Part 21 (1/2)
A bloodline.
”Most folks have the wine, you know. The real thing.” Mrs. Shapiro's peppermint breath feathered across my cheek. ”I had a bad time with the drink a long time ago.” She pointed upward. ”He delivered me from it, but no sense in forcing the issue, eh?”
I nodded, sliding the lamb off my fork. No sense in pressing the issue indeed. The music swirled around me as she patted my hand and moved on to the next person around the table, a colossal oval that reminded me of the conference room back at Scents and Savings. Only here, people smiled.
G.o.d had brought me so far since then. Out of the stress and pressure of that world into...my own stress and pressure? The absurdity of the thought startled me. So did the gentle rus.h.i.+ng of the music, was.h.i.+ng over me in waves of Hebrew. The men around the table echoed the words in throaty tones. I smiled at the underlying drumbeat, eerily reminiscent of a famous rap song.
Nothing new under the sun.
Austin winked at me from across the table. Her husband waved, then gripped her hand. She blushed and I laughed, both at her and myself. She'd seemed so savvy and cosmopolitan, but in the presence of the man she loved, she acted like a sixteen-year-old girl.
They moved in to kiss and I turned away, but not before a pounding at the door sliced through the beat of the music. Austin's stern but pleasant husband leapt from his seat and ran from the table with expectance. Austin shook her head. ”Men,” she mouthed, trying to regain her composure.
I nodded, narrowing my eyes in agreement, knowing she was trying to recover. She needn't have bothered. Her melting at the sight of her husband had only endeared me to her more. She was a sistah indeed.
Her husband returned to the table with a laughing mouth, pulling a leather-clad man behind him.
A man I knew all too well.
My fork clattered against the china. Grape juice splashed over the rim of my gla.s.s and seeped into the linen, purple raced across the table as if highlighting the path to the newcomer. ”Adrian?” I choked out his name as I righted my gla.s.s.
He looked at me, first puzzled, then delighted as he grabbed a napkin to help sop up my mess. ”Dana,” he said like music. ”I see you found my little Bible study after all.”
Chapter Fourteen.
The grape juice came out of the tablecloth, but that night stained me forever. Though I'd spent many nights since Dahlia's confession wondering what I'd say to Adrian when we did talk again, only Christ mattered that night. We sang to Jesus. Prayed to Him. Drank Him in though wors.h.i.+p and Word. We laughed and cried.
More intimate than any kiss or rendezvous was the simple sweetness of our Savior and one look across the table after the last prayer left me seeing Adrian as if for the first time. Seeing Jesus for the first time. As if knowing how much the night had meant and not wanting to spoil it, Adrian slipped away first with a simple wave.
”I promise not to stay away so long next time,” he said to them, while looking at me.
His presence at Broken Bread every Sunday meant his absence here, I realized.
With that, Adrian left me there to deal with Jesus. And to deal with myself. I didn't do a good job with either.
Spring rolled in and the days peeled back, dry and scaly, ripping at old wounds. Daddy came to cook every Sunday, but he hadn't been to church since ”the incident” as he referred to the Trevor's little confession some weeks prior. Jordan and his girlfriend remained scarce. Roch.e.l.le and I maintained our shaky peace, solidified through silence and distance. Tracey? Well, she went home to Ryan and called me more than was healthy for either of us.
Dahlia called regularly, her voice tinged with regret. I spoke lovingly to her, surprised to hear my pity in my voice, but it was there. Pity for her...and for me.
Sure it's nice to know that Jesus loves the little children and all, but there was also a one-of-a-kind crazy love, the love I'd felt at Austin's dinner. Song of Solomon love. Whether I'd been operating before out of duty or discipline I didn't know, but now there was a devotion, a bond that made me want to pull away and be touched by Him.
Filled.
My once clear-cut goals didn't even make sense anymore. I mean, yeah, I wanted the store, but I don't want it to own me. And this thing with Adrian...despite my vows to protect myself from him, somewhere in the wors.h.i.+p, as G.o.d lavished His love upon me, I'd forgiven my old friend and acknowledged my love for him. Whether anything would ever change between us was up to G.o.d.
I'd loved him all my life, but how could I consider being in love with him, devoting my emotion to someone else when I wasn't sure how to love myself? There were no easy answers, but something had changed. I wanted Adrian, and I wanted to be the mother of his babies. Yes, that was plural.
Sierra proved to be the biggest eye-opener in that regard. Kids were something I wrote off my wish list a long time ago, mainly because I didn't think I had time enough, money enough, love enough for another human being. Being with her, I saw that G.o.d had enough love and so would I, whenever the time came.
And Trevor? I realize now what I didn't when we were together. No woman could fill his needs. Even Dahlia couldn't fill that pit. Only Jesus could. The question was, what would I do with all my love now that I'd owned up to having some? Give it away again or give it all to G.o.d, where it would be safe?
Love your neighbor as yourself.
The only thing I'd been loving lately was this shop. And I couldn't even carry that anymore. I loved my business. It fulfilled me. But if it had to end, so be it. Really, how much was too much? Where does good stewards.h.i.+p leave off and idolatry take over? Seeing as it's 3:00 a.m. again-and I'm still here with sweaty braids and dirty jeans I tugged on out of my overflowing laundry basket, I've crossed the line somewhere.
My fast-food-littered apartment and the foot of junk on the floor of my car skipped through my mind. My gaze wandered, stopping at my belly part.i.tioned distinctly by my belt. And my Bible, where was it again? Still in the car from church?
I sighed, skinning peaches for Tangela's last bridal event-the one-day spa cruise. She'd promised to have the second installment of my fee tomorrow, though I wondered now if I'd even stay awake long enough to collect it. Of everything going on, this maid of honor thing had been the first place I'd crossed the line for the wrong reasons.
And it hadn't been the last. The red numbers on my electronic balance sheet echoed the stark reality. Even with the money Tangela had owed me, only G.o.d could help me now.
Four hours of sleep managed to look good on me, or so I thought until I scrambled down the freezing boat dock in the midst of a pink army of DKNY-clad Tangela clones. There was something so ridiculous about their head-to-toe perfection that struck me as painfully funny.
Tangela didn't seem as amused. ”Did you bring the stuff?”
I nodded, lifting the tubs toward her with my peach-stained fingers.
She grimaced. ”Just take them inside. Everything is ready. What happened though? You were supposed to come and help me set up.”
Hmm...true enough, I hadn't been reading the manual, but I certainly didn't remember any such agreement. ”Well, uh, sorry, but I was working to get this stuff made and I had to get Ch.e.l.le to cover the-”
”Save the sob story. The maid of honor always helps with the spa cruise. Haven't you ever read Modern Bride? Modern Bride?”
Obviously not. I stared at her, waiting for her head to start revolving completely around.
She sniffed and stormed on to the boat. ”Just come on.”
Once inside, the cabin of the boat seemed much smaller than it looked from the outside. With all that pink in a cramped s.p.a.ce it looked as if someone had dumped a vat of cotton candy on the room. As the boat swayed under my feet, I suddenly remembered where I'd left my seasickness pills.
On land.
As I struggled to find a seat next to Shemika, whom I was surprised hadn't been relieved of her wedding hostess duties already, Tangela slithered to the front-all she was capable of in such a tight skirt-while Shemika greeted me and offered to help carry the facial tubs. I declined, of course.
Tangela's nasal voice whined through the microphone. ”I hope you have your handbooks everyone. We've got some great food and fun planned, but first things first. Turn to page seven and let's walk through the dress code again....”
I rolled my eyes. Somebody ought to be having fun. My stomach was rumbling, daring to roll down the waistband of my too tight skirt. My feet were pinched into a pair of ”cute” shoes so uncomfortable I'd decided to take them back, but couldn't find the receipt. Catching my reflection in a porthole, I gasped. With my new ”auburn” wash-in hair color and my bloodshot eyes, I looked like Raggedy Ann's sloppy sister.
I stared around the room at the princesses surrounding me. Not one of them looked capable of a smile, yet they had every hair, nail and toe in place. I unb.u.t.toned my jacket and took a deep breath. I'd take a smile over perfection any day.
Shemika tapped my shoulder. ”So how are you?”