Part 17 (2/2)
As I dived into the hall closet for the baby bag, I decided to toss it to him on the way to the door.
Don't look at him, whatever you do.
When I got back to the living room, Trevor was half out of his s.h.i.+rt. Obviously, he had plans, too. Flipping him the child's bag in a pa.s.s worthy of the Super Bowl, I made for the door, jerked it open...and ran into Adrian's chest.
He wasn't smiling.
Trevor shrugged on his s.h.i.+rt and called to Sierra, now awake and blinking on the sofa. ”Come on sweetie. Let's go home.” He winked at Adrian. ”Our work here is done.”
What I wouldn't do for a quiet little Sunday.
Today was anything but. Instead of suns.h.i.+ne, angry clouds raged on outside my windows, clumps of cotton against the blue-gray sky. As freezing rain burst from the clouds, tears eased down my cheeks. I tiptoed past the couch where Adrian and Daddy slept. Shemika and Jericho were propped uncomfortably on two recliners. Holding hands. It'd been a long night for sure.
I paused and looked down on Adrian's smooth head. My hand rested on his, pinching the bridge of his nose even in his sleep. Remembering the confusion with Trevor, I pulled away, grateful he wasn't awake.
Or so I thought. He pulled my hand to his chest. I didn't resist. A tear splashed on his forehead.
”I believe you,” he said, rising from the couch, and heading for the door. He pulled me along for the ride.
”I know how it must have looked.” I didn't really. I know how it looked to me when Trevor had unb.u.t.toned that s.h.i.+rt. I didn't dare think how it might have looked to another man. Especially not Adrian, who had so many times removed himself from my presence so as not to get either one of us into more than we could handle. I'd spent most of the night crying in my room after the look he'd given me. Even Shemika seemed disappointed. But somehow during the night, some way, Adrian had changed his mind.
I smiled as we reached the door, thinking of Sandy, his late wife. What must it have been like to be married to this man? I'd always thought of Adrian in superhero terms, much as a teenager I'd dreamed of El Debarge or Prince-until I realized he was less than five feet tall. This was different. Grown up. Real. Jesus had changed things so much between us. ”Thank you. For taking everybody out. For believing me.”
He nodded. ”You met Trevor at my wedding, remember? I know his games.” He squeezed my hand and reached for the doork.n.o.b. ”And I know you.”
How can you? I don't know me.
I nodded, thankful Adrian hadn't showed up any later. I'd learned early on in my walk with Christ that the place I felt strongest was often the place the enemy attacked first. I'd always expected war in my weaknesses, but it was my strengths that often brought me down.
Being single and celibate had come first on my list of Christian virtues. And allowing G.o.d to refine me had become my deepest prayer. Watching Adrian walk away from me, limping as though he'd been shot through the heart, I knew two birds had been killed with one stone this time. I could only hope that my faith in the rock of my salvation would prove stronger than the boulder of my past.
”Dana?” My father's slippers. .h.i.t against the floor like a flyswatter against a screen door.
”Yes, Dad. It's me.” I tensed, then walked to the kitchen, knowing that's where I'd find him. Watching as he started the Day Two recipes for the dinner-things that were best made on the day of eating, dough for rolls, salad and the pineapple pa.s.sion fruit punch Tracey served for her reception-I marveled at the care with which he prepared this food and the disdain with which he lived his life. Though he'd cleaned up these past few months living with Jordan, he refused to get a job or go to church, a place he had once loved.
My heart raced at the memory of his baritone voice slipping over the sanctuary. I'd loved watching everyone's backs. .h.i.t the pews as he sang the pain out of them, drawing out the sting of a long week with each honeyed note. And if any hurt was left, well, it was nothing a slab of ribs or a plate of hot fish couldn't cure. I sighed. Why were things so simple, but so complicated?
”You'd better get them young folks up and dressed if you all plan to get to church on time. Takes about thirty minutes just to find a parking spot over there. And don't you have to sing? You look like-”
”Daddy.” I took another sip of tepid water and put the teakettle on the only available burner.
”Well, you do. Tea isn't going to help those bags under your eyes. Grab one of those cuc.u.mbers and go lay down. I'll set you out some clothes and get those children going.” He paused, probably thinking of just how many children he was really referring to.
Set me out some clothes? I hadn't heard him say that in years. He'd once heard me complaining to Mama after service about being too old for the ruffled taffeta dress he'd chosen for me. The next Sunday he'd told me to go and put something on with my grown self and that had been that. What a fool I'd been. I needed somebody to lay my clothes out today. I needed somebody to lay out my life. ”Thank you, Daddy,” I said, slicing a bowl of cuc.u.mbers-after recovering from the shock of actually having cuc.u.mbers-and heading for my room.
”Thank you, moppet.”
Moppet. My lips curled inward remembering the blowout Easter afro that had earned me the name. As the day went on, everyone else's hair got bigger. Mine shrank, flopping at my ears until I looked like a little brown rug, parted down the middle. Muppet they'd called me, until Daddy corrected them. ”No. Moppet. She's so cute you could wipe up the floor with her.”
It was corny and he was drunk when he'd said it, but that didn't lessen the hot, sappy feeling rising in my gut as he said it now. ”Oh, Daddy.” I hugged him with all the strength I could muster.
He squirmed and wiggled, waving me off as though I were a killer bee. ”Go on now. Women. Never know when they're going to act crazy.”
I giggled. Men. I always knew when they were going to act crazy. As long as they're breathing. I stretched and set out across the dining room, which had shaped up nicely without the cardboard boxes that had once filled it. I wondered what kind of crazy outfit Daddy would ”set out” for me.
My front door exploded in a chorus of angry knocks before I could think on it further. I inched along with my head tilted back to keep the cuc.u.mbers on my eyes, but one fell off with a splat. In true teen boy form, Jericho jumped out of the recliner and ducked onto the balcony, choosing to weather the pouring rain and freezing temperatures rather than the impending storm in my apartment.
With a sigh, I stuffed the remaining cuc.u.mber in my pocket, then started for the door. Still Sundays, I used to call them. If G.o.d let me see one again, I'd never complain.
Shemika pulled her covers up around her neck as I pa.s.sed her. I shook my head. ”Tell him to get back in here before he catches pneumonia.”
The girl looked torn. ”He thinks it's his mother.”
”Nah. This one's for me.” I knew Dahlia's crazy knocking anywhere. No doubt, Trevor had gone home and shared his imaginary escapade with my sister. Or even worse, my sweet little niece had b.u.mbled out the scene as only a toddler can.
Two more steps brought me to my door, now shaking like plywood instead of oak. Who knew Dahlia's skinny b.u.t.t could hit so hard?
”I'm coming already. Cut it out. You're going to break it down.” I shook my head. Only man-wrath could give that kind of strength.
I pulled the door back.
Roch.e.l.le stood, livid, on the other side. I swallowed, realizing the one thing more powerful than man-wrath was inches from me....
Mother love.
When I vowed to take Shemika to see ”that boy” and his mother, I didn't know what I was getting into. Nothing had prepared me for seeing my strapping nephew cry like a baby trying to explain to his mother what he'd done. The rage flas.h.i.+ng in my best friend's face shocked me just as much. I'd expected her to be disappointed, upset, but this? Every few seconds I wondered if she'd turn green and tear out of her dress. That it was purple didn't help.
Roch.e.l.le paced the floor, swinging both arms. ”I saw it coming,” she said, making an abrupt pivot at the end of my sectional. ”I asked you again and again. But noo-oo-oo. 'Mama, I ain't doing that. Mama, why you always on my back. No,' you said. 'No!'”
”Roch.e.l.le.” I touched her arm, lightly at first, then firmer when she didn't respond. ”Calm down. We can talk later. Let's pray now and back off. Get to church.”
Her head swung around what looked like three hundred and sixty degrees. ”Church? Church? Church?” Her tone made me feel as though the word itself was absurd. When I'd lost everything with Trevor, she'd been the one who prayed me through. Was I this bad? Would I be able to stand up to her and tell her the truth like she did for me? My shoulders slumped.
She sucked her teeth. ”Church. Girl, what are you talking about? I've given G.o.d everything I have. And what did it get me?”
Jericho shook his head, pinching his eyes shut. ”Mama, please. Don't say that. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. It's just that-”
Roch.e.l.le threw her head back like she did on Sundays when the choir ended up on the floor with everybody else. When she threw her head back like that, there wasn't any use in fanning yourself, 'cause in a few minutes you'd be sweating for sure. This time though, the sway of her head scared me more than the sight of Trevor's smooth skin last night.
Almost.
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