Part 4 (1/2)

Knowing that she needed a hug, but wouldn't offer one, I opened my arms to her. She accepted my affection, but more stiffly than usual. My gut wrenched. Letting off steam had seemed right at the time, but now it seemed foolish. I hugged her closer, bending her rigid fear into my soft shoulder. Fear of loving again, fear of what would happen to our friends.h.i.+p without Tracey to blur our sharp edges, to make us laugh in the right places.

I patted Roch.e.l.le's back. ”It's okay. I'm scared, too.”

Chapter Three.

Deal. I should have known better than to say that to Roch.e.l.le, to agree to drag myself to the singles group. Such things never work in my favor. When I heard Kirk Franklin playing and saw the dis...o...b..ll, well, all hope of escaping unscathed went out of me.

”What on Earth is this, Ch.e.l.le?” I tugged at her sleeve, my feet poking around in those moccasins I'd vowed to save for a special occasion. This definitely wasn't it.

Waving to the DJ and other thirtysomethings trying desperately to look cool, she patted my hand. ”Lighten up, Dane. It's just a little fellows.h.i.+p to go with the elections.”

Fellows.h.i.+p? Maybe on an alien planet. Though a few hairs short of thirty myself, I knew I'd long since ceased to be cool. Somehow, these people hadn't been given the you-are-out-of-date memo. I'd been duped again. ”Whatever.”

I slumped into a chair for the first half hour, dreaming of my Chunky Monkey ice cream and my comfortable bed, and wondering whether the salon where I'd cancelled my pedicure took walk-ins. Today had been draining and tomorrow I'd have to be singing in the choir, serving dinner after church and probably back again in the evening. Coming along for the ride was one thing, but this added too much onto an already heavy day.

Roch.e.l.le's elbow, pressed to her side like a broken wing, jabbed me once again. ”Are you asleep? Come on, we're counting the ballots.”

I formed a lengthy reply, but telling Roch.e.l.le that I'd thrown my ballot in the trash with my last plate of chips would hurt her, so why bother? ”Okay.”

”Seriously. You should come on over. Talk. Some people are picking prayer partners and discussing ideas for next quarter's activities.”

A look in the direction she pointed revealed all the reasons why I dare not leave my seat: Tad admired himself in the punch bowl, while next to him, Deacon Rivers checked for nose hairs. Near the door, the did-I-tell-you-about-my-divorce-yet group gathered in the corner. Normally, I'd suck it up and partic.i.p.ate, but my tolerance for the ridiculous had run dry, expended on Tracey's wedding.

”Ch.e.l.le, I don't think I can-”

”Wait! Hold that thought. They're here!” She whirled around and paced to the front of the general-purpose room...its general purpose tonight was to torture me. She had the DJ stop the music.

I drank in the quiet, trying to remember which scary movie this scene was edited out of.

”Well, everybody, I wasn't sure if they could make it, but I invited a few friends from the regional singles' conference. They're from Agape Wors.h.i.+p Center, over by the mall.”

I watched in disbelief as a line of balding, bulging fellows trailed into the room. They slapped hands with Tad, who promptly marched off to sanitize himself in the bathroom. For once, I had to agree with him. These gentleman just looked...wrong. Like a bunch of football players who'd been squished into a time machine and had the plug pulled midway through the trip. Those jeans definitely didn't make it to the new millennium. Not attractive. And to think that Roch.e.l.le tried to give me a makeover to come here.

Even if the room had been filled with male models, this church bas.e.m.e.nt happy hour just didn't work for me. Roch.e.l.le, Bible guru that she was, seemed to be having a wonderful time, flitting from person to person, and just like earlier, not spilling a single drop of punch.

I'd already stained my jeans. With Sprite.

Why didn't I drive?

As I pondered the distance home, one of the once-upon-a-time tight ends from the other church reached for Roch.e.l.le's hand and proceeded to a chair at the side of the room, where he opened a Bible and began speaking intensely, no doubt trying to cultivate ”spiritual intimacy.” Too bad Tad was still in the bathroom. That subject was his specialty.

As the anger and the confusion of the day detonated within my mind, I knew I was going to lose it. I mean really lose it, like say something all of us might regret. I'm still not sure how I got that microphone...

”What are you people? Crazy?” I asked through the blaring sound system. ”h.e.l.l-ooo, this is a church, not some pathetic nightclub. The singles group is not about getting with somebody, it's about being single!”

I raised both my hands and quickly dropped them to my sides as cheetah memories flashed through my mind. No time to think of that nightmare. I was on a roll.

Roch.e.l.le looked up from her deep conversation as if she'd swallowed a fly.

”I've come here week after week and listened to you people tell your little pity party stories about your ex-spouses and your baby Mama drama and-”

”I don't have any out of wedlock children, thank you-” Tad dried his hands.

Thank G.o.d there's only one of you.

”Anyway. I came here for you to pray for me, me, to study the Bible with to study the Bible with me, me, not have you all tell me I'll be a real person when I get a man.” not have you all tell me I'll be a real person when I get a man.”

My voice quivered. ”This should be a place where it's okay to be alone. Instead, you all act like it's some sort of crime. The real issue is, if none of us ever gets a mate, is G.o.d enough...or isn't He?”

A wall of silence crept up between me and the rest of the room. Roch.e.l.le stared at me, her eyes searching mine. The music stopped. Everyone took their seats. I remained standing, not knowing what else to do.

Tad brushed past me and took the mike. He started a slow, but mounting handclap. ”Well, that was dramatic, now wasn't it?” He paused with his eighty-percent-chance-of-rain smile and I remembered why I never watched the weather anymore. The thought of what a blizzard might do to his lips was too frightening to consider.

Don't be mean.

As if they'd been taped for a laugh track, the whole room burst into guffaws.

Deacon Rivers tapped his cane against the floor. ”Was that a skit, sugar? It was good. Sh.o.r.e 'nuff good.”

By the time everyone got through hemming and hawing, I was mad. Sh.o.r.e 'nuff mad. Not that it mattered. I managed to slip off into the sanctuary just as Tad suggested a verse-by-verse study on Song of Solomon.

”To prepare our hearts for intimacy,” he said as the door shut behind me. I took the steps two at time and collapsed on a back pew.

”Lord, what are You doing? You told me to be at peace in my singleness, and I am. Please, just let me be.” The words rushed from me, more desperation than anything. I gathered my flailing braids into a ponytail and laughed at myself. Maybe Tad was the sane one after all.

”You said a mouthful in there.” A deep, mellow voice spoke above my head, articulating each syllable.

At the sound of his voice, I sat upright, took one look at Adrian and began estimating the distance I'd have to walk home. Not too far probably, but considering my speed was about .5 miles per hour, it could get ugly.

He came close enough for me to smell him, but walked past me and took a seat in the next pew while I digested the fact that he'd heard my little tirade.

”The music started up when I was just outside the door. I saw some weird-looking guys when I was parking. Do you all have a football team?”

That cracked me up. I slung an arm over my eyes. ”We do now.”

”Well, anyway, I was headed back to the car when I heard you in there. Good stuff.”

I peeked at him, with that big, crooked grin. My toes curled in my moccasins.

He leaned over and pinched one of my toes, my pinky. ”Nice shoes. The real thing?”

I nodded. ”Always.”