He surprised her, though. Instead of conducting a mock interview that required her to do everything except provide a copy of her birth certificate, he wanted to know more about her vision for her life.
"What are your long-term goals?"
That question was easy to answer. "I'm going to be the female Johnnie Cochran."
She appreciated that he didn't laugh or smirk.
"Why'd you decide to study criminal law instead of corporate?"
Tawana couldn't tell him that seeing multiple childhood friends arrested, convicted, and even sentenced to death, had shaped her decision. Some of them probably couldn't be saved, but others had been railroaded, and quite a few simply needed guidance to a better path.
A good defense could have helped a lot of them, including a few of her cousins. They wouldn't be able to afford the private practice fee she would charge after graduating from Harvard Law, but she could help them find caring and wise support.
Instead of sharing all of that, Tawana gave Grant the public relations spiel.
"People accused of crimes need excellent representation. Plus, it's a challenge to be the lawyer with the deck stacked against you and you pull off a miracle, sometimes literally, to save your client's life."
Grant laughed heartily. "You sound as if you've been practicing for years. What firm are you with?"
Tawana smiled. "You need some representation?"
Grant leaned forward and caressed her hands. "Maybe I do."
It was close to midnight when they left the restaurant, and Tawana tried to put the image of her mother's stern face out of her mind.
Once they settled into Grant's car, he didn't waste any time. "Let me see what that Pad Thai tastes like."
Tawana frowned. "I didn't get a doggy bag."
He smiled and moved close to kiss her. This time she didn't pull away.
Grant peered into her eyes. "Wanna go back to my place?"
Tawana thought about their last date, when he stood at her door asking a similar question. She lowered her gaze but remained silent. His wallet, on the panel between the seats, caught her eye. Two $100 bills peeked from the corner. Suddenly, she remembered her summer housing dilemma.
Her breath caught in her throat. As quickly as the thought came, she tried to push it away. What would she think of herself afterward? All the times before, it had just been for affection, or to reassure herself that she was desirable.
Grant stroked her cheek and waited, as he had the last time, while she wrestled with the voices in her head.
There was no way she could afford Misha's summer camp fees and rent for an apartment, even a small one, on the internship stipend she'd receive from the law firm. And she certainly wasn't going to stay with either of her aunts. One cursed like a sailor and the other drank one forty-ounce bottle of beer after another, as if she were consuming water. Both of them lived in the housing project Tawana had been desperate to leave when she finished high school.
Misha's much older father had moved on, in search of other girls he could have his way with until they wound up pregnant. Tawana knew he had fathered three other children by girls who lived in her neighborhood—a fact he was proud of, but one she cried over, because she knew someday she'd have to tell Misha. When Serena and Micah had loaded Tawana, her mother, and Misha into the Jeep to take them to Charlottesville for Tawana's freshman year at U.Va., Tawana had looked back only once, just long enough to bid goodbye to a difficult past.
She would do whatever she had to do, to keep from going back there with her child.
Her hands trembling, Tawana reached for Grant's face and kissed him deeply.
"How much is it worth to you?"
9
Serena couldn't figure it out. The house held only four people, now that their guests were gone, and those two boys still had it sounding like headquarters for the neighborhood preschool program.
She rolled over and glanced at the clock. 6:32 a.m. Whether she liked it or not, her day had begun.
Serena rubbed Micah's back, but he didn't stir. Now that leading New Hope Community Ministries was a full-time job, he tried to work from 9:00 a.m. to 7:00 p.m., but on most days he stayed longer.
A corner in the basement of Stillwell Elementary School served as his "office." However, he usually spent his days visiting members of the church who were sick, testifying in juvenile court, or establishing partnerships between New Hope and advocacy programs that served residents of the neighborhood. When the school day ended, he used Stillwell’s gym to lead Bible study, oversee youth programs, or meet with ministry leaders.
Knowing the weight of his schedule, Serena tried not to begrudge him his rest. Today, though, she was grumpy.
"At least one of us can sleep in," she mumbled, before uttering a silent prayer: Lord, please adjust my attitude.
She sat up in bed and stretched. If she took any longer to get moving, four feet would be pitter-pattering down the hall.
When Jacob and Jaden turned two last December, she and Micah had replaced their cribs with toddler beds. The boys now felt free to roam where they wanted, which forced Serena to keep a portable gate at the top of the stairs.
She scurried to their bedroom this morning and chuckled when she reached the doorway. The Spiderman and Batman sheets and comforters from both beds were in the middle of the floor, and two bumps were visible beneath them.
"If you two little terrors don't get up and get back to bed . . ."
She knew her orders were laughable. They wouldn't be sleepy enough to rest for hours. She crawled on the floor between them and laid on top of the covers, waiting for them to realize she was there. When they did, they scrambled out of hiding and climbed on her back. She tickled them until they giggled with abandon.
Micah can't be sleeping through all of this, she thought at one point. Sorry, babe!
By the time Jacob and Jaden had settled down, she was worn out. She stood up and tightened the belt on her robe.
"This is why I start my day out tired," she told the oblivious boys and waved a finger at them. "Help Mommy clean up your room. No breakfast yet. Help clean up!"
Serena made their beds and supervised as they gathered the toys strewn across the floor and chucked them into their toy box. She issued her daily warning as the three of them later traipsed down the stairs, past Micah, who had risen and was leaning against his and Serena’s bedroom door, watching them.
"If that room gets destroyed again, Mommy's going to get you ... " she said, her voice trailing off.
"That's what they want," Micah called after her. "They're thinking, 'Get me what, Mommy? A toy? Some candy?"'
"Morning, babe," Serena said, ignoring his jibe. You stay here with them all day then. "What do you want for breakfast?"
Her day had been reduced to taking breakfast, lunch, and dinner orders; playdates and parties; stay-at-home mothers' group meetings; and stretch jeans or other clothing that she hoped hid her growing assets. Micah said he didn't mind, but she was determined to lose the three pant sizes necessary to fit back into the size 8 jeans tucked in the back of her closet. She had long ago accepted that part of it was vanity; but truth be told, she just felt better when she was fit, and she needed all the energy she could muster to keep up with these twins and Micah's increasingly hectic ministry schedule.
Micah entered the kitchen and rubbed her shoulders.
"Too bad Fric and Frac are up," he said, referring to the boys. "You know what I'd really like this morning."
"Humph, that's how the two of them got here."
Given how she had longed to have a baby, she knew Micah took her words in jest.
"And?" he retorted.
While the oatmeal simmered and Micah's coffee began to percolate, Serena dashed outside to grab the newspaper. Maybe while Micah was still home she could get part of it read.
The lead story focused on a missing teen. He left home to hang out with friends, eventually parted ways with them, and hadn't returned.
Seren
a sat at the table and read parts of the story aloud to Micah while he poured juice for the boys.
"He seems to have disappeared without a trace, but everyone quoted in the story says he's a good kid; he wouldn't do something irresponsible like not calling his parents to check in."
Since her sons' births, any story related to the harm or potential harm of a child sent chills through her. She recalled the day in the grocery store when she'd briefly lost Jaden.
With her eyes open and still fixed on the article, Serena prayed for the missing boy's parents and for police working the case to find him quickly. Lord, bring this child home safely.
Her reverie was broken the second she uttered amen. Jacob and Jaden tore through the kitchen and then back through the dining room, playing what appeared to be a two-year-old version of tag. Or maybe it was just "run fast and hit your brother as hard as you can" time, Serena surmised.
"Stop running! Time to eat!"
She poured Micah a cup of coffee and was reaching for two small bowls for the boys' oatmeal when a thud and scream interrupted her.
"Little boy!"
Jacob had opened the fridge and tried to grab the milk. The half-full gallon jug had fallen on his foot.
Micah, who had been reading the Sports section, dashed to Jacob's side and cradled him on his lap. He bent the boy's toes back and forth while Jacob screamed as if he'd never walk again.
"Nothing's broken, man. It'll feel better in a minute. That was a no-no!"
Serena sighed. Micah didn't have to worry about his medical training going to waste around here. Some of his relatives still questioned why he'd gone through medical school and even a residency before realizing the ministry was his true calling. Serena was convinced that it was because God knew he'd someday be a cash-strapped preacher in need of routine medical knowledge to raise two daredevil boys.
"You sure he's fine?"
Micah nodded and held on to Jacob. He returned to his seat, still holding him. "Get Jaden, love."
Serena, who had pulled out the mop and bucket to clean up the spilled milk, looked up just in time to see Jaden trying to climb up the front of his high chair.
"I get in! I hungry!"
She dropped the mop and dashed over to him. "You can't do that by yourself, Jaden! You know Mommy has to help you!"
She lifted him into her arms and held him there while she removed the tray. Once he slid into the seat, she returned the tray and placed a bowl of warm oatmeal in front of him.
Jacob had spilled most of the milk, but enough had been salvaged for all of them to have a dash of it in their hot cereal.
"Eat, sweetie," Serena said.
She looked at the digital clock on the microwave. 7:12 a.m. Suddenly she wasn't hungry anymore. How was she going to make it another fourteen hours without losing her sanity?
Give me strength, Lord.
On days like this, she questioned whether she was cut out to stay home full time.
With the cost of day care for two babies and the stress of trying to juggle work with their care, her staying home had made the most sense for their family. Plus, she had prayed and longed forever to bring children into the world. When she got pregnant, she had decided to enjoy every minute with them.
Serena still felt that way, but there was also the tug to throw up her hands and crawl into a hole. Some days she felt like asking God if he'd made a mistake. She couldn't be doing this mommy job well by his standards, the way she yelled, got frustrated, and envied her friends who could juggle work and family. She missed talking to other adults and her husband about things other than potty training mishaps, the boys' shenanigans, or the simple but exciting new things they were learning.
Then there were her friends who had given up careers to raise their children and loved every minute of it. They had the patience of Job, kept their houses spotless, and still managed to fit into their size 6 jeans. Which handbook had she failed to read?
And here she was, married to a preacher, supposedly the wife and mother almost everyone else viewed as the standard to model. At New Hope, though, they knew better. During one special service, Jaden had refused to settle down and had cried so loudly that a girl sitting behind Serena with her grandmother stood up and tapped Serena on the shoulder.
"Mrs. McDaniels, why doesn't the baby like church?"
The girl, who couldn't have been more than five, waited intently for Serena's answer.
Serena wrestled with the sleepy boy and whispered a reply to the girl. "I'm not sure, Reesa, but I need to figure it out."
Serena's pity parties didn't happen every day, but it was often enough that she had begun praying for God to forgive her and help her get over the "grass is greener" syndrome.
She sat down this morning with a glass of apple juice and tried to quickly skim the rest of the paper while her family ate. A reference on the front of the Metro section to a story inside caught her eye: "Local youth leader cites innovation as reason for success."
Serena turned to page B3 to the photo and lengthy article about Casey Divers, the woman she had trained to fill her shoes nearly three years ago when she resigned from the Children's Art Coalition.
Casey worked with her for six months before assuming the executive director position. She came to the job with other nonprofit leadership experience, unlike Serena, who had career-hopped from the advertising world.
The Times-Dispatch article described Casey as a breath of fresh air, a trendsetter in the nonprofit world, and a legacy maker.
Well, what was I, puffed wheat?
Serena felt ashamed of the knot of jealousy that settled in her stomach. She sighed loudly and slid the article in front of Micah.
He glanced at it and then at her. "So?"
"Nothing. Guess I'm just feeling nostalgic."
Micah shrugged. "That's understandable. But this is a different season right now. The boys need you."
Serena forced a smile. "I know."
Micah resumed reading the Sports section, oblivious to the tinge of sadness in Serena's voice.
Jaden climbed down from his father's lap and toddled over to Serena with a sippy cup in one hand. "Wuv you, Mommy."
Serena wasn't sure why, but suddenly she wanted to cry.
"I love you too, little man."
10
Erika sipped her spiced chai latte and stared at her boss.
She was in dangerous territory.
Every professional training program in the history of the world offered caution about workplace relationships, and here she was sitting with a man who paid her bills and made her heart race.
Derrick had come to Richmond this morning to join her and Gabrielle in a series of meetings with local clients. He also had agreed to help her prepare for the National Council for Interior Design exam. But that was before last month, when she had invited him to the cookout at Serena and Micah's. She didn't know now if he was still willing to spend hours with her going over the material. Since the cookout, they had corresponded mostly through Gabrielle, or via email.
Today was a D-day of sorts. She had asked him to meet her early this morning, but she wasn't certain whether to stick to business and talk to him later about their personal issues, or vice versa.
Gabrielle had advised her to get the personal out of the way.
"If you don't, it's going to be hanging between the two of you like the elephant in the room. Our clients will be able to tell. We don't want them to have any concerns."
So here they sat, in Vie De France, the cozy restaurant located in the James Center atrium, in the heart of Richmond's business district. She tore off a piece of her cinnamon scone and popped it into her mouth.
Derrick glanced at his watch and took a sip of coffee. He settled in the booth and, with his eyes and squared jaw, told Erika he wasn't happy with her right now.
"You've grown a goatee," she said.
Derrick’s demeanor didn’t soften. He leaned forward and wrapped his hands around the sides of his cup.
"We've got a lot of work to do today, Erika. What do you need to talk to me about?"
She sighed and dabbed her lips with the paper napkin she'd been clutching on her lap.
"I don't know, Derrick. A lot of things, I guess. I don't blame you for not returning my calls, but then again, there's too much between us to play these games."
He frowned. "Erika, maybe you need to look in the mirror."
"Excuse me? I've left you several messages apologizing for making you feel 'used' when you came down last month," she said. "It was a knee-jerk reaction to something Elliott did, and I was wrong. I was dead wrong. But I do care about you, Derrick."
He nodded and adjusted his tie. If nothing else, Erika knew he was still hitting the gym most weeknights. The tailored shirt hugged his bulging arms in the right places. She tried to focus on what he was saying.
"You have a funny way of showing it, Erika. If you're still reacting to the antics of your abusive husband, that says a lot. You need to figure out where you stand with him before you'll ever be able to move forward with another relationship.
"We've talked about this before. You and I are always going to be friends. You are an excellent employee. Nothing has changed since I first expressed how I felt about you; I'm here for you no matter what. But it's been two years, Erika."
Derrick slipped on his suit jacket and shrugged it into place. "You. Know. How. I feel. About. You."
A chill coursed through Erika as he punctuated each word. Elliott used to speak to her that way, but his emphasis always dripped with venom. Derrick's conviction conveyed an emotion she wasn't sure she could handle yet.
She tried to keep her voice from trembling.
"I know, Derrick," she whispered. "I'm sorry."
Why couldn't she tell him that she felt the same?
Derrick sat back and sighed. She could tell that he was wrestling with himself too. In his eyes she saw the same feelings jockeying for space inside of her—anger, frustration, and love.
"What is it, Erika? What is the problem?"
When she didn't respond, he continued.
Watercolored Pearls Page 5
