Queen Bee Goes Home Again (31 page)

Her mouth trembled. “And then I realized that I've been doing the same thing. Judging you for things long past.” She grasped my hands. “I don't want to be my mother. It's only made me angry and sad. I'm so sorry for how I judged you. Can you forgive me?”

“Only if you can forgive me for doing the same thing to you.” I leaned closer. “Can there be peace between us, no matter what happens?”

She sighed, a small smile on her lips. “Peace. I'd love that.” Then she added, “My mother never had a day's peace till she died. She was too busy criticizing everybody else to look at herself. I don't want to be like that anymore.”

I couldn't help hugging her, and the contact sealed the bond of forgiveness between us.

When I looked back to the congregation, I saw Christian brother approach brother, sister approach sister, and wives and husbands meet in a cleansing ritual of reconciliation that lasted for almost fifteen minutes.

Surely, the Spirit of God was in that place.

Mary Lou gave me a parting squeeze, then headed back to her seat.

When all of them had returned to their seats, Connor beamed. “I am
so
proud of you. More important,
God
is proud of you. Forgiveness brings unity to the body, despite our differences, and frees the Holy Spirit to work among us and through us. Give yourselves a hand in praise.”

Applause broke out everywhere, swelled to a wave of release, then subsided.

“For all of you, I plead, practice forgiveness, for your own sake, if nothing else,” Connor urged softly. “Test God. I can promise you, He will not fail to help you. Learn to forgive, and be free. When you feel yourself being drawn back into those old, angry ways, fill that dark place with joy and light instead. It's up to you.”

After a protracted silence, Connor bowed his head and asked, “Brother Lumpkin, will you dismiss us in prayer?”

Ed rattled off his usual closing prayer, but as he reached the end, he faltered, then went off script with a broken, “And Lord, help us all to forgive. The anger feels too heavy in my heart, and I want to be free.” He regained his composure. “And now, let us go into the world as beacons of love and light. Amen.”

I picked up my coat, then turned to face the congregation as a positive rumble of conversation rose among them. Many were wiping tears from their eyes. Even more headed straight for Connor, surrounding him, but every few seconds, his eyes searched for mine, asking if he'd done well.

I nodded. All too well.

This was bad. Very bad. I lusted after a holy man. A man I now revered. What was I supposed to do with that?

Shrugging into my coat, I quietly made my way to the side exit and escaped.

I had to think. And maybe drink.

I'm sorry, God, but this requires ice cream. And brandy.

 

Forty-four

Mama and Tommy and Carla were still at the AA social when I got home, so I served myself up a big bowl of frozen and liquid therapy, then bundled up with a warm quilt over my fur coat on the second rocker on the porch. It seemed like a long time before Connor's car approached from the left, then pulled into his driveway, but it was probably less than half an hour.

What would I say to him? I couldn't even think straight, much less figure all this out.

But I heard his footsteps on the gravel, then made out his silhouette as he approached.

He didn't say anything. Just took the chair beside me and began to rock.

We'd planned to watch in the new year at Miss Mamie's, but I suddenly felt too weary to rise.

I forgive You, God, for putting me in the middle of this. But I don't know what You want me to do. I can't figure it out. Help.

Be careful what you pray for.

At last, when I'd finished the whole bowl of peach ice cream, I set it aside and tried to speak, but my tongue was frozen, so I came out sounding like I was totally snockered, which in this case was an exaggeration. “You were a true pipeline from God in that pulpit.”

“That's my goal,” he said quietly.

“It scares me to death,” I confessed, unexpected tears escaping. I swiped them away, knowing that my mascara probably made me look like a raccoon.

Connor didn't try to get closer. He just gave me my space, asking a simple, pregnant, “Why?”

“Because you're a holy man,” I accused, propelled by residual anger at God despite my efforts to forgive Him for doing this to me.

Connor shook his head, gripping the wide, white arms of the chair. “I'm just a man who loves God and was called to preach. No more, no less. I fart under the sheet, just like everybody else.”

The uncharacteristically coarse comment made me laugh in spite of myself, but it came out truncated from my tear-swollen nose and sinuses. Then I sobered, letting out a long sigh. “How can you be so sure that I'm the one God wants for you?”

“I just know. I've prayed about it, and I know.”

“Well, I sure wish He had told me.” Too tired to discuss it anymore, I gathered Mama's quilt around me and managed to find my feet. “And on that note, let us retire to the family room to watch the big ball drop in Times Square.”

At last, he circled my shoulders with one arm and led me inside. “Big ball, it is,” he said with affection.

Do not go there,
my inner Puritan scolded from the closet I'd locked her in.

I turned to look up into his face. “Happy New Year, Connor,” I said with a blast of brandy breath. “God help me, I love you beyond all sanity.”

He continued guiding me to the family room beyond the kitchen. “I love you, too. All of you, just the way you are.”

The liquor spoke before I could intervene. “I wish I could say the same. You scare me, you holy man, you.”

Connor chuckled and recited, “‘For our God hath not given us a spirit of fear, but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.'”

A ridiculous giggle escaped me as I plopped onto the sofa facing our new big-screen TV. “Second Timothy one, verse seven,” I cited. “I used to claim that verse every day after my divorce, for the fear. Now I claim it for the sound mind, but I'm not convinced it's working.” Another giggle escaped.

Connor sat beside me, then picked up the remote and turned on the TV.

Chilled from the inside out and outside in, I shivered, curling tighter in the quilt as I laid my head on his thigh to watch.

I sighed, content to be just as we were, in the moment. “Fabulous sermon. Need to hear that one every week.”

“We recorded it on CD. I'll bring it to you first thing in the morning.”

“Mmmm.” I closed my eyes. So cozy. Wish we could stay that way forever. “First-foot,” I mumbled as the world began to fade away.

Connor bent to kiss my hair. “First-foot.”

“I forgive Phil,” I murmured. “I do. I really do. And Mary Lou.”

The next thing I knew, it was morning, a sunny, unseasonably warm New Year's Day, and I was still laid out on the sofa, but Connor was gone. The strong aroma of coffee drew my eyes to my brother as he approached.

He put the steaming cup on the coffee table. “Happy New Year, Sissie-ma-noo-noo.”

I sat up, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror across the room, and hooted. My hair was slabbed up on one side, my eyes ringed with tear-smudged mascara. Tears had erased tracks of my foundation and blush, so my cheeks were striped, and I had no lips.

Dear heaven, did I look this way when Connor was there?
Please, please, no.

Instead of teasing me, Tommy frowned in concern. “We found you here alone when we got back last night. Is everything okay?”

“Connor wasn't here?” Alone with a drunken me, my head on his thigh.

Miss Mamie stopped rattling pots in the kitchen, eavesdropping, no doubt.

“Nope,” Tommy said.

“‘Abstain from the appearance of evil,'” I quoted. “First Thessalonians, five, twenty-two.” I never cared much for that one, but Connor couldn't afford to ignore it.

I stretched, then swung my legs to the floor, raking at my hair. “He must have left when I fell asleep.”

“I smell you had help going to sleep,” Tommy observed. “Is this becoming your knee-jerk reaction to stress? I'm starting to get worried.”

“No,” I lied deliberately. If I had married Connor, I would have given up alcohol altogether for his sake, but not till then.

I put my palm in front of my nose and exhaled a sour gust of death-breath, still tainted by the odor of peaches and stale brandy. “Gross.”

I stood. “Gotta run get a shower and brush my teeth before Connor's our first-foot.”

Speak of the devil, the doorbell chimed “Auld Lang Syne.”

Shoot! “What time is it?”

Tommy cocked his head. “About ten.”

Shoot, shoot, shoot! “Why didn't y'all wake me sooner?” I headed for the basement stairs, snatching one of Miss Mamie's Hermès scarves from the hooks by the basement door. I tied it over my hair, then ran down the stairs to escape. “I'll be back as soon as I'm human.” I safely escaped out the back while he came in the front.

 

Forty-five

Twenty minutes later, I entered the kitchen in jeans and a pink cotton sweater, my damp curls caught up with combs on either side, and my face as natural as I dared. (Eye makeup, concealer, lipstick, and bronzer.)

Miss Mamie surveyed me with approval, as did Connor, who immediately stood and pulled back the chair beside him. “Wow.” The compliment was soft, but more than sufficient.

“Hi, Connor” came out with surprising calm.

Blind horny despite my sensible self's escalating warnings, I sat beside him. As it had since the beginning, attraction pulsed between us like a quasar.

Connor's smile strained a bit; he shifted in his seat and looked away. “Ah, could you please pass me the muffins, Miss Mamie?”

Obviously, this was mutual.

Smug, my mother handed him the basket, then the butter. “Take as many as you like, young man. I think of you as part of the family.”

Can we say, obvious?

Minister,
I scolded myself.
Holy man, holy man, holy man.

It didn't do any good.

Tommy glanced at me and murmured, “One day at a time.”

My churning emotions grabbed hold of that. Just think of now. Be here. Be grateful.

I started mentally reciting my blessings: my relationship with God, my warm bed, my apartment, Tommy and Carla, Miss Mamie, Daddy, even as he was, poor Uncle B, David and his family. The Home, my car, gas in the tank. The cash and Krugerrands. Very grateful for those. Hot baths. Good health.

As I went on, the intensity of my attraction eased, but only a little.

“Lin, honey, are you okay?” Miss Mamie's voice intruded. “Aren't you going to eat?”

I lurched back to reality, the table coming into focus to reveal that all four of them were peering at me in concern. Embarrassment throbbed in my neck and face. “Sorry. Just spaced out for a second. Food. Yes. Please pass the muffins.”

I took a sip of the coffee Mama had served me. Perfect. Half-strength, with Splenda. Had to have that caffeine.

Connor's expression brightened. “Miss Mamie,” he said with deference, “I'd like your permission to court your daughter with the intention of marriage.”

Mama snorted, shooting him a surprisingly sharp look. “My daughter, sir, is a sixty-year-old woman, in case you hadn't noticed. If you want to marry her, quit beating around the bush and
ask
her, for heaven's sake.”

Connor tucked his chin. “I stand corrected.” Then he turned to me. “Will you still let me court you?”

Wrong
question.

Say no! No!
my inner Puritan pleaded.
Do not do this!

“Yes,” came out, instead, in unison with my brother and mother.

“But just to make sure we're right for each other,” I qualified. “In God's eyes, not our own.”

Connor nodded with assurance. “Of course.”

Tommy and Mama leaned back in relief.

But I still couldn't stomach the idea of being a minister's wife. I'd spent a lot of years twelve-stepping myself into somebody I liked, and I couldn't turn my back on her. People had certain expectations of ministers' wives, especially Baptists, and I didn't fit the bill.

Still, I couldn't resist Connor, so I was willing to take this one day at a time.

Connor nodded, then asked, “There's a new
Star Wars
movie at the mall. Would you like to see a matinee?”

Just for today. “Sure.”

Connor brightened. “It's a date.” Happy, he dug back into the pile of grits, bacon, scalloped apples, and fried eggs on his plate.

Just for today, I could enjoy his company and go to the movie we'd both been looking forward to. Be in the moment. Take what comes. Stop beating myself up.

I sighed, letting loose of the mental melee that had been going on inside me since Connor had declared himself. Just for today, I could savor Mama's muffin with my coffee while I watched him eat.

Like my mother and grandmothers before me, I loved to see a man enjoy his food.

Truly content for the first time in a long time, I relaxed and put it all in God's hands.

Just for today.

Then the doorbell rang again, and what was on the other side made me take everything back.

 

Forty-six

“Y'all go on,” Tommy said as he rose. “I'll get it.”

Probably one of Mama's friends come a-calling. For years, they'd swapped homemade treats on New Year's. Mama rose, untying her apron, then checked her hair in her mirrored reflection on a glass cabinet door.

But the low voices that filtered back through the kitchen door didn't sound like Mama's friends.

When more time passed, Miss Mamie started for the door to see what was up, but just as she approached it, the paneled oak swung in on her, revealing a red-faced, steaming Tommy.