Tangled Roots (13 page)

Gwen was taller than Olivia by several inches. The two women were at the opposite ends of the personality spectrum. Gwen was statuesque, loud, fun-loving, and a flashy dresser. Olivia was quiet, petite, conservative, and — while she was actually better looking than Gwen — didn’t have the self-confidence and fashion sense that Gwen did. Olivia had been a stay-at-home mom while her husband Jesse was alive. Gwen had worked since she was sixteen. There were probably things about both women that Alex found very appealing.

“I’m okay, Gwen. Is Alex around?” She sounded slightly annoyed and pulled away from Gwen, who rolled her eyes behind Olivia’s back.

“He’s in his office,” Gwen replied. “You just go on back,” she said to Olivia’s retreating back as she headed to Alex’s office.

I wondered if anything was wrong since Olivia hadn’t even acknowledged my presence. Gwen was doing a slow burn.

“You know, I feel for the sister ’cause of what she’s goin’ through. But if that stuck-up hussy thinks that she’s gonna be cryin’ on my man’s shoulder every damn day, she can think again. I don’t play that shit.”

“She doesn’t have any friends and her family is gone. Alex is the only one she can talk to,” I said, trying to put Gwen’s mind at ease. Thinking back on that tender moment I’d witnessed between Alex and Olivia, I wasn’t so sure that she had nothing to be worried about.

“Yeah, I know. But you know what? That ain’t my problem,” she said as she pulled a tray out from behind the hostess station and set coffee cups and plates on it.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to get some coffee and cookies to take back to Alex and Olivia, of course,” she replied, opening her eyes wide with mock innocence.

“You mean, you’re going to check up on them?”

“Damn straight,” she said, heading to the kitchen for the food. I hoped Olivia didn’t end up poisoned.

“Be nice,” I called after her. She responded with a devious smile.

It was slow so I folded napkins while I waited for the next customers to come in. I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up and looked up to see Noreen Reardon’s pale, wrinkled face staring at me through the restaurant’s large picture window. With her lips pressed together in disapproval and her eyes slightly magnified by the window, she looked like an elderly fish with its face pressed against the side of a fishbowl. I couldn’t figure out why she was looking so pissed off until I realized I was supposed to be home sick. My heart sank as she walked into the restaurant and made a beeline straight for the hostess station.

“Kendra, I’m so glad to see you’re feeling better.” Her words were dripping with so much sarcasm and distaste that you’d have thought she’d just caught me picking my nose.

“Actually, Noreen, I am feeling much better, thank you. I was really in pain this morning.”

“Come on now, Kendra. I’m an old lady and I suffer from arthritis and a variety of other ailments. I find that aspirin works wonders for pain. You’ll have to come up with a better excuse than that.”

If she wanted a better excuse, then far be it from me to deprive her of one. “You caught me, Noreen. I just didn’t want to say what was really wrong with me. It’s kind of embarrassing.” I leaned forward, looked around dramatically, and gestured for her to come closer. She leaned in, eyes gleaming in anticipation.

“Actually, Noreen,” I whispered, placing my hand on hers and looking her straight in the eye, “I’ve been having a terrible bout of ringworm. I just can’t seem to get rid of it. You understand, don’t you?” I squeezed her hand. She quickly pulled away from me in horror, tossed me a venomous look, and hurried out the door without looking back. I knew I was going to pay for my moment of fun at Noreen’s expense, but at the moment I could not have cared less.

After about a half an hour, Alex emerged from his office with Olivia. I could tell that she’d been crying. She gave me a weak smile as Alex guided her past the hostess station and out the door. Gwen was right behind them and stood at the door watching as Alex walked Olivia to her car. She looked at me and shook her head.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Boy, when it rains, it pours,” Gwen replied, still shaking her head.

“What?” I demanded.

“Olivia has breast cancer. She found out this morning.”

“You have got to be kidding me!” I couldn’t believe it. Talk about bad luck.

Alex came back into the restaurant. He could tell by my expression that Gwen had told me the news.

“It’s just a small lump and she probably won’t even have to undergo chemo if it hasn’t spread to her lymph nodes,” Alex said. I could tell he was upset all the same. I instantly thought about Timmy. When had he last talked to his mother? Did he know?

“Well, that’s good news, right?” I asked them, confused by the grim looks on their faces.

“Yeah, it is,” said Gwen. “Her doctor wants her to have the surgery right away. But Olivia is refusing to be treated until Timmy turns himself in. She hasn’t heard from him and doesn’t know where he is. And she’s also startin’ to have doubts about his innocence. She can’t understand why he won’t turn himself in. She’s worried that he may have skipped town.”

“I’ve been wondering about that myself,” said Alex, running a hand over his bald head.

I wanted to tell them the truth so badly, and I might have if I knew where Timmy was. But until I had some kind of solid proof of his innocence, the fewer people who knew what was going on, the better. After what had happened to Aretha, I didn’t want anything else to happen, especially to anyone I loved. I kept my mouth shut and continued to fold napkins.

The parking lot of Holy Cross Church was almost as crowded on that Thursday evening as it had been for Inez’s funeral. I parked and, not knowing where the taping was being held, followed a group of people I assumed were there for the same reason. I had chosen my outfit very carefully and was dressed in a conservative lavender cowl neck sweater, black slacks, leather boots, and coat. I didn’t want to give Reverend Rollins any ideas about why I was there by dressing provocatively. I wasn’t even wearing perfume. I just hoped his wife Nicole was around so I could talk to her and leave.

I pulled my coat around me as I walked across the lot. The unseasonably warm weather that had hung on through September and into October had finally left and the cold fall air had me digging into the back of my closet for warmer clothes, namely my prized black leather trench coat. I considered the coat, which I’d stumbled upon at Déjà Vu a few years ago, to be a tribute to my tenacity and extreme thrift. I got in the only fight I’d ever been in when I spotted the coat at the same time as another bargain-loving shopper. We got into a tug-of-war right in the middle of the store. The other woman, a skinny white chick who looked like she needed a good meal more than a coat, head-butted me and busted my lip. I grabbed a handful of her hair and almost ripped it out of her head but I still managed to hang on to my prize. Once blood from my split lip dripped on the coat, the other woman abruptly let go and I went flying into a rack of shoes. It was an undignified display and not one of my proudest moments. I didn’t care. Where else was I going to find a black leather trench coat in pristine condition for seventy-five dollars?

Once inside, I followed the others down into the church’s cavernous basement, which had been turned into a television studio. There was a stage set up talk-show style with a desk for the host and an uncomfortable-looking couch for guests. The backdrop on the wall behind the desk and couch was painted to look like clouds with rays of sun shining through. There were about a hundred folding chairs set up for the audience. Each seat had a white gift bag sitting on it. Two television cameras were set up in front of the stage at opposite ends and a large microphone dangled from above. To the right of the stage was a piano and about two dozen more folding chairs. Another microphone hung down over this area, as well.

The seats in the audience were filling up fast and I grabbed one in the back. The gift bag contained a CD made by the Holy Cross choir called
Divine Intervention;
a novel entitled
I Will Follow Him
, depicting a young black woman in a dress with a plunging neckline stretched out in a grassy field with her face and one arm stretched heavenward; a small Bible; and an ink pen with Holy Cross Ministries spelled out in gold letters. The choir filed in and sat in the seats to the right of the stage. Shanda wasn’t with them but her father, Rondell Kidd, dressed in a too-tight argyle sweater tucked into equally tight navy blue dress pants, sat down at the piano. I sure hoped he didn’t have gas or it would be the end of his pants. Rondell’s wife, Bonita, was rushing around with a clipboard, making sure everybody was in the right place and generally bossing everyone around. I noticed more than a few people giving her very unchristian-like looks behind her back. She was dressed just as dowdily as she had been when I met her. Her plaid skirt and twin set looked straight out of the fifties, and not in the stylish, retro kind of way, either.

Morris Rollins emerged from behind the curtains on the stage and started talking to the camera crew. One of the cameramen must have made a joke because Rollins laughed and when he did, his smile lit up the entire room. I felt my stomach do a little flip-flop. I’ve always been a sucker for a man with a killer smile. I suddenly missed Carl even more. Rollins was dressed casually in tan slacks, a red crewneck sweater, and loafers. I could see the diamond stud sparkling in his ear from all the way in the back row. After getting his wireless microphone attached to his sweater, Rollins started greeting the audience members in the first row, stopping to speak to each one, hugging some, and slapping five to others. You certainly couldn’t say the man was unfriendly. Though one could argue that being friendly was part of his whole problem. Some of the women in the audience whom he greeted had pressed themselves against him in such a familiar way that I wondered just how well they knew the reverend.

I noticed Bonita Kidd watching from the stage as Rollins made his rounds. She was staring at him with so much naked love and admiration that she didn’t even notice her husband had walked up and asked her a question. Rondell looked from his wife to his brother and I saw a momentary flash of fury on his usually placid face. Rondell waved his hand in Bonita’s face to get her attention and she glared at her husband so fiercely he took a step backwards. I couldn’t hear what Bonita said to Rondell, but whatever it was sent him back to his piano with a hurt look on his face. I wondered if it was in God’s plan for Bonita to be in love with her brother-in-law.

By the time Rollins reached the third row, which was two rows ahead of where I was sitting, Bonita whispered something to him and he headed back towards the stage to take his place behind the desk. I felt strangely disappointed. Remembering why I was there, I looked around for Nicole Rollins but didn’t see her or anyone else with braids. The lights in the studio dimmed, indicating that it was showtime. The show opened with the Holy Cross choir singing a rousing rendition of “This Little Light of Mine,” which was apparently the show’s theme song, and was included on their CD. I wondered where Shanda was. Probably off somewhere being a punching bag for her psycho-thug boyfriend.

Rollins’s soothing voice brought me out of my thoughts as he greeted the viewing audience and introduced the show’s guests. The first guest was Ermaline Pierce, a minister from Trinity Baptist Church in Cleveland, who would be discussing the role of female ministers in the modern church. Joining Ermaline were the Trinity Baptist Church Faith Dancers, who would be performing. Also on the show was Melvina Carmichael, a local author of Christian romance novels, who would be discussing her latest release,
I Will Follow Him
. I flipped over the book that had been included in our gift bags and saw a picture of a solemn-looking woman in glasses.

Rollins stood and the audience applauded as the Reverend Pierce made her way onstage to the sound of Rondell Kidd’s organ intro. Reverend Pierce was a big, light-skinned woman, almost as tall as Rollins, dressed in a flowing yellow caftan. Her hair was hidden in a multicolored turban, and she wore a large cross on a strand of wooden beads. Her voice was loud and booming and she constantly sounded like she was delivering a sermon. But she was also very funny and a great storyteller. She regaled the audience with stories of how hard it was to be taken seriously as a female minister at the start of her twenty-year career and her struggle to get more women to “heed the call,” as she put it, to become ministers.

Rollins proved to be a good host and knew just how to graciously move the conversation forward when Reverend Pierce got a little too long-winded. After her interview, and a ten-minute question-and-answer session with the audience, the Trinity Faith Dancers — eight girls ranging in age from six to eighteen — performed to “Stomp” by God’s Property. The girls were dressed in black leotards and multicolored tunics in the same material as Reverend Pierce’s turban. Their energetic synchronized movements mirrored the lyrics of the song perfectly. They received very enthusiastic applause.

Next up was Melvina Carmichael, who approached the couch like she was afraid it would bite her. Melvina was brown-skinned, rail-thin, and slightly bucktoothed, wearing a shapeless sweater dress and black pumps. I could tell by the way she tipped across the stage that she wasn’t used to wearing heels. She took a seat on the couch next to Reverend Pierce, quickly shook hands with Rollins, and squinted blindly into the audience. She must have left her glasses at home. I heard some scattered giggling and instantly felt sorry for the woman, who clearly was out of her element and didn’t look any happier in person than she did in her picture. Once again, Rollins proved to be a smooth and gracious host.

“Ms. Carmichael, you’ve written ten Christian romance novels in the past twelve years. Where do you get your ideas?” He leaned forward in his seat in anticipation, like he truly cared about what she had to say.

Melvina swallowed hard and nervously looked at the audience. “Well, Reverend Rollins,” she began timidly, “I get my ideas from real-life situations. Things that I see going on in society. Then I take those situations and I add a God-centered theme.”