Heaven Forbid (6 page)

Passion pushed away from the computer. She was trying to come up with a Thanksgiving menu, but her heart wasn’t in it. Stan had asked her to fix an intimate, preholiday dinner for the associate ministers and their wives, to be served the Saturday before Thanksgiving. It wasn’t that Passion had a problem cooking. She was a Georgia peach who felt she could throw down with the best of them. No, the turkey in the pan wasn’t the problem, but the turkey sleeping in her bed was. Stan wanted her to keep on the happy-first-lady face, let the world believe that theirs was a happy marriage. But Stan was finding more reasons to stay at his church office, while she’d found more unmentionables in his office at home. The truth of the matter was that Passion was becoming unhappier with each passing day. And she didn’t know what to do about it.

Unbidden, a picture of the man who got away came into her mind, the man whose photo she’d recently seen in
LA Gospel,
escorting his wife to the NAACP Image Awards.
Don’t, Passion, don’t even go there.
Even as her head said no, her heart said yes. She closed her eyes and remembered Lavon Chapman’s deep kisses and probing tongue—remembered the night they both lost control and almost had sex. Unlike Stan, Passion had no doubts Lavon knew how to use the massive gift God had blessed him with. And now someone else was getting all that good loving, and she was left with that woman’s languid leftover.

“Mommy! Mommy, it’s me. I’m home!”

Thank God for diversions. That line of thought will lead to nothing but trouble.
Passion smiled as her pride and joy bounded into the den. At eight years old, Onyx was a braided bundle of energy: smart, inquisitive, and, if Passion didn’t rein her in, as rambunctious as all get-out. Onyx had adjusted well to having a father figure in the home, and Stan seemed to shower the same love upon her that he did his own kids.
I have to give him that—he’s a great father.
She only wished he was a great husband as well.

“Hey, sweetie pie, how was your day?”

“Not too good, Mommy.”

Passion watched with humor as Onyx pasted an exaggerated frown on her face. “It’s Charlie McPherson. He keeps pulling my braids at recess, and I don’t like it. I know you told me that fighting isn’t ladylike, but if he does it again, I’m gonna knock him on his behind!”

Passion stifled a smile. “Now, Onyx, you know you can’t do that. What about Mrs. Abrams? Did you tell your teacher about what little Charlie is doing?”

“Only a hundred times,” Onyx said, rolling her eyes and crossing her tiny arms for good measure. “But all she does is stomp her foot and say, ‘Charlie, stop it right this minute. Be a good boy.’”

Onyx’s mimicking Mrs. Abrams was spot-on, and Passion didn’t try and contain her laughter. “Well, I tell you what. The next time Charlie pulls your braid, just tell him he’s doing that because he likes you and thinks you’re the prettiest little girl at Rolling Hills Elementary. I bet that will put a stop to his bothering you.”

“Yuck! I don’t like Charlie. His hair is red, and he has freckles and wears braces! But he better stop messing with me, Mommy. Or I’m gonna knock him out!”

“All right, Michelle Tyson. What do you say about a little snack to tide you over until dinner? Would you like a couple chicken fingers with some chips?”

“Can I have them with barbeque sauce, my favorite?”

“Yes, honey.”

While getting the frozen fingers from the freezer, Passion’s eyes fell on the twenty-pound turkey Stan had bought for the dinner he wanted. The holiday dinner that was supposed to be filled with joy and cheer. Passion’s smile became sinister as a plan unfolded in her head. If Stan wanted his little we’re-one-big-happy-family dinner, then there was something he’d have to give Passion in return. Sure, it ached her heart a little to have to bribe her husband into having sex with her, but the dildo she’d purchased mere months into her marriage wasn’t working out. She didn’t like masturbating, couldn’t help but feel it was wrong, even though she was married. And the further truth was, she loved her husband and she loved making love to him. Stan had the equipment. If he really wanted to, Passion felt he could be an excellent lover…like that last time after the fight in Texas. He’d actually hit her G-spot for the very first time. But after returning to Los Angeles, Stan had reverted back to his old self, not wanting to have sex and not wanting to talk about their Texas rendezvous. That was already more than a month ago. In Passion’s mind, it was way past time for the two to become one again, and as she sat Onyx’s plate on the dining room table and walked back into the den, she had two things in mind: the pre–Thanksgiving Day menu saved on the computer and a different kind of meal that she’d be requesting just as soon as Stan got home.

Nettie Thicke Johnson took a long swig of sweet tea and leaned back against the fluffy floral sofa her son Nate had gifted her two Christmases ago. She’d been on the phone for the past two hours, calling members, especially those she hadn’t seen in the past three months, and encouraging them to come out for the early morning Thanksgiving Day service. “Break bread with Christ before you break bread with your family,” she’d gently admonished, referring to the special Lord’s supper that would be offered Thanksgiving morning. Most people had made a halfhearted promise to be there. Others told her they’d moved their membership, either to Reverend Jenkins’s church, the Methodist church, or a church out of town. Nettie gazed into the distance, remembering how just two short years ago, there would have been standing room only at any service her son conducted. Nate Thicke had been the drawing power, no doubt about that. Things had not been the same at Gospel Truth since he and his family had left Palestine and moved to Turks and Caicos.

Nettie picked up the phone to dial again, but it rang before she got the chance. “Hello?”

“Miss Nettie? This is Anne Black, returning your call.”

“Hey, Sistah Black, how you doin’?”

“Doing fine, Miss Nettie, miss seeing you, though.”

“Well, child, that’s just why I’m calling. To find out why we haven’t seen you at church lately and to invite you to early morning service Thanksgiving Day.”

“Miss Nettie, no disrespect, but I’m not too keen on the new pastor.”

“Now, baby, Revered Doctor O—”

“You mean Reverend Doctor Oh
No?
Because that’s his favorite word. You can’t even breathe and be a Christian according to the way he preaches.”

“The good reverend doctor,” Nettie continued without acknowledging Anne’s dig, “is preaching the unadulterated word of God. It might not taste good going down, but this religious medicine is good all the same.”

“All he does is tell us what we can’t do. Why can’t I buy a lotto ticket? You can’t win if you don’t play!”

“He’s preaching Bible.”

“Where in the Bible does it say I can’t watch
Grey’s Anatomy?
What’s wrong with enjoying
The Price Is Right?
And who’s this ‘Moral Board’ that decided what is and isn’t sinful on TV? It doesn’t matter, Miss Nettie,” Anne continued, her voice softer. “The TV shows weren’t even the last straw.”

“Well, what was, baby?”

“It was when Sistah Jones escorted me back to the choir room so I could cover my arms. Miss Nettie, it was ninety-five degrees that day!”

“But the book plainly says ‘no elbows can show.’”

“Doctor Oh
No
’s book, not the Good Book. I’m sorry, Miss Nettie. I’m going home for Thanksgiving. But even if I was going to be here, I wouldn’t be attending Gospel Truth on Thanksgiving, or any other day. Again, I don’t mean no disrespect to you. I’ve always admired your faith. Even after Reverend Thicke resigned, you know I was still in that choir stand every time the church doors opened. But I have to tell you something. When it comes to Doctor Obadiah’s heaven, I don’t think anybody in Palestine, save for you and Mama Max, can make it in.”

Nettie’s heart was heavy as she hung up the phone. She understood Anne’s frustration; the new Gospel Truth rules were stricter than normal. But desperate times had called for desperate measures. Reverend Doctor O had done what he felt necessary to to bring order back into the house of God. “Humph. Those folks better off keeping their money in their pockets rather than wasting it in slot machines and bingo halls,” Nettie muttered to herself as she walked to the bathroom. “And who cares about an anatomy—gray or any other color?”

The tires on Mama Max’s jet-black Thunderbird had barely stopped rolling before she opened the car door and hurried to Nettie’s front door. She didn’t notice that her usually perfectly coiffed hair was coming down in the back or that she wore one black sock and one navy blue one underneath her charcoal-gray warm-ups. She huffed up the steps, crossed the porch, and punched the doorbell three times in a row.

“Hold your horses!” Nettie shouted, drying her hands and walking quickly to the door at the same time. She never stopped talking as she opened the door. “Where on earth is the fire? I tell you the tru—Mama Max? Is that you running up those steps as if lightning is about to strike?”

“Lighting done struck, child, and Satan’s on the loose. Open up this here door ’cause you ain’t gonna believe what I just heard.”

Nettie quickly opened the door. The hug she meant for Mama Max’s shoulder barely touched her back as Mama Max hurried past Nettie into the living room. “Lawd, I know you ain’t got no Baileys Irish Cream but I sure could use some in my coffee right now!”

“Come on back to the kitchen while I put on a pot, Mama. And tell me what on earth has you in such a state!”

Mama Max followed Nettie to the kitchen. “We’re the only ones here, right?”

“Uh-huh. Some of the churchwomen are coming over in an hour or so, but it’s just you and me until then.”

“It’s them Noble bitches, stirring up my blood again!” Mama Max’s face contorted as she fairly hissed out this news. The Nobles were a family of beautiful, cultured, and some would say conniving women who’d lived in Palestine off and on for decades.

“Katherine?” Nettie hadn’t seen Katherine for over a year, since the former church member had relocated to New Orleans to live near her daughter.

“Worse, her sister, Dorothea.”

“Dorothea Bates? What on earth about Dorothea has your blood riled?”

“She’s here in Palestine, that’s what!”

“Are you sure? Dorothea’s shadow hasn’t darkened these parts in ten, twenty years. Besides, if she were here in town, I’m pretty sure I’d know about it. Her grandniece is my daughter-in-law, after all.”

“Well, she’s here. Heard it with my own ears.”

“From who?” Nettie handed Mama Max a steaming cup of coffee, then reached into the refrigerator for flavored creamer. “This Irish Crème creamer is as close to your Baileys as I can do.”

Mama Max was too wrapped up in her thoughts to hear her. “Now, you know I’m not one to be nosy….”

Nettie hid a smile.

“But I passed by the bedroom and heard the reverend doctor talking all lowlike. So I tiptoed into the guest room and picked up the receiver. Now, you know I’m not one to be nosy, but when the Spirit nudges me to do a thing, I try and be obedient. So I picked up that phone, yes, I did. And I heard her.”

“She was on the phone with your husband?”

Mama Max nodded. “And that ain’t all. The phone hadn’t rung, which means she wasn’t the one who’d done the calling. I just can’t believe this!” Mama Max set down her mug so hard that coffee sloshed over the sides. “How long has he been consorting behind my back?”

Nettie frowned. “You mean…cavorting?”

“That too. How long has he been in touch with Dorothea?”

“Now, Mama. It’s obvious you have some kind of history with this woman but—”

“Forty years! That’s how long it’s been since I laid eyes on her. Ever since I caught my husband in her room all those years ago. He promised me that he’d never see her again, and I believed him!”

Nettie was shocked but not surprised at Mama Max’s revelation. Unfortunately, she was all too familiar with how men of God sometimes strayed. It had happened with her own preacher husband, who’d carried on a lengthy affair with Dorothea’s sister, Katherine Noble. The two saw each other until his untimely death from a car accident. “Maybe he’s told the truth,” she finally offered. “Maybe he hasn’t seen Dorothea in all these years.”

“Then how’d he get her number? How does he know anything about that…Lord, it ain’t worth losing my religion to call her what she is, God forgive me for the truthful name I used earlier. But I’m telling you, this has got me powerful upset! Reverend ain’t said a word, ain’t mouthed a peep about who’s in town for Thanksgiving.”

“Well, now, you just pray on it, Mama Max. Then maybe she’ll be long gone by Christmas time.”

Princess sat back against the wall in her old bedroom and read what she’d written, the prologue to her self-help memoir. She felt safe here, surrounded by childhood memories and familiar sights and sounds. Her parents hadn’t done much to her room since she’d left that first time three years ago, nor had they changed the family routine. Her mother was downstairs cooking up a Thanksgiving storm. Her brother, Michael, was in his room, the pounding bass of whatever he was listening to vibrating through the walls. And the twins, Timothy and Tabitha, or Tee as Princess and her friends called her, three years her junior, were deep into a Wii tennis match. No, things hadn’t changed much, and this was just the way Princess liked it. That’s why she’d waited until the Thanksgiving holiday to begin to write. She wanted to begin working on her book in the same way her journey into womanhood had begun—at home. And she’d wanted to begin it now for another reason—so she could share the first chapter with her mom, after she’d shared the secrets she’d told Mama Max.
I’ll do that later…maybe tonight.

Princess looked at her table of contents. The first chapter was titled “The Journey Begins.” In her outline, Princess had decided to write about the excitement of the months leading up to her leaving home, beginning with the day she’d learned her application to UCLA had been accepted. Smiling, she began typing on her laptop, recording her memories from that happy time.

“Yo, Princess!” Michael opened her door without knocking, something else that was just like old times.

“How many times do I have to tell you to knock, fool?”

“At least one more time, evidently. If you don’t want to be bothered, then lock your door.”

“What do you want?”

“The telephone. It’s for you.” Michael threw the cordless on the bed and walked out of the room.

Princess hesitated on taking the call. More than likely it was Rafael, the boy she’d dated in high school and who was still a good friend. They’d reconnected after her breakup with Kelvin and had agreed to get together while both were home for the holidays.

I’ll make it quick.
“Hello?”

A voice as smooth as liquid poured into her ear. “Hey, baby. How’s my princess?”

Kelvin!
As if on cue, her heart began pounding in her chest. She’d forgotten that he had her parents’ number. Had she remembered, she would have made it clear to all concerned that for anybody answering to the name Kelvin Petersen, she was not available. It had been two years since she’d talked to him, and now she remembered the reason. Because no matter how much her mind said she was over him, her body always betrayed her. She thought seriously about hanging up the phone.

“Princess? You still there? Don’t hang up, baby.”

“What do you want?” Princess asked, gripping the phone as if it were a lifeline.

“Just wanted to talk to you, baby, to hear your voice.”

“Don’t ‘baby’ me, Kelvin. We’ve been over for a while now.”

“Don’t matter. You’ll always be my princess.”

“I’m going to hang up now, Kelvin. Please don’t call my parents’ house again.”

“No, wait!”

Against her better judgment, Princess remained on the line. “What?” She didn’t mean for her voice to get whispery; it did so of its own accord.

“I’ve been thinking about you, Princess. I just wanted to find out how you’ve been, what you’re up to. Just because we’re not dating anymore doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”

Princess closed her eyes against her feelings and the memories his voice evoked. She searched for a memory that would be useful in this moment. And then one came to her—Fawn. “No, Kelvin, we cannot be friends. I’m living a different lifestyle now, a Christian lifestyle, and my friendships reflect my values.”

“I’m a Christian. Remember the rev baptized me after I moved into his house, during my junior year of high school.”

Princess remembered. Her play-uncle, Derrick Montgomery, had baptized Kelvin shortly after moving him into the Montgomery household, which was shortly after finding out he was Kelvin’s father, the product of a casual relationship before he’d married and took a church. She could have looked no further than her uncle to see the grown-folks pain that came with grown-folks pleasure. But she’d been eighteen with a bullet the summer she moved to Los Angeles. Nobody could have told her a thing.

“Being a Christian and being Christ-like are not always the same thing. Are you still getting high, Kelvin? Drinking, fornicating…”

“Forna-who?”

“Having sex outside of marriage. The people I hang around now don’t do any of those things. And neither do I. So I really don’t see what we have in common to constitute a friendship.”

“We loved each other once.” Kelvin’s voice dropped and stroked Princess’s ear. “I still love you.”

Jesus is my boo. Jesus is my boo!
“Somebody else has all my love right now, Kelvin.”

For the first time since they started talking, Kelvin’s voice became stern. “Who is he? Is it that dude you used to date back in high school, the one at KU? I bet he’s home for the holidays, talking a good game and whatnot. Baby, come spend Thanksgiving with me. I can give you the world, Princess, treat you better than any other man can even think about treating you. I’ll buy you whatever you want: cars, furs, diamonds, trips, you name it, baby, and it’s yours.”

“See, this is the difference I’m talking about, the one you can’t understand. I’d rather have Jesus, Kelvin, than silver and gold.”

Damn, her voice sounds good.
“Baby, why can’t you have them both—”

“Kelvin, where are you?!” In the background, Fawn’s voice could clearly be heard. “What are you doing sitting in the dark? Who’s the bitch on the phone now?” Her high-pitched voice rose even higher as she yelled louder. “Whoever you are, he’s mine, bitch. I ain’t going nowhere so you might as well back your shit—”

That was the last word Princess heard. She did what she should have done moments earlier—ended the call. But she’d heard enough to know that Kelvin was still Kelvin, the big baller with all the chicks, all the weed, all the money, and all the baby mama drama.

Thank you, Jesus. Thank you for reminding me what I left, and why I left it.
Princess lay down the phone, picked up her laptop, and looked at the title of Chapter Two: “My First Love Wasn’t Jesus, but It Should Have Been.”

He’d been raised to be a gentleman and would never consider bodily force when dealing with females. But in this moment, Kelvin swore he understood how a man could hit a woman. He was so mad at Fawn he couldn’t see straight.

“What did I tell you about that, huh?” Kelvin shouted. When Fawn didn’t answer, Kelvin walked over to the couch and stood over her. “What did I tell you about doing that shit when I’m on the phone?”

“You just mad because I interrupted whatever rendezvous you were planning with some ho. Ain’t no bitch out there as bad as me, who’ll put up with your bullshit and still give you the best pussy you ever had. You remember that.”

“Oh, so that’s it. You think your shit’s golden, huh?”

“You must think so, since I’m still here.”

Kelvin picked up a glass and threw it across the room. It hit the wall and shattered into dozens of pieces. Fawn hardly flinched.

“I must have been outta my muthafuckin’ mind to let you move in here. And your lyin’ ass saying Little Kelvin was sick.”

“He was, he—”

“Stop lying, Fawn! I know you haven’t been to the doctor’s. I talked to Brandy.”

On hearing that name, Fawn rolled her eyes. Brandy was a twin who joined them regularly for a ménage à trios—one of the many women he’d slept with during his college days, and now. “You gonna listen to that ho over me?”

“No, I didn’t listen to her. I listened to the doctor’s office after talking to her.”

Fawn looked up quickly.

“Yeah, that’s right. Did a little detective work. I’ve been thinking y’all was at the hospital, and instead your ass was at the mall.”

“Look, Kelvin, Little Man was sick.”

“So was I. I was sick as hell to let your ass move in here. But I tell you what. I’m better now. And just as fast as your ass moved in here, you’re moving right back out. You said you needed a place to stay until our son got better? Well, he’s better now. So you need to get your shit and get out.”

“If you want to keep seeing your son, I don’t need to do a damn thing.”

“Oh, I’ll keep seeing him, believe that. But it won’t be because you’re in my house. It will be because you want to keep getting a check every month, the one that is going to cease until I get visitation, in writing, and until you get the fuck out!”

“I ain’t going nowhere.”

Kelvin stared at Fawn a long moment. She was fine, he’d grant her that, but other than looks, he didn’t know what he’d ever seen in her. And all he wanted now was a life without her in it. “Fine! Then I’ll leave.”

Kelvin walked out of the den and into his bedroom. He called his uncle Geoff, the one who was always just a phone call away when he needed to be bailed out of trouble.

His uncle picked up the cell on the second ring. “Happy holidays, Kelvin! You coming this way for Thanksgiving?”

“As a matter of fact, I am, Uncle. And by the time I get back to Phoenix, I need you to have found me a new house.”