The Devil Made Me Do It

by Colette R. Harrell

  In restrained motion, Charles balled his fist and tapped it against his thigh. “Argh! I was scared. Man, I could’ve lost that fight,” Charles winced. “The bullet could’ve hit Phyllis or me. Instead, I played conquering hero.”

  Briggs stood and clasped Charles’s shoulders. Both men felt the other’s strength. Briggs understood his feelings. “When I prayed for you in the spirit, I felt that you weren’t at peace. As men, we try so hard to carry it all.”

  Charles wiped moisture from his face and used the remote to shut the stereo off. “You’re right. I needed to admit that something could have gone wrong. I feel lighter just saying the truth of it. Thanks for listening. Oh yea, and . . . thanks for not trying to fill me with tired clichés.”

  Laughter slipped from Briggs’s pressed lips. “So it’s too late for me to tell you that a ‘hero ain’t nothing but a sandwich’?”

  Charles joined in his mirth, and the residue of pent-up tension floated away. He then went to the bar refrigerator and retrieved and tossed Briggs a bottle of water. “So much for my issues. Spill the beans on Monica.”

  “I really don’t know what to say. We had the first authentic conversation in our marriage the other night. The truth was powerful. Now we have to learn to heal from it.” Briggs started chuckling. “I’m going to owe the Gregorys a grip. Monica has broken almost all Mrs. Gregory’s knickknacks.”

  Charles smiled but refused to stray from the subject. “Does your struggle have anything to do with Esther?”

  “No. At one time Esther was the focus of some of my not-so-right day-and-night fantasies. Shoot—I’m a man, trying to be worthy of wearing the mantle of a saint. We are now just friends in passing; even close friendship would be dangerous. The temptation to do wrong would be too strong.”

  Charles took a swig of his water. “I don’t want to pour salt on open wounds, but I think Lawton will really be good for her.”

  Briggs waved his comment away. “Naw, man. So do I. Maybe in another life . . .”

  Charles rolled his cold water bottle in his hands. “We only got this one, bro. And this may not make me very popular in your eyes, but has whatever Monica been doing while away from you any different or worse than where your heart has been these last months?”

  “I want to storm out of here, but the Holy Spirit in me says I have to at least consider what you’re saying.” Briggs weighed Charles’s words before he spoke. “It seems we both haven’t been happy for a long time.”

  Charles continued. “I’m not as eloquent with my speech or as learned in my word as you, but I don’t remember being unhappy as a perquisite for getting out of a marriage. Oh, I know that many do, but I feel that our God calls us as Christians to a higher calling. You have to at least try to make it work God’s way.”

  “Don’t hurt a brother too bad, Elder Davis. I left my wallet out in the car, but if you hold on, I’ll be right back with your offering,” Briggs halfheartedly joked. He felt sideswiped by Charles’s comments, especially when he had come to enlighten, not be enlightened.

  Charles rubbed his cheek thinking. “Hey, must be the Holy Spirit ’cause even I don’t know where that came from. I just know that you’re a man who happens to love and follow God in spite of all your human foibles and scars. Don’t let your hurt feelings make a decision that all of you will have to live with. I would hate for you to do anything that would cause you to falter in your walk.”

  Briggs’s sigh filled the room. “Yeah, well, I have a lot of battles to fight this week; I’ll just add this one to them.”

  Charles hesitated, then shrugged his shoulder. “Those rumors are no joke. Every time my phone rings, the lie gets bigger and uglier. And I have to tell somebody to quit calling my house with trash and that none of that nonsense is true.”

  “I hear you. I was trying to ignore them, but when I went to the gas station yesterday, some young man tried to give me play as a mack daddy preacher. Now you know I’m not trying to be down like that.”

  Charles shook his head as he tried to hold back his laughter. “A mack daddy? Where do these young men get their mentalities from? ‘Thugs ’R’ Us?’ I want to take every one of them home, give them some pants that fit, take the gold out of their mouths when their mamas, daddies, or the state paid good money for straight white teeth, and spare not the rod.”

  Briggs spoke with fervor. “We have to love them into submission. The hip-hop generation has stolen from us the best and the brightest, and it wasn’t anything but a plan of the enemy. He took their low self-esteem and put them in low-sagging pants. Now their sagging spirits match their oppressive future. The enemy has played to the beat of their soul, and now they’re just beat down.”

  “Amen, brother! Now I need to give you the offering. I feel you. I heard Cornel West say that they were so busy being peacocks who look good but who can’t fly that they forgot they were born to be eagles that soar. Maybe you can help do something about that. Start something right here.”

  “Now I can see how that would be a plan; thanks for volunteering to help me.”

  “I didn’t volunteer . . .”

  “Oh yes, you did.” Briggs waved his hand in the air. “Sing it with me, ‘I believe that children are our future . . .’”

  “Oh, you real funny, but this appears to be another conversation, for another time. Now, what about the fight you have against these rumors? Whatever you have planned, I’m in. For a nonviolent man, I’m beginning to become good at this fight thing.”

  “Well, here’s what I was thinking . . .”

  Esther’s visit with Lawton was so encouraging that she decided to pack her bags and return home. If he could face the road ahead of him, she could handle returning to her home. She couldn’t believe they were investigating Lawton’s car chase and crash. However, God was not slack about His promises, and she had faith that all would be well. Thursday, she had left Lawton prone and in a state of semiconsciousness. Today he was functioning beyond expectations. God was good.

  She wasn’t ready to sleep in her old bedroom, so Esther was settling into her guest room for the night when her phone rang.

  “Hey, sis. You good?” Phyllis asked.

  “Yes, I went to the hospital earlier, and Lawton’s progress is so reassuring. He was up talking and joking.” Esther became teary. “Life can change in an instant. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, Phyllis.”

  “We all have. That’s why every day He provides us with brand-new mercies. We just can’t keep making the same mistakes over and over. We need to seek Him and live according to His Word. But we get lost, and lonely, and then something happens to snap us back on the right road before we begin to live a lifestyle of rebellion. Charles and I had that kind of ‘snapback moment’ with the Roger incident.”

  “I’m so thankful you guys are okay. I’m glad Dad and Mom told me what really happened. I can handle more than you know, Phyllis,” Esther said, needing Phyllis to see her as an adult.

  Phyllis blustered. “I know what you can handle, Esther.”

  Esther pushed back. “No, you knew what the child could handle. You have to learn me as an adult, Phyllis. You still see me running around, falling, and coming to you with the boo-boo on my knee.”

  Phyllis argued. “And I’m still right here. You’re a church girl, Esther, what is there to know? Those stupid rumormongers should know you as well as I do.”

  Esther pushed harder to get Phyllis to hear her. “Phyllis, would it surprise you to know that there was smoke near that fire?”

  “What are you saying, Esther? You and Briggs had a thing?” Phyllis said in a cold, hard voice.

  Esther cried at her sister’s coldness. “Not a real thing . . . but I have needs and wants, and my salvation doesn’t always keep them at bay. You snuggle with Charles and forget that a lot of us are sleeping alone. I’m not going into everything with you, but Briggs brought a hunger out I didn’t know was lurking.”

  Phyllis’s soft response was calmer. “Look, I’m s
orry, and I won’t judge you. I have some skeletons in my own closet. Let’s promise each other that we’ll establish a real level of intimacy and not just support for each other. And, I promise, little sister, I’ll work on knowing the adult you.”

  Esther grinned. “I’d like that. Let’s cross our hearts on it.”

  Laughter filled the phone. “Your heart’s on the other side of your chest, nutcase.”

  Esther looked in the mirror, and sure enough, her hand was on the wrong side of her chest. “How do you know I crossed the wrong side, Phyllis?”

  “Because you’ve been doing it since you were a toddler. Never could get it right.”

  Chagrined, Esther chuckled. “Well, maybe some things from my childhood haven’t changed. Good night, Phyllis.”

  “Night.”

  Esther was assaulted with her childhood memories. She went to her closet, digging through boxes, and pulled out her picture album. On the front of the album, a seven-year-old Esther sat in a princess dress, wearing a tiara and holding a jeweled scepter. Her dad painted an old chair gold and put cardboard turrets on the back of it. She sat confident on her throne.

  Inside the album on the first page was an eight-by-ten photo of three knobby kneed youngsters with their arms around each other smiling into the camera. Their hair was all over their heads, wind blown from bike rides and grass rolling. Their clothes rumpled and in disarray with two jump ropes lying on the ground before them.

  Remembering treasured times, she smiled and touched first Sheri’s, and then Deborah’s face reverently. Clutching the album, she lay down and stretched out over her pillow. She stared at the young faces on the picture, and for the first time, noted a shadow in the background of the photograph. Esther peeled back the plastic, took out the picture, and held it in front of the light. She rubbed her eyes, shook her head, and placed the picture gently back in the album.

  Tomorrow, I’ll call about new reading glasses. I swear that looked like a serpent against the background of the photo. Lord, I’m really sleepy.

  Chapter Forty-five

  It was Saturday, and Monica and Briggs were on their way to Mother Reed’s. After Tuesday’s emotional breakdown, they continued talking throughout the week. A house does not make a home, and Briggs would not share his bed. Monica hoped that this evening would turn all that around. She missed the lure of a rock-hard body, and she needed to keep thoughts of Randall at bay.

  She had chosen a demure outfit and had promised herself to only speak when spoken to. She meant to put her best foot forward. In the past, her mouth had gotten her in trouble with some of the older women at church. She wouldn’t make that mistake today.

  Briggs continued to fill her in as he drove. “Mother Reed is not only the mother of the church, but she has become a surrogate mother to me. You know how busy my parents are, and in the short time I have been here, Mother Reed has become very dear to me.”

  “I understand, Briggs, and I promise to get along with her. I’m really looking forward to this.” Monica looked at Briggs for his approval.

  In an accusing tone, Briggs said, “You’ve never wanted to meet or spend time with the church elders before.”

  Monica turned. “But I’m different now. And when you finally say you forgive me, it will be worth it to you. You’ll see.”

  Briggs pulled up in front of Mother Reed’s large brick home. “This is a very nice house, Briggs,” Monica said, surprised.

  “Yes, Mother Reed’s husband provided for her well, and she believes in living a modest lifestyle.” Briggs parked.

  Mother Reed watched Briggs park from her living-room window. She came out on the porch, hands on her hips. “Well, bring the child in out of the evening air. She’s such a pretty little thing,” Mother Reed exclaimed as she hugged Monica and drew back from the coldness of her spirit.

  “Come in, come in,” she hugged Briggs and led them into the living room.

  Briggs was puzzled. “I haven’t sat in this room since I first met you. It would be fine for us to sit in your kitchen.”

  Mother Reed continued into the room. “Chile, Monica looks so pretty I would hate for her to get her clothes all full of kitchen smells or spills. We’ll just rest c’here a might before we head to the dining-room table.”

  Briggs’s puzzlement grew. “The dining-room table? Mother, you shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble. You don’t even use your dining room. We’d be fine in the kitchen. Right, Monica?”

  “Absolutely, please don’t go to any bother,” Monica said, eager to please.

  Mother Reed smiled, but failed to change their eating arrangements. “I’ll be right back. Let me check on something in the kitchen.” She went into the kitchen and shuffled around the stove mumbling all the way, “All right, then, Lord. I don’ seen enough. My thoughts are not Your thoughts, Your ways are not my ways. But you must really gon’ pull somethin’ off on this c’here situation. That child’s heart is cold as ice. She ain’t sitting in my kitchen, tainting the air with her unclean thoughts. Um, um, um.”

  She returned to the living-room. “Well, children, let’s eat before it gets cold,” she announced as she took food into the dining-room. When she reentered the kitchen, she passed the table with place settings for three. She grabbed more food, turned, and bumped into Briggs, who entered behind her to help with the heavier serving bowls. He eyed the place settings and went back into the dining-room, where a duplicate dining-room table was set.

  Mother Reed felt bad. Briggs had saw her duplicity, but it couldn’t be helped. When she was a young girl, her grandmother always fed who she considered family in the kitchen, and she would feed those who were thought of as company in the dining-room. She always said that her kitchen was too intimate, and the heart of her home, and not everybody could sit in it. And family wasn’t defined by blood; she had a roguish cousin who was never allowed to sit at their grandma’s kitchen table.

  She could tell by Briggs’s response to the seating arrangements and his sluggish movements he understood what her actions meant. Monica was company.

  So far, it had been a quiet Saturday night for Esther. Her head was bent over a book in the cold, sterile room. When she arrived at the hospital, Lawton lay sleeping and per his protective mother, she shouldn’t disturb him.

  “Good book?” a raspy voice asked.

  Esther looked over at the man who, with every glance, seemed to telegraph her tomorrows. “Not as good as talking to you. I’ve been passing the time waiting for this real good-looking brother to wake up.”

  “If I could paint, right now, I would sit up in this bed, and use the colors of the rainbow to describe my feelings for you.” Lawton stared at Esther, and then burst out laughing. “Dang, girl, you got me waxing poetic and all that. Don’t you go telling people I’m whipped, especially not my mama.”

  “Oh, baby, I’m especially gon’ tell your mama,” she laughed with him.

  “See, you’re not playing fair. You’ve met my mama. That’s a formidable woman. When Dad died, she didn’t miss a beat. Maybe that’s why I love an independent woman; I’m looking for my mama.”

  “Honey, I do not want to be your mother.”

  Lawton held his hand to his head. “Feel my temperature. I think I just caught a sudden fever.”

  Esther placed her hand on his forehead. He caught her hand and laid it across his chest.

  The room was quiet as they enjoyed each other’s company. They could hear activity in the hallway as an orderly dropped what sounded like numerous metal trays. This could have disturbed the mood, but it was too thick with the knowledge they both had stumbled on to something solid and good.

  Lawton looked at Esther and said under his breath. “I wonder if you understand that you’re in my future.” He then sighed. “I’m wanting out of here.”

  Esther understood his mood, because suddenly, she wanted him out of there too. “What does the doctor say?”

  Lawton grunted. “Who? The one who fears my mother? She’s threate
ned to sue everyone in here if I am not 100 percent perfect when I leave here.”

  Esther put down the book in her hands and crossed her legs. She swung her hair back from her face and leaned into Lawton. “Then she better call the lawyer. You weren’t 100 percent perfect when you came in,” Esther said, laughing.

  “Now a man should not be abused when he’s lying helpless in a hospital bed. Woman, do you have no shame?” Lawton pretended to be insulted.

  “No shame at all. I’m becoming quite transparent, and I believe that’s a good thing. But if I were the doctor, I would tread light around your mama too. The woman does not play.” Esther shivered.

  Lawton noticed her actions. “Is she being difficult? You’ve been looking a little strained these last few days. Talk to me, sweetheart.”

  “It isn’t your mother. There’s been a little drama lately,” Esther said in a hesitant voice.

  “What kind of drama?” Lawton used the bed’s remote to tilt the bed forward.

  Esther decided to share all. “The day of your accident, unbeknownst to me, my ex-husband, Roger, broke into my house. He lay in wait for me, but I was here. As a favor, Phyllis and Charles went to my house to pack a small bag for me.” Esther pointed her finger at Lawton. “I had no intentions of leaving you until you were out of danger.”

  His jaw rigid, Lawton nodded for her to continue. “Roger shot at them. It’s my understanding that if not for a bottle of Vernors Ginger Ale, my sister would be dead. Charles overpowered Roger in a fistfight, and now Roger is in jail.”

  Lawton’s gaze was brooding. She waited for the outburst; she knew she should have told him more about her past with Roger.

  “Come here.” Lawton held out his arms, and Esther cautiously joined him on the bed. She made every effort not to disturb any tubing and wires and to keep most of her weight on her leg that was on the floor. It was awkward but effective.

  Lawton fingered her hair and kissed her brow. Emotional, he groaned, “It’s times like these that I am so sure of my feelings for you. When you were speaking, all I wanted was to hold and protect you from Roger and all the other predators of the world.”