Joy (17 page)

The moment Pastor Ford walked away, Anya stared at Braxton for a second, then whipped around him and out the door, rushing down the stairs.

“Anya, wait!” He caught up to her at the car. “Honey, it was Pastor Ford's idea to talk about this. I wanted to wait.”

“Wait for what?” she snapped. “Our wedding night, so that it would be too late to turn back?” Braxton winced. “I am grateful for Pastor Ford because only God knows when you would have told me. Your son would have already moved in before you said anything.”

“I was trying to find the right time!”

She got in the car and slammed the door, refusing to roll down the window when Braxton tapped on it. When she started the ignition, then floored the accelerator, Braxton hurriedly backed away, a tint of fear in his eyes.

She watched in her rearview mirror as he walked slowly to his car. He drove off, and once he was far from her sight, she turned off the car. Alone on the darkened street, she held her face in her hands. What am I going to do? She looked back at the church and thought about going back to talk to Pastor Ford. She needed some help. Some scriptures, some prayers—something.

Through the windshield, Anya gazed at the blue-black sky. How could she be angry with any man who wanted to raise his son? But why hadn't he shared this with her? What about Roxanne? This could turn into a nasty fight. Why should Roxanne lose her child? What if Junior blamed her for this? And did Braxton really expect her to give up her business? There were too many questions.

She started her car and drove through the streets of Inglewood. These were the same streets she'd taken to the church, but nothing was the same. The homes that were alive with lights on her way over were now mere shadows. Only the churning in her stomach was familiar.

Her eyes filled with huge tears that blinded her as she drove. She was surprised when she finally turned into her garage, barely remembering how she got there. She didn't have enough energy to close the garage door, or even move. So, she sat—waiting for some divine intervention to give her direction. While she sat in her car, sobbing and praying, she never noticed the car that drove up and down the street watching her.

Chapter 21

A
nya wanted to sleep. It had been emotionally draining getting through work on Friday. Now she wanted to sleep away her Saturday, but someone had a different idea. Even her oversized pillow couldn't drown out the sound. The bell rang incessantly and, finally, Anya surrendered.

With slumber-heavy eyelids, she rolled from her bed and grabbed her bathrobe. By the time she stumbled down the stairs, the ringing had ceased and Sasha was sitting with her feet kicked up on the couch.

“Good morning!” Sasha exclaimed brightly. “You sure slept late.”

Anya squinted, screening her eyes from the sun's brightness that flooded the room, then grunted as her morning radar propelled her toward the brewing coffee. “I thought I heard the doorbell.” Her voice was still filled with sleep.

“It was a delivery boy with these.” Sasha lifted the oblong box from the table.

Anya peeked over the kitchen counter and frowned. “Oh.”

“Don't you want to know who they're from?”

“There's not a whole lot of people who send me flowers.”

Sasha settled on the couch. “Oh, I don't know. It could be Braxton or … it could be David professing his undying love.”

Anya slouched into the chair facing Sasha. “I already told you—”

“I know. They're from Braxton anyway.”

Anya arched her eyebrows in question.

“I checked.”

“Sasha! Stay out of my business.”

“Okaaay.” She paused. “Since you're already in a snit, I should probably tell you that I read the card.”

Anya shook her head as she brought the hot cup to her lips. “You're incorrigible.”

“And you're old and cranky. But I love you anyway.” She handed the box to Anya and sighed. “Your man is quite the romantic. I never got letters like this from Gordon.”

Anya rolled her eyes. She opened the box overflowing with yellow roses. Anya searched through the bundle.

“Sorry, I forgot to put this back.” Sasha grinned, as she pulled the note from her nightshirt pocket.

Shaking her head, Anya read the note silently.

I am so sorry that I hurt you. I should have told you, and I apologize with all my heart. My prayer is that you will forgive me. We need another chance.

Forever, Braxton

“Isn't that wonderful?” Sasha gushed.

Anya grunted.

Sasha leaned over Anya. “So what did he do this time?”

Anya returned to her coffee.

“Does silence mean that you're not going to answer me?”

“Exactly.”

“Why not?” Sasha whined. “I know how to handle difficult men.”

Anya continued to sip her now-cooling drink.

“At least call Braxton. I told you he called a few short of a million times yesterday.”

“I'll call him,” Anya said flatly.

“Call him now.” After a couple of seconds Sasha said, “Stop acting like someone with a bad case of hemorrhoids.” Another beat. “Well?”

Anya almost licked the last drop of coffee from the cup. Finally, she took the cordless phone and sank back into the overstuffed chair, while Sasha curled on the couch with the newspaper in hand. Anya eyed Sasha, hoping telepathic waves would jolt Sasha into her room or some other place in the house. But Sasha continued to fake interest in the real-estate section.

She breathed deeply, and pressed the memory button.

“Hi, Braxton.” She put as much cheer in her voice as she could gather.

“Anya!”

“I wanted to let you know that I got the flowers. This morning and the ones you sent yesterday.” She watched Sasha drop the newspaper and raise her eyebrows, all pretense of not listening tossed aside.

“I meant everything I said,” Braxton said softly. “I am so sorry, Anya. I didn't mean for it to go down this way.”

“There's a lot for us to settle.”

Anya heard Braxton's sigh of relief. “I'll come right over.”

“Not today.”

The tightness returned to his voice. “We can't avoid this.”

“I'm not doing that. It's just that …” She paused. “Sasha's not feeling well.” Anya had to hold back her giggle as she watched Sasha feel her forehead.

“I could come over there so you won't have to leave Sasha.”

“No, she's been sick a couple of days and has been stuck in her room. Today is the first day she's gotten up, but if you come over, she'll just go back to bed. She should be fine by tomorrow though. I've been giving her some of that over-the-counter stuff.”

Sasha laughed out loud and Anya made a face for her to keep quiet.

“What was that?”

“Sasha … sneezing. I need to go. I have to … fix Sasha something to eat.”

“
You're
going to cook?”

“Just soup … or something,” Anya stuttered.

“What about tonight?”

“Maybe. We'll see how Sasha is feeling.”

“Anya—”

“I promise I'll call. If not tonight, definitely tomorrow. After church.”

“Anya, I want to work this out.”

“Me too,” she responded simply. She clicked off the phone and placed it gently on the table. She could feel Sasha staring at her.

“Why did you lie to him?”

“Because we're going through something, and he wouldn't have accepted anything else. But don't worry, he didn't believe me anyway.”

Sasha giggled. “What happened to the perfect little Christian?”

In that second, words from Pastor Ford's recent sermon echoed in Anya's mind. “You're a living example. People are watching every move you make.” Anya groaned and rolled her eyes. “Unfortunately, being a Christian doesn't make me perfect.”

“At least you know it. The Christians I've met think they're above us mere mortals. That's why I was so surprised to hear that
you
were a Christian. You seem so different from the ones I know.”

“How so?”

Sasha bit her lip in thought. “Well, you're cranky, but you're not judgmental. You're all in my Kool-Aid because you're my cousin, but you're not judging me on some religious level. The Christians I know aren't like that. Their lives are so perfect that they spend all their time telling other people what to do and how to live.”

“How do you know these people are Christians?”

“Because they act like Christians. They act … holy. They don't drink or smoke or anything like that.”

Anya had to stop herself from chuckling. “Do you drink?”

“Just a little wine now and then.”

“Do you smoke?”

“No, but it's my choice. I don't want some old fogey dictating to me what I can do.”

“Neither would I. You know how old fogies can be.”

Sasha glanced sideways at Anya. “Are you making fun of me?”

“No, it's just funny what people believe about being a Christian. All it means is that you've confessed with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and you believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead.”

“Sounds like you're just quoting the Bible.”

“Romans 10:9. Do you want me to show you?” Anya asked casually.

“No.” Sasha paused. “And what else do you have to do?”

“That's it.”

“What about all those other things?”

“There are things I try to do because I'm saved and I want to please God. But as far as
being
saved, that's all there is to it.”

Sasha shook her head. “You make it sound simple, but I know this religious stuff is confusing.”

“It is hard to understand. There're a lot of things that don't make sense in my mind. But it makes all the sense in the world … in my heart. That's because it's all inside—it's about having a personal relationship with God.”

Sasha, silent, was thoughtful.

“Do you want me to show you what I'm talking about?” Anya asked again, this time reaching for the brown leather, gilt-edged Bible that she kept on her coffee table.

“No, not right now. I'm starving. Wanna get something to eat? My treat.”

Anya felt the opportunity slip away. “Sure.” She hoped she hid her disappointment. “We can go to Santa Barbara. There are some great places to eat up there.”

“Great. Where's Santa Barbara?”

“Almost two hours up the coast.”

“Girl, I will die from starvation! Let's go somewhere closer. Remember, I'm sick.” Sasha dramatically touched the back of her hand to her forehead.

Anya tossed a pillow at her cousin. “We're going to Santa Barbara. It'll keep you away from Hunter for at least one afternoon. You're spending too much time with him.”

“I surrender,” she said, tossing the pillow back and ignoring Anya's commentary. “But what if Braxton calls?”

“I'll call him when we get back.”

Sasha was the first to stand. “Let's go then.” Sasha started up the stairs and Anya followed.

“It might take me a few minutes longer to get ready,” Anya said. “I have some things I need to pray about.”

Sasha turned around and looked at Anya questioningly.

“That's the thing about being a Christian. When I sin, I pray and God forgives me. Now you, on the other hand …” Anya casually strolled into her bedroom and closed the door softly, leaving her sentence unfinished and Sasha standing in the middle of the hallway, with her hands on her hips and a deep frown on her face.

“Sasha, please take your foot out of the window!”

She sighed and pulled back, readjusting her seat. “You are so uptight.” Sasha looked at Anya out of the corner of her eye. “I hope you're not going to be like this all day.”

Anya smirked. “No, I'm determined to have a good time, no matter how much you try to upset me.”

Sasha laughed. “Now that we have that settled.”

They proceeded in comfortable silence up the coastal highway with the ocean's mist hanging in the air. Although it was almost the middle of February, it was warm and they drove with the top down. At speeds a bit over seventy, the trip took just two hours. Anya turned into a sparsely filled lot along the beach.

“This is pretty cool,” Sasha said, eyeing the main street over the top of her sunglasses. “We'd better get to a restaurant soon or else there'll be a corpse sitting in the seat next to you on the ride back.”

Anya laughed. “What do you want to eat?”

“Food!”

They went into Whaler's and were seated along the windowed wall. They took a moment to enjoy the ocean view, marveling at how the high surf came almost to the restaurant's edge. One of the blond, tanned, muscular waiters brought water glasses to their table and stood impatiently as their eyes roamed the menu. They placed their orders and watched the waiter sulk away, as if this were the last place he wanted to be.

“Anya, thank you for letting me stay with you. I'm having a great time.”

“I'm glad.” She smiled. “I just wish you weren't spending all of your time with Hunter.”

“Why are you so against him?” Her question sounded like pleading.

“I'm not. He's just not right for you, especially with what you've been through.”

“Don't you think I'm too old for this advice? Plus Hunter is helping me. I feel good when I'm with him.”

Anya twirled the water glass in her hand. “Do you know his … history?”

Sasha leaned back in her chair and sighed. “I was wondering when you were going to bring that up. Anya, Hunter was cleared of all of those charges. That woman admitted that she was lying.”

Anya thought back to two years before, when Hunter had been accused of assault by an extra on his sitcom. The police had taken her statement, but a few days later the young woman recanted and charges had never been filed.

But the tabloids continued the story as if Hunter were on trial. It wasn't until Hunter hired Melvin Johnson, a Johnnie Cochran protégé, that the story miraculously disappeared and before long was forgotten.

In her head, Anya knew that Hunter had been falsely accused, but doubts still lingered. She hated that her brain kept repeating that cliché: Where there's smoke …

Anya said, “I'm just concerned because Hunter is not serious about any relationship. Since his divorce, he's been linked with every single woman in Hollywood.”

“And after all those women, now he's with me.” Sasha put her hand on top of her cousin's. “I'm not looking for a relationship. That's what makes this so special. We're not trying to be like you and Braxton. And, speaking of Mr. Author, why are you avoiding him?” Sasha asked, purposely changing the subject.