by H. H. Fowler
“You see, that's our problem right there. I'm not the only man in this relationship. How do you expect our marriage to work if you're putting all of your trust and confidence in someone else?”
“Don't you dare turn this around on me! You're the one who's never home, coming and leaving when you please; acting as if this place is some bachelor pad. What do you want me to do?”
“I don't expect you to run to organ boy–”
“Stop calling him that! His name is Dominic!”
“I guess that's how you scream his name out when he hit the right spot…”
“You no good son of a…” She rocketed toward him and backhanded his face as if slaps were going out of style.
He restrained her hands against her bosom and then pushed her to the ground of the driveway. “You know you want him. Don't deny it…”
“Go! Get away from me, Phillip!”
“Awwh, just a moment ago you wanted me to stay. Make up your mind, honey. Which is it?”
“I don't even care what happens to this marriage anymore. Do what you wish, Phillip.”
He wanted her to hurt as badly as he was hurting on the inside. “You would say that. Because you wanna be with him, that's why. And I bet you're going to see him after I leave…” He plunged his thin body behind the wheel of his Impala and then turned his bloodshot eyes on her. “Who needs you anyway? You're nothing but a pig in the blanket.”
Her tears responded immediately to that statement. Of all the things her husband could have said, he chose to remind her of her inability to have children. She sat there on the driveway, moments after he'd sped away, and pleaded with God to end her miserable life.
7:12 p.m.
Dominic popped his trunk and grabbed his Wal-Mart bags with one swoop. Fortunately, his one-bed apartment wasn’t too far from Wal-Mart, lest he wouldn’t have had the motivation to go. Well, maybe. It depended on whether he had money to spend. He hated going somewhere just to browse, or to window shop. What was the sense in doing that when he hadn’t any intention of buying anything to begin with? He’d gone to the store on Bruce B. Downs – that store was so huge that it’d taken him over half an hour just to get some fruit and a couple of personal hygiene products.
He ditched his brown Oxford shoes at the door and then walked across the carpet to his kitchen. He emptied all of the fruit into the sink, turning on the faucet to wash them. He normally did this to save time and effort. All he’d have to do now was select and eat right out of the refrigerator. He secured everything else, and then made a beeline to the shower. He smelled like his parents’ soup kitchen. Everything they’d cooked was present in his clothes, which was okay for the time he spent there. But he couldn’t imagine himself doing that every day. It didn’t matter how loving, or how caring people appeared to be, everyone simply didn’t have staying power. To feed and clothe scores of poor, homeless people every day took a lot of patience. Kudos to his peeps who’d been doing it since he was fifteen. He would always tell them God had given them the beneficence for that type of ministry. He was a different breed altogether.
The warm shower that spanked his back had a relaxing effect, helping to soothe the weariness of both his body and spirit. So many things had been bombarding his mind lately that it’d caused him to fall back on his morning talks with his Creator. He was in a place of restlessness, fighting against a conviction that pierced the pith of his soul.
He couldn’t get away from what Abraham had taught him about having the attitude of forgiveness, the power to let go of grudges and bitterness of the heart, which was a form of disease that if left stewing, contaminated the very essence of a person’s spirit. He’d always told them that forgiveness was a choice, and a decision of the will. And even though it didn’t come easy, one must find the strength to forgive.
He leaned his palms against the wall in front of him, and allowed the water to beat upon his head. If the truth be known, it would be revealed that he’d always struggled with forgiveness. He’d always found it difficult to let things go. For years, he’d held in what his biological father had done to him and his mother. His constant beatings and the verbal abuse left them scarred for a very long time and it was only through the grace of God they made it out alive.
Growing up in a home of affluence, and as the only child, would be considered by some a privileged upbringing, but most of his childhood was filled with terrible memories. He remembered, as a boy of six, how every evening, how his father had staggered through the doors, drunk; cursing; and carrying on about the world of the white man – how they had cheated him out of a promotion.
He would stumble all through the house in a spit of rage. His mother would come out the room all upset. He felt sorry for her, because she’d stood on her feet all day, dealing with those too-hard-to-please clients. Her high-end hair salon on Fletcher Avenue and Thirtieth Street granted her temporary asylum from the nightly doldrums of her husband’s annoying voice. Even now, he could hear his mother’s voice, bellowing from the crevices of his memories.
“Jerry, you shut your dirty mouth in here! I’m fed up with you comin’ home drunk, smellin’ like you took a bath in the septic tank.”
His father would fume at the words of his mother, “Keep messing with me and I will kill you! This is my cotton-picking house. I come in any time I feel like it. You gotta problem with it, get the hell out!”
“Maybe one day I will; Jerry, and I will take Dominic with me! You’re a sorry excuse for a husband!”
Jerry became livid. “I outta knock your teeth behind your throat.”
“You could barely put one foot in front of the other, you drunken bastard!”
Over time, Dominic learned that alcoholism was a progressive disease – it got worse and worse. His father eventually had lost his job. That took him over the edge; he drank even more than before, sometimes, as much as five liters of vodka a day. He drank from sunrise to sunset. Almost every day, Dominic would find six or seven bottles, hidden all over the house. One night, his mother got into a life-threatening confrontation with his father. Jerry punched Dominic silly, which resulted in a busted lip and two swollen eyes. The neighbors had to call both the ambulance and the police.
“You crazy bastard!” His mother screamed, tears flowing profusely. “Dominic is only six years old! What has gotten into you, Jerry? You could have killed him!”
“You want some of what I gave, ‘lil man?” Jerry took his big hands and shoved his mother against the concrete wall. “I’ll teach you a lesson on your dirty mouth! You don’t know when to shut it up!”
Dominic watched in horror as his father latched his huge hands around his mother’s throat…
Now, Dominic realized that his mentor of five years had caused some of those same old negative feelings to resurface, wrenching him back to square one. He’d trusted the man to hold up his end of the bargain. He’d trusted him to be real, and not to become a faker. How was Dominic supposed to move on from this point? How was he supposed to bounce back from something like that? Abraham hadn’t any idea of the depth of his disappointment.
His body feeling refreshed, he slipped into a pair of Nike shorts. The envelope Rufus had given him rested on his nightstand, inviting him to give in to his curiosity. He knew it was Rufus’ will, but he was not sure if he was ready to accept what was appearing to be the inevitable. For now, he would let it sit until his heart gave him the signal to read it. Resting his back against his mattress, he wondered what Tayah was doing at the moment. Maybe he should call her and let her know how well he’d done on his mock exam. Maybe they could meet for breakfast in the morning. But his body played a trick on him and soon, he drifted off into a quiet sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Four
8:11 a.m.
“Where’s Reverend Paxton?”
The voice sounded so ominous that Brenda almost pitched out of her Canadian skin. Raising her head slightly from the computer, she tipped her bifocals down to get a glimpse of the intruder.
&n
bsp; “Oh, it’s you,” she said.
“What do you mean, ‘oh, it’s you’? Where are your manners? Have you forgotten who I am?” Shaniece demanded.
“How could I?” Brenda mumbled. “You never let anyone forget…”
“Keep talking to me like that and I will kick your behind out of here so fast; you’ll spin on your grey head like a top. I’m not moved by your seniority.”
Brenda kept her eyes glued on Shaniece, who wore a smile that would irritate the heck out of Mother Theresa. Every organ in Brenda’s body blazed with resentment. She had not known that she had the capacity to hate a person so much. This was one sin that she knew would stop her at the pearly gates. But acting like the professional that Leroy had hired her to be, she calmed herself and cracked the best smile she could muster – which had given her self-esteem lot of insult.
“Let me apologize for my rude behavior,” Brenda said, clasping hands together that were faintly covered with age-spots. “Reverend Paxton has not yet arrived this morning. I would be happy to alert you as soon as he comes in. Would you like a cup of coffee while you wait in your office?”
Shaniece peeled her lips back and showed her straight, white teeth, but she wasn’t laughing at all. It was a grimace, laced with absolute disgust. “Brenda, are you still trying to be sarcastic? I don’t think you really know who you’re messing with. You haven’t any idea how firm I can be. Open Leroy’s office. I’ll sit and wait for him in there.”
Brenda froze, shocked by Shaniece’s bold request.
“What’s the matter with you? You stuck on stupid? Open the office door!” Shaniece ordered.
“I will do no such thing,” Brenda said quietly, maintaining her godly composure. “You might be the assistant overseer of this church, but you have no right to make such impertinent demands. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Shaniece took each sentence in stride, pinning each one with a mental rebuke. She leaned her 36 D’s in Brenda’s face. “Let’s see how long you last around here. I think it’s time you take a permanent vacation. How old are you? Sixty-five? Sixty-six?”
Shaniece stepped back and straightened her black skirt, which rose several centimeters above her knees. Her stilettos vehemently clacked against the tiles as she disappeared down the hall to her office.
Shaken, Brenda snatched up the phone and called Michelle. The facade she'd been holding onto in front of Shaniece suddenly erupted into shrieks of panic.
“She said she's gonna get rid of me,” Brenda cried. “She says I'm old and stupid and says she's gonna retire me, but I don't want to retire. I love my job. I take pleasure in serving you and your husband…”
“Brenda! Take a breath,” Michelle said, hugging the phone against her ear. “What are you talking about?”
“I pray I'm forgiven for saying this, but she's an evil person, and I don't like her one bit…”
“Brenda, you're rambling. Who upset you?”
“Shaniece! She's been causing trouble for us ever since she got here. Lady Paxton, I can't begin to feel your pain, but I've reached my boiling point.”
Michelle had suspected Shaniece would take her anger out on someone. The lunch yesterday didn't go the way that she'd expected.
“Calm down, Brenda,” Michelle told her. “You can take comfort in this, that as long as my husband remains in charge, your position will never be relinquished. That is, until you decide it's time to move on…”
“I knew from the start she would be no good for the church,” Brenda continued. “Everything’s changed. You need to resume your duties in the office–”
“Brenda, did you hear what I said? We’ll handle it.”
“Oh, you don’t know how relieved I am to hear you say that, because I’m terribly disturbed about this.”
****
Leroy trotted into the kitchen as Michelle was replacing the receiver on the hook. She took in her husband who was elegantly attired in a charcoal pinstripe suit, with a solid gold tie resting against a well-ironed white shirt.
He pulled open the refrigerator and picked out an apple from the fruit bin. “Who was that?”
“Mrs. Wesson…” Michelle decided to keep the details short. “You look very handsome this morning. I’m loving this gold tie. Very bold.”
Leroy planted a wet, juicy kiss on her lips. “Thank you, babe. I’m taking Cecil and Rodwin with me to a town hall meeting on Busch. You feel up to it?”
“No, thanks. You guys are not going to bore me to death with politics. Besides, I have other plans.”
“Oh, really?”
Yes. I’m thinking about going back to the office later on today.”
“At the church? Why? What’s brought this on?”
“What do you mean why?” Michelle folded her arms. “I’m tired of working at home. You said it yourself yesterday. I am Head of Administration. I haven’t been functioning in that capacity as I should. I feel I’ll have better control if I’m physically at the church.”
Leroy bit a chunk out of the apple. “Control over what?”
“Why am I sensing that you don’t agree? You don’t want me hanging around the church with you?”
“I didn’t say all of that.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“Nothing. I just hope your decision doesn’t have anything to do with Shaniece.”
“You brought up her name this time; not me.” Michelle was tempted to mention that receipt she’d found on the floor yesterday, obviously leaving out the part about her and Abraham visiting the Sheriff’s Office, but she feared her accusation would not stick. She needed something more concrete, because she knew at this point that Leroy would not confess the truth to her. She tried another approach. “You know, I went to Brandon yesterday morning.”
Be cool, Leroy told himself. “Oh? You drove?”
She didn’t expect that to be his first question. “Does it matter?”
“Not really.” Leroy moved to the sink to wash his hands, purposely turning his back to her.
“You’re not going to ask me why I went to Brandon?”
“I assume it was for a good reason. I know you won’t waste your time doing something that’s unprofitable.”
“Well, you’re right about one thing. I did go there for a reason. I want to host the next Women’s conference there in June.”
Leroy spun around to face Michelle. “In Brandon? Why not here in Hillsborough? It’s literally half an hour difference, offering the same amenities. I don’t see the sense in that.”
“I do,” Michelle said. “If I have it here, I will be distracted, among other things. But I also don’t feel like traveling too far this year. So, I chose Brandon. I’ve already booked dates at Holiday Inn Express.”
What a coincidence, Leroy thought suspiciously. “I admit; it’s a nice hotel. I’ve stayed there a few times – but I still think my suggestion is better. Have it here in Hillsborough. That way you won’t have to spend those days away from me.” One look at his Rolex told him that it was time to go. “Can we pick this up later? I’ll be late if I don’t leave now.”
“Of course,” Michelle said, offering her cheek to Leroy.
“I’ll call you later, babe. Love you.”
Leroy’s reaction threw her for a loop, making it seem as if her going to Brandon didn’t make any difference to him. Maybe Abraham had been right all along. Leroy was always in and out of hotels. That receipt could mean anything. He could have simply forgotten that it was there. But how would she explain the date – the exact date that she had nearly lost her husband to a gunshot wound? Was that a coincidence? Was she reading too much into this thing with Shaniece? Was she trying to search for something that plainly wasn’t there, trying to fix something that wasn’t broken? She couldn’t stand the woman, but that didn’t mean Leroy was having an affair with her. Right?
Oh Lord, please help me. I am so confused…
Michelle noticed Tayah inching her Nissan Altima up the driveway, which was str
ange, because Tayah rarely sacrificed her mornings for small talks. She preferred to devote her mornings to spreadsheets and numbers, claiming she was at her sharpest during the time when most people were just pouring their first cup of coffee. Michelle grew even more alarmed when she saw Tayah’s appearance. Her daughter wasn’t Naomi Campbell, but she sure wasn’t slapdash in her apparel either. Michelle could tell Tayah hadn’t ironed her outfit this morning. Her thick flowing hair was pulled back in a ponytail, while her feet dragged along in a pair of slippers that didn’t match anything she was wearing.
“Hey, baby. What’s wrong?” Michelle asked, opening the door.
“What an appropriate question,” Tayah said. “Everything’s wrong, mother.”
Michelle followed her daughter across the hall and into the living room, knowing that anytime Tayah led the way to sit and discuss, trouble was brewing in the camp.
“You know, mother,” Tayah started. “I’m at a place in my life where I truly don’t understand what is going on with me. It feels like the walls are closing in and I’m being squashed.”
“I can see that you’re overwhelmed,” Michelle said, sitting down next to Tayah. “Working like you do is taxing on anyone.”
“I’m not talking about work. I love my work.” Tayah wiped the corners of her eyes with the tissue she held between her fingers. “It’s me and Phillip. I won’t pretend, mother. I’m not happy in my marriage.”
“Don’t tell me you’re giving up already.”
“Who said anything about giving up? I said I wasn’t happy.” Tayah gave her mother a stern look. “What is it with you and divorce? Every time that I tell you I’m having problems with Phillip, you jump to these crazy assumptions.”
“Honey, I didn’t mean for it to come out that way,” Michelle said, rubbing Tayah’s hands. “I’ve been so wired up lately that I hardly find time to pray. I’m sorry. Let’s start over.”