A faint smile appeared on Tristan’s lips. He seemed to enjoy Zenovia sparring with Justin.
Justin smiled as well. “You’re right, Zee. I apologize.”
Zenovia could tell that he was teasing her, and spontaneous butterflies appeared in her stomach. Even when Justin was irritating her, he was still fine as all get out.
“Let’s go, Zee,” Tristan said.
Zenovia wondered if Tristan intuitively knew what she felt when she dealt with Justin. He always got extra protective of her around his brother. It was like Tristan was a caveman guarding the woman he’d dragged home to his bearskin, except that he hadn’t actually claimed her or dragged her anywhere.
As they drove down the street, something occurred to Zenovia. “Tristan, why did you say I had a feeling we should go and check on Kyle?”
“You did, right? Have a feeling or something?” Tristan explained.
Well, of course, the answer was yes, but how could Tristan have known? And if he could tell, did that mean Mia and Alyssa could tell, too? Did they think she was some kind of Twilight Zone weirdo?
Zenovia asked carefully, “Why do you think that?”
“I guess it was the look on your face when you said it. Like you were worried or something. I don’t know.”
Zenovia exhaled slowly. So it was nothing too out of the ordinary. Like her eyes didn’t roll up into the back of her head during the vision or anything like that. It was just that she’d seemed worried.
They pulled up to Kyle’s house in a matter of minutes. He lived only a few streets away from the Batistes but it seemed like it was two different worlds. While the Batistes lived on a street with pretty little bungalows and colonials with manicured lawns, Kyle’s street was quite the opposite. On both sides of the street were apartment buildings. Some were nice, but many were in varied states of disrepair. The one Kyle lived in looked no better than the projects she and Audrey had moved from.
Tristan knocked on the downstairs apartment door. No one responded immediately, so Tristan knocked again.
“I know someone’s at home, because Kyle’s mom’s car is here,” Tristan said as he pointed out the rusted brown Chevy Cavalier.
After a third knock, someone was coming down the stairs. Zenovia could hear the heavy footsteps even if she couldn’t see who it was behind the heavy oak door.
Kyle’s mother opened the door. “Hello, Tristan. Hello, Zenovia. Are y’all here to see Kyle?”
Tristan replied, “Yes, ma’am. He was supposed to come over tonight, but he called and said he couldn’t make it. May we come in?”
There was a pregnant pause before she responded. “I guess so. Come on in.”
Tristan must’ve heard the hesitation in her voice too, because he glanced at Zenovia with one of his eyebrows lifted in question form. Zenovia wondered what they were walking themselves into.
They stepped into the apartment and Kyle’s mother called out, “Kyle! Tristan is here!”
Zenovia guessed that it wasn’t important to Kyle’s mother to announce her presence. Since it was such a little thing, Zenovia decided to let it go. She just wanted to see if Kyle was all right.
Kyle walked out of a room in the rear of the apartment. As soon as Zenovia saw him, she knew that everything was not all right. His eyes were puffy and his nose was red, obviously from crying. He was also wearing the same shirt from the vision.
“What’s up, dude!” Tristan exclaimed in a too-happy tone. He seemed oblivious to Kyle’s distraught state.
“Hey, Tristan. Hey, Zee,” Kyle replied.
Kyle walked slowly into the living room where Tristan and Zenovia stood. He seemed to wince with pain on each step and he was still clutching the envelope that Zenovia had also seen in her vision.
“What’s that in your hand, Kyle? A college acceptance letter?” Zenovia asked.
Even though she sincerely wanted to know what was contained in the envelope, Zenovia’s question was a joke. Probably ill-timed, but a joke nonetheless. Of course she knew that he wasn’t applying to any colleges. He and Tristan had made it abundantly clear that they were dedicating their lives to the Brethren.
“No,” Kyle replied. “It’s just a letter from the Brethren headquarters, telling me what I already knew.”
Tristan’s eyes dropped to the floor. He must’ve guessed, like Zenovia had, that the Brethren headquarters had rejected Kyle’s application for volunteer service.
Zenovia waited for Tristan to say something comforting, but when he remained silent she said, “You can serve God some other way, Kyle. You don’t have to go to the Brethren headquarters to do that.”
“That’s what I keep telling him,” Kyle’s mother interjected. “But he just keeps sitting in there on the floor, slicing up his arms….”
An expression of horror and embarrassment covered Kyle’s face. He dropped the letter to the floor, turned and ran out of the room.
Tristan looked helplessly at Zenovia, who, of course, was not at all shocked by the revelation. Zenovia sighed and found herself whispering a silent prayer for Kyle. A sidelong glance at Tristan’s bowed head told Zenovia he was doing the same.
“Y’all might as well go,” Kyle’s mother said. “He won’t be coming over to your house tonight.”
“I wouldn’t either,” Zenovia replied. “Do you think that embarrassing him will help him with his problem? You should try to get him some help.”
Kyle’s mother answered, “What do you know? God will heal him if we pray hard enough. It’s nothing but demonic forces.”
Zenovia took a slow, slow breath in, trying to control her anger. Kyle’s mental health was not her burden, but after living with a nonmedicated Audrey for years, she knew the difference a little Thorazine or Prozac could make.
Tristan tried to smooth things over by saying, “That’s what she meant. Maybe we can take Kyle to the Council of Elders for help. They’ll know what to do, and if there’s a demon, maybe they can help cast it out.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Zenovia retorted. She didn’t need anyone explaining her words for her, especially not Tristan.
Zenovia strode furiously toward the door. As she ran down the apartment stairs, she heard Tristan saying goodbye to Kyle’s mother. Zenovia didn’t think that she could stay in that apartment for a moment longer without saying something really hurtful to that woman.
She and Tristan drove in silence. Zenovia blew frost on the window and scribbled it away. Tristan wore a tight frown on his face, as if he was searching his mind for something to say.
Zenovia finally broke the silence. “I’m right, you know. Kyle probably needs a good antidepressant.”
“He needs a true healing that won’t come from pills.”
Zenovia rolled her eyes at what she was starting to recognize as Brethren rhetoric. Why didn’t anyone believe that God gave the doctors the knowledge to prescribe medication? Why couldn’t pills be a part of their healing?
“Tell me something, Tristan,” Zenovia said in a calmer tone, “if you fell and broke your arm, would you just go home and wait for a divine healing?”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“Answer the question, Tristan. Would you go home and wait for your healing?”
“No,” Tristan replied quietly.
“What would you do?” Zenovia pressed.
He sighed. “I would go to the emergency room and let them treat me.”
“Really? Couldn’t it have been demonic forces that made you fall? Why not call on the Council of Elders?”
Tristan seemed irritated by Zenovia’s sarcastic logic. “Zee, when people have mental issues, it’s the demons. Even Christ, when he walked the earth, healed men and women who were demon-possessed.”
“He healed lepers and blind folk too, but I don’t see the Brethren shooting down antibiotics and cataract surgery,” Zenovia argued. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Zenovia, you shouldn’t question the accurate knowledge that’s given to
us by the Council of Elders. Your questions just show your immaturity as a Christian. With more study, you’ll learn to accept the will of God.”
Zenovia closed her eyes and let her head fall against the headrest. Tristan was too smart for this. He was too smart to not examine an idea for himself. He was too intelligent to allow his logic to give way to utter foolishness.
As Tristan drove he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and hummed a Brethren worship song.
Chapter Thirteen
It was a cold and bleak Sunday morning when Zenovia’s carefully constructed card house started to crumble.
She awoke with a start to the overpowering smell of bleach. It was so strong that it burned her nostrils as she inhaled. She sat up straight in her bed as a sense of dread chilled her insides. Normally she got a similar feeling when she was about to have a vision. But this time the feeling had more to do with reliving the past.
Zenovia pulled on her bathrobe and walked barefoot into the kitchen. The sun had not yet risen but the house was bright, because every light was on. Zenovia rubbed the sleep from both her eyes and peered into the kitchen.
Audrey was on the floor with a bucket and a scrub brush. A white scouring powder was everywhere—on the counters, in the sink, all over the walls. And the stench of bleach was even stronger, bringing tears to Zenovia’s eyes.
“Mom, what are you doing?”
Audrey looked up at Zenovia with a wild look in her eyes. “It stinks in here. Can’t you smell it?”
Zenovia replied, “All I can smell is bleach.”
“I think someone was in here while we were sleeping. Somebody’s been here, ’Cause I can smell ’em. They smell like they should be in the zoo.”
Zenovia turned away from her mother and pulled her lips in tightly to keep the sobs from escaping. Her mother’s delusions had started again and it was as bad as, if not worse than, ever.
“What is all this racket?” Phillip asked as he stumbled from his and Audrey’s bedroom.
“You can’t smell it either?” Audrey asked. “What’s wrong with y’all? Y’all noses must be messed up if you can’t smell that!”
Phillip looked to Zenovia, his eyes begging for an explanation. She chuckled as tears ran down her cheeks. “Why are you looking at me, Phillip? You’re the boss, right?”
“What should I do?” he asked.
The fear in his voice touched Zenovia. She understood how he felt.
Audrey was perfectly fine the night before. They had played a game of Scrabble in which Zenovia beat them both brutally. Audrey was laughing, joking, and baking cookies.
But this was how it always happened. Without her medication, it was only a matter of time before Audrey slipped into her delusional world.
Zenovia decided to answer Phillip’s question. “You should give her the medication.”
“No!” said Audrey. “I ain’t taking them damn pills. They stop my nose up and I can’t smell what they’re putting in the food.”
Surprisingly, Phillip concurred with Audrey. “I’m not giving her those pills, Zenovia. She doesn’t want them, and I think she could get well without them.”
“It’s going to get worse, and then you’ll wish you had listened to me.”
Audrey using the word “damn” was only a precursor to the vile things that would come from her mouth if she was allowed to go much longer without her medication. Her disease took every semblance of decorum and transformed her into something ugly.
Audrey looked up from the floor at Zenovia and said, “Why don’t you just shut up and help me clean up in here?”
Zenovia trudged into the kitchen and got down on her knees. She took a scrub brush and started to move the scouring powder and water paste around. Tears dropped to the floor and mixed with the cleaning products.
“Not like that!” Audrey fussed. “Do it in circles. That way you get all of the smell.”
“Mom, that doesn’t make any sense.”
Zenovia thought she saw a moment of clarity flash across Audrey’s face. Then Audrey said, “How you gone tell me what makes sense? You can’t even smell nothing.”
Zenovia drew in a long and labored breath and released it slowly. Then she took the scrub brush and made little circles on the floor.
Audrey’s episode had lasted two days. She spent the entire time cleaning the house with bleach and scouring powder. In every room, and on every surface, bleach was used to rid the house of Audrey’s phantom odor. Even things that should’ve never been bleached, like couches and rugs and clothing.
When the house was bleached to Audrey’s satisfaction, the episode subsided.
After the worst of it seemed to be over, Phillip took Audrey and Zenovia to a meeting at the Devotion Center as if chaos had not visited their home for two days straight. Zenovia was used to this reaction. She had done it for twelve years of her life, until Audrey had broken down and started taking medication.
As it stood, living with a nonmedicated Audrey was not Zenovia’s choice. And since she had no say in Phillip’s house, she had started a countdown to when she would leave for college.
Zenovia sat through the meeting feeling disconnected from what she heard. She remembered going to church before she and Audrey joined the Brethren and hearing words that would help her make it through the drama of living with her mother. She would listen to the minister preach about the grace of God, and say, “His grace is sufficient for thee.” And then in that same message hear how, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”
She remembered learning the power of prayer, and how if two or three agreed on a matter and prayed on it, how God would be in their midst. But the Brethren talked about none of these things. The evening message was about how blessed the Brethren were to know the “truth” and that it was their mission to share their truth with the world.
But Zenovia wanted to know what to do about her mother.
Zenovia watched Audrey’s expression go dark as she sat in her seat. Someone’s child was sitting behind her and the toddler kept kicking the back of her chair. Phillip was completely oblivious to the change in Audrey; he held her hand tightly and had his eyes on the podium.
“Somebody better get this brat,” Audrey mumbled under her breath.
Zenovia tried to motion to the child’s mother, but she was preoccupied with a smaller baby who fussed in its carrier. Then the toddler took a small toy, like something out of a Happy Meal, and launched it into the air. Zenovia gasped as the hard toy landed on Audrey’s neck.
Audrey jumped up from her seat, grabbed her oversize purse, and marched angrily to the bathroom.
Phillip asked Zenovia, “What’s the matter?”
Zenovia frowned and faced forward, ignoring Phillip’s question. The answer was too complex to whisper in a Brethren meeting. In Zenovia’s mind, everything was the matter. She just hoped she could hold it all together until she graduated from high school and went away to college. Then she would begin her own life, and leave the burden of caring for her mother to Phillip.
Chapter Fourteen
You’re not concentrating,” Emil said sternly as Zenovia fell flat on her behind for the umpteenth time.
He was trying to teach her the line step that all the really good skaters knew. It was a crossover and then a swivel of the hips. The male and female skaters both did the move; the guys adding stomps, kicks, and jumps and the girls adding squeals and finger snaps.
Emil was being truthful: Zenovia was not concentrating. She had too many things on her mind. She was, of course, concerned about Audrey’s deteriorating mind. But she also worried about her friendship with Tristan, which seemed to be unraveling as quickly as Audrey’s mental state.
“I can’t do it, Emil. I’m not ready yet,” Zenovia whined.
Emil said, “You’ve got about an hour left in this practice skate, and then the adult session starts. All of your friends are going to be here. Don’t you want them to see you do this step?”
Zenovia
looked up at Emil and felt a smile tickle her lips. Even though he was frowning, Emil was devastatingly gorgeous. It was taking every bit of self-control she could muster to not pull him into her arms and kiss him.
“I don’t think I’m going to get this tonight, Emil. I need more practice.”
Zenovia pleaded with him with her eyes, and his face softened. He held out his hand to help her up.
“Okay, you don’t have to do the step tonight. Do you want to practice couple skating?”
“No, Emil. I’m tired. Plus I’ll probably just make you fall.”
He skated behind her and took her left hand in his and placed his other hand on her right hip.
Emil said, “Just relax, and let me do all of the work.”
Zenovia allowed Emil to guide her onto the skate floor. “Candlelight and You” by Chante Moore was blaring from the speakers, and the floor was crowded with other couples. But to Zenovia, it felt like she and Emil were the only ones there. Emil’s warm breath on her neck and his strong protective grip on her hand made her feel something that she’d never felt before.
Safe.
Zenovia had no idea why Emil made her feel protected. If anything, after having that vision about him, she probably should have felt afraid. But there was nothing sexual or immoral about this feeling. Even though she’d only known him a couple of weeks she felt closer to him than she’d ever felt to any other male. This feeling was quickly erasing any and all puppy love feelings that she felt for Tristan.
The song ended and Emil led Zenovia over to the concession area. Zenovia happily sat down at one of the tables, relieved that she could finally rest her feet.
“What do you want to eat, baby girl?” Emil asked.
Zenovia twisted her lips to one side. “I don’t know. What is there?”
“Pizza, fries, nachos. You know. The typical stuff.”
“Fries, then, I guess,” Zenovia replied.
“Coming right up.”
Emil went to stand in line for their food. Zenovia watched as girls looked at him with longing in their eyes. They did not seem to care that he had a girlfriend sitting nearby.
In the Midst of It All Page 9
