“Sounds like you’d better have a seat.” Reverend Wilkins handed me the Bible in his hand. “My eyes are tired. Read to me, will you? Give me John, the fifteenth chapter. When it comes to you, exactly why you’re here, stop reading and spit it out, hear?”
I obeyed, reading three chapters before gathering both my courage and my thoughts. The pastor’s amens to my reading subsided, I went for it.
“As you know, Reverend, a long time ago I was supposed to marry your daughter.” I paused to check the old man’s expression. Blank.
I continued anyway, words piling on top of each other. “But I didn’t marry her. I was scared. Scared of you, and scared of God. Now, I think I’m ready and I’ve come to ask your blessing. Your permission.” I let out a half whistle and sank back into my chair, waiting for the man’s reply.
The pastor crossed his legs, laced his fingers around one knee. “I can’t give you my blessing on that, son. It’s already been given to someone else.
I can only say this—all things are permissible, but all things are not profitable.”
“Someone else? What’s that supposed to mean? Should I marry her or not? You’re the one who started all this.”
Reverend Wilkins yanked the knife out of his apple. He severed the skin, careful not to waste too much fruit. A ruby spiral snaked against the mahogany wood. A few more whittling rounds left the apple bare. Exposed. Two deft cuts left it cored and seeded. The pastor sliced it neatly and speared a piece with the knife, pointing it in my direction.
I shook my head and gripped the knobs at the armrests of my chair. If this were anyone else, I’d have lost it by now. Big-time.
The pastor shrugged and popped the fruit in his mouth. “So that’s it, eh? I started this?”
I sprang to my feet, the top of my head just missing a collision with the motionless ceiling fan. “Yes. You started this.” I enunciated every syllable.
“Tell me, son. What did I say? How’d I get all this going?”
I leaned over the desk, slapping one fist into the other palm. “Hello? That beloved deal? I’ve heard the story my whole life.”
Reverend Wilkins pierced another slice of apple. “And who did you hear that from, son? Was it from me?”
I dropped back into my chair. “No. Not exactly. My mother—”
Zeely’s father nodded, mumbling to himself. “Umm-hmmm. Did I ever tell you Zeely was your beloved?”
I looked at him as if he’d pulled out a gun. This man couldn’t be serious. “Then why isn’t she married? Surely you picked somebody. She’s your only daughter.”
Reverend Wilkins pointed the last piece of apple to a picture behind him of two boys, arm in arm, one white and the other one pecan tan.
“You’re right, son, I picked somebody. Why he didn’t marry her, you’ll have to ask him.”
60
Brian
Quinn thought I couldn’t turn him down. And I couldn’t, not for a ride.
“Sure. I’ll pick you up and take you to church.”
I didn’t add that dropping Quinn off was all I’d be doing. That much was understood. The things I needed to talk to God about were best said one-on-one.
I expected for Quinn to show some disappointment when he got out of the car alone, but as usual, the boy showed maturity beyond his years. He trotted away unshaken. The way I used to be. This time, I wanted it to be different. Real. Permanent. Not some fake once-a-week ritual. What was the point in that?
I didn’t advertise it or anything, but I’d been reading the Bible for weeks now. The Gospels. Ephesians. Proverbs. Psalms. Even Revelation. As he did each week, Quinn would drop off a CD of the latest sermon on my desk, probably thinking that I wouldn’t listen to it.
I did.
I listened to them all. The current series topic—forgiveness— gave me even more reason to stay in my car. Coming back to Jesus, admitting who God really was, I’d thought that would be hardest. It wasn’t. Loving God came easy. Loving people, forgiving them . . . that was hard.
With God, nothing is impossible.
Instead of leaving the lot, I pulled into a parking space, considering the results of my Bible reading the night before. I rubbed my legs, thinking of Quinn and our conversation on the basketball court. The naturals. I didn’t want to be one anymore. I wanted to get in the game. God’s game. After reading about the people of Ephesus exchanging their old lives for life in Christ, I couldn’t go to bed without piling all my idols—altars, statues, crystals someone had given me for a gift, and all those crazy books—into the trash. Now, only one task remained: for my head and my heart to meet together; to ask Jesus to take me back.
Forever this time.
I cut off the car and bowed my head. “Lord, I know I shouldn’t have walked away. You never walked away from me. You sent Quinn, Ron, Joyce, Thelma, Zee, Grace . . . All of them. To remind me.”
Grace. I gripped the steering wheel. “Thank you especially for sending her. For reminding me what love is. I thought it was about her, but it was you all along. I’ll try to give you my love instead.
“I’m messed up and only you can fix me. Please take me back . . .”
This was getting corny. And I wasn’t even done.
“I don’t know where my mother is, my father . . . Let me be your son again. In Christ’s name, Amen.”
I lifted my head just as Quinn’s face appeared outside the glass. I turned on the car and lowered the window.
“What’s up?”
“It’s the break. You know, the welcome time. I had a feeling you might still be around. It’s freezing. Why not come in?”
Chirping birds didn’t appear. No flowers sprouted through the snow. But something changed. I felt . . . peaceful. In spite of everything— Joyce’s illness, all the mess with Lottie, Grace, Mal . . . I felt free. For the moment, anyway.
I smiled at my young friend and reached for a sheet of stationery from my planner. “I’m right behind you. I need to write someone a quick note.”
61
Ron
“I’ve got some good news, folks.”
I smiled at Pastor David, perched on a stool at the front. The man had that look that meant get ready to repent.
Good.
“All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God. All. Not your brother. Not your drunk mama. Not your lying sister. Not that coworker that you can’t wait for somebody else to witness to. You. You have sinned. You have fallen short.”
I stared down at the floor. That’s what I loved about Pastor D. He gave up the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
“We see the flesh. We write people off because of what our eyes see. We tiptoe around them so their sin won’t rub off. Well, guess what? Those same people might be ahead of you in the throne line in heaven!”
“Umph.” I shook my head.
A woman two aisles up, her blond hair stiff and wide, turned and stared back at me. Mindy. I nodded and looked away, to the doors, the ceiling . . .
“We see them as a second away from hell. God looks at them as a second away from heaven. Man sees with the eye. God sees with the heart.”
The minister stood, the Bible raised in one hand, and walked to the middle of the aisle, to the end of my row. My breath quickened.
“We try to fight heavenly battles using the enemy’s tactics. We come to the altar, but we drag our grudges with us, trying to pray around them. Scream over them. It won’t work. You have to let it go. Right here. Right now.”
A soft instrumental played. “Today is your day. If you’re not saved this morning, the only sin you need to worry about is the sin of not accepting Jesus. If you are saved, but you aren’t free, aren’t forgiving or forgiven, you need to drag whatever you’ve got—a fence, a door, a wall—I don’t care. Just get it down here.”
I stood to my feet, remorse welling in my chest. I piled up all the stones in my mind—my mother, Zeely, Mindy, Brian? No. Not Brian. He was in worse shape than I was. I had to cut h
im some slack . . .
Blue fabric fanned past me, blocking my path as I stepped slowly into the aisle. A man in a flowing African robe almost trampled me on the way to the altar.
“Excuse me,” the guy said without looking back.
I froze.
It was Brian. And he’d beat me to the altar.
62
Zeely
I might as well have boarded a cruise ship, the way my stomach rocked and rolled. Three days now. If this morning sickness didn’t run its course soon, I’d have to find someone to teach my class next week too. The TV whispered in the next room. Jeopardy. I didn’t know any answers, but anything sounded better than my questions. Why did Jerry ask me to take off my ring until we could talk privately? What had Daddy said to him?
You don’t want to know.
I heard a bell. Was that the TV? No, definitely the doorbell. I rolled off the couch. Didn’t people use the phone anymore? Email? Something? At least I could be sure it wasn’t Ron. We didn’t have anything left to say. Tugging at my clothes and wiping tears from the corners of my eyes, I went to the door and looked out the peephole. I tensed. Jerry. The conversation I’d avoided at work was coming. Seeing him this much was a little disconcerting. I’d have to get used to it. I cracked the door.
“Hey.”
Jerry widened the crack, his jacket pulled close and a knit cap pulled low on his head. “Jack Frost is making me rethink this head shaving thing.” He headed straight for the couch.
“Can you wipe your feet please? The carpet.” Lord, this man-inthe-house thing was going to take some real getting used to.
He smiled. “Sure. I wasn’t thinking.”
Neither was I.
Maybe Grace was right. Was this what marriage would be like? Nagging after a grown man all the time? Jerry wiped the slush from his shoes and moved back to the couch. From the look on his face I wouldn’t have to worry about marriage. He cleared his throat. I clutched mine.
“What’s up?”
He patted the seat beside him. “I just need to talk to you, remember?” He took my hand. “Besides, I haven’t been alone with you since—”
Alone? Was he going to start coming over every night? Have mercy. “Sorry about that. You know I haven’t been well.”
“Another reason I came by. You need anything? I didn’t get the chance to ask last time. You were a little . . . busy.”
My stomach rumbled. I was about to be busy again. “All I need is a nap.”
“Okay. I’ll make this quick.” He untied the belt to his coat.
I took a deep breath, freeing my lungs to scream if necessary. “Yes?”
“I talked to your dad like you asked me to. Sunday night, in fact.”
I’d talked to my father several times since then. Why hadn’t he mentioned Jerry’s visit? “And?”
“And he wasn’t pleased.”
I pinched one eye shut, trying to focus on my guest with the other. He was talking crazy. “What on earth do you mean by that?” I was up now, circling my sectional like a panther.
He didn’t try to calm me down. In fact, I think he was just as mad as I was.
“I had the same reaction. Your dad asked me when did he tell me I was the one, your beloved. I had no answer. My mother always said it. Did he ever say it to you?”
I walked to the fish tank. “Well . . .” Now I was at the counter. Did he say it? Of course he had. I just couldn’t remember. The table held me up now. “I-I don’t know. I can only remember Mama saying it now, but—but . . .” I was back at the sink.
Dear God. Could it be true? Had I missed it all along?
Jerry’s arms surrounded me. Smothered me. I wiggled forward trying to get my breath before he squeezed me to death. Literally. “So that’s it? All this time and he just let me think—”
“Let us think.”
I rolled my eyes, glad I was turned around, out of his view. “You didn’t think anything. You had a wife. Still do, no matter what the state of Ohio says.”
He let me go and turned me around to face him. “Carmel doesn’t want me, Zee. She says I’ll always be hooked on you, that we should just be together. She’s right. I didn’t think she was, but she is.”
Carmel gave her man over just like that? Why now? I opened a drawer in the coffee table, reached inside, and handed Jerry a jewelry box. “Well, it looks like Carmel got it wrong too. Just like the rest of us. Go pawn this and buy Monique and your granddaughter a Christmas gift.”
“My what? You know about that?”
I shrugged. “Not because you told me. When was that update scheduled? After the wedding?”
He hugged me again, softer this time. “I was going to tell you tonight.” He pushed the ring my way. “I don’t want it back, no matter what your father says. My mother picked it out just for you. All I came to tell you was that we won’t be able to count on your father’s support like we thought.”
I laid my head on his chest. Or was that his belly?
He’s so tall. Great for a child to look up to.
“Since Daddy wants to play crazy, we’ll have to find another pastor to counsel us. Marry us too, I guess. He won’t marry anybody he doesn’t feel right about.”
Jerry ruffled my hair. I went stiff, wishing I’d tied it down before he came. Now I’d have to wrap it all over again. Oh well. I’d have to get used to this. A man. My man. It sounded strange even in my mind.
“I’m glad you mentioned another pastor. I didn’t know how you’d feel about that since you’ve been at Mount Olive all your life.”
All my life. All my life wasted, sitting on the front pew, wiping the noses of other people’s children, singing when nobody showed, cooking when nobody felt like it, and still, Daddy had done this. Never said a word. “No. We can go wherever you feel comfortable. God is everywhere.”
He smiled. “I already have a place in mind. That mixed church over in the shopping center. Quinn goes there. Ron too.”
I wobbled a little. Jerry bent down, steadying my shoulders. “Are you okay? We can wait if you want—”
I pulled away. “No. That’s fine. We can try it out whenever you want. Grace goes there too.”
“See there! I told you the Lord was in this. We’ll go Sunday, okay?”
“Su-ure.” I ran for the bathroom.
63
Grace
Mom and Daddy came to visit today. They didn’t stay long. People are wondering where I am, they said. Mom worried they’d been followed. Daddy looked at my belly—it’s big now—and he cried. I’ve never seen him do that, not even when Grandma and Grandpa died. I guess watching me die is worse.
Diana Dixon
From the sound of the church tape, I’d missed a great service. Pastor David had been on point as usual. If I hadn’t been so tired, I would have pushed myself to make it, but there was nothing worse than sleeping in church. When it gets like that, I need to check myself.
Since that night at the church with Reverend Wilkins, I’d been dancing most every day. In the mornings at home, developing a curriculum for the new Ngozi dance troupe, and in the evenings at Zeely’s dance class or an occasional ballet class at a studio nearby. Ballet had been a nightmare when I was a girl, but now it seemed soothing somehow.
Still, I couldn’t dance my way whole. It wasn’t going to change Lottie’s threat or stop my feelings toward Brian. Those were things that I was going to have to put as much energy into overcoming as I was putting into my dancing. The question was . . . when?
Lord, please be patient with me. I’m trying.
The Brian thing might require fleeing the locality, but the thing with Lottie could be dealt with easily by me doing what I should have done years ago, opening up my mouth. Zeely had been having company most every night this week, male company by the looks of the vehicles, but I’m no one to judge. Still, I had a story to tell and, before this week was out, Miss Zee was going to hear it.
I eased my car around the corner. There was a black SUV i
n front of Zeely’s house. The license plate made my mouth drop: Big Q Dog. Jerry had worn a fraternity jacket with the name last week. A man at Zeely’s place on a weeknight? It was a sight I thought I’d never see.
He’s marrying her. I guess he’s got the right.
I still wasn’t so sure how I felt about that. When Zeely dropped her diamond bomb on me the last time we were together, I should have been happy. I wasn’t. Something about it just didn’t fit. Zeely’s sad face and her bare finger since her announcement was another weird thing. I kept praying and kept my mouth shut. I had problems of my own.
I dragged my sore body into my condo, which felt emptier than usual tonight, probably because Zeely had company. And from now on, she’d always have company. Was this how Zeely had felt when I married Peter? I felt like I should go down and apologize. I didn’t want to, not with Jerry there. I loved working with the guy, but as a husband for Zeely? Nah.
I thought it would have been Ron.
I’d joined Ron and Zeely a few times for their fun nights: a few board games, a good movie, a great dinner, lots of prayers. The guy had even beaten me at Bible Trivia. That didn’t happen often. And the guys who could beat me were usually serious, intense, like Mal. Ron knew how to laugh, how to have fun. And he and Zeely seemed to have a lot of it. After my third time with them, I’d declined their next invitation. The two of them didn’t realize it, but they were dating, and I didn’t care too much for being the third wheel. Now there’d be no wheel at all.
I peeked out the curtains. Jerry’s car hadn’t moved. So much for late-night girl talk. I sighed and mounted the stairs. Zeely might be getting married, but I still had something to tell her. No man would stand in the way of that.
64
Ron
I dialed the numbers with caution and turned the heat in the car up a little higher. Toasty. She probably wouldn’t pick up anyway. A woman’s voice surprised me on the line.
“Min? It’s me. Ron. How are you?”
Rhythms of Grace Page 31