I turned my back to him and studied the knickknacks resting on my nightstand. Among them, a quaint nativity scene that I failed to store every year. Joseph, Mary, and baby Jesus.
I wondered if Kevin would be the kind of husband who’d put up Christmas lights around the house every year. What kind of wife or mom would I be? I couldn’t see myself making angel-shaped chocolate chip cookies, leaving them out for Santa. Shoot, I could barely hold the tooth fairy gig together at this point.
“Tori.” I nearly jumped at his voice.
“Yeah.”
He lowered the television’s volume. “I do care about you.”
“I know.” In his own special, give-me-my-space kind of way, I’m sure he did.
“So what do you want from me?” he asked.
“I want everything.”
“Define everything.”
“Everything a woman wants from a man.”
Moments later, a sports announcer’s voice blared through the speakers again.
Chapter 20
By Wednesday afternoon, I still didn’t know what to tell Kevin. He moped around the apartment, dishing out the noisiest silent treatment on record. He slammed doors and cabinets, cursed under his breath when he ripped the last paper towel from the holder. Reminded me of DeAndre, really, and prompted me to give my little cousin a call.
“Lester residence,” he answered, as I’d trained him.
“Hello, DeAndre. How are you?”
“Cousin Tori!” he squealed. “When are you coming home?”
I laughed to myself. He thought Bayford was home for me. “Tonight.”
“Yes!” he hissed.
“How was school today?”
“I got a hundred on my spelling test.”
“That’s wonderful, DeAndre. I can tell you’ve been studying.” An elective class I got shoved into at the last minute had come in handy. The instructor told us not to praise kids for being inherently “smart” or “pretty,” but rather for effort exerted toward accomplishments. Suppose I knew a little something after all.
“And how was baseball practice with Pastor Jacob?”
His tone declined sharply. “It was all right.”
“Why just all right?”
DeAndre blew air before answering. “I had to run extra laps because my teacher called the house yesterday.”
Hand against my forehead, I prompted, “Keep going.”
“’Cause she thinks maybe I’m the one who wrote a bad word on the wall in the bathroom, but it wasn’t me,” he explained. “I told her, I don’t even write like that, all messy and scribble-scrabble.”
“So why does she think you did it?”
He reluctantly admitted, “’Cause I was in the restroom without permission.”
With the phone held tightly to my ear, I pushed past Kevin to grab a bottle of Gatorade from the refrigerator. He lurched in the opposite direction, dodging elbow-to-elbow contact.
A puff of air escaped my lungs, signaling my disgust.
Back to more serious matters. “Well, DeAndre, I hope you learned a lesson from this. If you had been in the right place, you couldn’t have been accused.”
“That’s the same thing Pastor Jacob said.”
“He’s right.”
DeAndre lamented, “I know.”
“So from now on, you stick with your class. Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“How’s Aunt Dottie?”
“She’s fine, except she makes me read the Bible to her at night and there’s a lotta old words I can’t read.”
I nearly choked on my drink. “Just keep reading to her. What else is up?”
DeAndre gave a detailed account of Aunt Dottie’s ins and outs. He said Joenetta had taken Aunt Dottie to the doctor yesterday, as arranged. Then they had come home with a “whole buncha food.” Not part of the deal, but I imagine Cassandra let those groceries roll out the door since Joenetta probably paraded Aunt Dottie around the store, wheelchair and all.
“I’m gonna get off the phone now, DeAndre.”
“Cousin Tori,” he blurted out, “I was thinking about something.”
“Yes?”
“My momma’s birthday is coming up. I was thinking maybe I could go visit her.”
That’s not what I was thinking. “We’ll see.”
“Okay. Bye.”
I pressed the red disconnect icon, wondering how on earth I’d gone from a peaceful, ho-hum life to possibly planning a trip to the state penitentiary.
Kevin’s shenanigans continued until time came for me to leave. His flight out of Bush Intercontinental Airport would depart only a few hours later, so we found ourselves in the bedroom packing simultaneously.
He grabbed the largest suitcase in the closet first, which left me stuffing every square inch of the intermediate-sized piece and the carry-on. There were several other bags to choose from, mind you, but I guess we both coveted the good luggage with intact handles.
Nosiness finally got the best of Kevin. “You’re packing almost everything. Are you moving out or what?”
“No. I’m just tired of wearing the same two pairs of jeans.”
“So why’d you take the treadmill? Don’t they have sidewalks in Breyton?”
“Bayford,” I enunciated, “is filled with animals. Loose animals.”
“You should call animal control,” he suggested.
I answered his question while zipping the front pocket of the smallest bag. “People in Bayford don’t call the city on each other’s pets. It’s rude. If they have a problem, they talk to their neighbors or they figure out a way around it. Live and let live.”
He stopped and faced me, peering down his nose contemptuously. “You owe me an answer. Are you calling it quits?”
“I’m not calling anything until I have an answer.”
“From who?”
“From God, Kevin, all right? I’m waiting to hear from God.” Can of worms now open.
“Are you some kind of super-Christian now?” He circled index fingers around his ears. “Have they brainwashed you? Can’t you think for yourself?”
Have to let that one slide this time. “I don’t expect you to understand, but that’s the way it is.”
“So, God is in control of your life now?”
Everything in me stood erect for this lightbulb moment. “Yes. He is.”
He looked toward the sky, then down at me. “Let me know when the real Tori Henderson comes back, okay?”
I didn’t justify his response.
“And don’t drink the red Kool-Aid!” he yelled, slamming the front door behind himself.
Rain slowed my exit from the city, placing me in the parking lot of Mount Pisgah shortly before church dismissed. In the past, I might have considered my arrival perfect timing. The well-explained Word, however, had become a pleasant addition to my Bayford stint. Maybe I could get a personal review later.
As I waited for the congregation’s dismissal, my phone’s chiming called for attention. I clicked on an urgent e-mail from Lexa—cc’d to Preston—asking about another report that I: failed to produce prior to leaving. I quickly replied: Lexa, I never received your request for this report. However, I anticipated the need and I have already asked Alex to configure the statistics for you. Have a great evening.
I, too, copied Preston. Two can play that game. Lord, she’s gonna get enough of trying to throw me under the bus one day.
The first few churchgoers descended the steps, my cue to locate my people. DeAndre’s little head bobbed diagonally as he struggled with Aunt Dottie’s bag. Another church member wheeled her down the ramp. I waved toward DeAndre, but he didn’t see me. Hey, I’m in the country. “DeAndre!” I can do this here.
He scampered toward me, doing his best to keep the oversized bag in check. I braced myself for his hug. “Hey, you.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, slinging the purse off his back and handing it to me. “I don’t like carrying no purse.”
“Nu uh.”
I accepted the bag and placed it in the backseat. Jacob sauntered toward us and took over the task of routing Aunt Dottie safely in her seat.
“We still on for tonight?” he asked once we’d gotten my two passengers situated.
“Yep.”
DeAndre’s ultrainquisitive ears must have caught the private exchange between Jacob and me. He kept turning around in the backseat, checking to see of Pastor Jacob was still following us. “Where are you going with Pastor Jacob tonight?”
Aunt Dottie looked at me out of the corner of her eye, obviously stifling a grin.
“None of your beeswax.”
“Are you going to that place with the coffee?”
“Why?”
Aunt Dottie reached across the center console and gently squeezed my arm. Studying her face didn’t quite reveal what she wanted to say. “You all right?” I asked.
She nodded. She stealthily pointed at DeAndre, touched her chest, then directed her finger toward me. He loves you.
Reverence for Aunt Dottie’s wordless commentary quieted me the rest of the way home. Jacob had perceived this same fondness. What exactly was I supposed to do with the information, though? I was only a temporary character in DeAndre’s life. Pretty soon, he’d get back to life with Joenetta. I wished him well.
After I tucked both Aunt Dottie and DeAndre in bed, Jacob escorted me to java heaven again. We ordered the same drinks, occupied the same table. Only this time, I wasn’t consumed with work. I’d have the opportunity to swim in Jacob’s eyes and soak up his hearty brown skin.
“How was your trip?”
“Productive.” I reveled in the soft coolness of my beverage. “How was church?”
“Church is always good. We looked at first Corinthians thirteen tonight—the famous love chapter.”
Maybe it was famous to him, but I’d never heard of it. “What’s it all about?”
He paraphrased the scripture. “Love is patient, kind, it does not envy, is not proud. Love is not rude, self-seeking, or easily angered, keeps no record of wrongs. The scripture goes on to say love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.”
An ache in my chest belied the fact that I spent most of my childhood without love. “Wow. Those are beautiful verses.” My lashes couldn’t blink fast enough to stave the tears.
“What’s wrong?”
I tilted my head backward, forcing my sockets to reabsorb, reabsorb quickly.
He asked again. Woman 101 advised me to deny distress despite obvious signals. Jacob’s probing glance, however, would settle for nothing less than the truth.
“I came to Bayford looking for that kind of love, hoping to get it from Aunt Dottie again because I never got it from my mother. But Aunt Dottie . . . she can’t even express herself.” The reality of her stroke hit me full blast right there in Starbucks, perhaps because I hadn’t stopped long enough to let myself feel anything before.
Jacob’s eyes brimmed with joy. “Tori, you already have the love you’re looking for. That kind of love, in chapter thirteen, is the kind of love God has for you. He is love. You don’t have to travel to Bayford or any place else to know His love.”
Truth slowly trickled into my heart, negated by my experiences, my past. Other people’s problems, too.
“I pray for a revelation—a Rhema word—on the love of Christ,” he professed.
“What’s a Rhema word?”
“A word from God through His Holy Spirit within you, just when you need it.” Jacob’s voice began to take on a pulpit quality. “A Rhema word will put you in remembrance of a deeper understanding of God’s viewpoint about a specific matter. The Rhema word can always be supported by scripture.”
The incident at the apartment with Kevin—when I recalled the scriptures about guidance—came to mind. “I think I’m already getting those, just not quickly enough.”
He opened his palms. “I’m not God, but if you’ve got something on your mind, I’m a pretty good sounding board.”
Not totally likely, since my biggest problem was Kevin. I half accepted his offer, asking him what he thought of DeAndre’s suggested field trip to prison.
“Going to visit someone in prison isn’t a simple exploit,” he explained. “The prisoner has to put you on their visitor’s list, then you have to pass a background check—and those were the rules, what fifteen, almost twenty years ago. I can only imagine how much tighter security is now.”
Eyes widened, I asked, “And how do you know so much about prison protocol?”
“My uncle got incarcerated for embezzlement when I was in high school, but he wouldn’t have gotten so many years if he’d had more money.”
“How about he wouldn’t have gone to prison in the first place if he hadn’t committed the crime?” I countered.
Jacob nodded. “True, true. But our justice system is so skewed by money, it’s ridiculous.”
How dare he try to make this whole thing about money. One thing Kevin and I always agreed on was the sanctity of people’s choices and resulting consequences. “Right is right, wrong is wrong. Right?”
“Yes. But the legal obligation of the justice system is to fairly try each case—not play legal games exhausting the defendant’s resources until they have no choice except to plea.
“I mean, one time they were all set for trial. My uncle’s lawyers had made arrangements for and flown in all these experts to testify on my uncle’s behalf—all on my uncle’s tab, of course. When the prosecuting attorney saw my uncle’s team was ready to put up a fight, the attorney asked the judge for a stay due to some frivolous technicality. The judge granted the delay for a week. Wasted thousands and thousands of dollars.
“The prosecutors kept playing games until my uncle ran out of money. When he was finally broke and could no longer afford to fly in experts and witnesses, the prosecutors were suddenly ready for trial. He was tried, convicted, and heavily sentenced. That’s the way it goes in our courts.”
Flabbergasted, I coughed. “Did the judge know how much trouble your uncle’s team had gone through to assemble a defense?”
Jacob’s nostrils contracted. “Yeah, he knew. He didn’t care. Lawyers find loopholes, judges interpret laws however they see fit any given day.”
Since O. J., I hadn’t really thought much about court cases. I always felt he’d gotten away with murdering his ex-wife and her friend, and his “not guilty” verdict came as a result of shoddy police work rather than financial influence.
Jacob’s account of his uncle’s incident, however, caused me to reexamine the accused’s options, or lack thereof, depending on wealth. I wondered if DeAndre’s mother would have landed so much time in prison if she’d been rich. I imagined a lot of things in her life would have been different if she had money. Really, whose wouldn’t?
With this change of heart, I asked Jacob if he’d help me get in touch with the Simpsons so we could get the ball rolling toward this prison visit. “I just don’t want DeAndre to be distracted, you know? He’s more focused in school, now that I’m trying to get him into a routine. Maybe I should wait until school’s out to throw in this visit to his mother.”
“No worries.” He nodded. “I’ll get in touch with DeAndre’s peeps. And trust that God will work things out so DeAndre will see his mother again at the right time. People talk about how He’s never late, but sometimes we have to realize, He’s also never early. His timing is exact.”
“Thanks. I’ll remember that.”
Jacob glanced toward the ordering counter. “How are their sandwiches? I’m hungry, actually.”
“I hear they’re pretty good.”
He excused himself and later returned with turkey on wheat, cut down the middle. Watching him unwrap the entrée suddenly reminded me I hadn’t eaten for several hours. My eyes must have given me away.
“You want one?” Jacob offered between bites.
>
Might be too much bread for me to eat the whole thing. “No. But . . . can I have just a little taste of yours?”
He scooted the untouched half across the table. “Here.”
“Oh, I can’t ask you for half,” is what came out of my mouth, though my taste buds said otherwise.
“You know you want to eat this sandwich, Tori,” Jacob teased. “It’s printed all up in your cheekbones.”
Humor and hunger overtook me. I grabbed the sandwich, laughing unashamedly. “How do you always know what’s going on in my head?”
“I don’t,” he refuted. “But I know hungry when I see it.”
I asked him if he’d ever watched the television show Lie to Me. “It’s all about reading people’s body language to solve mysteries.”
“Hmmm . . .” Jacob slanted his eyes, scrutinizing my face. “So what’s the mystery behind you?”
I looked left, then right. “No mystery here. I should be asking you that question. They say preachers’ kids have the darkest secrets.”
“You just made that up,” he sneered.
“Yes, but it’s probably true. What gives? What deep, dark secret are you hiding?”
“I already told you.”
My nose wrinkled. “What?”
“Shonda. And the likes,” he uttered.
Gulping couldn’t occur fast enough. “Sex is the worst thing you’ve ever done?” I did that just the other week.
“Doesn’t get much worse than dishonoring your own temple.”
He seemed almost annoyed at me for making light of his most sordid sin. I had to explain myself. “I mean, there’s extortion, armed robbery, mass murder—you know, stuff that affects other people negatively.”
“There’s also hypocrisy,” he stated. He leaned in toward me, his eyes glinting with sincerity. “Do you know how difficult it is to stand in the pulpit and preach holiness to God’s people when you just crept out of someone’s bed—and that someone is sitting in the audience?”
I had to give it to him. “Can’t say that I do.”
He lowered his lashes. “I couldn’t even look at myself in the mirror after church. On top of my sin, I damaged her faith in Christ. I couldn’t witness to her to save her life.”
Someone to Watch Over Me Page 18
