“But I want to pee in here with you, Daddy, and I’m not a big girl. I’m only six years old,” Amber protested. Darnell saw her face scrunch as she zeroed in on her sister. He knew there was going to be war.
“Go.” Darnell pointed forcefully. Then his eyes widened at what was going down before him.
April started pulling down her pants. Amber started pulling hers down when she saw what her sister was doing. April was not as vocal as Amber could be, but she was no less determined.
Darnell knew what was coming next and tried to avoid it. “Amber, go to the other bathroom,” he ordered in a stern voice. “Next time you can pee in here, okay?”
Amber started crying but went to the other bathroom. April finished doing her business, and Darnell went back to brushing his teeth. He shook his head. This was what his mornings were like every day. He had not realized these kinds of conversations came with being a father, but Darnell was learning. Truthfully, he enjoyed sparring with his daughters about any and everything.
April came over for him to wash her hands, and Darnell yelled out, “Amber, get dressed.” He helped April get into her clothes, which she had brought in with her and tossed on the bathroom floor.
He was so glad his mother had combed their hair and had given them a bath the night before. He did not know how he would have made it to work on time this morning otherwise.
In the midst of this chaos, the telephone rang. Darnell’s first thought was to ignore it, but then he thought twice and rushed to answer the kitchen phone. He was one of those people who were afraid not to answer the phone for fear that it might be an emergency.
“Darnell King?” the voice asked.
“Yes?” Shoot, Darnell thought. It sounded like a telemarketer, and he did not have the time for that now. He wondered if they were even allowed to call that early in the morning.
“This is Tiffany Knightly.”
As crazy as it sounded, Darnell did not instantly make the connection.
“I am calling you this early because I know you have two young daughters and I figured you would be up already.”
Darnell was now a little apprehensive. This woman seemed to know a lot about him, and he did not know a thing about her. His heartbeat escalated, and he was immediately on the defensive. Darnell moved the phone from his ear to look at it with a quizzical expression. Seeing the futility of his actions, he returned it to his ear. Darnell laughed at himself. It is not as if the caller on the other end could see his face.
“I’m sorry,” Darnell interjected in a slightly worried tone. “Do I know you?”
“Yes,” Tiffany replied hesitantly. “We, ah, went to high school together.”
Darnell paused. “Tiffany Knightly. Forgive my momentary obtuseness.”
Something behind him crashed to the floor. Darnell turned his head and looked to see April in a huge mess. She had broken the jelly jar, and its contents were all over the floor and her clothes. When had she opened the refrigerator to get it? Darnell wondered. He needed another pair of eyes in the back of his head.
“Man, I honestly do not have the time for this.” Flustered, Darnell glanced at his watch and groaned aloud.
Tiffany heard the commotion through the phone, his comment, and declared, “I will try to catch up with you another time.”
Haphazardly, Darnell agreed and hung up the phone. His mornings were just too crazy for any coherent conversation. Boy, he wished his mother had stuck around. But knowing Leona, she had gotten up at the crack of dawn and had returned to her home. Darnell made quick work of the disaster on the floor and went to clean April. Sweating now, he put both girls in their coats to head through the door.
Just as they were about to leave, Amber declared importantly, “I have to make stinky.”
Darnell dropped his bag in despair. “Sweet love of . . .” Darnell stopped before he called out the Lord’s name in vain.
“Well, that wasn’t really smart, now, was it?” Tiffany got off the phone with Darnell, feeling stupid. She had been inconsiderate to call the man’s home so early in the morning. Tiffany resolved she would not get discouraged. Instead, she spent the day filling her prescription, reading, and resting. But still the day dragged on.
About three thirty that afternoon Tiffany made some tea and went outside to sit on the porch and people watch. She saw Myra come outside and gave her a wave. Myra took that as an invitation and walked the short distance to Tiffany’s house.
“Hey, girl,” Tiffany greeted with a wide smile. Today her friend was a welcome diversion.
“I came by to invite you to my church this weekend, if you’re up to it,” Myra said and joined her on the steps. Myra felt some sort of spiritual guidance would do Tiffany some good. Church never failed to uplift and cheer her. She hoped it would do the same for her friend.
“Okay,” Tiffany agreed, too tired to put up much of a fight about how God had abandoned her, blah, blah, blah.
Come Saturday, Tiffany, Myra, and Neil pulled into the parking lot of the church.
When was the last time she had stepped foot inside this or any church? Tiffany asked herself. The fact that she had to think about it spoke volumes. Unsure about what she would face, Tiffany had sent Karlie to spend the day with Tanya.
Her heart thundered. Cue burn, on the stroke of five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one. Okay, she was still standing. Tiffany expelled a breath of relief. Always either on tour or undergoing cancer treatments, Tiffany barely had time for God. Correction. She needed to make time for God.
“Are you okay?” Myra asked. Neil had previously excused himself and had entered the building for parts unknown.
Tiffany saw Myra looking at her quizzically. “Yes, I am. It has been more than a minute, you know, since I have been here to church. At least I didn’t explode into ashes.” Tiffany made a feeble attempt at humor, but she trembled.
“Please.” Myra grabbed her hand and gave it a light squeeze. “If church was for the fittest to attend, nobody would be here. You just come on in with me. You will be all right. You’ll see.”
Tiffany heard the music from the vestibule. “They are getting down in there. Remember when we used to sing in the choir?” she said, already moving her body to the beat.
Myra’s head was bopping, and she was already singing along. “Yeah, praise and worship is one of my favorite parts. It is like what Psalms says: God inhabits our praises, and when we praise Him, the blessings come pouring down.”
The usher opened the door, and the sounds from the guitars and drums intensified. Tiffany took in all the hats and fancy suits. She saw so many flashy designs and bold colors that for a second she imagined herself swimming in a box of Lucky Charms. Even Myra was decked out in her blue suit with the silver bejeweled trim. Her shoes, hat, and pocketbook were a perfect match.
Tiffany realized that, hatless and in a simple black gown, she was severely underdressed. Hmmm. The diva had been “out-divaed” today. That did not stop her from strutting down the aisle with Myra, who at the moment was—No, please, no, yes—heading for the second row upfront, right in the line of fire.
From the corner of her eye, Tiffany saw the hand shovers and finger pointers all looking in her direction. She pretended not to notice and focused on the choir, which was about to sing. Tiffany felt guilty. It was because of her that Myra and Neil had been late today. Well, it wasn’t completely her fault, Tiffany thought. She did not know what to wear. She had to try on several dresses before Myra gave her the thumbs-up on the one she was wearing. Tiffany felt the hairs on her skin rise as the choir sang.
Before calling up the preacher, the moderator, Deacon Tiny—at least that was what she thought his name was—invited a little girl named Victoria to sing. Tiffany moved forward in her chair, amazed. Victoria could not have been more than about five or six, but she was singing Donnie McClurkin’s song like a professional.
“I guess she showed me,” Tiffany said good-naturedly to Myra.
Myra nodded h
er head. “That child is a gift from God, and her mother is this young little thing. You would never believe it.”
Then it was time for the message. Tiffany wiggled her bottom on the hard pew, trying to get comfortable. Used to the drone of older men, Tiffany perked up when she saw a younger handsome man get behind the podium. “Okay, I can tell just looking at him that this is going to be good,” she whispered to Myra.
Myra gave her the eye. “Too young for you.”
“Get your mind out of the gutter, lady. We are in church.” She must have spoken too loudly, because Myra poked her and gestured for her to be silent.
Tiffany crossed her heart, signaling she would behave. The man had already started preaching. Tiffany found herself listening to every word. He was beginning a four-part sermon on blessings. Spiritual blessings.
“The kind that never runs dry . . . that fills the soul . . . Take a sip of that living water and you will never thirst again,” he urged.
Tiffany was definitely interested in hearing more from . . . “What’s his name?” she whispered, nudging Myra.
Myra drily responded, “Pastor Micah Johnston.”
Tiffany liked Pastor Johnston. He was energetic and preached with sincerity. Tiffany enjoyed every minute of his words. At the end of his sermon, the entire congregation got on their feet and started rejoicing. “I am definitely coming back,” she shouted to Myra. A church sister behind her must have heard her, because she patted Tiffany on the back and started jumping and shouting, “Hallelujah.” After a few moments, the ushers motioned for the musicians to stop playing, and the congregation took their seats. Then the deacon read the announcements.
Before the end of the service, Tiffany got called out. The past members recognized her and remembered her when she was a young girl, carefree and singing in the choir.
“It appears we have a celebrity in our midst,” Pastor Johnston said. “I’m told she used to be singing up here in these very choir stands. It seems like we can’t end the day unless Ms. Tiffany Knightly comes forward.”
Tiffany looked helplessly at Neil and Myra, silently urging them to rescue her from the undesired spotlight. They both raised their hands, signifying she was on her own. Tiffany stood up, feeling all eyes on her, and went down to the altar. She felt self-conscious about what she was wearing. It was not exactly church material. Her black designer dress had needed a shawl, so she’d slung one over her shoulders. The good thing was everybody was smiling, and nobody seemed to care. Nevertheless, Tiffany vowed she was going to get some church gear.
“Ah, it’s good to be here. Back home,” Tiffany announced, then opened her mouth and sang from her heart “Blessed Assurance.” When she was finished, almost the entire church was in tears.
Pastor Johnston came over to her, anointed her, rested his hands on her head, and prayed. “Lord, as Tiffany sang that you are her blessed assurance, I pray, dear Lord, that you will make yourself known to her, that you will draw her close to you and give her that peace that surpasses all human understanding, in Jesus’s name. Amen.”
Tiffany had to dig her heels into the floor to keep from falling. His hands felt like a ton on her head, but his cologne, which she caught the scent of from being up close, was masculine and pleasant.
The service concluded at the end of his prayer. Almost instantly, people surrounded Tiffany just to offer their condolences or request an autograph. She dutifully listened and attached her signature to everything from a church fan to a napkin.
From his position on the podium, Neil watched Tiffany, secretly admiring her stamina. Tiffany really was a strong woman. He would make sure he said an extra prayer for her when he was on his knees. He prayed she would find some measure of peace, as Pastor had said, and also that she would find Karlie’s father.
That afternoon, when she got in from church, Tiffany changed into a pair of faded jeans and a sweater. She received a text message from Karlie saying that she was having a great time at Tanya’s. Tiffany returned the text, telling Karlie to call her to come get her when she was ready. Karlie texted back that she would just hail a cab.
It was time to call the next name on her list, which was Pierce. She would call Darnell back later.
A woman answered on the second ring. Tiffany assumed it was Elyse and politely asked for Pierce.
The woman did not even bother to answer, for she was too busy hollering at one of the children. “Hey, all a y’all better pipe down. I can’t hear myself think.”
Goodness, it sounded like a zoo instead of a home. Tiffany held the receiver away from her ear, willing herself not to hang up the phone. She heard a mild scuffle as the phone exchanged hands.
Finally, Pierce uttered a gruff hello.
“Is this Pierce Willis?” Tiffany asked.
“Yes. Who wants to know?”
“This is Tiffany Knightly from high school.”
“Oh, hi, Tiffany.”
She heard the sudden warmth he injected in his tone, and felt disgusted. She hoped he was not trying to make a move on her with his common-law wife and children in earshot. That would be despicable. “Do you remember me?”
“Do I ever,” Pierce said. “How could I forget Tiffany Peterson? I mean, Knightly.”
Tiffany was repulsed at his obviously suggestive tone. She stuck her finger in her mouth, imitating a gagging motion. If this were not such a crucial cause, she would slam the phone down right in his ear. “I was wondering if we could meet to talk,” Tiffany said, fighting the inexplicable urge to cuss him out. He had always irritated her.
“Name the time and place,” Pierce countered without hesitation.
Ugh. Tiffany swallowed her retort, ready to clobber him already. Pierce had been obnoxious in high school, and she saw that had not changed over time. He was extremely good looking, and he knew it. Because of his blessed attributes, Pierce believed he was God’s gift to women. Tiffany sorely regretted having sex with Pierce. She had served only to feed his massive ego by doing that. Nevertheless, the fact that she slept with him made him a viable candidate in her mission to locate Karlie’s father.
“What about this evening? Around five o’clock?” Tiffany asked, trying to blot out the negative thoughts in her head.
“Should I come over to your place?” Pierce asked. He lowered his voice to a mere whisper. The silence in the background indicated he had moved out of his family’s earshot.
Sleaze. Slime. Fleabag, Tiffany thought, repulsed at his obvious come-on. “No,” she quickly retorted. “We can meet at the Cheesecake Factory.”
“It’s a date,” Pierce said.
Tiffany disconnected the call and looked at the receiver with contempt. “As if . . .” A few seconds later, Tiffany laughed, because she could not understand how Pierce could be so presumptuous to assume she wanted him after all these years. He was still his biggest fan, just as in high school. “Man barely has a pot to pee in, and he still think he is all that and a bag of chips.”
Pierce Willis had been head of the wrestling team and had actually been very good. He would have been better at it if he had not allowed his ego to get in the way. Every single conversation he’d engaged in was either about a girl who liked him or his trophies from wrestling. Tiffany was amazed at how many girls flocked to him, despite his arrogance and cocky behavior. It showed their shallowness.
Pierce had asked her out even when she was dating Thomas. “Come on, girl. I will show you what you’re missing,” he’d told her. Bewildered, he could not get the hint that she just did not want him. Pierce convinced himself she was playing hard to get. He was the best-looking boy in the school, the homecoming king, and was voted “Most Likely to be Famous” in the yearbook. The idea that Tiffany found him repelling was inconceivable. “Stop playing hard to get, girl,” he would yell, making some crude gesture. “You know you want me. You know you want this.”
But when Clifford irrevocably damaged her, Pierce’s persistence won out. Tiffany went out and slept with Pierce all in one night.
She remembered his “This is the best. I know it is the best, girl, the best you’ll ever have” speech. Detached, she’d nodded her agreement and laughed at his pugnacious attempt to please her.
Hearing her laughter had only egged Pierce on. “Yeah, you enjoyed it, girl. I know it. I can tell.”
Hysterical, Tiffany thought. She cracked up now thinking about it. If women were to say the things men said in that moment . . . well . . .
She wished she knew then what she knew now as an adult. That she had been blameless and had been forced against her will to suffer through a horrible, debasing act committed by her stepfather. She definitely would not be in the situation she was facing now. She told herself that regret belonged in the past, but it was no easy feat.
Tiffany placed yet another call, trying to reach Darnell again. He answered the telephone. This time there was no doubt about her identity.
“Hi, Tiffany,” Darnell greeted her warmly. “I was expecting your call.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.” Darnell went on, “You are the same Tiffany who called me the other day, right?”
“Yeah,” Tiffany said.
“So, Ms. Tiffany Knightly, diva superstar, what can Darnell, the small-town football coach, do for you?”
Tiffany laughed at Darnell’s teasing tone. “I needed to speak with you about a very delicate matter.”
“Okay.” Darnell’s curiosity had been piqued. He did not have a clue what Tiffany would want with him after all these years.
“Yes, it’s kind of . . . sensitive . . . and personal,” Tiffany said, hedging. She did not know how to get out the right words. “This is not the kind of thing a person can talk about over the telephone. Believe me.”
“This sounds serious,” Darnell stated, noting the gravity of her tone. “Listen, my mother is here, and the girls are down for a nap. I can shoot over and see you for a minute if you want.”
Having read his bio, Tiffany felt safe allowing him to meet her at her home. “Sure. That is a wonderful idea.”
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