Good to Me

by LaTonya Mason

  “Now, don’t you go worrying yourself about that girl and what she do. All that matters is our baby is here. And, if we gonna spend some quality time with him, y’all might wanna get up soon. You know how fast the weekend goes. Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes. We can talk then about what we gonna do with the baby today.”

  He was so focused on what it would be like if he had custody of Xavier full-time that he did not hear his mother invite herself to the things he planned to do with his son for the weekend. And he had gotten on her about calling him a baby, let alone treating him like one. “That’s why I wish I had custody of him. If I could take my son I’d…” He stopped when he realized that his mother was the last person with whom he wanted to have this type of conversation. Anytime he made it known that he wanted something, she did not stop until she made sure he received it. It was like she owed him something, like she was guilty for something. And he had no idea of what. Besides, he was not sure he was serious about what he was saying.

  “Why don’t you?”

  “Why don’t I what? Take him?”

  “No! Well, not like that. You know we got one of them pre-paid legal plans? Call one of them lawyers and see if we can get the baby.”

  “Ma,” he whined. “We’ve already been to court one time. I don’t wanna go back through that. And I don’t wanna set Charity off. The last thing I need is for her to not let me see my son. If I lose him again I don’t know what I’ll do…”

  “Don’t talk like that,” she held up her hand to silence him. “I done lost one son. I’ll be a dead monkey’s uncle before I lose you.”

  He knew talk of his younger brother, Greg Jr., made her sad. It made him sad too. Greg had been incarcerated for selling drugs. There’s no way he would let ten years slip by without his son.

  His mother was still talking, sounding like she was angry now. “You should’ve listened to me in the first place. I told you not to marry that little soddity heifer. She was always running around here thinking she was better than everybody else. Got my grandbaby talking like a little white boy. You better call them people. You’re a different man than you was two years ago—”

  “Ma, calm down before you get a migraine. Things ain’t that bad the way they is now. I just love my son.”

  “That’s why you should call them people. It sure would be nice to have that boy around here all the time. He something else,” she smiled. “And greedy. Just like you was when you was that age. Always begging for something to eat.”

  “That’s what he was talking about when he came in here at six this morning, talking about ‘is it time to eat?’ I’ll think about what you said, Ma. I didn’t listen to you when you told me not to marry Charity. I see where that got me. I think I need to listen to you this time.”

  It was too much stimulation for him. There were too many kids, too many people, too much noise, and too many colors. They had been there an hour too long as far as Emmitt was concerned. He and his best friend, James, decided to spend Saturday afternoon with their sons at Chuck E. Cheese’s. Xavier and James’s son, Brandon, were running through the place and going from game to game. They stopped by the table long enough to get more tokens, or to leave the tickets they won from playing games, or to sip on their drinks.

  James looked around the establishment and back at Emmitt. “Man, are you sure you could do this full-time? We’ve only been here for an hour and you look like you’re about to jump out of your skin.”

  “I can’t take this place full-time,” he laughed. “But being a full-time daddy, that much I’m sure about. I’m all right. Me and my moms got into it before I left. I told her I wanted to spend the day with Xavier alone and she went off. You’dda thought I slapped her or something she was so mad. I don’t know why that woman act like that.”

  “Because she’s a grandma. That’s how they are, man. When I was little, my momma would tear my behind up for messing with the figurines on her coffee table. Last year, Brandon ran crying because he broke her ceramic praying hands. He just knew she was gone beat the black off of his behind. Instead of whooping him, she gave the boy a piece of cake and some ice cream to calm him down. They’re crazy about their grandkids.”

  “I can understand that. That’s normal. But what I’m going through with my mom ain’t normal. This some Jerry Springer mess here. I mean, I feel like my momma’s husband. I live with her, pay her bills, give her spending money, grocery shop with her, and I gotta fight with her to spend time with my own son. That ain’t right, now is it?”

  “My name is Bennett and I ain’t in it.”

  “You know it ain’t right, that’s why you ain’t saying nothing.”

  “So, what are you going to do?”

  “I’mma have to talk to her.”

  “Not about her, what are you going to do about Xavier?”

  “I don’t know. Charity is a good mother, and it ain’t nothing wrong with the way things are now, except that I’m a part-time daddy. Before I married Charity, I made her promise me she’d never leave because I told her I wasn’t gonna be no part-time daddy. I was either gone be his daddy full-time or not at all. I meant it then and even though that’s the grounds she won the child custody case on, I still feel the same way now. Her attorney argued that she was in an abusive marriage and that was just one of the ways I controlled her.”

  “What? Man, why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “For what? It wasn’t going to change nothing.” When James didn’t respond, Emmitt looked around to make sure the boys were not close by. “When Charity woke me up that morning and she and Xavier kissed me good-bye, I had a feeling she wasn’t coming back. I don’t know how I knew, but I had this feeling. Matter of fact, I expected it for a while because I started taking the baby’s car seat out of the car and hiding it from her. Like she wouldn’t leave without it. There were times I would think she was gonna leave and I’d call my mom to drive two and a half hours to get Xavier in the middle of the night while Charity was asleep.”

  “And your mom would come?”

  “Happily.”

  “That’s cold, man. No wonder she left.”

  Emmitt cocked his head back.

  “I mean with all of that going on. How could you think she would stay?”

  “Oh, I forgot who I was talking to. You were the one who liked her in the first place. If you think you could’ve done a better job with her, you should’ve married her.”

  “Come on, man, you know better than that. Bygones are bygones.” Emmitt watched James fidget in his seat. “So, what you’re saying is that if Charity had left Xavier with you, you would’ve been fine?”

  “And you know it. I knew she was gonna leave anyway, so I just shut down emotionally. It’s still the only way I can deal with her.”

  “That’s gotta be hard.”

  “I’ve been doing it so long I don’t even know I’m doing it.”

  “Is your home girl… uhm, uhm…” James was snapping his fingers trying to recall Emmitt’s girlfriend’s name.

  “Shawanda?”

  “Yeah, Shawanda. Is she okay with all this?”

  “What I got to tell her for? I don’t see no ring on her finger.”

  James smacked himself on the forehead. “What was I thinking? If you didn’t love your own wife, and the mother of your child, then how could you possibly give a hoot about a girlfriend?” he asked facetiously.

  “I like Shawanda. She accepts me for who I am and I feel comfortable with her.”

  “Hel-lo,” James sang. “That’s ’cause she young and…” He looked up at the ceiling, trying to think of the word. “Inexperienced would be nicer than what I want to say. She don’t know no better. She just glad to have somebody. She’s one of them desperate single mothers.”

  Emmitt looked at him crossly.

  “All I’m saying, man, is if you want to be a full-time dad, go get your wife back.”

  Emmitt stood up and stretched. He reached for his and Xavier’s coat. �
��I ain’t the only one this place has gotten to. You sound like you need some rest.”

  “All right. Have it your way,” James said, tidying the table and getting his belongings. “You know you still love the girl. I just hate that this is gonna tear her up.”

  Emmitt’s eyes narrowed. “Then she’d know how I felt when she just up and took my son from me. She made me out to be the biggest devil, and my life’s been a living hell ever since. I think it’s time she felt some of the heat.”

  Chapter 4

  “MINISTER PHILLIPS, THANK YOU FOR THAT WORD,” Koren, said approaching Charity to give her a hug. “You always break the Sunday school lessons down in a way I can understand them. But this morning, I’d swear you’ve been listening to my phone conversations. You talked about everything I’m struggling with. And you’re right, I’ve turned away from my first love.”

  Even though Charity needed to hear the encouragement, she did not believe what she was hearing. She knew she had done a terrible job with the Sunday school lesson. She’d been too preoccupied with Horizons’ open house to prepare for the lesson. She felt so unprepared and scattered. What she had in her head did not come out of her mouth. The students were unusually silent, which meant to her that they were confused, bored, or convicted.

  “Bless you, Sister Koren,” she said in her ear as they hugged. “Thank you so much for your kind words. I’ll keep you lifted up in prayer concerning the situations you’re facing, okay?”

  “Please do, I need all the prayers I can get.”

  “If you need a prayer partner, call me,” she said still holding Koren’s hands.

  “I will,” she said, initiating another hug. “Let me get on down here so I can be on time for praise and worship. I’ll see you later.”

  “All right, you take care of yourself.”

  Charity pondered her words in her heart as she packed up her belongings. She believed that Koren felt sorry for her and wanted to make up for the lack of response from the class. She knew she did a terrible job and felt there was no one or nothing that could prove her wrong. She walked slowly downstairs to the pastor’s study. She was feeling so inadequate and unequipped as a minister, the last thing she wanted to do was to be around her pastor or fellow ministers. I will bless the Lord at all times, His praise shall continually be in my mouth. My soul will make her boast in the Lord.

  “Good morning, Minister Phillips,” Pastor King said heartily as he stood when she entered the study. He had not yet put on his robe, which was draped over the back of his chair. The room’s lighting was so dark it was hard to tell the color of his suit, and his light complexion appeared two shades darker. His natural curly hair looked different today. Maybe he’d had a haircut, she mused. He was an attractive man in his early fifties, who was a little weightier than when he had first come to the church.

  That was none of her business. Pastor King was happily married. His wife was a former fashion model in New York. She still looked and carried herself like she was on the runway. Charity still felt goose bumps whenever she thought about how the Kings met. Pastor King saw his future bride featured in an Ebony magazine as a Fashion Fair model. He cut out her picture and claimed her as his wife. He carried that picture around in his Bible for months. One Sunday, he was sitting in his father’s pulpit and guess who walked into the church? In the middle of the service, he pulled her picture out of his Bible to compare the faces. He thought he would fall out of the chair. After the service he talked with her and learned that she was in Charlotte for a special event hosted by Ebony and Fashion Fair. He has told the congregation that story many times. Especially in his sermons on faith and hope. And the rest is history. Pastor King married her on one Sunday and he preached his first sermon as pastor of Damascus Road Baptist Church the next. That was fourteen years ago.

  Pastor King’s desk was closest to the door, so she went over to him and gave him a quick hug before she greeted the other associate ministers in the room. “Good morning Pastor. Is all well?”

  “All is well, Minister. How are you?”

  “I’m blessed,” she said as enthusiastically as she could. “And highly favored.”

  “Good, good. It’s good to see you. Have a seat.”

  Pastor King loved antiques. An old oak floor-model cabinet displayed his collection of miniature automobiles. Glass end tables matched the cabinet. An aluminum knight in the corner behind his desk held a shield in one hand and a sword in the other. Pastor King said it was his reminder to get dressed in the whole armor of God. The oldest members of the ministerial staff, Reverends Charles Hubbard and Walter Johnson, occupied the two chairs facing his desk.

  “Good morning Reverends,” she said, extending her hand to them individually to shake. Neither of them stood and they barely returned her greeting. She walked over to the newly ordained Reverend Tim Miller, who sat in a chair diagonal to the pastor’s desk. “Good morning, Reverend.” He stayed seated but he firmly shook her hand. The other three ministers sat on the two love seats in the back of the room. They were young ministers, in age and in years of ministry served. Ministers Richard Dukes and Joshua Sadler were in their mid-thirties. Charity used to be the youngest until Minister Michael Adams came on board last year. He was the church’s minister of music. The three ministers stood as she approached them.

  “Hello, everyone,” she smiled, making her way around the circle they formed to hug each of them. Ministers Adams and Dukes made room for her to sit with them on the couch. She sat at the end of the couch beside Minister Dukes, away from Minister Adams. She didn’t know how long she could keep her best friend April’s crush on him a secret.

  “Good morning, everyone,” Pastor King said in greeting to get their attention. “It’s good to see you all. I pray peace and prosperity upon you and your households. Does anyone have anything that should claim my attention?”

  Everyone sat quietly, looking around the room.

  “All right then. I want to congratulate Minister Phillips. She came to me some time ago to let me know that God had put it on her heart to open an all-black counseling firm. She had her open house on Friday and the place was packed. People were lined up out there like the government was giving away free cheese.” When the laughter died down, he asked Charity, “What’s the name of your office?”

  “Horizons,” she answered shyly.

  “Let’s keep her in our prayers. You know she’s got her work cut out for her. It’s hard to work with black folks, let alone those of us who are a little touched in the head.” He grinned. “I’m just playing with you, Minister Phillips.” Then he turned to the other ministers. “All of us need a little help every now and then, even us men and women of God. It’s important to keep a balance between the natural and spiritual. Amen?”

  “Amen,” the seven agreed.

  “Minister Phillips, since the Lord is blessing you so much, I want you to lead the call to worship this morning.”

  Everyone fell silent. One of the older reverends had always led the beginning part of worship services. Before she could open her mouth, one of them spoke up.

  “Pastor, did you say ‘call to worship’?” Reverend Hubbard asked.

  “Yes, I’d like Minister Phillips to do the call to worship. Minister Dukes to do Scripture and Minister Sadler to do prayer.” Charity looked around the room. Pastor King didn’t concern himself with the ministers’ blank stares and dropped mouths. “Reverend Miller, will you do the tithe and offering appeal?”

  “Pastor, with all due respect,” Reverend Hubbard persisted. “Reverend Adams and I have always led the call to worship. Reverend Miller hasn’t even had a chance to do it yet, and you’re gonna let Minister Phillips do it? That’s out of order, Pastor, don’t you think?”

  Pastor King sat quietly for a minute. He looked like he was thinking of a way to respond tactfully. Ever since last week’s end-of-the-year meeting, the church had been in an uproar. The older charter members of the church were most perturbed with the changes Pastor King
talked about making.

  Charity remembered how he had started the church meeting with a brief sermonette on Joshua and how God commissioned him to break out of Moses’ mold because he was now dead. “Following tradition will keep you out of the Promised Land,” he said. He admonished the church to get prayed up because God was “getting ready to send Damascus Road Baptist Church on a Damascus Road experience.

  “We can’t continue to do thangs the way Momma, Grandmomma, and Big Momma ’nem did ’em,” he’d joked to break the uncomfortable silence. “I believe God is raising the standard and wanting to take Damascus Road to a new level. Amen? And if you will,”—he looked around slyly—“that can be evidenced by the fact that God has blessed us with our first female minister, Minister Phillips. He’s breaking us out of tradition, church. I’ve been pastoring this church for fourteen years and there are some things we are still doing that were done when the church started thirty years ago.”

  The dignitaries on the front row sat as rigidly as the two older reverends in the study were now.

  “I’m sorry, Reverend Hubbard, but I don’t see how that’s out of order. If you think it’s necessary, we could talk about it further in our next ministers’ meeting. When is that? Second Saturdays? Next Saturday? Let’s talk about it then.”

  Reverend Hubbard crossed his legs, rolled his eyes, and shifted his body in the direction of the door. “Since we don’t have an assignment this morning, do you even want us to sit in the pulpit?”

  Charity felt her eyes stretch open. She knew the older reverends could get an attitude, but he was being insubordinate. “The seating arrangements have not changed,” Pastor King replied.

  As if they had been resurrected from the dead, the ministers in the back began to encourage Charity in an attempt to convince her that she was more than capable of preparing the congregation to worship.

  “All right, everyone has their assignments, let’s pray and dismiss.”