Slow your roll, Lexa, I’m not a priest. “I don’t personally know anyone who’s done that . . . um . . . I just know you have to forgive yourself and move forward. And it helps to have someone who’ll help you forget.”
“Who helped you?”
The sound of her heart creaking open was almost audible, as though our time alone had been divinely ordered. “My Aunt Dottie—the one I’m helping in Bayford. She was my rock when I fell on the consequences of a bad decision. I leaned on her, she leans on Jesus.”
“Oh, God, no. Not Jesus!” She buried her head in her arms on the table. “My grandfather is a Baptist minister. Are you trying to kill me with guilt?”
I threw her a lifeline. “Lexa, Jesus doesn’t make people feel guilty about what they’ve done wrong. He’s the answer, not the problem.”
Honestly, I wanted to excuse myself and leave Lexa to her meltdown, but now that I’d brought Jesus, the epitome of compassion, into the picture, bailing on her didn’t seem possible.
She endured another crying spell while I sat by helplessly. What would Aunt Dottie do right now? Probably the most unprofessional thing in the book—touch her. I placed my hand on Lexa’s back and traced big, gentle circles. “It’s going to be all right, Lexa. No matter what you’ve done, you can get up and move forward. Jesus will help you.”
Her sobbing subsided, finally. She whisked wetness from her face, sniffed up her snot. Atta girl!
“I’m sorry.”
“No need to worry about getting things right with me, Lexa. I think you know Who’s top priority.”
“I didn’t mean to spazz on you.” Quickly, she reassembled her businesslike persona, shuffling papers, avoiding eye contact. She unhooked her ponytail clamp, shook out her mane, and then fastened the holder again. “Can we just pretend this never happened?”
“If I were you, I wouldn’t.” Snap!
That wisdom came out of . . . somewhere deep inside me.
Chapter 27
Lexa and I worked until almost eight, bringing my long day to a whopping close. Every i dotted, every t crossed. Tuesday we’d review, Wednesday we’d hit ’em hard, make Inner-G’s representatives forget all about our previous blunders.
I stopped for sushi—the dish I missed most while in Bayford. While at the counter, the cashier asked if this order was “for here or to go?” Kevin’s image popped in my head.
“To go. And double the order, please.”
The source of my kindness couldn’t be explained. Phantom Tori wanted to finish Taylor’s job. Who could blame either of us? Kevin was a cross-country player who’d used his job to live a triple life. If both of us snapped, it would make a really cool movie: one of his fiancées shot him, his live-in girlfriend delivered the fatal blow.
Was I actually his live-in girlfriend? Did he have a place in Phoenix and New Orleans, too? Suddenly our living arrangements made sense. He didn’t want my name tied to any of his bills. Maybe the other women were snoopers. Maybe they had better sense than me.
He must have gotten pretty bold when I went to Bayford.
Kevin lay in the same spot where I’d left him five hours earlier. “Hey, ba—Tori.”
I’d worked myself up so on the way home, I felt like throwing his container of sushi across the room, aiming directly for his arm. Instead, I tossed it on the coffee table.
“Thanks for everything.”
“You’re not welcome,” I sassed, entering my bedroom and slamming the door shut behind me. My appetite for sushi vanished during the route home. How could he do this to me? Why am I doing this to myself?
I ran a hot bath and soaked until my toes and fingers shriveled up. I wondered if this was how wives reacted when they discovered husbands’ affairs. Did they sleep in the same house the night of the discovery? I mean, wives had to be around the lowlife tricksters for at least a day or two before counseling could be arranged. Many of them had kids to protect and didn’t want to alarm the whole family if they intended to salvage the relationship. Not so, in my case.
Shouldn’t I be in a hotel right about now?
Kevin shuffled into our room, stripped down to his birthday suit and crawled beneath the covers. He used throw pillows to prop up his arm.
His big nasty behind all up in my bed after fooling around with Taylor. “Aren’t you going to take a shower?”
“Can’t.”
“Then go back to the couch.”
“Can’t.”
“You don’t have a choice,” I fussed from the tub.
“Come on, Tori,” he whined. “My arm is killing me. I really need the bed. Don’t worry, I just took more pain meds. You won’t even know I’m here.”
“I can’t sleep in the same bed with you, Kevin.”
“Please.”
Here we go. Once again, weak, pushover Tori—the one who was always smiling and doing the right thing, the same one who even tolerated Kevin’s presence—said, “He’s in pain, Tori. Give him the bed.”
Old Tori argued, “He ought to be in pain! He’s a cheater, a liar, a bad dad! He’s pitiful.”
Then have pity on him, just as God has pity on you.
I wondered how much time should lapse before I obeyed the command. Couldn’t I postpone being nice until the next day, or until the day I moved out? Besides, what did God have to do with all this anyway? He doesn’t like liars, either. There.
“You are not sleeping in this bed tonight, Kevin. Take some more pills and make yourself a pallet on the floor.” Guess I wasn’t spiritual enough yet to whip my attitude around so quickly.
Kevin failed to rustle out of bed.
“Did you hear me?”
No movement.
I sat up in the tub and raged, “Kevin, I’m talking to you!”
“Huh?” in bewilderment.
“Get out! Get out of our bed!” The anger converged behind my eyes, compromising my composure. Where’s my disconnect switch?
“Are you serious?”
“Yes. Get up, get your pillow, get out, or I’ll move you myself.”
The mattress springs squeaked. “This is ridiculous, Tori.”
“No. You’re ridiculous. You think you can cheat on me, have a baby with another woman, get shot, then come home and roll in the bed like nothing happened today? You’re lucky I’m here, willing to look after you, making sure you don’t bleed out in your sleep!”
Slowly, he stumbled out of the room. “It’s not my fault I got shot.”
“Yes, it is your fault. You should pick your secret fiancées better.”
Score one last point for Phantom Tori.
Jacob texted me way too early Tuesday morning. After my comment about Kevin bleeding to death, I had to climb out of bed twice to make sure my prediction hadn’t jinxed him. Seven twenty-five A.M. seemed more like five twenty-five.
How r things n H-town?
The only honest reply on my fingertips: U don’t want 2 know.
Since I was up, I called Aunt Dottie’s to catch DeAndre before his bus ran.
“Hey, kiddo. You ready for school today? Don’t forget, baseball practice tonight. You got your glove?” I sounded like a card-carrying, minivan-driving soccer mom.
DeAndre didn’t answer either of my questions. “When are you coming back?” Sadness tinged his voice.
“Maybe tomorrow. I’m not quite sure. Why? Is everything okay?”
“Can I come to Houston with you?”
“No. I don’t have time to drive back to Bayford. You all right?”
“Can Pastor Jacob bring me to Houston?”
“DeAndre, what’s wrong?”
I heard rustling, followed by Joenetta’s voice. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with him. He just don’t wanna mind, that’s all. Got mad ’cause I wouldn’t take him to the library. I told him I ain’t none of you. I can’t be runnin’ all over town catering to him, spoiling him rotten.”
In what world does taking a child to the library constitute spoiling? “Is his book overdue?”
/> “I don’t know. Too bad if it is. You gon’ have to pay the fine ’cause I ain’t goin’ to no white folks library.”
It occurred to me just then that Joenetta needed counseling. How else could she be so bitter before eight in the morning? I wondered what must have happened early in her life to propel her onto this gloomy path. For the first time, I realized I needed to pray for my other aunt rather than despise her.
“You’re right. I’ll handle the library issue when I get home,” I agreed.
“You ain’t got to tell me I’m right. I know I’m right,” she pushed.
I held my tongue for a second. “Can I talk to DeAndre again?”
“He’s already outside at the bus stop.” Then she hollered, “Get off at your daddy’s house again after school today, DeAndre!”
After my hearing returned, I asked, “Why’s he going over to Ray-Ray’s?”
“If you must know, I’m keepin’ baby Shanisha. Ray-Ray and Fontella ain’t got no money for day care this week. DeAndre’s a big help,” she reluctantly explained.
Despite my gut feelings about Ray-Ray and Fontella, I figured it might be good for DeAndre to spend time with his little sister. “Awww . . . How old is the baby?”
“Too young to be talked about on the phone long distance. You got somethin’ else to say?”
“Have a good day, Joenetta.”
She grunted, “Uh huh. Why you bein’ so nice to me all of a sudden?”
Because you’re pathetic. No. Couldn’t say those words. “I’m a nice person.”
“People aren’t nice, not ’less they want something,” she accused.
“People can be nice for no reason at all, just for the love of God inside.”
“Hmph. You talkin’ like Dottie now.”
“Thank you.”
“Bye.”
I doubt this conversation affected Joenetta one way or another, but my attitude changed. No matter what she did or didn’t do, I could choose to treat her well.
Yes! Ever have one of those moments when, suddenly, everything makes sense? Those verses Jacob and I discussed our first night at Starbucks—the night of the marvelous massage—First Corinthians thirteen. Love. Being forced to care for cheating-lying-Kevin, working with trifling-Lexa, and dealing with she-needs-Jesus-Joenetta taught me to preserve my own sanity through love. Thank you, God, for revealing this inside me.
Jacob would be so happy for me. I sent him another text: Will b home n time for service 2morrow. Dinner after?
He answered: u cookin?
Cooking? Me? Don’t get me wrong, I knew how to boil water, but most of my creations were far too healthy for Jacob’s palate. For Bayford’s palate.
I had to warn him: u like lettuce wraps?
Willing 2 try.
Ok. See you.
He surprised me with Miss u.
Awww . . . miss u 2. LOL!
LOL?
I forgot he was a newbie. Means laughing out loud.
Gotcha. LOL! C u later. C, I’m trying to get this!
I fell back on my bed in laughter. Jacob’s refreshing sense of humor set me up for a wonderful day.
Kevin’s rumblings called. I dressed and joined him in the kitchen. He’d done a decent job of making one-armed scrambled eggs from the carton of whites we kept in stock.
“Morning,” he said with his back to me.
“Same to you.”
“Want some eggs?”
“Yeah.”
I took a seat at the bar while he whipped up another serving for me. I would miss admiring Kevin’s legs. His no-worries approach to life. His insistence on paying major bills, as ill-inspired as his motive might have been. In light of the love scriptures, there was much to love about Kevin. He would make a good husband, if he could stop cheating. Maybe if he didn’t travel as much, he could maintain a substantial relationship.
With one good agile arm, he slid my eggs onto a plate. He opened the refrigerator and grabbed an apple. Two slices of whole wheat toast popped out of the toaster. He put one on his saucer, one on mine.
He served my food on the bar counter. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.”
“Least I could do.”
“Yep.”
He leaned back against the mini-island. “I know it’s over between us, but I would like to remain friends.”
His statement struck me oddly. Taking our relationship down a notch wouldn’t affect much. “I don’t think we’ve ever been more than friends.”
He took a bite of toast and chewed. Tossed his head back and forth. “You’re probably right.”
“No offense, but I’ve never been super mad crazy about you. Not like”—Jacob—“the thought of you makes me smile inside.”
He swallowed eggs. “Yeah. I know what you mean. We’re roommates. With benefits.”
“No more benefits,” I declared.
He bowed in agreement. “I want you to know that I am sincerely, truly sorry.”
“Did you take meds already?”
“No. I’m in complete, sober pain right now,” he declared.
“As you should be.”
“Touché.”
We finished our breakfasts. I rinsed our dishes and placed them in the dishwasher.
“What’s on your agenda today?” he asked.
“Going in to work.”
He laughed. “I can’t believe you’re still here.”
“That makes two of us.”
“You’re so . . . over everything that’s happened. I mean, I know you. You should so be in a hotel or moving out right now.”
“I am moving out. Give me a few weeks to handle the details.”
He nodded. “Sure. Take all the time you need. I figured you would be leaving. But I’m saying—you’re so calm. Except when you kicked me out of my own bed, but otherwise . . . you’re acting like this was all supposed to happen.”
“Shut up!” I touched my lips with my fingers. “It was supposed to happen. I prayed and asked God for clarity about our relationship. And He showed me exactly where we stood.”
Kevin angled his head downward, doubting me. “So you prayed?”
“Yes!”
“And you believe God set this whole thing up with Taylor to answer your prayers?”
I shrugged. “You got a better explanation?”
He shrugged, too. “Whatever. All I know is, you’ve changed, Tori.”
Smiling ear to ear, I gloated, “That’s the best thing you’ve ever said to me.”
Chapter 28
Kevin caught a red-eye flight to Salt Lake City early Wednesday morning. Despite his doctor’s recommendations, Kevin thought it best to get back in the swing of things. He said he couldn’t do the whole laying-around-the-house thing.
He walked out minus our routine good-bye kiss. Simply “See ya.”
“Adios.”
Our second honest exchange in years, probably.
Now for the big meeting with Inner-G reps. Lexa and I were pumped. In my heart, I felt as though I had been training my leader, but I knew Lexa’s self-esteem needed the boost. She needed to at least look like the lead on the account. I had groomed her for every question they might ask. I even gave her a lesson on how to say “I don’t know” without sounding incompetent.
When we wrapped up our review, Lexa had asked me if I’d ever considered a career in law. “You could prime witnesses for cross-examination.”
Lexa was ready to rock, and I was more than happy to have her back.
I picked the most sophisticated suit in my closet. A black single-button pant suit tailored to professionally accentuate my every curve. My twists unrolled perfectly, spiking at all the right angles. Every aspect of my appearance screamed Power!
Green lights led the way to work. Always a good sign. “Thank You, Lord. This is going to be a great day.”
As I took one of the closest parking spaces, courtesy of prompt arrival, my cell phone blared its ringing tune. I checked the display before answerin
g. Why is Aunt Dottie calling me?
“Hello?”
“Tooor.”
“Yes, it’s me, Aunt Dottie,” I said.
“Deeeon.”
“DeAndre?”
“Yaaaahs.”
“What’s the matter with DeAndre?”
She babbled off a series of incomprehensible words. “I can’t understand you, Aunt Dottie. Is anyone else there?”
“Jonay.”
“Put her on the phone, please, Aunt Dottie.”
Eternal seconds ticked before Joenetta took the phone. “Who’s this?”
“This is Tori. What’s going on?”
“DeAndre’s got himself in trouble again with white folks.”
“His bus hasn’t even come yet—what kind of trouble?” I ranted.
“Worse than school. The law. Police found him riding his bike on the highway service road at three o’clock in the morning, clear over in Plainville. Now the folks at Child Protective Services got him. Might keep him for good.”
Fear clogged my throat. My voice trembled. “What? Why would they keep him? Why did he run away from Aunt Dottie’s?”
“No. I’m trying to tell you what happened if you’d stop all this whining. Whoo!” She paused. “You ready to hear what happened?”
“Yes, please.”
“He ran away from Ray-Ray’s. Serves DeAndre right if they keep him for a little while,” she spurted callously.
Lexa tapped on my car window, pointed at her watch, then toward the building. I acknowledged her hint with a go-away wave. She sped inside.
“You still there?” Joenetta yelled.
Barely able to breathe, I said, “Yes. Are you, or can someone go get him? Please.”
“Naw. They ain’t releasin’ him yet.” A baby’s shrill cry filled the background. “I got to go. They might turn DeAndre loose to you if you can get to the county fast enough, I don’t know. I said I gotta go. Bye.”
Quickly, I scrolled my call log to Jacob’s name.
“Top ’o the mornin’ to ya.”
“Joenetta says DeAndre ran away last night. The police caught him riding his bicycle and took him into custody. She says they won’t release him to anyone.” My voice broke with emotion.
Someone to Watch Over Me Page 24
