Too bad I’m a grown-up and I’m expected to act civilized. Troy for one should be glad that I care what people think of me, because some days I feel like going off on him. Today is one of those days.
Troy didn’t bring his sorry behind in this house until three in the morning. For some reason, he thinks I don’t know. As soon as he opened our bedroom door, I could smell the stench of alcohol, weed and God knows what else. He didn’t even change his clothes before he fell into bed.
I haven’t said anything about it this morning. I’m still trying to choose my words. I know that Troy was drunk and that he was probably screwing one of those little heifers that he calls protégées.
Now I feel like breaking my foot off in his behind. But I can’t do that. I’m all grown up, and there are more constructive ways to handle my anger, right? Troy plops down at the kitchen table, looking as if he’s expecting something. Breakfast maybe? He looks a little green around the gills, so obviously his night of rabble-rousing is taking effect. I hand him a glass of juice.
“Troy, don’t you think you’re too old for this mess?” I ask nonchalantly. I brace myself for his weak excuses.
“Too old for what?”
“Too old to be hanging out and getting drunk with a bunch of teenagers.”
“Getting drunk? I may have had a couple of glasses of champagne, but I don’t consider that getting drunk.”
I shake my head furiously. I can’t believe he’s sitting up here lying to me. I’ve been with this man long enough to know when he’s lying. Sure enough, he’s drumming his fingers on the table. That’s how I can tell. Drum, drum, drum.
“Troy, do not try to play me! You could barely make it to the bed last night. That takes a lot more than a couple of glasses of champagne.”
“Oh, so you think I’m lying now?”
I don’t respond to his question. I pour myself a glass of juice and drink it slowly. Maybe it’s just my imagination, but Troy looks plain old nervous. I don’t know what he’s nervous about. He’s a grown man, and I’m not his mama. I can’t send him to hell either.
“You just think I’m out there like that, Pam? I guess you think I’m sleeping around too.”
Now, this I can’t resist. “Are you?”
“No, Pam. I’m insulted that you would think that. Why would I cheat on you?”
“I don’t know, Troy, but I don’t put anything past you, that’s for sure.”
Now he’s the one looking indignant.
“Why? Just because I’m not one of those hypocrites sitting up there in church every week? Huh? Well, I’ma tell you something. Most of y’all ain’t nothing but a bunch of hypocrites.”
“Here you go.”
“Naw, here you go, Pam. You always assume the worst of me! I’m supposed to be your husband, and you act like I’m the devil or something.”
I look to see if the girls are out of earshot. I hate for them to hear me and Troy argue.
In a softer voice I continue, “Well, it wouldn’t hurt you to come to church sometimes. You know, do something with me and your daughters for a change.”
“Just like it wouldn’t hurt you to come to one of my shows, or cook me something for a change. I do remember your cooking, Pam. Do you even realize how you’ve neglected me since you decided to be a church lady? You want me to come to church, well, it goes both ways, Pam.”
I finish swallowing the last of my juice because I don’t know how to respond. In a way he’s right. I’m not the most supportive wife, especially when it comes to this music thing. I just don’t like the environment of those shows. Who wants to sit in a smoke-filled room listening to loud rap songs about nothing? But I do not neglect him. Troy is just spoiled.
“Okay, then, Troy. If you come to church this Sunday, I promise to be at your next show. How’s that?”
“Pam, you just don’t get it, do you?” He stands up. “This ain’t about tit for tat. This is about you supporting the man that’s taking care of you. You should want to come to my shows. It shouldn’t be about making no deals.”
He’s right. I don’t get it, and I don’t get him. How anyone could live their life, day in and day out, knowing that they’re going to hell is beyond my comprehension. Troy grabs his keys and walks into the living room as if he’s one hundred percent. Yeah, he’s a hundred percent all right. A hundred percent from the devil.
I follow him into the living room. “So have you decided what you’re going to do about your little tour?”
“My little tour is still on,” replies Troy sarcastically.
“So it’s just forget about me and forget about this baby.”
He looks away from me before he answers. “I don’t know, Pam.”
Before I even realize what I’m doing, I’m tossing dishes. Troy looks back at me, like I’ve lost my mind. He would be almost right in thinking that, because I feel like I am losing my mind. Strangely enough, though, my yelling, screaming, throwing tirade is somewhat liberating. Yep, Gretchen’s got it right. Everybody needs a tantrum now and then.
Chapter 30
Yvonne
I can feel everyone’s eyes on me as I enter the church. I expected it and prepared myself. Folk thought I was going to clam up like a turtle in its shell after Luke beat me. I admit, for a little while I wanted to hide away from the world, but I just couldn’t do it. I’m hurting, but I’m still alive. And I’m not afraid of Luke.
I’ve been away for four weeks, and I’ve barely healed, but I just can’t stay out of the house of the Lord. Luke broke two of my ribs, so it’s hard to breathe. I’m moving slowly, trying not to overexert myself. I hold on to the back of each pew as I work my way up the aisle. I don’t see who I’m looking for, though.
As soon as I was discharged from the hospital, I got offers from everyone to come and stay with them. I’ll be a monkey’s uncle if I let that man scare me into living as somebody’s unwanted guest. Folk mean well, but when it really comes down to it, nobody loves a houseguest forever. I almost accepted Pam’s offer, though. She was so sincere with it, and I know she’s got the space.
There’s Taylor and her little boy. When she sees me, she looks shocked, then she gives me the faintest of smiles. She tries to wipe them away quickly, but I see the tears in her eyes. Taylor’s son, Joshua, is smiling at me too. If he isn’t the spitting image of Luke! It’s funny the things that you can overlook if you’re not paying attention.
I’m glad when service finally starts. The choir’s singing is blocking out the sound of the whispering gossips. Besides, I already know what they’ve been saying about Taylor. They call her a home wrecker. But can you wreck something that’s already broken? Me and Luke ain’t been right for a long time. Our mess started long before Taylor stepped onto the scene. It took a two-week hospital stay for me to finally admit that to myself.
It’s a shame that Taylor and Luke did what they did, but I ought to be thanking her for giving me a much-needed wake-up call.
I’m rocking back and forth in my seat with my arms wrapped tight in a good hug. Sometimes you’ve got to hug yourself. I close my eyes and let the Spirit of the Lord embrace me too. His presence is here today, just where I needed it to be.
I said that I’m not afraid of Luke, but deep down I guess I am. But what else can I do but live? I can’t be going around all worried. What kind of life would that be?
When I open my eyes, there are quite a few people kneeling at the altar. I hadn’t even heard Pastor make the altar call. Is that Pam lying on her face? Yes, it is. I guess things aren’t quite right with Troy yet.
Taylor stands up and grabs my hand. She’s pulling me toward the front of the church. It is my first instinct to refuse, because I don’t want everyone looking at me, and I don’t want to go to the altar with her. When I realize that Taylor’s focus is on Pam, I change my mind. Out of all my so-called friends in this church, Pam has really been the one to see after me.
Taylor and I kneel down next to Pam and do what comes natural to
praying women. We pray. Pam’s sobs have so much pain behind them. I had no idea she was hurting like this. It seems like just yesterday she was testifying about financial freedom. Sometimes money isn’t enough, though. It’s probably not even what she was asking God for.
I’m holding Taylor’s hand and Pam’s hand, and I feel wetness on my own face. Look at us. Three broken-down women. There’s nothing we can do but pray, is there? And believe the Lord is listening.
I had every intention of getting out of the church sanctuary immediately after Pastor Brown said, “Amen and amen,” but I couldn’t even make it out the pew. Folk that don’t ever speak to me have been greeting me and hugging me. Taylor gives me a big bear hug, despite all of the staring and whispers.
When my well-wishers finally thin out, I head for the church exit. My body is exhausted and my spirit is weary. I probably had no business coming out the house yet, but I needed to hear some Word.
Just as I’m about to get into my car, Pastor Brown waves at me from across the parking lot. I wave back and get ready to go, but then I see he’s got his hands up, motioning for me to wait. Although I’m not really in the mood for a conversation with Pastor Brown, I obediently stand outside my car door. I wish he’d hurry, because it is bitter cold out here. In some cities March marks the beginning of springlike weather. But not here. Cleveland doesn’t see warm temperatures until May. Finally, Pastor Brown ambles up to the door looking every bit of sixty. He has to grab hold to the side of my car while he catches his breath.
“Sister Hastings, it was good to look out in the congregation and see you this morning. How have you been holding up?”
“Honestly, Pastor, I haven’t been holding up well at all. That’s why I needed to come to church today. I actually feel like I’m going to pieces.”
“That’s all right, sister. You have the right to feel that way. Some people think that Holy Ghost-filled saints aren’t supposed to feel pain.”
“Or that they should pretend they don’t.”
“You hit the nail on the head, sis. But I’ll say one thing: You’re a bigger woman than most of the saved women I’ve known my whole life. You being able to forgive Sister Taylor is inspiring to me.”
“Pastor, I’m afraid that I cannot accept your compliment. It was nothing in my character that made me forgive Taylor. It was nothing but prayer and Holy Spirit. I haven’t given any thought to forgiving my crazy husband. Pray my strength, Pastor.”
“I see. Well, you know, forgiveness is a process. Only the Lord forgives us to the point where the sin is wiped out completely and not even remembered. As a matter of fact, for us, forgiving isn’t the worst part, it’s the forgetting. But we serve an awesome God.”
“Pastor, it’s kind of hard to forget about somebody hurting you when they leave a souvenir. Luke just keeps giving me stuff to help me remember his mess by. First a son and now scars on my body. I’m divorcing him, you know.”
Pastor Brown rubs his hands together from the cold. “No one would judge you for it, Sister Yvonne. You’ve sure got reason.”
“Thank you for understanding, Pastor. I thought you were going to tell me to reconcile with my husband.”
“That would be miraculous. He nearly killed you.”
I feel tears running down my face. “Pastor, you don’t know how much I needed to hear that. Honestly, I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive Luke.”
“Now, sis, don’t get me wrong. As a Christian you are obligated to forgive Luke—and Taylor too. Christ freely forgave us all. But that doesn’t mean you’ve got to live with a dangerous man.”
“Yes, Pastor. That is so true.”
“Sister Hastings, I’m going to let you get on home. You need to get your rest.”
“Please keep me in prayer.”
“Always, sis.”
I suppose I should feel encouraged after that little pep talk from Pastor Brown. I mean, it sounds so easy coming out of someone else’s mouth. Of course, I already knew that I’m obligated to forgive, but having an obligation to do something doesn’t make it simple.
As a rule, I’ve always been quick to forgive people, especially my church family. It actually makes me feel noble to forgive someone for gossiping about me or for some other minor infraction. How come there’s nothing noble about forgiving a philandering husband? To forgive him, I have to make myself look like a fool.
Chapter 31
Pam
It was my idea to go out to lunch after worship service. Actually, we’re calling it lunch, but it’s close to dinnertime. I invited Yvonne to join us, but she declined. She seemed tired. It probably took all of her strength to come out of the house. I was happy to see her, though.
On Sunday I like to try out places that aren’t going to be overrun by greedy black folk. I hate to say it, but Sunday afternoons are probably the most dreaded times for restaurant owners, especially the all-you-can-eat buffets. I’ve witnessed the most disgusting displays of gluttony from churchgoers, who don’t have the good sense to be ashamed.
I can tell that Taylor has never been here before. La Mancha is a family-owned Italian restaurant with a marinara sauce to die for and desserts that’ll make you slap your mama. The atmosphere is very relaxed and child-friendly, which is important for me. Taylor seems to be embarrassed about her son’s antics, but nobody else seems to even notice.
“Taylor, leave him alone! If he wants to wiggle in his seat, let him. He isn’t hurting anybody.”
“Oh, that’s easy for you to say—your kids aren’t acting like Rosemary’s baby. Joshua, will you look at how nicely Gretchen and Cicely are sitting?”
Joshua completely ignores his mother’s question and reaches for the salt and pepper shakers. Taylor sighs and slumps back in her seat.
“Taylor, it’s okay. He’s just a little boy.”
“Some days I think Joshua is purposely being defiant. You know, Pam, it really makes a difference when a child has a father around. I think it has something to do with the bass in a man’s voice.”
“Girl, the fact of the matter is that his biological father is probably never going to be around like he should be. If you’re not up to the task, maybe you ought to introduce him to one of the brothers from the church . . . or Spencer?”
Taylor laughs. “Girl, I don’t think Spencer is going to be around.”
“What happened?”
“When Luke attacked Yvonne, I got spooked. I ran Spencer off with my craziness.”
I nod. “Well, don’t write him off yet.”
“You know, Pam, I don’t think that I’m quite ready for a man right now. I’ve been praying on this, and maybe it’s just God’s will for me to be single.”
“Maybe this is the time for you to get your life in order and prepare to be a wife.”
Taylor looks puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“Get your career off the ground and take care of your debts. Make yourself an asset to a man, and not a liability.”
Taylor nods thoughtfully. “I guess I could use some work in the finance department.”
I smile. “You could also use a little work in the homemaker category. Not like I can judge you on that one.”
“What! I’m a good cook!”
“Let’s just say that your cleaning skills leave a bit to be desired.”
Taylor laughs. “Okay, Pam, you’re right. I have decided to rejoin the singles ministry. And this time I’m not going just to find a man.”
“That’s a start, I suppose.”
“Yeah. The singles ministry president has been calling me. I guess I can’t hide forever. But enough about my issues. Now it’s your turn, Pam. Spill it.”
“What are you talking about, girl?”
“Pam, you were laying up there on the altar like your mama, your child and your dog all died on the same day. You aren’t fooling anybody—especially me.”
“Things haven’t really changed between me and Troy,” I confess. “I’ve confronted him, and he denies being an alcohol
ic and the cheating.”
Taylor doesn’t respond immediately, but then speaks: “Pam, do you actually have proof of Troy cheating?”
“No,” I reply. “But it’s a gut feeling that I have.”
Taylor asks, “I’m not trying to be nosy, but have things changed for you guys in the bedroom? That would be a dead giveaway.”
“No. Actually, we’ve never had any problems in that area.”
“Well, then, maybe you’re jumping to conclusions on the infidelity.”
I want to believe her. “Maybe . . .”
Taylor asks tentatively, “Have you been praying?”
“Morning, noon and night. I’m getting tired of praying.”
“Believe me, Pam, I know how it feels to not get an answer from the Lord. When I start feeling like I don’t want to pray, I quote Luke 11:9 to myself: ‘Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.’”
I nod in agreement. “I know that the Lord is faithful. I’m just impatient.”
“Is Troy still planning to go on tour?”
“Yes, and I don’t want to go in that delivery room by myself, like I’m a single mother or something.”
Taylor hangs her head a little, and I wish I could take those words back. I’m not thinking today. It must be the hormones.
“You’re right, Pam, it’s hard for an unmarried mother. Everybody in the hospital kind of looks down on you, assuming you’re promiscuous. But you don’t have to go through that. You are married. You can hold your head up. Plus, I’ll be your birthing coach if you want.”
“Thank you, Taylor. That’s sweet of you to offer, but I’m not giving up on Troy yet.”
“You say he has a tour planned? Has he got any good acts?”
“To tell you the truth, I don’t even know. I’ve never heard any of them perform. Troy’s always complaining about that too.”
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