I open the door, but it’s not Oscar, it’s Sister Ophelia. “Sister Ophelia. What a lovely surprise.”
“Gal, don’t lie on the Lord’s day. You ain’t happy to see me.” She rolls her eyes and purses her lips tightly, looking like she sucked a lemon.
“I’m being polite, Sister Ophelia.”
“I value truthfulness over politeness.”
“Obviously.”
“Honey, I need to speak to your mama. In private.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Did I stutter or whisper when I said private?”
This is not good. First of all, Ophelia never comes to our house. And she wants to talk to Mother in private? She must know about Sascha and Kevin. For half a second I debate on whether or not I should get Mother. This is so not the day for any other revelations.
But I don’t have the chance to make the choice myself, because Mother is already walking into the room. Her eyes are puffy from crying all night long, but she is still wearing her “greet the saints” smile. Even though Ophelia asked for privacy, I’m not leaving until Mother asks me to.
Ophelia stands from the couch. “Hello, Diana. You know, you really ought to put some plastic on this sofa if you want it to last.”
“Praise the Lord, Sister Ophelia. Is there something troubling you?”
“Yes, there most certainly is.”
“You couldn’t have called?” asks Mother while raising one eyebrow.
Ophelia responds, “Ain’t I welcome in your house?”
“It’s not that at all. It’s just that it must be important for you to drive all the way over here, on a Sunday morning, no less.”
Ophelia takes a deep breath. “Your daughter has seduced my grandson. Right now they are laid up in a hotel together. Fornicating.”
Mother pauses before replying. She blinks rapidly, as if waiting for Ophelia to recant her story. Ophelia crosses her arms and sits back on the couch.
“Sascha spent the weekend with her friend Gina. I have no reason to believe otherwise,” mother says.
“You might not, but I do. I heard my grandson on the phone making hotel reservations for the two of them.”
“Why didn’t you say something to your grandson then, Ophelia?” Mother asks in an exasperated tone. “If they are together, you’re partially to blame.”
Ophelia stands again, nose to nose with Mother. It’s on and poppin’ now.
Ophelia screeches, “I’m to blame? No, you and Bishop are to blame for not keeping tabs on that hot-tailed heifer. A bishop’s daughter is supposed to be holy.”
“We’re all supposed to be holy. Isn’t that right, Ophelia? Anyway, I don’t believe that Sascha would do something so stupid, holy or otherwise.”
“Humph! You’ve got your beliefs, but what I’ve got is facts! You think that little hot-tailed heifer is better than my grandson? Well, she ain’t. She as sinful as the devil himself!”
Mother smoothes her skirt. “Ophelia, I believe that our conversation is over.”
“Turn a blind eye to it if you want,” continues Ophelia as she stands to leave. “But I know the truth.”
Mother places her couch pillows as they were before Ophelia moved them. “You have a blessed day, Sister Ophelia.”
Ophelia narrows her eyes and fumes with anger. She marches over to our front door and slams it on her way out.
“Mother, are you all right?” I ask.
“Oh, yes.” Mother beams through her puffy eyes. “Everything is right as rain.”
Daddy comes downstairs still wearing his pajamas, even though it’s almost time to leave for church. I follow him into the kitchen and watch him grab bacon and eggs from the refrigerator. Tyler joins us and starts toasting a bagel.
Daddy places eight slices of bacon on the hot pancake griddle and hums a gospel hymn.
I ask, “Daddy, are you going to get ready for church?”
“Not going,” he replies curtly.
“Are you okay, Daddy? Do you want to talk about Savannah?”
“I’m fine. Your mother and I are taking a day off, that’s all.”
Daddy taking a Sunday morning off is the opposite of fine. He never misses a Sunday. Not even when we go on vacation. We always make sure to be home on Sunday. Once Daddy was so sick with a stomach virus that he could hardly stand, and he had to let one of the associate ministers preach. But he was right there in the pulpit, doubled over and giving God the praise.
“Good morning, Tyler,” says Daddy, even though they’ve been standing in the same room for several minutes.
“Hey, Bishop,” says Tyler.
“Where are you off to? A football game?” No doubt Daddy is making reference to Tyler’s jeans and tennis shoes.
“I’m going to church with Kevin this morning.”
Right, like Kevin is actually going to church. He and Sascha are probably still curled up in their Super 8 Motel room.
“Kevin’s not attending Freedom of Life anymore?” Daddy asks incredulously.
Tyler takes his time responding. “Well, he visits Love Outreach sometimes. We’re going there today.”
Daddy nods slowly as he turns the browned bacon. A good number of our members have defected over to Love Outreach and Pastor David Maxwell. Most of the defectors are under twenty-five and borderline backslidden, like Kevin. I wish Tyler would just tell Daddy that he wants to worship there instead of making up excuses every Sunday.
Daddy asks Tyler, “What do you think of Love Outreach?”
Again Tyler pauses before replying, as if he’s choosing his words carefully. “If I hadn’t grown up in church, I would definitely prefer Love Outreach to Freedom of Life.”
“Why is that?”
“It’s almost like when you go into a normal church, there’s an expectation. You’re expected to lift up your hands, clap as the choir sings, and shout hallelujah in the appropriate places. But at Love Outreach, you can just come and listen, and no one looks at you strange.”
I interject, “That’s because most of the people there are strange.”
“Shut up, Emoni,” Tyler retorts.
Daddy places his crispy bacon on a plate lined with a paper towel. “How is that any different than Freedom of Life? We also invite people to come as they are.”
“That’s what we say.” Tyler chuckles. “But there are a lot of folk sitting up in Freedom of Life who don’t really aspire to that philosophy.”
“We have a very loving church,” Daddy counters.
“Yeah, as long as you look and smell nice; as long as your children are well behaved and you have a nice car.”
Daddy shakes his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you remember when Oscar first came to Freedom of Life?”
“Yes, of course I remember. But that was a special circumstance. Oscar was a mess,” Daddy says.
Tyler replies, “But that didn’t stop you from embracing him and welcoming him to Jesus. Bishop, you might be the only one at Freedom of Life who has that kind of love for people.”
Daddy bites into a piece of bacon. I wonder if he’s going to admit that Tyler is right. Because Tyler is … right. Folk at Freedom of Life are as hung up on appearance as people at any other church; as people in general.
Tyler continues, “Over at Love Outreach, you don’t have to look or dress a certain way or drive a nice car. You get treated the same if you ride the bus or pull up in a Caddy. And the pastor is so young. He knows what the youth are going through.”
“If I didn’t know any better,” says Daddy suspiciously, “I’d think that you were a member of Love Outreach.”
“No. But honestly, I’ve been considering a change.”
“What?” Daddy is visibly stunned. It’s as if Tyler has taken a ton of bricks and dropped them on his chest.
“I didn’t say I was leaving for sure. I just said I was considering it.”
I know, and Daddy probably knows, too, that Tyler has already mad
e up his mind about Love Outreach. Maybe if Daddy hadn’t been confronted with drama in Savannah, he would’ve offered more objections. Instead, he nods, takes his plate of bacon, and heads back upstairs to the sanctuary of the bedroom.
“Did you really have to do this today, Tyler?” I ask my brother.
“Do what? Speak the truth?”
“Daddy didn’t need this today. With what happened in Savannah and Sascha being pregnant—”
“Sascha is pregnant?”
Oh … my … God. I didn’t mean to say that. Tyler doesn’t know— Well, didn’t know, because now he does.
“Don’t say anything, Ty. Mother and Daddy don’t know yet, but Sister Ophelia was just here and told Mother about them sleeping together.”
Tyler is breathing heavily. I can feel the heat from his blood boiling. Kevin is his best friend, but Sascha is his baby sister.
“Kevin … is sleeping with … Sascha,” he says. “I was hoping that I was wrong.”
Before I can answer, Daddy comes rushing back down the stairs in his pajamas still, though with shoes and a jacket on. Mother is two steps behind him.
“Kumal! You don’t even know where you’re going!”
Daddy stops for a half second, clarity seeming to come over his face. But another half second later, he’s grabbing his keys and heading for the door.
When he’s gone, Tyler and I look at Mother for an explanation. She says, “I told him what Ophelia said.”
“Are you going to go after him?” I ask.
“Your father is a grown man. He doesn’t need me to help him handle this.”
I don’t think the this she’s talking about is Sascha and Kevin. She’s referring to Daddy’s blast from his past. My brother … his son.
Chapter Twenty-three
Darrin
The ministers are in an uproar. The entire Prentiss family is missing from church, and no one knows why. Even Oscar is in the dark and scrambling to keep a sense of order and decorum, but the rumors have already started.
“Bishop had a heart attack.”
“I heard Tyler left to start his own church.”
“Bishop got in a car accident on the way back from Savannah.”
I see Dorcas trying to fend off the entire missionary board. Seeing her immediately makes me uncomfortable. But I do want to apologize, since I didn’t do it last night.
I tap her on the shoulder and say the first thing that comes to mind. “Trustee Oscar needs you in the pastor’s study.”
Dorcas looks visibly shaken when she turns to face me. She takes a long swallow. “Do you know what’s going on? Have you talked to Emoni?” she asks in a timid voice.
“I was just about to ask you that same question.”
We step into Bishop’s study almost unnoticed, due to the commotion. The ministers are arguing about who’s going to preach the morning message. Oscar is trying to calm everyone down, but he’s not doing a good job of it.
Oscar says, “Deacon Bagley, will you go and start service? The praise team has been singing for nearly an hour, and they’re getting tired.”
Deacon replies, “Why don’t you have the other deacons do it?”
Elder Brookins interjects, “Trustee Williams, you are not calling any shots here. We’ll start service when I say so. I am the assistant pastor.”
“Respectfully, Elder Brookins,” says Oscar in an exasperated tone, “service should’ve started half an hour ago.”
“Trustee, why don’t you try to go and locate Bishop Prentiss?”
I ask the obvious: “Has anyone checked their house?”
The ministers all look at Oscar.
Oscar throws his arms up and leaves the office with Dorcas and me following close behind. We follow Oscar as he flees to the church parking lot. A thought comes to mind: I wish I had my notebook. I quickly push it away. This is a crisis, and I’m thinking about a story. But I can’t help it. It’s a darn good story.
Dorcas marches up to Oscar and fusses, “When are you going to tell me what’s going on? I haven’t been able to reach First Lady or Emoni on their cell phones this morning.”
“What does he have to do with anything?” asked Oscar, obviously referring to me.
Dorcas hisses, “He’s fine. Why don’t you tell me something?”
“I don’t know anything! I haven’t been able to reach Bishop, either,” Oscar says. He tries to threaten me with his expression, as if I shouldn’t tell Dorcas what happened in Savannah. He then jumps in his car and speeds off. It’s almost funny that he thinks he intimidates me. Funny because in the real world, Oscar is nobody. An ex– drug abuser who probably has a record full of felonies. But here at Freedom of Life, this brotha is the man. Funny.
Dorcas looks at me with questions in her eyes as we hear one of the elders praying over the loudspeakers.
“Looks like they decided to get started,” I remark.
Dorcas looks at the ground, apparently avoiding eye contact with me. “Guess so.”
“Look, Dorcas, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
She interjects, “No, Darrin, don’t. It’s not necessary.”
“But I think—”
“Nope,” she interrupts again. “Don’t say anything. You were just a tool of the adversary.”
This woman is finding new and innovative ways to insult me. “Come again?”
“You are on assignment, brotha,” Dorcas says with resignation. “You tried to make me backslide. And that’s straight from the pits of hell.”
Dorcas turns and runs back toward the church. Okay, first of all, she tried to make me backslide. I was doing everything in my newly saved power to keep her from backsliding until she showed up at my apartment late at night.
I can’t even bring myself to go back in the sanctuary for morning service. I need to think. And I can’t do that on an empty stomach. I’ve got a decision to make, maybe a story to write.
On the way to my truck, I see a distraught-looking Emoni trudging toward the church. Clearly, she’s been crying, and if she walks into the sanctuary looking the way she does, the congregation will have a serious meltdown.
I walk into her path. “Emoni, are you all right?”
“No!” she sobs, and collapses into my arms.
“I’m going to suggest that you don’t go in there. I promise you, it’s not going to help.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
I give her a sincere smile. “Why don’t you come with me to my place and let me make you a good breakfast? You’ll feel better after you eat.”
“Okay,” she responds with resignation and defeat in her voice.
Emoni follows me to my apartment building in her car. When we reach our destination, she emerges with a tear-streaked and puffy face. Normally, I’m not a sentimental type of guy, but the sadness in her eyes has me choked up.
I rush to Emoni and embrace her with a brotherly hug. “Everything is going to be all right, girl. Stop all that crying.”
I lead her up to my apartment with conflicting feelings struggling inside me. My heart goes out to Emoni. I can’t imagine how I would feel if I found out I had an older brother.
Emoni surveys my apartment and chuckles. “This is a real bachelor’s pad.”
“Not even. My mama picked out everything in here.”
Emoni parks herself on my sofa. “She did? She has good taste.”
“So what are you hungry for?”
“You know, I’ve really got a taste for Belgian waffles.”
“Now, that’s what I’m talking about.”
Emoni takes off her church shoes and relaxes on my couch. Well, her body is relaxed, but her troubles are still etched all over her face.
“Aren’t you going to help?” I ask playfully. “Does this look like a restaurant?”
Emoni looks down at her clothes. “I can’t cook in this suit! I’d get batter all over it.”
“That is a problem easily solved.” I dash into my bedroom and come out with sweats
for Emoni. “You can go in my bedroom and change.”
She gets a nervous expression on her face, so I reassure her. “Girl, ain’t nobody about to come in there on you! If you want something to eat, I suggest you get into those sweats.”
Instead of changing out of my church clothes, I roll up my sleeves and put on my chef’s jacket. After a few moments, Emoni comes out of my bedroom wearing my sweatsuit. She looks a lot better in it than I do. The flash of heat that rips through my body at the sight of her is hard to ignore. But I must. “It’s about time. What took you so long? Were you snooping in my room?” I say.
“No. I was admiring how neat you are. Most men are slobs.”
“Most men were not raised by Priscilla Bainbridge.”
Emoni laughs. “Sounds like your mom is as bad as mine. When we were kids, we couldn’t play, eat, or do homework until our bedrooms were spotless.”
“Yep. They sound like sisters.”
Emoni continues, “I remember my mother going off on Daddy about some dirty socks. You would’ve thought he’d done something terrible.”
I start to reply but remain quiet because Emoni’s mood changed as soon as she mentioned her father. Her smile faded and her look of despair quickly resurfaced.
I hand her the bowl. “Here. Mix this. But not too much. We don’t want to get a lot of air in the batter. I’ll heat up the waffle iron.”
Emoni points at my face. “You have flour on your cheek.”
“Where?” I’m wiping but obviously not getting it, because she’s still pointing.
Emoni steps closer to me. Dangerously close. “No. Right here.”
Emoni stands on her tiptoes and brushes the flour from my cheek. She takes her time getting it all, and I know women well enough to know that she’s doing this on purpose. I also know me well enough to know that if I don’t escape soon, I’m going to be disrespecting myself again.
Then this stupid, naive girl takes my face in her hands and pulls it to her own. I have to suppress a moan when she places an innocent, unskilled kiss on my lips. It is the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.
Quickly, I pull away. I have to pull away. Seriously. “Don’t do that. Don’t start something that neither of us wants to finish.”
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