The Preachers Son

by Carl Weber

  “How could you do this to us? You tramp. Look at your father. He just announced to the world that he’s running for borough president, and he might’ve had a good chance before you went and did this. Now he doesn’t have a chance running on a family values platform!”

  She looked at my father and tried to bring him into her campaign to crush what was left of my self-esteem. Granted, there wasn’t much left for her to do considering how bad I already felt about this, but she was going to try just the same. I wanted to just disappear at that moment.

  “Leave her be, Charlene,” my father said softly.

  “No, T.K. Can’t you see she’s done this to hurt us? To hurt me. She ain’t nothing but a tramp who didn’t have the common sense to use protection. Jesus, I can just hear Lillian Wright and the other deaconesses now. ‘Did you hear about the bishop’s daughter? That heathenous wench done gone and got herself knocked up and she don’t even know who the father is.’”

  My father, as always, was there to protect my feelings from my mother’s harsh words. “Charlene, you’re wrong. Donna is human and she made a mistake. She didn’t do it to hurt us. Really, this is between Donna and God. It has very little to do with us.”

  “How naive can you get, T.K.? This has everything to do with us as long as you’re the bishop of the church and I’m the first lady. You’re never gonna be elected to borough president now, and you might have a tough time keeping your job as pastor once the deacons board finds out. Lord, how could I have one child that’s so good and another that’s so bad?”

  There she went again, throwing Dante up in my face. I loved my brother, but it always hurt when my mother tried to compare me to him. He was nowhere near being a saint, but in her eyes, compared to him, I always ended up looking like yesterday’s garbage. Sure, I’d messed up big-time and I knew that, but this was by far not the first time she’d compared me to Dante. Even when I did small things, like spill a drink on the kitchen floor, my mother would rant about how stupid I was, how clumsy I was, how I should try to be more like Dante. Now that I’d gotten pregnant, I doubted I’d ever hear the end of her insults.

  “You know what, Mother? If I’m such a bad child and I’m gonna ruin everything for Daddy, then maybe I should just go down to the clinic and have an abortion. I wouldn’t wanna have a baby who might turn out like me.” I didn’t look at my father after that. I just got up and ran up the stairs, not stopping until I was lying on my bed with my head buried in my pillow.

  I wasn’t sure who it was standing outside my bedroom but I could feel a presence before there was a knock on the door. I was hoping it was my brother Dante, ’cause I wasn’t ready to face my father again, and the Lord knows I wasn’t ready to deal with my mother’s crap.

  I hesitated for a second before answering. I sat up, sniffling back tears and wiping my eyes. It had been close to a half hour since I left my parents in the living room with the thought that I might have an abortion. I was actually surprised that neither of them had come upstairs to talk me out of it. They were both staunch pro-life advocates in our community and just the thought that I might have an abortion was as bad as the reality of me being pregnant. Then again, knowing my father, he was probably just waiting for cooler heads to prevail or perhaps for Dante to come home so we could discuss the whole situation as a family. Now that I thought about it, I wouldn’t be surprised if all three of them were standing outside my bedroom door.

  Once I had gotten myself together, I turned toward the door and hollered, “Who is it?”

  No one replied, but the door opened and my mother stepped into the room. She was alone and her face was still wearing the same evil scowl she had earlier when she and my father confronted me downstairs in the living room. She closed the door behind her and started to pace back and forth in front of my bed. The way she was staring at me made me feel like a wounded antelope about to be pounced on by a hungry lion.

  “You just couldn’t keep your damn legs closed, could you?” she finally snarled.

  I didn’t answer, so she continued her outburst. This time, though, she pointed her finger in my face at the end of every sentence to drive home her point. “How many times did I tell you to stay away from them boys? How many times did I tell you that if you didn’t stay away from them boys, you were gonna end up getting knocked up?”

  She paused and took a deep breath, but there was no relief in sight. She was no longer acting like the first lady of the church that everyone knew and respected. She was now acting like her true self. She was acting like a bitch. She scrunched up her face evilly as she continued her finger-pointing tirade.

  “But nooooo, you just wouldn’t listen to me, would you? You swore up and down that you weren’t doing anything. That you wasn’t having sex. That you was gonna wait till you got married. Well, you’re pregnant now, and I wanna know when the hell you got married, ’cause I sure wasn’t invited to the wedding.”

  And you won’t be in the future if I have anything to do with it, I thought.

  “Now, I wanna know who this baby’s father is, and I wanna know now.” Her index finger hit the bridge of my nose and it took everything I had not to grab it and break it off her hand. “Look at you. Look at you! You’ve been with so many damn men you really don’t know who the father is. Do you?” She looked like she was about to explode.

  “Mother, I’ve only been with—”

  “Shut up!” she snapped. “I don’t wanna hear it. All I wanna know is what fool you let knock your hot ass up. Give me a name, Donna.”

  Again I was silent, but I wanted to say something to shut her up. I wanted to tell her that despite her cock-blocking efforts, my baby’s father was the Reverend Terrance Reynolds, the most sought-after and respected man in the church. But I knew it wasn’t fair to tell her before I told him. I was just going to have to take her abuse until he came home in two days. But once Terrance came home, not only was she going to know he was my baby’s father, but so was the entire congregation.

  She looked down at my belly as she shook her head in disgust. “So, are you going to tell me who the father is?”

  I shook my head and I could see her entire body tense like she was about to slap the shit out of me. I braced myself for the blow, but it didn’t come. It was a good thing for her that she took a deep breath and held her anger, because I was sick of her shit and I hated to think of what I might have done if she had hit me.

  “All right. Let me ask you a question. Do you still want to live in this house?”

  I nodded, but this time she wasn’t accepting any gestures.

  “I asked you a question, and I’d appreciate an answer.” She was back to her finger pointing.

  “Yes, Mother, I want to stay in the house.” I tried to keep myself under control but I was starting to get a little attitude in my voice.

  “Well, if you’re gonna live in my house, you’re going to live by my rules.” She tilted her head. “Do I make myself clear?”

  I really didn’t have a choice. I was about to nod, but she gave me that don’t-go-there look.

  “Loud and clear, Mother,” I replied coldly.

  “Good.” She reached into her robe and tossed something on my bed. I looked down and realized that it was a roll of money held together by a rubber band.

  “What’s this for?” I’m sure my face showed my confusion.

  “It’s for your abortion,” she said just as calm as if she were handing me a glass of water instead of money to get rid of an unborn child.

  “An abortion?” I barely got the words out of my mouth. “You want me to have an abortion?” I was shocked.

  “Rule number one: There is only one woman in this house who is allowed to have a baby, and that woman is me. Now, I just went through the change, so I’m not having any more children. Either you get rid of that baby or you get out my house.”

  “I don’t believe this. You’re serious? You really want me to have an abortion?”

  “I want whatever’s best for your
father and this family, and you having a baby out of wedlock is not what’s best for this family. You said you wanted to have an abortion. Well, now you have the money. Just don’t do it in Queens or any of the other five boroughs. Go out to Long Island or New Jersey. We wouldn’t want anybody from around here to recognize you.”

  I looked down at the money again and then looked back up at my mother. The look on her face told me she was serious, dead serious. I had made the abortion threat downstairs, and now she was calling my bluff.

  “Mother, I’m not—”

  She cut me off. “You’re not what?” She was back to pointing her finger in my face. “You’re not going to mess up this election for your father, Donna. Do you understand me? I won’t allow it. It’s too important to m—him. Now you either tell me who the father of this baby is so we can arrange for him to marry you, or take your ass to an abortion clinic. The choice is up to you.” She walked over to my closet and pulled out my overnight bag. She placed it at the edge of my bed.

  “What’s that for?”

  “You’re not staying in this house until this problem is fixed. And if you know what I know, you won’t tell anyone outside this family that you’re pregnant.”

  “Does Daddy know about this? Does he want me to have an abortion?”

  “Sometimes your father doesn’t know what’s best for him, so I make those decisions. I wouldn’t tell him about this if I were you. Who do you think he’s going to believe, you who lies all the time, or me, his loving wife?” She pushed the suitcase closer to me.

  “Aren’t you going to come with me?” I asked in disbelief.

  “I wasn’t there when you conceived it, so why should I be there when you get rid of it? That’s your problem. Just don’t come back here pregnant.”

  I could feel the tears begin to well up in my eyes again.

  “Mother, why are you doing this?”

  “I didn’t do anything to you. You did this to yourself. Now get out my house and don’t come back unless you have a husband or an abortion.”

  22

  Dante

  When I pulled up to my house, I could sense something was wrong inside. It was half past midnight and it seemed like every light in the house was on, which meant my parents were awake. That in itself was strange, because they were usually in bed right after the eleven o’clock news unless there was a church function, which there hadn’t been that night.

  “Son, could you come here for a minute?” the bishop called just as I walked into the house. His voice seemed agitated and I tried to run through my mind what I might have done to have him waiting up for me so late. He was probably upset because I spent the last couple of nights over Tanisha’s place.

  I turned toward the living room and my earlier concerns of trouble were confirmed. My father was sitting in his chair, the high-backed one he always sat in after dinner, holding his Bible in one hand and a glass of J&B in the other. This was a definite sign that something was troubling him and it wasn’t something small. My father was a social drinker at best, and he hardly ever drank hard liquor.

  “It’s a little late to be drinking, isn’t it, Bishop?” I pointed at the half-empty bottle of J&B on the coffee table. Sitting there like that, he reminded me of a guy I’d seen on TV, with an angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other, both of them giving him advice. For the bishop, his Bible represented the angel and the liquor represented the devil. My only concern was which one he was listening to.

  “Yeah, I guess it is a little late to be drinking, isn’t it, son? But after the news your sister just gave us, I need something to calm down my nerves.” He finished off his drink and placed the glass on the coffee table, gesturing for me to have a seat. I sat down on the love seat across from him, curious about what my sister had done this time.

  “What’d Donna do now? Wreck her car again?” I asked.

  “No, nothing like that.” He frowned.

  Whatever was going on had to be serious, because he picked up the bottle and poured himself another drink.

  “What is it, Bishop? What’s wrong with Donna?” I felt myself starting to panic. I’d never seen the bishop so hesitant. The only thing going through my mind was that Donna might be sick or dying.

  He picked up his glass, took a long swig of the J&B, then cleared his throat before speaking solemnly. “Dante, your sister’s pregnant.”

  “What?” My eyes shot wide open. I sat back in my chair with a frown, then I smiled, almost laughed. My father had almost scared me to death, and for what? To tell me some crap about Donna being pregnant. I swear if he were anyone else, I would have slapped the shit outta him for wasting my time and lying on my sister, but instead I chuckled. I knew it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. I hadn’t spoken to Donna all day, but we were close. Much closer than she was with my parents, so there was no doubt in my mind that she’d tell me she was pregnant before telling them.

  “Stop playing, Bishop. That isn’t funny.” I waved my hand as if to dismiss his joke.

  “I’m not playing, Dante,” he snapped in frustration. “I wouldn’t play about something like this. I saw the results of her pregnancy test with my own eyes.”

  I sat there speechless, contemplating his words.

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?” I tilted my head and studied his face.

  “Yes.” He lowered his eyes. “I’m serious. Your sister is pregnant.”

  “Oh, boy.” I ran my hands across my face. “I’m sorry, Bishop, but this is kinda hard to believe. Donna wouldn’t get pregnant.”

  “Son, an hour ago you would’ve been preaching to the choir,” he replied, gulping down half his drink. “Hell, I thought she was a virgin. But the truth of the matter is she’s not a virgin. She’s going to have a baby.”

  He took another swig of his drink and I wanted to reach over and take a shot myself. Now I understood why he was drinking. It must have been devastating for him finding out that the daughter he thought was perfect had not only lost her virginity but was pregnant, too.

  “Did she tell you who the father is?” I asked curiously. My first and only thought was that it had to be her mystery man.

  He shook his head. “No, I was hoping you might be able to answer that for me. She wouldn’t tell me or your mother.”

  His eyes shifted to my face and I shook my head.

  “I know she’d been seeing someone the past few months, but I don’t have a clue who he is,” I replied honestly.

  The bishop hung his head and mumbled to himself just loud enough for me to hear. “Dear Lord, where did I go wrong?”

  He finished off his drink then solemnly placed his glass on the table. When he lifted his head, tears ran down his cheeks. I got off the love seat and placed an arm around his shoulder. I’d never seen him so emotional. His sad face almost brought tears to my eyes.

  “You all right, Bishop?”

  “You know, Dante, ever since I got saved, I’ve tried to be a good man, a good Christian, and a good minister. I just don’t understand how I became such a horrible father. How could I fail you kids like this? I wanted to be there for you and your sister.”

  “You were there for us, Bishop,” I said. “And you are a good father. But Donna and I aren’t kids anymore. You and Mom taught us everything we need to be good, upstanding adults. The rest is up to us. I’m not your little boy and Donna’s not a little girl anymore.”

  “She’s my little girl, Dante. I don’t care what age she is. She is always going to be my little girl, and you’re always gonna be my little man. No one will ever convince me I shouldn’t have seen this coming.” He took off his collar and set it down on his Bible next to the bottle of J&B, then picked up the bottle and poured himself another drink. “Look, why don’t you go talk to your sister? She’s going to need a lot of support now, and I don’t think your mother and I are up to it quite yet. We’re still dealing with our own demons.”

  He sat back in his chair and took another long swig of his drink then close
d his eyes as if he were trying to make everything go away.

  “Hey, Bishop?”

  He opened his eyes. “Yes.”

  “If you still wanna do right by Donna, there’s a way.”

  “What’s that, son?”

  “Accept your grandchild.”

  He smiled sadly. “I already have, son. It’s your mother I’m worried about.”

  “Me too.”

  That subject was too much for either one of us to think about yet, so he changed it to something lighter.

  “How are things going with you and Tanisha?”

  “Good,” I answered then admitted, “I really like her, Bishop. She makes me feel alive.”

  He winked at me. “I’m happy for you, son. There is nothing like being with a woman you really care about. When this mess with your sister is over, I think you, me, and your mother need to sit down and talk about your future. What do you think?”

  “I’ll look forward to it.”

  He sat back in his chair and finished off his drink, closing his eyes as he held the empty glass in his hand. I took that as a sign that he wanted to be left alone. I headed toward the staircase to see my sister and hear her side of the story. That’s when I heard my mother calling me from the kitchen.

  “Dante?”

  “Yeah, Ma,” I replied as I stepped into the kitchen. My mother was sitting at the kitchen table eating cheesecake. Although she was a slim woman who watched her figure and usually ate like a bird, there was always a cheesecake in the house just in case she got upset or angry. She used cheesecake as a coping mechanism whenever she was upset. Judging by the small amount left in the pie tin and on her plate, my sister’s pregnancy had her very upset.

  “Did your father tell you about your sister?”

  I took a deep breath then released it as I pulled out a chair. “Yeah, he told me. I was just going upstairs to talk to her.” I sat down.

  “Don’t bother. She’s not upstairs. I heard her car leave about fifteen minutes ago.”