Rhythms of Grace (45 page)

Not today
.

I stood, smoothing my slacks. “Thanks, but I’m not for sale.”

Bent tossed the check aside, reaching in the same drawer for a photo of Mindy, smiling in the arms of a handsome man—tall, dark, nicely dressed. Daniel. He propped it up on the desk.

“You may not be for sale now, son, but there are things . . . Things that a man needs recompense to endure.”

I stepped back. Twice. The only thing I needed payment for was enduring this meeting.

“I put my trust in Jesus. Whatever comes, he’ll get me through it.” I turned for the door.

Laughter rang out behind me, this time dripping with sarcasm.

“I hope Jesus can keep her from running off. As sure as she’s her mother’s daughter, she will. You and I both know it.”

69

Grace

When they ask me how I got here, I tell them I don’t
know. It sounds crazy, but it’s the truth. I’m feeling
bad about leaving the baby. I saw a girl come back
here and leave her baby at the hospital. She carries
his picture around and keeps showing it to everybody.
One of the nuns told her to stay in her room and rest. I
think someone should stay with her. She doesn’t sound
right. I wish she’d get herself together so I can ask her
how bad it hurt.

Diana Dixon

I piddled around the kitchen, making a big salad. I didn’t want to be too hungry tonight. Being alone with Brian would be hard enough. The phone rang. The third time in the last half hour. I stared at the spinach in my hand, trying to decide whether or not to answer. I checked the caller ID. Mal. No doubt he received his ring by now. I reached for the receiver, knowing that he’d be blazing up the highway if I didn’t answer. And that wouldn’t do. Not tonight.

“Hello?”

“You’re driving me nuts, you know that?” Yep. It was him.

I forced a smile, hoping it would come through in my voice. “So the ring got back okay?”

“You could say that. I’m not okay though.”

Join the club. “I can’t really get into it right now. This is my final decision. That’s all I can say.”

“It wouldn’t matter if he were a murderer, huh?”

“This isn’t about him.”

“Of course it is.”
Click.

I stared at the phone. Mal had never hung up on me before, no matter what was going on. I shrugged. That would have to be dealt with later. Right now, I had some praying to do.

70

Ron

My car followed the tire ruts carved into the black slush by everyone in town. The ride came easy, my mind busy slipping over my future father-in-law’s words. Saving Mindy’s baby was noble, but it seemed foolish too. I’d spent enough of my life trying to get a woman who loved someone else to love me. It hadn’t worked out. In some weird way, I almost felt comforted that Mindy wasn’t in love with me. It made things cut and dry.

I don’t know if I want her to love me.

I rubbed my temples, turning onto my street. I squinted, stunned by the brightness of hundreds of fluorescent icicle bulbs draping the roofs and eaves of every house but mine. They must have voted on those at the last homeowners’ association meeting. The Saab kept going, crawling past my house, a dark eye in a sea of brightness. I drove on, down the street and around the cul-de-sac. I turned out of “Winter World” and back into the dirty ruts that had led me home. I reached for the phone, praying for an answer on the other end.

“Mayfield.”

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself. Did you get my email? Zee gave me the right email address. I was bouncing because I didn’t have the underline part.”

“I hit you back this morning. It should be there now. You busy?”

“A little. I’m having company for dinner. Grace and Zeely. Coming for your truck? It’s in the garage. The alignment’s fixed. I figured you’d be back for it.”

I stopped at a red light, considering Brian’s words. Zeely. Just the mention of her name made me nuts. And the truck of course, definitely the truck. “I’m afraid so. I appreciate your gift, but this just isn’t me. And you know I need my snow tires. This thing might flip any time.”

Brian chuckled. “Rides nice, though, doesn’t it?”

“It does. Sounds nice too.” Another few turns brought me up to Brian’s gate. “I’m at the front. What’s your code?”

“John three sixteen. Word then the numbers.”

“I like.”

“You would.”

I pulled up along a lane of trees. Christmas lights twining the branches. One trunk was completely covered. Brian’s house rose out of a hill on the right.

“I’m here.”

“Okay, the keys are in your truck. I’ll hit the opener.”

“Can I come in? I need to talk.”

“Me too, man. Come on in.”

71

Grace

I arrived at Brian’s house at seven sharp—too curious to be late, too afraid to be early. If I worked it right, I could be in and out within the hour. Forty-five minutes if I kept my mouth shut and didn’t eat too much. I paused at his street sign, setting the timer on my watch. If it went off, I’d just say I needed to go. I wouldn’t be lying.

I’d started thinking about the fact that this was Brian’s house, with the bed that he slept in . . . I almost turned back. But then I remembered that God always provides a way of escape. If need be, I’d pull a Joseph and run out of there. Still, as I drove into Brian’s gated community, I wished Zeely had passed on her clandestine engagement and come with me.

When I checked the map for the key code to get into Brian’s neighborhood, I wasn’t surprised by his simplicity—and his spirituality: JOHN 316. The size of the houses, near mansions from the looks of them, and the canopy overhang of trees over the entrance made wonder if I’d driven into another world. The house where I’d spent some of my suburban childhood wasn’t that far away, but it was nothing like this. It was a bit more than I anticipated, even for Brian.

His steep driveway left me wondering how I’d back out. I gave up and parked on the street.

That was a mistake with my heels and the snow and all, but I kept at it, one foot in front of the other. Brian’s house, missing the colonial pillars of its neighbors, sloped above in a unique and modern design. Like its owner, the home was anything but ordinary.

Brian appeared on the porch when I was almost up the hill.

“You walked up? Oh goodness. I forgot to warn you. I’m coming. Stay there.”

I shook my head. “I’ve got it.”

He bit his lip, eyes clouded with what I’d learned was concern, but those dimples were still there, held in place by a hopeful grin. His hair was down, but there was a band on his wrist that probably meant it wouldn’t last long.

I hoped not anyway.

Swallowing down my fears, I finished the climb. It’d only been a few steps, but he let out a gust of relief when I stepped off the driveway. With a few strides he was there, taking my hand and kissing it softly. “Welcome.”

“Thank you for having me.”

He stared past me to the car, probably wondering where Zeely was. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that he looked as worried as I felt as his hand rested against my back, urging me forward.

I hadn’t prayed hard enough. Not for this.

72

Brian

I hung Grace’s coat in the closet, wishing I could stay in there too. Instead, I stood in the hall for a moment watching her, poised like a queen as she admired one of Mount Olive’s old deacon benches in my foyer. Her voice brought me back to reality.

“Beautiful. Absolutely stunning,” she said, stroking the wood, pointing at the African prints along the walls.

You’re the best-looking thing in here.
“Thanks. Just things I’ve picked up here and there.”

She smirked. “Yeah, right. I recognize some of these pieces. You searched hard for them.” Grace tucked a strand of hair back into her scarf.

I shook my head slightly, hoping she didn’t notice. How could anyone be so lovely and not know it? In a fuchsia head wrap, hoop earrings, and a sweater dress, hers was an obvious attempt at a casual look with a regal result. Casual wasn’t possible. Not for her.

With a wave of my hand and more careful banter, I asked the question that was really on my mind. “Is Zeely on her way?”

Grace shook her head. “She couldn’t make it.”

Alone? I swallowed hard and glanced up at the ceiling.

Now you know I need some backup on this one.

Clearing my throat helped me recover. “Zeely won’t make it, huh? That’s okay. We’ll send her some food. Have a seat.” While pulling out Grace’s chair, I shot a few mildly angry prayers. I hadn’t much wanted to invite Zeely in the first place, but I’d finally admitted to myself that it was the best thing to do. And now, God had flipped the script and left us alone anyway. Or was it the devil trying to tempt me. Either way, the answer was the same:

Lord, help me.

I disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a plate heaped with curried chicken, fried plantain, and roti, a flatbread well known in the Caribbean and India. I added a cloth napkin and a glass of sorrel tea before going back for my plate and drink. Back in the room, I sat, watching with relish as Grace took a bite.

“Oooh . . . roti? Where did you order this from? I didn’t know there were any Caribbean restaurants here.”

My mouth went slack. Not only did she know what it was, but she thought I’d ordered it from a restaurant. I draped an arm over the back of my chair. “I made it.”

She rolled the hot bread around the chicken mixture and took another bite. “Okay, you’ve been holding out on me. Seriously. Is there anything else I should know?”

I cleared my throat . . . and my mind. The things that I was considering sharing with her weren’t worth discussing. “I try to enjoy my time in the kitchen as much as I do my time at the table. I had some Trinidadian friends in college. My roti isn’t quite up to their standard, but it’s edible.”

My guest didn’t look convinced. “Look, I’m a fair cook and I’ve tried and failed to make this plenty of times. How’d you get the peas to spread all the way to the edge without breaking through the dough? You must be very observant to have learned so much just by watching.”

“I notice things, especially when there’s a worthy subject.”

She looked away, focusing on the food instead of my words. I motioned towards her head. “That’s a nice head wrap you’re wearing, by the way. You hooked it up.”

“Thanks. Bad hair day.” Grace smiled and closed her eyes. Slowly.

I choked down some tea and wrapped one of my locks around the rest of them. It was getting hot in here. “Bad hair day isn’t the phrase I’d use to describe it, but I hear you. Is your hair still falling out?”

Grace dropped her fork.

So much for small talk.

I picked up my fork, but the food went sour in my mouth. I could almost hear my chorus of women in my head: Karyn, Eva, Joyce, Thelma.
“What kind of question is that to ask a dog, Brian,
let alone a woman? Have you lost your mind?”

Pretty much.

She looked stricken, the exact opposite of what I was going for. “Is it that noticeable? I don’t recall mentioning it.”

I took another sip of tea, wondering if it’d be better not to say anything else. I was eating foot pot pie as it was.“Don’t worry. It’s not really noticeable. I’m just observant. And I really love your hair.”

Her eyes widened. Another bomb.

Before I thought it through, I’d put down my napkin and reached for Grace’s hand. She tensed, but let me take it. I was going down in flames.

As if things weren’t bad enough, I let go of her hand and rounded the table. Put my hands on her shoulders. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to look at your hair. May I?”

The chorus in my head let out a scream. “She came for you, not a scalp treatment, fool,” Thelma said, foundation dripping over my thoughts. The other ladies nodded in disappointment.

Just when I was about to apologize, Grace tugged at her headscarf and started to unwrap it. I tried not to gasp and sound crazier than I already did. I almost managed.

“It’s even prettier up close.”

Grace shook her head. “Are you on something? It’s a mess.”

“If so, it’s the most beautiful mess I’ve ever seen.”

She laughed. Her shoulders relaxed. “Whatever. If it keeps coming out though, there won’t be much of it left.”

Biting my lip, I finger-parted a section at the nape of her neck. “Of course there’ll be hair left. A lot more will grow in too. The scab stage is almost over. In about . . . six more months, you’ll be home free.”

She looked confused. “I’ve never heard of that. I just sort of went for it and cut off my perm. Nobody seemed to know much. I go to some places on the Internet, but it’s like I’m learning myself, getting to know myself all over again.”

And you’re doing a great job of it
, I thought.

Karyn gave me a mental elbow. “Now that’s what you should have said to her!”

“It looks great. You transitioned for a long time?”

She nodded.

“Weave?”

“No.”