“Because this sh—” She stopped herself and held up her hands. “Sorry, I forgot you’re Pastor Jeffries’s daughter.” She backed up and began again, “Because this ish ain’t normal. When a man—or a woman—has to go to this extreme, something ain’t right. This is how people pay for their abuse.”
Her words made me think about my mom. Sisley Jeffries had a plethora of gifts: minks, diamonds, a whole floor in the brownstone designated as her closet filled with designer clothes.
She said, “There needs to be a twelve-step program for survivors, and the first thing you have to admit is there’s a problem. That’s where I was at fault.”
I wanted to move on to business, but I had to say, “How was his abuse your fault?”
She held up her finger. “My fault is that it took me too long to admit there was a problem. The first time he laid his hands on me, I should’ve had him arrested. Because maybe then, he would’ve gotten help instead of believing that I was his punching bag.” She paused. “If I had admitted Derrick had a problem, that could have saved us. At the very least, it would have saved him. Look at him today, he can’t find a job, he has difficulty in relationships, he’s already on his third attorney with this. If he’d learned how to channel his rage, he’d be a better man today.” Her shoulders sagged. “That’s why I’m culpable. I should’ve kicked his ass out the first time, and we would’ve started healing from there.”
Her words made my heart beat harder, so I leaned across the desk and handed her the folder. “These are all the items we’ll be presenting in arbitration.”
She gave me a long look, then a little shrug, before she turned her attention to her case. She fell right into it, answering my questions, asking her own. For the next forty or so minutes, we weren’t sitting in the middle of a flower garden—we were taking care of the business of breaking every part of her marriage.
At the end, when I stood, Tasha hugged me. “Please don’t waste all the time that I did,” she said, once again taking us back to the conversation I didn’t want to have.
I watched her as she did one of those dramatic strolls, her fur dragging behind her. Even when she was gone, her words remained: Don’t waste all the time that I did.
Just as I returned to my desk, my cell rang, but I didn’t check the screen; I knew the ringtone. A few seconds later, I heard the text notification.
Xavier had been calling, texting, all day. I heard his words on my voice mail: “I’m so sorry. You will never know how sorry.” I read his texts on my phone:
I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you.
I wondered if that meant an office filled with flowers for the rest of my life. The thought of that made me chuckle, but the laugh didn’t last.
My thoughts returned to three months… three incidents.
I should’ve kicked his ass out the first time.
Her words were like a soundtrack as the movie of my life with Xavier played. I sat at my desk, with that video in my mind and her words still in my ears. Outside, darkness began its descent, and still I sat.
I should’ve kicked his ass out the first time.
When night had completely claimed the city, I opened my phone to my messages, and texted:
Can we talk, please?
The quick response surprised me:
Please!
I’ll be there in about thirty minutes.
The return text:
♥
That made me smile. Then I closed my eyes and prayed, “Lord, I’m looking for a sign from you. Please send me a sign. Tell me what to do.”
* * *
JUMPING OUT OF the taxi, I trotted through the parking lot, then rang the bell at the side door of the church. Within a few seconds, Thelma, my father’s assistant, pushed open the door.
“Hey, Chastity,” she said. “What’s going on?”
“Not much.” I stepped past her.
“That’s not true. Your mom and dad told me you went away for the weekend.” She sounded as if she was about to break out in a cheer.
I held my breath, waiting to hear the spin my parents had put on this, but all Thelma said was, “Did you have a good time?”
“I did,” I said, surprised there was nothing more.
Thelma had been with my father for about fifteen years, having replaced Cynthia, my father’s assistant who had ensured her departure when she’d given my mother those pictures of her and my father. My mother had interviewed and hired Thelma herself, and over the years, the older woman had become a confidant to both of my parents.
So if they hadn’t mentioned my marriage to her, no one in this city knew. Maybe my parents believed if they didn’t speak it, it wouldn’t be true.
As I moved down the hall, Thelma stopped me. “Your dad is waiting… but he’s in there,” she said, pointing to the left.
My eyebrows rose a little, but I was not surprised. My heels clicked on the parquet floors, but once I crossed the threshold that led to the 2,500-seat sanctuary, my movement was silenced by the carpet.
I took only a few steps in before I stopped, soaking in the grandeur of the church. It was more than its size, more than the architecture of the domed ceiling and the dozen custom-designed stained-glass windows, which glowed especially under the night sky.
It was the aura of this place. When I was little, I’d been sure God lived here. I couldn’t see Him, but I felt Him. Especially when the sanctuary was silent, that was when I felt the most peace. That was what I’d come looking for tonight—peace, signs, and my father.
My father sat in the center of the front pew, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees while his fingertips touched. He was doing his pray-think-speak thing again. Praying and thinking before he had to speak to me.
Without raising his head, he said, “Thank you for reaching out to me, princess.”
When I sat down next to him, he hugged me before we leaned back and stared at the altar. The peace of Wednesday evening’s quiet surrounded us.
Just about an hour before, this sanctuary had been packed, I was sure, for midweek prayer. My father didn’t keep the people long. Started at five thirty, and they were done in an hour so they could go home to their families.
After a while, my father said, “Do you remember the first time we sat in here, just so we could talk?”
My glance stayed on the huge golden cross that hung high behind the altar. “The weekend before I left for college.”
He nodded. “Do you remember what I told you then?”
“What I remember most—you said I could always come home.” Those words had made me feel so safe then. “You said no matter what I was going through, home was always my sanctuary.”
“I wanted to make sure you remembered that then.”
I sighed. I guessed this was the sign I’d come looking for. God had told my father to remind me that I had a home, that I didn’t have to stay with Xavier.
“I’m glad you remember that now.”
“Is that why you were glad I reached out to you? To remind me of that?”
“No.” He shook his head. “I wanted to see you so I could apologize. I should never have come at you and Xavier the way I did yesterday, and the next time I see him, I will apologize to Xavier, too.”
“Apology accepted,” I said, though I felt a bit discombobulated. This apology didn’t go along with what he’d just said about always having a home. After a beat, I asked, “Does this mean—”
He didn’t let me finish. “I’m not pleased you got married so quickly, and there’s nothing wrong with me letting you know that. But I should never have walked out of there with you having any doubt that I love you and support you no matter what.”
“I never doubted that. I knew you were just angry in the moment.”
“I was more shocked and saddened. But that didn’t give me a right to react with anger. And then to not reach out to you last night…” His head dipped a bit.
Even during the worst of times, my father lived by E
phesians 4:26. He never laid his head down with anger in his heart.
“I wasn’t happy, but I support you… in your marriage.”
“Thank you.”
I turned my attention back to the altar, back to the cross, and my father did the same. He was back in his pray-think-speak mode, and as I waited for him to get to the speaking part, I thought this was the sign. My father supporting me and Xavier was the sign that I was supposed to be with him.
My father said, “It’s not that I don’t like Xavier,” as if he was beginning in the middle of a thought. “From what I saw in the half hour we spent together”—he paused, letting the absurdity of that fact settle—“he’s a young man who’s achieved a lot against what sounds like tough odds.”
This was where I was supposed to rise up and shout out all that Xavier had conquered. But although the words and the sentiment were inside, what I wanted to say stayed stuck in my throat.
So my father continued, “I’m hoping he’s the good man you say he is.”
I nodded, unable to speak my affirmation.
“I still believe he may be holding on to some of his grief, although that’s more of my feeling than a fact.”
Was that what it was? Grief? Was that what happened last night? Was grief at the center of those three incidents?
“But Xavier and I will get to know each other, man-to-man; I want him to know I’ll be here for him as well.”
“You don’t know what this means to me.”
“I think I do.” He nodded. “I’m going to stand by you as you stand by Xavier. He’s my… son-in-law now. Your mother and I accept that.”
His words were the companion to the peace in this sanctuary. This was my final sign.
He took my hand. “So, princess, we’ve reached a new phase, haven’t we? You’re a married woman.” There was so much wonder in his tone. “I’m looking forward to moving ahead from here.”
I sighed with so much relief. “Thank you, Papa.”
“Now, your mother is already way ahead of me. She’s ready to make the announcement, plan the reception, but the first thing I must do is get together with Xavier and apologize to him.”
I closed my eyes, filled with gratitude for the signs that I’d wanted and my father’s support, which I needed.
“There’s one last thing. Last night, Xavier suggested something, and I couldn’t hear him then, but”—he pointed to the altar—“I would like both of you to stand right there in front of God, me and your mother, and all of our guests… I want to perform the ceremony I’ve dreamed of since you were born.”
I wrapped my arms around him and held on tight. “That would be amazing.”
“It’s going to be pretty amazing for me, too. Me, the father of the bride.” He chuckled, leaned back on the pew, and I rested my head on his shoulder. Once again, my eyes turned to the altar, to the cross and the peace.
The altar, the cross, the peace. Three. Just like three months… three incidents. Three… the number of divine wholeness, the resurrection. Maybe that’s what this was all about. With me and Xavier, a family unit, joining with my parents, this would be Xavier’s rising. His new life—one of support and love. With my father, he’d be able to come to terms with his past, his grief, if that was what he needed.
Last night had been so scary, but because of this night, I knew where I was supposed to be. Xavier was my purpose, and I was going to help him overcome. Whatever help he needed, he would get from me. And my mom and dad, too.
33 Xavier
Chastity’s voice mail once again told me to leave a message, and with a roar, I hurled my cell phone across the room. I heard the snap, then the crack, finally, the crash against the wall, but I didn’t care. I was frantic.
I sank onto the sofa, feeling the first flicker of the flames, but it was doused by my regret. How could this happen? Marriage was supposed to protect me, to save us. Yet it was clear: a marriage license wasn’t enough. It was just a piece of paper, not heavy enough, not opaque enough, not dense enough to cover up what I’d done. Not enough to make the best woman I’d ever known stay.
But just when I wanted to stop breathing… I heard the key. I sprang up but paused at the end of the hallway, not wanting to scare her away.
She stepped into the condo, and I whispered her name. “Chastity.” When she closed the door behind her, I said, “I was so worried. I’ve been calling you.”
“I turned my phone off and then I went to my place first. I guess I didn’t know where we were going to…”
She stopped, combed her fingers through her hair, and I almost collapsed from my relief. Where we were going to stay, to sleep… that’s what she was going to say.
I took one step toward her; she didn’t back away, though she stayed by the door with her coat still closed, as if that would be her quick getaway. But still I had more hope. “I’m so happy to see you. Baby, I’m so sorry.”
“I know you are.” She paused. “There are over one hundred roses in my office that kinda prove that.”
I chuckled but stopped when she didn’t even smile.
After a couple of beats, she asked, “What happened last night?”
I didn’t want to talk about that. Didn’t want to remind her of what she’d seen. But she’d gone straight to it, so I responded, “Nothing. Everything. I lost control because what your parents think means the world to me.”
She nodded as if she understood, giving me more hope, until she added, “But you got so angry.”
“It was just I didn’t have a chance to speak up for myself.”
Again, she nodded, then surprised me with, “My father thinks…” She paused. “Do you think you could still be grieving in some way and that’s where your anger comes from?”
It took everything in me not to squeeze my hands together. What had she told her parents? “Your father knows… what happened last night?”
“No.” She shook her head as if that was a ridiculous question. “That is between you and me. We’ll work it out.” I breathed until she said, “Do you think that’s it?”
“Grieving what, Chastity?” It was a fight to keep my volume down, my tone steady. “The only person I would grieve is my mother, and she died twenty years ago. I’m over that. Last night was just about it being too much at that moment. But it will never be too much again. That will never happen because I don’t want to lose you.”
Now she took a step toward me. “Xavier, you’ve got to stop talking about losing me.”
I breathed.
“Whatever challenges we have, we’ll work through them, but you’re not going to lose me. I’m your wife now.”
I wanted to make her say a promise and make a pledge.
“But there’s something going on with you,” she said. “Haven’t you noticed how mad you get?”
She was pressing, and I was already on the verge from the hours I’d waited for her. I turned around so she wouldn’t see the emotions boiling. “I mean, yeah, I get angry…” After a couple of seconds, I faced her again. “But so do you, so does everyone.”
“Okay,” she said, holding up her hands as if she wanted to stop the conversation. “Let me rephrase. I do get angry. But yours is different. Yours is a rage—it’s like there’s this wrath burning inside of you.”
I was shocked at how close she’d come to describing what I felt. We were connected for sure.
Still, I said, “Really? You’re saying this because of what happened last night?”
“It wasn’t just last night. I’ve seen you like this a number of times. Remember when you met my mom…”
I had to take a breath before I said, “You set me up,” so she wouldn’t hear the anger that I felt.
“And then again, on the day we got engaged.”
Another breath. “Forgive me if I was upset when I thought you were saying no.”
“All of those are good reasons to be upset, but you go beyond that.”
“Baby, please.” I moved closer, and again, she did
n’t back away. “I’ve just been under so much pressure. So many big moves and changes. My biggest case…” I paused. “My beautiful wife. It’s been a lot.” I pulled her into my arms, and when she held me back, I exhaled. “All you need to know is this won’t happen again,” I whispered. “Please forgive me.”
She leaned into my chest, and I knew not only did she forgive me but she believed me. Because she was my wife. And that ring on her finger had worked.
* * *
I HID MY yawn behind my fist. This week had been exhausting, working a major case and still worrying about my wife. As if she knew I was thinking about her, Chastity squeezed my hand, and I turned from the car’s window and smiled at her. When she laid her head on my shoulder, I sighed and returned my attention to the passing landscape as the Uber sped uptown.
It was difficult to believe we’d only been married a week. I’d put so much into the last four days, paying penance for what I’d done. But I didn’t mind. Like I’d told Chastity a thousand times, I would do anything to make our marriage right. That’s why after I’d filled her office with flowers on Wednesday, on Thursday, I sent a designer to her firm with a dozen outfits for her to choose her favorites, on Friday, a driver picked her up from work and whisked her off to the Red Door spa, and then last night, for our one-week anniversary, I’d taken her back to the Times Square hotel where we started. This time, I didn’t have the suite lit with candles or fragranced with roses. What I had was a diamond-and-pearl silver cable bracelet waiting for her under the pillow.
Now, this morning, I was giving her what she wanted most, though the invitation had come from her father. On Thursday, he’d called, apologized, and asked me to join them today.
“I want a reset,” he’d told me, and I’d been thankful for his invitation.
Today was my shot to make it right with all of them, the Jeffrieses, who were now my family. In front of Greater Grace, we exited the Uber, and we made our way through the masses, heads down, eyes averted, just like when I’d been here before. At the side of the church, this time, we were cognizant of the camera that watched us.
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