“You’d better believe it.” Delilah walked over to where Tamara sat and asked, “Do you play well?”
As soon as Tamara played one tune, Delilah got her to play another and then another.
Jessie watched their interaction. He still didn’t fully trust Delilah when it came to his relationship with her, but he believed Delilah enjoyed listening to her talented granddaughter. He also believed Delilah would let Tamara play until the Rapture if it meant they didn’t have to continue their discussion.
Tamara had played what he’d hoped was her last song. He was a patient man by nature, but his patience was growing short—and then Tamara asked Delilah the strangest question.
Tamara rose from the keyboard and took Delilah by the hand. Delilah didn’t resist as Tamara led her to one of the pictures on the wall.
Tamara asked innocently, “Isn’t this picture of the white man with the long blond hair, looking like Hulk Hogan, Croc Duggan?”
Jessie thought he saw a change in Delilah’s cheerful mood.
“Yes, that’s Croc.” Delilah looked puzzled but she had to ask, “Tamara, do you know about the history of the music of the sixties?”
“Of course I do. Juilliard teaches a lot about music history—it’s good and it’s bad.”
The answer threw Delilah a little bit. Obviously her granddaughter knew Croc Duggan’s reputation as music management’s biggest pimp, as well as the tainted reputations of the artists he represented. And there it was on her wall, for the world to see. Croc Duggan had his arms around her and it was obvious they were more than just manager and client. She’d never been ashamed of that picture. She was now.
“It’s good to learn the positive and negative things about a business you’re interested in. It can save you a lot of heartache.”
“I guess there’s not a lot you can advise me about because I don’t intend to deal with the likes of a Croc. They might bite.”
“I promise you. They will bite.”
The granddaughter and the grandmother had a conversation that left little misunderstood.
“Am I missing something?” Jessie could feel the mood shift but couldn’t figure out why. And he didn’t have time to deal with it. “Delilah, can we continue?”
Delilah didn’t want to ignore Jessie’s question, but she wasn’t quite finished with Tamara. “I’m really impressed with you. You sounded even better today than you did in the car. And you play excellently. You can take the keyboard with you, if you’d like.”
“I’ll have to think about it.” Tamara wanted it and she was sure Delilah knew that. She might take her up on the offer, but she’d not make it easy for Delilah to buy her off.
Jessie knew Delilah was still stalling, but he wasn’t going to let it go that easily. “Delilah, since you have such a great appreciation for all things harmonic, why not come with us to New Hope on Monday evening? There will be choirs rehearsing.” He could wait a day or two more.
“Daddy . . .” Tamara appreciated her grandmother’s music history, too, but to ask her to New Hope? She was going to say something more but she didn’t. She’d had enough rebukes for one day.
“You want me to come to church with you? Why?”
“Can you give me a good reason why not?”
Long after Jessie and Tamara had left, Delilah still couldn’t think of a valid reason not to go to church with them. She still appreciated listening to the choir as an outsider, parked outside the church. She’d never be able to explain it so they’d understand. And she didn’t dare call the deacon so he could help, especially after she’d punched him in the mouth. She was on her own. Hadn’t she prayed and asked Jehovah to help her get her family back? She had. And there she was, still looking for an excuse or a way out of telling Jessie the truth about her and the deacon; and that would truly lead up to the big question. She needed more time.
Still without a car the next day, Delilah prayed, watched religious shows on television, and then prayed some more that Jehovah would remove her own bitter cup.
And still Monday arrived.
Chapter 19
Just like Delilah, Tamara hadn’t come up with a valid reason to keep her grandmother from attending the choir rehearsal with them, either. One thing was for certain—since visiting Delilah’s home, Tamara had grown as conflicted as her father. There were things she’d learned to admire about Delilah, but there were also things to resent. There wasn’t room for both emotions. Of course, in the end there was Sister Marty. At least that relationship was consistent.
When the time came, it was Tamara who once again drove to Delilah’s house. Jessie had an emergency meeting and had left earlier. So she was glad the deacon’s lips were back to normal. He didn’t seem to harbor any resentment when she told him that her father had invited Delilah to church, although she’d not shared that with Sister Marty. In fact, he’d insisted on riding along with her to pick up Delilah. When they arrived in Garden City and Delilah came out, he held the door open so she could get into the backseat.
All during the drive from Delilah’s house to the church, Tamara kept looking into her rearview mirror at Delilah. And every time she did, she found Delilah staring right back. Twice Tamara almost ran a light trying to rid the feeling of impending doom from her mind. At least Delilah dressed properly, Tamara thought. Hussy chic is not a good church look. It seemed the more she could find amusing about Delilah the more she relaxed.
Yet almost as soon as Tamara pulled into the number two parking lot at New Hope Assembly, a feeling of dread revisited. Tamara wished she could’ve put the car in reverse. Although earlier she’d made Delilah promise not to say anything about being her grandmother, Tamara didn’t trust her.
“Okay, we’re here,” Deacon Pillar announced. “Are we all in one accord?”
“I didn’t know this car was an Accord.” Delilah chuckled and looked out the window to keep her nervousness from taking over. “I thought it was a Solaris.”
“Good one, Dee Dee.”
Delilah knew what the deacon meant. And it’d happened just the way she knew it would. She didn’t want to actually go inside. She sat for a moment with one finger tapping the side of her head. “Just wait a moment, Thurgood. What’s your rush? We still got another ten minutes before the rehearsal begins.”
Without saying a word aloud, the way the deacon got out and slammed the car door said it all. He adjusted one of his suspenders, which had started to slide off one bony shoulder. With an extra little something in his step he held his head high and started to walk away. It was a walk less like John Wayne’s and more like a penguin.
“Deacon Pillar,” Tamara called out as she sprang from the driver’s side. She’d turned off the engine but hadn’t taken the keys out of the ignition. She had to almost sprint to catch up with him. “Hold up.”
The deacon stopped long enough for Tamara to catch up. “Just follow my lead, baby girl.” Never once did he act as though they’d just left Delilah still seated inside the car.
Tamara didn’t say a word and did as the deacon asked. She shifted her purse from one hand to the other and got in step. They looked straight ahead and suddenly started laughing like they didn’t have a care in this muddled world of Delilah’s.
Watching the deacon and Tamara walk away didn’t sit well with Delilah as she sat alone inside the hot car. They looked too giddy for her taste. She was starting to get in a bad mood.
The sounds of birds chirping drew her attention. She turned her head and watched them fly from branch to branch. And that’s when a faint smile came over her face, then disappeared just as quick.
The sounds of the birds reminded her of the first time she’d been outside New Hope Assembly Church. It was on a visit back to New York that she’d not told anyone about. The deacon and Tamara would never understand what she was feeling. A church bell rang out and its clanging caused another memory.
However, this time what she remembered about New Hope was different than when weeks ago the deacon had s
urprised her. It was a time about which she could tell neither Jessie, the deacon, nor Tamara. Another event stuffed away in her overfilled closet of secrets.
It was 1988. Even with being the mother of a twenty-something-year-old, she’d maintained her hourglass shape, which made her look years younger.
Dressed in a yellow, formfitting, high-slit floral dress with matching hat and shoes, she’d sat in the church’s parking lot wearing wide sunglasses that covered most of her face. And yet for all the color-coordinated dress and accessories, Delilah still looked like a lonely movie star as she sat inside a borrowed tan and black 1985 Cadillac.
Within moments of her arrival, she saw them. She hadn’t seen her son, Jessie, in years; and when she’d seen him even back then she hadn’t dared approach him. She’d preferred to watch him play football with some other boys in the school yard.
But she was still his mother, and although he was a young teenager and had filled out and wore a helmet, Delilah had still known her son.
But on this particular day in 1988, Delilah closely watched a grown-up Jessie. He was dressed in a black suit, a white shirt, and a black, skinny tie. His dark shoes shimmered in the sun. That made Delilah smile, knowing well-polished shoes spoke well of a man.
And then she saw Cindy. Cindy was very pretty in the face—a bit heavier than Delilah would’ve wanted for her son, but she looked fabulous in her crème-colored matching hat and flowing dress. And even from that distance she could see the love between them. However, what really tugged at Delilah’s heart and brought tears to her eyes was the little girl Jessie carried.
The baby was nestled in the fold of Jessie’s arm, safe and secure. Jessie had his head held high as he carried his precious treasure. And the baby’s long, brown, curly hair spilled over and onto his jacket sleeve. Using the binoculars she’d brought along, Delilah couldn’t see the child’s face or even tell whether the white christening dress was long or short, but it didn’t matter. The picture she held in her hands, cut from the local newspaper announcement, was enough. The little girl named Tamara was absolutely beautiful. How could she not be?
Delilah was still deep in thought, and at first it wasn’t clear whether she’d heard the strong rap on the car’s window.
“I see you found your way to my church.”
To the outside world as well as inside the church, Sister Marty always appeared shy and not up to any confrontation. And even on that hot day it was no different. She looked harmless enough, dressed in her choir’s summer wear—a long, pale blue dress with a crocheted white cap. It was a complete turnaround from the spotless white uniform she’d worn earlier for work.
However, Delilah dismissed the unwanted interruption by laying her head against the backseat and continuing to daydream.
Marty didn’t like being ignored. So she rapped on the car window again and repeated, “I see you made it to the church.”
This time, Delilah answered. “Say what . . .” She figured she must’ve gotten overheated and the woman was just her imagination. Delilah looked from side to side. She was still alone in the car. Neither Tamara nor the deacon had returned to see if she was okay.
Sister Marty’s face, distorted by the glare from the sun, slowly came into focus. Immediately it caused a shift in Delilah’s already salty attitude. “Did you think or wish I wouldn’t make it here?” Delilah replied while she felt around inside her purse for her sunglasses. “I’ll be just fine. I’m here for the rehearsal, so you can go on your way.”
Sister Marty didn’t respond right away; instead she stared at Delilah for another moment and finally replied, “Have it your way.”
Sister Marty had turned to walk away when she pivoted suddenly and turned back to Delilah. “You know the Word of God says that in order for us to be known as a friend that we must first show ourselves to be friendly.”
“Jehovah God is our best friend.” Delilah didn’t know and really didn’t care about Marty’s intentions. “What’s your point?”
“My point is that I can be a good friend or I can come at you from another direction.” She stopped to let the words settle onto Delilah and added as she turned to walk away, “It’s entirely up to you, Mrs. Pillar, or whatever you care to call yourself. I really don’t care about your marital status.”
Sister Marty didn’t wait for Delilah’s response. She didn’t have to. She was certain Delilah had understood that it wasn’t all about the deacon. It was about much more. Neither was about to allow any claim jumping.
Delilah glared at Marty’s back as the woman walked away from the car. Delilah wasn’t stupid. This woman, church woman or not, was too much like her.
Was that why the deacon had reached out to Sister Marty? But why continue with an imitation when the real thing was now available?
The brief encounter with Marty Madison had only caused Delilah to dig in deeper. At that moment, she had never wanted the deacon more than when she thought Marty wanted him, too. And there wasn’t enough of his lanky butt to share, particularly since that same woman was standing between her and her son. Delilah smiled and thought, I swear it ain’t nothing no worse than church trash that’s willing to fight over a married man.
The deacon had a change of mind. He’d returned and found Delilah still seated in the backseat where he’d left her, but this time she was smiling. The deacon looked around to see if there was someone who could’ve put the smile on her face. He saw no one.
“Dee Dee,” the deacon said through the open window, “what’s wrong with you?”
“Not a thing, Thurgood. I’m doing just fine. Thanks for caring enough to come back and see about me.”
The deacon thought for a second before answering and setting her straight, but decided against it. There was something about Delilah sitting in the backseat of the car, smiling like the angel she wasn’t, that disturbed him. He would never deny her a moment of happiness, but at that moment there was something inappropriate about it.
“Are you coming inside?” The deacon slowly opened the door, all the while wondering if it wouldn’t be better if he just sat outside the church with her.
“Sure, why not?” Delilah answered as she pointed to the keys hanging from the ignition. “You might have to start this car up so I can raise this automatic window, unless you think folks inside the church won’t break into Tamara’s ride.”
Without saying a word to defend or agree with what Delilah said about the church members, the deacon did what was necessary to secure all the car’s windows and helped Delilah from the car.
Together they walked toward the church. Even though the door was only yards away, the closer they came, the more Delilah’s usually proud walk weakened. It was to the point where he now almost dragged her toward the church.
The deacon stopped abruptly. “Okay, Dee Dee. What’s wrong now? Why does it seem like you’ve turned into deadweight?”
“It must be this heat.” Delilah began to fan herself with her purse. “I feel like I’m about to pass out.”
Deacon Pillar shook his head and let her go. As usual he threw up his hands in surrender. “And yet, you sat in that hot car without the air-conditioning running.”
Deacon Pillar stepped back and then quickly came within a few inches of Delilah’s face. “You know what, Delilah. If you don’t want to go inside, I’ll take you back to the car.”
“Thank you, Thurgood. I knew you’d understand.” She quickly turned to head back toward the car.
The sight of Delilah walking off lit the deacon’s short fuse. “Let me tell you what I actually do understand, Dee Dee.”
Delilah didn’t respond immediately, but she did stop walking away. She turned around to face the deacon. This time she had both hands on her hips. And then she extended one leg in front as though she was prepared to fight him again, but instead she suddenly crossed her arms and waited for him to speak.
And that’s when the deacon released all he’d held since they reconnected. His anger felt like the weight of an
elephant on his chest. Right there in the church’s parking lot, in the presence of God and whoever listened, he prepared to spew all his hellish feelings. He was about to show Delilah a side of him she’d never seen nor heard. And when he’d finished, then he’d race to the nearest altar for forgiveness.
“You were about to say something?”
“Don’t push me, heffa.”
“Say wha—”
“Just shut up! I’ve not understood a lot since you came barreling back into my life like bad credit. But I do understand that you’re throwing a major monkey wrench into plans I’ve made for my senior years.”
Delilah’s fist started to ball. And the action hadn’t gone unnoticed by the deacon.
“I hope you try it. You got away with it the first couple of times. Now I’ve never hit a woman, unnecessarily, in my life, but there’s always a first time.” He waited only a second to see what she’d do and it was much longer than he wanted to wait. “I’m beginning to understand a lot just standing out here in this hot sun. I understand that I haven’t attended church as regularly as is my habit in the last few weeks. I understand that a woman who left years ago and ripped my heart out is back, and brought her old funky habits with her. You take me to the edge and then you push me just enough to almost fall over, and then you snatch me back.”
“Who are you yelling at?”
The deacon grabbed his head in his hands and lashed out even more. “I’m yelling at your funky arse because I ain’t yo’ damn yo-yo!”
The deacon must have really been into his angry sermonizing or brutal testifying, because by the time he finished fussing and using improper English and looked around, Delilah had walked away and was leaning against the car looking as though he’d punched her in the gut with a wrecking ball. Again, a look of defeat came upon his face.
From a distance Delilah watched the deacon with a confused look. What had she done? So what if she came to church and then changed her mind about going inside? Wasn’t that a feminine prerogative? Where was the threat of violence against her coming from?
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