I walked into my doorway and kicked off my shoes. My house still smelled of the breakfast that I’d eaten just hours before, and unexpectedly I found myself in the guest bathroom emptying my stomach of all that I’d delighted in that morning. I seldom had morning or anytime sickness, but today was an exception. Considering the turn of events, I was almost expectant that the day would only continue to get worse.
I found the strength to get to my bedroom, shed my clothes, and climb into my green sea of Egyptian cotton high thread count sheets. I heard Chanice and Twylah discussing with Darvin the dinner plans before I drifted off into unconsciousness.
As I drove up to my house, I noticed that it was unusually dark. I tried to always leave a light on, especially when I knew that I would be out late. In spite of the nervousness that I felt, I got out of my car and went toward the door. No sooner than I could step over the threshold, I saw her. Even in the piercing black, I could see the anger in her eyes. Fear had me frozen in place, paralyzing all of my rationale and my ability to decipher what my next move should be.
“So, Michelle, you’ve made it home.” I could hear the sarcasm dripping from her tone. “Why don’t you turn on the lights? Let’s talk.”
“Dawn?” I asked, trying to grasp that she had somehow gotten into my house.
“No, Michelle. You’re mistaken. I’m Daphne,” she said with a smirk.
I could feel my throat getting tight. How had she gotten in? Wasn’t she supposed to be in Florida?
“Daphne, please, whatever you’ve planned, don’t do it,” I pleaded.
“Michelle, don’t give me that pathetic plea. It’s not going to work. I’ve waited a very long time for this day, and you aren’t going to destroy this moment by attempting to make me feel guilty. Nope. Not gonna work.”
I felt an eerie feeling that I was desperately trying to ignore.
“Now, Michelle, I’ll ask you again. Turn on the lights,” she said through what sounded like clenched teeth.
I hesitantly, by memory, moved to the small table that held the antique lamp. I switched on the light and jumped at the sight of Daphne standing next to the staircase dressed in one of my Donna Vinci suits and wearing my matching J.Reneé shoes. My diamonds flanked her neck as if they belonged there, and my grandmother’s earrings clung to her ears as if she were the owner of them. Looking at Daphne Carlton was like looking at my own image. Her makeup was absolutely flawless, and a waft of my perfume, Angel, slid across my nostrils. Her outfit was near perfect, except for the 9mm accessory in her hand.
“Michelle, lock the door,” she commanded.
“Daphne . . .”
“Michelle!” she interrupted. “Stop it! I’m the one doing the talking. Just do what I tell you to do!”
I turned back to the door. For a split second, I thought of running out, but I knew a bullet would be in my back before I could get two feet. I had to figure out a way to buy myself time.
“Michelle, I know what you’re doing. And trust me; you’re not going to find a plan to escape engraved in the door, so turn back around,” she demanded.
I slowly turned around. The slight flutter in my stomach was the reminding force that propelled me. I became like a wild lioness whose sole objective was to protect her cub. The thought of my unborn baby and its safety was enough to develop the strength I needed to conquer this giant.
“Daphne, I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you are not going to get away with it. You will not come into my home and take over while I sit back and watch you do it.”
Her laughter sounded like something from a horror movie.
“Michelle, you never cease to amaze me. Just when I think I’ve got you all figured out, you surprise me. You actually have a spine.” She began to walk closer to me. “What am I going to do with you?” She paused and turned serious again, and was now standing directly in my face. “After I kill you.” She grazed the tip of my nose with the gun.
Those four words were like death to the confidence I possessed moments earlier. The strength that exuded from me minutes before had been drained like a pool at the end of the summer. It never occurred to me that Daphne wanted me dead. Sure, I knew she was crazy and wanted to take over my life—but death? Was she really crazy enough to go through with it? Could this actually be the end of my life?
The constant flutter in my stomach didn’t have the same effect or purpose that it had the first time. It was my nerves, and they were getting the best of me. I was too afraid to even breathe. Breathing was a sign of hope, a sign of life, and I didn’t feel as if I had either right now.
“Michelle, go into the living room and sit down on the couch,” Daphne said as she waved the gun.
I did as she directed, trying desperately to think of a way to get help, but I could hardly think. I surveyed the room, trying to find any logical escape route. I could make a run for the kitchen, but once again I would be gunned down. Along with my baby.
Tears silently streamed down my face, and a PowerPoint presentation of my otherwise happy life began to flash before eyes. I was 32-years old, pregnant with my first child, happily married to the man of my dreams, living in the home I’d always wanted, and this time tomorrow it would all be over. Just like that. No warning. No nothing.
You shall live and not die.
God’s voice came rushing into my ears like waves on the bank of an ocean, and again, I gained strength. I smiled at this small feat of victory. I knew in my heart that this was not my battle. It was the Lord’s, and He would fight it.
“Are you smiling?” Daphne asked, interrupting my thoughts.
I turned to face an irritated Daphne, who was hoping to keep her game of scare tactics going. But that was unfortunate, because I felt a peace in my heart that superseded the capability of any weapon. Or any devil.
“Do you think I’m something to laugh at, Michelle? Do you think I’m some sort of joke?” My silence aggravated her more, and her evil laugh returned. “You know what?” She didn’t wait for me to answer. “I see that you’re going to make this difficult. I was actually going to let you write some sort of goodbye note. I see my kindness is not appreciated.”
I dropped my head. The anger I felt was gone, and in its place, sadness.
Daphne needed help. She needed to know and experience the love of God, for if she knew like I knew how God’s love could transform your life and fill any void that one could have, she wouldn’t be holding me hostage in my own home.
Before I could lift my head, I heard the click of the trigger; then, the loud noise that drowned out all sounds of normalcy. The sound that would always live throughout the crevices of the walls.
“Michelle! Michelle!”
I opened my eyes to a very worried Darvin shaking me into reality. My hair was matted to my head by the sweat that was pouring from my body, and my clothes were equally soaked.
“Baby, you had a bad dream.” He sighed in relief. He pulled me into his arms and held on to me as if tomorrow would never come. “I’ve got you now, and I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Ever.”
He scooped me into his arms and held on to me as if I would vanish any second. I laid my head on his shoulder and couldn’t help but wonder if I had just experienced a warning for what was to come. Sure, it was a dream this time, but would Darvin really be able to protect me if this dream ever came true?
Chapter Six
Michelle
After waking up from my dream, I knew that if I was going to survive whatever Dawn Carlton was up to, I was going to have to think. And I was going to have to think much harder than I did with Daphne.
My mind drifted back to the night that Daphne appeared at Mount Zion’s door a few years ago. She appeared to be a sweet little lamb not possessing the ability to harm a fly, but from our encounter at the diner, I knew better. So, my thoughts of her were much like our first meeting—I was intimidated.
She was attractive, with long legs, a figure that would get the attention of any
man, a gorgeous smile, and her wardrobe choice had made mine look as if I’d gotten dressed with my eyes closed. Worse than that, she’d been in the car with my husband that same day. What a strange coincidence that had been.
Darvin had called me from the grocery store, telling me that he was giving a ride home to a lady whose car had broken down in the parking lot, but he failed to mention that she was a beauty queen. Little did I know that it was the beauty queen from the restaurant.
He introduced us, and the look in her eyes told me that he had failed to mention at least two things to her: one, he was a pastor, and two, he was a married pastor.
I plastered on the best smile I could. “Baby, we’ve already met,” I said.
I surveyed her. She certainly didn’t look like the type of woman who would be riding in a broke-down car. Nonetheless, she apparently was, and my husband had come to her rescue.
I don’t know if that was what made me mad, or the fact that after his introductions, he held a private conversation with her over to the side.
Later that evening while driving home, I took the opportunity to find out what they had been discussing.
“What do you think about Daphne?”
He purposefully kept his focus on the road. “I don’t think anything about her. She’s a lady whom I gave a ride home and who visited our church tonight.”
My calmness was leaving me. He knew what I meant. “What were the two of you talking about so long?”
He laughed. “Michelle, I can’t believe you. What do you think I was talking to her about?”
“What’s so funny, and what can’t you believe?”
“This is funny. You. This whole conversation. It’s like I can’t win with you. Are you going to be intimidated by every woman I meet?”
If he had not been driving, I would have knocked him straight into heaven—partly because he always had a way of reading between my lines.
“Intimidated? Do you think I was intimidated by her?” I said, trying to hide the apparent truth.
“It seems that way to me. I mean, out of all of the women that I talked to tonight—and some longer than I talked to her, might I add—you only asked about her,” he said in frustration.
“For God’s sake, you gave her a ride home. Why can’t I ask you about her? So, the question remains the same. What were you two talking about? And don’t lie to me, Darvin. I know that whatever it was, she was upset with you.”
He paused, obviously trying to come up with another clever remark. Finding none, he said, “She was mad because I didn’t tell her I was a pastor.”
“And why didn’t you?”
“She asked the same thing.” He paused. “I don’t know, Michelle. It’s not like I go around telling people that.”
“But didn’t you invite her to church? Why didn’t you tell her then?”
“Think about it. If I invited her to church, don’t you think I knew she would find out that I was the pastor? Shouldn’t that count for something?”
I thought for a minute. He did have a point. However, I was still not satisfied. “Did you tell her that you were married?” I asked, hoping he would say he did.
“No, but I knew that if she came to church, she would find that out too.”
Wrong answer. “What! Are you serious? What if she had not come to church? How would she have found out then? Is there any particular reason why you didn’t want this woman to know that you were married?” By this time, I was fuming.
“I was only trying to help her out. She never asked me, and I never told her. Simple as that.”
“Oh, it’s not that simple, Pastor Johnson. It is so not that simple. You led this woman on. You made her believe that she had a chance with a married man.”
This time he turned toward me. “How did you get all of that from what I just said?”
“Because I’m a woman, and I know how women think. You are so naïve until it sickens me. One day, you are going to wish you had listened to me. That woman was upset tonight because I bet you any amount of money that she came to that church with the intentions of leaving with you.”
“You need some help. You really need some help. Granted, she was upset because I didn’t tell her that I was a pastor or married, but she made no insinuations that she was in the least bit interested in me.” He sighed heavily.
I sighed equally as heavy. I put my face into the palms of my hands. “Darvin, Darvin, Darvin. If she didn’t have any other motives, why did she even care if you were married or not? I can understand being upset about the fact that you didn’t tell her you were a pastor, but explain to me why she was upset because you didn’t tell her you were married.” I sighed again. “Never mind. Don’t answer that. It doesn’t matter anyway.”
Darvin clicked the button that opened the gates, and drove into our driveway. Before getting out of the car, he turned to look at me. “Don’t talk like that. Listen, I didn’t mean anything by it.”
I looked into the eyes of the man I was deeply in love with. With tears threatening to fall, I said, “It will never stop, will it, Darvin? It will always be somebody trying to come between us, won’t it?” I dropped my head just as a tear escaped. “I don’t know if I can handle it. I was just not ready for this. And you know what? Even if Daphne meant nothing by it, I’m too paranoid not to think otherwise.”
He leaned over and stroked my cheek with his forefinger. “Baby, you’ve got to stop taking things so personal. Every woman doesn’t want me. I know we’ve had our share of women at the church trying to come between us, but I’m not going to let that happen.” He paused and lifted my chin. “I love you and only you.”
“I’ve never doubted your love. It just seems that every woman who looks at you only sees the power, money, and fame. They don’t seem to want you for who you are. They don’t seem to care about your virtues and your vices. All they see is the ‘Pastor.’ I just can’t seem to shake this feeling that one day somebody will take it too far. And I know you may think I’m being over emotional, but this is so frustrating sometimes. I’m always faced with women that can’t accept that you’re taken, which leads to their own agenda to have you for themselves.”
“And you think that’s Daphne’s agenda? Me? Because I can’t do anything about anyone else’s agenda. I can only control what I do.”
Silence permeated the car. I knew that Daphne was probably like all the rest of the women, smitten with a good-looking, wealthy black man, but I was always on watch. Maybe it was time for me to let my guard down. Maybe she wasn’t after my man.
“That’s not fair to her, honey. I can’t really say that’s her agenda.” I turned to look out of my window. “But if it is, who could blame her?” I focused my attention back to Darvin. “You are a good catch.”
He leaned in for a kiss and I met him halfway. Darvin was a good man, and sometimes I wished I was the only one who knew it.
Thinking back, that was the night that I decided to give Daphne a chance. I didn’t know if I’d ever see her again, but had decided that if I did, I would try to at least be nice to her. At that time, Darvin appeared to be right. I needed to stop thinking that every woman was out to destroy my relationship. But had I known what the days, weeks, and months would bring, I would have never trusted that two-faced snake. I wouldn’t have trusted her any further than I could see her.
That’s why Dawn wasn’t going to get past me. She would not come in here and deceive me like her twisted twin sister. I would be ready for battle this time, and I wasn’t planning on walking away a loser. She’d better bring it, as they say, because as far as I was concerned, it had already been brought.
Chapter Seven
Daphne
I woke up to the birds singing melodiously in my ear. As the sun was softly kissing the earth, my alarm clock was invading my peaceful calm, signaling the start of a new work day.
I groaned, turned to stop the annoying sound, and rolled onto my other side to catch a few more minutes of sleep. Before I could drift c
ompletely into unconsciousness, the picture of Darvin’s broad smile greeted me good morning. There he was, encased in a chrome frame, dressed in black Armani slacks and a red LaCoste shirt, looking as good as the day that I laid eyes on him.
It had been a smoldering summer day when I first met him. Having just moved to Atlanta from Florida, my car chose the hottest day of the year to break down in the parking lot of the Whole Foods Market. Not having any roadside assistance, coupled with the dilemma of not knowing anyone to call, I leaned against the trunk of my beat-up Honda Accord and sighed in frustration. I’d known when I arrived in Atlanta that the car was rolling on fumes and worn rubber, and the first thing that had been on my agenda was to buy a new car. But my agenda and my finances failed to meet, so I was stuck barely getting around. I’d taken a position making nearly six figures, but it was taking me a while to get caught up.
After a brief moment of sulking, I decided that the sun wasn’t getting any cooler, and if I didn’t want to be stranded all day, I’d better figure out something.
And then it happened.
My angel came walking out of the store. He was the most perfect man I’d ever seen. With his broad shoulders and a strut that would make any woman weak in the knees, I knew in an instant I’d fallen in love.
The man continued to stroll with groceries in one hand and his cell phone in the other. I plastered my best look of despair on my face, and all but fainted when he started walking my way. The moment reminded me of one of those scenes in a movie when the woman in distress was broken down beside a long, dusty road, fanning away the heat with her wide-brim hat, her dress clinging to her body like the wrappings of a Christmas gift, and just enough leg showing to get the first man’s attention. With that thought, I unbuttoned the top two buttons of my white cotton blouse, signaling that at any moment I would just melt from sunburn.
Diary of a Mad First Lady Page 5
