by Mata Elliott
“Did he get saved yet?”
Lena sucked her teeth. “No, and before you start reminding me of the merits of dating saved men, remind yourself that some of them so-called saved brothers who have their hands raised in the air praising the Lord on Sunday are using the same hands that attempted to roam all up under your skirt the night before.”
Cassidy’s memory tumbled in reverse to the first saved guy she’d had a serious relationship with. During her freshman year at the small, rural, upstate Tilden University, she started seeing a popular upperclassman nicknamed Minister. He could quote entire chapters from the Bible, and one day he was going to be the pastor of the church where his daddy served as pastor, and his daddy’s daddy had, too. Looking back now, Cassidy could clearly see how self-absorbed and confused Minister was. But at that time, all she could see was his alluring smile and chiseled body. All the women from freshmen to seniors wanted to be with Minister. But he only wanted to be with her—at least that’s what he told her—and she had fallen for it and kept falling until she crashed into a reality still too distressing to deal with.
“Don’t look so concerned,” Lena said, and Cassidy realized Lena was responding to the intense frown weaved into her forehead. “I’m staying before the Lord in prayer. But this saving-sex-for-marriage business is hard on the nerves. Maybe it would be easier if I’d stayed a virgin like you.”
Cassidy dropped her gaze to the spread of magazines on the coffee table and turned her features to neutral.
“Hey,” Lena said, finishing another of Odessa’s homemade cookies, “remember how we used to create stories about our husbands?”
“Our husbands” filled many teen journal pages. And back then, Cassidy believed those penciled dreams would come true.
“Mine’s going to be at least six feet tall, dark-chocolate-coated, built to perfection.” Lena rattled off the updated qualifications she expected her man to meet. “And he’s going to have a college degree, a job in corporate America, and a—”
“Relationship with the Lord,” Cassidy interjected.
Lena smiled. “I was going to say that.” She propped a pillow on her lap and hugged it. “Now let’s talk about what you want in a husband.”
“You know not to even go there.” Cassidy employed the impassive tone she used whenever the subject was broached. Her relationship with Larenz had sealed her decision to remain single, to completely turn her back on dating. The three guys she’d dated before Larenz—Joseph, Zair, and Bertram—all Charity Community members like Larenz had once been, hounded her for sex, but each of them had simply taken her home and never called again after she’d denied their propositions. Larenz, however, had chosen a different plan of action when Cassidy turned down his advances, and it turned out to be one of the scariest nights of Cassidy’s life.
Soon after Lena had gone home, Cassidy sprinted down the stairs into the living room, a fierce dash to seize the teddy she’d left on the sofa. With the way her day had been going, Trevor would find it, and even if she tried to pin it on Odessa, there was no way he’d believe a mother of the church owned something so racy. Surprised to find the front door ajar, Cassidy edged to it, eased it slightly wider, and peeked outside. The streetlights provided sufficient gleam for her to see Trevor as he stood on the sidewalk with a woman pressed against him.
chapter six
Trevor pried Rave’s twiglike arms from around his neck. She had run to him, embraced him, rambled on about having a flat and how scared she’d been at the prospect of being stranded for hours on a dark city street.
“How fortunate for me you’re living here now.” Her red lips became a smile. “This must be heavenly intervention.”
“Heavenly” wasn’t the word that surfaced in Trevor’s mind as he massaged the constricted muscle at the back of his neck. “What are you doing out? Kregg said the two of you were spending the evening together.”
“I canceled,” she said. She fluttered her eyelashes, and Trevor got the impression it was a rehearsed action. Rave directed a thumb over her shoulder. “My convertible is just around the corner. Can you help me?”
Rave’s gray eyes beckoned like jewels. Cheap ones, Trevor mused. “Wait here,” he said, and walked four cars back to his Expedition, parked in what was the closest available space to the house. In case Rave didn’t have the necessaries, he grabbed the black duffel bag that held his roadside emergency equipment. He thought about going back to lock the front door of the house but figured the task of changing a flat wouldn’t take long. He would haveRave well on her way within the half hour. “Lead the way,” he said when he returned, neither smiling nor frowning at the woman who’d blocked him before he could get to his vehicle to retrieve the Bible he’d left under the front seat.
Caroling crickets filled the night with music as Trevor assessed the situation. Rave’s Mercedes did indeed have a flat. “Keys,” he said.
Rave coiled her fingers around his wrist, lifted his arm, and dropped the ring of keys in his open palm. She stared at him with wide-eyed innocence, but as she flapped her lashes again, her expression seemed more sinister than sincere when she whined, “I must have run over some glass or something.”
Trevor removed the spare, the jack, and the tire iron from the trunk of the white car and went to work while Rave disappeared around the other side of the vehicle. Suddenly, as if he’d been slapped across the back of the head, he jerked his shoulders, censure crossing his features. Rave had turned on the car’s sound system, and a blast of hip-hop drowned out the peaceful serenade of the crickets. She was beside him now, snapping fingers, flailing arms, swiveling hips, and chanting lyrics. From his squatting position, he looked up at her. “Here, hold this.”
Rave accepted the flashlight, continuing to bop.
“I need you to hold it still,” he ordered.
“I’ll hold it any way you want.”
Her purr had been close enough to warm his ear. Trevor continued working, ignoring the long bare legs she rubbed against his slacks. He soon put the damaged tire in the spot from which he’d taken the spare, Rave on his heels. He wasn’t sure if he bumped into her or the other way around as he slammed shut the trunk. “Watch out,” he grumbled.
The pink tones creeping into Rave’s cheeks told Trevor she’d been wounded by the brusque command. But what did he care? Rave’s bruised feelings could heal on their own. After all, she’d been far more offensive to him . . . and to Kregg, carrying on like this behind Kregg’s back with Kregg’s friend. “I’m sorry,” Trevor apologized anyhow. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.” He perceived any hurt feelings to have been soothed when she trailed a fingernail along his arm from elbow to wrist and smiled up at him. Trevor hastened to the front of the car and opened the door, an invitation for Rave to take her seat.
Rave advanced, her chunky heels loudly hitting the asphalt. She stopped toe-to-toe with him, threw her arms around his middle, and leaned into him from the waist down. “How might I compensate you for your services?”
Trevor tightened his grip on the door while his other hand found that muscle cramping again at the base of his neck. “No payment necessary,” he said, and deliberated when he would tell Kregg about this.
“Oh, come on. Let’s go get a soft pretzel”—she smiled—“share a soda. Or if you want, we could go to my place and have Bible study.” Rave giggled.
“No, thank you, Rave.” His voice was unyielding. “I have to get back to my girls.”
“I’m sure the old hag will keep an eye on them.”
Patience waning as swiftly as the time, Trevor replied austerely, “Rave, let’s say good night. Like I said, I need to get back. I didn’t tell Mother Vale or Cassidy I left the house.”
Rave’s eyes narrowed to slits as she loosened but didn’t unfasten the cinch on his waist. “I thought Cassidy was away.”
“She came home,” Trevor said, thinking about the other young woman who was this close to him today and how much he wanted to return to the house and
offer the apology he had intended from the beginning.
“Another time, then,” Rave relented, pouting as she gradually released him.
He watched her drive away before hurrying back to his truck and returning the duffel bag. He snatched his Bible from beneath the passenger seat and jogged to the house. He tried to twist the doorknob, but the door was locked, the first floor dark. It seemed Cassidy had retired for the night, the opportunity to apologize postponed until morning. Disappointed, and pondering why he was, Trevor lingered beneath the brightness of the porch light. As moths tagged the overhead bulb, he pushed his key into the lock. It was much harder to push away the memory of Cassidy walking across the living room floor—poised, graceful, and with enough sass to incite a man to want to see her sway like that some more.
It was a pity Lena left when she had. She could have seen for herself whom Trevor was checking out. Cassidy had no idea those two had hooked up. The last time she talked with Rave, she was seeing some guy named Kregg.
Cassidy smeared a glob of toothpaste onto her toothbrush. She knew Rave had been attracted to Trevor long before Brenda died. A month after joining Charity Community, Cassidy had invited Lena and Rave to come with her to church. Rave gabbed during most of the Sunday worship service and slept through the entire sermon. Well rested by the benediction, Rave was ready to indulge in her favorite sport—flirting with men of all ages, shapes, and shoe sizes. But there was one man Rave was particularly enthralled with.
“Married,” Cassidy informed her.
And Rave asked in the curt soprano everyone was accustomed to, “What’s marriage have to do with anything?”
Well, it seemed that after years of wishing, dreaming, and drooling, Rave had snagged her man.
Cassidy spit and returned her toothbrush to the holder. For the first time, she noticed the other toothbrush hanging there. Trevor’s toothbrush.
Slowly, as if performing something forbidden, she curled her fingers around the knob of the medicine cabinet, pulled open the door, and fixed her gaze on the row Odessa had assigned their houseguest. Aligned from left to right were a can of shaving cream, a bottle of aftershave, and a brand of deodorant designed for the most rugged of men, according to the commercial. A small bottle of cologne ended the parade of items. Fascination teased Cassidy as she removed the blue container, unscrewed the tiny top, and lightly inhaled. The smell of the man she’d been body-on-body with in the bathroom this afternoon rushed up her nose and down her throat, and Cassidy sniffed a second dose.
chapter seven
It’s time to get up,” Brandi sang the wake-up call. She straddled her father’s lower back, clapped her hands against his skin, bounced her body, and sang the song again.
Trevor growled, and Brandi giggled as she plopped onto her back, landing beside him. Giving a longwinded yawn, Trevor rolled over, meeting morning and his daughter. He wasn’t sure which was brighter: the broad strips of sunlight reaching in from under the window shade or the smile on his kid’s face. He grabbed the miniature clump of happiness. She was dressed in pink shorts, a pink shirt, and one pink sock, the items he’d laid out the night before. Without effort, he lifted Brandi above him, as high as his arms would extend, then dunked her onto the mattress and tickled her tummy. All giggles, she scrambled beneath the sheet to escape, and Trevor granted her a recess, reaching toward the nightstand for the wristwatch Brenda had given him for his thirtieth birthday. He read the time, and Brandi finally stopped giggling. “Grammy told me”—she pressed her finger to her chest—“to tell you”—she pointed to him—“that Derek called three times this morning.” The child raised three fingers.
Entombed in sleep, Trevor had heard neither the house phones nor his cell phone. He backed his upper frame against the headboard and tossed the sheet aside, uncovering the lower portion of his body. He had on the lightweight sweatpants he’d done sit-ups and push-ups in before climbing into bed last night.
“Are you going to call Derek back?”
Traces of concern for Derek were vivid in his little girl’s eyes. As he well knew, Brandi had become very fond of Derek, adopting him as a big brother. Trevor leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Yes, I’m going to call him back.” He grabbed the foot without the sock and kissed the big toe. “Where’s your other sock?”
“I can’t find it.” She laughed, pulling her foot out of his hand.
“Well, go find it, and I’ll call Derek.”
Brandi began to crawl away, then stopped and saddled him with a look that indicated she had a life-and-death matter on her mind. “Who was that lady in the bathroom with us yesterday?”
“That lady,” Trevor said slowly, “was Cassidy. She lives here.” He sat up straighter. “And that was her bedroom you entered without permission. From now on, if you would like to speak with Cassidy or Mother Vale, you’re to stand outside the door and knock, then wait for them to invite you in, even if the door is already open.” Trevor’s eyebrows went up, a customary signal that he meant business.
“Okay,” Brandi said, and rolled over twice before reaching the brink of the mattress.
Trevor had not interrogated Brandi yesterday and asked now, “Why was your jacket in Cassidy’s room?”
“I left it under the bed when I was hiding from Sis.”
“Stay out of there,” he reinforced, taking his cell phone from the nightstand.
Brandi climbed off the bed. “I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you, too.”
“I love you more than banilla ice cream,” she said, initiating the game she loved to play with him as she jumped-hopped-skipped to the door.
Trevor was about to press the button to speed-dial Derek but could not neglect the opportunity to provide his daughter the joy of playing in this simple way. “I love you more than vanilla ice cream with chocolate syrup.”
“I love you more than banilla ice cream with chocolate syrup and sprinkles.”
Trevor added another topping, and it was Brandi’s turn.
“I love you more than banilla ice cream with chocolate syrup, sprinkles”—she rolled her eyes to the top of her head, making sure she remembered in sequence—“coconut, and cherries,” she yelled, finalizing the building of the sundae as she scurried out of sight.
Trevor listened as the phone rang for the fifth time, also concerned about Derek Hines. Derek was the only person other than his secretary and his sister whom Trevor had given Mother Vale’s phone number to. He’d told the boy to use it only in case of an emergency, so as the phone continued to go unanswered, Trevor’s worry over the fourteen-year-old doubled. Like Brandi, he had become quite fond of Derek, despite a shaky beginning.
Six months ago, Derek had been caught stealing from Seconds. Trevor had planned to come down hard on him, teach him a lesson while he was impressionable. But after learning the youngster wanted the food for two small brothers, Trevor decided against notifying the police. Instead, he set Derek up with part-time employment and homework help, and when he discovered Derek’s passion for basketball, he gave him a spot on the City Champions team. Derek excelled on the court, and his grades and attitude improved as well.
“Who dis?” Derek’s mother answered the phone.
Trevor grimaced at the ragged salutation. “Hello, Miss Hines. This is Coach Monroe. Is Derek there?”
“Oh, Coach, how you doin’?”
“I’m fine, Miss Hines, and you?”
“Oh, I’m doin’ real good, now.”
Trudy Hines’s routine flirtation dance had begun and would swing into full gear if Trevor didn’t end it pronto. “Have Derek call me when he gets in, please. And you have a good day.”
“Wait,” Trudy said before he could disconnect.
When Trudy didn’t say anything more, Trevor asked, his voice even, “Is there something I can do for you, Miss Hines?” He wrinkled his face as soon as the words were released. That had definitely been the wrong way to put it.
“Oh, there’s a lot you can do for me,�
� Trudy said like she was auditioning for a phone-sex job.
Trevor was sure he heard Derek’s voice in the background, amid the cries of a younger child and the brouhaha of the television. “Is Derek home?” he asked again.
“Yeah, he home!”
The phone had been slammed against something hard, and Trevor had to pull the receiver away from his ear. He brought the phone back to hear Trudy discharging a string of obscenities while informing Derek she wasn’t his secretary.
It amazed Trevor how well Derek dealt with Trudy, a reckless mother if ever there was one. If it had not been for Derek’s pleas, Trevor would have turned Trudy over to Social Services months ago. But Derek vowed he would help his mom raise his brothers to keep them from being separated. At times, Trevor questioned whether he was doing the right thing, keeping his mouth shut. At times, he was downright uncomfortable with the decision. So he kept in close contact with Derek and donated groceries or clothing for Derek and his brothers as needed. Of course, Derek’s mother thought her son purchased these items with the money he earned at the bakery, but Trevor had opened up a savings account for Derek, and that’s where most of the boy’s paycheck resided.
“Yo, yo, yo.” A voice not quite a man’s ripped through the wires.
“Hello, Derek. What’s going on?”
“Aw, Coach, you ain’t gonna believe it. All my stuff for the awards thingy next Saturday is missin’. The suit, shoes . . . even the socks.” He lowered his voice. “I think Trudy might have sold everything . . . for more forties.”
Trevor was accustomed to Derek using his mother’s first name. It was Trudy’s idea. Only thirteen years older than her son, she’d been heard to say, “I’m too young for you to be calling me Mama.” Derek’s voice shot up a few decibels. “What I’m gonna do? I ain’t got nuffin’ else nice to wear.”
