Born at Dawn (28 page)

It was clear to Cynthia that Marvin's penchant for burly street girls had not changed. Bridget walked in wearing a knee-length blue dress with a single line of faux buttons going down the middle.

“When did you start talking? I left my keys here last—” She glanced at Cynthia. “What in the world is going on here?” She flailed her arms in the air.

Immediately Cynthia began having a tantrum in her mind.
He cannot be serious. She is not going to plan the funeral arrangements. Uh
-
uh, no way. I'm not paying for anything this tacky chick picks out. I don't care if she did help raise Keith.
The amount of foundation she was wearing and the heap of vanilla fragrance that caused Cynthia to choke each time she inhaled was a definite deal breaker for Cynthia.

“We're eating dinner. Would you like to join us?” Mar-vin offered. Cynthia hoped that was an effort to eliminate Bridget's drama and not a heartfelt invitation.

Bridget came closer to the table, taking a gander at everyone's plate. “Salmon and asparagus. I don't ever get that. To tell the truth, you never cook for me, Marvin,” Bridget said, placing one hand on her hip, arching her eyebrow, and sucking her teeth.

“Bridget, this is my mother, Cynthia. She made this food for us,” James said, smiling at Marvin.

“Your mother,” Bridget repeated.

She appeared to be in complete shock. Cynthia felt inclined to stake her claim.

“That's right, my mother, his wife,” James responded, sparing Cynthia the trouble and aggravation that clearly came with a woman like Bridget.

“Marvin,” Bridget said, her tone begging for none of this to be true. “Marvin, you told me your wife was dead.”

Very calmly Marvin responded, “No, I did not. I told you that she was gone.”

“Marvin, you told me she was dead,” Bridget said, shaking her head at Cynthia who sat there quietly with her hands folded and a smirk painted across her lips.

“No, Bridget, I told you she was gone, and I tried to explain to you earlier that I was misleading you.”

“Dead, gone. What's the difference? No one was allowed to talk about her. You took her pictures off the wall. I thought she was dead, but you've been talking to her all this time, Marvin. Have y'all been sleeping together too? Huh? Miss, you been sleeping with my boyfriend?” Bridget hissed.

Marvin jumped up and got in Bridget's face. “Have you lost your mind, woman? Our son just died. Could you please show some respect?”

“Respect, psst. I don't respect no woman who don't look after her own kids.” Bridget flicked her wrist as if Cynthia's presence meant nothing. “You're so busy smiling in her face and eating dinner like y'all a real family you ain't find out where she been and when she going back, but I'll ask her.” Bridget dipped around Marvin and picked up where she left off with Cynthia. “Where have you been, lady, while we was raising these two boys, huh?” Bridget asked, pointing her long red acrylic fingernails at Cynthia. “And when are you going back? We don't need your sympathy around here,” she barked.

Dismissing Bridget's anger and accusations with a roll of the eye and a fierce tiger stare, Cynthia held her ground and remained quiet. She was never one to engage in squabbles with any of the riffraff Marvin was a magnet for and let him deal with the trash.

“Bridget, you know what? I think you better go now,” Marvin commanded, assisting her to the door.

“Marvin, I think I better go now too.”

“No, Cynthia,” Marvin said. Releasing Bridget he rushed to her side. “Please don't go.” He pleaded not just with his words but kisses as well. He put the palms of his hands around her face and kissed her, soaking up as much of her as he could. The kiss came from left field but made Cynthia feel right at home. She twisted and turned to position her body close enough to feel the heat generated by Marvin's body. She closed her eyes and stuffed every good memory she had of being with Marvin into that kiss.

“Is this what you want, Marvin? Is this what you want?” Bridget repeated her question until Cynthia pulled out of Marvin's embrace.

It would have lasted all night if it wasn't for James hacking at the table. The unexpected public display of affection must have caused his juice to go down the wrong tube.

“I'm sorry, Bridget.” Marvin spoke softly to his mistress.

“You're foul for this, Marvin. I've been here all this time and this is what you want.”

“Bridget, you're right. I am foul. You can call me every name in the book if you want, but she is who I have longed for. Cynthia is who I want if she'll have me.”

“Lady,” she said, sucking her teeth and stepping a few inches closer to Cynthia, “you made this mess and you're more than welcome to clean it up 'cause I'm done here.” Bridget stormed out of the apartment, letting the door slam behind her.

Instinctively, Cynthia began clearing the plates from the table. James disappeared into his room after the fireworks ended. Marvin met her halfway to the kitchen and snatched the dishes from her.

“I'll take care of those. You should take a moment to relax.” Cynthia arched her eyebrows in a furtive glance and questioned his motivation for being so caring and affectionate. He seemed different. Cynthia could not place her finger directly on it, but something had snapped in him, and she was glad. Seeing him in this light mood made her believe there was some hope for Marvin. For the first time in a long time she felt comfortable with him. Cynthia crooked her neck to get a peek at Marvin's broad shoulders and strong back as he applied some elbow grease to the frying pan she used for the salmon.

“So, do you think we should discuss the funeral arrangements before I go?” Cynthia asked.

“Yeah. Just give me a minute to finish this last dish,” Marvin said, rinsing the soap suds off the pan.

He towel dried his hands and strutted in the living room like a rooster checking on his hen. He took a seat beside her and allowed her to study him and absorb the change that had come over him. Cynthia couldn't figure out if it was just the effect of one day of sobriety or the lack of sleep, but Marvin seemed to sit taller, look cleaner, and sound sweeter.

“Cyn, I'm sorry about that whole Bridget thing. I guess I can't get too worked up about the mystery man on the other end of the phone now considering this. I'm really sorry.”

“It's all right, Marvin. Let's just deal with the issue at hand.”

“No, it's not all right, and that's why we have all these issues, Cyn. I'm sorry for everything—for the women, for the alcohol, for the beatings. I should have said it sooner. I should have gotten help sooner.” Cynthia lowered her head and opened her ears to what Marvin had to say.

“I promise things will be different this go-round.”

“This go-round? Marvin, I—”

“Shhh,” he said, squeezing her hand before putting on a record.

Marvin bowed in front of her and offered her his hand. Immediately, Cynthia went into protest mode at the sound of the piano intro to “If You Don't Know Me By Now” by Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes.

Cynthia stiffened and sat on her hands. “Marvin, I'm not here for any of these games.”

“And I'm not playing any games.” Marvin shook his hand in front of her, insisting she join him in a dance. “Just listen to me because I'm serious. Things will be different.”

Cynthia placed her hand in his. Marvin lifted her to her feet, pulling her in close.

“I didn't plan on staying after the funeral,” Cynthia said nonchalantly, trying to avoid making eye contact with Marvin. He still oozed that alpha male magnetism that pulled her in, and the whole slow dancing thing was a convenient reminder of the first day they'd met. Even then he felt wrong, but his words and his hands on her body felt so right.

“Why not?”

“Marv, I have an apartment, a restaurant—”

“And you have Cheo?” he asked with his eyes fixed on Cynthia's.

“And you have Bridget,” Cynthia countered shifting the blame for their problems back onto Marvin's shoulder.

“But I don't want Bridget. I want you, Cynthia. I'm telling you, if you give me another chance, it will be different. You can keep your restaurant. I'll go back to Virginia with you.” Marvin kissed the top of her head as it rested on his chest.

“Why should I give you another chance, Marvin?”

He put his hand on her chin and lifted her face from his chest. “Because we're family here. I know it hasn't been good all the time, but can't you give me another chance? Just trust me.” Marvin stopped speaking in time for Harold Melvin to finish his sentence.

“I just don't—” Before Cynthia could protest Marvin's advances, the doorbell interrupted her. “Marvin, if that's another woman here claiming her right to plan Keith's funeral, I am so gone.”

“No, that ought to be Pastor David.”

Cynthia scrunched up her face. “Who?”

“You heard me, woman. I invited Pastor David over.”

“If this is some kind of ambush—”

“Ambush?” Marvin shook his head repeating his wife's pretentious statement. “I asked him to give the eulogy,” Marvin said, walking toward the door and opening it.

“Hey, David . . . I mean Pastor David. You know you're going to have to give me a minute to get used to saying that,” Marvin said, grinning.

“You think he would be used to it by now,” Cynthia said from the couch. “Let the man in, Marv.”

Marvin backed out of the doorway and let Pastor David in.

“I'm sorry I'm so late. The Love of the Father meeting went overtime. This shooting really shook some parents up, and we had a few new participants present tonight. I hope I'm not interrupting,” Pastor David said, taking note of the slow music and dim lighting.

“No, we were just talking,” Cynthia said, taking the needle off the record. “Please have a seat. Would you like something to drink? Eat?”

“No, thank you, sister. I'll just have a seat, if you don't mind.”

“Not at all, Pastor. Have a seat,” Cynthia said pointing at the couch.

“I'm sorry that my first trip here in so long is because of a tragedy like this, but let's discuss this funeral. Where do you plan on having it?”

“Every time I discuss this funeral I wind up in trouble. She's in charge.” Marvin pointed at Cynthia deflecting the question to her.

“Before we get into all of that, Pastor David, I know you don't want anything to eat or drink, but would you like me to take your coat at least?” Cynthia offered.

Pastor David removed his jacket and handed it to Cynthia. Walking and talking, she began to discuss her ideas for the funeral. “I was thinking we could do something simple and traditional. I understand that he was in a gang, so I think we've got to streamline this event in order to prevent the opportunity for them to act ignorant. I think the Berlin Funeral Home down the street would be perfect. It's close by and it's small so we can limit the number of people in attendance. Pastor, is there someone in your choir who could sing a song or two?”

“Sister Cynthia, please don't take this the wrong way . . .” Pastor David started his reply.

“Then don't say it the wrong way,” Cynthia said, sitting on the ottoman across from the couch. She crossed her legs, determined to make it both verbally and visually clear if this wasn't going to be made easy for her she wasn't going to make it easy for anyone else.

“The blood of Jesus,” Pastor David said, scratching his eyebrow. “Cynthia, we're not planning a wedding ceremony, so we don't need to focus on it being small and intimate. We're not planning a peace summit, so worrying about retaliation shouldn't be what you're concentrating on, nor are you planning a talent show, so I cannot just summon my choir members to sing a couple of songs. Maybe you need a moment or two to process what it is we're doing and the chance to ask God to cultivate a tender heart in you.”

“I know exactly what I'm doing. I'm planning a funeral for a known gang member who . . . who happens to be my son,” she said through tears.

Marvin placed one hand on her shoulder, handed her a napkin, and whispered in her ear, “Why don't you just go ahead and take a moment? Go sit down in the bedroom or freshen up in the bathroom. It's been a long day for us all.”

After Cynthia's migration to the bedroom, Marvin sat down on the couch beside Pastor David and heaved a sigh. “I'm sorry about all this. The funeral was the only thing she talked about, and I really wanted to get this thing over and done. I don't know if I can do this.”

“I know it all seems like it's coming apart at the seams, but it will get better. Don't get discouraged. Commit Philippians 4:13 to your memory: “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheth me.” Since we have this time now, Marvin, let's talk about your new faith,” Pastor David suggested eagerly.

“Thank you, Pastor. I feel different, if that makes any sense. I know it's been only a day, but I feel better than I have in as long as I can remember.” Marvin combed through his memory in search of a day when he felt this light and airy. “Yet there are still things that I need to work out.”

“Like what, brother?” Pastor David patted Marvin on the back.

Marvin dropped his head into his hands and mumbled, “I don't want to trouble you with my issues right now.”

“It's no trouble. It's my job to tend to the sheep. I'm already here, and you're going to need a partner if you're going to pull off a job this big. It's going to take a serious move of God to get her to submit to you, and I'll stay all night if I have to.”

Marvin leaned back into the sofa and let the cushions swallow him. He smiled at the thought of having his wife back. He didn't see it as reality and knew he couldn't beat his competition, Cheo
.

“All night? You mean all morning. It's almost midnight. I couldn't ask you to do that, especially when I have no chance with Cynthia. Did you know she's not even using my last name? We're only married on paper, Keith is dead, and James is almost grown. He's still got some growing up to do, but if she was concerned about that she would have never left.” Marvin sighed.

“Marvin, are you really about to get jacked by the devil?” Pastor David asked with his lips curved into a scowl. “You're going to let him rip off all of your stuff, and he doesn't even have a weapon. I don't care what anyone else calls her or what she calls herself, she is your wife, and that's why I'm willing to stay all night with you and fight for her life. I've stayed in hospitals all night long praying with families when their children are sick. Your wife is sick, sin sick, and you think I'm going to run off now.” Pastor David planted his hands in his hips and stood with his legs apart like he was Superman.

Marvin doubled over with laughter. “That's it. We're just going to pray this situation away? Pastor, she doesn't want to give me another chance.”

“Would you give you another chance after everything you've put her through, Marvin?”

Marvin let Pastor David's words linger in the air before he answered. “No, I wouldn't.”

“So then you need to pray, for only God can change the heart, only God can heal the heart. Tonight is a night for you to learn a lesson that many Christians struggle with no matter how long they've been in the faith. Tonight, you're going to learn to trust God. If she wants to go, then know this, ‘Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb, yea, they may forget, yet, will I not forget thee.' The Bible says that a woman can forget about her own little baby but God will not. You stand in the place you are supposed to, man, and the Lord will take care of James. But if she wants to stay . . .” Pastor David jubilantly slapped Marvin on the back. “If she wants to stay, you have to trust that God will reconcile you and cause you to love each other again in a real special way, my friend. Are you ready to trust God and see Him move in your life?”

“Yeah, I'm ready.”

“Then rise up out of that chair and rise up in your spirit,” Pastor David commanded motioning for Marvin to get up.

Marvin stood in front of Pastor David prepared to follow his lead.

“Come on. Join hands.”

Marvin placed his hands in Pastor David's. “Once again, my life is in your hands. You got me?”

“No, Jesus has got you. Bow your head.” Both Marvin and Pastor David bowed the heads and closed their eyes. Pastor David inhaled and proceeded to dive into his petition to the Lord on Marvin's behalf. “Father God, in the precious name of Jesus, I present this life to you, Lord. He said it's in my hands, and only you are the sustainer of life, so Lord, I give it to you. Look upon the Barclay household and bind the hand of the enemy. In Jesus' name. Lord, rebuild this family brick by brick until they are standing strong. Look upon my sister, your daughter, and cause her heart to become tender again. Remind her of your mercy, remind her of your love, and call her back to you Lord. In Jesus' name. Amen.”

“Now what?”

“Now you let go of my hands, and we wait on God to show Himself,” Pastor David said snatching his hands out of Marvin's.

 

Not sleeping wasn't new to Cynthia. For the first two hours of Pastor David's home visit, she'd sat up on the edge of the bed listening to Pastor David minister to Mar-vin, instructing him in righteousness, sharing scriptures, and going back and forth to God in prayer for her. She had a mind to go out there and tell him to stop calling her name, but finally, after six years, she recognized the voice of the enemy telling her it was okay to berate a man of God. Instead of accepting his outlandish ideas, she sat tight. Biting her fingernails helped her to remain quiet and absorb all that was going on around her, and when she couldn't take anymore of being painted as the antagonist in this prayer story, she cried out to God for herself.

Massaging her temples, Cynthia perched herself on the edge of the bed and looked out the window, noting the subtle change in the color of the night sky and waited for some sign—a word, a voice in her head other than her own—to direct her, yet all she could hear was Pastor David teaching Marvin Psalm 51: “Have Mercy upon me, O God, according to thy loving kindness.”