by Pat Simmons
"I got caught up in that thunderstorm. I'm back to the afro."
"God doesn't care. Come as you are," Paula encouraged.
"If you saw my hair, you would take back your words before fainting. It's not going to happen for me tonight." Hallison sniffed her frustration. Her day was going downhill. She probably should go anyway, but she didn't want to put in the extra hours it would take to look halfway decent. "If you can buy a tape from tonight's service, I'll reimburse you."
Paula didn't reply at first. "It's not the same as being in the presence of God."
Hallison blinked as a drop of water ran from her hair into her eye. "I know. Listen, I've got to reinvent myself for my afternoon appointments. Get the CD, please." Once inside her office bathroom, Hallison peeled off her top and blazer. She had to shake her hips like Beyoncé to loosen her slip and skirt.
With urgency, Hallison rummaged through her stash of extra clothing. She wasn't encouraged. Most items she either had taken home or to the cleaners. Besides her Victoria's Secret hosiery, there wasn't anything impressive.
At 3:25 p.m., Hallison sat behind her desk, swinging her leg, waiting for her appointment. She had stuffed most of her hair under a red baseball cap with a large portion of it hanging out the opening and was perspiring under an insulated Xavier University Alumni sweatshirt. Her hips were squeezed into a size ten pair of denim capris. Ankle socks and red tennis shoes finished her fashion statement. These were clothes she had used when she first moved into the office years ago.
After successfully repairing her makeup, Hallison tapped her manicured nails on her desk, waiting. She stood at the brief knock. "Come in." The applicant opened the door and blinked. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Green. Please have a seat."
"Uh, hello," Mrs. Green stumbled over her words as her mouth twitched.
Hallison returned to her chair, crossed her legs, and examined the applicant's file. Hallison may not have looked like she was in control, but she was at the moment.
By Saturday morning, Hallison had done a bad imitation of Alexis's handiwork. This was her family, and most of them had seen her in diapers or worse. She managed to straighten her hair, and with bobby pins, comb it into two French braids.
The previous day's traitorous weather suggested a perfect forecast for Hallison to don the Reynolds-Brown family reunion T-shirt and pair of culottes for the picnic. Since Hallison couldn't show off her hair, her impeccable pedicure would have to speak for her grooming habits. Slipping her feet into flat, Roman sandals, she crisscrossed the straps and tied them slightly above her calves. She resembled a college student more than a bank's director of personnel. To be on the safe side, Hallison pulled a hooded rain jacket from her closet.
She refused to dwell on the scene of Malcolm and Lisa as she drove the short distance to Sioux Passage Park. She spotted the trail of parked cars, signaling the designated shelter. After maneuvering between two parked cars, Hallison stepped out at the same time the driver of a Range Rover honked the horn and distracted her. Turning around, Hallison grinned and waved, then adjusted her sunglasses on her face. Closing her door, she crossed her arms and leaned against her Camry, waiting for her two cousins.
The oldest at thirty-one, Faye, was a mechanical engineer and resided in Louisville, Kentucky. Tammy, twenty- six, the same age as Hallison, lived across the Mississippi River in Illinois and was the principal of a Metro East High School. Both had exotic dark features and spoke with an unlearned Caribbean accent, which most guessed they had inherited from a great-grandmother on their father's side. The sisters were considered fashion divas. Faye's family reunion T-shirt was tied in a side knot, exposing her navel's belly ring. Tammy took center stage with an eye-stopping straw hat and matching tote bag and culottes.
"Hey," Hallison shouted as the pair approached. They wrapped each other in a group hug, laughing. Standing back, Hallison nodded toward Faye's pricey SUV. "I see you're living large."
"And I see we've been shopping at the same place," Tammy interjected, pointing to Hallison's Roman sandals. They exchanged high-fives. "Fashion is our middle name," she told Hallison.
As they strolled to the sheltered area, the sisters gave Hallison an abbreviated update on their lives. By the time the trio reached the pavilion, a group of the male relatives had already attacked one plate and were feasting on a second one. The older women alternated between serving food and yelling at kids who were playing tag around the barbecue pits.
Faye, Tammy, and Hallison greeted their relatives, then formed a line, kissing and hugging every person within reach. Finally, they fixed their plates and sat next to their mothers, Addison and Norma. Their conversation was always the same—Jesus, His second coming, and the rapture. Hallison smiled, remembering a time when she wouldn't go near them. Now she appreciated their words of wisdom.
After completing two trips to the serving table, the three added their trash to a bin already filled with discarded paper plates. The group had thinned as the boys jammed cowboy hats on their heads and raced to the horse trails. A few girls ran to the empty tennis court. The swings and sliding board lured the younger children.
Hallison lifted her brow at how her skinny, long-legged, female cousins were suddenly transformed into beautiful young ladies. Her shy, male cousins boasted their muscular build. Some were engaged in the latest dance moves from their respective cities.
Hallison chuckled as she stretched her legs and rested her feet on a bench, then scooted down in a folding chair. Faye entertained a small audience with her rowdy victory after she had won her third round of spades. Her cousin's competitive streak was legendary. It was that quality in her older cousin that Hallison idolized when she was growing up.
The yelling startled Tammy out of her nap. She blinked, squinting at her watch. "Hey, it's almost four." She yawned. "Y'all going to play cards all night? There's a Memorial Day concert at We Love God Temple. We can get our praise on. Hali, Aunt Addie says you're back with the Lord. Praise God. I know you don't want to miss it. Maybe you can drag Faye with you."
"You've got to love my sister," Faye said. "She's always forgetting I'm older, and I call the shots." The three laughed, nodding their heads as they remembered. "I don't plan to set foot in church tonight or tomorrow. I'm on vacation, and I want to sightsee." Faye turned to Hallison. "Hey, cuz, want to play tourist? I heard The Loop has come back since I've moved away."
Tammy would not be trumped. "Momma said Aunt Addie said Hallison dumped her fiancé because he wasn't in church. Since you're not coming to church, Faye, you're on your own. We don't hang with sinners, right, cuz?"
Hallison cringed, and then leaned forward to keep them from arguing, "Actually, I didn't dump him, we—"
Tammy waved her off. "You don't have to sugarcoat it, Hali. Faye can go by herself."
Faye shrugged gracefully. "Makes no difference to me, my little sanctified sister. I have GPS, so I doubt that I'll get lost."
"C'mon, Tam, let's go to The Loop. It'll be fun. Afterward, we can go to the concert," Hallison said, trying to referee.
"Are you kidding? You wouldn't marry an unsaved man; why would you want to hang with a sinner? Faye needs to make a choice."
"Ladies, cousins, sisters, please," Hallison interrupted, standing. "First, I loved Malcolm. I chose to walk away. You two are my blood cousins. I didn't choose you, but God gave me you. Family is family." She unsuccessfully played the part of negotiator.
"Why you even got saved to mingle with the sinners is beyond me. Hali, we're supposed to set the example," Tammy instructed.
"Tammy, I don't think Faye and I strolling down five or six blocks of Delmar, visiting quaint shops and sampling food, will qualify as temptation. I read that an investor brought the struggling college hangout strip back to life, so I'm curious, too."
"Somebody has to set the standard," Tammy snapped, also standing.
Hallison sighed. "Okay, group hug." Faye yanked her sister in the circle. Hallison prayed for peace. "Does this mean you're going
with us?" Hallison smiled, hopeful.
"Not unless we're passing out gospel tracts," Tammy said defiantly.
Chapter Fourteen
“Tammy's the very reason why I'm not in church today," Faye complained minutes after Hallison climbed into the Range Rover en route to University City. Then she mumbled some profanity.
Hallison didn't respond. She loved her cousins equally. Without any siblings, Hallison and the sisters were inseparable growing up. Once they reached adulthood, Hallison, Faye, and Tammy chose different careers, religious experiences, and social paths. If Hallison had one word to describe Faye, it would be irritating; Tammy could be overbearing. Of course, the sisters oftentimes labeled Hallison as "Miss Goody Two-Shoes." Both were shocked, hearing she had walked away from her church upbringing.
"Hmm-mm," Hallison mumbled, tuning her cousin out.
"I figured you weren't going to help me backstab my sister now since you've recovered your faith." Faye shook her head in defeat. She fumbled with the radio knob until she found jazz oozing from her satellite radio.
"Reclaimed my faith, Faye. Reclaimed," Hallison replied, laughing.
"Hey, if I can't talk about my sister, you're the next best target." Faye laughed, too, as they skirted around the subject of Tammy.
Forty minutes later, Faye arrived in the heart of The Loop, originally known as the last stop on a bus line in University City, before it looped around and retraced its route to downtown. In recent years, the six-block strip had become a popular hot spot. Boasting forty-five restaurants, fifty-something boutiques and shops, and numerous entertainment venues, nearby Washington University students, city dwellers, and suburbanites didn't wait for the weekend or special occasions to partake in the buzz.
As they peeped through store windows and danced around patrons at sidewalk tables, Hallison noted the St. Louis Walk of Fame, highlighting local celebrities like Chuck Berry, Tina Turner, Nelly, and others.
"I see why this is a hot spot. I love it," Faye said in awe.
"I haven't been in this part of town in years." As they shuffled through the crowd, Hallison stopped cataloguing faces, letting her mind drift. "A person would think after dating Malcolm for more than a year, we would've toured these streets."
"So, do you miss him, or at least regret you gave up your man in the name of religion? Didn't that whole sacrifice thing go out with the Old Testament? What's the real story?" Faye asked without missing an opportunity to return smiles to men admiring her belly ring.
Hallison wondered if Faye owned any tops that weren't midriffs. If Hallison was keeping track, Faye was easily racking up twice as many stares as she. "I’ll tell you in exchange for you telling me why you haven't given up to Christ."
Rolling her shoulders, Faye smirked. "Fair enough. I love my sister, family, and some saints. I'm emphasizing some. Even though I'm not in the habit of routinely going to church, I see the remnants of the devil, and not Christ, when folks aren't trying to play church."
They stepped to the side to keep from clashing with a waiter who was coming outside Cicero's, a restaurant known for its pizza. Hallison sniffed at the aroma.
"Faye, your feelings aren't isolated. The hypocrisy turned me off a while back, too. It fueled my argument for not going to church. As a matter of fact, I'd cross the street to keep from walking on the same sidewalk as a church." She laughed at her juvenile thinking as Faye nudged her. "Then God started turning up His pressure on me. He challenged me to clean up my spiritual health or go to hell where I would burn for eternity."
She frowned. "What a choice. Was Malcolm so bad, Hali?"
"Yes and no. I loved Malcolm, and there was no doubt that he loved me, but God had something else in mind. Malcolm didn't have anything against visiting churches. It was his refusal to even seek a commitment with God. Basically, he was okay being a visitor indefinitely. It's like settling for girlfriend status when God really wants a marriage certificate for His salvation. Faye, I've got to believe I made the right decision." Hallison paused. "Do you want to get an Espresso?"
"Sure... now, for argument's sake, is there any way you and Malcolm could get back together? I'm a romantic if not a churchgoer." She smiled.
Peering into Starbucks, Hallison tripped over her own feet. Malcolm was reclining in a chair at a table. A woman's back faced Hallison. She swallowed. "I've changed my mind. Let's keep going."
"Why?" Faye put her hands on her hips.
Hallison tugged on her cousin's arm. "The reason why Malcolm and I won't ever get back together is sitting in Starbucks with him. That's twice in two days I've seen him with Lisa. God is trying to tell me something."
Faye grunted. "Or that she-devil is."
Hallison drew the line Saturday night when Faye wanted to go clubbing downtown. They said their goodbyes, and Hallison told her to have a safe trip back to Louisville. "Love you, cousin. Stay safe."
"And you," Faye said, grinning, "stay saved."
The fun-filled day ended with a quiet, lonely night at home. Hallison closed her eyes and prayed. "God, I know you have a companion for me. Will you speed up the candidates? It's agony seeing Malcolm with someone and not me. I did what I know you told me to do." Needing something to do, Hallison grabbed a book, Genealogy for Dummies, as she answered her phone.
"Grandma BB, you've got to be kidding me?"
"I ain't." The old woman was insistent with her message. "Cheney threatened to have me arrested if I step my Stacy Adams shoes on her property. That kinda hurts an old woman's feelings. She won't even entertain the thought of coming to my house. She calls herself a Christian. That's where you come in, Hal," Mrs. Beacon said, abbreviating her nickname even further. "I need your help in picking a neutral battleground."
Hallison didn't feel qualified to act as a mediator between Cheney and Mrs. Beacon. The feisty woman seemed ready to do battle even in her sleep.
The battle is not yours, but Mine, God spoke II Chronicles 20.
"How about the Whistle Stop?" she suggested.
The eatery was known for its old fashioned custards. It was a former train depot and a popular meeting spot for Ferguson residents. Children were thrilled to wave at the conductor who blew the whistle for their entertainment. More than twenty Norfolk Southern freight trains passed by the eatery daily.
Mrs. Beacon agreed, and the following weekend, she was sitting outside the Whistle Stop when Hallison and Cheney drove up. She looked harmless as she swung a leg over a knee, showcasing her choice of footwear. Residents had stopped, raising a brow at her trademark Stacy Adams shoes.
Chin jutted, Mrs. Beacon eyed them suspiciously as they strolled up the slight ramp to the outdoor eating area. Mrs. Beacon straightened her shoulders to show superiority, but her imploring eyes betrayed her need for Cheney's mercy.
At the circular table shaded with a tilted umbrella, Hallison cleared her throat, wondering who would be the first to acknowledge the other. Even after Hallison and Cheney took their seats, it didn't happen.
"Well, why don't we begin in prayer?" Hallison reached for their hands. "Lord, in the name of Jesus. Your Word says where two or more are gathered in your name, you shall be in the midst. We all need you with us. We all have shortcomings, and this is bigger than us, oh, God. Only you can judge this situation." Hallison said amen and Cheney whispered amen. Grandma BB mumbled words which were indecipherable.
"Okay, okay, okay," Mrs. Beacon said, fanning her hand in the air. "Someone has to be the bigger person, and I'm not talking about size." She scrutinized Cheney's belly. "Cheney, I'm sorry it was your father who I shot. I love you as if you were my own daughter; you know that. And I would never, never do anything to hurt you, but I'm not sorry I shot the snake." Mrs. Beacon didn't blink.
Shocked, Cheney took a deep breath, readying for a comeback. "I knew an apology from you would be short lived."
"Ladies, here are your orders," a worker interrupted as Hallison's heart pounded.
"Oh, but we didn't—"
Mrs. B
eacon's hand stopped Cheney from protesting. "I ordered your favorite." She jabbed a finger at Hallison. "Hal, I guessed at your selection. I figured you'd eat anything to keep the peace."
“You're right,” Hallison agreed. With every bite Hallison took, she prayed for peace. Occasionally, freight trains and car horns interrupted their conversation, but there was plenty of eye contact as if Cheney and Mrs. Beacon were waiting for someone to light the match. Their composures were forced, betraying their stockpile of ammunition that was loaded and ready to take aim. When Cheney lifted her finger to shoot the first question, Mrs. Beacon wiped her mouth and threw down her napkin.
"Before you get started, let me tell you something. Chile, this had nothing to do with you. It was about me settling an old score. I would've shot him regardless," Mrs. Beacon nonchalantly explained.
Cheney repeated Mrs. Beacon's gesture as she threw her napkin on the table. Her brows knitted and her nostrils flared. "Do you hear what you're saying? On Sundays, you're Mother Beacon in church, a senile widow in the neighborhood and an endearing Grandma BB to all who love you. Let me add another attribute—you're crazy!"
Mrs. Beacon stood abruptly, and she slammed her fist on the wood table, causing Cheney's dessert spoon to twirl in the air before landing under the table. She attempted to retrieve it, but her unborn baby refused to shift. When Hallison pushed back to reach it, Mrs. Beacon sat and shooed her away.
"I'll get it," she said, but didn't move. Within minutes her legs moved as if she were tap dancing in her seat.
"Are you okay? What's the matter?" Hallison asked.
Mrs. Beacon waved one hand in the air. "I'm fine." She sat as if nothing had transpired and crossed her legs. Then she lifted her shoeless foot. "Got it," she repeated, displaying long, designer nail extensions on her toes. The plastic spoon dangled in the air between her big toe and another. Hallison choked as she sipped her water.
Cheney gawked in disbelief. "Ah, I'll pass. That's worse than when you attached pocket-size mirrors as flaps on your shoes." Gripping the edge of the table, Cheney leaned forward and held up a finger. "One scripture, ‘Vengeance is mine says the Lord, I will repay.’ It's not for you or me to punish him." Cheney swallowed hard and massaged her temples. "I don't need this right now. After all these years, my dad and I were finally reconciling our differences, then you shoot him," she voiced as a tear fell down her cheek.