Part 26 (1/2)

I nodded.

My G.o.d is my s.h.i.+eld and my salvation. Whom shall I fear?

What was I afraid of? Why not just clear things up with Adrian, Ch.e.l.le and whoever else and let the chips fall where they may? ”I don't know if my sister can continue to work for me.”

Austin nodded. ”She's insecure, Dana. I've been around those types of women all my life. What you and Adrian have is so obvious and what she has with Trevor is tenuous. Pray for her and stand your ground.” She sipped her mineral water between spoonfuls of lemon ice. ”And give her a good recommendation.”

A long, lost laugh came up from my belly. The big kind, the kind that made milk come out your nose in grade school. It seemed like forever since I'd laughed like that. ”You crack me up, you know that?”

She nodded. ”So you've told me. I do hope things work out for your sister and The Fonz-”

My head fell back at her nickname for Trevor. The Black Fonzarelli. That was him for sure. ”Girl, you are about to make me holler to the top of my lungs. That is too funny.”

Austin looked blank that time. ”That's funny? I call him that all the time. He comes to the study at Nehemiah.”

I held my throat. ”You call Trevor that to his face?”

She nodded, wide-eyed. ”Is something wrong with that?”

He's for real saved.

I shook my head. ”I guess not. So he comes over there, too? His car is at our church like he works there or something. I guess he's taking this pretty seriously.”

”Yep. Dahlia comes too, most times brings the baby. Such a cutie, that one. The last time they came, Josh's mother didn't stop nudging me the whole night. She's on the hunt for a grandchild.”

I bit my lip. ”Must be nice to have things fall into place so neat like that. Rich husband-” I waved my hand over the room ”-beautiful home. I guess a baby would be next.” I tried not to think about Shemika and her growing belly. She and Jericho showed up at my house more and more. The fun had worn off and the reality had set in. It would be a long haul for all of us.

Austin's spoon thudded against the linen tablecloth. She smiled in contradiction to the tear running down her face. ”Dana, I can't have children.” She flipped the tear away. ”My mother-in-law, she doesn't know.”

I reached across the table for her hand. ”I'm so sorry.” Her salad plate fell and broke as she pulled back. My hand slid across the empty s.p.a.ce.

Austin closed her eyes for a moment. ”Forgive me. I've asked so much of you today, while guarding myself at the same time. If we're going to be friends, real friends, I guess that won't work, will it?”

Shaking my head, I thought about how easy Tracey, Roch.e.l.le and I had it in our friends.h.i.+p. We'd grown up together, knew most everything about each other. It was easy. Comfortable. This would require more. So I closed my eyes and leaned forward, listening as Austin began her story.

”I came from nothing. And wanted everything. In between, I lost it all....”

Somewhere between the stories of our pasts, the lowfat fudge bars and the brisk walk to work them off, Austin and I gave one another a precious gift-grace. There were no commentaries or explanations, no defenses or placement of blame, only tears and laughter in all the right places. In the end, we'd parted ways with the strength to confront those we'd hurt and those who'd hurt us.

Knowing my recalcitrant nature, I dropped by Roch.e.l.le's shop and left a note on the way home, followed by several unanswered phone calls. As the clock struck midnight, I lost my nerve for any more peacekeeping and decided to tackle Dahlia and Adrian the following morning at work. Both posed a great problem, since my claim against one involved the other. I'd forgiven Dahlia-again-that day at the shower, but somehow her wrong had grown wings from the altar where I'd left it and dropped disease all over my spirit. It was time to bring all my ”issues” down to earth.

When I arrived the next morning though, and saw Adrian and Dahlia, laughing together, looking so beautiful, so perfect, my well-planned words escaped me. I returned their waves, but slid behind the protection of the computer at the back of the store, checking for Tracey's devotion to bolster myself. As I clicked on it, I remembered something-it was Roch.e.l.le's week. Too late. The words filled the screen.

Therefore, if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there in front of the altar. First go and be reconciled to your brother; then come and offer your gift.

I stared at the computer screen, blinking through my tears, afraid to scroll down and read the words that followed. The heading, Urgent Grace, had almost escaped me. Though it was copied to the loop, it was my name alone that came next.

Dana, I write asking your forgiveness and to say that this year has been more difficult than I could ever have imagined. Somehow you've been tangled up in the middle of it all. I tried to spend some time with the Lord today. The Lord met me there and took my hand, leading me to this verse in the Word. And so I come, cowardly I admit, writing an e-mail instead of calling or coming over, but it's all that I have today.

Will you please forgive me? And not just for what's been going on lately, but for the last few years. I've been a controlling maniac over you since you became a Christian. I've so wanted to protect you that I put you under rules and systems that I couldn't even keep myself. And now I fear you'll become as confused and bitter as I have.

Don't. You're a wonderful, beautiful woman. Your own woman. I release you, Dana, from everything that I've placed over you. May only the good things remain. I pray our next meeting will be better than our last.

In Him, Roch.e.l.le P.S. You were right about Shawn. It didn't work out.

Stunned, I read the message again and yet another time before writing off a quick reply. I wanted to leave it, to write back tomorrow when I wasn't crying so hard that my contacts were about to pop out, when the words weren't so true. But I knew how big a step this had been for Roch.e.l.le and how I'd be waiting by my monitor for a response if it had been me. So I typed.

Roch.e.l.le, I forgive you.

And thank you.

You wanted me to live a sincere life for G.o.d. A life like yours. Though I can say many things about you, I would never say that you don't do things with both purpose and pa.s.sion. As much as you've tried to change me. I've tried to change you, too. Now that you are changing, I miss the old Roch.e.l.le that I once ridiculed.

Also, anything that I fell bondage to was my own doing as well. I have a house full of Bibles. You have been my schoolmaster. Without you, who knows what might have become of me. Let us both now be free of the law, free of expectation to conform into each other's likeness, free to be wonderfully made in the image of Christ. Let's not speak of it again.

Hush now, Dana

If only it could be this simple with Dahlia.

Not that the three years of pus.h.i.+ng and pulling and praying that had led up to those two e-mails had been easy. Whatever the case, I felt lighter. A weight I hadn't known I was carrying lifted from my heart, though I still felt a little weepy.

I clicked off my Web browser and spun in the chair, staring at the door, where women prowled outside waiting to get in.

I smiled, now intimate with the morning rhythms of Leverhill's Mothers of the Brides. Coffee across the street at The Bean Counter, which now occupied Adrian's old s.p.a.ce, and then shopping on my shelves and chatting with friends, old and new. It was hard to believe I owned all the units on this side of the street.

In an uncharacteristic move, I spun my chair around and slipped off my shoes. I walked from the computer at the back of the store to the front where Adrian was on a ladder, lighting the sconces, and Dahlia was counting off the register. Once on the carpet, I dragged my feet through the teal s.h.a.g one toe at a time. They both stared at me in disbelief.

I was just as surprised, but the simple act of forgiving Roch.e.l.le had opened something up in me, the vulnerable part of me that I'd been trying to guard for so long. The seed of who I am. Though I hadn't realized it, protecting this part of myself had kept others from wounding it, but it had also kept me from accessing it. As a holy stillness settled over the room, I saw Dahlia as G.o.d might see her, a little girl with a handful of daisies, walking through the house trying to give them away. Everyone she offered them to declined. Each already had a rose. My rose.

It was an obscure memory, like film on top of a pot of tea, forming then fading, but it was real. Yellow roses. For Mama, Daddy, Jordan and me.

”What about me?” she'd said, crying through her words.

”They're all gone, but you can have mine if you want it.”