Joy (31 page)
Anya folded her arms. “I've said it over and over, Pastor.” She stood so quickly, her chair almost tipped over. “All we've talked about is that I was attacked. That's why I'm here.”
Pastor Ford ignored Anya's anger. “I'm not talking about
attack
—I'm talking about
rape.
It worries me that you refuse to acknowledge what happened to you.”
“I know what happened.”
“Then say it.”
After a few moments, Anya's shoulders slumped and Pastor Ford took her hand, leading her back to the chair. “I can't say it,” she whispered. “If I say it, Pastor, then there'll be a lot of questions I'll have to answer. Like did I do everything I could that night?” Her voice trembled.
“Anya, you did what you were supposed to do—you survived!” She let her words settle in. “Rape is a terrible thing, and no one wants to be a part of it. But you already know that you didn't cause this. And, you know that you survived because of God. Now, you have to release it.”
Silent minutes passed before the pastor shook her head and said, “All right, I just wanted to bring it to your attention.”
Pastor Ford took Anya's hands, bowed her head and began to pray.
Anya closed her eyes and tried to stop the trembling that was beginning deep inside. Within seconds, the shaking reached her skin; every inch of her body quivered.
But Pastor Ford continued to pray, not stopping even when sobs heaved from Anya's chest.
“Let her feel your power, Father.” Pastor Ford raised her voice and gripped Anya's hands tighter. “Free her from the hold that still controls her. You said in your word that
if the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed.
So I pray, in Jesus’ name, that Anya be freed here, Lord.”
The pastor began to pray in the spirit and Anya's sobs became louder.
“Oh, God. How could this happen to me?” Anya cried.
The pastor looked up.
“Pastor, how could I have been raped?”
Pastor Ford held Anya in her arms for the next hour, ignoring the knocks on her door and the ringing of the phone.
Finally when Anya was able to lift her head, Pastor Ford said, “This is a good day.” She lifted Anya's chin with her finger. “I think you can go home now.”
F
rom inside his car, Braxton waved at Anya, standing at the window as he pulled out of the garage. He took his time shifting gears from reverse to drive, watching her for a few moments longer, trying to decide if the smile on her face was genuine. He was still unsure when he drove away.
He didn't know what to think. Seven days had sped by since Anya's attack, yet she didn't seem to be recovering at the same speed. She hadn't returned to work, spending most of her mornings with Pastor Ford and her afternoons reading, resting, or running on Venice Beach. This was not what he expected from his high-powered fiancée.
How could he help her get past all of this? Though he craved answers, none were coming from her. They'd almost argued last night when he pushed.
“Anya, I'm really worried about you,” he had said.
Anya had been stretched out on the chaise. She smiled before she said, “There's nothing for you to worry about. I keep telling you I'm fine.”
“Okay,” he said, joining her on the chair. “Then talk to me. Tell me what you feel. Tell me what you talk to Pastor Ford about.”
She closed the book on her lap and looked thoughtful. “We talk about how I feel better every day and how I'm finding a way to put this behind me. We talk about how I'm getting my life back to normal.”
Normal!
he wanted to scream. There was nothing normal about this.
He had chuckled bitterly at the irony. For months, he had done everything to get Anya away from her business. Now she'd done that, but it didn't make him happy. It was as if she had been raped of her will—she'd lost her volition to fight and he didn't like that at all.
“Why don't you watch the Lakers game?” That was her signal that the conversation was over and she returned to one of the novels he'd brought her from Zahra's Book Store that afternoon.
Pouting, he had returned to bed, turned off the television, and stared at Anya. But she never lifted her head, and he'd finally fallen asleep.
This morning, she had acted as if nothing had happened. They had jogged, then had brunch on Venice Beach. When they returned home, he'd worked for hours, while she slept. The only good news was that the bandage had been removed and Dr. Young had been pleased to hear that Anya was spending time with her pastor.
Braxton squirmed in his seat. “I need to do something!” he exclaimed, and picked up his cell phone. Pastor Ford could tell him what was going on. But he put the phone back in the holder before he even pressed the first button. Pastor Ford wouldn't tell him anything. But there was one place where he could go to get all the answers he needed.
“What are you doing here, baby?” Madear shouted from the opened screen door.
Braxton trotted across the bald lawn and up the three porch steps. He kissed Madear's cheek. “I wanted to check on you.”
“Don't give me that.” She chuckled. “I just hung up from Anya and she said you were going to get you guys something to eat. What am I? One of those fast-food places?”
“You got me. I wanted to speak to you.”
“Well, come on in.”
He followed her inside, and was immediately struck by a pleasant fragrance. Today it was one of Madear's multi-layered coconut cakes, overflowing with frosting, and Braxton had to stop himself from begging for a piece right then.
When they settled onto the couch, Madear asked, “So what do you want to know about Anya?”
Braxton forgot about the cake in the kitchen. “I didn't say this was about her.” He shifted against the plastic cover.
“Boy, do you think you can fool me? What's bothering you, baby?”
Braxton placed his elbows on his knees. “I'm worried about her.”
Madear frowned slightly. “She looked fine yesterday, and just now when I spoke to her, she was talking about the wedding and things. I think she's coming along nicely.”
“How can you say that, Madear?” He paced the floor. “She's not herself. She won't go to work …”
Madear chuckled. “Isn't this something? All the grief you've given Anya about her business, I'd thought you'd be happy that she decided to rest awhile.”
Braxton stopped in the middle of the floor.
Madear waved her hand at him. “Anya told me all about your … discussions.”
“It's not that I don't want her to work,” Braxton started to explain, but Madear held her hand up.
“That's between you and her. But you're thinking that since she hasn't jumped right back into everything, something's wrong. She's not reacting the way you expected.”
“Madear, I thought Anya would have leapt into her work full-force. I thought that's what I would be complaining about.”
“Has she told you why she hasn't gone back to work?” Madear asked.
“She said it's because of the bandage on her face.”
Madear nodded. “That's what she told me. And it made sense to me, but it doesn't to you?”
“They took the bandage off yesterday and she still hasn't said anything.”
Madear rubbed her hand along his back. “She is going to be fine, Braxton. I think she's doing the right thing for once. She's not putting that business first.”
“I guess I didn't know what to expect. The first few days, I thought she'd cry or scream or want to talk about what happened constantly. But she won't talk to me about it at all.”
“Give her time with that, sweetie. It took a mighty long time for me to talk when it happened to me.”
Braxton leaned back and stared at Madear.
She shook her head. “The details don't matter. It was so many years ago, before I was married. I was a colored girl in Texas, working after school for the white man who owned the general store. So they certainly didn't call it rape.”
Her words sounded matter-of-fact to Braxton. “Does Anya know?”
Madear squinted her eyes trying to remember. “I think so, but it doesn't matter. This is different. All you need to know is that it takes time. And everyone reacts in a different way; there is no text-book response. I shut down and couldn't go to school or work for weeks. Some people are so angry that they lash out at everyone around them. Anya is handling this her way and there are probably people who would look at her and say her reaction is not strong enough. As many women as there are in the world—that's how many reactions you'll get. Anya's fine. Just be grateful that she has Pastor Ford.”
Braxton sighed deeply. “I just want her to know that I'm there for her too.”
“She knows that, and she is grateful. But she also needs your patience.”
“I'm trying …
“Braxton, let me tell you something about the women in our family. From my grandmother to Anya, we are women who know how to triumph. Victory is in her genes—she's an overcomer. As much as I hate to think about what happened to my baby that night, I rejoice because I know who she is. She is reaching way down inside and pulling up what she has. Don't worry, she is leaning on you.” Madear paused, and took Braxton's face in her hands. “But know one thing, Braxton. While Anya needs you, she needs the Lord more. And that's who is really getting her through. The Holy Spirit is ministering to her and counseling her.”
Braxton allowed Madear's words to settle into him, then he hugged her. “Thank you,
Grandmother.”
Tears filled her eyes. “Oh, baby, I love you like you were my own grandson.”
He kissed her. “Let me get back to Anya.” He stood, but Madear took his hand.
“Let me get you some cake, baby.”
Braxton's grin was wide.
“You can eat it in the car. This way, Anya will never know that you were here checking up on her.”
He smiled shyly, but eagerly followed Madear into the kitchen.
Anya stabbed at the chicken on her plate. She hadn't taken a bite of either the chicken or the potato salad. Without lifting her head, she peered at Braxton through lowered eyes. His eyes were downcast, as he read the newspaper spread out on the table in front of him.
She took a deep breath. “I'm going back to work tomorrow.”
The chicken thigh was halfway to his mouth and he held it there, before he dropped in onto the plate. “Actually, I think that's good. But since tomorrow is Thursday, why don't you give yourself the weekend and go back on Monday?”
“No,” she said firmly. “Tomorrow is better.”
He nodded. “Okay. I'm just looking out for you.”
“Well, there's no need for that.” She walked behind him, and put her hands on his shoulders. “It's time for you to go home … tonight,” she said, reaching down and putting her arms completely around him.
He pushed away from the table and turned to face her. “Anya, no, I don't—”
She kissed him before he could continue. “You have to go so that I can get back to normal.”
“What does my being here have to do with that?”
“I need to be by myself now. Do you understand?”
Braxton moved away from her embrace. “
I
need to be here with you, Anya,” he said with his back to her. “I wasn't there when …” He paused, then looked back at her.
“Braxton, nothing that happened is your fault. You've been with me through every part that counts and I thank God for you.” She walked to him and took his hands again. “But the next steps, I have to take by myself.”
When he began to protest, she gently covered his mouth with her hand.
“It's been a week and that's enough time for both of us. You were with me for all the right reasons, but if you stay any longer—”
“Please don't tell me this is because of God.”
“It's because it's time.” She smiled at him. “And Braxton, it's time for you to get back to your life—to writing, and figuring out what you're going to do with Junior.” His eyes told her he was not convinced. “I'm not going to be talked out of this.”
Braxton pursed his lips in anger, then paused. These had been emotion-packed days, and he didn't want to end with an argument. He sat back down and they finished dinner in silence.
After they cleared the table, Braxton took Anya's hand and they went up to her bedroom. He folded his clothes slowly, stuffing them inside his bag. As he packed, arguments raged through his mind, words to persuade Anya that he had to stay. But he kept it all to himself. The way Anya sat on the edge of the bed, with that stiff smile, let him know that her determination would win.
He took his time, wanting to hold onto each minute. It was more than just protecting her. It was the closeness they'd developed that he didn't want to slip away.
When it came to the point where he could no longer stall, he sat on the bed and pulled Anya into his arms. “Forgive me for loving you too much.”
She squeezed him tighter. “I'll never forgive you for that. It makes me love you more.”
He reached into the side pocket of his bag and pulled out a velvet box. “I was waiting for the right moment …” He looked at her with glassed eyes, then opened the box revealing a glittering diamond.
Anya gasped. “Oh, my God.”
Braxton lifted the ring and held it in front of Anya. “I wanted to give you something really special this time because of all we've been through.”
Slowly he slipped the ring onto her finger. The large round stone glistened, but it was the blue stones that surrounded the diamond that made her look at Braxton with tears in her eyes.
“I read somewhere that God gave Moses the Ten Commandments on sapphire tablets,” Braxton said. “I don't know if that's true, but I wanted this ring to symbolize more than just our engagement.” He took her hand into his. “These three sapphires represent our life together. Our past, present, and this larger one, that's our future.”
“Braxton, this is beautiful,” she whispered. “But what about—”
He smiled and held a finger to her lips. “I don't want my fiancée walking around without a ring. I'll get the insurance money for the other one. Don't worry.”
She hugged him.
“Oh, there is one thing.” He pulled away and looked into her eyes. “Anya Mitchell, will you marry me?”
