Rhythms of Grace (26 page)
I was still confused, but I nodded anyway and reached for the tamari, making sure it was the organic one. It was. For Zeely, I bought the regular soy sauce. She distrusted anything that resembled health food except for fruits and vegetables.
We were quiet for a while, but I knew it wouldn’t last. Zeely gave in and tried to break down what she was saying, using herself as an example. Dark like her daddy and small like her mother, she didn’t need bulky clothes or big hair—though sometimes she liked it. God had made her a black cat. A panther. So she didn’t try to be anything else.
When I looked at Zeely, sitting there with no makeup and my worst towel and her toes curled around the chair rungs, I had to agree. She looked exotic. Interesting. And I believed that because she did. I steeled myself, knowing that a commentary about me was coming next. I wasn’t disappointed.
“You, on the other hand, aren’t sure who you are. You’ve got an earth woman thing going with the flowers and herbs, but you’re not sure about your body. Your clothes. You married Mandingo when you were still copying hairstyles from magazines and shopping at Lerner.”
“Cut the Mandingo bit, okay? He’s the only husband I’ll probably ever have.” I lifted the lid on the steamer and checked the rice. Hard as a rock. I walked to the fridge and dug out a pan of leftover brown rice. I had to get sister girl out of here. I loved her, but I couldn’t take much more of this.
“Sorry.”
I dumped the cold rice into the wok and stirred. It pained me to hear it, but I knew Zeely was telling the truth. I had an identity crisis, one that started with that pink leotard and Miss Fairweather back in the day. I’d reclaimed parts of myself along my journey, but it was stitched together in crazy ways. Even if it wasn’t the best time, I had to move forward from an identity crisis . . . to Christ.
The food smelled good but something was missing. I grabbed a clove of garlic from the wire basket on my counter and peeled it quickly before sticking it in the press by the stove. I tossed it in. Yeah. There it was. And Zeely already had two plates down from the cabinet, the square ones that drove her nuts.
She looked at the food with suspicion. “You know they sell this stir-fry stuff already made. You just throw it in the microwave.”
I gave her the slant-eyed are-you-crazy look. Her cheeks puffed out. Mine did too.
“Cancer!” we yelled in unison, doubling over in laughter as we always did at the mention of my microwave, a wedding gift used only as a clock. Peter had had been determined not to die of cancer, which had affected several people in his family. His number one no-no? Microwaved foods. I’d never even turned the thing on. Why I’d brought it with me instead of just buying a clock I didn’t know either. What I did know was that old habits—and new heartaches—died hard.
“Girl, you haven’t changed. Always scared of something. Mostly yourself. You almost had me fooled with that mountain climbing mess.” Zeely poured two glasses of water from my filter pitcher in the refrigerator. “What was your blessing?”
“My blessing?” I spooned the stir fry onto the dishes. This time, she had me for real. I had no idea what she meant.
“You know, the stuff that Joyce told all of us. You weren’t in Imani, but I know you have one. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here.”
My lips clamped around the fork. The phrases, words I thought I’d forgotten, lined up in my mind, pressed against my lips. My voice lowered to a whisper. “ ‘You are a dancer. A mover. A shaker. In Him, you move. In Him, you have your being.’ ”
“Do you believe that?”
I hadn’t believed it. Not for a long time. But here, now, a part of me was breathing what I thought had died a long time ago. “I want to say yes, but I’m not sure it’s true . . .”
“Then start with that.” Zeely wiped her lips, staring down at her empty plate. “Okay, you know that I’m a carnivore from way back, but you did your thing with those vegetables. You’re going to have me cutting up some.” She rewrapped her towel, tucking in the corner. “Thanks. I’d better get dressed and get home.” She got up from her chair.
I grabbed her arm. “Wait. What did Joyce tell you?”
Zeely snatched her arm back and walked toward the bathroom. Her voice rang out behind her. “You don’t think I came up with that black cat junk on my own, do you?”
There is a laughter so deep that it can cleanse things, purge the residue of sad, fearful days. A laughter that makes you collapse onto kitchen counters and dance in your underclothes. That’s what came over me then.
When it was over, I sat on the floor heaving and spent, and I laughed some more.
Ron
The pastor’s office smelled of oranges and cinnamon, cloves and cardamom. I stared at Pastor David behind the desk, dressed in a black shirt and matching pants. If I hadn’t heard the man’s sermons myself, I might have mistaken the minister for a hit man.
“Melinda. Ronald. I’m glad you could make it.”
Leather squeaked as Mindy shifted in her chair. She touched the desk. “Sorry about the last appointment. I was—tied up.”
I sniffed and crossed my legs. She was tied up a lot these days. Not that I could really be mad about it. We both had our issues.
Pastor David reached for a leather notebook beside him. “No problem.” He flipped through several pages. “Let’s see. Last time we discussed physical intimacy. There seemed to be some conflict there.”
Mindy frowned. “I don’t remember any conflict.”
The pastor smiled, but his gaze, leveled at me, remained serious. “No communication means conflict. You’re hiding something from me . . . or from each other. Two people in love should have something to say about sex. Especially two Christians.” Pastor David turned his chair slightly. “Ronald, you look troubled. Is there something you’d like to say?”
Forget the whole thing
.
“Not really.” I checked my watch. Brian would be picking me up at six to look at cars. He’d probably take me to Rolls Royce. Oh well. Any place would be better than here.
Brian didn’t disappoint. He showed up on time and we testdrove several frivolous vehicles. In the end, he took me to the Ford dealership, but they were about to close. Now, for the first time in I don’t know how long, we were at his place. Just hanging. Or as much hanging as you can do in a house that looks primed for a layout in
Architectural Digest
. I was trying to stop staring at my reflection in his stainless steel refrigerator when I accepted, not for the first time, that Brian and I saw things from different angles. What man would buy appliances that he had to polish? I couldn’t imagine. I lifted a jug of milk from inside and set it on the counter. “You actually shine this thing, B?”
“I do. It’s pretty quick.” The cappuccino machine buzzed. Brian pulled a mug of steaming chocolate from the burner. He pointed to another pitcher inside the enormous fridge. “There’s cream in there too. Farm fresh.”
I frowned, pouring a white stream into the puddle of brown. I shook my head. “Homogenized suits me just fine.”
Brian laughed. “Always has. I’m surprised you still have a colon after all that cheese . . . I’ve been eating pretty funky myself lately.”
We both took a sip, looking up at the other for a reaction. I tried not to look the way it tasted. I don’t care who ground it or grew it, nasty was nasty to me.
He laughed. “I see you haven’t changed.”
“You neither. You’re still nuts.”
Brian whipped around, all locks and laughter. “I’m crazy? How many cars did we look at tonight? Twenty? I can’t believe you didn’t like one of them.”
“The Nissan King Cab looked good, but I told you to go Ford first. I’ve gotta do me.”
Brian rolled his eyes. “Take you to Ford so you can buy the same truck again? No way. You’ve had what, three of them since that first one? Three identical cars in ten years, and I’m crazy . . .”
I pressed my lips together. “Actually, that was the same one for most of that time. Paint job.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
I grinned, all teeth.
Brian made a sound worthy of a wounded superhero. Obviously my choices pained him deeply, but I couldn’t help but laugh. In response, he reached over and grabbed two keys from a red, black, and gold hook mounted on a cutout of Africa.
“Here.”
“What’s this?”
“Keys to the Saab. That’s the only car I’ve owned that you liked to drive.”
I handed them back. “Can’t take it.”
Brian took a sip from his mug and reached in his pocket. “Okay. Take the Jag.”
I folded my arms. “Me? In a purple car? Come on.”
“Good point. The Saab then.” He pushed the first set of keys as far into my pocket as they would go. He left the room.
I followed him down the hall. Brian turned sharply and shut the door. I knocked. “What are you doing?”
“Going to bed. Today was murder.”
I heard.
In a town like Testimony, there was no such thing as a private matter. Everything but bodily functions was well discussed around town. And then it’d show up in the newspaper for good measure if you weren’t careful. Or worse yet, someone’s pulpit. Sad but true. Keeping my own secrets hadn’t been easy.
“Come on, man. Are you really going to stay in there? How am I going to get home?”
Music clicked on. Handel’s
Messiah
. “Drive your car. I’ll change the title tomorrow.”
Jerry
I’d not only missed a night of work. I’d missed a night of sleeping too. Monique would be starting at Imani the next day and had a whole new life, starting with motherhood, to adjust to, almost overnight. I’d offered to keep the baby with me through the night, both out of habit and need, I knew now. Monique, ever the smart one, had declined. “We need to get to know each other, Daddy. It’s time.”
And maybe she was right. With Monique home from her boarding school, some of the financial pressure would let up, but there’d be other pressures now, the crush of people knowing that Carmel and I had not only failed as husband and wife but as parents too. As the springs of my sofa bed stabbed my back and the thin mattress chilled my skin, I tried not to think about it.
I was up spreading the comforter underneath me when a pair of headlights flashed though the curtains. I shielded my eyes, running to open the door before Carmel could knock and wake up the house.
Carmel sagged against the doorframe. “Sorry I’m late. Full moon. Lots of deliveries. I don’t want to fight. I’m here for the girls.”
I took her hand, pulled her out of the cold. There were some things even a divorce decree couldn’t erase, common courtesy being one of them. “The girls are knocked out. And you don’t look in any shape to be driving. Take a nap. I almost fell asleep at the wheel last week. With all these bills, neither of us can risk it.”
Though I expected her to protest, Carmel nodded, toppling onto that pitiful mattress. She pulled the sheet up to her neck and patted the void beside her. She never was one to sleep alone. “Come on. I won’t bite. Just don’t steal the sheet. I’m freezing as it is.”
I swallowed hard, eying the broken recliner in the corner. The last time I’d slept in it, my neck was stiff for days. I walked to the other side of the bed and slid in, moving close enough to borrow some of Carmel’s heat, without starting a fire. The landlord had promised to see about the heating system, but so far my calls hadn’t gotten any results. If I’d known I’d be having a houseful of women tonight, I would have pressed the issue. Instead, the girls were sleeping comfortably with my only space heater while I prayed we wouldn’t have a fire—Carmel sighed a little—of any kind.
I doubled the pillow under my head, pinched my eyes shut. I could try to squeeze in with the girls, but Monique and I together would break the bed. She took after me in the big and tall department. Besides, I wasn’t so sure that I wanted to leave where I was. Even though this was temporary and artificial, I’d spent some of the best years of my life beside this woman. One more night wouldn’t hurt.
Or so I thought.
Carmel threw her leg across me like she had on so many other nights in our many years together. Before it would have barely earned a smile. Tonight, it was a match on dry tinder. I could have turned away just about anything at that moment, anything but that. Hoping not to get slapped, I turned to her, kissing her shoulder, checking for her reception. If she pushed me away, I’d just roll over and catch a cold. I’d endured worse from her when we were living under the same roof.
I’d made up my mind that it was okay if she played sleep or said something to trouble me, but she didn’t push me away. She turned over slowly, sat up on one elbow, and pulled me in. Her lips opened wide for me. Inviting. I shivered, but threw off the sheet.
There was more than one way to get warm.
