Don't Blame the Devil

by Pat G'Orge-Walker

  “Enough! I can’t take it.” Tamara slammed the Bible closed with a thud before she rose and limped toward the telephone.

  Deacon Pillar sprang into action. “What are you doing, baby girl?”

  “Whatever you need, I can get it for you,” Delilah said softly as she came and stood in front of the deacon.

  “Thank you both,” Tamara replied. “I’m just calling the police.”

  “Why?” the deacon asked as he hunched his shoulders when Delilah looked his way.

  Tamara picked up the phone and held it to her ear with her fingers on the touch pad. “It’s because I’m about to kill the two of you.”

  “You see, Thurgood,” Delilah said with pride, “I told you she’s just like me. Retribution is in her blood.”

  “Don’t brag. It’s an ugly habit.” The deacon gently took the telephone from Tamara’s hands.

  She was already sorry she’d acted the way she had, so she allowed the deacon to take the phone away. Tamara limped back to the sofa and sulked, angry that she’d acted like a grown-up one moment and a spoiled brat the next. Her mother would not have approved. She could just imagine her mother fussing, C’mon, Tamara. You now have one more person to fuss over you. Ain’t God good?

  Yet she still couldn’t reconcile having both Delilah and Sister Marty in their lives. She had a ton of love for Sister Marty. Even though she felt betrayed by the deacon, their love was rooted. The love she needed to have for Delilah was like looking for hens’ teeth. It was hard, plus Delilah had been one of Croc Duggan’s artists and probably made more on her back than she did on the stage. There was no doubt Delilah had been with the crème-de-la-crème of the music industry, but Tamara wasn’t about to mattress bump to make it.

  Tamara looked out the front window. She watched as Deacon Pillar and Delilah headed toward his truck.

  “I almost feel sorry for you, Deacon-Grandpa Pillar.”

  Jessie stopped by Sister Marty’s on his way home from the doctor.

  “Mama Marty,” Jessie called out as he entered her front door. She’d left it open to let in a breeze on that humid evening.

  “Come on in, Jessie,” she called out. “I’m in the kitchen.” By the time he made it to the kitchen she’d already poured cold soda into a cup he’d won when they’d gone to Disney World in Orlando for his thirteenth birthday.

  As she placed his favorite cup in his good hand, she looked hard at the injured one. “Drink up.” She watched him wince slightly as she gently checked out the faded area where the brace had been. “I see your hand looks like it’s healing like it should.”

  Jessie set down the cup and tried to turn the injured hand. He had some trouble. “I’m praying for a miracle.”

  “Still concerned about playing your guitar next Sunday?”

  “Yes, I’ve looked forward to playing with the deacon behind you and Tamara.”

  “If it’s God’s will, then you will.” Sister Marty stopped and laughed. It wasn’t her usual one. It was more of a “you ain’t gonna believe this” laugh. “Did you speak to your daughter before you stopped by?”

  “No, I parked and walked over here. Why? What’s happened now?”

  “I’ll give you one word.”

  “Delilah?”

  “She’s become the word we all think of first.” Sister Marty wiped her hands and sat down. “Guess what she and I are going to do?”

  Jessie became a little suspicious, and with a lot of concern added, “Let me guess. The two of you are going on a Pay-Per-View WWE match.”

  “Something like that, but even better,” she replied. “Princess Tamara has determined that her godmother and grandmother should have a cook-off for the Family and Friends Day.”

  “Say what!”

  “You heard me. She called about thirty minutes before you came here. One of the mothers at the church checked off the Jewel family to bring food.”

  “That was always Cindy’s job. Tamara can’t cook.”

  When Jessie said Cindy’s name the air seemed lighter inside the kitchen. He could feel the shift and he was sure Marty had, too.

  “Why would Tamara want Delilah involved? It would’ve made more sense for Deacon Pillar to cook with you. That man is an undiscovered chef if there ever was one.”

  “That’s something you’ll have to ask your daughter about. She never mentioned Thurgood when she called me. However, she did say that Delilah had been at your house. I’m just assuming that Delilah was with the deacon.”

  Jessie had no doubt that Sister Marty was correct. He knew Delilah was there from the night before, but he would say nothing. “I think I’d better be leaving. I need to get home and see what else Tamara is up to. I see having a sore ankle hasn’t stopped her meddling.”

  “Don’t fuss at my godbaby. She knows I can handle things, and if she needs my help with the cooking, I’ll do it.”

  “Even if it means you’ll be cooking with Delilah?”

  “Even if it meant I’d have to cook with the devil.”

  “We’re talking about the same person, aren’t we?” Jessie laughed. “So where is the throw-down going down?”

  “I believe the food committee is coming together tomorrow night at New Hope’s Community Center. That’s when Miss Delilah and I will find out whether we’ll be tossing hot or cold stuff at one another.”

  Jessie and Sister Marty suddenly burst out laughing. It felt good. He hadn’t laughed with his foster mother since Delilah had showed up at his door.

  They walked into the den and spent another few minutes catching up, like he was still a teenager and she’d asked about his day at school. They even held hands and had a quick prayer.

  Jessie looked around the den, and for a brief moment he wanted to stay a while longer. But he couldn’t. He knew it was anyone’s guess what mischief or chaos had happened at his house. Delilah might live in Garden City, but she seemed to dwell more at his house lately.

  Jessie said his good-byes and left. He quickened his pace as he walked past the brownstone houses that separated Sister Marty’s home from his. Tonight I want answers.

  Jessie burst through the door of his house, hoping to find Delilah there. He found Tamara with her iPod headphones on. She was singing. He walked over and tapped her on the shoulder, which startled her.

  “Sorry it took me so long. I stopped by Sister Marty’s and chatted. What’s happening around here?”

  “It’s pretty quiet. I’m just sitting here rehearsing the song for the Family and Friends Day.”

  “Is the deacon upstairs?”

  “Yes, he just got back from taking Delilah home. He said he was going to bed.”

  Jessie was agitated and he didn’t try to hide it. “Who asked him to take her home?”

  “She don’t live here, Daddy.”

  “I don’t need you to remind me of where my mother lives.”

  Jessie didn’t apologize, although he knew she hadn’t deserved his outburst. He had to hurry and get answers about Delilah. He couldn’t continue like this. Every child deserved to know if their parent truly loved them.

  Chapter 23

  The deacon’s sleep on his sofa was uneasy. In just a short time he’d tossed and turned so much the sofa cushions were halfway on the floor.

  He’d driven Delilah back to Garden City and the truth was he was glad to do it. During the drive she kept babbling about gathering recipes for Tamara. And, of course, he was fit to be tied. For the past few days he’d done everything short of ripping out his tongue and cutting off his feet to avoid contact with or any mention of Sister Marty. Now Tamara had to put Marty and Delilah together. He felt like whipping his baby girl’s butt.

  He’d also heard Jessie minutes ago raising his voice downstairs. Not every word was clear, but the anger was. But Deacon Pillar was tired. Whatever they were fussing about he couldn’t deal with.

  The deacon finally sat up. His head throbbed as he tried to focus, but everything in his place blurred. That wasn’t a good sign. He
knew his blood pressure was high. “I need peace,” the deacon whispered, “a peace that surpasses all understanding, Father God.”

  He placed his head in his hands as his mind traveled back to the days when he once had that peace of mind he now sought. He scratched around the edges of his temple where it was evident that his conk had conked out. His fingers could barely break through its nappy tangles. I can’t even find a peaceful moment to get my touch-up done.

  And then Jessie’s face appeared before him. The deacon had spent as much time as possible spreading his attention between Tamara and Delilah so he could avoid the inevitable. But now Tamara knew the secret.

  And what was the inevitable? Would Jessie turn on him as Jessie had done to Delilah when she first arrived on his doorstep? How could he convince Jessie that although he’d not come forward sooner, he’d still looked out for Jessie and Tamara much like any father or grandfather would? I wouldn’t buy that asinine reasoning.

  Every conflicted question that crossed the deacon’s mind begged an even more contradictory follow-up question. Old Thurgood Pillar, Mr. Know Everything—and what he didn’t know, God told him immediately. That’s the way he’d lived his later years, since finding God. He was a hypocrite and even worse, a blatant fraud. All that time he’d hidden behind his own wall of secrets, lies, and disregard for real responsibility.

  And then Deacon Pillar clasped his hands and he prayed some more. And at that moment in time, Deacon Pillar believed it was just him and God in that room; or at least he hoped it was.

  “Don’t let the devil win this one, Father,” Deacon Pillar whispered, and then for no apparent reason the scripture Tamara had cited came before him. For I know the plans I have for you . . . Then, just as quick as he shook his head to gather his thoughts, Delilah’s face appeared, saying what she always said. Don’t blame the devil.

  But his anger for Delilah returned. “Get back, Satan, and take Delilah with you!” he muttered as annoyance replaced the apologetic look he’d shown God just moments before.

  Truly, the last thing he wanted or needed was for thoughts of Delilah to show up and break the holy connection.

  While Jessie fretted and the deacon endured a restless sleep in Brooklyn, Delilah sat on her sofa with cookbooks piled in front of her. Earlier she couldn’t wait to get home. If she’d known how to drive a stick shift she’d have put her foot on top of the deacon’s just to get him to drive faster. Delilah didn’t need him to walk her to the door. She wanted him gone so she could get started.

  Delilah wasn’t sure what kind of foods the church needed, but whatever it was, she was certain she could cook it, bake it, broil it, or fricassee it, if necessary. Even knowing that she wasn’t Tamara’s first choice couldn’t break her joy. This was about more than cooking. It was about competition. Marty had already claimed her son, her granddaughter, and her husband. She’d be damned if she’d let the woman beat her in cooking, too. And she’d decided since she arrived home that on Family and Friends Day, it would be a perfect time to tell Jessie about the deacon.

  Delilah had it all worked out. She was so happy, she’d forgotten to advise Jehovah of her latest plans to see if they lined up with His.

  She busied herself for a while picking out an outfit to wear the next day. She was still about style just as much as substance. By the time she went to bed she was truly exhausted, but in a good way.

  Jessie sat on the edge of his bed, debating whether to go back into the living room and apologize to Tamara. He was about to when she knocked on his door.

  “Daddy,” Tamara said softly, “are you still awake?”

  “Yes, come on in.”

  Tamara entered. She still had the iPod in her hand. Her limp had subsided some as well. She walked slowly over to the bed and sat down next to her father. “I know you didn’t mean to yell at me or be angry with the deacon.”

  “I’m sorry, Tamara. I just needed to see Delilah and talk.”

  “Is talking with her to see if she really cares and loves you as her son or if she just needs something from you really that important?”

  “There’s not a lot more I can talk to her about. It’s not like you and me. I can’t talk to her about a prom or my measles as a child. I know she doesn’t know anything about my love for football or where to go on vacation. She wasn’t around for that.”

  “But you’re a grown man now.”

  Jessie turned to his daughter. “I need to be a whole and complete man. I need a history that’s authentic. What I have with Sister Marty as my foster mother is a God-send, but with a big question mark. When it didn’t seem possible I’d ever see my mother or know about my father, I wondered about it but I didn’t crave it.”

  “And you do now?”

  “Yes. I need it for you just as much as I do for me.”

  “I’m cool,” Tamara said as she took her father’s hand. “I’ve learned music is in our blood and I have you and Sister Marty. I’m blessed.”

  “You don’t think Delilah’s a blessing?”

  Tamara laughed. “Only when she’s not around me.”

  “She does have that effect. But I’m starting to warm up to her a bit.”

  “Yeah, but it’s because you think she knows something you don’t.”

  “It’s a bit more than that now. I remembered something the other night. It’d bothered me for the last few weeks. I’m not sure if I should burden you, baby, but I believe Delilah was once married.”

  Tamara tried her best to remain calm. She suppressed her emotions with as many face crunches as she could to keep a blank look. “What makes you believe that?”

  “I remembered that the last time I’d seen her in front of Grand Central she was wearing a wedding band. I’d completely forgotten about that.”

  “She was?” Tamara became so nervous she wanted to throw up.

  “I mean, I was a grown man by then, so I don’t know when she got married or even if the ring was real.”

  “Is her wearing a wedding ring or being married gonna change anything?”

  “Perhaps it will mean that she married before I was born and she knows where my natural father is—I’m not sure. But every time I pray about it lately, I see Delilah wearing that ring.”

  “What else do you see?” Tamara struggled to get him off the subject.

  “Well, actually what I see is so much of you in her. You two could almost pass for twins. It took me a moment to see that clearly, until we visited her the other day.” Jessie turned and looked at his reflection in the dresser mirror. “But I don’t see me in her.”

  “Do you need to see you in someone?”

  “Yes.”

  Tamara studied her father for a moment. She’d told so much lately and interfered when she shouldn’t have. But her father was hurting and she didn’t like it, especially since earlier she’d pulled out some of the old photograph albums. She’d wanted to remember the outfit she and her mother wore at the last Family and Friends Day celebration. She was going to wear it when she sang on Sunday. And that’s when she saw it. The deacon and her father were standing together; the deacon with his guitar and her father with his bass. It wasn’t in their complexions, or in the eyes. It was the smile. They were grinning like Cheshire cats and it’d started her wondering if her father would see it, too. He was more sensitive and aware now that Delilah had given him more questions than answers.

  “What are you thinking about, Tamara?”

  “What being a father is all about,” she answered, “and also marriage.”

  A strange look came over Jessie’s face. He wondered what his daughter was trying to say. She seldom dated and if there was a young man involved, she’d have told him about it. Now she was talking about fatherhood and marriage. What had she done behind his back? “Oh Lord, Tamara, is there something you want to tell me?”

  “Yes.”

  Jessie’s heart raced. He’d always promised to be supportive of Tamara, but she was scaring him. “Just tell Daddy.” He was speaking t
o her as though she were a young girl instead of a grown woman. “I’ll love you regardless.”

  “Okay, here it is.... Delilah and Deacon Pillar got married.”

  “What!” He immediately thought about Sister Marty. “Oh Lord, what is Sister Marty going to do?”

  “She’s cool with it,” Tamara said as she got off the bed and started to leave the room.

  “Why would she be cool with it?”

  “Because she said the deacon’s gonna divorce Delilah.”

  “What the hell is going on with those old fools? How are they gonna get married one minute and then divorced the next, and Marty’s cool with it?”

  “They’ve been married for more than a minute, Daddy.”

  “I know they’re old friends, but I thought they only reconnected a little over a month ago. I hardly call that a long time. And now they’re talking a divorce. Did they suddenly wake up and discover they’d made a mistake?”

  “According to Sister Marty, they discovered that mistake about forty years ago. You were about two years old then. I was so mad when I found out about it that I told her and she already knew. So if it was cool with her, it was chilly with me, too.”

  “So what aren’t you telling me, Tamara?”

  “I’m telling you to start there.”

  “Wait a minute. How did you find out?”

  Tamara had already closed the door behind her by the time Jessie got his voice back and his mind together and the question out.

  Jessie heard the deacon moving about upstairs, but he didn’t trust himself to confront him. But at the very least he needed to know why the deacon hadn’t said anything to him. After all, Delilah was his mother. Over forty years ago. What did that make the deacon?

  Sleep wouldn’t come to Jessie. Delilah was taking his family down, one by one, without firing one shot of truth. He’d confided in the deacon that he needed to find out the truth about her and the deacon had said nothing. He’d sat at his foster mother’s kitchen table sipping from a thirty-year-old cup and she’d said nothing, either. And what took Tamara so long to speak out? Delilah and the deacon obviously weren’t living together, or she wouldn’t be living in Garden City. Were they estranged, and that’s why they were divorcing? Nobody said anything to him. He couldn’t get past it. What kind of hold did Delilah have on them?