Joy (29 page)
The heat of the morning sunlight awakened him; Braxton sat up with a start. It was Anya's face that made him remember. He glanced at the clock. How could it be almost ten? He had to wake up Anya, but the second before his hand touched her shoulder, he pulled back.
I'll just let her sleep, he thought. Braxton turned onto his stomach, resting on his elbows, and stared at Anya. She was sleeping on her side, her hands under her head. With the bandage hidden, there were few signs of her trauma.
He tried to imagine what she was dreaming about. Her face didn't show any signs of anguish, in fact, she looked like peace covered her.
He sighed and wondered if he would be able to put this behind him as easily as she seemed able to do. He didn't know how he would do it. His night had been filled with images of a faceless man, touching Anya, hurting her …
“Good morning.” She smiled.
He hadn't noticed her opened eyes. “I was just going to wake you. You're late for work.” He held his breath.
The ends of her lips turned down a bit. “I've decided not to go in today.”
He couldn't hide his pleasure as he kissed her. “Good. I think you should rest.” With energy that surprised him, he jumped from the bed. “I'm going to run home to get my laptop. Is there something you want to do?”
She sat up and pulled her T-shirt over her bent knees. “Actually, I was thinking about giving Pastor Ford a call.”
When he remained silent, Anya continued. “I want to talk to her.”
Braxton hesitated, then said, “That's a good idea.” He had been standing at the foot of the bed, but now he sat next to her. “You can talk to me,” he said softly.
She lowered her eyes. Braxton had been a blessing from the moment he rushed into the hospital. But this was one thing he couldn't solve for her. “I want to talk to her first,” she said without lifting her eyes.
He hugged her. “Give her a call while I take a shower. I'll take you over there.”
Anya smiled as Braxton walked into the bathroom. Funny, she thought, how this situation was actually bringing them closer. “Just God's way of turning something bad into good.”
She reached for the phone to call her pastor.
Pastor Ford was waiting on the steps when Braxton stopped in front of the church. Anya was barely out of her car before the pastor wrapped her in her arms.
The sadness in Pastor Ford's eyes belied the smile on her face. “How are you, sweetie?” she asked softly.
Anya smiled. “I'm doing all right.”
Braxton honked and they waved as he pulled away. In the pastor's office, Anya moved toward the chairs, but Pastor Ford took her hand and led her to the couch. There were tea cups and croissants set up on the table. They sipped and chatted for a few minutes before Anya said, “Thank you for seeing me right away, Pastor.”
“I wanted to see you yesterday, but I thought you needed to rest.” She pulled Anya into her arms. “You're going to make it through this.”
Anya nodded. “I'm better than I ever thought I would be.”
The pastor smiled. “That's because you're strong. Have you had a chance to talk to a counselor?”
Anya stood and walked to one of the bookcases overflowing with Bibles in every translation. Her eyes focused on one of the burgundy covers:
The Living Bible.
“No,” Anya finally responded. “I don't think I need counseling as long as I stay fixed on the Lord.”
The pastor tilted her head. “That sounds like a pat answer, Anya.”
Anya raised her eyebrows in surprise.
“There's no doubt God will get you through, but He puts all kinds of assistance vehicles on the road to bless us. In the case of rape, I think counseling is necessary.”
Anya shook her head.
“Did you know that I used to be a rape counselor?”
Anya looked at the pastor with surprise. “I didn't know.”
“It was some of the best times in my life—helping women through one of their most difficult times. But one thing I found was that it was especially hard to get Black women to accept counseling.” The pastor stood and took Anya's hand. “We've been taught to hold in our feelings, keep a stiff upper lip and just move on. But, it doesn't have to be that way. You can scream, you can yell, you can kick, you can break down—do anything that you have to do. You have people who want to help you through this.”
“I know that, Pastor. And I'm so grateful for you and Braxton and my grandmother. Everyone around me has been incredible. But while I know counseling can help, it's not what I need right now.” Anya glanced away from the pastor. “My questions can't be answered by a counselor.”
Pastor Ford nodded. “Okay.” Her tone encouraged Anya to continue.
Anya turned toward the window, her back to Pastor Ford. “Pastor, have you ever been mad at God?” Her voice was barely a murmur.
The pastor chuckled slightly. “Plenty of times. Though as I've grown in Him I haven't experienced that because I know He's in charge of everything.”
Still looking out the window, Anya said, “I'm not really mad. I just want to know why did … God let this happen?” Her shoulders tightened as she breathed the words.
“That's a good question, Anya.”
Relieved, Anya faced the pastor. “I don't want to question God at all. I want to stand strong.”
“Seems like you're doing a good job to me.”
“I don't feel strong.” The glitter of the blade flashed through her mind. She closed her eyes and tried to squeeze back tears. “Pastor, I have never been so scared in my life.”
Pastor Ford took Anya's hand, trying to hold back her own tears, as she led Anya back to the chairs.
“I'm confused about how I'm supposed to feel. I don't want to feel sorry for myself and I don't want to question God, but I feel all of that. One moment, I'm having flashbacks and asking why me, and then the next, I'm in the shower, trying to find a way to praise God.”
“This is normal, Anya,” Pastor Ford began. “What you experienced
wasn't
normal. It is going to take quite a bit of time and a lot of prayer. You wouldn't believe the number of women I've had to counsel through this. And everyone reacts differently, so don't beat yourself up with what you're feeling.”
Anya nodded. “I've even asked is God checking me or disciplining me for something?”
“Get that out of your mind!” Pastor Ford's eyes widened. “God doesn't operate that way.”
“I know that in my head, but it's hard for me to reconcile this in my heart.” Anya sighed. “I feel like a weak Christian.”
“Anya, you were raped two days ago and you're acting as if you were supposed to walk around like nothing happened. Yes, you love the Lord, but that doesn't stop you from being human.”
“I just want to know why this happened.”
Pastor Ford took a Bible from her bookcase. “You're looking for answers and that's understandable. But God won't always give an explanation. He tells us that in Isaiah.” The pastor turned to the scripture and read,
“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.
“Someday, God may reveal what this is all about,” the pastor continued. “But you may never know. All you need to know is that there are promises in the Word,” she tapped the Bible on her lap, “that God will always fulfill. He is always faithful.”
“That's why I feel so guilty about—”
Pastor Ford held up her hands, stopping Anya mid-sentence.
“There is therefore no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus?
Pastor Ford said. “Guilt doesn't come from God.”
Anya nodded. “I know that,” she said softly.
“Anya, I want you to reconsider counseling.”
“Pastor, the brochures that I got from the doctor talked about how this wasn't my fault and that I shouldn't feel responsible—I know all of that. My questions are about staying strong in God. I'll be honest—my faith has been shaken and I hate feeling that.”
Pastor Ford was thoughtful for a moment. “Why don't we get together for the next few days? We can talk, we can pray, and then in a week or so, you can decide what you want to do.”
Anya hugged her pastor.
“There are some scriptures I want you to go over.” Pastor Ford flipped through the Bible. “I give these to people who are doubting God.”
“I don't doubt Him.”
“Well, you're just having a little trouble understanding His ways. Jot down Psalms 18:30 and Psalms 34:19. And never forget one of my favorite scriptures:
We know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are called according to His purpose.
That is you, my dear.”
The pastor closed her Bible, then took Anya's hand, lifting her from the couch. “I want to pray for you.” Pastor Ford placed her hand on Anya's forehead and began, “Heavenly Father, our awesome and powerful God, I pray for strength for Anya. She knows that you are with her, Father, and you know her heart. We don't have the answer, Lord, but you do. And, we rejoice because you said in your Word that you would give strength to your people, that you would bless your people with peace. So, now I ask, Lord, that your power be released here. Give Anya the strength and the peace that you promised …”
As Pastor Ford continued her prayer, Anya's head fell back and she felt her blood run warm. The power of God was with her, and Anya knew that if she continued to believe, His power would always be there.
Braxton held Anya's arm as they walked up the stairs, steadying her as if she were disabled.
“Honey, I can walk by myself.”
“I want you to be careful,” he insisted. “This was your first time out.”
She sighed but decided not to resist him, even though it was more difficult for them to move.
As they walked up the steps, they could hear Sasha's voice. “Wait, David, I hear them coming now.”
Sasha covered the phone's mouthpiece with her hand. “Anya, it's David—”
Braxton shook his head before Sasha could finish. “No, she's not up to it yet.”
Anya rolled her eyes. “Thanks, Sasha, give me the phone.”
“Baby, you need to rest.”
“As soon as I get off the phone.”
He held his hand up and backed away.
“Anya, it is so good to speak to you,” David said. “How are you?”
She smiled at the sound of his voice. “I'm doing great. How's everything in the office?”
“Everyone is very concerned, but I know they'll feel better once I tell them I spoke to you. I would love to see you.”
Her hand grazed the bandage on her face. “Give me a few days.”
His silence told her that he understood.
Anya could hear Braxton's whispers in the kitchen, and she took the phone into the bathroom. She closed the door, but didn't turn on the light. “David, everyone tells me that you … helped me. I can't tell you how much—”
“Anya, I really didn't do anything.”
“But you found me, and got me to the hospital. Thank you.” There was silence before he said, “I would do anything for you, Anya.”
She took a deep breath at his words, then turned on the light. “The Linden enrollment—how is that going?” she asked, needing to change the tone.
“Fine.” Anya could tell he was a bit surprised by her question. “Alaister and his team are going over there this morning,” David continued. “I have something to do. I'll join them later …” His voice trailed off as if he were searching for words to say. “Everything else is fine.”
“Thank you for handling things. I should be back in a few days …”
“Take all the time you need. I will be here for you. There is one thing, though.” He hesitated. “I've spoken to the leasing people. Anya, if you want to move the office, I can take care of that before you come back.”
Anya frowned. She hadn't thought of that. She closed her eyes, trying to envision her office, but her mind's canvas was blank. How would she feel going back to that place? “No. We can't move everything now. I'll be fine … in a few days.”
“Okay. The building is going to be adding security.”
“That's good.”
More silent seconds passed between them.
“David, thank you again—”
The knock startled her. “Anya, are you all right?” Braxton raised his voice through the door.
“David, I have to go,” she spoke quickly. “I'll call you tomorrow.” She clicked off the phone and leaned against the door.
“Anya?”
She took a deep breath. “Yes, Braxton. I'm fine.” She turned off the light.
I
t had been a few days, and he still hadn't seen her. As he straightened his tie in the mirror, the ring caught his eye. He lifted it from the table.
“Evidence.”
It was time for him to do something with this. Although he was very careful with who he allowed in his space, the ring was incriminating. He was too smart to make any mistakes.
He held the ring in front of the window twisting and turning it, marveling at the way the sun's rays set off the jewel. He was sure that she was missing it.
“What am I going to do with you?” he said aloud. He tried to develop a plan to return it to her, but it would be too dangerous.
He looked at the clock, then stuffed the ring into his pocket. He had to hurry or he would be late for his appointment.
He drove seven miles away from his front door. His eyes searched the street until he found what he was looking for. He parked his car, leaving the engine running, and trotted to the large blue dumpster. Looking around, he pulled the ring from his pocket and tossed it inside.
He was surprised at the pounding of his heart as he drove away. No problem, it was probably just the excitement of completion. Now there was only one thing left and that was to see her again.
A
mist hovered in the bathroom. Anya used her palm to wipe a small space on the mirror. She stopped when she saw her left cheek.
With slow, steady hands, she gently pulled back the gauze. She stared at the wound for several minutes before she replaced the material. No, she thought. There was no way she could go to church without the bandage. But there was no way she could go to church with it.
