Latter Rain (7 page)

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Authors: Vanessa Miller

BOOK: Latter Rain
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11
Seeing his brother in hell again caused Isaac to want to lash out. It didn't help matters when his brother's face had turned into his own son's.
Oh, and every time he thought of Nina's last comment,
“Be a man, Isaac
,” he just wanted to break something. Guess that's why she's marrying Charles. He must be a man; able to handle all his issues.
“Well, maybe he never had a father who killed his mother. Did you ever think of that, Ms. Nina Lewis? No, no. You didn't think about that. Too busy judging me.” Isaac was having this conversation with himself as he pulled up at the church job site. He got out of his car and searched for MacMillian.
MacMillian saw Isaac first and did a fast walk toward the trailer. “I don't want any trouble,” he said as Isaac approached.
Isaac raised his hand. “I come in peace. I'm looking for somebody. I thought you might be able to help me.”
MacMillian stood in silence with his hand on the trailer door.
“That guy, Marvin. Can you give me his address?”
“What do you want with him? You've already cost him his job, isn't that enough for you?”
“Look, I'll be honest with you. The man is my father. We've kind of been on bad terms lately. But I want to talk with him.” Isaac smiled. “Help me out. Okay?”
MacMillian hesitated for a minute, then snapped his fingers. “That's right. Marvin's last name is Walker. When I met you, I thought you looked familiar.”
“I look nothing like him,” Isaac said roughly, then with a slight smile he added, “I take after my mother's side of the family.”
MacMillian gave up the address and Isaac was back on the Dan Ryan Freeway. Fifteen minutes later, Isaac was in front of Usually Wrong's house. He couldn't have wished the poverty of the Westside on a more deserving person. Isaac could see a drug deal going down in the breezeway. He wished that someone would sell Usually Wrong something that would send his heart racing, pumping out of control until he keeled over dead. A little dramatic, but that's what his dreams were made of.
Isaac had been saved and serving the Lord for seven years now, but he still hadn't learned to forgive. He'd met many bitter, unforgiving, so-called Christians and swore that he would not be like them. But he still hadn't been able to let go of the past. He was in need of prayer for this issue and hoped that someone was praying for him.
Walking toward Marvin's broken down front door, Isaac heard something that made him change direction.
“Cynda, girl I ain't playing with you. You better give me my money.”
It had to be her. Not many people named their children Cynda, rather than plain ol' Cindy. He only knew one woman with that name. The woman he had wronged. He took off running toward the breezeway where the voices were coming from.
When he reached his destination, Cynda was clutching her poison, screaming at the big bellied man who'd given it to her. “I already paid you.”
“Trick, please. What you put out wasn't worth half the yank I gave you.”
Standing there, watching Cynda clutch a baggy full of crack, sent Isaac's mind reeling back in time. Years ago, he had watched her snort cocaine with an old friend. That same so-called friend was now Cynda's pimp. He remembered telling Spoony to give him fifty cents, and he could have Cynda. Isaac hung his head. His memories weren't sweet. They were the kind of thing that young children woke up screaming and running to their mommy's room to get away from. But how could he get away from himself? From yesterday?
Years of smoking dope and turning tricks had taken a bit of a toll on Cynda. She was still beautiful. But she now had a few splotches on her face. He'd never seen a woman as flawless as the one before him had once been. It took crack to put a pimple on her cheeks.
Defiantly, Cynda told her pusher, “You got what you wanted. Now, get out of my way before I stick this in your throat.” She brandished a rusty box cutter and her enemy backed off.
“You're crazy, you know that? Don't come around here no more.” He backed into Isaac as he left the breezeway.
“Cynda,” Isaac almost whispered her name. He was ashamed of the manner in which he'd found her.
She turned, glazed eyes in Isaac's direction. Silence held them for a brief span of time. “What do you want?” she asked while shoving the baggy in the pocket of her mini, mini skirt.
Isaac walked toward her. “Cynda, you don't want to live like this. I'd like to help you.”
Laughing in his face, Cynda closed her knife and put it in her jeans jacket.
Her laughter wasn't the ha-ha funny kind. It was mean and sinister. Isaac couldn't blame her. He even understood the hatred he saw in her dark eyes.
“Do you need anything? What can I do for you?” Isaac asked.
Her hands were on her hips as she posed seductively for him. “That's usually my line.”
“Look, Cynda. I was horrible to you. I know that. I just want to help you out of the mess you've gotten yourself into.”
She harrumphed. “Oh, I had help getting myself into
this mess
.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. What could he say? He had sold her to the devil.
As if she knew where his thoughts had gone, she told him, “I've come up in the world, Isaac. I get up to a thousand a night for my services.”
He wanted to ask why she was in the breezeway giving her stuff way if she was so high priced. But he knew—that monkey on her back.
She strutted over to him and smiled wickedly. “A far cry from fifty cents wouldn't you say?”
He hung his head, then lifted it and stared into Cynda's hateful eyes. He hoped the remorse he felt showed on his face. “I'm sorry about that.”
She tilted her head back and hocked up some spit.
Isaac wiped his face with his shirtsleeve as Cynda took off running out of the breezeway and down the street.
He wanted to run after her. Help her to see that he truly wanted to help. Somebody needed to knock some sense in her head. Okay, one of those knocks would be for the spit she flung in his face, but the rest would be for her own good.
He turned and looked at his father's house and reminded himself that he had bigger fish to fry. He needed to deal with his own issues.
Strutting back to the dilapidated house with determination and a twinge of unchecked anger, Isaac told himself that Nina was wrong about him. He could deal with his issues.
Stepping on the porch, Isaac prepared himself to bang on the door. Just then, two little girls with matching pink and blue ribbons, and cotton jogging suits came rushing out of the door and ran past him. Must be twins; they looked too much alike. They looked like Donavan. He turned back to the door and greeted the big-bellied form of Usually Wrong. He had on dirty blue jeans and a wife-beater, go figure. Pushing his hands in his pockets, Isaac gave him a head nod.
Usually Wrong stepped onto the porch and yelled, “Derricka and Kivonna, don't you run off nowhere.”
Noticing the wedding band on his left hand, Isaac asked, “Who are they?”
Marvin smiled with his lips, but it didn't quite meet his eyes. “My daughters.”
“Look at you,
daddio
.” Marvin didn't respond, thereby angering Isaac all the more. “What you doing? Over here molesting them sweet little girls?”
That got his attention. “I never molested you or your brother.”
“No. You were always interested in the ladies. Which brings me to the reason I'm here.” Anger penetrated every pore of Isaac's body. He shook from it. “I just wanted to come over here and thank you for the legacy of woman beating and womanizing that you gave me. But I also want you to know that with the help of Jesus, I'm conquering all that mess. I will never be the man you are.” He pulled his hands out of his pockets and walked off the porch.
Marvin reached out and touched Isaac's shoulder to turn him around. “Wait a minute, son.”
Isaac snatched away from him and snarled. “Don't you ever call me son.”
Marvin's eyes were filled with unshed tears. “I'm sorry, Isaac. Can you forgive me?”
“
Sorry
? I tell you what. I'll forgive you when my mother and brother forgive you.”
“I don't know what else to say, Isaac.” The tears were flowing down his face now as he continued, “I have lived with what I did for so long. I just want peace now.”
Isaac almost hit him. “At least you're living. You arrogant, no-good—”
The girls ran back to the porch. “Who s this, Daddy?” the taller girl asked.
Marvin wiped the tears from his face, looked at Isaac and then back at his children. “An old friend.”
“Well, he looks a lot like the picture of your son on our mantle,” Kivonna told him.
“Yeah, he does,” Marvin answered. “Go on in the house, girls.”
Isaac walked toward his car. Marvin lingered on the porch watching him. When he opened the car door, he turned back to Marvin. “I'll tell you what. You're not going to be able to get my mother's forgiveness. She's in heaven and you'll never see her again. But when you get to hell, and actually see how Donavan is tortured and tormented, I want you to tell him how sorry you are. And see if it makes a difference.”
 
 
Isaac stood in front of the congregation. They were using a school building for Sunday services while the new facility was being built. He hadn't been able to get his mind off his son all weekend. As sure as he knew his name was Isaac Walker, he knew that his son was headed for trouble; just as he had been at that same age.
He hadn't been able to shake off the rage he'd felt after seeing his useless father either. When Isaac reached back into his history, all of his trials, all of his tribulations started with that man. He'd prayed all Saturday about his son and the situation with Usually Wrong. As a matter of fact, one could say that his son and father had inspired his message for today.
He looked out at the five hundred plus people that gathered to praise God in this gymnasium/ Sunday sanctuary. The congregation sat in the bleachers, while the pulpit stood below the basketball hoop. The people that attended these services weren't interested in showing off expensive suits or brand new dresses. They came to this church to forget about the lifetime of bad decisions that consumed their lives. But maybe they shouldn't forget. Maybe they should spend time thinking about their problems so that their children won't have to live through them. “I want to talk to you today about generational curses.”
That's the way it went. Isaac preached based on his sorrows, and the congregation responded. He finished his sermon, shook hands with the members of the congregation as they left the school building and then walked toward the locker room. Isaac sat down on one of the benches and truly thought about this latter glory that God promised. He hoped it was like the latter rain that swept in like a flood and washed away the residue his former life had left behind. Isaac took the picture of Nina and Donavan out of his wallet and stared at it.
A knock on the door pulled Isaac away from his thoughts. He put the picture on the bench next to him and said, “Come in.”
The door creaked as it slowly opened to allow one of the prettiest chocolate delights this side of the Mississippi to enter. Isaac stood to greet her. He needed something good to happen to him today. He didn't know what she wanted, but he was ready to say yes to almost anything.
She had long black hair, which Isaac liked. The kind of hair a man could run his hands through. He was convinced that Nina kept her hair short just to get on his last nerve.
“I'm Cassandra Davis.” She walked closer to Isaac with an outstretched hand. “Bishop Sumler asked me to see you after service.”
Isaac snapped his finger, as if just remembering something important. “You're our new praise leader, right?”
She smiled. They shook hands. “I'm still trying to decide which church I will be joining, but I enjoyed your sermon today. You're very motivational.”
“Thank you. Have a seat, Ms. Davis,” he said as if they were in an office, rather than a locker room. When she was seated on the same bench as he, Isaac said, “So, tell me a little bit about your background. Like, where did you live before moving to Chicago, and why'd you decide to move?”
“Well, I used to live in Louisville, Kentucky. I had been attending Christian United Tabernacle, but I needed a change.”
“Sometimes change is good.”
She pointed at the picture that lay next to Isaac. “Is that your wife and son?”
Isaac turned, picked up the picture and stared at it for a moment. Actually, a long moment. While he stared, he thought about the man that would soon have his family. He wondered if Charles Douglas III knew how blessed he was. “This is my son,” he told her as he put the picture back down. “But I'm not married.”

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