The Other Side of Goodness

by Vanessa Davis Griggs

  “So are you calling to resign your position at the church?” Johnnie Mae asked. “Is that what you’re trying to convey?”

  Gabrielle sighed. “I really love what I’m doing at the church. But Jessica doesn’t have anyone to help her. And she and Jasmine need someone. I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I did tell her it wouldn’t be a problem for me to still do both.”

  “Gabrielle, tell me what’s going through your head right now. Just say what’s on your mind. I’m here for you. I’ve always been here when you’ve needed me. So tell me flat out,” Johnnie Mae said. “What do you want to do?”

  “Well, I don’t want to quit my job at the church. I love what I’m doing.”

  “And you’re good at it,” Johnnie Mae said.

  “Thank you,” Gabrielle said. “But how can I, in good conscience, not help someone when they need me the most?”

  “So, do you feel you owe it to them to go it this way? ” Johnnie Mae asked.

  “No. I’m not doing it, or even thinking about doing it, because I feel obligated. It’s just . . . I know what it feels like to need somebody to help you and not have anyone there to do it. I know what it’s like to feel all alone with nowhere and no one to turn to for help. I know. And I also know what it’s like to have someone to step in and give you a hand up until you get back on your feet,” Gabrielle said. “The way you and Pastor Landris stepped in and gave me a hand up when I was down. The way my dance mentor, Miss Crowe, helped me when I desperately needed someone.”

  “Well, I want to go on record that Pastor Landris and I didn’t give you anything; you absolutely worked for it. You earned it, and you deserved it.”

  Gabrielle wanted to cry after hearing that. “Thank you. I appreciate you so much for saying that. You just don’t know.”

  “Okay, so tell me, Gabrielle: What do you want to do? What do you want?”

  “I want to be able to help Jessica and Jasmine get through this, but I don’t want to lose my job with the dance ministry in the process. Honestly, I’d like to be able to do both: help them but not lose my job at the church.”

  “All right, then. Let me offer a possible solution. Why don’t you just take a leave of absence from the church for a few months?”

  “I can’t do that. I haven’t been here long enough. Besides, that wouldn’t be fair to the church. I can’t do that.”

  “Yes, you can.” Johnnie Mae paused for a second, then continued. “Gabrielle, why do you think we exist as a ministry?”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t understand your question,” Gabrielle said.

  “As a ministry; why do you think we exist? What are we here for?”

  “To do the work of the Lord, to serve God, and to serve people.”

  “Right. And what you’re wrestling with right now is not a bad thing or a selfish thing. What you’re over there trying to figure out is how to be a blessing to a widow, the fatherless, and the sick,” Johnnie Mae said. “It doesn’t matter that they’re not members of our congregation. We always need to show the love of God. So you know what I want you to do?”

  Gabrielle was sobbing now. She managed to speak. “What?”

  “I want you to put in paperwork for a leave of absence for however long you think you’ll need. I want you to go on and help them. And I don’t want you to worry at all about your job at the church. It’ll be waiting for you when you’re finished.”

  “Thank you.” Gabrielle wiped her eyes as she tried to pull herself together. “Thank you. Forgive me. My eyes are like fountains. I seem to be crying a lot lately.”

  “It’s okay. You’ve had a lot to deal with. But you have such a kind heart and a wonderful spirit. Personally, I wish there were more people in the world like you. People look at Christians these days and they’re not seeing us exemplifying the love of Christ like we should be doing. They see all of these colossal edifices, but they don’t see colossal expressions of Jesus in our lives the way we should be showing of Him. Jesus said that whatever we did to the least of these, we’re doing it unto Him. Well, I happen to know for a fact that God keeps good records.”

  “Thank you, Johnnie Mae. I don’t know what to say. I’ve been so blessed to have people like you and Pastor Landris in my life. I have . . . I have.”

  “To God be the glory,” Johnnie Mae said. “So put in the paperwork for a leave of absence and do what you can to help those in need of your help right now.”

  “I will. But I’ll still do what I can for the dance ministry when I can. Again, I thank you so much for this.” Gabrielle hung up and closed her eyes, lifted her face toward Heaven, and as the tears rolled down her face, she whispered, “Thank You.”

  Chapter 36

  For which cause also I have been much hindered from coming to you.

  —Romans 15:22

  Deidra was waiting at the door when Lawrence entered the house.

  “Where is she?” Lawrence asked his wife of his youngest daughter.

  “In her room,” Deidra said.

  Lawrence went up to Imani’s room. She was lying facedown on her bed. He went over, sat down, and placed his hand on her back. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” Imani said, not bothering to turn toward him.

  “Well, we know something is going on. Your mother called me a bit frantic. She’s worried about you. Are you feeling okay? Is something hurting? Do we need to take you to the doctor? Come on, talk to me.” Lawrence tried to pull her to an upright position, but she resisted.

  “I’m fine. Mom shouldn’t have bothered you. You can go on back and do whatever you were doing before she called.”

  “Listen, Courtney—”

  Imani popped up and looked hard at her father. “It’s Imani! My name is Imani! And I wish you’d stop calling me Courtney and call me by my name.”

  Lawrence rested his hand on her shoulder. “I am calling you by your name.”

  “No. You’re calling me by what you and your stupid campaign folks have decided you’ll call me.” Imani tucked strands of her hair that dangled in her face securely behind her ear.

  “Courtney”—Lawrence caught himself—“Imani, we’ve talked about this. I told you that I’m in a really difficult reelection this time around. I’m being forced to do some things differently to ensure that I retain my seat. The entire family has had to make sacrifices, me included. Do you really think that I want to be a Republican? All we’re doing, when it comes to you, is using your first name—the name you were given at birth and that’s on your birth certificate: Courtney.” Lawrence tilted his head.

  “Whatever, Dad. In the end, you always get everything your way. It doesn’t matter what any of the rest of us want. We don’t matter. It has to be your way. Fine.”

  Lawrence gently placed his hand on her arm. “I know it might feel that way sometimes, but that’s not actually true. I love you, Imani. And I want you to have things I never did. Things like this house we live in, the cars we drive. I mean look at your room.” He made a show of scanning her bedroom. “You have practically anything anybody could ever want or imagine, just here in your room alone. There’s a top-of-the-line computer, a forty-inch high-definition television on the wall, iPhone, iPod, iPad, stereo system, the bedroom suite that you picked out. And this year, when you turn sixteen, we’re buying you a brand-new car. Not used, new. Imani, there are so many children who wish they were you . . . wish they could trade places with you.”

  “It’s just stuff, Dad. Stuff breaks. Stuff stops working. Stuff tears up. Stuff gets old and outdated. I don’t care that much about stuff.” Imani looked hard into her father’s eyes. “Tell me: Why can’t I go and see her? Huh? I want to know. I just want to see her. I want to see for myself that she’s doing okay.”

  Lawrence nodded. They were back to this again. “Imani, I know this has been hard on you these past few months. I understand; I promise you that I do.”

  “You paraded us out there before everybody, talking about how important it was for us t
o be an example and do what we could to help. You were acting like you really cared about her and what might happen to her.”

  “I did care. And I’m honestly thankful a match was found. But her part of the process involved a lot more than the donor, not that I’m diminishing the donor’s part in the least. Your contribution as a donor was major. I dare say that you’re the reason she’s still alive. But that little girl, most likely, is not supposed to have a lot of visitors. And specifically not strangers traipsing in and out, carrying all kinds of germs, as she builds back her system. We don’t want to do anything to harm her now, do we?”

  “But I want to see her, Dad. I want to meet her. I want to ask her myself how she’s doing,” Imani emphasized again.

  “And one day, you will. I’ll see if I can arrange it. But for now, we don’t need to add to her mother’s worry.” Lawrence took his hand and gently lifted Imani’s chin. “Please say you understand. I hate it when you’re sad like this.”

  Imani moved her chin out of his hand. “I understand that all of this was likely exactly what Paris said it was: a political stunt to get you publicity. Well, it worked, Dad. It . . . worked. People think you’re absolutely wonderful for having led the charge in heightening the awareness of something most folks knew nothing about. You came off as someone who cared. Congratulations! Mission accomplished!” Imani stood up.

  “But you don’t care anything about her.” Imani went to her desk and sat in her chair. “The only thing you care about is getting reelected. You could care less that I don’t want to be referred to as Courtney in your political mailings or when we’re out with you as though Imani doesn’t exist. Do you have any idea what it’s like for me to be teased by the kids at school because my father appears to have disowned me?”

  Lawrence stood, went over, and hugged her. “Honey, you know that’s not the case at all. I’ve explained this.”

  Imani turned on her computer. “Yeah. You explained it. The name Imani is ‘too ethnic sounding’ for some of the people you’re trying to reach. Courtney is much more ‘mainstream.’ Well, Dad, I think you should get your folks to do a poll since they love polling, and you’ll find out just how many black girls, and guys for that matter, are named Courtney.”

  “I don’t need a poll. I happen to know that lots of black folks are named Courtney.” Lawrence started to chuckle, hoping to break up some of the tension. “I happen to love the name, that’s why I wanted you to be named that.”

  “Yeah. And Mom wanted to name me Imani. But because you wanted to name me Courtney, once again, your desire won out. I guess I need to just get used to it and stop trying to fight it. Things will always be what you want and how.”

  Lawrence grabbed her chair and turned her to face him. “I promise, Imani. If by the end of the year you still want to see her, we’ll see what we can do to make it happen.”

  “Yeah. You mean after the November election so it won’t get in your way.”

  Lawrence smiled. “I’m not trying to time it for after any election.”

  “Sure, Dad. Okay.” Imani got up out of her chair, went back over to her bed, flopped down on it, and crossed her arms. “Fine. You say I can’t see her until you say so, then fine. I just wonder what you’re afraid of. Why are we going to such great lengths now to keep everything a secret when you didn’t have any problems with going public about us all participating in the bone marrow drive? Why is that?”

  Lawrence sat down beside Imani. “Imani, the rules of volunteering to be a possible donor normally only allow those between the ages of eighteen and sixty to even test. You were fifteen, well below the minimum age. That’s why I had to sign to allow you to be able to do it.”

  “So you’re saying you don’t want anybody to know that we broke some rule? Is that what you’re trying to say now?” Imani stared at him as she awaited his answer.

  “I’m saying that I don’t want people bothering you.” He touched her arm.

  She uncrossed her arms. “Yeah, that’s right. You don’t have a problem parading us in front of the cameras to get you publicity for possibly doing a noble thing. But when your youngest daughter ends up being a perfect match for the person we were obviously pretending to be helping, you don’t want anybody to know it.” She crossed her arms again. “Makes a lot of sense to me. Well, I’d like to meet the girl my stem cells happened to save. I want to see for myself that she’s getting better.”

  Lawrence smiled. “Okay. Okay, I hear you loud and clear. So let me see what I can do. We’ll put in a call to her mother to see if we can’t arrange something soon. But if her mother says no or not right now, will you let it go until she says other wise?”

  “If you come back and tell me that her mother said no, it will make me wonder why she said no or if she really said no. Because I can’t imagine a mother whose child was dying and is reportedly doing better, now that she’s received the transplant she needed, would say she doesn’t want to meet the person who donated her marrow if that person wanted to meet them.” Imani uncrossed her arms and looked squarely at her father. “So, Dad, if you come back and tell me that she doesn’t want to meet me, then I’ll just figure it’s you coming up with an excuse to keep us apart. For what reason, I don’t know.”

  Lawrence swallowed hard, then nodded as he turned up his mouth a bit. “I love you, Imani. I really do.” He stood up, leaned down, and kissed her on the top of her head. He then put his hand on her head softly. “I really do.”

  Chapter 37

  Lest Satan should get an advantage of us: for we are not ignorant of his devices.

  —2 Corinthians 2:11

  Paris picked up her glass of water and took a sip. “Thank you, Daddy, for agreeing to meet me for lunch.”

  “No problem. I was both surprised and pleased when you called and suggested we do it,” Lawrence said.

  “You and I haven’t spoken much these past months. It’s March and spring has sprung. I just wanted us to reconnect.” Paris took another sip of water.

  “The disconnection wasn’t my doing.”

  Paris sat against the cushioned red booth seat and smiled. “I know I can be a spoiled brat at times. But I always come to my senses when it comes to you, Daddy.”

  He nodded. “That you do.”

  “I don’t know whether you know, but I’ve been under a lot of stress. I don’t know if Mom mentioned it, but Andrew and I aren’t in the best place lately.”

  Lawrence picked up his menu and peered over it at Paris. “She may have mentioned something to me to that effect.”

  Paris released a loud, deliberate sigh. “Andrew really wants a child.”

  “And . . .”

  “And, I can’t seem to produce one for him.”

  “All I can tell you is not to stress out about it, and eventually, it’ll happen.” Lawrence closed his menu and looked for someone to come take their order.

  “It’s not that easy. We’ve been trying for over a year now. Andrew is beginning to act different toward me. Do you think he might divorce me?”

  Lawrence laughed. “Because you haven’t gotten pregnant yet? I don’t really think Andrew will divorce you for something like that. Not that anyway.”

  “You laugh like it’s unheard of or something. Tamika and her husband are getting divorced.”

  “Are you talking about Tamika with the three kids?”

  “Yes. And she has four.”

  “I don’t think she’s getting a divorce because she can’t have children.” Lawrence waved at a server to get his attention. “I don’t know why you picked this particular restaurant. Service so far has been horrible.”

  Paris looked around as though she, too, was searching for someone. “I happen to like their food. And, no, Tamika isn’t getting divorced because she can’t have children. But it’s sort of due to their children. It seems a lot of folks get divorced, often something to do with their children. Either they can’t agree on how to raise them or money is tight because children are costly, what
with daycare and things like that. That was why I wanted to wait a while before Andrew and I started a family.”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” the waiter said. “We’re a bit short staffed today. My sincere apologies to you. What can I get you both today?”

  “I’ll have the small watermelon and feta cheese salad, chicken scaloppine with fettuccine pasta, and for dessert, the red wine poached pear with ice cream,” Paris said, holding up her menu when she finished.

  The waiter took Paris’s menu and turned to Lawrence. “And I’ll have the house salad and steak au poivre with spicy black peppercorn sauce.”

  “What type of dressing for your salad?”

  “The house dressing is fine,” Lawrence said.

  “And dessert?” the waiter asked. “Or would you like to wait to order it?”

  Lawrence closed his glossy menu. “That chef’s layer cake sounds good.”

  “Daddy, you really should try the red wine poached pear. Live a little, why don’t you?”

  “Oh, you think, huh?” Lawrence handed his menu to the waiter. “Okay, I’ll try the poached pear with ice cream.”

  They both ordered sweet tea to drink. The waiter left.

  “Okay, now where were we?” Paris said. “Oh, yes. I was talking about children. I think if Andrew and I don’t have a baby soon, he’s going to leave me.”

  “Paris, Andrew is not going to leave you just because you haven’t gotten pregnant. He’s not that kind of a person.”

  “That’s the old Andrew. The new Andrew is different. Andrew has changed a lot in the past four months.” Paris picked up her crisp, white cloth napkin and opened it, laying it on her lap. “And it all appears to have started right after we ran into Gabrielle Booker; oh, I’m sorry, it’s Gabrielle Mercedes now. That’s when he really started changing . . . started getting bolder . . . something . . . I don’t know.”

  “What you mean is that he finally stopped letting you yank his chain.” Lawrence sat back against his seat. “A man can only take so much.”