Divine Intervention

by Lutishia Lovely

  It’s good to be going home, Obadiah thought, when the boarding process began and he made his way down the Jetway. He had friends throughout Texas but Kansas had been his home for more than thirty years. He missed those things he’d grown used to over the years: LaMar’s Donuts, Gates Bar-B-Q, his barber, Glover, and the Mount Zion Progressive congregation. And truth be told if one dared tell it, he missed something—correction, someone—even more.

  6

  Fathers Be Good to Your Daughters

  King Brook and Derrick Montgomery strolled off the basketball court. For the past hour, these two best friends had talked trash and shot hoops in Mount Zion’s recreation center—a twenty-first century jewel in the church’s building expansion. Along with the basketball court (complete with bleachers and an electronic scoreboard) was a tennis court, a jogging track, Olympic-size swimming pool, and rooms to handle exercise classes from aerobics to Pilates to step to yoga.

  “Man, I can tell you’re about to turn fifty,” Derrick teased, after taking a long drink of water. “I had to ease up on you those last ten minutes just so you could keep up!”

  King swatted Derrick with his sweaty towel. “It’s a shame to lie on church property,” he said in a somber tone. “Hadn’t been for those lucky three pointers at the end, that last game would have been mine. And let us not forget that you’re only a hop, skip, and a jump younger than me. You’re coming down the same road I’m headed, junior.”

  “God willing.”

  “And the creek don’t rise.”

  “Ha! You’re sounding more like your old man every day.”

  “Yeah, don’t remind me. I spent the first fifty years of my life running away from any similarities, but as I get older, I’m beginning to embrace some of the very things he holds dear.”

  The men reached King’s brand new champagne-colored, customized Lincoln MKS, which sat glittering like a jewel in mid-June’s midday sun. He popped the trunk, they dumped their bags, and soon after were heading back to the InterContinental Hotel in the Plaza, a swank combination of stores, eateries, and landmarks that had been fashioned after its sister city, Seville, Spain.

  Derrick fastened his seat belt and settled in for the ride. “Ah, man, that workout felt good! I haven’t been getting it in like I need to.”

  King cast a glance at Derrick. “Still burning the candle at both ends?”

  “I’m trying not to but, man, my schedule is insane.”

  “Tell me about it. On Monday morning, I leave for Barbados and will be gone for two weeks.”

  “Tai going with you?”

  “No. The twins have a full summer schedule. Her hands are full just managing that.”

  “That’s a long time to be away from your good thing, my brothah.”

  “Believe me, I’m not thrilled about it. But somebody is.” Derrick shot King a questioning look. “My assistant pastor is practically pushing me out the door.”

  “Ha!” Derrick had met Mount Zion’s prolific number-two man, Solomon Cole, on several occasions and knew he’d enjoy delivering the Sunday message. He was chomping at the bit to get his own church.

  King smoothly turned the car onto the highway. “I’m surprised Wesley didn’t invite you down to this year’s conference.” Wesley Freeman was the senior pastor of His Holy Word Cathedral in Barbados.

  “He did but I declined. I’ve already been to South Africa three times this year, have a slew of revivals and conferences on my plate, and the Sunday crowds are now out of control. I’ve put it off as long as I can. We’re going to have to expand.”

  “Many preachers would consider that a good problem to have.”

  “I’m thankful, King. Truly I am. But to whom much is given much is required. Many of the ministers out there see the numbers, but they don’t see the hard work and sacrifice that comes with these large crowds. I’m fortunate to have Cy Taylor in my corner.” Cy was an associate minister at Kingdom Citizens Christian Center, and also one of its wealthiest members. “He’s heading up the fund-raising for our new building and is also participating in our needs and feasibility study. But no matter the direction in location, construction, and design, we’re looking at a good ten to twenty mil. My head hurts just thinking about it.”

  “Been there, done that, bro, and expanding is definitely no joke. I’ll be glad to share with you everything that I know, and should you desire, I’ll also make those who led up our building project available to speak with you.”

  “I appreciate that, man.” A few moments of silence passed as King’s new car fairly glided down I-35. It was a beautiful summer day—bright, blue sky, fluffy cumulous clouds, and thick greenery courtesy of the spring’s heavy rains. “So are you ready for this next big step in your life? Ready to give your daughter away?”

  King let out a whistle. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “I can’t even imagine how that feels. Elisia isn’t even a teenager and I’m already sweating.”

  “Enjoy her now, while she still thinks the sun rises and sets on your head and before some young nucka convinces her otherwise.”

  “Oh, I already told her how it was going down in my house. She can’t date until she graduates!”

  “Ha! Good luck with that.”

  “Wishful thinking, I know.”

  “What is she now … ten, eleven?”

  “Lis is twelve going on twenty-one and D2 is fourteen going on forty!”

  King shook his head, remembering the last time he saw Derrick’s namesake a year ago, a teenager wearing a double-breasted suit, wide tie, wing tips and a bowler hat. “He still want to be a preacher?”

  “Yep.” Derrick took in the flat Kansas landscape, whizzing by him at a cool seventy miles per hour. “I keep waiting for the pretty young thang who’s going to make him open his nose and close his Bible.”

  “Hmm, as I recall, those PYTs from back in the day didn’t interfere with your scripture reading.”

  Derrick chuckled. “See, that’s what happens with a friend who’s known me as long as you have. You know where all of the skeletons are buried.”

  “Heck, man. I helped dig half the graves!”

  “Ha!”

  When King spoke again, his focus had gone back to Derrick’s most provocative question. “It seems like only yesterday I was changing that girl’s diapers.”

  “You wiped doo-doo?”

  “You didn’t?”

  “Naw, I could handle a pee diaper but when it came to number two …” Derrick made a face. “I don’t know nothing ’bout ’dat ’dere.”

  King laughed at both Derrick’s squeamishness and his attempt at youthful slang before the smile scampered away from his face. “Well, I did. And before I knew it she was crawling away from me into preschool, then kindergarten and grade school. I remember her first rite of passage—when we let her go with a group of girls to the junior high dance. I was waiting in the parking lot when it was over, and I can still remember her shiny eyes when she got into the car. ‘It was so much fun, Daddy,’” King mimicked, in an impressive falsetto. “She was all smiles and bubbles then,” King said, his misting eyes a total surprise. “But growing up … they change.”

  “Yeah, man. I hear you.” Derrick knew the exact moment that King was talking about: when he and Tai had come to Los Angeles and found out more about their eighteen-year-old daughter than they ever wanted to know. It was the moment that they were forced to realize that Princess was no longer their little girl but a grown-ass woman with a mind of her own. “But I’ll be there to help you get through it, dog. Complete with Kleenex and everything.”

  “I wish I could tell you to store your hankie, dude. But a brothah might break down for real.”

  “Naw, you can’t do that. You’re not only the father giving away the bride, but the officiating minister. Responsibility trumps emotion. You’ll hold it together.”

  “I’d better, otherwise I’ll have to answer to Rafael. I must admit I’ve never seen a man want to get married more
than my soon-to-be son-in-law.”

  “From what I’ve seen and what you’ve told me, he’s a solid young man. Congrats again, King.”

  The two fist bumped. “Thanks, Derrick. It’s good to have you here.”

  7

  Girls Just Wanna Have Fun

  “Princess!” Joni swatted her friend’s bootie-clad foot off the ottoman. “It’s your big day tomorrow. Go to your room and go to bed!”

  It was near midnight on the night before the biggest day of Princess’s life. It had been a full Friday. Last minute fittings, mani/pedi/massage marathons, the fairly flawless rehearsal dinner, and now this: the final day of singlehood before Princess became a married woman. Instead of a bachelorette party, nine of Princess’s friends had joined her in Hawaii last month where in her words they’d “done everything I can’t do once I get pregnant.” On this topic both she and Rafael were in agreement: they wanted to be young parents. So the women had snorkeled and parasailed, flown over volcanoes in helicopters and flown over the beautiful Hawaiian expanse attached to parachutes. Everyone had agreed that skydiving had been one of the most beautiful freedoms they’d ever experienced, and an absolutely perfect way to see the world. Well, since Princess’s best friend, Joni, had kept her eyes tightly shut until feeling terra firma, she couldn’t quite cosign on this last claim.

  Princess grabbed a pillow and crushed it to her chest. “I know that I should leave y’all, but I’m too wired to sleep! This moment is so surreal. I can’t believe it. I’m getting married!”

  “It’s no big deal,” Joni said, in an attempt to calm her frazzled friend. “All it means is that you get to start washing dirty drawers and, in your case, cooking very bad meals.”

  “Forget you, heifah!”

  “As your maid of honor, I’m just doing my job. Urging you to get your beauty rest and wiping that rose color off your glasses.”

  The women laughed.

  “Princess,” Sarah said, her light, melodic voice wafting across the room from the king-size bed on which she sat Indian style. “Don’t mind, Joni. In a few short years you’ll become the next Oprah and, like her, you’ll be able to hire all of the help you need to do the dirty work.”

  “Hey, speaking of Oprah types, are you sure you want to share your nuptials with the world?” This question came from Brittany Williams, the bridesmaid who’d known Princess since they were both four years old. Brittany’s family had moved from Kansas City to Chicago when Brittany was thirteen, but the two women had kept in touch.

  “Yes,” Princess said. “But it’s only because of how much I trust Carla. I know that she will do a story that uplifts and inspires. Plus, it will be a ratings bonanza and I’d be lying to not admit how much I feel I owe her. She and Lavon are why I’m so successful, plus they’re friends of the family. They’ll be arriving tomorrow, and staying at the same hotel as Uncle Derrick and Aunt Viv.”

  Carla Chapman was the host of the hugely successful talk show, Conversations with Carla. For the past several months, Princess had served as a once-a-month cohost and off-site correspondent for stories involving the twenty-something crowd. She refused the title “celebrity,” but more often than not when she went out in public her chances of being recognized were quite high. A two-man camera crew from the show had been filming Princess at various wedding-oriented activities since arriving earlier in the week.

  “I personally think it’s great that you’re getting ready to be a reality TV star.” Princess rolled her eyes. “And why didn’t you put us up in the Plaza?” Joni teased. “You know your parents have the paper.”

  “Because … I wasn’t going to take a chance on an accident, mechanical malfunction, act of God, or anything else getting in the way of y’all being at the church on time. From here, we can take the highway or if it’s backed up, we can hit the streets. Besides, which one of y’all is too good for the Marriott?” No one answered. “Uh-huh. I thought so.”

  Chandra Willis, who’d known Princess since the Willis family joined Mount Zion in the late nineties, chimed in. “I have no problem staying here. I’m just wondering what room your fine brother is in.”

  Princess rolled her eyes. “Girl, please. You don’t want to hook up with that ho.” Princess loved her older brother, Michael, but swore he had a different woman for every week of the year.

  “Girl, everybody can’t keep a lock on it until a brothah puts a ring on it.” Chandra slapped five with another member of the party. “So help a sistah out, Princess. I know the entire wedding party is being picked up from here. So what’s his room number?”

  Princess shrugged. “I honestly don’t know it and wouldn’t give it to you if I did. Embarrassing things can happen when a woman shows up to a man’s hotel room unannounced.”

  “And uninvited,” Joni added, with an arched brow.

  “Spoken like two married women. Y’all both get on my nerves.”

  Brittany looked at her watch. “It’s about time for me to crash but before I go, let’s play ‘final curtain.’”

  An instant frown formed on Chandra’s face. “What the heck is that?”

  “It’s where each of us asks the bride-to-be the final question of her single life. The questions can be funny or serious, off-the-wall or heartfelt. But the bride must promise to answer each question truthfully.” Brittany cast big, brown, twinkling eyes on a wary Princess. “You game, sistah?”

  Princess groaned. “Maybe I should just go to bed.”

  The rebuttal was immediate.

  “Chicken!”

  “C’mon, Princess!”

  “Where’s your big girl panties?”

  Similar monikers and entreaties spewed from the seven bridesmaids and one maid of honor in the room.

  “Okay, fine.” Princess said, tossing the pillow at Chandra, the instigator. “But let’s make it quick. All of a sudden I’m really tired.”

  “More like really scared,” Joni said with a laugh.

  And so it began.

  “Okay, I’ll go first,” Brittany offered. “Princess … my girl. At the risk of being accused of getting all up in your biz-ness …” Princess rolled her eyes. “How long after the ‘I do’s’ do you think it will be before you and Rafael get your freak on?”

  Sarah gasped, tossing blond curls out of a face that had turned a rosy shade of pink. “Brittany!”

  “Listen, Miss Virginity, this is grown folks business happening up in here.” Brittany tossed her own black, shoulder-length curls over her shoulder. “So pay attention. And take notes.”

  Princess studied her French-manicured fingers as she gave an answer. “Well, as y’all know, Rafael and I have been engaged for almost a year, and he has been very patient.” Princess glanced at those around the room, her eyes a mix of shyness and devil-may-care. “Let’s just say there’s a reason why we’re heading to a hotel instead of the airport tomorrow night. I’d say we’ll be trying to make babies before they clean up the last grain of rice.”

  “Ha!” Brittany slapped five with her childhood friend, even though she knew that Princess had opted for bubbles instead of the traditional rice shower. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

  Bolstered by Brittany’s personal question, Chandra went next. “I still can’t believe you haven’t even seen what the man is working with. That’s like buying a dress without trying it on!”

  “Not quite,” was Princess’s dry reply.

  “Seriously, girl. What are you going to do if the man has an earthworm instead of a cobra? The worse question that you could ask on your wedding night is ‘is it in?’”

  The ladies howled. Princess stood. “Okay, now that I see what’s behind the final curtain I’m going to make this my final curtain call.”

  “Wait, Princess,” Joni asked, crossing the room to where Princess stood. “Don’t mind the horny singles. I have a question for you.” Princess shifted her weight from one leg to the other and crossed her arms. “It’s legit, I promise. We know he’s special since he took you off
the market, but for you, what makes Rafael Stevens stand head and shoulders above all the other men in the world?”

  Princess plopped back on the bed, pulled her knees to her chest, and rested her chin upon them as she pondered her answer. “So many things,” she said softly. “But simply put, Rafael is a good man, a nice guy. I know they say that nice guys finish last, but that’s only because women are too stupid to recognize a good thing when they see it. We often go for the bad boys, the brave men, the instant spark instead of the steady flame.”

  “Speak the truth, sistah!”

  “Shut up, Chandra.”

  “Girl, that sounded like it could go on a Mahogany greeting card.”

  “Whatever,” Princess said, laughing.

  “She is a bestselling published author,” Joni said, reminding a group that didn’t need to be reminded. Princess Brook’s memoir, Jesus Is My Boo, became a NYT bestseller. “So everybody knows she has a way with words.”

  “I’m going to go away in about sixty seconds. Y’all done?”

  “We don’t want our girl looking tore up from the floor up tomorrow, y’all,” Chandra said with exaggerated seriousness. “Let a sistah answer the questions and be done.”

  The questions from the remaining six ladies rained in, encased in plenty of jokes and laughter.

  “If Jesus is your boo, who is Rafael?”

  “My husband.”

  “Are you going to live in LA or KC?”

  “Ugh! I’ve already told y’all this. I’m going to move into Rafael’s downtown condo and schedule periodic trips to the West Coast.”

  “What’s the thing you’ll most miss about being single?”

  “That would be my sleeping attire of choice, oversized T-shirts and cotton pj’s, in favor of sexy negligees.”

  “Do you think you’ll ever learn to cook?”

  “Not as long as there are restaurants and takeout.”

  Laughter and zingers aimed at the bride-to-be abounded.