Made of Honor

by Marilyn Griffith

  I took a deep breath. “I’m just surprised. You and Trevor don’t even look like you’re getting along, let alone getting married. Not that I wouldn’t be happy for you. I just don’t want you to feel like you’re doing penance or making things up to me. If I’m going to do something like that, I want you to mean it.”

  And for me to mean it, too.

  She nodded. “I do mean it. About Trevor and about you. I want you to stand up for me. As my sister.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Serious as that stroke you had.”

  That girl always did have an off sense of humor. She actually thought that was funny.

  My throat tightened. Should I do it? Everything seemed all wonderful now, but what about when Dahlia pulled a fast one like she had so many times before? Sure I wanted her to grow into the woman God wanted her to be and I did love her, really I did. But I couldn’t escape what felt like another flashing red light. It was probably just my fear, but it was flashing just the same. Sierra tumbled out of her uncle’s lap and ran across the room to me, prying open my arms and snuggling her hair in mine. I smiled. “Let me pray about it and talk to the doctor.” At least I could actually fit into a decent dress. Not that I’d recommend the brain trauma diet plan.

  Dahlia plucked her baby from my arms. “Okay, whatever. We’ll talk more about it later. It’ll be a small ceremony anyway. Gotta run.”

  I’d hurt her, something that I’d tried to avoid, but I couldn’t keep just going along. To Dahlia, standing up before God with Trevor might not mean more than a chance to buy a pretty dress. A glorified version of the prom. For me, the ceremony and its participants were a statement, parts of a covenant between a man and a woman and God who made them. To have me being a “maid” of honor and Dahlia just hooking up with her baby’s daddy until their next breakup, wouldn’t work for me. Maybe I wouldn’t have a lasting marriage, but I wouldn’t be offering my presence at the altar anymore for whoever happened to ask—not even for my sister.

  Life, I’d learned recently, was too short and too sweet to waste on things I didn’t mean.

  They took good care of me. Dad kept me stocked in fruits and veggies and cooked dinner for me every night while the others came and went, calling and checking, dropping by. While the attention was nice, I craved the solitude and time with God I’d rediscovered at the hospital.

  With no agenda driving my days, I woke each morning to fill myself with God’s promises, prayer, walking the neighborhood I’d forgotten existed, waving to neighbors I’d long ignored. Tracey and I e-mailed often and talked on the phone daily, sharing recipes and tips for the online journaling program she’d suggested I sign up for. It suited me much better. After our food talk, next would come her pregnancy woes. Today was no different.

  “Did you know that the average age for weaning is four years old worldwide? Isn’t that amazing?”

  More like gross. It was La Leche League day, so I could expect at least twenty minutes on the merits of breastmilk. The cost of friendship. “That’s wild, Tracey.”

  “It really is. The body is just so awesome, you know? Like your shop. Fearfully and wonderfully made. Psalm 139, right?”

  “Right.” I’d read it this morning, in fact. Only the merits of the female design hadn’t been on my mind then. When I read the passage, I reflected on how well God knew me. The intimacy He craved with me. I’d been wonderfully made to worship Him…to know Him in a way that only I could.

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Talking to Tracey was great, but I suddenly wanted to be alone again—with my Savior. Especially since the stock was running low at the store and I needed to start building inventory. Not with my usual intensity though. Just a batch of something each day.

  “Dane, you there?”

  I blinked. “Sure. Sorry.”

  Munching sounded through the receiver. “It’s okay. It’s time for me to have my snack anyway. Go and have yours.”

  Snack? “I just ate, Tracey.”

  “I didn’t mean food. I meant spirit food. Treasure your singleness, Dane. Love Jesus with all your heart…while you’ve got the time.” She crunched one more time. “And send us a great devotional when you’re done. I say take the whole month. You’ve been killing it.”

  “Well, near-death experiences do have the benefit of spiritual insight,” I said in my most reverent church voice.

  She fell out laughing. “Now I’ve got Kashi cereal on my keyboard. Stop it. Seriously, go. One day soon you’ll be married and looking for all these deep Bible notes you once wrote.”

  Married? Me? It sounded strange, but the way things were going with Adrian and I, it could happen. We were closer than ever. “Whatever, girl. We’ll talk soon. Are you still coming this weekend?” I held my breath, hoping Ryan had agreed to come, too.

  “I’ll be there.”

  I knew better than to respond. “Okay. I’m praying for you two.”

  Her voice flattened. “Good. That makes one of us.”

  Before I could say more, she hung up. I stared at the phone, deciding whether or not to call back. A knock at the door decided for me.

  Trevor bounded in the door like a puppy fresh off the leash. “Is Adrian here?”

  I shook my head. “I think he’s coming for lunch. Want to leave him a message?”

  He paced around the coffee table, his leather jacket pulled back over his shoulders. “Nope. No message. I just wanted to tell him something…” His face clouded. “I guess I can just tell you—”

  Uh-oh. I looked around, thankful the door was still open. Easier for him to leave by. “Maybe you shouldn’t tell me anything. I’m sure Adrian will be here soon.”

  Besides, I really wanted to sneak in some more time with the Lord before Adrian showed up. As intense as things had been between us lately, I had to be double prayed up when he came around.

  Before he could say another word, Jericho appeared in the doorway, smiling first, then frowning when he saw Trevor. I nodded. “It’s fine. Come on in. Shouldn’t you be at school?”

  He clapped hands with Trevor, but didn’t verbally acknowledge him. “I signed myself out. I need to talk to you.”

  Take a number. “Okay. You hungry? There’s hummus and whole wheat bread. Minestrone soup in the pot.” Didn’t you have to be eighteen to sign out? One more thing I’d have to tell Rochelle to check on.

  He frowned again. “Aunt Dane, I’m glad you didn’t die or anything, but all this weird food is messing with me.”

  “Try it. Hummus is all that.” Trevor gave a quick nod of approval.

  Jericho shrugged. “Okay,” he said, then started for the kitchen.

  I turned back to Trevor. “Hummus? What do you know about it?” Sure he’d done that tofu jag when we dated, but Trevor was a takeout junkie just like me.

  “Since I’ve been helping Adrian out, me, him and Joshua go over to Garden of Eden for lunch every now and then. Hummus and tabouli. Falafel, too. I love it.” His face lit up like a red disco bulb from the seventies.

  Hilarity wasn’t Trevor’s usual motif. Something had really happened to him. Something with Dahlia, perhaps? If so, I’d do best not to be in the middle of it. A few feet away, Jericho clicked on the Cartoon Network.

  “Not bad,” he said, spooning a mouthful of minestrone. “Even that who-moo stuff is pretty good.”

  I smiled, not bothering to correct him. The boy had more to be concerned about than the acceptable pronunciation of chickpea paste. Shemika was showing…and Rochelle was showing out. She’d visited often during my hospital stay, but the pregnancy and the situation with Jordan had definitely taken a toll on her—and on our relationship. Things just weren’t the same. Not to mention her lumbering boyfriend, who always seemed to end up sandwiched between us when we did try and talk. I’d accepted that things might not ever be the same.

  “Don’t get too comfortable, Jericho. We’ll talk, but you’re going back to school.”

  He rolled his eyes. “But—”


  Trevor held up a hand in a surprising turn. “Don’t talk back to your aunt, man. Eat your food.”

  That was a switch. Usually Trev would have found something like that funny.

  “I can drop him back at school if you want. I know you’re not driving yet.”

  “I’ve driven a little, but I’d rather not fight the lunch traffic.” With only one main strip through town with all the fast food joints, the noon rush could be a real nightmare.

  “No problem.”

  “Thanks, Trevor. I do appreciate that. Let me just talk to this kid and then I’ll—”

  He dropped his gaze. “Can he wait? I really need to share something with you.”

  I sighed. No way out. At least Jericho was here, in case things got ugly. “Okay.” I dropped onto the sofa. He remained standing. “Shoot.”

  “I just wanted to let you know…I’ve found the Lord.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I never knew He was lost.”

  Trevor wagged a finger at me, laughing. “I knew you would be like this. I knew it. But you know what?” He paused as if I’d answer. I didn’t. “It’s okay…because He loves me.”

  The glee of a child on his father’s lap radiated from Trevor’s face. My jaw tightened. How dare he throw this in my face? Was I supposed to believe that he found God just like that?

  I did it for you.

  Well, anything was possible, I guess. If it wasn’t possible, nobody had bothered to tell Trev. He looked downright giddy. And this from a man who used to practice his sneer in the mirror. “Girl, I know that not too long ago I was sweet-talking you. Truth be told, I was scheming on getting with you even after marrying Dahlia—”

  I gasped.

  He laughed. “See what I’m saying? I was a dog. Wretched.”

  Was? How was I supposed to believe he was anything else now? I’d heard all this before. Sure, change was possible, but this brothah would have to show me something—walk it out, just like I did. Then, I’d give him some props.

  “I know you’ll be watching me. And you should. But the cool thing is, God sees me as good right now! I don’t know why people sit up in church all miserable and hateful. This is good stuff! The hustler I was wishes I could sell it.”

  He stared up at the station, where Jericho had paused the TV on a man with a booming voice and big hair boasting Jesus coffee mugs and Jerusalem rocks for a specified donation.

  “Well,” he said, “I guess folks have already beat me to the selling part, but I’m going to sell it anyway by telling folks. People been telling this thing all wrong. Even you, Dane.”

  My neck thrust forward. Me? When did I tell him anything?

  He nodded as if answering my mental question. “Yes, you. Before we broke up, you were going to church and you always tried to put the heavy on me—stop drinking, stop smoking and stop acting a fool. But I was just doing all that to drown out being messed up. I mean everybody knows they’re messed up. You left out the best part—the switcheroo.”

  “I didn’t really understand things then myself. I was just echoing what I’d been told by others.” Sort of like you’re doing now. “What’s this switcherwho business?” Was that the cousin of who-moos?

  He raised his hands and waved as if dancing to a song. “The switcheroo. All my mess, my foolishness, my mistakes? All on him on the cross. He lived right, did it all good, was a straight-A guy, but when He did, He became me. My sins.”

  I tried to smile at his enthusiasm. What was happening to me? Not so long ago I had been this hyped about the cross, too.

  “Uh-huh. I know that look. I ain’t finished. Listen.” He pulled up a chair from the kitchen table. “Not only did He become my sin, but check this out—I became His righteousness.” He paused for effect.

  I paused, too. I’d heard it. I knew it. Why then did it suddenly make sense coming from the newest and most unlikely Christian in my life? My head bobbed in agreement.

  Trevor made a little “umph” sound and clenched his fists. “All His goodness, all His perfection, like about how you think Tracey and Chelle were perfect?”

  I blinked. “I didn’t think that.”

  “You did. Probably still do. You was so busy trying to live up to their righteousness that you never realized you had His. It’s a trip. I have to prove myself to y’all, but not to Him. He sees me clean.” He slapped his hands together. “Good.”

  A sigh escaped my lips. After that psuedo-sermon it was all I could muster. “Well, what does all this righteousness mean for you and my sister?” Talk was cheap.

  His face tightened a little, but the smile remained. “It means that I get your name off my arm, for one thing. And that I move out while we take the New Foundations class and go through premarital counseling.”

  Whoa. “And how does Dahlia feel about all this?”

  “She’s excited. She’s knows this is what we need.”

  “I hope that works out for you.” I bit my lip. This was all so hard to swallow. It was if he’d taken a Jesus pill. But wasn’t salvation supposed to be this powerful, this dramatic? Was my anger because my own life lacked this power? “I’m just glad that I’m not a point of contention anymore. That wasn’t fun.”

  “Right.” He hung his head. “I’m sorry about any hurt I caused you with that. And the hurt I caused Dahlia. It wasn’t you I loved—no offense—but it was what you represented.”

  I didn’t know whether to be offended or not. “And what exactly do I represent?”

  He shrugged. “Family. Faithfulness. Hard work. All of that. I think what got me is how Sierra connected with you. Neither Dahlia or I had clicked with her on that level. You just see what people need and try and provide it.”

  “Ah. So I’m the poster child for the hard-working black woman, huh? I guess I can live with that.”

  He laughed. “Ah, you thought I was gonna say your hips right?”

  I looked away. He might have found Jesus’s righteousness, but the man was still dangerous.

  “No, Dane, it’s not just that, although you do know how to hold it down. It’s love, too.”

  “Love?” What was this man talking about? The way I’d loved him perhaps?

  “Yes, love. It’s what drew me to you in the first place. When I saw the effect you had on Adrian at his own wedding, I knew you had to be a powerful woman.”

  “I think you’re confused, Trev.”

  He shook his head. “There’s two things I know—music and women. Adrian held Sandy’s hand, but part of his heart was with you. When you two spoke before they left for the honeymoon? Man, I’d never seen anything like that.”

  I flicked a tear from my eye. How could such a silly memory spark such pain in me? “What do you mean? We hardly looked at each another.”

  Trevor stood. “Exactly. It was too painful. That pain stirred something in me and as is my fashion, I pursued you. And not that you aren’t beautiful and kind, but that kind of fire didn’t stick with us.”

  “I guess not.” Though there were plenty of sparks.

  “So it was the feelings between Adrian and me that made you want me?”

  “Basically. And it was the same thing that drew Dahlia to Adrian.”

  I stiffened. “You know about that?”

  He snorted. “Of course. I knew the first time I saw them at our place together. Reading people is part of my nature.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “It wasn’t my place. I considered it a few times to get Adrian out of play since I knew you still loved him—”

  “That’s not fair! I never talked to him at all.”

  “Nope. You just talked about him.”

  He had me there. I stretched my neck. It was time for Trev to go. “Well, I’m thrilled about you turning your life over to Christ. We’ve all had a bumpy ride, but like you said He’s traded out the bad for the good. I wish you and Dahlia all the best. Tell Pastor he really hit big with you.”

  “Pastor Galveston?”

  �
��Yeah, isn’t that who you talked all this through with?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. It was Adrian. And his friend, Joshua, that little news chick’s husband? Pastor’s doing the counseling though.”

  I should have known. Switcheroo didn’t sound like anything Pastor would say.

  “Well, turns out those two guys have been praying for me for a while. Then we started doing the lunch thing. They tolerated my questions and just talked to me about whatever. Adrian broke things down yesterday and about three hours later—I was all new, baby!” He raised his hands to the sky.

  He started for the door. “Anyway, I’ll see you. Get with Adrian. Talk to him.” He winked. “God’s got plans for y’all.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  I had to lock myself in the bathroom and read Psalm 139 again. I was fearfully and wonderfully made all right, but made of what? This year, these weddings, my health—it all showed me what I was really made of. And it wasn’t anything pretty.

  If Trevor’s little testimony hadn’t rocked me enough, my nephew’s proclamation that he wanted to skip college and get married threw both Trevor and me for a whirl. When I heard Adrian pull up—weeks in bed train you to identify cars by sound—I shut myself in the bathroom for some quick prayer time rather than run to the door. The last visitors had probably left it unlocked anyway.

  “Anybody home?” His voice rang clear and sweet.

  “I’m in here. Just a minute.” I read the last two lines of the Psalm, tossed up a quick prayer, cleaned myself up and came out of the bathroom.

  “Hey, you.” He smiled, putting a stack of papers on the table. He held one up, a sales page for the shop with a wedding dress floating in a pool of bubbles. In swirling script below the image read, Wonderfully Made. Make everyday your wedding day. My eyes misted over. It looked like something straight out of the mall. And very expensive.

  “How?”

  “Tracey redid the logo. My ad guy is on retainer so I didn’t pay extra for him to do this. The printing wasn’t much—”

  “Tracey? But I’ve been talking to her every day. She didn’t say a word.”