Pastor Ford lifted her head. “Who told you that?”
Asia shrugged. “I heard it somewhere. I think I heard that it’s the only sin that you can’t ask to be forgiven because you’re already dead.” Asia frowned as if she’d confused herself. “Or something like that.”
Pastor Ford chuckled. “If that was the unforgivable sin, God would have made sure it was in the Bible.”
“But I’ve heard ministers say that.”
Pastor Ford said, “I’ve heard lots of people speak lies in the name of God. That doesn’t mean anything to me. I go by His word. The Bible makes it clear what the unforgivable sin is, and it’s not suicide.”
“What is it?”
Pastor Ford smiled a little. “Look it up. Matthew twelve, thirty-one. Anyway,” she began again, her smile gone now, “I forgot to announce this at the first service. Vanessa’s services are going to be on Thursday.”
Sheridan exhaled a long breath. “Is there anything we can do?”
Pastor Ford shook her head. “No, we’ve got everything covered; I’m doing the eulogy and a few of the deacons are going to assist. Vanessa’s best friend, Louise, is going to sing, along with Jackie. It’ll be a nice homegoing. But I would like you two and Kendall to visit her mother, especially after the services. Wanda will need us then. We’re going to have to watch her.”
“Oh no,” Asia moaned. “I can’t go through this again.”
“You won’t. We’re going to have people with Wanda as long as she needs us.”
Sheridan said, “I’ll give Kendall a call; maybe we can go over tomorrow evening and then we can visit her again afterward. What do you think, Asia?”
“Tomorrow’s fine; just let me know.”
Sheridan called for Tori and they said their good-byes. As she hugged Asia, she said, “Let me know how it goes tomorrow.”
Once alone, Pastor Ford asked Asia, “What was Sheridan talking about? What’s going on tomorrow?”
“Nothing.”
She frowned, but her expression changed—as if another thought came to mind. “Have you heard from”—she paused, looked at Angel—“CPS?”
Asia hesitated. “They called, but they haven’t set anything up yet.”
“I’ll have to get on this.” Pastor Ford shook her head.
“No, Aunt Beverly. You focus on Vanessa’s mom and I’ll take care of this.” The look on her aunt’s face made Asia add, “I promise.”
Pastor Ford hugged Angel and then Asia. “Take care of it and do it soon. Just keep me posted on everything.”
“I will, Aunt Beverly. I promise it will all be taken care of tomorrow.”
Chapter Sixty
KENDALL
Kendall balanced the coffee cup in her hand and stretched her legs atop the deck’s rail. The April sun shone brightly, but still the morning chill made her shiver, even though she was wrapped in her chenille bathrobe. Around her, pages from the Saturday and Sunday Los Angeles Times flapped in the breeze. She loved this deck. Wondered if she could live her entire life out here.
The cordless phone rang and she glanced at the screen. Saw the number, ignored it again. She didn’t know how many times her father had called; she’d stopped counting after ten, stopped listening to his messages after the first one.
“Baby girl, call me back, please. We just want to thank you for what you did….”
She’d deleted the rest of the message.
Kendall leaned back, closed her eyes, and listened to the soft song of the surf. The phone rang again, barging in on the sea’s music, but soon the ringing stopped. After ten minutes of silence, Kendall prayed that her father had given up.
She didn’t know why he wanted to talk about it. She didn’t want to. If she was going to be her sister’s donor, then it had to be this way, on her terms.
She probably should have explained it to him before they left his house on Friday morning. Before they got to the hospital, before they’d met Dr. Hudson.
“What floor is the doctor on?” she had asked her father when they stepped into the lobby of Cedar Sinai.
“The third. But he’s going to meet us in the lab on the second floor. He’ll be paged when we get there.”
When they stepped into the elevator, Edwin pressed 5.
“I thought we were going to the second floor.”
“We’re going to see your sister first. She wants to thank you.”
Kendall shook her head, pressed 2. “No.” The elevator stopped. “I’ll meet you back here,” she said over her shoulder.
Confusion was carved in Edwin’s forehead when he followed her. “I thought you’d want to see Sabrina.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re doing this.”
“Just this, Daddy. I’m only getting tested and nothing more.”
The wrinkles in his forehead deepened.
“Look,” Kendall said, her voice sounding tired, “I’m going to do what I can to save Sabrina’s life, but I have no plans to make her part of mine.”
In silence, they waited for Dr. Hudson, and Kendall could feel her father’s bewilderment and disappointment. But she knew he’d say nothing. Knew he didn’t want to speak a word that might chase his eldest away.
Kendall had barely listened to the doctor when he finally showed up. All she could think about how her blood was going to save the life of the woman who had taken her life away.
“It’s a simple blood test,” Dr. Hudson said, “and the nurse will also take a swab from your cheek. We’ll know first thing Tuesday.”
“That long, Doctor?” Edwin had asked.
The doctor nodded. “We’re still checking the NMDP Registry—so far, nothing. As I told you before, the statistics aren’t good. Seventy percent of patients who need bone marrow transplants are never matched.”
Kendall had frowned. “What does that mean?”
Before the doctor could speak, Edwin took her hand. “It means you’re our hope, baby girl.”
The doctor nodded.
The statistics didn’t faze her. She knew what would happen now. She’d be a match, and save her sister’s life. This was what their lives had always been about.
It hadn’t taken long—the nurse drew five tubes of blood, rubbed a swab against her cheek, and it was over.
Edwin had waited right outside the room. And when she’d finished, his eyes pleaded with her to make this the time of reconciliation.
She’d looked him straight in his eyes. “Do you need a ride home?”
He got her message, shook his head. “I’m going to stay here with Sabrina for a while.”
She’d hugged him and then marched right out of the hospital. Hadn’t spoken to him since.
The ringing phone forced her eyes open, and this time when she looked at the screen, she pressed Talk.
“Kendall, this is Sheridan.”
“Hey.”
“I called your office; your assistant said you hadn’t been in for a few days. How’re you doing, girl?”
“I’m good. What about you?”
Sheridan sighed. “Still reeling from Vanessa. Her services are going to be Thursday.”
Kendall didn’t say a word.
“And Pastor wants you, me, and Asia to visit Vanessa’s mom. How’s this evening for you?”
It didn’t take her a second to say, “I won’t be able to do that.”
“Is tomorrow better?”
“Nope. You and Asia go on. I don’t need to be there.”
Kendall could feel Sheridan’s frown. “Is everything all right, Kendall?”
“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”
“I know everyone reacts differently to death.”
“I’m sure they do, but I’m not reacting. I barely knew Vanessa.”
There was a pause. “Kendall,” Sheridan said softly. “What’s wrong?”
Suddenly, she wanted to cry. “Nothing. Listen, I have to go. I have my own issues over here.”
“Anything I can help with?”
Another pause. “Listen, why don’t we ride together to the funeral? I’ll pick you up.”
“I’m not going. I told you, I hardly knew her.”
“But she was our friend.”
“I’m not going.” Kendall closed her eyes and wished she could take back her tone.
“Okay.” Sheridan spoke slowly. “Well, we won’t have prayer meeting this Thursday. But let’s start it up next week.”
“Sure,” she said. It was only because she wanted to end this conversation that she didn’t mention she wouldn’t be back to their little group. She didn’t care what kind of SOS Pastor Ford would send out.
“And, Kendall, call me anytime you need me.”
When she hung up, Kendall brushed the tears from her face. She hated that she was crying. Didn’t know why. She was never supposed to care again.
Call me anytime you need me.
Those were Sheridan’s words. Yeah, right. Kendall knew that wasn’t true. She knew she couldn’t depend on Sheridan. Just like she couldn’t depend on Anthony. Or Sabrina.
And now, Vanessa had let her down the same way.
Anytime you want me to say an extra little prayer for you, any of you, just tell me.
That’s what Vanessa had said at the last meeting. Just proved that she couldn’t be trusted either.
Kendall folded her arms. Wanted to scream her anger at the ocean. How could she have opened her heart again? Let people in just so they could walk right back out?
“I’m done!” she yelled to the sea. Once this was over, she’d go back to the life she knew best. No connections. Just herself and her business. That was all she could depend on.
Chapter Sixty-one
ASIA
“There’s no way I can reach Ms. Thomas?” Asia pressed the receptionist. “I can’t believe she doesn’t have a cell phone.”
“I’m sorry; all I can do is take a message.”
Asia slammed the telephone onto the receiver. She didn’t care what that receptionist thought. She didn’t need those people at Child Protective Services anyway. When Ms. Thomas arrived, she’d just send the woman on her way.
Asia flopped onto the bed. Now she’d have to wait almost an hour. A total waste of time when she needed to be at the gym. But there was no one to blame except herself.
She still couldn’t believe the plan she’d put together. It would have been a mad mess, especially once the media got hold of the story. “Bobby Johnson, Child Molester,” would have been the lead for every entertainment show, every newspaper, every tabloid. Even the radio personalities would have joined in the scandal. Especially that Wendy Williams; she would have put Bobby on serious blast.
Just that thought made Asia moan, “What was I thinking?”
She was glad—not about Vanessa’s dying—but about how that had helped her rise from the fog of revenge. Bobby didn’t deserve what she had planned. Not after the way he’d taken care of her for all of those years. Even at the end, he still came through. Asia could name a list of women who ended up with nothing more than a Big Mac and supersize fries for the time they’d put in.
But Bobby had never treated her like a groupie. She never even felt like his mistress. Right from the beginning he’d gone after her—and her heart….
Chiquita couldn’t believe how easy it had been to make sure that Jamal wouldn’t attend that Lakers party with her. The ditch had been simple—she made a call to a couple of friends, who knew a couple of friends, and all of a sudden, Jamal had a big drug deal going down.
“I can’t believe this.” She’d whined and pouted, giving Jamal the full effect. “But would you mind if I went anyway?” she asked, after an appropriate number of seconds had passed. Not that she cared what his response would be—her name was already on the guest list. She just needed one more favor from him.
“I ain’t lettin’ you go up there with all dem ballers,” he said. “You’ll forget all about me.” He laughed, but Chiquita was a little surprised at how perceptive he was.
“Baby, that would never happen. It’s all about you.” She kissed him, full tongue, pressed her body into his. When he moaned, she said, “Those guys don’t impress me. I hardly watch the games when we go.” Another kiss. “So, would you mind calling and getting Noon’s name on the list?” Another body press. “And when I get home, oh, the things we’ll do….”
Within an hour, Chiquita was standing on Noon’s porch, her hands filled with the designer suit she would wear and everything else for the night.
“That’s my soooong.” Noon waved her hands in the air as Maxwell blasted through her bedroom.
Through the mirror, Chiquita glanced at her friend. In that gold lamé miniskirt and midriff-baring top, Noon looked even more hoochie than usual.
“How are we going to get to the Sunset Room?” Noon asked as she wrapped her blond braids into a bun.
“We’re taking a cab.” Chiquita dabbed a bit more color onto her lips. “I got the money.”
“I know you do,” Noon said. She whistled as Chiquita strutted to the middle of the room and spun around like a dancer. “Where did you get that dress? And how much did it cost? You hit Jamal for that much money?”
“Dang! What’s with all the questions?” Chiquita flung the strap of her Ferragamo bag over her shoulder.
Noon eyed the purse, and looked Chiquita up and down once more. “What are you up to, Ms. Chiquita?”
“And that’s another thing. I’m not Chiquita. Starting tonight, I’m going by another name.”
Noon frowned. “Are the po-lice looking for you?”
Chiquita rolled her eyes. “No! The police aren’t looking for me, but I’m looking for a husband and I plan to meet him tonight.”
Noon laughed, crossed her arms. “Forget about the part where I tell you how crazy that sounds. But even if that happened, what’s this madness about another name?”
“Name one famous, wealthy man who has a wife with the name Chiquita or Aquila or Shaquita or—”
Noon held up her hand. “So what’s your new name?”
Chiquita had given this much thought. Searched the magazines, looking at the model’s names. There was Elle and Cindy, but those weren’t exciting enough. Tyra was nice, but she was an LA girl, too. Chiquita wanted something different, exotic. “My name is Asia.”
“Like the country?”
“Asia’s not a country. It’s a continent.”
“Whatever it is, it’s where my hair comes from. That’s your new name?” Noon shrugged. “Whatever.”
As she tossed the beaded jacket over her shoulder, Chiquita added, “You may want to think about changing your name, too.”
“First of all, ain’t nothin’ wrong with my name.” Chiquita waited for the “and second of all,” but Noon had already turned to the mirror. Was smoothing her skirt over her round behind. “It’s the name my momma gave me,” she finally said.
It was Chiquita’s turn to say, “Whatever.” To her, Noon’s name was as ridiculous as hers. While her mother was just plain crazy for naming her after a banana, Noon’s mother was on a serious bad trip when she named her child to mark the time of her birth. And her full name—Noon Thursday Jones—said it all. But if Noon wanted to go to a party dressed this way, with that name, it was on her. Tonight was all about Chiquita anyway and how she was going to meet somebody’s famous, wealthy son….
Asia rose from her bed, glanced at the clock. Fifteen more minutes—she hoped Ms. Thomas was going to be on time. She hadn’t been to the gym in a week and she needed to get there.
She stretched out on her couch, lay back against the pillows, and remembered….
This wasn’t the kind of party Chiquita expected. She was used to darkened rooms, music blaring, and folks shaking their groove thangs in the middle of the floor. But instead, soft music without voices played in the background while tuxedoed waiters wandered throughout with trays covered with champagne-filled flutes and hors d’oeuvres with name
s she couldn’t pronounce. But Chiquita couldn’t eat or drink a thing. Close to two hundred people milled about chatting, laughing, sipping—and about half of them were gorgeous male specimens decked out in designer suits, sporting much bling.
“Girl, ain’t this party grand?” Noon said, grabbing more champagne.
Chiquita didn’t share her friend’s enthusiasm as she glanced at her glittering new watch. They’d been at this party for at least twenty minutes and not one man had approached her. Whenever she and Noon hung out at clubs in Compton or downtown, it took five minutes, tops, for the men to begin their chase.
Sure, there were plenty of other women there flossing in body-baring dresses, wearing green-blue-hazel contacts, and tossing back all kinds of long-flowing weaves. But Chiquita knew she didn’t have a rival in the room. What’s taking so long, she wondered as Noon slithered away toward another food tray. She glanced at her watch again.
“Can I go with you?”
“What?”
“You keep looking at your watch. I figure that you’ve got someplace you’ve gotta be. I wanna go with you.”
When she turned, she loved what she saw. And with the way he looked at her—like she was a select piece of filet mignon—he was just as pleased.
Her eyes wandered over all six-feet-plus of him and she smiled more. She’d learned her lessons well: his suit was expensive—probably more than a thousand dollars—the kind of material that never wrinkled. And he had style, the way he wore just a simple crew neck shirt underneath. Then there were his shoes—definitely Gucci. Nice.
“You like what you see?” He grinned.
She tried to recall a name to match his face from all the pictures she’d studied. And then she noticed it—the simple platinum circle on his left hand. No wonder she didn’t know his name. “Excuse me.” She turned away.
“Hey, what’s up?” he asked, catching up with her. “I was just being friendly.” He extended his hand. “I’m Bobby Johnson.”
Ah, yes. The superstar rookie. Inside, she sighed. He’d just signed a stupid contract. Too bad she hadn’t met him before he met his wife.
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