Someone to Watch Over Me

by Michelle Stimpson

  I wriggled under his gaze. “Thank you.” Suddenly, my salad needed eating. Jacob followed my lead and took a bite of his onion-layered chicken dish. Cheese didn’t rank high on my list of desires, but there was something enticing about the food on Jacob’s plate. I must have looked at his cuisine too long.

  “Tori, take a bite.”

  We’d been through this before, might as well. “Just a little piece.”

  “Go for it.”

  I stuck my fork and knife into his entrée, mentally calculating how many minutes this tidbit would cost me in workout currency.

  Worth every minute. “I can’t dine with you or your family too often—I’d have to live on my treadmill.”

  “Naaa,” he disagreed. “Every woman ought to have a little meat on her bones.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  He shifted nervously. “Nothing, nothing. You’re fine the way you are.”

  “You think I’ve got meat on my bones?”

  “No. Um, yes. You do have some meat.”

  “Clean it up,” I admonished him.

  “Oh, you crack me up,” he said with a laugh. “I like you, Tori.”

  “I like you, too, Jacob. You’re cool with me.”

  His smile morphed into a serious flatline. “I don’t mean in a ‘cool’ way.”

  Maybe it was time we put it all on the table. For real, Jacob had to be one of the most coveted bachelors in Bayford. No way was he eyeing me, and no way was I in the running for a preacher, no matter how attractive, fun, and caring he was.

  “Jacob, I can’t like you as . . . more than a friend. To be honest, I do like you as more than a friend, but I’m soooo . . . not . . . preacher’s girlfriend material.”

  He kept his mouth shut, too busy chewing to respond.

  “I mean, you’re all . . . holy. Your father is a preacher. Your grandfather was a preacher, too. I saw his picture in the church foyer.”

  “And?” Jacob interrogated.

  “And you come from this long heritage of preachers, men and women of God. When I’m around you, I have to totally forget you’re a preacher in order to be comfortable. I have to think of you as Jacob Carter—football player. Jacob Carter—boy who sat beside me in Spanish two class.”

  “I sat behind you in Spanish two,” he interrupted.

  “Behind me?”

  “Yeah. You wore your hair in one of those diagonal, architecture styles.” He made a triangle with his hands. “And you had this one long section in the back. What was that style?”

  “We called it an asymmetrical mushroom, and it was the bomb, thank you very much,” I declared for the record.

  “For real, you kept your do in check every day. Never a hair out of place.”

  “Is it safe to assume you were watching me?”

  He winked at me. Giddy heat swooshed through my circulatory system.

  “So anyway, like I was explaining . . .” I cleared my throat. “I can’t date you date you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Depends on your definition of dating,” Jacob chided. “According to the Bayford grapevine, we’re already a couple.”

  “I’ll bet your mom is having a cow.”

  Jacob nearly choked.

  See there, what kind of mess is this? Who in their right mind accuses the church’s first lady of having a cow? “I’m sorry.”

  He took a swig of water. “No, no need to apologize. I can assure you, she has given birth to many cows on many occasions.”

  Eased by his joke, shame subsided.

  “My mom knows I respect her opinion, but I’m a grown man with a mind of my own. Plus, she’s changed.”

  “How so?”

  “She’s not as judgmental as she used to be.”

  “What changed her?”

  “The Word. Study, meditate, and apply it long enough, it’ll change anybody for good.”

  “You’re doing it again,” I stopped him.

  “Doing what?”

  “Going into preacher mode. This is when I have a hard time seeing you as . . . someone who’s regular.”

  “You think I sit up at night reading the Bible and praying?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re right. I do,” he confirmed.

  “Thanks, Jacob. That really helps,” I kidded.

  He held up a finger. “But, eventually, I go to the restroom, brush my teeth, get ready for bed. Might watch me a little Sanford and Son before I hit the sack.”

  “So you read the Bible every single night?”

  “I try to,” he testified.

  I buried my eyes in the salad again. “Aunt Dottie reads the Bible every night, too. Actually, I’ve been reading it to her.”

  “Have you noticed the Word changing you already—entering your train of thought throughout the day?”

  “Well, yes, but my train jumps right back to the old tracks in a hot minute. Not everything I think about is right. I’m a long way from the kind of life God has in mind,” I testified.

  “Don’t worry about it—God will keep perfecting us all until the day of Christ. Takes a while.” He’d paraphrased a verse I recognized but couldn’t quite place.

  His comment brought me to a grave rebuttal. “All right, so here’s my question. I don’t want to sound bad or evil. I mean, I really felt good about rededicating my life to Christ. But what if I don’t want to be this other person God’s trying to turn me into?”

  I waited for accusation to cross Jacob’s expression, but there was none. He simply asked, “What’s wrong with her—this other person you think God wants you to be?”

  I looked around the restaurant, trying to find an unwitting example. An older Aunt-Dottieish-looking woman with a Bible in hand, or maybe even a younger, domestic-hearted lady with no career aspirations wearing a long, Amish-looking skirt.

  “Bring it on,” he prodded. “What would the new, triple-holy, sanctified Tori Henderson be like? Worst-case scenario.”

  “Okay,” I sighed. “She’s super-submissive. A wimp. A pushover. Old-acting. She’s always reading the Bible. I mean, she loves God and everything, but she’s boring and she can’t relate to the real world because all she thinks about is Jesus all day.”

  He tugged, “What else?”

  “She also sews.”

  “Anything else?” He took the last bite of his chicken.

  “That’s bad enough,” I smarted-off.

  “And you think that’s the kind of woman I should be dating?” he asked.

  “Well, yeah. You are a man of God, except for Sanford and Son, maybe. Depends on the episode.”

  “I love your wit,” he remarked, wiping his mouth with a napkin. His skin, thick with masculinity, beckoned to be touched. How long has it been? Again, my heart took a detour. How could he be this holy and sexy simultaneously? I can’t be a virtuous woman, not with these unrighteous thoughts running through my mind.

  He steered us back on track. “It’s like this. The more you study the Word and spend time in prayer, in God’s presence, the person you want to be and the person God wants you to be become one and the same. But He’s smooth about it—He changes your desires first, and your actions follow. Inside out. One day you’ll look up and realize you’ve changed. And you’ll like the new you.”

  Jacob plucked a phone from his pocket. “Let me show you something.”

  One look at the fancy contraption, and I exclaimed, “Et tu, Jacob?”

  “Of course. I’ve needed a cell phone for years.” He wielded the phone left to right. “Signed up for a data plan and everything. I am now officially in the twenty-first century.”

  “You go!”

  Quickly, I added his phone number and e-mail to my contacts. “Got it.”

  “Check this out.” We pushed our plates aside and leaned toward each other, but the table’s width prevented an adequate view.

  “I’ll come on your side.” Good Lord! Jacob’s solid frame scooted in toward me. His cologne drifted u
p my nostrils and down my spine, distracting me from the task at hand. Focus, Tori. Focus.

  Jacob positioned the phone’s display so we could both scrutinize the scripture he’d called into play. “Colossians three and three. For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God. So, the old you died with Christ. You can’t be anyone but a child of God, according to the Word.”

  “What about all the bad things I still think and do?”

  “That’s the old you, your natural self who doesn’t realize she’s dead.”

  I played along. “Who’s keeping her alive? I mean, in order to have the ability to think you’re alive, you have to be alive at some level, right?”

  He pinched his lips together, let his eyes drift to the left. Thinking. “You know any amputees?”

  “Not personally.”

  “My uncle lost one of his legs to diabetes. For a while after he lost the leg, he still felt like the leg was there. Said it was the weirdest thing to have the sensation of that leg, but look down and see it missing. They call it phantom leg.

  “So long as you have an earthly body, sin dwells in this body. All our bodies are programmed for death. But that’s just your body. Your inner man was renewed with Christ. When you find yourself doing things that don’t line up with who you are, that’s the phantom. You can feel and act and think like something you’re not. What matters is when God looks at you, He doesn’t see that old you. He views you in Christ. He’s trying to get us all to behold what He sees.”

  Part of me wanted to believe Jacob. Maybe that was the Christian part of me. But I still knew me. I was Tori Henderson. No, I hadn’t killed anybody, but I could have a short temper. I was impatient, yet sometimes a pushover. Hate when I don’t speak up for myself. I’d embarrassed my mother so badly she sent me away and never really looked back. Honestly, how many people can say they caused their own mother to abandon them? That’s gotta be a record.

  “Just read it for yourself.” He slid the qwerty keypad behind the screen. “Romans eight, Colossians three, First Corinthians two.”

  After noting the references in my phone, I snapped mine shut, too.

  “All this knowledge because you want to date me?” I snarled.

  He shot thumbs-up. “First and foremost, as your out-of-town assistant pastor, I’m concerned about your spiritual growth.”

  I acknowledged, “As you should be. Aren’t you, like, my shepherd?”

  “Right. But I do have my own selfish reasons for explaining all this to you and showing you how to rightly divide the scriptures. I want you to know I’m a regular person who’s been changed by the Lamb. I don’t want you to be nervous around me because I wear the fragrance of Christ. I really am regular.”

  “You know you sound like a Metamucil commercial, right?” I teased.

  He smirked. I zoomed in on his lips again. Behave, Phantom Tori!

  “How’s normal?”

  “Normal is good,” I agreed.

  “You know what I like about you?” he asked.

  Time stood still. I closed my mouth, shook my head no.

  “You’re honest. True. You challenge me. And you don’t treat me like I’m the last available African American male on earth, which is what most females have done my whole life.”

  Unsure of how to respond, I didn’t.

  “And beautiful. Not too much meat on your bones.”

  “Whatever!” I shoved his arm. Oh snap! Brother had some serious biceps hiding under all those starched sanctified shirts.

  He smiled for a moment, then our eyes locked. Firecrackers couldn’t have been louder than the sparks flying across the five inches between us.

  “You still don’t think I’m a regular—sorry—normal person?”

  Honesty prevailed. Slight left and right motion with my head. I didn’t have the wherewithal to speak.

  With his eyes still set on mine, Jacob cupped my chin. He leaned in, tilted his head. My lids shut, anticipating the kiss. He planted a soft one on my lips.

  “Normal enough for you?”

  “I think I can work with that.”

  Chapter 24

  That night, I told Aunt Dottie I had a few scriptures of my own in mind.

  She agreed. “Aaaa.”

  Romans, Colossians, Corinthians. According to the table of contents, all these were in the New Testament.

  “Aunt Dottie, what’s the difference between the Old Testament and the New Testament?”

  “Jeeeees,” she slurred.

  Jesus. Surely, there was more to it. I’d have to ask Jacob later. But I guess, for now, Jesus was the simple explanation.

  I read the chapters Jacob suggested as Aunt Dottie listened. She bobbed her head up and down, concurring with the main points. There were so many, in fact too many to keep straight in my head.

  “Ooh, Aunt Dottie, I wish you could help me understand all this.”

  She pointed toward the ceiling, then poked my chest.

  “God and me?”

  She smiled. She grabbed her ever-present pen and paper. “Holy Spirit reveal.”

  “How?”

  “Just read. He will,” she wrote.

  Sounded like something super-spiritual Jacob would say. I kissed my aunt on her forehead. “Good night, Aunt Dottie.”

  On the way to my room, I noticed a thin stream of light emanating from under DeAndre’s door. I checked my watch. 9:48. He should have been asleep a long time ago.

  Pushing the door open, I confronted him. “DeAndre, why is your lamp still on?”

  His body rustled under the covers. “Please, Cousin Tori, can I finish reading this chapter of my book? It’s really good.”

  I chuckled. “Looks like we both found good books to keep us up all night.”

  He leaned up against his pillows. “Whatchu readin’?”

  “The Bible.”

  “Oh. I like the Bible, too. ’Specially when there’s lions.”

  “Yeah, the lions are fun.” I laughed.

  “I been prayin’, too.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.” His face knit with sentiment.

  “About what?”

  “My momma. Her birthday is almost here.”

  I motioned for him to scoot over in bed, then joined him under the covers. He giggled with excitement.

  “Kiddo, I’m going to see what I can do about getting in touch with your mother. But I can’t make any promises. It may be a long time before you hear from her or see her again.”

  His warm face rested against my shoulder. “I know. The judge said thirty years.”

  Instinctively, I rubbed the top of his head. His tears trickled down my arm.

  “I’m so sorry about your mom, DeAndre.”

  He bucked with emotion. “Why did the police have to catch her? And that stupid judge! I wish I could punch him in the face!”

  “You’re not going to punch anyone in the face, DeAndre.” I calmed him with a soft tone, wondering if he’d ever considered maybe his mother had a hand in her own demise.

  “I want her to come back. Why won’t they let her come home?”

  Tread lightly. “Well, sometimes people don’t always make good choices. They have to pay a price for doing the wrong thing. Just like you have rules at school, grown-ups have rules outside school.”

  “I thought grown-ups could do anything they want.”

  “Not if their actions cause problems for other people. Everybody has rules, DeAndre. Everybody.”

  He wiped his tears. I moved to leave. He grabbed my arm. “No. Don’t go yet.”

  I sank into his grip, wrapped him in my arms. We lay there in perfect stillness. Me and DeAndre. He stalled. “What were you and Aunt Dottie talking about?”

  “We were reading the Bible.”

  He altered his position, peering into my face. “Is Aunt Dottie your real momma?”

  “No. My real momma lives far, far away from here.”

  He settled back into me again. “Oh. So who watched over y
ou?”

  “My Momma watched over me for a while. Then I came to live with Aunt Dottie, like you. Now I watch over Aunt Dottie.”

  “Oh.” He waited for a moment. “So who’s gonna watch over you when you get old like Aunt Dottie if your momma don’t come back?”

  His timing was off, but I’d wondered that same thing. “I don’t know, DeAndre.”

  He squeezed. “I’ll watch over you, Cousin Tori. Don’t worry.”

  I kissed his forehead. “Thanks, DeAndre.”

  Not ten minutes later, he was out cold. I gently eased from his hold, letting his head fall on the pillow. I marked his place in the book with a scrap of paper.

  Putting the Bible research aside for a while, I detoured to the Internet. Took me a while, but I finally found the only Zoletha Simpson in the state database of prisoners past and present. Big brown eyes and chubby cheeks confirmed her relation to DeAndre. I jotted down her inmate number and the unit address, presumably the information I’d need to send a letter. Out of curiosity, I scrolled down to survey the rest of her page, reading her charges and sentences. Drug trafficking. Prior convictions: grand theft auto, assault, theft, drug trafficking. Probation, probation violation, two years of incarceration, parole, revoked parole.

  What surprised me most about Z’s record was how long it took for them to finally throw the book at her. DeAndre was lucky to have had her present in his life for as long as he did. Matter of fact, given DeAndre’s age, I really don’t know how she had time to form a relationship with Ray-Ray (assuming there was one) and create DeAndre. Whew! She works fast!

  I shut down the computer and, while my nerves were still in motion and the residue from DeAndre’s tears still stained my arms, I penned a letter to DeAndre’s mother.

  Dear Zoletha,

  Hello. My name is Tori Henderson. I’m Aunt Dottie’s niece. DeAndre has been in her care since your incarceration began. I don’t know if you know this or not, but Aunt Dottie had a stroke. I am staying with her for now, so I have had the opportunity to play a part in DeAndre’s life. I’m sure you already know this, but he is a wonderful young man. He keeps us all very busy with baseball, homework, and reading.

  That said, DeAndre would love to be able to come see you for your birthday. If you can add us to your visitors’ list, we will make arrangements to come see you soon.