Seasoned with Grace

by Nigeria Lockley

  Chapter 29

  After their meeting with Javier, Ethan escorted Grace to the Suburban with tinted windows that was waiting outside of Javier’s studio in the Meatpacking District. Grace ducked her head and took a seat inside the car. She abandoned all her model etiquette and slouched in the seat. Doing the jitterbug with her legs, she looked at Ethan, who was still standing on the curb and holding on to the car door.

  “What are you waiting on, Ethan? I want to get out of here.” Grace’s skin was still crawling, and her stomach was still jumpy. She wanted to get far away from this place and fast.

  “Just hang tight for a moment. Please allow me to go down the block and get a new pair of pants. I believe I saw a Hugo Boss shop on the way here,” he said, looking away from the car. “Listen, Grace.” Ethan leaned on the roof of the car and peered in at her. A trace of sympathy registered in his eyes. “You’ve got to pull it together. Our next stop is the church, and you can’t be in there tripping. Forgive me for the lack of a better word, but you can’t lose it again today. Tomorrow . . . fine. You can go to anger management tomorrow and crack up in there all you want. But today you need to keep it together until everything is settled.”

  Then Ethan slammed the car door and scuttled down the block as quickly as possible. He moved along awkwardly, trying to avoid bumping into anyone on the street. After a few minutes, Ethan returned and opened the passenger-side door with a smile on his face.

  “Are you ready to take care of business?” he asked.

  Sucking her teeth audibly and turning her head so she faced forward, Grace didn’t bother responding to Ethan, who was obviously trying not to acknowledge her problem and was more worried about business than her well-being.

  “What does that sound mean?” he asked, climbing in the SUV one well-tailored pants leg at a time.

  “That sound meant I want to curse you out, but since we’re on our way to a church and I already have enough to repent for, I figured I’d keep it to myself.”

  Ethan drew the door shut, reached across Grace, and tapped on the driver’s seat to indicate they were ready to roll. After securing his seat belt, he turned to Grace. “What are you so angry about? I’m the one running around, doing damage control for a grown woman, not some teenager who let fame go to her head. What I wouldn’t give to be Justin Bieber’s lawyer or publicist right now instead of yours,” he said. Then he turned his gaze to the traffic outside his window.

  “Humph . . .” Grace folded her arms across her chest and sat there silently for a few moments, staring at Ethan’s profile, trying to coax him with her eyes out of this frenzy he was in. When she got no response, she tapped him on the leg. “When did I stop being a person to you and become just a client?”

  “When I stopped being a person to you,” Ethan replied. “Driver, turn on some music please.”

  Just like that he’d silenced her. With her thoughts and feelings muted, Grace resorted to kicking the back of the driver’s seat for the rest of the ride to release her frustration. All the while she was wondering what it was going to take to get him back on her side.

  When the Suburban pulled up to the curb in front of Mount Carmel, shouts of praise were coming from the church.

  “Ethan, I don’t think they’re doing community service today,” Grace said as they walked to the door. “What’s going on today?”

  Ethan shrugged his shoulders and scratched the center of his head. Apparently, he wasn’t aware of what went on in his own church.

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?” Grace asked, mocking him. “This is your church, isn’t it?”

  Ethan looked down instead of answering her question. It was valid, after all. He was the one who was supposed to be leading her to Christ, and he hadn’t even set one foot in the house of the Lord enough to know what was going on.

  A voice could be heard whispering in the recesses of her soul to leave him alone, but she’d been listening to the voice of destruction so long, she couldn’t resist pouncing on him and highlighting his flaws.

  “What happened to all your praying and the faithfulness of God, huh?” She nudged him with her shoulder. “Where are all your words and scriptures now? Got nothing of substance to say now?” Grace fumed.

  The fear and shame from what Javier had done to her, and was about to do to her again, had joined forces with the anger and hurt she’d been collecting over the years like interest. Everything she’d thought about men and God was beginning to make sense. Their words were merely that—words. None of them cared about her pain or her loss, and they were quick to judge her actions and discard her when she displeased them. First, David had done so, using her parents, and her father had been God’s messenger, distilling and delivering His wrath. And Ethan had to be on the cleanup crew.

  “Just as I thought,” she said, taking large strides toward the door. “You’re just as lost as I am, but you don’t want to say we’re in the same boat.” She rolled her eyes and continued walking toward the door. Maybe today the Lord would reveal why every man she met was so royally screwed up.

  You’re wrong. When my spirit is in a man, he is different. All things are made new.

  Grace’s neck snapped back quickly. There was that voice, invading her thoughts again. Ethan’s head was down, and he was dragging his feet. All that positivity could not have come from his lips, and judging by his demeanor, he definitely hadn’t heard any of those words.

  Either she was losing her mind under these circumstances, all the drugs had finally caught up with her and she was day tripping, or God was speaking to her. With those possibilities looming before her, Grace hurriedly snatched the gold handle on the door to Mount Carmel, pulled open the door, and walked in. If she had a choice in the matter, her choice seemed rather clear to her. She didn’t want to be saved, but she didn’t want to be anybody’s E! True Hollywood Story episode, either.

  The organ music died down. The brass cymbals of the drums emitted a rattle to back up the powerful voice resonating throughout the sanctuary.

  “Reclaim your life. Reclaim your life,” was the chant coming from the pew and falling on the people like dew. “Today. Be whole. Today.”

  Narrowing her eyes on the speaker, Grace realized that it was Horace who was standing in the pulpit, running things today. She slid into a tight corner seat, next to a heavyset woman and a bunch of children who looked like they were from Bébé’s Kids. She crossed her legs, wrapping them tightly around each other. She didn’t even bother to check if Ethan had found a seat. Grace’s focus was no longer on her issues or Ethan’s when a different kind of man stood before her.

  Horace strode across the platform, completely comfortable. Not a speck of nervousness could be found in his eyes or heard in his voice.

  “When God comes into your life, He gives you a new one. The one that you lived is no good. Did you hit a roadblock? Been stuck at a pit stop for too long? Turn it over to Jesus and reclaim your life. Every hurt, every pain, every injury, every scar.”

  As Horace went through the list of possible troubles, a tingling sensation zipped through Grace. It collected in her wrists, compelling her to raise her hands to the Lord. Every burden Horace had named belonged to her. Suddenly their weight had caught up with her, and she no longer wanted to carry it. The Holy Ghost was using Horace’s words like a scalpel to peel back years of anguish buried in the cavities of Grace’s soul.

  Grace swayed from side to side, rubbing against the wet flesh of the woman beside her. Perspiration was dripping from every crevice of the woman’s body. The Holy Ghost must have been working on the entire bench. The children who sat beside the woman were now silent, and every hand was raised to the air.

  Fighting with the spirit, Grace bit down on her bottom lip. The pressure of her maxillary incisors were no match for the power of God. Her lip trembled and quivered under her teeth until they were able to break free. Next, a cry launched from her throat. Grace didn’t understand why her faculties would not obey her. The next body
parts to break ranks were her legs. Grace pushed down, and her legs pushed up involuntarily, forcing her to stand. She wobbled down the aisle until she reached the front of the church.

  The ushers surrounded her, and she shifted from side to side, barely escaping their white-gloved touch. Horace batted them back, then manipulated his fingers to summon someone from behind her. Straining to see through the film of tears that covered her eyes, Grace fought to keep her eyes glued to Horace. Horace continued preaching as he marched down from the pulpit.

  The underarms of his mustard button-down shirt were lined with semicircles of sweat. This didn’t seem to faze him. His dark eyes glittered like augite, igniting a conflagration of emotions within Grace. Faces flashed before her. Words resounded in her ears. Mistake. Monster. Love. Grace. Grace. Grace.

  I want to find grace. I want to find grace. “I want to find grace. O Lord, I want to find your grace,” she cried aloud. Amid the shadows of the people who had gathered around her and had covered her, she let go.

  When Grace opened her eyes, she could see three things: the paint peeling from the ceiling of Mount Carmel, Sister Bryce’s hand extended to help her up, and Sister Marva’s crooked smile. It was doubtful that Sister Marva was delighted that Grace had found redemption; seeing Grace laid out was probably a joyous moment for her. Grace latched on to Sister Bryce’s hand, and Sister Bryce cupped her elbow, helping Grace to a standing position. Sister Marva flicked a tissue in Grace’s direction, while Sister Bryce dusted off the back of Grace’s blazer and fixed her fedora back on her head. Reluctantly, Grace stretched forth her fingers to retrieve the tissue from Sister Marva.

  “Come on now. Dry those eyes. There’s no reason to be crying in the house of the Lord, unless it’s over His goodness,” Sister Bryce said to Grace.

  “Humph . . . She better come on with all this falling-out business.” Sister Marva sneered. “She ain’t even a member of the church, and she carrying on like that.”

  Sister Marva was right. Grace wasn’t a member of the church, and she hadn’t been slain in the spirit long enough not to consider slapping Sister Marva or at least stepping on Sister Marva’s shoes while she struggled to find her legs. Grace’s evil intentions must have been plastered on her face. Sister Bryce locked arms with Grace and leaned into her, advising her about righteousness.

  “You pray for people like that,” she said. “You pray for sisters who haven’t found their way yet and are in the church, still holding on to bitterness. Smile. Just like this.” Sister Bryce paused to demonstrate for Grace. She leaned forward just a bit, looked in Sister Marva’s direction, and cast a wide smile at her. “Then you pray, and you let the Holy Ghost do the whippin’. You understand?” she said, laying her hand on top of Grace’s and patting it gently.

  Sister Bryce led Grace to a seat on the front row, beside Horace. Grace crouched down slowly. She fixed her eyes on the handcrafted pulpit. A cross with Jesus hanging on it was carved into the wood. Horace whispered something to her, which she refused to hear.

  Please, Lord don’t let anything get in the way of this moment, she thought.

  Pastor David mounted the pulpit and addressed his congregation. “Thank you all for attending our men’s ministry celebration of our members. We have some real gems at Mount Carmel. In closing, remember what our very own Brother Horace said. ‘It is time to reclaim your life.’” This was all Grace could hear.

  Chapter 30

  Grace was bombarded after the service by a bevy of boys, girls, and some adults who wanted to take photos with her. She posed for countless selfies. Social media had turned everyone into the paparazzi, and at this stage of the game she already knew how to grin and bear it. However, she wished that she had followed her gut and had at least applied some concealer this morning. If they were true fans, they’d all use the filter function on their phones before posting her photos.

  Once they were done treating Grace like a museum exhibit, the churchgoers discussed whose house they would eat at if they were not staying for the meal being cooked up in the pantry, and then they slowly disassembled. The smell of chicken broth and collard greens had somehow made its way up the stairs and into Grace’s nostrils. Famished, she was ready to find Ethan so she could resume her community service and get herself a plate too. Grace didn’t have to look far to find Ethan. He was in the middle of the aisle, conversing with the other two men in her life—Pastor David and Horace.

  Grace approached the band of men and stepped in the middle of their circle. Standing up straight, she was practically eye to eye with each man, give or take a few inches. She didn’t allow those few inches to impede her. She exhaled a long breath and began speaking so rapidly that her words ran together. “This was a great service, man. I didn’t know y’all got down like that on a weekday.” She clapped her hands together, trying to center herself and regain the composure she’d lost moments ago, during her meeting with the Holy Ghost. “However, I’m ready to get back into the groove of things, Pastor David,” she said, waving her hands from side to side like she was surfing.

  “We were just discussing that issue,” Pastor David said. “We’re not sure that this is going—”

  “Uh-uh . . . You don’t get to make this call for me,” Grace said, wagging her finger at each one of them. “None of you get to make this decision for Grace King. That’s how my life got so messed up. Other people who thought they knew better than me meddled in my life, and now I’m all screwed up.”

  “Don’t talk about yourself so negatively,” Horace told her. “You are not screwed up. You have been broken, bruised, and mishandled, but you are not screwed up. You’re reclaiming your life today.” He grabbed her hand and interlocked his fingers with hers.

  This simple gesture bolstered Grace’s confidence and gave her the green light she needed to proceed. Someone was in this fight with her.

  “That’s right. I’m reclaiming my life, and I like it here,” she declared while squeezing Horace’s hand firmly.

  Pastor David cleared his throat and fidgeted with the black band on his watch before responding. “There are a number of reasons that we”—he pointed at Ethan and then back at himself—“thought having you continue your community service here at Mount Carmel was not a good idea.” He glanced down at Grace and Horace’s interlocked fingers with a slightly pained look in his eyes. “However, Grace King, y-you are right,” he stammered.

  “What?” Grace asked, staring intently at him.

  Pastor David clamped his burnished, brown, hard-knuckled hands against his chest. They seemed to glow against his toasted orange button-down. He ran his hands straight down his chest as he inhaled and exhaled deeply.

  “You’re right,” he said. “You were manipulated into doing something that was against God to make others forget about their sins or feel ashamed. You’re manipulated every single day to sell some product, and you don’t get a say, but today the ears of heaven are open to your request. Where the spirit of Christ is, there is liberty. You are free to do your community service here and to worship here if you like.”

  “Pastor David,” Ethan interjected while stepping forward to stand beside the pastor. “Are you sure that this is going to be beneficial to all the parties involved?”

  “It’s by faith and not by sight, Brother Ethan,” Pastor David said, shaking his head. Pastor David placed one hand on Ethan’s shoulder. “I know only one thing for sure.... Jesus would do anything to save even one lost sheep, and I can’t deny my own role in what happened to Grace by pretending she isn’t around or acting like I don’t know something is going on.” Pastor David shifted his attention from Ethan to Grace. “Grace King, I pray that you can forgive me for my role in what happened to you and our baby.”

  The words our baby reverberated inside of Grace, shaking her insides, as if someone had just banged a gong right beside her. She leaned on Horace’s shoulder and placed her free hand on her abdomen. It seemed like she’d been waiting her entire life for someone to acknowledge th
e fact that she had been pregnant once—that there had once been someone living and breathing inside of her. The guilt associated with being responsible for the murder of her baby had eaten at the marrow of her bones. Unlike other models, Grace didn’t have to resort to bulimia, anorexia, macrobiotic diets, or extreme workout regimens to maintain her weight. The guilt and the shame she’d felt over the years had done a good job of keeping her at a model’s size. It took Grace a few beats to find her words.

  “What are you saying, David?” she asked, dropping the title and speaking to the boy she’d once loved.

  “I am saying that I am sorry. I am sorry for being complacent. I watched them usher you into back rooms for meetings with the elders of the church. I allowed them to cordon you off, as if remaining silent would help, because I was ashamed.” He dropped his head and lowered his voice one octave. “I was ashamed. . . .”

  Now it was Ethan’s turn to play the supporting cast role. He patted his pastor and brother in Christ on the back, while Grace tapped her toes on the floor. She was growing impatient as she waited for Pastor David to reveal what he’d been ashamed of. No one had walked around calling him a jezebel, Bathsheba, or any other name. There had been no whispers when he walked by, and his parents had continued to speak to him with love in their eyes.

  “Forgive me, Grace.” A solitary tear slid down Pastor David’s face. “My silence made it possible for me not to acknowledge my sin before God or my parents. I was ashamed . . . that I was not the man of God everyone thought I would be.”

  Pastor David’s head remained down. A hush covered the sanctuary. Ethan and Horace seemed to be paralyzed. They barely looked at each other. Grace doubted that they’d ever seen or imagined Pastor David as a man or even as a boy. Although they were still locked tightly in Horace’s, Grace’s fingers trembled as all the hurt, the shame, and the names returned to her. She didn’t want to say what her heart was saying. Go on. Say it. Take the first step to reclaim your life.