Maybe that’s what hurt most. The disappointment. After all her efforts, all her scheming and even praying, nothing had worked out to her advantage. Why me? Why couldn’t she live her life, sing, and then die when it was all over with? Was it too much to ask to just be happy again?
She’d even lost the handsome guy, which was not supposed to happen. He was supposed to love her through all this. Be there for her, have compassion and pity on her. Instead, he’d walked away. Driven, away, actually, in her ticketed, insured vehicle.
Stupid. This whole thing was stupid. Her whole life was stupid, now that she thought about it. Nothing had been right or fair since her mother died. Couldn’t God give her a break? If anyone deserved to have a great life, it was her! Hadn’t He taken enough from her without taking her dreams and her almost man, too?
Tears leaked onto the table as Camille found herself sobbing again. She had come to the end of herself. There was no way up or down, left or right. This was simply the end.
If her mother had been alive, she would have been the most let down by all this mess. How many times had she prayed over Camille’s life? Dabbed blessed oil on her forehead, asking the Lord to protect Camille, guide Camille, and give Camille a heart for Him?
Better yet, if her mother had still been alive, none of these terrible things would have happened. She’d still have her brother, and her father would still be the respectable man she’d known growing up. Sweet Treats would still be together. Maybe. Or, at least, the rest of the group wouldn’t hate her so much.
Yes, everything would have been different if God hadn’t taken her mother away. Now, for the first time since eleventh grade, she asked aloud, “Why my mother, Lord? Why did you have to take her and leave me without the one person who loved me more than anything?”
No response. It was as though God Almighty decided He didn’t need to answer to anybody. He would just do what He wanted, when He wanted, how He wanted, and people could love Him or hate Him, he didn’t care. He didn’t have to care; He was God.
I love you. I have never left you.
Camille bolted straight up. She looked around the room because, this time, the words sounded like they had come from inside and outside, too. She blinked a few times, examined the four corners of the empty room. Every logical cell within her tried to discount what she’d just heard, but the truth resonated more loudly than anything else that had ever passed through Camille’s soul.
The Inner Witness brought to mind Chrisandrea’s thoughts about the footprints poem. When you look back over, like, the sands of your life and see only one set of footprints, that’s not when God left you. That’s when God was carrying you through the tough times because you were too weak to walk, the young girl had said.
He loved her and had never left her. If that was true, then He’d been there when her mother died, when Sweet Treats broke up, when she’d moved into that ratty apartment, when she joined Grace Chapel under false pretenses. Even when she met Ronald. If He had been there all the time, why didn’t He say anything?
She recalled the words He had spoken in the car. You wouldn’t listen. She charged, “How was I supposed to listen when I couldn’t hear you?”
You couldn’t hear because we don’t talk.
He had a point.
A flood of scriptures rushed through Camille’s mind. From stuff she’d learned in Sunday school almost twenty years ago to things Pastor Collins preached the previous Wednesday night. All of them pointing at one idea: Draw close to God and He will draw close to you.
Only, this time, she realized God had actually taken the first steps in love. He had pulled her into this situation. He had allowed her to sabotage Sweet Treats and live in her own self-imposed wilderness long enough to realize she had to do something to get out. That something had drawn her back to church, back to Him. Even to jail, where He wanted to answer her mother’s prayers after all these years.
She must have read that verse in the eighth chapter of Romans a hundred times—all things work together. But it never made sense until that very moment, sitting in an examination room in a jailhouse, of all places. Everything, the good, bad, and ugly, had come to this. Because He loved her. Like the old folk said at the old church, it’s one thing to have the information. Another thing altogether to have the revelation.
One word from Him makes all the difference.
Suddenly, divinely, she wanted to know God for herself. Not to get a record deal, not to stay out of hell. But if He loved her this much, she wanted to love Him, too, singing contract or not.
“Jesus, I’m sorry I tried to use you.” Even though she’d said the prayer of faith when she was twelve years old along with everyone else in the youth choir, she realized now that she hadn’t really meant it. Yes, she knew Jesus was God’s son, that He had died for her sins. But, like Pastor Collins had preached, even the demons have that little bit of information. The truth was, in the past, she’d wanted him to save her from the consequences of sin, not sin itself.
She’d made that Romans 3:16 confession in hopes of avoiding hell (and not hurting her mother’s feelings), but not because she had any intention of making Jesus her Lord.
This time was different. “Jesus, I love you. I can’t make it without You. I confess You as my savior, and I surrender myself to You. Thank You for standing in the gap until it all made sense. And thank you for making it make sense to me.” And then she thanked Him in tears as she marveled at His Excellency. His grace, which had paved the way and opened her ears to hear God’s voice in a way she had never heard before.
Though she felt a lifetime has passed since the officer ushered her into this life-changing situation, the wall clock showed only twenty minutes had passed. Camille wiped her face dry and used her cotton shirt sleeve to clear the table as well. Yesterday was over. Today was the first day of the rest of her life. As soon as these people cleared her name, she’d walk out of the station, find Ronald, and tell him the whole truth—including the fact that she liked him more than she’d ever let on, more than she was willing to admit to herself because that might foil her master plan. Whatever happened after her confession ... well ... she’d leave that up to God.
CHAPTER 31
Tonya and Courtney waited in the periphery, giving the family choice, covered seating at the military burial grounds. Alexis’s father’s service in the army resulted in a dignified, proud salute to Alexis, her mother, and her brother. The American flag, presented after two soldiers meticulously folded the symbol of freedom, was the final portion of the memorial ceremony for Mr. Nevils.
The funeral directors thanked the family and allowed the mourners a few moments to comfort the family before corralling Alexis, Mrs. Nevils, and other close relatives back into the limousines and back for the repast.
Neither Tonya nor Courtney had had the opportunity to really embrace Alexis yet. She’d been so crowded by people who were, obviously, closer than the old Sweet Treats gang. Still, they wanted her to know they cared. Since their virtual meeting last month, they’d been in touch regularly. Kyra had wanted to make the funeral, too, but her own father had surgery scheduled. Someone should have called Camille, probably, but no one ever got around to it. The one person who would have made sure it happened was too overwhelmed with grief and funeral plans to concern herself to stop to make contact with Camille.
Mr. Nevils’s swift death had caught Alexis by surprise. It was no secret that he wasn’t in the best of health. Still, she’d expected some kind of warning. Several days in a hospital, some drifting in and out of consciousness so she would have a clue that it was time to start saying good-bye. But, when she really thought about it, she knew she was only being selfish. Her father had passed away in his sleep. No machines, no needles, no tubes. Everybody wants to go like that. Even the doctor said her father probably felt little or no pain, though she wondered if he was just saying that to make her feel better.
Courtney knew all too well that the hardest part, the days after all the card
s and meals subsided, would prove to be the toughest days. Because he knew Alexis would need his comfort more then than now, he’d almost decided to stay home from the funeral and simply contact her in a few weeks. But his wife had convinced him otherwise.
“It means a lot to the family to see an audience full of people,” Monique had said. “Even if she doesn’t remember seeing your face, she’ll see your name in the guest book later.”
Since money wasn’t a problem, Courtney saw no reason not to buy the airline ticket and skip up to St. Louis for a day to be there for Alexis. A long time ago, neither he nor any of the Sweet Treats would have imagined not attending the funeral. Now that they were about to all get back in the swing of things, he knew this was the right thing to do.
Back at the church, the fellowship hall quickly filled with loud-talking, friendly, famished church folk. Courtney and Tonya waited their turn to pass through the serving line. He smiled at the oversized helpings of mashed potatoes and green beans the hospitality crew piled onto his plate.
“Thank you,” he said to a woman who’d done double duty as an usher during the ceremony. He remembered the days when his mother played the piano, transported flowers, and poured punch after funerals. Like these women, she had given her life over to good works in Jesus’s name. He’d been blessed to find a wife with the same heart, and Monique was doing a good job of handing down the tradition to their own daughter, Jamia, who took great pride in caring for her dolls. Nurturers, the both of them.
He had been a nurturer, too. Always looked out for his little sister, until she burned him. Alexis and Tonya weren’t the only ones who’d been pressuring him to move beyond this thing with Camille. Monique had joined the battle. “One of these days, you’re going to realize how much you and your sister need each other,” she had predicted more than once. “I just hope you don’t come to that epiphany too late.”
He hoped the same thing, too. Seeing Mr. Nevils in that casket made Courtney think of his own father. Bobby Junior wouldn’t be here forever. Right now, his father was the last good memory leftover from childhood. Momma was gone. Camille estranged. He had his family with Monique, of course, but there’s nothing like hanging with the people you played hide-and-go-seek with. If he hadn’t spent his young-adult years trying to build his sister’s career, he might have a few homeboys. Fact was, he’d given up his early twenties to make sure his sister turned out fine.
Hmmm. Maybe he had something in common with the church ladies after all.
“Dang, Tonya, we probably could have split one plate,” he joked as they grabbed cups of tea at the final serving station before returning to their seats.
“I know, right?”
Courtney took note of the fine lines gathering in the corners of Tonya’s eyes. Probably from lack of sleep. All that time on the road can age a person prematurely. Coupled with the fact that Tonya had to be at least thirty now, Courtney realized how much time had passed since he’d been in her company.
He wondered how Camille was aging. Alexis had said his sister was broke. Lack of money and health insurance can wreak havoc on a person’s body. Bad teeth, pot-marked cheeks, dark fingernails—all the visible signs of hard living in America.
As the guests dined and left, Courtney and Tonya approached Alexis and her mother at the front table. Flanked by so many comforters, Courtney didn’t think Alexis had even seen them in the crowd. However, she fussed at them for taking so long to give her hugs. “I saw y’all come in church! You should have sat closer.”
“Naw, girl. That’s for the family,” Tonya said, pulling Alexis into a full hug.
Alexis released some of her grief on Tonya’s shoulder.
Courtney completed the embrace, holding both girls in place for a moment. “It will get better. I promise,” he whispered.
Alexis switched to his shoulder now, drawing on the comfort his experience with losing a parent had to offer. “I’m so glad you decided to bring us back together. Daddy said he didn’t want me to put my life on hold anymore for him and Momma. Singing again will help me get through, I think.” She collected herself and looked over Courtney’s shoulder. “Where’s Camille?”
“I didn’t get a chance to call her,” Courtney stretched the truth.
“You didn’t call her?” Alexis scowled.
“No, Lexi. I’m sorry.”
“Daddy really liked Camille, you know. He said she was a scrappy something.” Alexis laughed.
“He was right about that,” Courtney had to agree. No one had ever called his sister timid. “But don’t worry. I’ll call her soon.”
“You’d better,” Alexis said. “Life is too short.”
CHAPTER 32
An hour later, without so much as an apology, an administrative worker opened the door, handed Camille her purse, and said, “Clerical error. Computers are only as good as the people usin’ ’em. You can go.”
Camille dried the last drops from her eyes and rose to her feet a new woman in Christ. Before she could even get out of the room good, a negative murmur nagged inside her head. Don’t kid yourself. Everybody gets saved in jail. Now that you’re out, you’ll go back to your old ways.
She found herself arguing with the voice internally. No! I am not the same!
Yes, you are. You and everybody else who calls on Jesus when they’re in trouble.
The same clerk who’d greeted her when she first got to the station interrupted the mental battle. “Here’s a printout of your payments, in case someone tries to bring you in again.
“Under the circumstances, I can have an officer transport you home if need be.”
She fought the urge to make a sarcastic comment. It was their fault. A ride home was the least they could provide. “I’ll take you up on the offer, thank you.”
“What’s your address?”
Camille answered promptly.
“Did your car get towed?” the woman asked next.
“No. A friend drove it for me.”
“Okay. Have a seat. I’ll find somebody who’s going out to that part of town for you. We’ve always got people in your hood.”
Already, people were trying to make her go off. Couldn’t they let her get back to her apartment first?
The trip home didn’t help. She’d always guessed officers were turning on their lights and sirens so they could speed through intersections for no reason. Now she had proof. Officer McGinnis couldn’t have been a better stereotype of a policeman. He had a dirty mouth, a lead foot, and he’d obviously consumed way too many free donuts. Still, Camille felt an uncharacteristic compassion for him. For as much trouble as all these men of the law had been to her, she realized they had a tough job. They’d seen people mangled in accidents, shot as a result of violence. And each of them risked their lives every day.
She bit her tongue about his rogue driving and thanked him when he dropped her off.
“Sorry about that mix-up, ma’am,” he said with a belch.
“No problem. Just remember me if you ever pull me over,” she joked.
He winked at her, bearing a smile she hadn’t expected from him. “Sure thing.”
Cat made a beeline to Camille upon entrance. Meow! Meow! Meow!
“Hey, you.” Camille threw her bag on the kitchen counter, slipped out of her too flat flats, and sat to allow Cat his routine rub. Cat, however, had something else in mind. He stood at the door to her bedroom and bellowed his little heart out.
Camille got up from the couch and made her way to the animal, feeling as though she was having a Lassie moment. The way he was carrying on, she honestly wondered if Cat could tell something different about her.
Really, it wasn’t that deep. It was that gross, however. There, in the space where her feet hit the floor when she got out of bed, was a dead mouse. “Eeew!” Camille shrieked.
Cat looked up at her like he’d done something good.
“Cat! You did that!” She visually searched for traces of blood around his mouth. Nothing. Must have been
a clean kill.
“Cat, you can’t be killing stuff—”
Then it hit her: Cat never left her unit. If Cat killed a mouse, the mouse must have been inside her apartment. “Oh my God,” she said, and not in vain, either. She needed God’s help for real if there were mice in her apartment. Spiders and ants she could deal with. Mice and roaches, however, were another story.
The spiders had done their job to keep the roaches away. And good ole cat was on duty looking out for mice. Good thing he slept right under her bed most nights, too. “Good job, Cat.” He deserved a raise, and God deserved some praise because there was a very good chance she would have jumped out the window and almost broken her neck trying to escape the terrifying jaws of a mouse.
After disposing of Cat’s trophy, Camille washed her hands thoroughly, then came back to her room for some more time alone with God. Those negative, doubtful whisperings had scared her. She needed more of Him. She refrained from praying bedside, however. Surely God knew her enough to understand her aversion to getting on the floor for a while. As she curled up with the comforter and closed her eyes, she couldn’t help but envision herself snuggled in her Father’s arms. Ronald, the church, the choirs, Brittney, her car, her job. All that would have to wait. A sweet peace surrounded her that midmorning, lulling her into a post-drunken-like sleep. And, for the first time in a long time, she slipped into an undisturbed nap.
A late-afternoon splash of sun gently woke Camille. Ravenous, she charged to her kitchen for a bite to eat. After fixing a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup, she checked her cell phone. Four missed calls from Sheryl. None from Ronald. Two voice messages, presumably from Sheryl, and a text from Mercedes that there would be no evening rehearsal due to preparations for the ministers’ wives conference.
First things first. Might as well call Sheryl and get it over with. If Camille was unemployed, she needed to know so she could mosey on down to her nearest temporary agency as soon as possible.
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