Diary of a Mad First Lady (32 page)

“Advancement opportunities? Is that what you call those people in Baltimore? If so, then what are these people in Atlanta called? You sound as if you’ve forgotten the real mission here. The true purpose for your calling.”

He slammed his hand on the desk. “Now, you wait a minute. I don’t need you sitting in here telling me what I’ve forgotten, or insinuating that I’ve abandoned my calling. How dare you? The last time I checked, my ratings were higher than ever. More people tune into my broadcast than any other broadcast coming out of Atlanta. Last time I checked, every Sunday people are flooding the altar, giving their life to Jesus and desiring to become members of this church.” His eyes were red as fire.

“When was the last time you did something for the Lord, Michelle? When was the last time a person came to Christ because you led them to Him? When was the last time a person joined this church because of the way you impacted their life?” He paused. “I don’t hear you. When?” he yelled. When I didn’t say anything, he said, “That’s what I thought.”

I sat there defeated. He was right. Who was I to interfere with any of his ministry dealings? Was I so wrong to want to build my life here, in Atlanta, around the people that I’d grown to love?

Tears escaped from behind their water gates. I put my hands to my face to cover up the shame I felt. I found myself asking a familiar question: Was I really called to this? To be his wife? Was I ready to continue to make sacrifices that I would never benefit from? I knew that everyone had their crosses to bear, but the cross of being a first lady was again becoming too heavy for me.

Chapter Thirty-one

Michelle

Instead of the usual sermon preparation I was accustomed to Darvin doing on Saturday evening, he was packing his bags to go to Baltimore.

We had argued until our voices were lost in the atmosphere. No matter what I said, he was still bent on going to Bethelite. I was angry, to say the least.

Tomorrow, he would not be in Mount Zion’s pulpit; he would be in Bethelite’s. He was giving the morning message, as well as the Sunday night message there. And to top it all off, he seemed to be excited.

I walked into the bathroom, where he was packing his toiletries.

“Do you need any help?” I asked, attempting to call a truce.

“No, I think I almost have everything.”

“Okay, well, I hate to see you leave, but I know this is something you feel you have to do.”

He stopped packing to look at me. “Please, let’s not go through this again. Let’s just leave things as they are, until cooler heads can prevail. I don’t want to argue anymore.” He resumed packing.

“Me either. I just want you to be happy, and if going to Maryland will make you happy, then I’m happy.” I forced a tiny smile to appear.

“Do you mean that?”

I hesitated. “Yes. I mean it.”

“Good.” He walked to the doorway where I was standing, and placed his arms around my waist. “Listen, I’m not going to ever do anything without first considering how you feel, and how it may impact our family. And we both know how you feel,” he said playfully. “I just need you to trust me on this one. I’m not saying that I’m going to take the position; I’m just going to check things out.”

I smiled genuinely this time. “I hear you, baby. And I do trust you,” I said, planting a kiss on his lips. “I’m sorry.”

“Good. Why don’t you pack up and go with me? One of our mothers would love to keep the baby.”

“You’re asking a bit much, don’t you think? I’m just getting warmed up to the idea of you even considering this new church. I certainly am not ready to meet them.”

He threw up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I just thought I’d ask. You never want to go with me on any of my preaching engagements, but I thought maybe you’d want to check them out with me. But, hey, it’s cool. I won’t pressure you,” he said, moving closer to me. “Now, do you think we can get in a few minutes of alone time while DJ is asleep?” He looked down at his watch. “I still have about two hours left before I have to be at the airport,” he said seductively.

I responded with a deeper, passionate kiss. He picked me up and carried me into the bedroom, where he gently placed me in the middle of our king-sized bed. He reverenced my body, thanking God for it with every stroke of his finger and tongue. He skillfully began to touch my soul with the power of love and romance that only he and I knew existed. Somehow, our troubles moved to a distant place.

After our intense lovemaking session, I felt better about him going to Baltimore. Inwardly, I knew he would make the right decision—whether I liked it or not.

Two hours later, I dropped him off at the airport. I kissed him good-bye and watched him disappear through the revolving doors. I didn’t know if he would come back as Mount Zion’s Pastor or Bethelite’s.

I sighed as I drove away. No one could have ever prepared me for the role of a first lady. There were simply no books to read that would adequately depict this life I lived. Not one single one.

The buzzing of my cell phone suspended my thoughts for the moment. I looked at the caller ID, and didn’t recognize the number. I decided to answer anyway.

“Hello?”

“Is this First Lady Michelle Johnson?” the voice asked.

“Yes, it is.”

“Sorry to bother you, ma’am. Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

“Um, maybe. May I ask whom I’m speaking to?”

“I’m sorry. Please forgive me. My name is Solomon Andrews. Twylah’s brother.”

I was at a loss for words. I had not heard from anyone in Twylah’s family since the day of her memorial service. I’d wanted to call her mother on several occasions, but didn’t know if the time was right. Getting a call from her brother was unexpected, to say the least.

“How can I help you, Mr. Andrews?”

“Just call me Solomon. And actually, I need to tell you something very important. But it sounds like you’re driving, and trust me, you wouldn’t want to be driving when I say what I have to say.”

My heart was doing somersaults. For some reason, his tone suggested bad news was on the way. Again.

“I’m fine, Solomon. Just tell me what you have to say.”

“Can we meet somewhere? Maybe the church?”

I had not intended to go to the church tonight. They were having quite a few meetings, and I knew if I went, I would end up working.

“I wasn’t planning on going to the church this evening,” I said. “But I’m willing to talk about whatever you wish to discuss over the phone.”

Silence.

Finally, he said, “Okay, that will have to do, I guess. Before I get into what I really want you to know, I must deliver some rather shocking news.”

From somewhere deep in my belly, laughter erupted. If only I had a hundred dollars for every time someone gave me shocking news.

“I’m accustomed to such news. Nothing you will say can shock me any more than I—”

“My sister is alive,” he stated simply.

Okay. I was wrong. There was something that could be said to shock me, and he’d just said it. But how could it be true? Maybe it would be easier to accept had I not gone to Twylah’s memorial myself.

“Excuse me? Who are you? Is this some type of joke?”

“I would never joke about something as serious as this. Hold one moment.”

Silence.

“Hello?” a female voice said.

Time ceased to go on at the sound of Twylah’s voice. I didn’t even realize car horns were blaring at me for not moving through the traffic light. I’d come to a halt, and couldn’t find the sense to continue to drive. Somehow, I managed to pull over to the shoulder, to collect not only my thoughts, but the brain cells that escaped a mile or two back.

“Twylah, is that you?” I asked nervously.

“Yes. It’s me. Michelle, before you say anything, I just want you to know that I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything,” she said as she burst into tears.

Tears produced in my own eyes. And before I could respond, Solomon was back on the phone.

“Mrs. Johnson, I’m sorry. All she does is cry. And talk about you, of course. She can’t get over what she’s done to you and your husband. She starts talking, and then the next thing I know, she’s crying hysterically. I figured the only way for her to get on a progressive journey was to make one step by apologizing to you.”

Again, I was at a loss for words. I couldn’t believe my ears. I couldn’t believe that Twylah was actually alive. How did she survive? Had she really tried to kill herself? Had three men really thrown her into a lake? If so, wouldn’t she have drowned, even if she hadn’t killed herself when they tossed her in?

Too many questions were running through my mind.

“Where are you?” I blurted out.

“I’m in North Atlanta right now.”

“Maybe we can meet downtown,” I suggested.

“I’ll meet you at the Starbucks in Midtown in about an hour,” he said before hanging up.

I sat at a small table at the Starbucks, sipping a latte with a dash of cinnamon, when a tall man entered the establishment. He was almost the identical image of Twylah. I knew instantly that the man was Solomon Andrews.

I stood from the table and went to the door.

“Are you Solomon?” I asked.

“Yes, I am. You must be Mrs. Johnson,” he said, extending his hand toward mine.

“I am. My table is over there in the back,” I said, pointing toward the area I’d been sitting in.

He followed me to the table, and we sat down in an awkward silence.

He was the first to break it. “I’m sorry to have to disturb you on a Saturday evening. I’m sure your husband is not too enthusiastic about you meeting me—a total stranger.”

I didn’t want to address his last statement. While I was probably out of my mind for meeting a stranger in light of all that had happened recently, I would have really lost my senses if I told him Darvin was out of town. I didn’t need Twylah or her brother breaking in on me.

“It’s okay.” I sipped my latte. “So, can you please tell me more about this situation with Twylah? I’m sure you know I have several questions.”

He smiled and sort of dropped his head. “First, I’m grateful to God that my sister is alive. I didn’t get a chance to make it to her memorial service because of my tour in Iraq. I harbored so much guilt about it; I thought I’d never get over it. So, when I found out she was alive, I was more than relieved. It was a week ago tomorrow that I got the call.

“An older couple in Alpharetta found Twylah standing dangerously close to a lake in their neighborhood. They got out of their car, approached her, and asked was she okay. Twylah, I guess, began to cry and tell them that she couldn’t remember who she was, or how she’d gotten there. They said that she appeared to have been wandering around for many days. They took her to their house out of the kindness of their hearts, allowed her a hot bath, a hot meal, and a place to stay.

“After a few weeks of nurturing her, Twylah began to remember certain things. My name was one of them. From there, they researched, found me online, and contacted me. I went up there to verify that it was her, and it was.”

He took out his cell phone and showed me a picture of a woman who’d lost a tremendous amount of weight, but nonetheless was Twylah.

I hadn’t even realized that I was crying.

“Don’t cry. She’s all right. And she feels terrible about all of the things that she’s done to you in the past. She is sorely regretful, especially for the break-in. That was the last thing she can remember the two of you discussing before she was presumed dead.”

“It was,” I said as my thoughts wandered back to that day. “So, are you saying that Twylah never attempted to kill herself?”

“From what I can gather, she had been contemplating thoughts of suicide. She mentioned something about a suicide letter she wrote the night she broke into your house. She never got rid of it, and I’m assuming that is the reason the police ruled it a suicide. However, someone did try to kill her, and after that person left, coincidentally, those three men came in and discovered her—nearly dead.

“Since then, we’ve learned that they panicked, and for fear of being charged with murder, removed her body, drove her to that lake, and tossed her in. And I’m assuming that when they dumped her, the cold water brought her back to consciousness, and she was able to float back to the bank.