Gabrielle
Once again, I was seeing the world through Keisha’s eyes and her excitement was contagious. We giggled and chatted all the way home. I often forgot that Tony was Justus—when we were hanging out, he was just my friend. It was always fun, though, to see others react to him. Well, by others, I didn’t mean Mauricio.
I pushed thoughts of my husband aside and went back to the moment when I came up with this idea. I’d wanted to make up for that horrible faux pas at the meeting because I never wanted Keisha to feel less than in any way.
“I just can’t believe it,” she said for the gazillionth time. “Thank you, Gabrielle.” She’d said that lots of times, too. “I promise, I won’t let you down.”
“I’m not worried,” I told her. “We’ll work together closely on this. Actually, events are Regan’s responsibilities, but she’ll be fine working with you.”
Her excitement had been palpable, and now the darkness that washed over Keisha was just as apparent.
She said, “Regan doesn’t like me.”
I said, “That’s not true.” Then I ducked, hoping the lightning strike would miss me.
But while it seemed the wrath of God wasn’t coming down on me just yet, my lie didn’t make it past Keisha. She gave me one of those lean-back, side-eye glances that said two words: Yeah, right.
I wasn’t going to be able to leave it there, so I added, “Regan doesn’t know you, so the three of us working on this will help. She’ll see how wonderful you are and how hard you work, and all will be well.”
This time, Keisha said, “Yeah, right,” outright just as we turned onto our street. When I pulled into the garage, before I even turned off the ignition, Keisha jumped out, a fireball of bliss.
Inside, the entire downstairs of the house was dark. There was light, though, from the family room, and I was glad Mauricio hadn’t waited for us to get Bella day started.
Keisha and I tiptoed inside, and only Mauricio looked up. He smiled, then after glancing at Bella (whose eyes didn’t leave the screen), he stood and came to the back.
He kissed my cheek. “You’re late,” he said. “Shopping?”
Before I could say anything, Keisha jumped in, “Oh, no. We were hanging out with Justus.”
Now, I hadn’t planned on lying to my husband, though if it had been just me, maybe I would’ve let him believe that it was shopping that had me coming home later than planned. Because what I tried to do, always, was avoid this—the darkening of my husband’s eyes, the stiffening of his shoulders, the fading of his smile.
Keisha carried on, “We had lunch and then just hung out talking and planning and taking pictures. We took pictures for almost an hour. Here, look!”
Before I could stop her, she had the pictures on her phone in Mauricio’s face, and I wanted to choke her. But how could I? She had no idea my husband reverted to our daughter’s age whenever Justus’s name was mentioned.
And because she didn’t know, she turned up the heat. “Oh, this is the best picture,” she said, not noticing the flames in Mauricio’s eyes. “I had no idea they used to go out.”
Mauricio paused as if he was making sure she was finished. When nothing else bubbled out of her, Mauricio asked Keisha, “Can you stay here with Bella?”
She was so into her joy, she didn’t notice the throbbing vein in his forehead or the deepness of his voice. She just said, “Sure,” and bounced into the room.
Mauricio marched out; he didn’t have to ask me—I followed. He didn’t stop in the kitchen; he went into the hall, hooked a right, passed through the foyer, and stepped into the living room.
He faced me with his arms crossed. “So another brush-off of your husband and daughter for Justus.”
I tossed my purse onto the sofa and sighed. “That’s not what happened.”
“You told me you were having lunch with your dad.”
“We did. Dad was there and I didn’t mention Justus because of this.” I waved my hand toward him.
“Because of what? Me questioning why you didn’t come home when we said we’d make this an afternoon for Bella?”
“We never set a time.”
He looked at his watch. “Well, when you left at eleven thirty and said you’d be gone a couple of hours, I didn’t think you would be coming home after six.”
“It was just like Keisha said: we had lunch, then got caught up with business. He has this book he’s writing and . . .”
He held up his hand. “It’s always about business—Justus’s business. This dude keeps getting in the middle of our lives.”
“Don’t you think that, once again, you’re overreacting?”
“No.”
“Because when you thought Keisha and I had been out shopping, you were fine. But now it’s an issue.”
His lips barely moved. “This man is trying to come between us.”
“He’s not. He’s just being a friend who sometimes jokes too much. But he’s never made a move on me, never propositioned me in any way.”
Mauricio chuckled, but there wasn’t any kind of amusement in the sound. “He doesn’t have to come at you with sex; he can have you any time he wants with his money.”
His words knocked me back. “You are going low with that.”
“It’s the truth.” He raised his arms before they flopped to his sides. “Any time you need money, you go to him.”
“Now you’re just making it up as you go. The only time I talked to Justus about money was for my business. And that’s because he wanted me to represent him.”
“And what about Bella’s birthday? I didn’t want to spend that kind of money, and then all of a sudden, Justus is knocking on our door with a check.”
“That was his idea. He knew it was her fifth birthday and he wanted to do something special. What you don’t seem to remember is that I’ve known this man for practically my whole life. And what I don’t understand is why we always have these kinds of discussions about Justus.”
He glared at me. “You just don’t get it.” And that was the end. He said nothing else, just stomped out of the room.
I watched him walk away, then listened to him march up the staircase before I slumped onto the sofa. Holding my face in my hands, I moaned. I didn’t know what to do, and what was worse was that I didn’t know how this was going to end.
32
Gabrielle
It was cold in this car. Not the physical temperature, but the mental one, the emotional one—the air was as frigid, as solid as ice.
Without turning my head, I peeked at Mauricio. He wore the same expression he’d had since we’d awakened this morning. Actually, he’d gone to bed with it last night. His stare was hard, his lips set in a tight line.
The last words my husband had spoken to me were the ones he’d left me with last night: You just don’t get it. That was it, unless I counted his grunt after I’d reminded him about church this morning.
“Mommy.”
Bella’s voice was soft. I twisted and took in my daughter’s wide brown eyes. My child, always the ebullient one, sat stiff, her fear as palpable as the tension in this car, and I wanted to lift her from her car seat and hold her in my arms until she was scared no more.
I understood her fear; Mauricio and I had always done this part of our marriage well. Bella never saw any disagreements between us. But while she hadn’t seen what happened, she could feel it. Everyone could.
Except . . . Keisha.
Turning around, I watched Keisha for a moment. Her eyes were on the sights that flew by as Mauricio sped up Venice Boulevard. The smile on her face was the sign of her oblivion. I was almost sorry I’d introduced Keisha and Justus because she hadn’t stopped talking about him.
If there was a Sunday when this family needed to be at the altar before the Lord, today was that Sunday morning.
I closed my eyes and prayed inside: Dear Lord, please have a word for me.
That became my mantra as Mauricio pulled into the parking lot of Hope Cha
pel. This Inglewood church had been my spiritual home since I was in high school, and Pastor Ford had been the only pastor who’d constantly been in my life. She’d been my and Mauricio’s premarital counselor, then she’d officiated over our wedding. She was there for me as I lived through both ends of life—the death of my mom and the birth of my daughter.
As we stepped across the parking lot, I wondered if talking to Pastor Ford might be a good option. Maybe she could help me see what I was missing with Mauricio.
Just as I pulled open the heavy wooden door, Mauricio said, “I’ll take Bella to children’s church.”
I nodded. “I’ll save you . . .”
He stepped away as if he didn’t care what I had to say. Keisha bounced inside and I followed her into the humming sanctuary, which was charged with Sunday-morning electricity.
I hugged the ushers, took a program, then walked down the left aisle to the section a few rows from the front. Keisha passed over me as I kept the aisle seat free for Mauricio.
The moment we sat, I felt a hand on my shoulder, then glanced up and into the eyes of my father. There were tears in my eyes when I jumped into his arms.
After our embrace, he stepped back. “What’s wrong, sweetness?”
I shook my head. “Nothing. It’s just we haven’t been here in a few weeks and you know how much I love Pastor Ford . . .”
He stared at me for a little longer, then leaned over and hugged Keisha, before he went to his place on the podium with the praise team.
I bowed my head to pray again, but before I could get a word out, Mauricio eased next to me. It was a shame that I felt relief; it was just that I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d decided to sit somewhere else this morning. That was how dysfunctional this whole situation was to me.
“This is the day,” my father’s voice boomed through the church’s speakers, “that the Lord has made.”
Everyone in the sanctuary sprang to their feet. And together, we finished the scripture: “Let us rejoice and be glad in it.”
“Hallelujah,” my father led the church in praise.
Around me, people raised their hands, shouted out their gratitude to the Lord. But my arms remained by my sides, and my eyes stayed straight ahead until I peeked at Mauricio; his stance was the same as mine.
Dear Lord, please have a word . . . and then I changed up my prayer . . . for us.
That was my new mantra as the praise team sang song after song exalting our God. I tried to sing, but no sound came from me. I was weary from this battle with Mauricio.
Through praise and worship, then the welcoming of the visitors (and all the people who came to greet Keisha), then through the announcements, I struggled to keep my smile. There was a warring in my spirit that I couldn’t calm.
Then, Pastor Ford glided into the sanctuary and stood at the pulpit with her head bowed until the only sound in the sanctuary was the soft music from the keyboard. Just watching her, feeling her silent prayers, made my spirit settle.
Finally, she began, “You know, I pray all week as I reflect and meditate to receive God’s guidance for the word He wants me to bring. I was ready to speak this morning, but as I walked into this atmosphere, the Holy Spirit spoke to me.”
“Amen,” a few people murmured.
Jackie, the minister of music, still played the keyboard softly. “You know how sometimes you go to church and the pastor is talking directly to you?”
“That’s me every Sunday, Pastor,” someone from the back shouted, and the sanctuary filled with laughter.
Pastor Ford chuckled, too, but then, she returned to the solemnness she’d carried since she’d walked to the altar. She gestured for the music to stop.
When the church was void of any sound, Pastor said, “Today, I have this word for somebody, or maybe it’s for more than one somebody.”
“Amen.”
“Today, we need to have a little talk about envy.”
There were many more “Amens” this time.
I tapped the Bible app on my tablet, waiting for Pastor Ford to send us to scripture.
She said, “But I don’t want to talk about envy alone.” She held up her finger. “I want to talk about envy and jealousy. Because often, we confuse the two. It’s not that one’s better than the other, but you must know the difference so you can know how to pray. Because, you see, this is what you must know: attacks of envy, attacks of jealousy cannot be fought in the flesh. It’s spiritual warfare, and you have to know which fight you’re having before you get into the battle. Not knowing what you’re fighting is like taking a knife to war when the devil has an entire militia.”
“Amen!”
“So, what’s the difference between envy and jealousy? And I want you to really get this.” She paused. “Envy is between two people, and jealousy involves three.” She stopped again as if she wanted us to digest those words. “To take it further, envy is a reaction to the lack of something—you don’t have something that someone else has, and you want it. Jealousy is the reaction of losing something that you don’t want to lose. And that something is usually someone.”
There were murmurs inside the church, and even I shifted. Was this what Mauricio and I were battling? Was my husband . . . jealous?
I shook my head. No, couldn’t be. But when Pastor told us to turn to Proverbs 14:30, I couldn’t get to the scripture fast enough.
Pastor read from the New King James version of the Bible, “A sound heart is life to the body, but envy is rottenness to the bones.”
As Pastor spoke, I read the scripture again. I couldn’t remember how many times I’d read Proverbs, but I didn’t recall this scripture, though I wasn’t sure how anyone could forget these words.
Pastor said, “Rottenness to the bones. Do you know what rottenness means?” Over the whispers of the congregation, Pastor continued, “When something is rotten, it is decomposing or decaying. Having something rotten in your life has happened to all of us. You leave something in your car or in your refrigerator. And later, when you open that car or refrigerator, you have to step back.”
When Pastor took a couple of giant steps away from the pulpit, members laughed once again. Though I didn’t; this was serious to me.
She continued, “So you know the smell of decomposition. And if you know that smell, then you know the smell of envy.”
“Preach!”
With my hand, I covered my nose. As if the smell of envy was close by.
Pastor Ford said, “That is what envy does to you. It turns you rotten down to the bone. Your bones, the very foundation of your physical body. You smell to everyone you come in contact with.”
“Dang,” Keisha leaned over to me and whispered. “Glad that’s not me.”
I nodded and turned my attention back to the pastor.
She said, “So now that I’ve made you uncomfortable”—there were a few chuckles—“let’s talk about jealousy. We’re going to stay in Proverbs. Turn to chapter twenty-seven, verse four.” Before half of the church got there, Pastor read, “Wrath is cruel, anger is overwhelming, but who can stand before jealousy.” She strutted away from the pulpit. “Commentaries make the meaning of this scripture clear. Wrath and anger are like storms—they rage, but they end. But jealousy?” She moved closer to the front row. “When jealousy is inside of you, it stays and stays and stays. You may be able to hide it for a minute or a month. But it will rear its head always.”
I opened my notes app and tapped out the message Pastor had just delivered. When I glanced up, Mauricio was doing the same. As he typed, he nodded, then he glanced back at Pastor.
“Like I said, this message is for somebody or more than one somebody . . .”
As she said that, I felt Mauricio’s eyes on me.
“But this is what I know. Both of these emotions bring battles that must be fought and can be won.”
Mauricio reached for my hand.
“These are human emotions, but you are children of God. So fight! Fight with the armor He h
as given you. Then claim your victory.”
There were fresh tears in my eyes when I gazed down at where my hand was intertwined with my husband’s. I guessed we were in a battle. But this is what I knew for sure—we would fight and we would win. Because God had brought me and Mauricio here today. And He had changed Pastor’s message just for us—we were the somebodies.
I squeezed my husband’s hand as a tear dripped from my eye.
THE TEMPERATURE IN the car had changed, though the ride home was still silent. Mostly because it was just me and Mauricio, as Keisha and Bella had stayed behind to have lunch with Dad.
I’d been surprised Keisha had agreed. I had a feeling, though, it had more to do with her hanging out with Bella than spending time with our father.
Driving home now, Mauricio’s lips were no longer fixed in that tight smile. He’d relaxed, and that was a relief to me.
Still, after Pastor Ford’s sermon, I needed to talk to him. I wanted to assure my husband there was no one I would ever love the way I loved him.
That thought made me cover his hand that rested on the console between us with mine. He gave me a quick glance, a small smile, then returned his eyes to the road. The temperature in the car warmed even more.
About twenty minutes later, Mauricio pulled into our garage. When he slid from the car, he said, “I’m going to check the mail; I didn’t do it yesterday.”
I sauntered into the house, then waited for him in the kitchen. He was already sorting through envelopes when he stepped inside and I watched his eyes narrow as he stared at one.
“What is it?” I asked.
He tore open the envelope, scanned the paper, and glanced up. There weren’t tears in his eyes, but there were tears in his voice. “Just my test results. My sperm count.” He inhaled.
I wanted to rush to my husband and hold him. I knew the difficulty of this disorder for him. That was why after a lot of prayer and as much studying, he’d enrolled in this experimental case study to see if, with a new drug, his sperm count would increase. But unless he responded to these treatments, we’d never have another child. We did have the option of traveling that uncertain road of in vitro fertilization. But neither one of us wanted that emotional and expensive roller coaster ride.
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