“I’m Henry Logan, the neighbor and friend who’s going to make sure you don’t hurt her no more.”
A raised eyebrow was the only sign of Obadiah’s surprise. That and his raised voice. “I suggest you move out the way before I have to move you out of it.”
“Who is it, Henry?” Mama Max asked from the kitchen.
Henry stepped aside to let in Obadiah. “Your husband.”
A surprised Mama Max came around the corner carrying two bowls filled with peach cobbler. “Obadiah? What are you doing here?” She continued to the dining room, where Henry quickly joined her. “I thought you’d be back in Dallas by now.”
Obadiah’s eyes narrowed as he took in the homey, cozy scene—Henry sitting at the dining room table that his preaching had bought, eating the cooking that for almost a year Obadiah had missed. His nose caught a whiff of one of his favorites, rump roast and potatoes, and that peach cobbler was smelling so good that Obadiah wanted to take the pie-filled fork that even now was on its way to Henry’s mouth … and stab him with it.
After another awkward moment where Obadiah felt like a stranger in his own home, he straightened his back, swallowed a big dose of pride, and left the room. For the next several seconds, the only sounds heard were those of his heavy footsteps on the home’s wooden stairs.
27
A Woman’s Worth
“You want me to leave?” Henry had pushed back from the table and now sat—arms crossed, scowl on face.
“Not unless you want to.” Mama Max calmly placed another bite of flaky-crusted cobbler into her mouth. It was the first time in her life that she’d seen Obadiah sweat behind another man giving her attention. It was an unexpected life development. Mama Max discovered that she quite liked it. But for all of the gloating that she felt, it was mixed with compassion. Before the mouthful of pride he had swallowed, Mama Max had detected sadness in Obadiah’s eyes. Still, turnabout was fair play and Mama Max had no problem giving the good Reverend Doctor a taste of his own medicine. She turned to Henry and smiled sweetly. “You want some milk to go with your cobbler?”
Henry eyed Mama Max a long moment before a slight smile slid across his face and he picked up his fork. “I’d better let this water be enough, else I’ll start to develop a paunch.”
“Ha!” Mama Max patted her sizable stomach. “I guess you’re right about that.”
Mama Max settled back into a somewhat comfortable camaraderie that, considering the circumstances, was quite a feat. They’d almost gotten through the decadent cobbler dessert before the sound of Obadiah’s returning footsteps echoed down the stairs.
“Maxine.”
Obadiah had simply entered the living room and called her name, but Mama Max knew the plethora of conversation that lay beyond that one word: I want to talk to you, alone. I’m hurt and angry for being ignored. I’m sorry for treating you so badly. There are some things we need to discuss. I’m not leaving here until we’ve settled a few things. When two people had lived together for more than fifty years, this is the type of translation that could occur. And even though she had company and Obadiah had come over uninvited to what was still technically his house, well, Mama Max was too much of a Christian with a healthy dose of brought-upsy thrown in to not talk with the man who was still technically her husband.
Henry felt the shift in her demeanor. “I guess I’d better go.” His voice was low, soothing.
“I think it would be best,” Mama Max said, her voice equally low as she rose from the table. She walked Henry to the door, noting that Obadiah was standing with his back to them, looking at the large family portrait that hung over the fireplace. It was a picture taken at a family reunion five years ago and showed seventy-five smiling faces representing several family branches and four generations.
Seconds after he heard the screen door close and lock, Obadiah turned around and wasted no time in starting the interrogation. “What’s going on here, Maxine?”
Maxine crossed her arms. “What’s it to you, Obadiah?”
“I’d say having another man in the house I bought and paid for makes it my business.” He knew the argument was flimsy and the words hypocritical, but he couldn’t resist.
“And what does you committing adultery do, huh, Reverend? Whose business should that be?” Mama Max placed a hand on her hip, her chest heaving from the heavy breathing she did in an effort to keep some semblance of composure. “You’ve got a hell of a lot of nerve standing there and trying to tell me anything! You backsliding hypocrite!”
“Don’t you stand there acting all innocent and holy. If you’d performed your wifely duties, I wouldn’t have gone sliding anywhere!”
“So that’s still what you’re telling yourself to help you sleep nights? That I’m the reason you’re sinning? Is that what you’re thinking sweating over that whore Dorothea? That it’s my fault? If you believe that lie from the pit of hell, then not only are you a bigger fool than I thought you was, but you’ve gone and forgotten every scripture in the Bible from Genesis to Revelation!”
With eyes blazing and chests heaving, the two septuagenarians stared each other down. Finally, Obadiah heaved a sigh and ran a weary hand over his face. “Look, Maxine, I didn’t come here to argue.”
“Then why are you here?” Mama placed a firm hand on her ample hip.
“To get some more of my summer suits, and a few books from the study that I’ve been needing.” Obadiah walked over to the couch and plopped down. “But honestly, I came over to get some of what that rascal had the nerve to be eating while sitting at my table. I’ve missed your good cooking, Maxine,” he continued, his tone softer. The warmth in his eyes conveyed that he’d missed more than her food, but Mama Max was too angry to notice. Hers was still the stance of a warrior ready for battle. “Do you think you can find it in your heart to serve a hungry man a plate of food?”
Mama Max narrowed her eyes. “Well,” she said after a pause, “I’d throw a bone to a dog walking on four legs, so I guess I can feed one walking on two.” She left to fix his plate and upon returning, saw that Obadiah had moved to the dining room table, sitting at the head place Henry had recently vacated. “You want something to drink?”
“Some iced tea would be nice.”
Lord, give me strength, Mama Max thought with a roll of the eyes. Still, she walked into the kitchen, poured his drink, and was quite proud of herself that the glass of tea actually ended up on the table instead of being thrown in his face!
Obadiah, who was already scarfing down the food as if it were his last meal, nodded when Mama Max set down the glass. “I ’preciate it.” After taking a long swig, he belched, picked up the napkin that she’d also set down, and eyed Mama Max as he wiped his mouth. “That joker who was in here looks familiar. Who is he?”
“That’s Henry,” Mama Max said, sitting down with her own glass of tea. The move was natural, subconscious, honed from sitting down and chatting like this with Obadiah a thousand times. “Beatrice Logan’s son.”
“I thought he lived in Indianapolis.”
“You didn’t know that Beatrice had a stroke?”
“Sho’nuff?” Obadiah picked up the fork as he slowly shook his head. “No, I didn’t know nothing about it.”
“Well, she did, a few months back. They moved her to an assisted-living facility and he moved back to be closer to her. I thought either King or Tai would have mentioned it to you, or one of the deacons you stay in touch with..”
“I haven’t been too in touch with anybody,” Obadiah replied. “Folk forget about you when you’re not around.”
“We need to talk about that, Obadiah. About your not being around.” Mama Max peered beyond him, stared at the large oak tree that dominated the front yard. “I won’t go on like this, Obadiah. I won’t continue to live a lie. So I guess it’s about time to talk about splitting up everything and going our separate ways—for good.”
Obadiah swirled the remaining piece of corn bread around the plate, soaking up the las
t juices from the roast and greens before placing the morsel into his mouth. He closed his eyes as he chewed, savoring the pleasure of this last bite. “So what you’re telling me,” he said, after swallowing the last of the tea, “is that you want us to go through with the divorce.”
“This ain’t about what I want, Negro! It’s about what is. You’re in Texas, I’m up here. We’re already living separate lives. Might as well make it official.”
“Does this have anything to do with that Logan fella sniffing ’round here?”
“That ain’t none of your business, Obadiah. All you need to do is call that lawyer you said you filed the papers with and let’s get this crying shame of a show on the road.”
Obadiah left shortly thereafter, but not without half of Mama Max’s peach cobbler. And not without a plan. What Mama Max didn’t know was that Obadiah had never filed any papers with any lawyer. And he didn’t plan to now. No, when Obadiah got on the plane the next morning headed for Texas, it was very clear what he needed to do: end the adulterous affair with Dorothea … and take back his rump roast.
28
Daydreaming
King walked out of the shower, naked and glistening, still marveling at the paradise in which he’d slept. As the financially secure pastor of a mega-church who’d traveled extensively, he regularly ate in five-star restaurants and experienced his share of luxurious resorts. But Minister Wesley Freeman’s seventy-five-hundred square foot, oceanfront villa took opulence to a new level. Last night’s lavish dinner had been superbly hosted by Wesley’s daughter, Charmaine, and besides himself and Wesley, was enjoyed by seven of His Holy Word Cathedral’s elite. After dessert, which was served on the expansive patio while lapping waves created a symphony of serenity mere feet from where they sat, Wesley informed King that for the next two weeks he’d be their personal guest, and that the two-thousand square foot guesthouse was to be used for his pleasure and convenience. Just after the other guests had left, King had pled exhaustion (the truth) and had been shown to his quarters by the lovely Charmaine, who’d made sure that he was aware of every amenity. And somehow, while exhibiting the utmost of propriety and decorum, she’d subtly yet unmistakably conveyed that she was one of them.
Keep your focus, brother. You’re here for ministry, not messy affairs. And he had no doubt that any dabbling with Wesley Freeman’s daughter would be messy. Following the untimely death of her mother several years ago, Charmaine had become the undisputed woman of the house while continuing to be the proverbial apple of her father’s eye. Yeah, Wesley’s friendship is just the kind of buffer I need. Because if the coast were clear, I’d grab that smooth, round a—King’s ringing phone was a welcomed interruption.
“Hey, baby.”
“King, please keep me from beating your child to within an inch of her life!”
King chuckled, placing the call on speaker and reaching for a container of lotion before sitting on the bed.
“Excuse me, but I fail to find any humor in this situation. I’m hoping there’s some way we can get this marriage annulled before any damage is done. The Stevenses aren’t talking to me, and I don’t blame them. Rafael hasn’t returned Princess’s calls and that’s without him even knowing about her shotgun wedding.”
“Wait. I thought shotgun wedding referred to when the bride was pregnant.”
“In this case it refers to when the mother-in-law wants to shoot the groom.”
“Ha!”
Finally, a slight chuckle slipped from Tai’s otherwise tight lips. “I’m still hoping to talk some sense into your stubborn daughter’s head. She has agreed to meet with me, alone, when I fly out to LA.”
The atmosphere changed as both thought of why Tai would be visiting the City of Angels. “How’s he doing?”
“Vivian is really worried, King. They’re conducting an MRI tomorrow and she’s afraid of what they’ll find.”
A moment of silence and then, “I wonder if I should cut this trip short.”
“I thought about that, too, baby. I know your heart is with your friend. At this point, however, I think it best for you to fulfill your obligation there in Barbados. This trip has been planned for almost two years. I’ll keep you abreast of what’s going on here and if the situation gets more critical … I’ll definitely let you know.”
After getting an update on his father’s handling of yesterday’s service and Mama Max’s declaration that a divorce was imminent, King had to end the call. “Tai, I’m expected for brunch in less than an hour. I need to run.”
“All right.”
“Keep me posted on everything going on.”
“I will.”
Thirty minutes later, King walked the thirty or so yards from the guesthouse to the main residence. Between the two was a lush, tropical garden with strategically placed stone benches and a high-spewing water feature. He was greeted by the butler, and led down a path to the ocean’s shore, where a canopied tent housed a white linen-covered table, a stainless steel buffet, and a dapperly dressed Wesley Freeman.
“Hey, Wes!” King shoulder-bumped the tall, lean man who was ten years his senior. In the light of a new morning, King recognized that Wesley gave Charmaine her tall, lean build and long, thick head of hair that most would assume was a weave. Her late mother, Charlotte, had blessed her daughter with the almond-shaped eyes and dark chocolate skin that made Charmaine’s an exotic look that models would envy.
“My brother.” Wesley took a seat and signaled the waiter to begin serving. “I trust our humble abode was to your liking?”
“Man, I’ve stayed in some fancy places, but I must say that this place truly is paradise.”
Wesley nodded. “God is good.”
“Indeed. Plants actually growing in the shower, half of which is outdoors? That was a first, something that we could never imagine in Kansas. Sleeping in that bed was like floating on a cloud. Seriously, man … I slept like a newborn babe.”
The two men shared casual small talk while the waiter served a delectable combination of traditional American and Caribbean cuisine: fluffy scrambled eggs, fresh crab cakes, seasonal fruit, plantains, black and white pudding (without the soused pig head, much to King’s relief), and freshly baked breads.
After a few moments of eating in silence, Wesley shifted the conversation to business matters. “We are indeed excited about taking our ministry to the next level. Incorporating the type of television ministry that we’re envisioning will definitely place His Holy Word at the forefront of this latest global movement.” Wesley leaned forward, looked King in the eye. “Tonight, you will meet a contingent of men from Africa, with their pulse on every single Christian ministry on that continent. King, I’ve always admired you, man, have always seen your star rise and not be limited to the states. It is now within your power to become a major player on the international front: in the Caribbean, African, and Asian communities as well. God is taking His Kingdom to another level. You and I are poised to lead this march into destiny!”
King nodded, taking in the excitement of Wesley’s infectious words. He’d always liked this driven preacher’s enthusiasm, ever since they’d met at a conference ten years ago. Now, all these years later, much of what he’d dreamed of then had come to pass. His Holy Word Cathedral was the largest church in the Caribbean, and Wesley wasn’t even yet on TV.
The slight rustling of foliage and the scent of fresh jasmine announced Charmaine’s arrival. King consciously steeled himself before looking up, but that didn’t stop his heart from thumping and his dick from hardening at the vision that stood before him. Today, she wore a flowing, stark white dress with minimal jewelry and makeup. This only served to highlight her natural beauty. Her hair was piled atop her head, with a few tendrils framing her face and caressing her neck the way King longed to do.
“Hey, Daddy,” she said, as she approached the table, her lyrical accent as soothing as a summer breeze. She kissed her father on the cheek before continuing around the table. “Good morning, Past
or,” she crooned, before placing a kiss on his cheek as well.
“You headed to the church?” her father asked.
“Yes. I have to make sure that all of the host auxiliaries are in place and that this evening’s dinner is going as planned. I won’t see you until tonight so, gentlemen, you’ll have to get through the day without me.” She winked at King, placed a hand on her father’s shoulder, and then breezed out as effortlessly as she’d walked in.
King watched her as she left. “The shy young girl I met ten years ago has matured into a stunning woman. You must be incredibly proud of her.”
Wesley nodded. “Indeed.”
“How old is she, twenty-six or -seven?”
“Charmaine turned twenty-eight a few months ago. But she’s always been an old soul, with a grace, wisdom, and maturity far beyond her years.”
“She’s going to make some lucky man an awesome wife. If I was single and about twenty years younger …”
Wesley gave King a speculative look, rubbed the perfectly trimmed beard on his otherwise clean-shaven face before speaking. “King, my daughter has been in love with you since she was eighteen years old. She’d love to be your wife.”
King hid the joy he felt at this revelation behind a casual smile. “That’s flattering, Wesley. But she’s a wife, four children, and a couple decades too late.”
Wesley nodded. “Indeed.” He looked at his watch. “We should leave here within the hour to meet the contingent from the Motherland.”
“Thanks for the meal, Wes. As with everything else that you’ve provided, brothah, it just doesn’t get any better.”
“Oh, it can always get better,” Wesley replied, giving King a brotherly slap on the back. “God can give us abundantly, exceedingly more than we ever dreamed.”
Considering what King was dreaming about, he knew this wasn’t true. How could God give him a wife when he already had one?
29
The Sideline Story
Rafael sat in his City Hall office, holding a report that he’d been trying to read for the past ten minutes. He hadn’t been able to get past the first paragraph. Thoughts about Princess kept getting in the way. Was it just ten days ago that Derrick Montgomery had collapsed to the floor causing Rafael’s world to crumble in the process? Yep, less than two weeks ago, Saturday before last, he was on his way to being the happiest man in Kansas City. There’d been a wedding ring in his pocket and tickets for a romantic getaway to Montego Bay in his hand. Less than two weeks ago, he was clear about his future, sure about his destiny. But today—Monday, June 25, Rafael wasn’t sure about an em-effing thing.
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