Dreams That Won't Let Go

by Stacy Hawkins Adams

  Melba gave her a pointed look. “We’re waiting on you, Miss Lady.”

  Indigo stepped into position, and for the first time in he didn’t know how many years, Reuben and his sister clasped hands. He was to her left, and Rachelle was to her right.

  Reuben knew she felt uncomfortable, but he was still grateful.

  Aunt Melba cleared her throat and looked at her sister. “Irene, and Charles, we’re all thankful for the call Indigo received tonight that let us know the baby girl in our family is okay. We all might want to choke her right now, but she’s okay.

  “We’ve spent the past hour looking online for clues about places in New York she might be searching for work or even housing, but we all know that it would take a miracle to pinpoint the right place, out of the thousands of possibilities in even a small section of that city.

  “We’re going to pray in a minute and ask God to protect Yas-min and give her wisdom, and for her to come home safe and sound. But I have to be real, here. We’re going to have to let her go too.”

  Reuben’s heart constricted when Mama’s eyes widened in alarm. Daddy frowned.

  Aunt Melba nodded. “I know. That seems at odds with the prayer. But it’s really not. We can’t ask God to watch over her and still give us the puppet strings. We’ve got to let her go and allow her to make her own choices and find her way to him. Because she could come home tomorrow with the wrong spirit or attitude. We want her in fellowship with him first, and then with us. That order is important.”

  In that moment, Reuben got it. The order of his priorities had been all wrong too. He’d been running from God, thinking he’d find the peace and healing he needed in the opposite direction. Aunt Melba had just clarified what Peyton had been subtly telling him all along—it was only through God that he’d find everything he needed to recover. Not in spite of the Creator, but because of him.

  Reuben’s thoughts turned to Pastor Taylor’s recent Bible study revelation, about the death of his first wife. He’d had to go through that pain to find himself in a moment, twenty years later, where he could minister to others from a position of healing. He had been broken, but now he could be a blessing.

  Reuben wanted to weep. He turned toward Indigo and peered into her eyes. She couldn’t read him as well as his wife could, but he knew she had witnessed his shift.

  He didn’t know what all of this meant, but as he bowed his head and listened to Daddy start off what would be a collective prayer for Yasmin and each other, he felt at ease in this stance for the first time in what seemed like forever.

  When his turn came, he didn’t squirm and squeeze Peyton’s hand to cue her to help him. This time, he spoke for himself, with a wobbly heart, and without flowery language.

  “It’s me, God, Reuben. I know you don’t hear from me often, and really, I don’t have any right to be standing here asking you to do anything for my sister, or for me. But God, if you’ll forgive me and give me another chance . . . I want to try to do better. Please take care of my sister and help her turn to you for answers. Keep her safe, and let her know we love her and want to help her. Help us find Yasmin, or lead her home . . . Amen.”

  As the formal prayer moved on to Peyton, Reuben continued his dialogue with God in silence.

  He asked the Lord to give the family the strength to accept Yas-min’s choices and each other’s. He also asked God to help him get well, and to find the courage to do whatever that might take.

  28

  Reuben didn’t feel out of place in worship service this morning for the first time in years, even though he still didn’t understand all of the rules and traditions Peyton seemed to know despite never having seen them.

  How, for example, could she be familiar with the stereotypical black Baptist church “tip”—the practice of raising one’s index finger and tiptoeing out of service to use the restroom or meet another urgent need while the minister was in mid-sermon? For a blind woman, she was on top of things.

  Today, a week after his heart-to-heart talk with Max, and the family prayer gathering at Mama and Daddy’s, he sat next to Mama with a renewed spirit. Everything held meaning for him: the Scripture the teenager read from Proverbs about trusting in God and leaning not on one’s own understanding; the hymn “Amazing Grace,” which was so fitting for his sudden about-face; the message Pastor Taylor had just delivered about accepting that even among Christians, there were jewels in the rough that needed to be buffed and polished, or in other words, nurtured and loved, so that their value and talents could be recognized and appreciated.

  He waited until the crowd died down and then approached Pastor Taylor after service to make the request he had rehearsed in his mind several times on the way to church this morning.

  “I was wondering if you had time to meet with me privately for some . . . counseling? There are a few things I’d like to get your take on, if you don’t mind.”

  Pastor Taylor shook his hand and nodded his head toward a side entrance and exit to the sanctuary, to the hall that led to his office. “No time is better than the present, son. Let me say hello to these few folks behind you and we’ll head to my office.

  “Marlayne,” he called to his wife, “can you talk with Sister Peyton for a little bit and let the girls play with Charles David? I need to have Brother Reuben take a look at the computer in my office.”

  Reuben immediately relaxed. This wasn’t going to appear to the congregation like he had asked for help; Pastor Taylor needed his advice. He was instantly embarrassed that appearances mattered, but he couldn’t beat himself up. He worked for the mayor and operated under a certain level of scrutiny; being discreet was important.

  When they reached the office, Pastor Taylor unlocked the door and ushered Reuben inside. He pointed to his computer and grinned. “Take a look—so I can’t be called a liar in the Lord’s house.”

  Reuben laughed and pointedly stared at Pastor Taylor’s flat screen monitor. He sat across from the preacher’s massive mahogany desk, filled with neatly organized stacks of paper, and exhaled. Now that he was here, where should he begin?

  “At the beginning,” Pastor Taylor suggested.

  Reuben frowned. “Do we have that much time?”

  “Give me the CliffsNotes version,” Pastor Taylor said. “When did your dilemma start and what kind of feedback or help can I give you?”

  “It started almost twenty years ago when my parents died in a car crash that I survived.” Reuben felt odd describing the experience so matter of factly. “I was called the miracle child because I didn’t die after being trapped in my seatbelt, inside the car, for nearly twelve hours.

  “Everyone assumed I spent that time alone, calling for help. My grandparents don’t even know that my mother, Meredith, lived for a while. We talked, and she made me promise to take care of my sisters. Indigo was seven and Yasmin was about eight months old at the time. I was twelve.”

  Pastor Taylor sat back in his seat and ran his hand over his slick head. “My goodness, son,” he finally said. “Did I hear you say that you’ve never shared this conversation with anyone, not even Brother Charles and Sister Irene? May I ask why?”

  Reuben shrugged. “I can’t think of a rational reason. I was deeply hurt over my parents’ deaths. To tell you the truth, I’ve been angry with God ever since then for ignoring my pleas and taking them from me. Mama and Daddy—um, that’s what I call my grandparents—never asked me directly what happened or what I was doing while I waited to be rescued, and I never offered the information. Living with the memories of those hours was hard enough.

  “The added responsibility of trying to handle my loss and take care of my sisters’ needs too just seemed to be too much for me. So I kept that conversation and that promise to myself, thinking if no one knew about it, it would be okay if I wasn’t able to keep it.” Reuben took a deep breath, then sighed heavily.

  “But it was the last thing I’d said I’d do for my biological mother, and even if no one else knew, I did. The older I got,
the more it ate me up inside.”

  “You were twelve when you made that promise, son,” Pastor Taylor said gently. “What do you think your mother wanted you to do? How could a twelve-year-old take care of a seven-year-old and a baby? Do you think she meant for you to take her request so literally?”

  Reuben looked away from Pastor Taylor’s probing eyes and let that possibility ruminate in his spirit. Could it be that Mom hadn’t been asking him to carry the weight of his sisters’ well-being on his shoulders?

  “She might have simply been asking you to stay close to them, to love them unconditionally,” Pastor Taylor said. “If your mother was injured and fading in and out of consciousness, she might not have been able to tell you step by step what she meant, but she sounds like she was a great parent. I don’t think she would have wanted you to stop living yourself in order to take care of Yasmin’s and Indigo’s physical and emotional needs—do you?”

  Reuben shrugged. He hadn’t known what to think all of these years. In his mind, the problem had mushroomed as they aged and life became more complicated at home. “Mama’s drinking was in full swing just before I left, and Daddy coped by checking out. I felt like I was going to lose it if I didn’t leave. I went off to college and really never came home again. But that triggered even more guilt, because I was leaving my sisters behind in this dysfunctional situation. Indigo knew it and caught the brunt of keeping up the façade by herself. I had copped out on my promise to my mother and didn’t bother to check in enough to make sure Indigo was hanging in there. Before, we had at least leaned on each other. Now she was in it alone.”

  Reuben’s eyes swelled with tears. “I still haven’t shared with her what I’ve told you today, Pastor Taylor, I guess because I’m ashamed of myself for failing,” he said. “But I have asked her to forgive me, and she’s been working on it really hard.”

  Pastor Taylor put his palms together, as if in prayer, and leaned toward Reuben. “You know what will make her task easier?”

  Reuben nodded. “Telling her all of this, and letting her decide for herself where to land.”

  Pastor Taylor sat back and smiled. “You already know what to do, Reuben. Did you even need me?”

  Reuben nodded. “Yes, sir. I need your prayers, and maybe even your advice on how to share this information with my entire family. They deserve to know the full truth, and maybe when I share it, my nightmares will go away.”

  Pastor Taylor looked surprised. “You’ve been having nightmares? For how long?”

  “Nightmares and occasional panic attacks. Ever since I became a father. Having Charles David kicked my guilt into overdrive. That’s why I finally came home—to make amends to my sisters and to get him acquainted with this side of his family.”

  Pastor Taylor nodded. “Just know that you’re on the right path. Talking about this and sharing these long-held secrets kill the ‘night dragons,’ as I call them. When you take the power away from having a secret, your dreams are your own again.

  “You’ve also been struggling with survivor’s guilt—the very thing I faced when I questioned why I should go on after Farrah was murdered.

  “Stop feeling guilty that you made it through the crash all those years ago and trust that because you did, you owe it to God, and to your parents, to find out your strengths and use whatever gifts and talents you possess to glorify God, and to perhaps draw others to him too.” Reuben absorbed the advice and held his tears in check.

  “If we were Catholic, I’d tell you to consider yourself absolved and to go in peace,” Pastor Taylor said. “Instead, just know that Jesus paid the price a long, long time ago for any sin or guilt you might be harboring a long, long time ago. You keep sinning anew every time you pick up that issue again and try to manage it yourself. Just give it to God and let him use it to bring you, and others, closer to him. I’ve seen him do it time and time again.

  “This won’t be an easy or quick process, Reuben. If you want me to walk through this with you, I’m here. We can schedule some regular times to talk, outside of church and Bible study.”

  Reuben nodded. “Max told me you’re a psychologist. I think I would like that.” He hesitated, not wanting to offend Pastor Taylor, but needing to be honest.

  “What is it, son?”

  “I know how gossip can spread through a church like wildfire. I really don’t want my business in the streets. I’d like to keep this confidential. If that’s not possible because you have a staff that schedules your appointments, or because your secretary types your meeting notes or whatever, I’ll have to make other arrangements.”

  Reuben sat back in his chair and clenched his fists as he waited for Pastor Taylor’s reply. He couldn’t believe he had spoken so boldly to a man of God, but he knew he’d never feel comfortable sharing the issues he struggled with if he had to worry about those details somehow getting leaked.

  Pastor Taylor seemed unfazed. “I got you,” he said. “Tell you what: let’s plan on meeting once a week at my home office. I live in south Jubilant, not far from downtown where you’ll be working. We can meet for morning coffee, for lunch, or on any evening except Mondays or Wednesdays, when I have church business to attend to. That way, it’s off-site and we can just be two dudes hanging out.

  “Believe it or not, I’ve got skills on the court too. We can shoot a few hoops while we talk if you’d like.”

  Reuben grinned. God had answered his prayer. “Deal, Pastor. Let me know when we can start. I’m ready to get past this, so I can be there for my family like they need me to be.”

  Both men stood, and Pastor Taylor walked around the desk to shake his hand.

  “God’s getting ready to birth something in you, Reuben. You just get ready.”

  29

  Indigo’s School of Visual Arts classmate had done some research and it wasn’t pretty.

  “I checked around and here’s what I was told,” said Victoria Nape, a fashion photographer living in Greenwich Village with her TV-producer husband. “Accolade Models and Sensational Talent are two of the agencies that seem reputable but lure girls into posing nude and signing contracts that strip them of their rights to the images or to very much money. I hope your little sis hasn’t landed in either of those.

  “I remember her cute little self. I’m not surprised that she’s still modeling—she had the build for it and the face. I’ll keep my eyes and ears open and let you know if I see or hear anything, okay?”

  Indigo ended the call feeling more discouraged than ever, but she tried to mask her concern for Mama’s benefit.

  “What did she say?”

  Mama sat across the table from her, sipping her second cup of morning coffee and fidgeting. Now that they’d had some word from Yasmin, even secondhand, she was more anxious than ever to get the girl home.

  Indigo kept running through her mind Sasha’s warning that Yasmin had no intentions of coming home, especially when she was landing modeling gigs. She didn’t share that information with Mama, though; neither she nor Daddy could handle that right now.

  Daddy strolled in with the newspaper and laid it in front of Mama. “Guess who made the front page today?”

  Mama’s eyes grew wide. “I knew I should have declined the honor. How am I going to accept this award and my child has run away? Makes no sense.”

  Indigo put her hand over top Mama’s. “You’ve got to stop thinking that way, Mama. Yasmin’s decision to leave home was about her, for her. You can’t keep placing the burden of her choices on your shoulders. You’ve spent the past decade telling kids and teens throughout Jubilant how you overcame alcohol abuse and how the effects of your drinking impacted each of us.

  “It still does. We all know how Reuben handled it, and Yasmin too—she became bulimic. I guess I played the martyr. My anger at Reuben was my crutch. It has taken all these years, and the honest assessment of a few good friends like Max and Shelby, to realize that by holding on to my teenage resentment, a big part of me was stuck in adolescence. In order f
or me to grow up and get ready to be a good wife, I’ve had to shed some of that stuff.”

  Mama smiled and shook her head. “Speaking of you being a wife, how is the planning process going? I’ve been totally out of the loop with your wedding details, haven’t I? I’m sorry. I’ve just been so busy helping Reuben, Peyton, and Charles David get settled. I know you—you’ve got everything under control, right?”

  Indigo debated whether to tell Mama that she had firsthand knowledge of how well Peyton and Reuben had their lives under control. They were all settled into Jubilant and into their neighborhood and didn’t need Mama’s oversight. She, on the other hand, needed as much help as she could get to prepare for her wedding day and beyond. Based on Mama’s flippant comment, however, it didn’t seem as if she were offering.

  Normally this would have fueled Indigo’s anger. Today, Mama’s nonchalance simply saddened her.

  30

  Indigo had a list of wedding expenses in front of her when Shelby called. She sat at the small table in her kitchen with a calculator and notepad.

  If little else got done this morning, she was going to make a final decision about November 15. Either she was walking down the aisle at St. Peter’s Baptist Church or she and Max were boarding a plane to Jamaica with their best friends in tow to witness their vows.

  The latter option was sounding more appealing, especially as they debated whether to use the money they would have spent on the wedding to make a larger down payment on the house they wanted. So far, the house they’d fallen in love with was still available, but that could change at any time, if a buyer walked in and made an offer.

  “Why do you sound so preoccupied this early on a Saturday morning?” Shelby asked. “Surely you can’t be processing photos.”

  Indigo paused and peered at her list. Wedding gown—$2,800 on sale. Paid in full. Bridesmaid dresses—$200 deposit to have the dresses shipped to her for tailoring. Balance of $900 due from bridesmaids upon dresses’ arrival. Flowers—$1,000 for floral arrangements for bride and bridesmaids, fresh flowers for the sanctuary and at the reception hall. $250 deposit paid. Cake—$500. Ordered. To be paid for on wedding day. Photographer—$500 paid with sitting for wedding portrait. $1,000 due after wedding day photo shoot. Reception hall & catering—$500 nonrefundable deposit paid. $3,500 due on November 1.