Heaven Forbid

by Lutishia Lovely

  “Uh-huh. Some of the churchwomen are coming over in an hour or so, but it’s just you and me until then.”

  “It’s them Noble bitches, stirring up my blood again!” Mama Max’s face contorted as she fairly hissed out this news. The Nobles were a family of beautiful, cultured, and some would say conniving women who’d lived in Palestine off and on for decades.

  “Katherine?” Nettie hadn’t seen Katherine for over a year, since the former church member had relocated to New Orleans to live near her daughter.

  “Worse, her sister, Dorothea.”

  “Dorothea Bates? What on earth about Dorothea has your blood riled?”

  “She’s here in Palestine, that’s what!”

  “Are you sure? Dorothea’s shadow hasn’t darkened these parts in ten, twenty years. Besides, if she were here in town, I’m pretty sure I’d know about it. Her grandniece is my daughter-in-law, after all.”

  “Well, she’s here. Heard it with my own ears.”

  “From who?” Nettie handed Mama Max a steaming cup of coffee, then reached into the refrigerator for flavored creamer. “This Irish Crème creamer is as close to your Baileys as I can do.”

  Mama Max was too wrapped up in her thoughts to hear her. “Now, you know I’m not one to be nosy….”

  Nettie hid a smile.

  “But I passed by the bedroom and heard the reverend doctor talking all lowlike. So I tiptoed into the guest room and picked up the receiver. Now, you know I’m not one to be nosy, but when the Spirit nudges me to do a thing, I try and be obedient. So I picked up that phone, yes, I did. And I heard her.”

  “She was on the phone with your husband?”

  Mama Max nodded. “And that ain’t all. The phone hadn’t rung, which means she wasn’t the one who’d done the calling. I just can’t believe this!” Mama Max set down her mug so hard that coffee sloshed over the sides. “How long has he been consorting behind my back?”

  Nettie frowned. “You mean…cavorting?”

  “That too. How long has he been in touch with Dorothea?”

  “Now, Mama. It’s obvious you have some kind of history with this woman but—”

  “Forty years! That’s how long it’s been since I laid eyes on her. Ever since I caught my husband in her room all those years ago. He promised me that he’d never see her again, and I believed him!”

  Nettie was shocked but not surprised at Mama Max’s revelation. Unfortunately, she was all too familiar with how men of God sometimes strayed. It had happened with her own preacher husband, who’d carried on a lengthy affair with Dorothea’s sister, Katherine Noble. The two saw each other until his untimely death from a car accident. “Maybe he’s told the truth,” she finally offered. “Maybe he hasn’t seen Dorothea in all these years.”

  “Then how’d he get her number? How does he know anything about that…Lord, it ain’t worth losing my religion to call her what she is, God forgive me for the truthful name I used earlier. But I’m telling you, this has got me powerful upset! Reverend ain’t said a word, ain’t mouthed a peep about who’s in town for Thanksgiving.”

  “Well, now, you just pray on it, Mama Max. Then maybe she’ll be long gone by Christmas time.”

  12

  Still My Princess

  Today, I’m proud to call myself God’s Princess. I’ve always been a princess—that’s what my parents named me—but I didn’t always belong to God. I thought I did. I got baptized, went to church, sang in the choir, and attended revivals. I had the Lord in my head, but not in my heart. I found this out the hard way, during my first year at college, my first time away from home and away from the watchful eye of my parents. What happened during this year is what I’m about to share with you. I’m not going to lie, sharing my shortcomings is not an easy thing to do. But living with the guilt of being disobedient would be harder. And I believe God wants me to share my testimony to maybe help someone else. To maybe help you. He wants you to know the backstory so you’ll understand the love story…so that you’ll know why, in no uncertain terms, that Jesus Is My Boo.

  Princess sat back against the wall in her old bedroom and read what she’d written, the prologue to her self-help memoir. She felt safe here, surrounded by childhood memories and familiar sights and sounds. Her parents hadn’t done much to her room since she’d left that first time three years ago, nor had they changed the family routine. Her mother was downstairs cooking up a Thanksgiving storm. Her brother, Michael, was in his room, the pounding bass of whatever he was listening to vibrating through the walls. And the twins, Timothy and Tabitha, or Tee as Princess and her friends called her, three years her junior, were deep into a Wii tennis match. No, things hadn’t changed much, and this was just the way Princess liked it. That’s why she’d waited until the Thanksgiving holiday to begin to write. She wanted to begin working on her book in the same way her journey into womanhood had begun—at home. And she’d wanted to begin it now for another reason—so she could share the first chapter with her mom, after she’d shared the secrets she’d told Mama Max. I’ll do that later…maybe tonight.

  Princess looked at her table of contents. The first chapter was titled “The Journey Begins.” In her outline, Princess had decided to write about the excitement of the months leading up to her leaving home, beginning with the day she’d learned her application to UCLA had been accepted. Smiling, she began typing on her laptop, recording her memories from that happy time.

  “Yo, Princess!” Michael opened her door without knocking, something else that was just like old times.

  “How many times do I have to tell you to knock, fool?”

  “At least one more time, evidently. If you don’t want to be bothered, then lock your door.”

  “What do you want?”

  “The telephone. It’s for you.” Michael threw the cordless on the bed and walked out of the room.

  Princess hesitated on taking the call. More than likely it was Rafael, the boy she’d dated in high school and who was still a good friend. They’d reconnected after her breakup with Kelvin and had agreed to get together while both were home for the holidays.

  I’ll make it quick. “Hello?”

  A voice as smooth as liquid poured into her ear. “Hey, baby. How’s my princess?”

  Kelvin! As if on cue, her heart began pounding in her chest. She’d forgotten that he had her parents’ number. Had she remembered, she would have made it clear to all concerned that for anybody answering to the name Kelvin Petersen, she was not available. It had been two years since she’d talked to him, and now she remembered the reason. Because no matter how much her mind said she was over him, her body always betrayed her. She thought seriously about hanging up the phone.

  “Princess? You still there? Don’t hang up, baby.”

  “What do you want?” Princess asked, gripping the phone as if it were a lifeline.

  “Just wanted to talk to you, baby, to hear your voice.”

  “Don’t ‘baby’ me, Kelvin. We’ve been over for a while now.”

  “Don’t matter. You’ll always be my princess.”

  “I’m going to hang up now, Kelvin. Please don’t call my parents’ house again.”

  “No, wait!”

  Against her better judgment, Princess remained on the line. “What?” She didn’t mean for her voice to get whispery; it did so of its own accord.

  “I’ve been thinking about you, Princess. I just wanted to find out how you’ve been, what you’re up to. Just because we’re not dating anymore doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”

  Princess closed her eyes against her feelings and the memories his voice evoked. She searched for a memory that would be useful in this moment. And then one came to her—Fawn. “No, Kelvin, we cannot be friends. I’m living a different lifestyle now, a Christian lifestyle, and my friendships reflect my values.”

  “I’m a Christian. Remember the rev baptized me after I moved into his house, during my junior year of high school.”

  Princess remembered.
Her play-uncle, Derrick Montgomery, had baptized Kelvin shortly after moving him into the Montgomery household, which was shortly after finding out he was Kelvin’s father, the product of a casual relationship before he’d married and took a church. She could have looked no further than her uncle to see the grown-folks pain that came with grown-folks pleasure. But she’d been eighteen with a bullet the summer she moved to Los Angeles. Nobody could have told her a thing.

  “Being a Christian and being Christ-like are not always the same thing. Are you still getting high, Kelvin? Drinking, fornicating…”

  “Forna-who?”

  “Having sex outside of marriage. The people I hang around now don’t do any of those things. And neither do I. So I really don’t see what we have in common to constitute a friendship.”

  “We loved each other once.” Kelvin’s voice dropped and stroked Princess’s ear. “I still love you.”

  Jesus is my boo. Jesus is my boo! “Somebody else has all my love right now, Kelvin.”

  For the first time since they started talking, Kelvin’s voice became stern. “Who is he? Is it that dude you used to date back in high school, the one at KU? I bet he’s home for the holidays, talking a good game and whatnot. Baby, come spend Thanksgiving with me. I can give you the world, Princess, treat you better than any other man can even think about treating you. I’ll buy you whatever you want: cars, furs, diamonds, trips, you name it, baby, and it’s yours.”

  “See, this is the difference I’m talking about, the one you can’t understand. I’d rather have Jesus, Kelvin, than silver and gold.”

  Damn, her voice sounds good. “Baby, why can’t you have them both—”

  “Kelvin, where are you?!” In the background, Fawn’s voice could clearly be heard. “What are you doing sitting in the dark? Who’s the bitch on the phone now?” Her high-pitched voice rose even higher as she yelled louder. “Whoever you are, he’s mine, bitch. I ain’t going nowhere so you might as well back your shit—”

  That was the last word Princess heard. She did what she should have done moments earlier—ended the call. But she’d heard enough to know that Kelvin was still Kelvin, the big baller with all the chicks, all the weed, all the money, and all the baby mama drama.

  Thank you, Jesus. Thank you for reminding me what I left, and why I left it. Princess lay down the phone, picked up her laptop, and looked at the title of Chapter Two: “My First Love Wasn’t Jesus, but It Should Have Been.”

  He’d been raised to be a gentleman and would never consider bodily force when dealing with females. But in this moment, Kelvin swore he understood how a man could hit a woman. He was so mad at Fawn he couldn’t see straight.

  “What did I tell you about that, huh?” Kelvin shouted. When Fawn didn’t answer, Kelvin walked over to the couch and stood over her. “What did I tell you about doing that shit when I’m on the phone?”

  “You just mad because I interrupted whatever rendezvous you were planning with some ho. Ain’t no bitch out there as bad as me, who’ll put up with your bullshit and still give you the best pussy you ever had. You remember that.”

  “Oh, so that’s it. You think your shit’s golden, huh?”

  “You must think so, since I’m still here.”

  Kelvin picked up a glass and threw it across the room. It hit the wall and shattered into dozens of pieces. Fawn hardly flinched.

  “I must have been outta my muthafuckin’ mind to let you move in here. And your lyin’ ass saying Little Kelvin was sick.”

  “He was, he—”

  “Stop lying, Fawn! I know you haven’t been to the doctor’s. I talked to Brandy.”

  On hearing that name, Fawn rolled her eyes. Brandy was a twin who joined them regularly for a ménage à trios—one of the many women he’d slept with during his college days, and now. “You gonna listen to that ho over me?”

  “No, I didn’t listen to her. I listened to the doctor’s office after talking to her.”

  Fawn looked up quickly.

  “Yeah, that’s right. Did a little detective work. I’ve been thinking y’all was at the hospital, and instead your ass was at the mall.”

  “Look, Kelvin, Little Man was sick.”

  “So was I. I was sick as hell to let your ass move in here. But I tell you what. I’m better now. And just as fast as your ass moved in here, you’re moving right back out. You said you needed a place to stay until our son got better? Well, he’s better now. So you need to get your shit and get out.”

  “If you want to keep seeing your son, I don’t need to do a damn thing.”

  “Oh, I’ll keep seeing him, believe that. But it won’t be because you’re in my house. It will be because you want to keep getting a check every month, the one that is going to cease until I get visitation, in writing, and until you get the fuck out!”

  “I ain’t going nowhere.”

  Kelvin stared at Fawn a long moment. She was fine, he’d grant her that, but other than looks, he didn’t know what he’d ever seen in her. And all he wanted now was a life without her in it. “Fine! Then I’ll leave.”

  Kelvin walked out of the den and into his bedroom. He called his uncle Geoff, the one who was always just a phone call away when he needed to be bailed out of trouble.

  His uncle picked up the cell on the second ring. “Happy holidays, Kelvin! You coming this way for Thanksgiving?”

  “As a matter of fact, I am, Uncle. And by the time I get back to Phoenix, I need you to have found me a new house.”

  13

  Written All Over His Face

  Obadiah’s movements were slow as he made his way to the hall and down the steps. He could hear his wife humming from the kitchen, even as the smell of collard greens and candied yams wafted up to greet him. She’s gonna be mad as all get-out. But I’ve got to tell her. “Probably knows already,” he mumbled as he reached the bottom stair.

  Mama Max looked up briefly before placing the pan of freshly made biscuits into the oven. Just because service started at 8 a.m. was no reason for her not to make breakfast as she had almost every morning for the last fifty years. As she turned to flip the sausage, her mouth fixed into a frown from what she’d seen when she glimpsed the reverend: a fine man looking as spiffy as ever. Mama Max wouldn’t even try and lie to herself by saying the doctor wasn’t a handsome man of seventy-two. For one, he looked ten years younger, especially dressed up as he was now in his Sunday go-to-meeting clothes. Two, unlike other men his age, Stanley Obadiah still stood an unbent six feet tall. All of that preaching had kept his paunch to a minimum, although he put on some pounds with his sicknesses a while back. But he still had a head full of gorgeous gray hair, eyes that twinkled, and except for a crown and bridge on the back right side, all of his own teeth. Yes, her husband still cut quite a swath. Unfortunately, she knew she wasn’t the only one who thought so.

  “Coffee’s on,” Mama Max said over her shoulder while reaching up in the cabinet for the sorghum molasses.

  “Um.”

  So you ain’t gonna tell me, huh? Mama Max began to hum as she set a bowl of sugar and a carton of half-and-half on the table. Jesus keep me near the cross. There’s a precious fountain…

  “Somebody might be at church this morning,” Obadiah began in his deep, raspy voice. “You ain’t gonna like it if she shows, but I want you to know she might be there.”

  “Who is it?” The wicked witch of the south? “I know you’re not going to say Dorothea Bates. Ain’t no husband of mine would have the nerve to come in here and tell me that.”

  Obadiah sighed heavily before taking a drink of coffee. Mama Max pulled the biscuits from the oven and slammed the tin down on the stove. Obadiah jumped.

  “Now, Maxine, I’m telling you so you don’t go off. She wants to come praise the Lord, thank him for bringing her through some things. How could I deny her the right to come to God’s house?”

  “Why can’t she praise Him somewhere else? What’s she doing here, Obadiah?”

  “She’s her
e to see Jenkins—the two of them have been…courting.”

  This news stunned Mama Max into silence for a moment, and she decided she’d have to digest what she’d heard before talking about it. “Then why ain’t she heading to his church this morning?”

  “First Baptist don’t have early morning service, and Jenkins has been a little under the weather, or so I hear.”

  Mama leaned back against the counter, crossed her arms, and glared at her husband. “You heard it from Dorothea, no doubt. How long have y’all been communicating, Obadiah? And why did she feel the need to tell you her business?” In her anger, Mama Max began wiping off an already clean counter. “She’s got nerve, coming in my face.”

  “Maxine, what happened between y’all was a long time ago. Let it rest.”

  Mama Max brought over a homemade sausage biscuit, piping hot, and set it in front of Obadiah. “I’ll let it rest, Stanley Obadiah. Question is, will you?”

  An hour later, Mama Max sat next to Nettie on the front pew. She swore to herself that she wouldn’t turn around, but rather, she’d watch her husband. If Dorothea Noble Bates showed up at church this morning, the news would be written all over Obadiah’s face.

  The headline came across his forehead about thirty minutes later. Any other time, Mama Max would have thought it funny how Obadiah tried to keep his face neutral. But she saw it: how his eyes narrowed, just the littlest bit, and how his lips went into a hard line. There weren’t that many people at early morning service; she guessed around a hundred. So it wouldn’t be hard to see Dorothea when the chance to turn around came. Not that it would have mattered, Mama Max thought wryly. Could have been a thousand people in this here building and Satan would still stick out like a sore thumb.

  The choir stood as the offering was lifted. Nettie resisted the urge to cringe. She knew that the Lord could use anybody, but the truth of the matter was, most of the good voices had been swept out of the church with Obadiah’s broom. Those in the stand now were the ones who wouldn’t have had a shot when Nate was around. “It’s all right anyhow,” she said with fervor, as the off-key soprano soloist began a Baptist classic: