Anya held up her hands. “I shouldn't have said that. But you're angry and I don't know why.”
He swung around. “You want to know what's wrong? I don't want to be here,” he hissed. “This was your idea, but, it's not important enough for you to make the effort to get here on time.”
“I'm sorry I was late. I got caught in a meeting and—”
“There's always something that keeps you from us, isn't there?”
“I was only a few minutes late.”
“If I counted up all the minutes I had to sit and wait for you.” He shook his head. “Never mind. You don't even try to understand.”
Anya raised her hands and massaged her temples as she spoke. “I said I was sorry—”
“And that's supposed to be enough? See, you don't even get it!” he exclaimed, pointing his finger at her.
She brought her hands to her sides and balled them into fists. “You better take your finger out of my face.”
He stood glaring, but only for a moment before he backed away. Anya fell into her seat, keeping her eyes glued on him. He stood at the window, his back to her. Almost five minutes of silence hung in the room before there was a knock, and the pastor entered.
“Are we ready now?”
“Pastor Ford, we can't finish this tonight,” Anya said, her eyes burrowing into Braxton's back. “We'll be better next week.”
Pastor Ford brushed her dark brown hair away from her face. “That is one way to handle this: Leave, ignore it, and hope that it will pass. Or you can do what you would do in a good marriage—and face it now.”
The room stayed silent.
“This is relationship counseling,” the pastor said, then paused. “Braxton, please join us.” She smiled, but her serious tone made Braxton drag himself to his chair.
The pastor's eyes darted between the two. “So what's the unsolved opportunity?”
“Well—” Anya began.
The pastor held up her hand. “Braxton, why don't you tell me?”
His face was twisted with anger, and it was a moment before he began. “I don't know, Pastor Ford. I'm frustrated, overwhelmed, and—” He stopped.
“Is it about the wedding?” Anya jumped in.
“Anya, let Braxton finish everything he has to say.”
Sighing, Braxton continued. “I was fine when I got here, but then when we had to wait for her …” His breathing seemed labored, as if his fury were building. “Anya's business always comes first, no matter what else is going on in her life.” He paused. “But I always put her first.”
“Always?” the pastor asked.
“Always! She is my priority. Just ask her,” he said, pointing toward Anya.
“This is ridiculous. I am not going to allow you to disrespect me like this,” Anya snapped.
“I'm just telling you how I see it.”
Anya plopped back in her seat and folded her arms.
The pastor smiled. “At least we're making progress.”
“Progress?” they said simultaneously.
“Yes, there are issues here that we can now address. Braxton,” the pastor continued, “what is it about Anya's business that agitates you?”
“It's not her business, Pastor. It's that her business is more important than anything else in her life, especially me.”
“What are you talking about?” Anya interrupted.
“Anya!” the pastor said strongly. “You'll have your turn.”
“Thank you, Pastor.” Braxton cleared his throat. “She throws everything aside for that business.”
Anya gritted her teeth. “I own the business.”
“Anya, please step outside for a few minutes,” the pastor said.
Anya pursed her lips and sat back. “I'm sorry, Pastor. I won't say anything else.”
“That's true because you're going to be outside.” Pastor Ford gestured toward the door.
No! Anya yelled in her head. But there was no way she would say that to her pastor. She grabbed her briefcase, and stomped toward the door, then took softer steps as the pastor caught her eye. Anya took her time closing the door behind her.
She threw her briefcase down and began to pace the small anteroom. As she passed the door, she stopped a few times but could hear nothing. Finally, she sat down and flipped through an issue of Christian Life Today. She started reading, but then turned to a new article before she finished the last. She repeated this pattern before she gave up and slammed the magazine shut.
I should just get in my car and go home, she thought, though she knew there was no way she'd leave.
She stood and went to Pastor Ford's door, this time flushing her ear against the wood. But the sounds were muffled. She tried to push her body closer, then heard movement and scurried back to the chair. Anya picked up the magazine just as the door opened.
The pastor opened the door. “Anya, join us now.”
Anya gingerly placed the magazine on the table, hoping Pastor Ford hadn't noticed that she'd been holding it upside-down. With as much grace as she could gather, she picked up her briefcase and walked back into the office. She took her seat, crossing her legs and arms at the same time.
“This has been a bit unorthodox, but you know how I feel about these things—let the Holy Spirit have His way. But we have discovered something that is crucial to this relationship. It can be worked out, but only if it's talked out. But, I'm going to require two things.” The pastor turned to Anya. “Remember, that the same letters that spell listen make up the word silent.” She paused. “Secondly, remain calm. You cannot listen when you're emotional.”
Anya raised her eyebrows. Surely the pastor wasn't talking about her. Braxton was the one who loved drama.
“Okay, Braxton, tell Anya what you just told me.”
Braxton faced Anya and leaned toward her, their knees almost touching. “I don't feel like I'm important to you, Anya. I feel that you would give up on me, give up on our marriage, if it interfered in any way with Mitchell & Associates.”
With her arms folded, Anya pursed her lips, willing her mouth to remain closed. She was still fuming over being expelled from the room. And this accusation made it worse.
“I'm concerned,” Braxton continued, “that your business will interfere in our marriage.”
That's it! There wasn't that much patience in her. She'd just have to get kicked out again. “Braxton, you're jealous of my business, and for no reason. I would never put my company in front of my family.”
Braxton looked at the pastor for assistance, but Pastor Ford remained silent.
“That's not true, Anya. You do it all the time.”
“Braxton, tell Anya how you see your future together.”
Braxton took a deep breath and took Anya's hand. “Anya, I love you so much.” His voice shook with emotion. “I want to have a family and build a life with you.”
“That's exactly what I want,” she said, softening to Braxton's words.
Braxton nodded. “I don't think you realize the toll your business takes.” He paused. “I wonder, what is going to happen when we have children?”
“Of course, I won't be able to work the same way, I'll make adjustments.” She rubbed her hands against his. “That's why I work so hard now. I want everything in place so that when we have children the business will run itself.”
“Braxton,” the pastor interrupted, “you and Anya are still not talking about the same things.”
Anya's heart started to pound. There was something ominous in Pastor Ford's words. What was Braxton hiding? Jumbled thoughts formed their own conclusions in her mind. “What is it, Braxton?”
The ticking of the clock on Pastor's Ford desk was all that could be heard for an eternal moment.
“I want to have a family now.”
Anya released a relieved sigh. But when she turned to Pastor Ford, the pastor's eyes were urging Braxton to continue.
“Anya, I've filed for custody of Junior. I want him to live with us. He needs his father and you wou
ld make a much better mother than Roxanne.”
Her mouth dropped as she leaned back in her chair, pulling her hands away from him. Just a moment before, she felt as if her heart was beating through her chest. Now she wasn't sure if it was beating at all.
“I didn't mean to spring this on you.” His words came quickly. “I've tried to tell you a few times, but something … always got in the way.”
“How long have you been thinking about this?” she whispered without looking at him.
“A while.”
She looked at him as if she couldn't believe his words.
“That's why you have to sell your business. We have to have something over Roxanne if the courts are going to give us custody. I figured with my income and you as his full-time mother, we have a good chance.”
She swallowed hard. With few words, he took away her career and relegated her to a housewife at home with his son. “What about me?” She wondered if she had shrunk to the size of her voice.
Braxton took her hands again. “I can give you the kind of life that you want.”
“I have the life I want.”
His hands tightened around hers. They stared at each other, saying nothing.
Pastor Ford said, “The tension you've been feeling has been built around this. Now that it's out, you can talk. Talk and listen. You'll be able to resolve this.”
Pastor Ford turned directly to Anya. “I know you love that boy. I'm not telling you what to do, but listen to Braxton and hear his desire to have his son in his life so that he can raise him to be a man. And Braxton,” she said, looking pointedly at him, “be very careful about asking anyone to give up anything for you. That's dangerous and would change the dynamics of any relationship.”
Anya couldn't move. Just one hour before, she had come into this room to discuss marriage, not an instant family. She listened as Pastor Ford gave them instructions and told them what they would discuss next week. She accepted the papers the pastor handed to her and, without looking at them, dumped the pages into her briefcase.
When the pastor stood, Anya followed, grateful for the direction. She bowed her head as Pastor Ford said a final prayer.
“I'll be available if you need me before next week.”
Anya nodded, her head moving in slow motion. She started toward the door, when Braxton picked up her briefcase and handed it to her. They followed the pastor to the front doors of the church where she left them.
The moment Pastor Ford walked away, Anya stared at Braxton for a second, then whipped around him and out the door, rushing down the stairs.
“Anya, wait!” He caught up to her at the car. “Honey, it was Pastor Ford's idea to talk about this. I wanted to wait.”
“Wait for what?” she snapped. “Our wedding night, so that it would be too late to turn back?” Braxton winced. “I am grateful for Pastor Ford because only God knows when you would have told me. Your son would have already moved in before you said anything.”
“I was trying to find the right time!”
She got in the car and slammed the door, refusing to roll down the window when Braxton tapped on it. When she started the ignition, then floored the accelerator, Braxton hurriedly backed away, a tint of fear in his eyes.
She watched in her rearview mirror as he walked slowly to his car. He drove off, and once he was far from her sight, she turned off the car. Alone on the darkened street, she held her face in her hands. What am I going to do? She looked back at the church and thought about going back to talk to Pastor Ford. She needed some help. Some scriptures, some prayers—something.
Through the windshield, Anya gazed at the blue-black sky. How could she be angry with any man who wanted to raise his son? But why hadn't he shared this with her? What about Roxanne? This could turn into a nasty fight. Why should Roxanne lose her child? What if Junior blamed her for this? And did Braxton really expect her to give up her business? There were too many questions.
She started her car and drove through the streets of Inglewood. These were the same streets she'd taken to the church, but nothing was the same. The homes that were alive with lights on her way over were now mere shadows. Only the churning in her stomach was familiar.
Her eyes filled with huge tears that blinded her as she drove. She was surprised when she finally turned into her garage, barely remembering how she got there. She didn't have enough energy to close the garage door, or even move. So, she sat—waiting for some divine intervention to give her direction. While she sat in her car, sobbing and praying, she never noticed the car that drove up and down the street watching her.
Chapter 21
Anya wanted to sleep. It had been emotionally draining getting through work on Friday. Now she wanted to sleep away her Saturday, but someone had a different idea. Even her oversized pillow couldn't drown out the sound. The bell rang incessantly and, finally, Anya surrendered.
With slumber-heavy eyelids, she rolled from her bed and grabbed her bathrobe. By the time she stumbled down the stairs, the ringing had ceased and Sasha was sitting with her feet kicked up on the couch.
“Good morning!” Sasha exclaimed brightly. “You sure slept late.”
Anya squinted, screening her eyes from the sun's brightness that flooded the room, then grunted as her morning radar propelled her toward the brewing coffee. “I thought I heard the doorbell.” Her voice was still filled with sleep.
“It was a delivery boy with these.” Sasha lifted the oblong box from the table.
Anya peeked over the kitchen counter and frowned. “Oh.”
“Don't you want to know who they're from?”
“There's not a whole lot of people who send me flowers.”
Sasha settled on the couch. “Oh, I don't know. It could be Braxton or … it could be David professing his undying love.”
Anya slouched into the chair facing Sasha. “I already told you—”
“I know. They're from Braxton anyway.”
Anya arched her eyebrows in question.
“I checked.”
“Sasha! Stay out of my business.”
“Okaaay.” She paused. “Since you're already in a snit, I should probably tell you that I read the card.”
Anya shook her head as she brought the hot cup to her lips. “You're incorrigible.”
“And you're old and cranky. But I love you anyway.” She handed the box to Anya and sighed. “Your man is quite the romantic. I never got letters like this from Gordon.”
Anya rolled her eyes. She opened the box overflowing with yellow roses. Anya searched through the bundle.
“Sorry, I forgot to put this back.” Sasha grinned, as she pulled the note from her nightshirt pocket.
Shaking her head, Anya read the note silently.
I am so sorry that I hurt you. I should have told you, and I apologize with all my heart. My prayer is that you will forgive me. We need another chance.
Forever, Braxton
“Isn't that wonderful?” Sasha gushed.
Anya grunted.
Sasha leaned over Anya. “So what did he do this time?”
Anya returned to her coffee.
“Does silence mean that you're not going to answer me?”
“Exactly.”
“Why not?” Sasha whined. “I know how to handle difficult men.”
Anya continued to sip her now-cooling drink.
“At least call Braxton. I told you he called a few short of a million times yesterday.”
“I'll call him,” Anya said flatly.
“Call him now.” After a couple of seconds Sasha said, “Stop acting like someone with a bad case of hemorrhoids.” Another beat. “Well?”
Anya almost licked the last drop of coffee from the cup. Finally, she took the cordless phone and sank back into the overstuffed chair, while Sasha curled on the couch with the newspaper in hand. Anya eyed Sasha, hoping telepathic waves would jolt Sasha into her room or some other place in the house. But Sasha continued to fake interest in the real-estate section.
She breathed deeply, and pressed the memory button.
“Hi, Braxton.” She put as much cheer in her voice as she could gather.
“Anya!”
“I wanted to let you know that I got the flowers. This morning and the ones you sent yesterday.” She watched Sasha drop the newspaper and raise her eyebrows, all pretense of not listening tossed aside.
“I meant everything I said,” Braxton said softly. “I am so sorry, Anya. I didn't mean for it to go down this way.”
“There's a lot for us to settle.”
Anya heard Braxton's sigh of relief. “I'll come right over.”
“Not today.”
The tightness returned to his voice. “We can't avoid this.”
“I'm not doing that. It's just that …” She paused. “Sasha's not feeling well.” Anya had to hold back her giggle as she watched Sasha feel her forehead.
“I could come over there so you won't have to leave Sasha.”
“No, she's been sick a couple of days and has been stuck in her room. Today is the first day she's gotten up, but if you come over, she'll just go back to bed. She should be fine by tomorrow though. I've been giving her some of that over-the-counter stuff.”
Sasha laughed out loud and Anya made a face for her to keep quiet.
“What was that?”
“Sasha … sneezing. I need to go. I have to … fix Sasha something to eat.”
“You're going to cook?”
“Just soup … or something,” Anya stuttered.
“What about tonight?”
“Maybe. We'll see how Sasha is feeling.”
“Anya—”
“I promise I'll call. If not tonight, definitely tomorrow. After church.”
“Anya, I want to work this out.”
“Me too,” she responded simply. She clicked off the phone and placed it gently on the table. She could feel Sasha staring at her.
“Why did you lie to him?”
“Because we're going through something, and he wouldn't have accepted anything else. But don't worry, he didn't believe me anyway.”
Sasha giggled. “What happened to the perfect little Christian?”
In that second, words from Pastor Ford's recent sermon echoed in Anya's mind. “You're a living example. People are watching every move you make.” Anya groaned and rolled her eyes. “Unfortunately, being a Christian doesn't make me perfect.”
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