Heaven Forbid

by Lutishia Lovely

  Obadiah unbuckled his seat belt but still did not move. Instead, he passed a strong, rough hand over weary eyes and tried to rein in his temper. Anger had been the fire Obadiah had felt since having his heart attack. All that time flat on his back had given him time to think and realize that while he certainly was guilty of many sins regarding his marriage, he wasn’t the only one. Maxine carried her fair share, too, but she’d walked around these past few weeks like she walked on water. And I’m sick of it. I’m sick of being made out to be a pervert when all I want is what the good Lord made. “I never thought it would turn out this way, Max,” Obadiah whispered. “Never.”

  “There go that girl,” Obadiah’s seventeen-year-old neighbor whispered.

  “Ain’t nobody stuttin’ her,” a sixteen-year-old Obadiah replied, his eyes glued to fourteen-year-old Maxine Brook’s swaying backside.

  “Hey, Maxine!” the neighbor cried out. “Obadiah says he wants to take you out, girl!”

  Maxine kept walking, head high, back straight. She acted as if she didn’t hear them when in truth, she’d been all too aware of Obadiah watching her and discreetly slowed her pace. Obadiah had to be one of the finest boys in the state of Texas, but she’d never let him know she thought so. He already thought he was God’s gift to women, with his praying and preaching skills and all. Plus, she knew at least five other women who liked Obadiah, and more than one he’d slept with. Maxine Brook was going to finish school and save herself for marriage.

  “Guess she ain’t taken a shine to you, partner,” the neighbor teased. “That’s one piece of poon you ain’t gonna get to sample.”

  Obadiah slid his lithe frame off the fence, grabbed his jacket off the post, and without a good-bye to his neighbor, began walking down the dusty road in the opposite direction from where Maxine walked. But that was only until he came to the fork in the road around the bend. Then he quickly cut through the tall weeds, darted around the tall black walnut trees, and rounded Old Man Jenkins’s catfish pond (Reverend Reginald Jenkins’s grandfather). After wiping the dust from his trousers, he casually threw his jacket over his shoulder, put a hand in his pocket, and began whistling a tune as he sauntered down the road. His timing was perfect. He reached the crossroads just as Maxine was turning down the lane to her family’s farm.

  “Miss Maxine,” Obadiah drawled in as manly a voice a sixteen-year-old could muster at the time. “You sho looking good today, girl.”

  “Well, you ain’t,” Maxine quickly replied, quickening her pace at the same time.

  “Is that so? Then why you trying to run away before you kiss me?”

  “Ain’t nothing wrong with running away from trouble. And you’re trouble with a capital T.”

  “Ain’t nothing about me for you to be scared of, Maxine. You not like those other girls.”

  “That’s right, I’m not.”

  “I know you’re not. You’re special. That’s why I’m gonna marry you.”

  Maxine’s heart skipped a beat, but she acted nonchalant. “How many girls have you told that lie?”

  “Aw, girl, why you got to act like that? I’m serious. I’m gonna be a big-time preacher, and you’ll make a good preacher’s wife.”

  “What makes you think I’ll marry you?” Maxine asked, even as she worked hard to keep the smile off her face and out of her voice.

  “Maxine, get on up to this house!” Maxine’s mother’s yell cut through the flirty atmosphere surrounding her and Obadiah.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Maxine gave Obadiah a slight smile before turning to walk toward her mother’s hard stare.

  “I’ma marry you,” Obadiah whispered confidently before walking in the opposite direction.

  A little more than two years later, that’s exactly what happened. A barely seventeen-year-old Maxine had stood before their Cherry Hill Baptist Church preacher and exchanged vows with almost twenty-year-old Stanley Obadiah Meshach Brook. He had already gained a reputation as “that boy preacher.” Maxine’s staunchly religious parents approved of the union.

  Maxine approved of the union, too, but not of how one’s marriage was consummated. Her mother’s lesson regarding marital relations had been brief: “He’s gonna want to put a baby in ya. It’s your Christian duty to oblige.” That was it. No further explanation of how this act was going to happen, no instruction for how to make it pleasurable or even that it should be. Maxine had grown up on a farm, so she’d seen animals mating. Still, even as she lay under Obadiah that first night, she could hardly fathom what Obadiah had done to her. Now she understood the late-night arguments she’d heard between her parents, and her mother’s hissed whispers to “leave me alone.”

  No matter how hard Obadiah tried, Maxine never warmed to the act of making love. They never talked about it, such an act being something respectable people didn’t mention. He tried romance, flowers, and candy, but that was about as far as he got. Obadiah wasn’t an overly sensitive or romantic man himself. But knowing Maxine had been a virgin when they married, and therefore untrained in the art of love, he tried to be patient. After the birth of Esther, the Brooks’ fourth child born a year after King, that’s what Maxine started telling Obadiah to do—leave her alone.

  Obadiah’s patience grew thin. He had meaningless affairs following the births of each of his children. Maxine would use the child’s birth as an excuse to beg off sex for months at a time, leaving a frustrated Obadiah no choice in his mind but to seek pleasure elsewhere. It was during one of these sexless stretches in his marriage that he’d met Dorothea, a hot, sexy woman whom he’d bedded the first night they met. He fell in love instantly and had loved her ever since.

  For years, Obadiah bore the brunt of guilt for the actions he took to assuage his sexual appetite. But no more. The phone call he’d taken just before leaving the church office continued to weigh on him. Dorothea was right. It was as much Maxine’s fault as his for the state of their marriage. And if she refused to do anything to change what was happening, then he was out the door.

  Mama Max stopped knitting and looked toward the kitchen. I thought I heard Obadiah pull in a long time ago. She continued for another minute and then heard the door slam. “I thought I heard that garage door,” she said aloud. She continued knitting, although in happier times, she would have risen from the couch and began heating the food. She’d been a dutiful wife while he recovered from his heart attack, but since he seemed no worse for the wear from the weeks she’d spent in Kansas, Mama Max figured he must have been able to turn on a burner himself just fine. So she stayed put.

  As Mama Max listened to Obadiah bumping around in the kitchen, without coming to greet her, words from her earlier run-in with Dorothea flitted in and out of her mind. At least I love him! No, I’ll tell you what’s a shame. It’s a shame to have a wonderful man life Obadiah Brook in your house and sleep in another bedroom…. Mama Max had prayed earlier in the day, after returning from the grocery store. She’d asked God what to do about the situation, and hadn’t felt she’d heard an answer. But she didn’t feel right just sitting here while Obadiah ate in the kitchen. So she lay down the sweater she was making and rose from the couch.

  “You ain’t one for greeting no more when you come home?” she said as she entered the kitchen and walked toward the stove. She immediately turned down the too-high fire from under the chicken and dumplings and stirred the pot’s contents.

  “I’m not the only one ain’t greeting,” Obadiah replied, reaching into a cupboard for a plate. “Didn’t hear you say hello.”

  “Did you see Nettie at church?”

  Obadiah sighed but did not answer. He walked to another cupboard, pulled out a glass, and filled it with sweet tea from a pitcher in the refrigerator.

  “Look, if you are going to come in here eating my food, the least you can do is speak and thank me for dinner!”

  Obadiah filled his glass, drank half, filled it again. He walked over to the pot under which Maxine had turned down the heat, determined the
food was warm, turned off the burner, and fixed his plate. He then took his plate and glass to the table where Maxine now sat and joined her. He said a quick prayer, blew on his forkful of chicken and dumplings, and took a bite.

  Maxine looked on in amazement. Is this man really trying to ignore me? Is he actually going to sit at this table and not speak to me? After the confrontation with Dorothea, Mama Max had thought to act civil to Obadiah. Not that she took seriously one word of what the tramp had said, but because it was the Christian thing to do. After all, walking around and barely speaking or just talking on the surface wasn’t cute after forty-nine years together. That’s why instead of taking the entire pot of chicken and dumplings over to Nettie’s, she’d placed half in a container and took that, along with a dozen homemade rolls and one of the cobblers. Nettie had mentioned going by the church later, which is why she’d asked Obadiah if he’d seen her. Subconsciously, Mama Max had also been trying to confirm Obadiah’s whereabouts. She had no reason to believe he was stepping out on her with Jenkins’s wife, but Mama Max put nothing past Dorothea. Yes, she’d totally planned to be civil to Obadiah this evening, but now it was him showing his ass. “Why are you acting like you’ve got a hair up your butt?” she said with attitude.

  “Because I’m tired of feeling like a step-somebody in my own home!” Obadiah said. “Tired of you acting all high and mighty, like you’ve never sinned, never come short of the glory. I’ve apologized for the stuff that was in this house, Maxine. But there’s more than one ‘I’m sorry’ that you could say too.”

  “Is this about Dorothea? Because I ran into Miss Adulteress today!”

  “This is about you, Maxine, and about a conversation we need to have that is long overdue. And if we don’t have it right here, right now, then come Monday, it’ll be me filing a petition in family court.”

  54

  Can We All Get Along

  Princess stood in front of her closet trying to decide what to wear. She was also second-guessing her decision to let Kelvin bring his son over to her condo. He’d always had the ability to talk her into anything. But how much trouble could they get into with a three-year-old in the room? She’d figured not much, which is why she’d finally agreed to “lay your hands on him like those TV preachers do,” as Kelvin had asked.

  Twenty minutes later, she was dressed and waiting, in a pair of acid-wash jeans and a light yellow, oversized T-shirt that read JESUS on the front and IS MY BOO on the back. Her hair was in a simple ponytail, and she wore no makeup. She’d purposely underdressed to underscore the fact that this visit wasn’t special. I’m just ministering, that’s all, Princess reminded herself as she did a final check in the mirror. By the time the doorbell rang, she almost believed it.

  Princess tried to still her racing heart as she walked to the front door. It had been almost three years since she’d seen Kelvin face-to-face. It didn’t matter that she was no longer in love with him; he’d been her first love. She hummed a Tonex tune as she tried to bring on a casual mood. Looking in the peephole didn’t help. She opened the door more befuddled than ever.

  “Rafael!”

  “Hey, baby girl!” Rafael grabbed a stunned Princess around the waist and twirled her in his arms. “I know, I make you speechless. I’ve been told I have that trait.”

  It took Princess a couple seconds to find her voice. “What are you doing here?”

  “What does it look like? Moving in.” Rafael kissed a still-stunned Princess on the cheek, then reached for his carry-on and moved past her into her living room. “I thought I was due for a weekend getaway. This is nice, girl. Look at you, coming up and thangs…” Rafael walked to the window and looked with appreciation at the ocean view.

  “Boy, what are you doing here? You didn’t mention anything about coming here when we talked last night. And no wonder I couldn’t reach you this morning!”

  “Well, I’m here now, and I’m hungry. You know they barely feed a brothah on a plane these days. So hook me up with something to eat and then tell me why you’ve been blowing up my phone.”

  Princess went into her kitchen and returned to the living room shortly afterward with a half dozen menus. “I have a private chef,” she teased, knowing that Rafael was well aware of her lack of cooking skills. “What do you feel like—Mexican, Thai, Chinese, American…”

  Rafael decided on the Mexican restaurant that Princess said was right down the street, and after placing the orders, Princess took Rafael on a brief tour of her one-bedroom apartment. During this time, they chatted about their families and Rafael’s work at the mayor’s office. They ended up in the living room, sitting on the couch.

  “Watch your back, Rafael. Women don’t like to take no for an answer,” Princess said after Rafael had finished his latest insider tale of political hanky-panky. And then, “I still can’t believe you’re here!”

  “But you are happy to see me, right?”

  “I guess so…”

  “You guess so? What do you mean you guess so?”

  Princess sighed. “That’s why I was calling you, to get your advice about something.”

  “About what?”

  A knock on the door interrupted Princess’s answer. “Hold that thought. That’s our food.”

  Princess picked up the twenty-dollar bill Rafael had given her to cover the order, walked to the door, and opened it. The sight she saw immediately stole her appetite. Kelvin stood before her, six feet five inches of chocolate perfection, even with the crutch that was under his arm. He was finer than she remembered, decked out in a Sean John, smelling of Hugo Boss, the large diamond stud flashing from his left earlobe matching the sparkle emanating from his pearly whites. Princess’s eyes traveled down to the child standing next to Kelvin. His son had the same coloring and lanky build as his father, but his facial features resembled Fawn. Princess felt an unexpected twinge of pain, and another one of guilt, as she silently eyed the boy who looked at Princess, then up at his father. When she continued to stare at him, Little Kelvin buried his head in his father’s jeans.

  “Hey, baby,” Kelvin said softly. “You look good.”

  “You’re early,” was all Princess could say. Considering the myriad of thoughts that were vying for attention in her mind right now, it’s a wonder any words came out at all.

  “I couldn’t wait another minute, baby. I had to see you. Actually,” Kelvin continued with a sheepish, innocent grin that was incredibly sexy, “I’ve been down in the parking lot for twenty minutes. So now, at least, I’m just an hour early.”

  “Hurry up with my food, woman!” Rafael yelled from behind the door.

  The smile on Kelvin’s face scampered away, quickly replaced by a scowl and narrowed eyes. “Who’s here?” he asked, taking a step forward.

  “No, wait.” Princess stayed Kelvin with a hand on his chest. She glanced back toward the living room and prayed that there would be no confrontation.

  “Girl, what’s the…” Rafael’s words trailed off as he came up behind Princess and looked out the door. Instinctively, he placed a protective hand on her shoulder and pulled her back against him.

  The air fairly crackled in that moment: Rafael and Kelvin glaring at each other, Princess looking from one to the other, Little Kelvin staring up at Princess. A mere second later, the energy shifted in an unlikely manner by an unlikely source—Little Kelvin. “Daddy, I gotta pee.”

  But the shift didn’t last long. Kelvin’s eyes kept boring into Rafael as he addressed Princess. “Baby, can you take him to the bathroom?”

  “She’s not your baby,” Rafael responded, taking a step toward Kelvin.

  “Oh, and she’s yours?” Kelvin queried, taking a step forward as well. And then to Princess, “Baby, I need you to help me.”

  Princess eyed Kelvin and the crutch. “Come on, let me show you where the bathroom is.”

  Rafael was just getting ready to block Kelvin’s entrance when the elevator dinged and the smell of Mexican food preceded the delivery boy down the h
allway.

  “Here, El,” Princess said, shoving the twenty in Rafael’s hand while retaining her position between him and Kelvin. “Can you pay him while I handle this?” Her eyes begged Rafael to chill out. He looked at her a long moment, cut his eyes at Kelvin again, and turned to pay for the food.

  “He needs to bounce,” Kelvin said as soon as he, Princess, and Little Kelvin had turned the corner. “What’s happening here today is between us. We don’t need an audience.”

  “Rafael is my friend and is welcome here.” They reached the bathroom. After turning on the light, Princess left the two Kelvins to handle their business.

  “I knew I needed to get out here and save you from yourself,” Rafael said under his breath, as soon as Princess entered the living room. “Thought you told me homeboy was going to get prayer over the phone. I thought that’s what we decided was best.”

  “That’s what I was getting ready to tell you,” Princess responded, keeping her voice low as well. “Kelvin wants me to lay hands on his son, and I agreed.”

  Rafael snorted. “Please don’t tell me you fell for that bullshit. Where Kelvin wants you to put your hands has nothing to do with his son.”

  “Please don’t start nothing, Rafael,” Princess pleaded. “I’m going to tell Kelvin the same thing. This is my house and I’m not having it. So if y’all can’t act civilized, y’all can get to steppin’.”

  Princess heard the toilet flush, and soon afterward, Kelvin and Little Kelvin walked back into the combined living/dining room. The little boy immediately eyed the unopened food bags on the dining room table. “I’m hungry, Daddy.”