Part 2

Not Easily Broken: A Novel
By Bishop T. D. Jakes

(Page 2 of 3)

Dave stared helplessly and tried to gentle her with his hands, his voice. "Shh now, baby girl, we gon' get you out, don't you worry. They almost here, we gon' get you out of there and you'll be fine, you'll see. Easy now, baby."

He might as well have been talking to the wind. Clarice moaned and twisted her body as much as she could. The pain was killing her, she said. "David, do something, get me some help," she pleaded.

Dave hopped out of the truck just as a fire engine pulled up, its air brakes yelping and hissing. Two firefighters jumped out of the cab and a third was already pulling a chemical extinguisher from a rack and eyeing the pavement beneath the two vehicles. As they came toward him, Dave noticed the kid's car, a mid-nineties Bronco. He realized he didn't need to worry about the boy fleeing the scene; the front end of the Bronco looked like somebody had tossed a hand grenade under the hood, then taken a jackhammer to the front grille. Dave had a fleeting sense of grim satisfaction.

"That your wife in there?" the firefighter asked him. Dave nodded. "I think she's pinned. Her leg's hurting pretty bad," he said, though he probably didn't need to, since Clarice's announcements about her condition had not decreased in volume. It was good to hear her voice, though; it told him she was at least well enough to keep her lungs aired out.

"We'll have to get the can opener," the firefighter said. He turned to his colleagues. "Hey, guys, we need the Jaws." He went over to Clarice's window and started talking to her. Dave noticed she seemed to be listening, nodding every once in a while. Good. She couldn't be that badly off if she could understand and respond. But her twisted face said she was still in immense pain.

Dave replayed the moments leading up to the crash. He and Clarice had been arguing-a scene all too common these last few months, it seemed. Dave searched his memory for any clue that his frustration with Clarice might have caused him to pay less attention. If Clarice hadn't been going off on him, would he have noticed the kid speeding up to the red light?

He could tell when he came home that the evening wasn't going to be smooth. The Board of Realtors dinner was that night, and wouldn't you know it, one of his building managers had a shift leader quit right before closing time. Dave had to go over there and calm down the agitated manager, then walk her through the process of setting up a temporary shift roster so the building would be covered.

They'd figure out a more permanent solution the next day, he told her. The main thing was that the customer's building was clean and ready for the next day's business.

So he got home an hour late, and when he walked in Clarice had that pinch-lipped look, and the hands-on-her-hips pose told Dave Mama ain't happy. Which was no big surprise, but he was hoping that for once he could get his explanation in without her going all eastside-westside on him. He couldn't.

"Are you telling me some minimum-wage vacuum jockey is going to cause me to be late to my professional dinner? Is that the best reason you can come up with to embarrass me in front of my peers?" Clarice's voice was rising and falling like a preacher coming to the end of a sermon. She had her dress on, the nice silky red one that draped her just right. She was made up, her lipstick all shiny and wet-looking on her full, soft lips. She was looking fine, or would, if her face wore some expression besides the one she was aiming at him now, looking at him like he was some raggedy, no-count kid who'd knocked a baseball through the front window of her plans for the evening. Clarice had one pump on, and she held the other in her hand and wagged it at Dave as she preached; he found it hard to take his eyes off the three-inch spike heel, considering the mood she was in right now.

"I couldn't help it, Boo, I told you. Charmaine's my newest manager and I had to walk her through this one time." "This one time. This one time, did you say?"

Dave caught himself listening for the organist to start the altar call. "How many times have you had to drop everything to rescue one of your managers?" The way she said the last word, it sounded like it had quote marks around it. "How many times have I gotten home, thinking we might have a quiet evening together for once, only to find out somebody didn't show up somewhere, and you had to take it on yourself to cover? I'm so tired of this, David. I work so hard at the agency to be professional. I work so hard to present myself to my colleagues and my clients in a way that speaks well of me . . . and my family."

"Clarice, I know you do. You the hardest-working woman I ever saw. All I'm sayin' is-"

"But it discourages me when, at any moment, my husband can disrupt what I'm trying so hard to cultivate. It discourages me that I can't even count on one simple evening to go as I expected."

"Baby, we'll get to the dinner. Just let me shower and change real quick."

Copyright © 2006 by TDJ Enterprises, LLP

About the Author

Bishop T. D. Jakes is the author of several books, including the bestsellers The Lady, Her Lover, and Her Lord; Maximize the Moment; His Lady; Loose That Man and Let Him Go!; and Woman, Thou Art Loosed!, which is also the basis for a bestselling video and CD. His weekly television broadcast, Get Ready with T. D. Jakes, airs on Trinity Broadcasting Network and Black Entertainment Television, and in Europe and South Africa. Recently named one of the nation?s most influential minister by The New York Times, Jakes is the founder and pastor of The Potter's House in Dallas.