Everybody Say Amen (4 page)

L
ester rolled over, out of breath, his chest heaving. He had a look of absolute pleasure on his face. Poor thing, he really thought he’d done something, Rachel thought. But, as usual, his lovemaking left a lot to be desired.

Rachel exhaled as she looked at the digital clock on the nightstand. It was almost one in the morning and not only was she unfulfilled, she was still wide awake. She looked at Lester and a small smile crossed her face. He’d gone to sleep just that fast. He looked so peaceful. She, on the other hand, felt frustrated. She had resigned herself to a lifetime of mediocre loving, but it was starting to get to her. Oh, Lester tried, he tried with all his might, but he simply could not measure up to Bobby.

Rachel closed her eyes tightly. Why was she thinking of Bobby? He was history. He had chosen his life with his one-Reese’s Pieces-away-from-exploding wife, and she’d been forced to choose hers. Now that she was Mrs. Lester Adams, she could not backtrack with the man who had broken her heart.

But as Rachel looked over at her husband softly snoring she couldn’t help but wonder, what if? What if she and Bobby had gotten back together? What if she had never cheated on him in the first place? What if she hadn’t been so young and stupid? And why couldn’t she get his words from the other day out of her head?
I’m unhappy because I should have married you
.

You need to pray
, Rachel told herself as she climbed out of bed and dropped to her knees. Her mother would be thrilled to know that she had become a praying woman. It had helped her make it through some turbulent times. Back in the day, though, she had been a firecracker and had done some things she was now ashamed of.

Rachel prayed for a good five minutes before standing up and grabbing her robe. She felt a little better, but her thoughts were still on Bobby. Maybe if she went downstairs and watched TV, it would help her fall asleep—or at the very least get her mind off of Bobby.

As she made her way downstairs she couldn’t help but recall all the horrible things she’d done during and after her relationship with Bobby. She shook her head as she thought about how she’d sent Jordan up to Bobby’s door in the middle of the night. Or when she’d called and had all of Shante’s utilities cut off. Or better yet, when she’d tried to stab Bobby with a butcher knife. Rachel had worked hard to grow beyond that hot-tempered girl she used to be. But she couldn’t help how she was feeling now.

When Bobby had left her, she couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t forgive her. It seemed stupid now. After all, she had a baby by his best friend. How many men could’ve forgiven that? But back then, she’d felt he was being unreasonable by not giving her another chance. And she especially couldn’t understand why he chose overweight, plain-looking Shante over her.

Rachel knew she was pretty, always had been. But she’d let her hair grow out over the years and now it hung down on her shoulders. She’d also kept her svelte size-eight frame. Bobby used to love how guys were always looking at her. She used to think that and his love for her would be enough to win him back. But he’d made it clear that he loved Shante for what was on the inside, not how she looked.

It was a mature viewpoint that Rachel just hadn’t understood at the time. Over the years, however, she’d grown up enough to do so.
So then why can’t you stand Shante?
a little voice echoed in her head.

“Because I wish he’d chosen me,” Rachel mumbled before quickly catching herself. “No, I don’t. What am I talking about?”

“Ma, are you in here talking to yourself?”

Rachel jumped at the sound of Jordan’s voice from behind her. She hadn’t even realized she was standing in the kitchen, in the dark, talking to herself. She tried to fake a laugh. “I’m sorry, baby. I was just mumbling.”

“Oh,” Jordan muttered like he could really care less. “I just needed some water. I have the hiccups.”

“Have a seat.” Rachel walked over and flipped the light on. “I’ll get you a glass of water. Maybe even make us some hot chocolate, and maybe we can chat for minute.”

“Awww, Ma. I just want to get some water and go back to bed,” he groaned.

Rachel ignored him as she grabbed a glass, filled it with water from the Ozarka machine, and placed it on the table. “Have a seat.”

Jordan rolled his eyes as he plopped down at the table. Rachel grabbed two more cups from the cabinet, filled them with hot water and placed them in the microwave. After letting the water get hot, she removed the cups, filled them with cocoa, and placed them at the table.

“Here; now, let’s talk,” she said.

Jordan groaned again.

“You want to tell me what’s going on with you?”

“Nothing, dang.”

“Jordan, I don’t like your attitude lately. You’re rude and disrespectful, and I just don’t understand what’s going on with you.”

Jordan sighed, then took a sip of his hot chocolate. “Why you trippin’?” he finally said.

“All right, don’t get smart,” she warned. “I’m just trying to get you to talk to me.”

“What? Ain’t nothing wrong. I wish everybody would just leave me alone!” Jordan scowled.

“Jordan, you’re eleven. How bad can life really be?” Rachel tried to talk calmly because it was obvious something was wrong with her son. “Talk to me, please.”

Jordan blew a frustrated breath, then sat up. “Fine. I wanna know why don’t nobody like us. Why they’re always talking about us. You, Uncle Jonathan, Uncle David, even Paw Paw Simon. Everybody hates us.”

Rachel tried not to smile. She forgot that at his age, being liked was one of the most important things in the world. She put her hand on his. “Baby, nobody hates us.”

“Yes they do. Everybody’s always talking about us.”

Rachel shook her head. “Sweetie, sometimes, when you’re in a position of power, you’re held to higher standards than everyone else. Your grandfather has always held a position of power, so people expected his kids to be perfect. But we had problems just like everybody else.”

Jordan looked like he wasn’t convinced.

“You know Sister Smith, Donyell’s grandmother?” Rachel continued.

Jordan nodded. “What about her?”

“She’s raising Donyell because his mother went to prison for bank robbery.”

Jordan’s eyes got wide as she kept talking.

“And Sister Hicks got arrested for shoplifting when she was a teenager.”

“No way!”

“Yes way.” Rachel smiled. “So, you see, everybody has issues. Some people act so holy that you think they’ve never done anything wrong—but no one on this earth is perfect.”

Jordan looked like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Rachel was just grateful that he didn’t ask her to go into details about her brothers. That was a conversation she wasn’t ready to have with him just yet.

“Ma, can I ask you another question?”

“Of course you can.”

He looked down and started fiddling with his fingers. “Why didn’t you marry my daddy? I mean, I like Daddy Lester, but I’m just wondering.”

Rachel sighed. “Baby, you know me, Lester, and your daddy all love you to death, right?”

“I know.”

“Me and your father not marrying had nothing to do with you. I made a lot of mistakes when I was younger. And sometimes we hurt people so much that they can’t forgive you.” She was glad Jordan was too young to remember all the dirt she’d done, let alone the custody battle.

“So you hurt my daddy?”

Rachel didn’t know how to answer that. She didn’t want to lie. “Mommy did some things she’s not proud of. You remember when you threw that baseball through Mrs. Logan’s window on purpose because you were mad?”

He nodded.

“Well, after it was over, you regretted that. I did some things that I regretted, too. But know this: No matter what, you will always be the most important person in our lives. Understand?”

Jordan smiled for the first time in a long time. “Yeah, I understand.” He took a sip of his cocoa, then stood up. “I’m gonna go back to bed.”

Rachel stood and watched him head to the door. “Jordan?”

He stopped and turned around.

“No more problems at school, right? We straight?”

Jordan nodded. “Yeah, we straight.”

Rachel turned out the kitchen light and watched her son make his way back to his room. He looked like such an angel. She hoped their conversation had gotten through to him and resolved whatever problem he was having. But for some reason, her gut was telling her her problems with Jordan were far from over.

R
achel wiped the sweat from her face. “Okay, boys and girls, take it from the top!” As one of the students hit the music to the song “Stomp” by Kirk Franklin, Rachel began counting the kids down. “Step, step, slap, step, slap, slap, turn around, slap.”

She led them in the steps for a few minutes before stepping back and watching them finish the routine themselves in front of the church sanctuary. She had more than twenty kids on the step team and all of them were at practice tonight. She wished she could get Jordan to participate, but—of course—he had no interest in doing anything church related.

Rachel smiled as the stepping calmed down and a young man with cornrows took the mike off the podium.

“Give it up! Give it up! Give it up for my G-O-D!” He then proceeded to rap while the steppers behind him clapped along. “I’m shooting straight from the hip and it’s plain to see. Can’t nobody mess with the power of my G-O-D.”

“Good God Almighty.”

Rachel turned toward the four church members standing in the back of the sanctuary.

“Is he rapping about God?” mumbled Birdie Mae Canton, one of the deacons’ wives. She had a look of absolute horror on her face.

“What has this world come to?” her cohort, Norma Jean Woodruff, asked as she clutched her chest.

Birdie Mae stomped to the front. She looked twenty years older than she actually was. It was probably the flowered dress that hung on her robust frame. Or maybe it was the hair, which was pulled back so tightly in a bun that it slanted her eyes. “Sister Adams, please tell me what is going on,” she spat.

“What does it look like?” Rachel responded in as nice a voice as she could muster. She motioned for the kids to keep going.

The boy continued to rap. “If you feeling God like I’m feeling God, let me hear you say, ‘oh yeah.’ ”

“Oh yeah!” the kids behind him shouted.

All four women continued to stand with their mouths open. “It looks like these chilluns done lost their mind.” Birdie Mae spun on them and clapped her hands together. “Stop it! Stop that rapping, stepping, and blasphemous noise!”

Rachel took a deep breath. “This is our new step team, Sister Canton.”

“Step team? What do we need a step team for? This is church, not some fraternity,” Norma Jean interjected.

“I know that, but I told you one of my goals was to make this congregation more appealing to young people. And I’m sorry, but this is what young people like.”

“Rapping? Stepping? In God’s name? You think that’s okay?” Birdie Mae asked in disbelief.

“I sure do.” Rachel turned back to the kids. “Okay, one more time from the top.”

The kids looked nervously at Birdie Mae. She taught many of them in Sunday school, so Rachel was sure they were nervous about proceeding against her wishes.

Birdie Mae shot the kids a mean look before turning back to Rachel. “Sister Adams, we stood by and watched as you came in here and cut out the announcements, cut out the devotionals and the testimonies, in an effort to, may I quote, ‘cut the service time.’ Heaven forbid we should give the Lord more than two hours on Sunday morning. Then we stood by and watched as you started some youth group bringing in wayward girls from off the streets. We even allowed you to unnecessarily bring in a huge band to accompany our already talented choir.”

Norma Jean leaned in. “And don’t forget about her getting rid of the choir robes. Got everybody looking all mismatched.”

Birdie Mae nodded. “Of course. And let’s not even get started on the drama ministry, as if we need to act out a show for God. You did all of that with little protest from us, but this is going too far. I, for one, will not stand by and let you desecrate this church. Your mother would never have done something like this. Not only are you setting a horrible example for young people, but you are not honoring God with this nonsense. No, this will not happen.”

Rachel had had enough. This was exactly why she didn’t want to be first lady; technically, she should be able to handle this situation with style and grace. But she wasn’t feeling very graceful right about now.

“Look here, Birdie Mae, I ain’t my mama. That’s number one. Number two, there’s a new sheriff in town. And I do things differently.” Rachel calmed herself down before continuing. “As first lady, I am in charge of the church program and our youth. And I say the program was too long and our youth are too bored. So we will step, dance, rap, act, and whatever else it takes to get them involved. And if you don’t like it, well, let’s just say Mount Calvary is always looking for new members.”

Birdie Mae clutched her chest. “I have been a tithing member of this church for thirty-two years!”

“And I have been first lady for one. While we appreciate your years of service, if you can’t respect our changes…well, that’s just too bad.” Rachel didn’t give her time to respond. She turned back to the children. “Okay, Joseph, that was a good rap. Let’s try it again with a little more energy.”

She ignored Birdie Mae and her flunkies as they stomped out of the church, mumbling what Rachel was sure was a mouthful of threats.