Don't Tell A Soul (3 page)

“Get. In.”

Since I know that Yvonne is not going to leave me alone, I get in the car. Yvonne gets in on the driver‘s side and slams her door.

“Spill it, Pam. I know the money is not right, but y'all have had this issue before.”

I swallow hard. I don't know if I'm ready to share this struggle. “Yvonne, I'm just stressed.”

“It‘s more than that. How are your book proposals going?”

“I got an offer from Gideon Publishing. A two-book deal.”

“Then why are we not celebrating?”

“Why do you think? Mr. Dream Killer himself, Troy didn't even congratulate me. He was mad that I didn't get offered more money, because he's got yet another trick up his sleeve for that Aria.”

“You have got to be kidding me, Pam. What is his problem? You've been praying about this open door for years.”

I let out a long, weary sigh. “Tell me about it. He had the audacity to tell me I need to get a job!”

“Oh, my Lord. Come on, Pam. Give me your hands, girl. We have to pray about this.”

Yvonne grabs both my hands and begins her supplication, which I promptly tune out. She's praying for the book deal to pan out, for opportunities, and saying all the right things. Yvonne is a prayer warrior; I learned this about her when she was going through her divorce.

While Yvonne pleads the blood over Troy's ignorance and names and claims open doors and windows of heaven, I watch a woman emerge from her car in the church parking lot. She looks down at a piece of paper, as if checking the address, and then back up at the church.

The woman has on a business suit and heels, and her hair is pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck. She has a pretty, exotic look, and curves that I would kill for.

Yvonne has worked herself into a prayer frenzy by the time she hollers out, “In Jesus's name!”

“Amen,” I quickly say, trying to match, but not quite capturing, her intensity.

“Who is she?” Yvonne asks as she notices the woman, too. She looks as if she's trying to decide whether or not to go in.

I open the car door and get out. “You know, if God brought you this far, you should probably go on in.”

The woman laughs. “You're right. I—I just . . . well . . . I'm not a b-beggar.”

She breaks down in tears, and her body shakes with violent sobs. I take a few more steps until I'm close enough to embrace her. Yvonne jumps out of the car and joins me. She rubs the woman's back until she calms down.

Then the woman looks embarrassed. “I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to do that.”

“We all cry sometimes,” Yvonne says. “Today it was your turn. Tomorrow it might be mine. How can we help you? What is your name, honey?”

I hand the woman a tissue from my purse, which she uses to blow her nose and dab her eyes. “My name is Eva Jacobs. I lost my job, and I've spent just about all my savings. I was told that there is a food pantry here. Is that true?”

I stare at Eva in wonder. She doesn't look like someone who needs to use our pantry. Her makeup is carefully applied, especially her eye makeup, which showcases her striking doe-like eyes. Eva could've been one of my coworkers at Ellis Financial or maybe even a pastor's wife. Usually the women who come here for help look more like how Carmisha did the first time she walked through the church doors, high on some kind of drug and dragging her toddler son in tow, begging for food and money.

Yvonne takes Eva's hand and pulls her toward the church. Eva looks so shocked at Yvonne's aggressive manner that I almost let out a chuckle as I follow them.

“Do you have somewhere to stay?” Yvonne asks.

“For now I do,” Eva says.

“That's good. Let's get your kitchen stocked, then.”

When we walk back into the church, Yvonne leads Eva to the food pantry. Carmisha's eyes lock with mine, and Shaquan, who is texting someone, looks up at me and smiles.

“Well, Ms. Keepin' It Real is back,” Shaquan says. “Let me get up out of here before you read me, too. I ain't all the way saved, so I can't say things would turn out the same way if you start telling me where I can go.”

“Sister Shaquan, what you saw tonight was totally out of character for me. I assure you this never happens. I'm . . . having a bad day.”

Shaquan gives me a skeptical head nod. “Sure it doesn't. I just know Taylor didn't tell me y'all get down like this. I mean, if she had, maybe I would've come sooner. This is pretty entertaining.”

I shake my head and ignore Shaquan's response. I already feel bad enough; I don't need her rubbing it in. “Carmisha, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say those things to you in that way. It wasn't Christlike at all. Will you please forgive me?”

After a long pause, Carmisha sighs and nods. “I do forgive you, Sister Pam, but did you mean what you said?”

“Well . . .” I clear my throat, trying to bide my time and think of the best response. “I would like to see you become self-sufficient. If you had a job, you would have such a better quality of life.”

“I know you don't believe my son is special, but he is. He is not successful in day-care facilities. If I just had someone to take care of him, I would get a job.”

Carmisha stares at the floor, but not before I see the look of shame on her face. She can't be feeling lower than me, though. I'm supposed to be the leader of this group, and here I am, letting my emotions get the better of me.

Shaquan finishes her text and stands. “Will you please tell Taylor that I was here, Pam? I sent her a text, but she doesn't believe me.”

“Why wouldn't she believe you'd come to church?” Carmisha asks, looking genuinely curious.

“Well, I had an issue with one of the deacons here. He started tripping when I broke it off, and I didn't want any drama,” Shaquan explains.

“But now that Deacon Wallington is in the nursing home, it's safe for you to return, right?” I ask.

Shaquan laughs. “Yeah, girl. I didn't want ole deacon salting up my game, in case there's anybody else up in here I might want to meet. A sista is always looking for a husband.”

“I know that's right!” Carmisha says. “You should really come back to this group! It would be nice having someone on my level.”

Shaquan gives Carmisha a tiny smile and a squint, which, in my opinion, says, “We are not on the same level,” but I don't think Carmisha gets this message, because she's grinning from ear to ear. Something got lost in the interpretation.

Yvonne and Eva emerge from the food pantry with several heavy bags of groceries. Eva's face is tear streaked, but she's wearing a smile. Leave it to Yvonne to make Eva feel okay about her situation.

It wasn't always that way with Yvonne, though. She wasn't really the warmest sister in the Sister to Sister group. Well . . . she was actually the most judgmental of us all. But life taught her a lesson I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.

“Eva's going to come to service on Sunday!” Yvonne says.

Eva glances quickly at each of us. “I haven't been to church in a really long time.”

“That's okay,” I say. “God isn't keeping track of attendance.”

“Thank you all for being so friendly. I didn't know what to expect,” Eva says.

“Now, why wouldn't we be friendly?” I ask Eva while giving her the most welcoming smile I can muster with Troy and his chicanery still lingering in the back of my mind.

Eva gives me an intense stare that sends a chill right through me. She seems to shrink before my eyes, her eyes blinking and the corners of her mouth twitching with uncertainty. It isn't a look of someone redeemed.

She looks broken.

She'll fit right in here.

TAYLOR

 

 

 

 

“S
pence, honey. Put the belt away.”

Spencer steps out of his walk-in closet and looks at me like I'm crazy, but I do not care. He is not about to hit my son with that belt.

“The Bible says, ‘Spare the rod, spoil the child.'”

He is not changing my mind by quoting a Scripture. I know all about not sparing the rod. My mother never spared the rod on me, and it just made me angry. She was beating my tail until I was seventeen years old, when I finally had enough and took the belt away from her. I don't want my son angry.

“You're not hitting him with that, Spencer. You'll have to find another way to discipline him. He is eleven years old. You should be able to get through to him without putting your hands on him.”

“He should not have hit that boy.”

“Maybe if you'd been at the game—”

“You are not going to make this about me working on Saturday. Taylor, you know I have to work weekends during month-end close!”

“I'm just saying.”

Spencer throws the belt onto the bed and sighs. “Why do we keep arguing about this, Taylor?”

“Because you are not listening.”

“Every time I get ready to spank him, you act like he's
your
son. But when it's time to spend some money, he's
our
son.”

I look away from Spencer's demanding glare and shake my head. He knows this is not true. He
is
Joshua's father, even though he's not his biological dad. We don't use the terms
stepfather
or
stepson
in this house. And I know that he loves Joshua.

But when it comes to laying hands on him, I just cannot get with it. I've heard too many stories about boyfriends and husbands killing a woman's kids, by accident or worse . . . on purpose. That's not about to happen in this house.

Every time we have this conversation, it makes me feel like I have to choose between my son and my man. I don't want to do that.

“Joshua is out of control, Taylor. He punched a boy in the face on the soccer field. Are you getting that? He knocked the boy's front teeth out, for heaven's sake. Is he going to pay for that boy's dental work?”

“And you think the way to show him not to hit someone is to beat him with a leather belt? That doesn't make any sense, Spencer. You're just angry because it's going to cost money.”

“My father whipped me when I was a child, Taylor. He did it out of love, not anger, and I am the same way. I love Joshua. But if we don't teach him right from wrong, the world is going to teach him.”

“I want you to teach him right from wrong. Without hitting him.”

I fold my arms across my chest and stretch my legs out on the bed in front of me. In my opinion, the conversation is over. It's a done deal.

“You know what? You handle your son. When he winds up dead or in jail, I won't say I told you so.”

I jump up from the bed and stand to face my husband. “Seriously? You're calling down curses on my baby!”

“No, you are. Because you're not letting me be a father to him. You're spoiling him.”

“He is not spoiled.”

I know he did not just say that. He is really trying to take me there. If my son wasn't two doors down, I'd cuss Spencer out, and I stopped cussing a long time ago.

Joshua spent the first five years of his life with nobody but me. He struggled as I struggled. He never had birthday parties and big Christmases and Easter baskets overflowing with goodies. I was too busy trying to keep a roof over his head and clothes on his back. My mother helped me try to make his life normal, but a grandmother is not a daddy. Not even close.

When Spencer and I got married, Joshua finally got to start living like a normal kid. He started getting clothes that weren't hand-me-downs and toys that were brand new and out of the box. But even with all that, he's had too much hurt in his life to be classified as spoiled. Never that.

Spencer paces back and forth across our bedroom, looking like a caged lion ready to pounce on some dang body. I change gears a little bit, because while I do want to protect my son, I don't want my husband to turn on me. I don't want to go back to raising Joshua by myself.

I grab Spencer by the hand and pull him into an embrace. “I know that it's hard raising Joshua, and I appreciate everything that you've done for us. But can you please just handle this my way? Let's be on one accord, baby.”

I plant tiny kisses on Spencer's neck and feel him relax. Finally, his strong arms embrace me back. This man can't resist me. I'm all that and—
boom
—he loves me!

“We'll try it your way for now. But if I don't see a change in Joshua's behavior, we are using my strategy.”

“Okay, honey. I hear you.” My work here is done!

If nothing else, I've bought some time to deal with Joshua on my own. I don't know how long I can hold Spencer back if Joshua keeps tripping. He got suspended twice last year for fighting. I don't know where he gets this anger from, but I do agree with Spencer on this. It has to stop.

I leave my husband relaxing in our bedroom to have a chat with Joshua. His bedroom door is locked, so I pound on it a few times.

“Open this door, Josh.”

After a few long seconds, Joshua finally opens the door. Standing there, still in his soccer uniform, he is the spitting image of his biological father, Luke. He's tall for eleven, with muscles bulging in his arms, legs, and abs. That wild head of curly hair, he got from me. We have twin Afros, since I decided to give up the weaves and embrace my natural hair.

“Tell me again why you hit that boy.”

“I told you. He said something about you, and I didn't like it.”

I put my hands on my hips and say, “Boy, how many times have I told you that it doesn't matter what people say?”

“He said you were hot.”

I crack up laughing. “Boy! You punched him in the face for that? You are just gonna have to get used to the fact that your mama looks like Beyoncé.”

Joshua balls his hands into fists. “That's disrespectful. Ain't nobody 'bout to talk about my mama like that.”

“Calm down, honey. I have Spencer to protect my honor. You just practice being a kid, okay?”

Angry tears pour down Joshua's cheeks. I have no idea what to do with all this turmoil in a little boy.

“I'm quitting the soccer team,” Joshua says.

“Why? Because of the fight?”

“No, because everyone laughed when Braydon said that about you. I hate them.”

I let out a long sigh. “Baby, just think on it. Don't make a rash decision. Tomorrow it might not seem as bad. Maybe I'll get Uncle Tee to come over and take you out for lunch.”

Uncle Tee is my big brother Tyrone. He seems to get along with Joshua a lot better than Spencer these days. My brother is a thug, but he loves Joshua to pieces. He can usually get through to his nephew.

Joshua's eyes light up. “Uncle Tee! Yeah, I want to hang out with him.”

“Okay, go ahead and get a bath and chillax. We'll talk about it tomorrow.”

Joshua laughs. “Mommy, nobody says chillax anymore.”

I stick my tongue out at him. “I do! So get with it!”

As I close the door to Joshua's room and head downstairs for a snack, I wonder why he can't have that type of relationship with Spencer. I know they love each other, but something is hindering them from being close.

My phone is ringing on the counter. The caller ID says that it's my homegirl from way back—Shaquan.
Oh, shoot!
I had asked her to meet me at the Sister to Sister meeting this afternoon, and I totally forgot. She's probably mad.

For a second I consider not answering, but knowing Shaquan, she's just going to keep calling me back until I answer.

“Hey, Shaquan.”

“What's up, girl?”

It always tickles me the way Shaquan says “girl” as if it has two syllables. It sounds like “gu-ruhl.”

“Nada. What's up with you?”

“Nothing here, but your little church friends are off the chain.”

I cringe involuntarily. “What happened? Was it Rhoda and Rochelle? I already told you not to pay attention to them.”

“Well, Rhoda did call me a hood rat, but that wasn't even all that bad compared to Pam.”

“Pam?”

“Yes, honey, she brought the drama with a capital
D.
Told that girl Carmisha, who I like, by the way, to get a j-o-b and stop begging the Lord for money.”

My eyes widen, and my jaw drops. “No, she didn't.”

“Yes, she did. I thought Pam was about to swing on her, until Yvonne dragged her out of the meeting.”

“Pam does not fight, Shaquan. Stop exaggerating.”

“I don't know Pam all like that, but I promise she was about to get rowdy, rowdy, okay?”

“She was not!”

“You weren't there, Taylor. You might need to go holler at your girl.”

I was going to see Pam, to ask her to pray with me about Joshua and Spencer. Shaquan might be my oldest friend, but Pam is my rock. She's the one who prayed me through disappointment, shame, and helped me to learn how to love myself again. Pam is a true intercessor.

What on earth could she be going through that would make her act this way? I hope Troy's not drinking again. Sometimes he's a straight-up buster! I've been Troy's cheerleader from day one, but he needs to man up for real.

“I think you're right, Shaquan. I do need to holler at her . . . and pray for her. I'll call you back, okay?”

“Okay.”

I hang up with Shaquan and dial Pam's number. She answers on the fourth ring.

“Hi, Taylor.”

I listen closely to see if there's anything out of sorts in Pam's tone, but all I can hear is lots of noise in the background. It sounds like music.

“What is all that noise, Pam? Is it a bad time?”

“You know when Troy got rid of the studio, he brought his productions back home, to his study. It gets kind of loud in here. It is what it is.”

Got rid of the studio
is Pam being nice. Troy lost that warehouse that he had turned into a studio. He couldn't afford the upkeep and the taxes on that commercial property. Luckily, they still have the home they purchased.

“Do you need me to call you back?” I ask, the music starting to irritate me a little.

“Let me go to another room.”

I hear Pam's heavy footfalls as she leaves the room, and the noise finally fades. “So what's going on?” Pam asks. “Something wrong?”

“No. Everything's good over here. I'm just checking on you. Everything okay over there?”

Pam pauses for a long moment and then chuckles. “Let me guess. Shaquan told you about the Sister to Sister meeting.”

“She did mention something about you going slap off on Carmisha.”

“Did she tell you I apologized? Some folks love to carry a story back and leave out the important parts.”

“She didn't mention your apology, and I promise Shaquan wasn't trying to be mean-spirited. She thought the whole thing was kind of funny.”

“It really wasn't. I think I hurt Carmisha's feelings.”

“Well, she does need to get a job, so you told her the right thing to do.”

“Thanks for trying to make me feel better, but I was awful to her. Did Shaquan tell you about Eva?”

“No. Who's she?”

“Someone told her about the food pantry at the church, and she just happened to stop in during the Sister to Sister meeting,” Pam explains.

“Oh, so she's not a member?”

“Not yet, but Yvonne is on a mission. She's already started in on her.”

I laugh out loud. “Then she doesn't have a chance. Yvonne won't quit until she's baptized, filled with the Holy Ghost, speaking in tongues, and healing folk.”

“I know, right!” Finally, Pam starts to sound like her usual cheerful self.

“So what are you doing today? Want to go get pedicures or something?”

“That sounds wonderful, but I can't. Cicely has cheer practice, and Gretchen has soccer. Then TJ will be up under me for the rest of the day, because Troy and his new producing partner, Logan, are working with Aria.”

“So you're on Mom duty today.”

“And then some. Does Joshua have a soccer game today?”

“He had one yesterday, but he's hanging out with my brother today, so I'm gonna get a breather.”

“Enjoy, girl. I am incredibly envious of you.”

I laugh out loud. “Ain't nobody tell you and Troy to keep popping out babies left and right!”

“I know, girl. Enjoy your peace and quiet.”

“I'm about to enjoy those ladies rubbing my feet and a glass of Moscato, too!”

“Go ahead and rub it in! I'll see you at church tomorrow. Yvonne is singing a solo, so don't get there late.”

I do have a reputation for getting to church just when the preaching begins, but I would love to hear Yvonne's singing. Joining the choir was something she did after she divorced Luke. No one knew she had such a wonderful voice. It was almost like she didn't even know.

“Talk to you later, Pam. If you get a free moment today, let me know. Maybe we could get some coffee or something.”

“Oh, wait! I forgot to tell you! I got offered a book deal.”

“You
forgot
to tell me that? Girl, what is wrong with you? Did you accept it? When do we celebrate?”