. He's being discharged as we speak, and his parents are driving him home, but," she stops speaking and wrinkles the skin between her brows, her lips straightened in a feeble attempt to steady them.
"But - what?" Judith glances at her father when her mother lowers her gaze, and the worry in his eyes twists her stomach with anxiety. She feels her heart pound against her chest, and the rhythmic thumping prompts her left temple to throb. "Can one of you spit it out before I faint? You're scaring me."
"The doctor told us that your kidneys are damaged," Sheryl informs her, then takes a deep yet shaky breath, and her husband places his hand against her right shoulder, his touch easing her, but Judith doesn't have that privilege. Her heart accelerates.
"It'll be okay, Judy." Her mother attempts to reduce the tension, but her wandering eyes prove that it's to no avail. "It's only the beginning which is good."
"I know that it's scary." The longer that she stares at the door, the farther it distances itself from her, leaving her feeling as if she's in a long, dark hall. Sheryl watches her husband speak. "Believe me, we're scared too, but as long as we knock this out while it's small, you won't need a transplant."
"Transplant," she repeats questioningly, her gaze returning to them as she slowly awakens from her brief trance.
"Doctor Carver said that if it progresses, you'll be placed on the kidney donor list," she chimes in before the words can exit her husband's open mouth.
"What - Why'd," she struggles to form a coherent sentence as air fights its way into her lungs. Sheryl slides closer to her, and she draws her in for a hug. "Why'd this happen? What could I have possibly done?"
"We don't know, sweetie. We don't know." She caresses her back with her right hand, her daughter's chin propped against her right shoulder. "But while the kids are away in school, when we get home, I'll look after you until your head heals. It'll be okay."
The doctor opens the door with her medical chart in his hands. When they turn their heads to him, he forces a smile.
"I see that you're awake." Judith glances at her mother, and he approaches the foot of her bed, the fluorescent light above glowing against the top of his hairless head. "How're you feeling?"
"I was fine until my parents told me that my kidneys are damaged," she says with a sniffle. He nods his head, the expression in his eyes dimming to pity.
"I understand. I've been a doctor here for fifteen years, and having these talks with patients never gets easier." She wipes her face, then stares at her tear-stained hands. Sheryl looks at Judith. "I know that because you're an adult, I should have gotten permission from you before discussing your condition with your parents, but given the circumstances, I figured it would be best to let you rest. Would you like to speak in private?"
"Um, no, it's fine." She switches her gaze between Walter and Sheryl, and then she watches her doctor step toward the right end of her bed. Sheryl stands next to her husband, and he wraps his right arm around her.
"Your parents informed me that you were never diagnosed with diabetes or any blood-related condition, so do you have an idea of what caused this?" She shakes her head, and he nods his. "Well, luckily for you, this is only the beginning. Unfortunately, until I get an understanding of what caused this, I can only give you painkillers for your head injury."
"I don't understand," she says, her brows drawn in. "I'm supposed to just - die because you don't know what's wrong with me?"
"Miss. Jefferson, you're not going to die from kidney disease," he assures her, but her expression doesn't change. "I know that it's scary, but this hasn't been a death sentence in maybe three decades."
"She probably needs time to process this on her own. Thank you, Doctor Carver," Sheryl chimes in when Judith doesn't respond. Her eyes glaze over to the door as he searches through the papers on his clipboard. He removes a sheet from the middle section and extends his arm toward her mother, returning it to his side when she takes it in her hands; it's Judith's lab results and medical referrals.
"I'll need to see her in a week or sooner if she's able to think of anything that would help. I'll go sign the discharge papers." He walks toward the entry, and when he leaves the room, Sheryl and Walter turn to her.
***
The cedar grandfather clock near the stairs strikes twelve upon entering their home. Sheryl gently shuts the four behind them. She has her purse over her left shoulder and a brown bag of medical supplies in the other hand.
He has his daughter in his arms, carrying her bridal style, and she rests her left temple against his shoulder. She smiles at the warmth of his cologne, but after inhaling, the joy fades from her face.
Walter carries her past the tv just as his cologne pours into her nose. It's strong like chlorine but reeks of mint, but her nose twitches anyway. Her eyes narrow, and her lungs draw in a shaky breath.
He stops at the first step and furrows his eyebrows at his daughter. Sheryl obliviously strolls toward the kitchen.
"Are you okay," he begins to ask her, but he's interrupted and startled by her earth-shattering sneeze. They glance at each other, their mouths turning to grins that they can't resist.
"Your spray is - strong, Dad," she tells him, and he playfully rolls his eyes. He continues up the flight of stairs, and when she peers behind him, her left hand tightens around the back of his beige suit jacket. She feels her heart race and her throat tighten.
He passes Stevie's room then stops. His door is closed, yet the faint sound of music is escaping through the cracks, and it has Walter's attention.
"What the hell is that," he asks himself in a voice so low that Judith's anxious panting overpower him. They look at each other. His gaze is cold with curiosity that fades to worry when tears form on her lashes.
He rushes her to her room, and her door is left partially open from when Sheryl was tidying the house.
Upon entry, the hyperventilating worsens, and her face gradually glows beetroot red. Walter gently lowers her onto the middle of her bed and stares at her with widened eyes.
"Jesus, not this again," he says under his breath. He glances around her clean room for something to calm her down, but he's unable to see anything useful. "I'll go get you some water."
She quickly takes his right hand in her left to stop him from leaving her.
"What is it," he asks her with panic laced in his voice. She wants to speak, but her throat tightens. She feels phantom hands right around her neck, forcing her words into her chest without a way out. A childlike whimper escapes, and his face relaxes.
Looking at her, he no longer notices his adult daughter. Instead, he sees the nine-year-old girl he would lay with during stormy nights and lull to sleep.
She doesn't have to verbalize what she wants from him because that slight whine was enough for him. He lowers himself onto her bed, their hands releasing, and he rests his back against her headboard.
Judith draws herself closer to his right leg, and she lifts her trembling right hand onto the knee of his black slacks. Walter hesitantly brings his hand to the back of her afro, and when his fingertips graze the wooly texture of her hair, he caresses the few sections unbandaged.
Walter inhales a sharp breath to sing to her, but the sound of something crashing to the floor thrusts the air out of his lungs. He glares at Stevie's door, his hand frozen against her head.
"I'll be right back." He slides off of her comforter, and her hand drops onto where he sat.
She watches him power walk out of her room, and when he crosses the floor on his way to her brother's room, she slowly shuts her eyes. He brings his hand to the knob, and when he yanks it open, a soft gasp slips into the hall.