Nina played with her engagement ring. “I don’t know if I want to tell you now. You kept me waiting, so I think I might call you back tomorrow to let you know that I just got engaged.”
Elizabeth screamed. “Oh, my God. How did he ask you?”
“He actually asked me a while ago. I just hadn’t said anything because I didn’t want to upset Donavan.”
“Why would Donavan be upset?” Elizabeth sounded confused. “He’s always wanted you and Isaac to get back together. I would think he would be ecstatic.”
Nina shook her head as if Elizabeth could see her from across the telephone line. “Not you too. Elizabeth, I’ve been dating Charles for several months now. You know that.”
“Oh,” she said flatly. “I didn’t think it was serious.”
Nina put her hand on her hip. “But you thought I had something serious going on with Isaac?”
“No, nothing like that. I just know that Isaac has been planning to marry you since the day he left prison. I just thought you finally gave in.”
“That will never happen,” Nina assured her friend.
“All right, excuse me for being wrong. But tell me, Nina, when did you suddenly fall in love with Charles Douglas?”
Nina slouched in her seat and grinned goofy-like as she thought about Charles. “I don’t know. I think I’m attracted to how responsible he is. He’s loyal and he’s a nice man, Elizabeth. Truth be told, I think he will be good for Donavan also. You know, give him some stability.”
They talked a little longer about wedding plans, Elizabeth’s family, and Nina’s love-hate relationship with Isaac Walker. When they finally hung up, Nina turned off her computer and went for a walk.
Donavan watched as his mother walked down Oxford. He sat perched on an abandoned car. The school bus had left an hour ago. She didn’t even notice that he didn’t get on it. Why didn’t she just leave him alone? Just run off with her boyfriend? She didn’t care about him. Didn’t even want to know how his insides were eaten up with guilt over following behind JC and his crew.
He still couldn’t believe that he risked his life for three hundred bucks. That was the amount JC gave him. How much his services had been worth. He might only be eleven—almost twelve, but he knew that three hundred bucks wasn’t going to get him far.
“Hey, kid. Get off of my car.” A fat man with a gun was standing on his porch hollering at Donavan.
Donavan jumped down from the hood of the car and ran. He had no plans the rest of his day; had no idea what he would do until he could go back home. So, he just wandered the streets, trying to get as far away from the route his mother had taken as possible. A few blocks over, he ran into a couple of teenagers standing behind an abandoned house, smoking cigarettes and shooting dice. Donavan didn’t want to shoot dice. His father had told him too many times that his uncle had been murdered over a dice game. So, dice were out of the question for him.
“What up?” Donavan asked with a wave of his hand as he sat down on the back porch and watched them. He figured if he could strike up a conversation, they might let him hang with them for the rest of the day. But the three guys were already talking about something. Donavan heard the name Mickey Jones and his mouth went dry.
“Man, did you hear that Mickey got took for five thou’ the other night?” the tall, scraggly one asked.
The guy with the cigarette took it out of his mouth, blew out smoke and said, “I wish it had been me. I could use five thou’ right about now. My mom’s house is about to be foreclosed on.”
“Naw, man, you don’t want that money.” The third and final guy speaking was shorter than the other two, but he was muscular; built like a fighter. The fighter continued, “Heard Mickey is looking for those so and sos. He’s going to kill them with his bare hands.”
Donavan had nothing to contribute to this conversation. He stepped off the back porch and left. As he walked around the neighborhood, Donavan realized that he was a chump. Three hundred dollars wasn’t worth this kind of stress. He couldn’t even run away with that little bit of money. He might as well go buy himself a Sean John outfit and wait to die.
After all, according to those guys in the back of that house, Mickey Jones was looking for the so and sos that robbed him.
13
Cassandra had decided to join his church rather than Pastor Marks’s. Isaac was happy about that. He found himself smiling when he saw her again, which of course, was at Wednesday night Bible Study. Actually, he saw her on Tuesday also. He told Cassandra that he and Keith were going to be working late. She showed up at his office with smothered pork chops, cabbage, mac & cheese and some peach cobbler. A brother got fed good.
Now she was walking over to him with some of that left over peach cobbler. Service had been good. Bishop preached well, but none of that compared to Cassandra’s peach cobbler.
Keith had told Isaac that he needed to watch out. He thought Cassandra was being too good, too fast. Well, Nina wasn’t trying to be good to him. Nina was jumping the broom with some other dude. Cassandra could be as good to him as she wanted.
“Just let me know if you have to work late again. There’s no sense in you having to worry about dinner. I’ll bring something to you,” Cassandra told Isaac with a smile on her face and a look in her eyes that told Isaac all he needed to know about how she was feeling about him.
Isaac sat in the kitchen in the back of the church wolfing down peach cobbler and thinking how sweet it was to be treated like a king again. He gave Cassandra a smile that showed off his dimples. “As good as you cook, you can hook a brother up, even when I’m not working late.”
Cassandra stood next to Isaac, silent, but pleased.
Bishop Sumler picked that moment to rush into the kitchen. “Isaac, get your bags packed, he said without acknowledging Cassandra.
“What’s up, Bishop?” Isaac swallowed his last bite of cobbler.
“We need to get over to my church in West Virginia. The members are calling me right and left. They say they’ll all leave, if I don’t fire their pastor.”
“Pastor Marks?” Cassandra asked with a puzzled look on her face. “Why would the congregation want to get rid of him?”
Isaac knew Pastor Marks, and had a pretty good idea why the congregation wanted him fired. But he wasn’t going to tell Cassandra all that he knew. Pastor Marks’s reputation was another reason Isaac was glad that Cassandra decided to join his church rather than Marks’s.
Bishop put his arm around Cassandra and looked at Isaac with a smile on his face. “So, I hear that my goddaughter has been feeding you real good.”
Isaac stammered. “T-this is your goddaughter? You didn’t tell us that.”
Patting Cassandra on the shoulder, Bishop said, “Cassandra doesn’t like to make a big deal of the fact that she’s my goddaughter. But, take my word for it, she is something special,” Bishop said to Isaac then turned to Cassandra. “Can you give us a few minutes to talk?”
Like an obedient child, Cassandra said, “Sure, Bishop. I’ll sit at the table over there,” she pointed to the left of them where a group of women sat, “and get to know some of the women at your church.”
When Cassandra was gone, Bishop turned back to Isaac. “This thing with Pastor Marks needs to be solved.”
Some of these preachers reminded Isaac of street hustlers. Isaac knew exactly how to deal with hustlers and he also knew that that was the reason Bishop wanted him to go to West Virginia with him. Isaac truly did want to go with Bishop, but regrettably, he had other obligations. He needed to pick up Donavan this weekend. He needed to talk to his son before he got caught up. “I can’t go. Not this time. I’ve got to pick my son up this weekend.”
Bishop raised his hands. “Now, son, I know you’ve got family obligations, but this is important.”
And Donavan wasn’t?
“I need you on this trip, Isaac. Pastor Marks is not always a reasonable man.”
Understatement though that was, Isaac still had respons
ibilities, and he wasn’t about to leave them to good ol’ Charlie. “Bishop, you know I’d love to help you, but my house is a mess. I’ve been working double-time all week long. And I have got to see Donavan this weekend.”
Bishop Sumler called Cassandra back over. When she stood in front of them he said, “Isaac needs his house straightened up. You wouldn’t mind helping him out, now would you, Sister Davis?”
Cassandra opened her mouth, but Bishop rushed on. “It’s for the good of the ministry. Isaac, run home and pack your bags. Give, Sister Davis your keys. She’ll make sure you come home to a clean house.”
Isaac looked toward Cassandra.
She smiled. “I don’t mind. Go take care of your business.”
“Bishop, there’s still my son to consider.”
Bishop waved a dismissive hand in the air. “We’ll pick him up on our way back. Help me handle this mess, Isaac. You’ll still be able to get Donavan on Saturday.”
He wasn’t going to win this one. Might as well go home and pack.
14
The nine-hour drive to West Virginia wore out Isaac. Needless to say, by Thursday morning, he was cranky. By the time Pastor Ronald Marks strutted his well-paid self into his elegant mahogany laden office, Isaac was in a state of anger.
In his late thirties, Ron was graying prematurely. Probably from all that late night partying he did when his wife and children went to bed. He leaned against his sturdy desk, crossed his legs and smiled at Isaac and Bishop. “So, what brings you boys all the way down here?”
Bishop smiled back at him, crossed his legs, then told him, “You know why we’re here, Ronald. Looks like you’ve exposed yourself to the wrong woman.”
Ronald dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. “I’ve got it under control. One more week, and everything will be back to normal at Faith Temple.”
Under the leadership of Pastor Marks, Faith Temple had grown from a shabby two hundred member church to more than two thousand. His members didn’t earn a lot, but they trusted that God would make a way, so they paid their tithes and offerings faithfully. The church grossed about fifteen million dollars annually, one of the largest in Bishop Sumler’s fellowship; thus, the arrogance they were receiving from Pastor Marks right now. Who would touch the golden child?
Isaac shook his head. Ain’t no hustle like a Holy Ghost hustle.
“What makes you so sure that you can fix this situation?” Bishop asked hopefully.
“I told the little tramp to get rid of it.”
It was the baby Pastor Marks had planted in sixteen-year-old Tiffany Miliner’s stomach. AKA, the little tramp.
Rage. Isaac knew it well. He just didn’t know how to calm it once it was upon him. Red. He wanted to kill this animal. He rubbed his head with his palm while silently telling himself to calm down.
“What’s wrong, Brother Walker?” Marks taunted.
Isaac ignored him and prayed for patience. Isaac wasn’t fully delivered and this man was trying to get him in the flesh.
“Why you judging me, brother? I know you haven’t forgotten about your little slip up with Denise Wilkerson so soon. She could have gotten pregnant, you know,” Marks continued his taunt against Isaac.
“One mistake is not fifty. And if she’d have gotten pregnant, I would have taken care of my responsibility,” Isaac told him as rage danced in his eyes.
Marks gave Isaac a ‘yeah-right’ glance. “You barely take care of the one you’ve got now. Walking over to the window, Marks turned his back on Isaac. First mistake. “Go get me a cup of coffee, and leave the grown folk’s business to me and Bishop.” Second mistake.
The beast in Isaac roared as he stood up and told Marks, “You don’t know anything about my son. And instead of taunting me, I would think you’d be worried about what your behavior is doing to your family.”
“I’m tired of your mouth,” Marks said as he turned away from the window and swung at Isaac. Third mistake.
A gulping wind—whoosh, was knocked out of Marks as he hit the ground face first. His nose splattered blood all over the thick Persian rug. Isaac’s fists hadn’t seen warfare in quite some time. What’s that thing about riding a bike? Well, it’s the same for fighting, evidently. By the time Bishop Sumler pulled Isaac off Marks, Marks had received a good beat down and some wall-to-wall consultation. Not a dry cleaner in the world would be able to get all that blood out of Marks’s linen suit.
“Th—this is outrageous!” Marks sputtered as he tried to get on his feet. The floor couldn’t hold him steady, so he collapsed onto his knees. “I want his license revoked! What kind of preacher beats up on people?”
What kind of preacher sleeps with half his congregation? Isaac wanted to ask him, but he was busy trying to catch his breath. Whew, he was getting too old for this stuff.
“I bring in more money than any other preacher in this fellowship.” Marks stood and pointed at Isaac. “So, if he isn’t out of here, Faith Temple will find another Bishop to fellowship under by tomorrow.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, Marks.” Bishop walked over to Marks and adjusted his shirt and tie. “Like I said, it appears that you’ve exposed yourself to the wrong girl. Her parents are filing charges against you for statutory rape. You’ll probably be in jail by tomorrow.”
Another whoosh of air escaped Marks. He fell backward, all the while, trying to regain his balance. “Y—you can’t let this happen, Bishop. That’s why I joined your fellowship. You were supposed to protect me.”
Bishop looked exhausted as he told him, “I can’t protect you from yourself.”
Isaac was tired of this whole scene. “Look, Marks, just clear your stuff out of this office and go home to your family. See if you can explain yourself to them before the police show up.”
When Marks slithered out of the office, Isaac moved over to the window. Instead of taking in the hustle and bustle of the traffic below, Isaac stared at his hands. His eyes had a far away look. Remembering promises made, but not kept. “Oh, Lord, please forgive me.”
He wasn’t sorry for beating the living daylights out of Marks. He had to admit to himself and God that he’d do it again. But something deep within him was cracking. He wanted to beat MacMillan to death at that construction site, and had been a little disappointed when the man decided to resend that thieving bill. Am I losing it, Father? Am I turning into the man I once was?
“I guess you know you’ll be giving the sermon at Faith Temple this Sunday,” Bishop Sumler informed Isaac.
“What do you want me to do? Tell them how I beat their pastor half to death?”
Bishop walked over to Isaac and put his hand on his shoulder. “You can’t let it get to you. The man is slime. Anybody would have done what you did.”
Isaac wasn’t sure about that. He shook his head and rubbed his chin. “I thought I was entering into something that would help the advancement of the Kingdom of God. But it seems like I left one game for another.”
“Some days it seems like that, but you just have to hope that there’s more good than bad in this thing.” Sumler squeezed Isaac’s shoulder. “Besides, this may be a door that God is opening for you.”
Isaac turned to face his mentor. “What are you talking about?”
“You just work on your sermon. Let me worry about the rest.” He turned and started walking out the door. Just before he left the room, Isaac heard him say, “Yep, this thing may just turn out for our good.”
15
Charles’s mother. What could Nina say other than she was glad the woman lived in Kentucky. Not too far to drive for holiday visits. Not so close that she would come over every week to inspect their house.
Charles, Nina and Donavan were in the dinning room, sitting down for tea with the formidable Mildred Douglas. The room was spectacular. A crystal chandelier hung above the seventy-two-inch walnut colored double pedestal dining table. The china cabinet had porcelain figurines and formal china plates that Nina hadn’t even dreame
d of owning inside of it. The upholstered chairs were so cushiony soft that Nina melted into the seat.
“My son is a man of quality. It’ll take a special woman to capture his heart, Mrs. Douglas told Nina, as if Charles’s love for her was still up for debate.
Nervously, Charles grabbed Nina’s hand and pulled her close. “Mama, a special woman has already captured my heart.”
“You’re forty, aren’t you, dear?” Charles’s mother asked Nina with a lift of her eyebrow.
“Thirty-six,” Nina corrected.
“Don’t you think that’s a little old to start a family? You do know that Junior wants to have children?”
Charles came from a well-to-do family. Three generations of attorneys. But it was Charles II that turned the family into the yuppies they wanted to be. He made his bones on a triple homicide case. His wealthy client, whom everybody but his mama knew was guilty as sin, walked away scott free—well, not exactly free. Charles II charged that slasher three million dollars for his get-out-of-jail-for-everything-you’ve-got card.
Nina understood. She really did. This woman was just trying to preserve her way of life. She had grown accustomed to having everything the way she wanted it. Used to her children excelling. While Charles was a lawyer, his brothers and sisters were doctors, accountants, politicians. His baby sister was the CEO of a baby food company. Charles’s sister couldn’t just have five children, she had to go and invent the mushed up food the kids ate; bottle it and sell it to the tune of two million a year.
“Charles and I have discussed children,” Nina told the woman with the most pleasant tone she could muster.
That got Donavan’s attention. Questioning eyes turned toward his mother. Nina reached over and rubbed his arm reassuringly. Her eyes implored him to understand. He turned away.
By the time they left the Douglas home, Nina was a little bruised. Charles tried to talk her down from the ledge. “My mother is not a bad person, Nina. She’ll warm up to you after we’re married.”
Nina looked at him skeptically.
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