Grown Folks Business

by Victoria Christopher Murray

  “Hey, Sheridan.”

  The greetings started.

  “Love your hair, girl.”

  She held her breath.

  “Where have you been?”

  No one asked about Quentin.

  When the praise team began the morning service, Sheridan released a lungful of air. But as she stood to join the worship and raised her hands in the air, she wondered why no one had asked about Quentin. Did everyone already know?

  You’re being paranoid, she thought, as she tried to focus on Jackie at the keyboard. But although she sang the words, her heart took her mind to other places: The day she and Quentin first came to Hope Chapel. The weekend when they attended their first marriage retreat. The Mother’s Day when Quentin, in front of the congregation, proclaimed, “A million lifetimes would not be enough to hold all the love I have for you.”

  Her thoughts kept her so far away, she didn’t notice when Pastor Ford stood at the pulpit. It wasn’t until she realized that she was the only one standing that she eased into her seat.

  But through the pastor’s prayer, through the offering, through the sermon, Sheridan’s mind kept her away from the present. She tried to remember the last time she’d come to church without Quentin, but she couldn’t think of it. If Quentin didn’t go to church, she didn’t. Now there was a lifetime of Sundays—without Quentin—in front of her.

  “We serve a God who is kind, and patient, and merciful, and faithful.” Pastor Ford’s voice made its way through her tangled thoughts. “But what happens when trials come? Does that mean that God is not kind and patient and merciful and faithful?

  “Joseph had his trial when he was sold by his brothers; Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego had their trials when they were tossed into the fiery furnace. Paul and Silas had their trials when they were thrown into jail. Each of them served the Lord.”

  Pastor Ford continued, “So, where was God’s kindness and patience and mercy and faithfulness when they were going through?

  That’s a good question, Sheridan thought.

  The pastor’s manicured fingers swept her shoulder-length bob from her face. She placed one hand on her hip, and with the other, she raised her Bible high in the air. “God was right there. He was there with Joseph and the Hebrew children and Paul and Silas. How do I know?” She paused, looked around the congregation, and said, “How do you think they made it through?”

  The congregation applauded.

  “Amen.”

  Some stood on their feet and waved their hands at the pastor.

  “You better preach that word, Pastor.”

  “The Lord never promised you a trial-free life,” Pastor Ford continued. “He never promised existence without tribulation. But He did promise to always be there. To help you make it through!

  “God promises spiritual security in the midst of troubles.”

  Pastor Ford continued, but Sheridan never heard another word. She gazed at the pastor and wondered how she knew. Surely she’d planned this Word for her.

  Was this what it was all about? Was this just a trial in the bumpy road of life that she had to endure? Was God still really with her?

  “Sheridan, your AIDS results…are negative.” She heard Dr. Hong and then asked herself how she could wonder if God was with her. His mercy had made sure she had her health.

  As Pastor Ford strutted up one aisle and then down the other, teaching, Sheridan pondered Pastor Ford’s questions.

  If all of this was just a test, why did God have to choose this one for her? She would have much rather had something she could handle—Quentin losing his job, or one of the children having difficulty in school. Or even Quentin with another woman. She could pray for God’s help with that.

  You don’t get to choose your trials, the spiritually mature side of her mind told her.

  Sheridan sat through the rest of the service, and before the last note was played on the keyboard, she stood, ready to rush from the church. And then she remembered her children.

  Sheridan tried to make herself invisible in the midst of the crowd, surrounding herself with people she knew only well enough to smile at.

  At the door she glanced at her watch.

  In another minute they’ll both be walking home.

  “Oh, Sheridan.” Dana King walked up to her.

  Sheridan smiled. If she had to talk to someone, she didn’t mind Dana. She was one of her favorite sorors. But the look of tragedy covering Dana’s face made Sheridan’s heart beat faster. “Hi, Dana,” she said, as if she were afraid to speak.

  Dana pulled her away from passing ears. “I just heard. Tori told me that you and Quentin are getting a divorce,” she whispered, just as Christopher and Tori walked up to them.

  Christopher’s eyes widened as he heard the woman’s words.

  “I am so sorry. I didn’t know,” Dana said. She glanced at the children, her face covered with pity. “If there is anything I can do, let me know.”

  In better days Sheridan would have asked what Dana thought she could do for a woman losing her husband. But now she couldn’t move away fast enough. “Thank you, Dana,” was all Sheridan managed. She looked at her children and her eyes told them to follow.

  They hurried past the crowd that hovered at the church’s entry—the eight o’clock service mixing with the eleven o’clock arrivers.

  As they rushed to the car, Christopher asked, “Tori, did you tell Ms. Dana that Mom and Dad were getting a divorce?”

  Sheridan clicked the remote to the car and jumped inside.

  “I didn’t tell Ms. Dana that,” Tori said, and eyed her mother in the front seat.

  “Well, why did she say you did?” Christopher almost screamed, although his lips barely moved.

  Tori shrugged, and Sheridan didn’t have to turn around to know that tears were building in her daughter. “I didn’t tell Ms. Dana. But after the service Ms. Francesca asked me what was going on and I didn’t know what to say.”

  “I can’t believe you did that,” Christopher roared.

  Sheridan glanced at her son. “Don’t yell at your sister. I never told either of you not to say anything.”

  But she wished she had. It never occurred to her that the rumors would begin through her children. But she should have known. Francesca Mills was a proficient gossip. She’d go to any level if she smelled scandal.

  “I don’t care what you say, Mom. What Tori did was stupid. It’s nobody’s business what’s going on with us.”

  “But this isn’t Tori’s fault.”

  “I’m not stupid,” Tori cried. “And if you had been in class, you could have helped me.”

  Before Sheridan could ask Christopher where he’d been, he said, “Because of you, everyone’s going to know Dad’s a faggot.”

  Sheridan was sure her world would end now. She peeked in the rearview mirror. A mixture of confusion and fear creased Tori’s face.

  Tori asked, “What are you talking about?”

  “Dad’s a—”

  “Christopher!” Sheridan stopped him, glad that she was behind the wheel of a car. Otherwise, she was sure, she would have beaten him down.

  No more words were spoken. When Sheridan pulled in front of the house, she shot Christopher a warning glance, and she was more than glad when he rushed into the house, leaving her and Tori alone.

  Tori got out of the car, closed the door, and then waited for her mother.

  What am I supposed to say?

  Sheridan took her time, stuffing the church bulletin inside her Bible, pushing her cell phone inside her purse, and finally tucking her heart back inside her chest.

  She turned to the door and pretended she was surprised. “You didn’t have to wait for me, Tori.”

  “Mom, are you mad at me?”

  “Ofcourse not, sweetheart.”

  “Well, Christopher is and I don’t know why. You and Dad are getting a divorce, right?”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong,” she repeated, not answering the question.

>   Tori sighed when they stepped into the house. “Ms. Francesca just kept asking me, and I didn’t know what to tell her.”

  “That’s okay, sweetheart.”

  “Mom?”

  Sheridan kept her back to Tori, knowing this was the moment.

  “Christopher said Daddy is a faggot.”

  What am I supposed to say?

  “What did he mean?”

  If she had no sense, she would have sent Tori to Christopher. Let him explain it; let him tell his sister how Quentin had betrayed them all. But she loved her daughter too much to send her into Christopher’s den.

  She turned and made her mind strong. “There are some things your Dad and I want to talk to you about. I’m going to call him and see if he can come over, okay?”

  It worked better than she thought. The idea of seeing Quentin seemed to take Tori’s mind away from her question. “Okay.” She turned to the steps and ran upstairs. “Let me know when he gets here.”

  Sheridan almost collapsed from relief when she heard Tori’s door close.

  This was the beginning. The world was colliding with their lives. Soon everyone would know what Tori had been told.

  Sheridan picked up the phone and uttered the words that almost felt like a habit. “Quentin, we have a problem,” she said when he answered.

  For the second day in a row, Quentin entered the house that had once been his home. His eyes drooped, his cheeks sagged; he looked as weary as she felt.

  In the living room she said, “Maybe you should move back home.”

  He looked at her with surprise.

  “Just kidding,” she whispered. “Just trying to lighten this mood.” She sighed. “This whole separation thing is not going well, Quentin.” She slumped onto the couch.

  “I knew we should have said something to Tori.”

  “I never thought Christopher would say anything. Especially not the way he did.” She shook her head, still unable to believe her son’s words.

  “Where’s Tori now?”

  “In her bedroom.”

  “And Chris?”

  “He asked if he could meet some friends back at church.” Sheridan didn’t mention she’d had a small battle with Christopher when she asked why he missed church. He’d told her that he hadn’t. That he’d been sitting in the back and Tori didn’t see him. Sheridan wanted to quiz him more, find out what he was up to. But right now, her attention had to be on Tori. “I thought it would be best if he weren’t here.”

  She was disappointed when Quentin seemed relieved. He used to be the strong one, the disciplinarian when the children needed it. He never backed away from anything. He faced everything. The Quentin of old.

  “Are you ready to talk to her?” she asked.

  Quentin nodded. “But let me speak to her by myself.”

  She was already shaking her head. “Why?” Sheridan frowned.

  “Because this is something I need to do—father to daughter.”

  But you’re not a real father anymore. “Fine, but I need to be there. Tori’s going to need me when she hears this, Quentin.”

  “That’s the problem. If you’re in the room, she’ll turn to you. I want her to turn to me. I want her to know that no matter what is going on, no matter what names someone calls me, I still love her, will protect her, and will be there for her.”

  “And how will my being in the room stop that?”

  Quentin shrugged. “I’m playing a hunch. Don’t worry. I’m going to tell her that I’m with Jett, but on a level that a nine-year-old can understand.”

  Her head was still shaking her objection.

  “Please, Sheridan. All I’m going to say is that although I still love you, God put love in my heart for someone else too. And that just happened to be a man.”

  She wanted to tell him not to blame God, but she left it alone. She looked at her watch. “I’ll give you five minutes.”

  It was his turn to frown. “What’s with the time limit? I’m going to give Tori all the time she needs.”

  Sheridan knew he was right, but how could she let her daughter hear this news without her?

  “Don’t worry, Sheridan,” he tried to assure her. “Remember I love our children as much as you do.”

  If that were true, we wouldn’t be in this situation.

  He put his hand on her shoulder. “I promise you this will be fine.”

  Why should I believe a promise from you? You said we’d be together until death.

  Sheridan nodded, giving in. But the moment Quentin trotted up the steps and entered Tori’s room, she ran behind him. She pressed one ear to Tori’s door and then cursed the builder of their home. Solid walls, solid doors. She could barely hear their murmurs. Just proved they’d received their four hundred thousand dollars’ worth.

  Sheridan paced in front of Tori’s room and tried to ignore the voices in her head. The ones that screamed she was deserting her daughter.

  He left his family. He can’t be trusted.

  But then the other side of her spoke.

  He’s her father. He’ll never say anything that will hurt her.

  It was the part of her that wanted to preserve the relationship between Quentin and Tori that won, but Sheridan stayed close. When she tired of pacing, she sat, leaned against the wall, and kept her eyes on the door. The minutes were too long for her.

  When almost thirty minutes had passed, she knocked on the door and stepped inside.

  “Hi, Mom,” Tori said, but she didn’t look up. “I think I’m gonna win. This will be the first time I ever beat Dad.”

  Quentin and Tori sat on on her bed, with a chessboard between them.

  “Don’t distract me, Tori. You haven’t won yet,” Quentin said.

  The two laughed and Sheridan frowned. She looked for signs of trauma—redness around her daughter’s eyes, grief sketched on her husband’s face. But there was nothing.

  “Quentin?”

  He glanced up, then straightened his back. “Oh, it’s okay, Sheridan. Tori and I talked. We’re good.” He turned his attention back to his daughter. “Right?”

  Tori nodded as she finally looked at Sheridan. “Dad told me about Mr. Jett. It’s okay.”

  Then the two of them turned back to the chessboard, as if she weren’t there. As if they hadn’t just had a conversation about one of them being gay.

  Sheridan left the two of them alone. She stood still in the hallway, washed in shock. But then relief took its place, and she began to understand. Tori possessed something that she didn’t have. Nor did Christopher. Tori possessed the ability to love unconditionally.

  Sheridan shook her head as she stepped down the stairs. She needed to have a talk with her daughter. Her nine-year-old could teach her something.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Sheridan, it’s Pastor Ford.”

  “Hello, Pastor,” she said. Dang, she thought. Once again she vowed to purchase a phone with caller ID for the kitchen. “How are you?”

  “I’m just fine. I was wondering if you had a moment to drop by the church this morning.”

  Sheridan frowned. She was mad at herself. If she’d gone to church last week, she was sure she wouldn’t have received this call. But after the encounter with Dana, Sheridan couldn’t bring herself to go back. Still, she should have known this day was coming. “I thought today was your day off,” Sheridan finally said.

  “It is, but that doesn’t have anything to do with my wanting to see you.”

  Sheridan paused. There was no way she could walk into the pastor’s office. She’d seen it too many times: Pastor Ford would take one look at a person and know everything going on in her life—including what she’d had for breakfast.

  But on the other side, Pastor Ford had always been there—during the best and worst of her life—as the Harts’ spiritual leader, to guide, console, correct, and love. There was nothing she needed more right now than some of Pastor Ford’s love.

  “Can I come in at ten?”

  “I
’ll see you at nine thirty,” Pastor Ford said.

  “Yes, Pastor.” There was no doubt in Sheridan’s mind; somehow Pastor Ford knew. Through one of the loudmouths in the church or through a whisper from God. Either way, she knew.

  While she dressed, Sheridan volleyed thoughts in her mind: should she tell her pastor the whole story?

  As she drove to the church, she still hadn’t decided. As she walked to the doors, she still wrestled with her thoughts. As she stepped up to Etta-Marie, Pastor Ford’s assistant, and hugged her, Sheridan gave up the struggle. She wasn’t going to confess a thing.

  Within seconds of Etta-Marie’s announcing Sheridan’s arrival, Pastor Ford swept into her outer office. It was clear that she was there just for this meeting. Wearing a gold velour pants suit, with her hair brushed away from her face, the pastor looked like she was about to work out—except for her face, perfectly made-up as if she were prepared for an Essence photo shoot.

  Pastor Ford motioned toward the wingback chairs, and Sheridan sank into the soft leather.

  “So, Pastor,” she said with false cheer, “what did you want to see me about?” She smiled as if there was nothing new in her life.

  “How are you, Sheridan?”

  “Fine.”

  Without taking a breath, Pastor Ford said, “How are you and Quentin?”

  “Fine,” she lied again, and said a short prayer that God’s wrath wouldn’t crack through the ceiling, punishing her for her dishonesty.

  Pastor Ford leaned forward. “Sheridan, if there is one thing I don’t believe in it’s—”

  A liar.

  “—gossip,” Pastor Ford continued. “But I’ve heard rumors that concern me, and couple that with not seeing you and Quentin for weeks…that’s why I asked you to come in.”

  “I was in church last week.” Even to Sheridan it was a pitiful statement, stonewalling nothing.

  “Sheridan, not only am I your pastor, but I’m your friend. I want to help.”

  Those words were the key, and Sheridan unlocked the door. With tears, she escorted Pastor Ford into the emotional dungeon where she’d resided for the past weeks.