she talks to him, what is she going to say happened to the
photos?”
My Word | 111
Cecily leaned back and gave me a gangsta look—at
least as much of a gangsta look as she could wearing those
red, diamond-studded glasses. “Who says she should say
something to her husband?”
I didn’t even have a comeback for her because I couldn’t
make sense out of her nonsense. This woman had just received
photos and she wasn’t supposed to say anything?
It must have been the look on my face that made Sonya
take over. “Rena, sweetheart, I know these pictures are painful.”
“Yes, they are,” one of the First Ladies shouted out.
Sonya continued, “Only you can decide what you want to
do. Only you know your heart and you have to follow that.”
Rena nodded and a tear dripped onto her hand.
“I know you,” Sonya kept on. “You’re not going to be able
to be comfortable keeping this secret.”
“That’s exactly what she needs to do,” Cecily said and her
Amen chorus joined her, singing the same tune.
I wanted to ask Cecily why did she want Rena to not say
anything? So that she could be the one to tell the world?
Sonya held up her hand and that stopped all the chatter.
The First Ladies Council was loose when it came to officers;
we all just jumped in and participated in the programs. But if there had been a president, it would have been Sonya.
When the room was completely silent again, Sonya said,
“So, you’re going to have to confront Reverend Bradley and
you two decide where you go from here.”
112 | Gizel e Bryant
Cecily nodded. “And when you’re deciding, you need to
remember that what God has brought together let no man
put asunder.”
“Amen!”
First Lady Sonya turned back to Rena. “A true marriage
is tested and this is a test that, when you and Reverend come
through it, you’ll have your testimony.”
“Amen,” they all seemed to say this time.
My eyes darted from one woman to another. “Come
through it? So what you’re saying is that her husband is
having an affair with a boy...or a man...you’re all advocating that she stay with him?”
Cecily looked at me like I was some pitiful newbie who
didn’t possess a single clue. “Sweetheart,” Cecily said in a tone as if she were talking to one of my children. “For most of us
in this room, our calling is greater than our marriages.”
“That’s right,” someone shouted out.
“And so the call on our lives means that our vows aren’t
sacred?”
Cecily waved her hand. “Our calling is greater than all of
that. You just don’t understand.”
I folded my arms. “Then explain it to me.”
“All right.” Cecily took a step closer to me. “Let me break
it down for you like you’re a two year old.”
My eyes narrowed and I felt the blood draining from my
lips with as hard as I pressed them together. My mind went
back to my middle school bully.
My Word | 113
But Sonya stepped between us before Cecily could say
another word. “No, Cecily, I’ll explain.” Facing me, Sonya said,
“There is a lot to be considered.”
I inhaled, then exhaled so that I could relax a bit. If there
was anyone in this group I respected, it was Sonya Douglas.
She never contributed to the gossip, though she never backed
away from it either. Still, I wanted to hear what she had to say.
Sonya said, “The Bradley’s church is on the cusp of great
things happening.” She took Rena’s hand. “Didn’t you just get
a five-hundred-thousand dollar grant from the Family First
Foundation?”
Rena nodded.
“And what do you think the Family First Foundation
would do if this ever became public?” Sonya asked.
Before she could answer, Cecily jumped in, “And let me
break it down so that it’s clear for all of us. If it ever became public that your husband was in bed with a man.”
Sonya shot Cecily a look, but she didn’t back down.
Rena sobbed before she muttered, “They’d rescind the
grant.” Then, she groaned as if this was her first time thinking about this.
“And all the good work that you and your husband had
planned for that money will be gone,” Cecily said. “And what
would happen to Knotting Hill Missionary Baptist then?”
She didn’t give Rena room to respond. “You’d lose members,
probably the whole church, really, and everything the two of
you have built will go down in flames. And speaking of flames, I already told you what to do with those pictures.”
114 | Gizel e Bryant
“Cecily,” Sonya said her name as if she were making her
weary. “It may not be that simple.” Turning back to Rena, she
said. “Was there a note or anything with those photos?”
I frowned. That was an interesting question. Not
something I would have thought about. Why was First Lady
Sonya asking her that?
But then, Rena said, “There was a note.”
Gasps filled the space.
She continued, “A note and a demand for fifty-thousand
dollars.”
And then, there was a col ective relief of breath. That
made my frown deeper until in the next moment, my eyes
widened when Sonya waved her hand. “Pay them. Better yet,
make Monty pay it.”
“That’s right,” Cecily said. “Yes, now that you told us that
part, keep the pictures, show them to Monty and make him
pay!”“Amen!”
Sonya continued, “And get the transaction on tape,” she
told her as if this were a business transaction. “Tell whoever is blackmailing you you’ll play with them this time, but if
they come back for more money or if they go public, you will
release the video and have them arrested for extortion.”
“That is perfect, First Lady Sonya,” Cecily said and the
rest of the women nodded and mumbled their agreement. “So
it’s settled.” Cecily clapped her hands together and looked
around. “Rena is staying with her husband and what we’ve
heard here today, stays right here.”
My Word | 115
“Amen!”
I rolled my eyes.
“And Rena,” Sonya said, “you make sure you get something
out of this. Like didn’t you tell me you wanted to go to Dubai?”
“Or what about that mink coat you were looking at last
winter?” one of the First Ladies shouted out.
“Or maybe,” Sonya said, “you’ll get that new Jag SUV.”
Everyone and every word was surprising to me. But
nothing was more shocking than the words that First Lady
Sonya had spoken.
Had they really just tried to convince Rena to stay with
her cheating husband? Her cheating with boys husband. There was no way she would.
But then, Rena said, “Thank you. Thank you all.”
“You’re welcome.”
“That’s what we’re here for.”
“We’re all family.”
Rena said, “You were right. There is too much at stake f
or
me to do anything except for what you suggested.”
“Exactly,” Sonya said. “Just remember—that Jag.” When
everyone laughed, Rena stood, hugged Sonya and then moved
to the chair where she’d sat at every meeting.
“All right now,” Sonya said. “If you’ll take your seat,
Ginger, we can get back to why we’re here. Let’s get back to
the Dress for Success program and what you were telling us
about the schools.”
I glanced at Rena and for the first time since she’d walked
into the room, she had a smile, albeit a meek one. And the
116 | Gizel e Bryant
other women were looking at Sonya as if the last twenty
minutes hadn’t transpired.
“Ginger?” First Lady Sonya said, as if I were holding up
the meeting.
First, I glanced at where I’d been sitting and then, I turned
my eyes to the door, the exit from this room and these women.
But then, I returned to the seat where I’d been sitting and I
gave my report.
Chapter Nine
For the past three days, all I’d been thinking about was the
First Ladies Council meeting and Rena Bradley. I couldn’t
imagine what that night had been like for her after she’d left the Four Seasons. Had she waited until Reverend Bradley had
come home? Had she sat down at dinner with him and then
served him the pictures alongside the pork chops and mashed
potatoes? And at what point did she ask for keys to her new
car, designer purse and international vacay?
I eased my Benz around the curve of the street, then
stopped in front of the valet stand. Smiling as the attendant
opened my door, I greeted him, took the ticket, and then as
I strolled toward the restaurant, I shook my head, hoping
that would release my thoughts. Sometimes I felt like I was
consumed with thoughts of what those women had counseled
Rena to do and really, it was none of my business. If she
agreed with them, who was I to tell her anything different?
117
118 | Gizel e Bryant
That was my last thought as I stepped inside the District
Winery. The moment I did, I spotted my sister, standing at
one of the tables waving both hands. It looked like the top
of her head was glowing, but it was just the way the sun, that burned through the wall of glass, shined on her wild blonde
afro.
My smile was instant. Even though I was dozens of feet
away, I could tell she was propped up on her toes, making sure I could see her. That made me chuckle. While I had taken
after my father with my height, Jada’s petiteness had come
through our mother. Even her big hair did little to add to her five-foot-two frame.
“Hey, baby sis.” I leaned over to embrace her. And just like
I thought, she was on her toes.
“What’s up?” she asked in a voice that belied her size. Her
height, was the only thing small on Jada. As she slid back into her seat, she added, “And when are you going to stop calling
me your baby sis?”
“That’s what you’ll always be to me.” I hooked my purse
on the back of my chair. “You and Lauren.”
From the time Lauren and then Jada were born, I
embraced the role of big sister as if I were a decade older
than both of them. We were much closer in age, only two
years between me and Lauren and then two years between
Lauren and Jada. But that was enough for me to boss them
around when we were younger, though both of my sisters
would say I’d carried that trait into my adulthood. Jada would
My Word | 119
say that, more than Lauren who was protected against my big
sister tendencies by the barrier of the miles between D.C. and Dallas where she lived.
Jada rolled her eyes and I laughed. “Whatever,” she said.
“I’m a grown woman, twenty-eight...and a half, in case you
need to be reminded.”
This time, we laughed together and as the waiter came to
take our orders, we studied the lunch menu...and the wine list, of course. The wine was the reason why Jada loved coming to
this place whenever she hopped on the Acela for our monthly
luncheons. It didn’t make sense to me that she would take a
three hour train ride from New York to eat at a restaurant
that was right around the corner from where she lived in the
city. The Brooklyn Winery, which was less than a mile away
from her brownstone, was owned by the same people. But
she fancied herself a wine connoisseur and it didn’t matter to me where I hung out with my sister. So the District Winery
was always it.
I ordered the duck wings, with a side of fried brussels
sprouts, while my sister told the waiter to bring her a salmon burger and then, we both ordered a glass of Pinot Noir.
“So, what’s been going on?” Jada asked once we were left
alone.
I snapped the napkin at my place setting open and laid it
across my lap before I sighed.
She said, “Oh, church drama, huh?”
“No, the church is fine, Jeremy is fine and the kids are
fine.” I paused. “I can’t believe you won’t get to see them this
120 | Gizel e Bryant
time. I couldn’t even tell them I was meeting up with you
because they would have tried everything to get out of going
to school just to see you. They love their auntie Jada.”
“I love them, too. But I have to be back in New York,”
she glanced at her watch, “by seven or so. On my next trip,
though, I’ll come down on the weekend so that I can see the
kids and Jeremy. You know who I miss most when I come
down here, right?”
I nodded. “Who you telling? Mom moved to Dallas how
many years ago? Nine?”
“Yup, right when you came home.”
I shook my head. “But I understood her need to get away.”
“I did, too, but,” Jada pointed her finger toward me, “you
think you’re slick.”
“What did I do?”
“You tried to change the subject. I asked you what’s going
on because I know something’s bothering you. So no matter
how much you bring up the folks we love, I’m gonna bring
this all back to you.”
This wasn’t the first time I wondered what kind of
discernment gift had been given to my sister. It was uncanny,
the way she could sense every emotion I felt, like we were
twins or something. Not even the miles could stop us from
being in-tune. Jada always called right at my first moment of
frustration or anger or sadness.
“So tell me what’s going on?” she said again.
“It’s nothing.” I shook my head.
My Word | 121
“Oh, come on. Don’t make me play twenty questions with
you. I don’t have much time and I’d rather talk about me.” She grinned. “So ‘fess up.”
I would rather talk about my sister, too, rather than what
was on my mind. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to share with
Jada; it was just that I didn’t want to carry tales about anyone.
But Jada was feeling my energy; she knew something was
bothering me.
“Really, Ginger, your s
ilence is making me concerned.”
Looking across the table, the cheer that had been in my
sister’s hazel eyes had traded places with worry.
“What’s wrong?” Her voice was a whisper now. “You’re
scaring me,” she said as she reached for my hand.
“Oh no.” I waved her words away. “There’s nothing for you
to worry about. What’s got me so bothered has nothing to do
with me. This is all about someone else’s drama.”
“Who? Is Dru okay?”
Because I was the one who now didn’t want to play twenty
questions, I closed my eyes and said a quick prayer asking
God to forgive me for sharing Rena’s business. And then, I
began the story of the First Ladies Council meeting.
Through the waiter bringing us our wine and then a few
minutes later, our lunch, Jada sat transfixed with her mauve-
matte lips parted in surprise. She stared at me, without hardly blinking, hardly moving in any way except for when she raised
her glass and took two gulps.
122 | Gizel e Bryant
When I finished my story, I sat back. Jada said nothing,
at first. She just grabbed her glass and finished off the wine before she held it up, her signal to the waiter.
“So, let me get this straight,” Jada said, leaning in on the
restaurant’s table, “this chick comes in and pours her heart out about her husband’s gay affair and the First Ladies don’t try
to figure out how to bury the pastor’s body, hide his watches
and burn his clothes?”
I shook my head. And the thing was, Jada meant what
she’d said. My sister was that ride-or-I-don’t-care-if-I die
chick who proved crazy existed in all relationships. The dozen or so women my sister had been involved with since she came
out to our family at the beginning of my sophomore year in
col ege (when she was only fifteen), could vouch for my sister’s occasional lunacy. Jada was possessive; she loved hard and
tolerated no foolishness. Cross her at your own peril, ‘cause
she would take your crazy and raise you one.
“I’m serious,” Jada said. “People would have been looking
for that pastor come Sunday morning when he was supposed
to be in the pulpit.”
“Oh, I have no doubt you’re serious, and you really need to
use your Obamacare and get that crazy of yours checked out.”
Before she could say anything, I bowed my head and
blessed our food, but when I looked up, Jada was ready to
go in.
My Word_Interior.indd Page 10