Good to Me (22 page)

“I know.” She reached into her purse and pulled out an opened envelope. “This came on Thursday.” She handed it to him.

It was a letter from his attorney outlining all of his recommendations and the proceedings they discussed. Emmitt contained
his anger—she was making it easier for him to leave her. He wondered if this was the first piece of mail she withheld from
him. “Momma, why didn’t you say something to me or at least give me my mail?”

“I was going to, but it was the day after I got out of the hospital. You’d gone to Wal-Mart.”

Emmitt remembered what the doctor said about her faking a heart attack and about their codependent relationship. He decided
to test her. “Momma, what else have you been keeping from me? What did the doctor say about your
heart
attack?”

She looked away. “He said it was mild and that if I eat right, limit my salt and pork intake, and take my medicine I should
be fine.”

“What kind of medicine did he give you?”

She stopped to think. “Wait a minute, I’m your momma. Why are you questioning me?”

“Momma, Dr. Metcalf told me about the tests he ran. I know you didn’t have a heart attack—”

“You don’t have no respect for me. I don’t know why you’re still calling me Momma. I told you to call me Elaine, with your
disrespectful self. I never talked to my momma the way you do me. You treat them heifers in the street better than you do
me. If I didn’t have a heart attack, you sure is trying to give me one.”

Emmitt surprised himself by not backing down. “He also told me I need to go to some Codependents Anonymous meetings. Something
to help me learn how to be your son, and not your husband.”

He knew his words cut like a knife. But he was determined to be free from her today. The sting from her slap across his face
was duller than the guilt he felt.

Emmitt braced himself; he saw her clenched fists by her side. Then, it looked like she changed her tactic. Instead of hitting
him, she clutched her chest and started gasping for air. He watched her let herself fall to the ground. “Em—Emmitt, call 9-1-1.”

“Oh no you don’t. Get up, Momma. I’m not falling for this mess no more. Get up!”
She’s getting good at this game
. He stood there watching as she rolled her eyes up into her head. He wanted to be funny and hand her some lip balm; her lips
were so dry they looked purplish. “Okay, you win, Momma.” He yanked his cell phone from his belt clip and dialed the first
two digits of the emergency number. “I’m dialing 9-1-1 for real, you can get up now.”

He wasn’t surprised when she didn’t move. He knew she wanted him to call the paramedics. He let her lay motionless at his
feet.

“May I get the paramedics to Highland Bridge Apartments? I’m in 5000-A. I think my mom is sick… I don’t know, she says
she’s having trouble breathing… No, she’s not talking now…” He was annoyed with all of the operator’s questions.
All of this nonsense for nothing. The operator asked him to check her for a pulse. Even though he was a security guard and
trained in CPR, he thought his techniques were off because he didn’t feel anything. “I don’t know, can y’all just hurry up?”
He shook his mother. She didn’t respond. He was starting to get scared. “Momma? Momma? Get up! Come on, Momma, get up! I believe
you.” The operator told him that the paramedics had already been dispatched and that she needed him to start CPR on his mother.
He put the phone down and placed his mouth over her purple lips and expelled the contents of his lungs into hers. “One-one
thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand, four-one thousand, five,” he counted out the compressions as he gave them
and tried to breathe life into her. He compressed her chest again. “Oh, God!” he sobbed. “Oh, God, she’s not breathing,” he
announced to the operator.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” the operator said. “I hear the sirens in the background. Go outside where they can see you.”

If it wasn’t the first Sunday and she had known that Pastor King wouldn’t be looking for her, Charity wouldn’t have come to
church. She was exhausted. She and Iesha came to an understanding that they both felt okay about what happened with Mr. Wright.
Charity verbally forgave her sister, and was glad that her court hearing had gone well, but feelings of anger kept cropping
up. Add that to the minister’s meeting that turned into a cat fight, and Emmitt’s mother’s death, she felt like she had a
good reason to stay home.

She couldn’t believe that men of God from the church would act the way they did. Reverend Hubbard was so mad he cursed female
ministers and threatened to resign. Charity was humiliated. Despite her protest, Pastor King decided that she would call the
congregation to worship until the first Sunday of March and that they would all rotate every month.

This morning the tension was so thick in the pastor’s study, Charity believed she could cut it with a knife. She excused herself
to go to the bathroom and stayed there until she was sure it was time for them to walk into the sanctuary together. The congregation
seemed more eager to worship. When she performed the call to worship, she didn’t have to admonish the congregation, she simply
exalted God, adored His Son, and acknowledged His Spirit. Like sponges soaking up water, the worshippers received every word
she spoke.

Church services proceeded as the clerk read the announcements, the hostess recognized the visitors, and the choir sung its
selections. But Charity was uncomfortable. She felt like she was being watched. She studied the congregation to see if she
could find who was watching her. She did see a man she didn’t recognize smiling at her. She tried to ignore the feeling but
couldn’t. She decided that she would change seats when the tithe and offering appeal went forth. The congregation would then
be too distracted to notice her. When the ushers led the congregation pew by pew to the altar to give their gifts, Charity
moved to the empty chair beside Pastor King.

The feeling went away. She braced herself for the sermon. She was expecting a blessing today.

After his introductory remarks, Pastor King told the congregation to turn their Bibles to Isaiah 54. That was confirmation
for her—that particular chapter was one of her favorites. “When you get there say ‘Amen,’ if you ain’t there, say ‘hold up,’
and if you don’t have a Bible, say ‘it don’t even matter.’ ” The sound of laughter and turning pages was melodic. He waited
momentarily and instructed the congregation to read verses 16 and 17 along with him. “The subject I want to teach from today
is, ‘The weapon forged against me is an instrument formed for me.’ Turn to your neighbor and look them dead in the eye and
say, ‘neighbor.’” The crowd parakeeted in unison. “I stopped by to tell you… that the weapon forged against you . . .
is an instrument formed for you. Now give your neighbor a high five.”

Charity listened intently as she jotted notes on the back page of her bulletin. “There’s a difference between the words ‘forged’
and ‘formed,’ ” Pastor King asserted. “When the word ‘forge’ is used as a noun it refers to an open furnace where metal is
heated to be shaped. For example, a blacksmith uses a forge to create weapons. The verb form of ‘forge’ means to imitate fraudulently,
like signing someone else’s name to cash a check that doesn’t belong to you. Stay with me now, I’m going somewhere with this.
The word ‘form’ means to mold, create, compose, to make or produce. Saints, I stopped by to tell you that the weapon the enemy
has forged against you, the one he stayed up all night long putting in and taking out of his forge—is a counterfeit, an imitation.
It’s a knockoff, it ain’t even real.” The congregation encouraged him to go on. “Quit getting upset when he throws something
at you, quit getting distracted, quit giving up. Next time he come at you, do like you do at the flea market, say ‘I ain’t
buying this, it don’t even look real.’ What he doesn’t realize is that when he throws a weapon at you, he’s giving you ammunition
to use against him. I can’t get no help in here this morning. I said, when he throws a weapon at you, he’s giving you an instrument
to use against him. Every time he messes with your children, every time he messes with your finances, with your car, with
your spouse, with your stuff, and you speak the word out of your mouth, it becomes as sharp as any two-edged sword.”

She was pleased that she had received a word of encouragement. She didn’t want to talk to anyone; she wanted to go home and
anoint and reclaim her house. She realized that she’d been living in fear and expecting something bad to happen knowing that
Mr. Wright had briefly taken her keys. She knew her mind was playing tricks because she would swear that things were misplaced
in the house.
Xavier could’ve moved those things for all I know
. She directed her thoughts toward the devil.
You want a fight, you just picked one and I ain’t backing down this time
.

After the benediction, Charity gathered her purse, keys, and Bible and was ready to walk in her renewed confidence, when Minister
Adams approached her.

“Minister Phillips, I was wondering if you would have dinner with me.”

Didn’t I just tell this fool
. . . “Obviously I didn’t make myself clear to you Friday night about where I stand with you.” She stepped back when he reached
for her hand.

He put his arm on her shoulder and said, “I heard you but I also heard Pastor’s sermon today. You are worth fighting for .
. .”

She tuned him out, removed his hand, and looked up to see April rolling her eyes and storming out of the sanctuary.

“Oh, God. Look what you did.” She ran after April, but the tight pockets of people made her lose sight of her. She made her
way toward April’s parking space, but by the time she got to the back door, April was speeding out of the parking lot. Defeated,
she returned so that she could pick up Xavier from children’s church.

“Minister Phillips?” a young woman she didn’t know broke her stride.

“Yes?”

“It’s good to meet you.” She extended her hand toward Charity. “I’ve heard so much about you.” Charity must’ve looked confused.
“My name is Sharon Nelson. I’m Joseph’s sister.”

Do I know a Joseph?
“Joseph?”

“Minister Joseph Nelson? From Kentucky? He’s my brother.”

“Hi, are you a member here?”

“Oh no, I go to Shiloh. Joseph asked if I would come to meet you. He thought you might feel more comfortable communicating
with him if you had some personal contact with someone… someone to let you know he’s not crazy,” she laughed.

Charity half laughed, knowing that Sharon had read her thoughts.

“Well I’m glad you came to visit and I hope you enjoyed the service.”

“I did. I always enjoy Pastor King’s services. You know, he and my pastor are good friends, but I know him through his wife.
I used to sell Mary Kay and she was one of my best customers. She used to throw makeup parties for me, and you know your pastor
would be right up in the mix cracking jokes.”

“And I know he was. Did you get a chance to say hello to him?”

“No, he looked busy talking to everyone.”

The therapist in Charity kicked in, wanting to verify what she’d been told. “I’ll take you to him so that you can say hello.”
Charity led her back to the sanctuary. “Oh, there’s First Lady with him.”

Before Charity and Sharon could get to Pastor King, his wife saw them coming and started squealing with excitement.

“Sharrrrronnnnn!” Mrs. King hugged Sharon like they were old friends reuniting. “What are you doing here?”

Charity felt relieved to know that Sharon was telling the truth and she listened as they began catching each other up on their
lives.

“Where are the girls?” Sharon asked.

“They’re around here somewhere. What are you doing these days?”

“I’m in grad school and doing my internship at the county.”

Pastor King turned around, after finishing a conversation with one of the church members. “Lord, look who Mary Kay done sent
us.” He hugged Sharon and then turned to Charity with a puzzled look on his face. “Y’all two know each other?”

“We just met.”

“Oh, ’cause you know I have to approve the people you associate with, and I was getting ready to say.”

Sharon slapped him on the arm playfully. “Pastor King, don’t make me tell Charity them stories from our makeup party days.”

“Oh no. Minister Phillips, don’t believe anything she says.”

Mrs. King turned to Sharon and said, “I wish we could get together for dinner tonight, but we promised the girls to take them
shoe shopping. God forbid we renege.”

“I’ll call you to arrange something so we can get together,” Sharon replied. “Minister Phillips, do you want to stop and get
a bite to eat? My treat.”

“Shoot, if that’s the case, First Lady,” Pastor King said, “we need to go with them. Sharon’s paying.”

Charity shook her head at him and answered Sharon, “I’ve already started cooking so… I can’t today.”

Pastor King put his two cents in, “Sharon, ask her if you can go home with her, Minister Phillips can burn.”

Mrs. King chimed in, “Oh yeah, we make sure she brings dishes when there’s a church function. What’d you cook for dinner,
Minister Phillips?”

Charity smiled, knowing she’d prepared one of their favorites. “Lasagna.”

“Honey, you can take the girls to the mall without me,” Pastor King joked.

Sharon asked shyly, “Can you feed one more person?”

Since Pastor and Mrs. King approved of Sharon, Charity couldn’t find a reason not to. “Sure. You can have dinner with us.”
Maybe this is why I didn’t feel like having dinner at Momma’s today
.

“Please save a doggy bag for me. I know you’re going to have leftovers. You cook like you cooking for an army.”

Charity let Sharon say her good-byes to the Kings and she excused herself to get Xavier. She was sure that he would be the
last child in children’s church; everyone was probably long gone. He was eagerly waiting when she picked him up and signed
him out.

“Thank you,” she said to the youth minister. She joked, “You didn’t give him any punch or cookies, did you?” She’d suggested
that they offer healthier refreshments. There were some occasions she’d pick Xavier up and he’d be
bouncing off the walls
.