Rhythms of Grace (39 page)

I blinked back tears.

“Watch your step. Watch it. Watch it. Watch it.” The music pulsed with lyrics for a haunting chorus. Sean sang another verse as time stood still in my mind. Invisible. As the music faded, Sean kept singing, still bursting with the words he’d held inside so long.

“Lord, don’t you see me? Please tell them. Oh-oh. Tell them you know who I a-am . . .”

The manager’s voice broke the moment. “Cut.”

Sean frowned and slid out of the box, his eyes on the ground. “Sorry, Miss O. It sounds much better at home.”

I opened my mouth, but the manager beat me to it. “Better than that? I hope not or we’ll be taping in your bed. You got more?”

Sean stumbled back. “I got a whole album.”

The manager sniffed again. “It’s going to be a long day, then. Get back in that box.”

52

Ron

For a long time, my Sunday visits with Joyce had been the highlight of my week. Now that she was in the hospital, it was more difficult, but I still enjoyed it. The other thing I’d missed—then and now—I didn’t want to think about. Not until I figured out for sure what to do with her. For her. For now, I’d sit here with Joyce, happy just to hear her breathing and talking, when she felt up to it. We’d had a great time reminiscing today. I smoothed back a stray hair from her forehead. She smiled in her sleep.

“Ron Jenkins, please report to the information center.” I jerked at the sound of my name over the intercom.

Joyce opened one eye. “Something wrong?”

I patted her shoulder. “I’m sure it’s okay. I probably dropped my wallet somewhere.”

Joyce nodded and eased back into a sleeping position.

“I’ll be right back.”

Already asleep, she didn’t answer.

I made it to the elevator just as the doors closed, riffling through my pockets as best I could without bumping into anyone. I clutched my wallet or the worn piece of leather passing for it and flipped through the sleeves. Social Security card. Driver’s license. Bar association. Debit card. All there. An accident maybe?

Lord, don’t let anybody hit Brian’s car out in that lot.

I hated to admit it, but I was actually growing attached to the Saab. The smell as I approached the information desk made my belly howl. I tried to remember when I’d eaten last, but couldn’t. I’d have to hit the cafeteria on the way back upstairs. I put both hands on the counter. “I’m Ron Jenkins. You paged me?”

A slim blond with dark roots pointed behind her to Zeely, sitting in the waiting area. She had a foil-covered plate in her hand.

The Lord knows what you have need of before you ask.

I ran and hugged her, squeezing the plate between us. “How’d you know I was here?” The foil pulled back from the edge. The aroma of hot meat and seasoned vegetables danced in the air.

“Church in the morning. Hospital in the afternoon. Not too hard to figure out.” She loosed my grip on the plate. “Watch out. You’re going to drop it.”

“I hope not. I’d hate to have to eat off the floor in front of all these people.” I motioned to the small crowd gathered at the desk behind us.

Zeely met the women’s sweeping looks with a sigh. “You’d better let go of me before they call security. They’re really checking us out. Probably thought I was the maid or something.”

I frowned and released her shoulders. If that was meant to be a joke, it wasn’t funny. Why did she always have to care so much about what other people thought?

She wants to please people. You do too.

I took the plate from her, recalling the image so often in my dreams—Jerry’s hand with Zeely’s. A ring on her finger. A smile on their faces. That image had restrained me for so long . . . I balanced the plate and took her hand, brown against my pale one, locking my fingers with hers. A new picture flashed in my mind. A new possibility.

“What are you thinking about?”

I ignored the question and took my hand off hers, lifted the foil. All good stuff was there: greens, oxtails, rice, black-eyed peas, plus a hunk of red velvet cake wrapped in plastic. My stomach jumped, already pleading for a bite. “I’m thinking about you and this wonderful food. Jerry is one lucky man.”

Zeely’s face clouded. “I never cook for Jerry. I’ve got to get going. We have evening service and you know how Daddy gets about starting service on time. I have a solo.”

I nodded, remembering her in the choirstand, belting out God’s praises as though her body were an amplifier. People at that church still laughed at how I’d given her a standing ovation, but I’d meant every clap. I’d never heard anyone sing like that before. Or since. “What are you singing?”

“ ‘His Eye Is On the Sparrow
.’
I should sing it now, the way those ladies have their eyes on me.” Zeely waved to the group of women still clustered nearby, rapt in a discussion about the nature of our relationship. They kept staring, but moved away, disarmed by Zeely’s smile.

I leaned over and tipped her chin, lifting her face toward mine. “Don’t worry about them. Keep your eyes on me.” We stood there a silent moment, only a breath separating our faces, our lips . . .

I pulled back, reaching under the edge of the foil, into the plastic. I licked the icing from my finger. “This is so good, I think I’m going to cry.”

She smirked. “You? Cry? I won’t hold my breath.”

“Good food can make even the strongest of men a little emotional.” I squeezed her hand. “Especially when the cook looks as delicious as the meal.” In a silver sweater dress, matching coat, and burgundy-lined lips filled with silver gloss, Zeely looked even tastier than the food.

Behind us, someone cleared her throat.

“My daughter married one of them. They’ve got two kids. He’s nice enough. We weren’t expecting it.” One of the ladies at the desk spoke loud enough for us to hear. I turned. They all spun around, rustling papers. I knew that if I turned back they’d be staring again.

“If they want a show, we might as well give them one,” I whispered in Zeely’s ear, then leaned over, this time going straight for her lips. I stopped short, letting my mouth brush her cheek instead. Trying not to eat the food was hard enough, if I tasted those lips, I might not be able to stop.

Instead of the frown I expected, Zeely smiled, although her eyes were wide.

I shrugged. “I could have made them run with a real kiss, but you would have slapped me.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” She crooked her finger, beckoning me to come closer. I came as close as I dared and tried not to moan when fifteen years of frustration melted in my mouth. I tossed the plate on the chair beside us and pulled her tight to my chest.

Her lipstick still perfect in a feat I couldn’t figure out, Zeely stepped back like she wasn’t making me totally crazy. Breathless, I watched her, wondering how she’d dissolved so much time, so many prayers, all with one kiss. I tried to get another while she was giving them away.

Zeely swatted my hand. “Stop. We’re in public.”

I laughed. “Now you want to have etiquette? You can’t kiss me like that and just walk away.”

“Watch me.” She reached into her pocket and tossed me a five-dollar bill. She started for the door. “Here. Get yourself a soda to cool off. I know you. Don’t have a hard dime on you. Nothing but plastic.”

53

Zeely

I didn’t wipe my lips. Not on the way out of the hospital, not on the drive back to the church, and not now on the way downstairs to change into my choir robe. The wetness would stay on my face until I could think a minute, clear my mind. It certainly wasn’t clear now. I tiptoed into the choir room, placing my hands through the neck of my robe to keep from squishing my hair.

It wasn’t just my hair I was trying to protect. I didn’t want to brush my lips, my face, anywhere Ron’s lips had been. I slumped into a chair grateful that the room was empty. Upstairs I could hear laughter that meant I wouldn’t be alone for long. Across from me, a full-length mirror reflected my face. Despite my inner turmoil, on the outside everything was in place.

Gotta love permanent lipstick.

There was still that wetness on my cheek, unseen to the onlooker, but I could feel it. I touched it with the pads of my fingers, transporting it to my lips where it belonged.

Where Ron belonged.

I hugged my own shoulders, thinking of how Grace would tease if she’d seen today’s action. I had two rules concerning men: never chase them and always keep them an arm’s length away. Lately, I’d been breaking both of them and I wasn’t upset about it.

“Girl, you’re losing your mind.”

My reflection mimicked my words. I kept talking anyway. This therapy was free.

“Times are getting so hard that you get excited when a friend kisses you. And a white friend at that.”

I winced at my own words. There it was again. Color. Hadn’t that been what separated Ron and me in the first place? That seemed like forever ago.

“The Bible says know no man by the flesh, Zee. Why can’t we just be together instead of checking off boxes? This isn’t a census, it’s a relationship,” Ron had said then. I’d agreed, hopeful that things would work out between us once. I was still trying to figure how it could be that it was Ron I’d always wanted anyway, but my mama’s voice was still in my head, saying Jerry was the one God wanted.

In the end, I couldn’t get over “the color thing.” And evidently Ron couldn’t either. After a surprise visit and meeting his new friends, I’d overheard his friend telling him that having a black girlfriend was a liability, that he could have me, but he couldn’t marry me.

Ron didn’t disagree. He didn’t say anything at all.

Neither did I. The boy was right. It wouldn’t work.

“And it didn’t work. Not after that. No matter what Ron did, I knew how he really felt. We never discussed that day when I’d overheard him and his friend or all it had cost us. Sometimes I wondered what might have happened if I’d gotten there an hour later or a half hour earlier. Those are times when I don’t sleep well because my dreams are full of red-headed babies with brown eyes.

You know what he felt then. What about now?

Now. That’s what scared me. I tugged at my choir robe, wiping my tears. Could Ron’s friendship with Jerry be what held him back so long? I sang my scales, warming my throat and filling my lungs with air. I didn’t want to consider the possibility that I’d spent all these years waiting for the wrong man and running from the right one. What I knew for sure was bad enough. There was only one other thing that could have held Ron back all these years. Something best forgotten. But there was no way he could know about that. No way.

If I was honest, there was no way at all now. The past, the racial thing, there had already been so much between me and Ron. I put my hand on my stomach. Now I had another secret, one that he’d never go along with.

Lord, perhaps I’m yours alone.

Conversation flooded the room as the choir members piled in, smelling of buffet dinners and weave glue. Our newest member whose name I could never pronounce, with her heaving bosom and laughing eyes, pushed toward me, almost pinning me to the wall.

“I was wondering where you was. I hope you ready to sang, girl. Shekinah brought their male chorus. We’re all going to get a husband tonight!” Laughter filled the small space, choking my air.

I tried to think of a response, but despair erupted from my stomach, rose to my throat. I ran to the choir closet, shut the door, and threw up on my shoes.

54

Jerry

I sat on the edge of my bed disgusted, pants wrinkled and baby vomit on my tie. I pulled a T-shirt and jeans out of the closet. It was four thirty. Too late to make Zeely’s solo and too early to catch Ron. Carmel had done so well about Sundays until lately. Even if she showed now, I couldn’t get there in time. Where was she anyway? The phone rang. I made a face, but picked it up anyway, not bothering to say hello.

Carmel cut right to the point. “I can’t make it.”

I untied my shoes and kicked them across the room. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

“Keeping you from your little church date? No. I’m working. You know, working, to help you pay the bills?”

I sighed. Church date. Was that jealousy in Carmel’s voice? It was too late for that. About as late as I was for the service. I’d tried to make things work with her, but it seemed that Zeely would always be between us. She’d said so herself. Now she was mad because I was actually moving in that direction? Did I act like this when she asked me to babysit so she could date Dr. What’s-his-name? I couldn’t understand women to save my life. “Why do you have to be like this?”

“I was trying to be polite and call. Next time I won’t.”

I hung up the phone, knowing there would be no more words. Our recent conversations ended as abruptly as our marriage had— leaving me feeling the same way as I did when they served me with the papers out of the blue—confused. I’d prayed all these months for God to reconcile us, to put our family back together, but now I realized, accepted . . . it was too late.

Justice flipped over onto the bed beside me. I sniffed the air and reached for the diaper bag. After a quick change and a battle with the pacifier, she dropped back to sleep. If only she’d sleep like that at night. Against my better judgment, I leaned down and kissed the baby’s head. I’d worried about waking her up, but it was me who fell asleep, in my clothes and everything. And when I woke up, there was Justice, just as cute as ever.

She was growing fast. Soon she’d be like Monique, no longer needing Daddy’s kisses, trying to find her own way in the world. Monique hadn’t come over this weekend. The situation with Sean was a sore spot between us, and Carmel was taking her side for some reason. I hated to lose Monique but I couldn’t stand by and watch what I saw coming. Not this time. The last time I’d believed her report cards instead of going with my instincts.

Lifting myself one leg at a time, I got up from the bed and loosened my tie. I picked up the phone again, slowly punching numbers. “Hey, Zee. How’re you doing?”

She cleared her throat. “I’m fine. A little stomachache is all. Daddy missed you today. I told him you probably had to work . . . or something.”