Rhythms of Grace (20 page)

“Thank you, Mrs. Okoye,” I said, when she passed me a set of folders.

She didn’t look amused. I couldn’t win for losing.

A teen suitor on the second row was quick to raise his hand. “So she’s married?”

Grace interrupted when I tried to tell him it was none of his business. “I’m not married, honey. Not anymore. My husband died seven years ago.”

These kids were so nosy. I cleared my throat. “Not that it’s anyone’s business.”

For the first time since first block, Grace smiled. It was beautiful, but a little too expensive for my emotional budget. “Evidently it is important. You seemed quite concerned about it earlier,” she said on the way to her desk.

Touché.

The same boy—Smith I called him since I was still learning names and it was all he ever put on his papers—spoke again, this time not bothering to raise his hand. “Isn’t your wife dead too, Doc? Seems like I heard that somewhere.”

This kid was going to join Sean on my Most Wanted list if he wasn’t careful. “Again, not that it’s anyone’s business, but yes, I lost my wife too.” Before the boy could respond, I gave a pop quiz and settled in at my desk, putting grades into the computer.

When the bell rang, I didn’t move, even though it was time to eat. I wasn’t hungry. Not for school lunch anyway.

“So how long has she been gone?”

I kept typing. “Eight years,” I said. “Cervical cancer.” That was probably the next question anyway.

Grace took a deep breath. “Cancer is rough. My aunt died last year and my mother had a total mastectomy awhile back. If you ever need to talk—”

Again with the talking. “I won’t. Not about that. I’m sorry about your mom.”

Grace narrowed her eyes at me, told me not to be sorry. They were praying, she said, hoping that God would sustain her mother’s miracle, keep her in remission.

I forced myself not to laugh. It would have been cruel. “Good luck with that. Miracles can be hard to come by.” Cervical cancer was supposed to be treatable, rarely fatal. My wife was definitely rare.

Grace went silent then, raked a hand through her twists.

Best to change the subject. “I want to apologize for how I reacted when I first heard you’d be in here. As usual, Dr. Rogers was right. You’ve really been a big help and the kids seem to love you. I’m a little more prickly, I guess.”

That earned me another smile. This time it was a lot cheaper.

“I’m really enjoying it too. I’m still catching up to speed on the scope and sequence of this track, the big picture of what you’re trying to do. I’m used to more of a unit approach. I’ll have to come in a little earlier one day and look everything over. Maybe we could have a little in-service on early release day?”

“No need to wait until then. Let’s have dinner. Tonight.”

26

Grace

“Stayed after with your boyfriend?”

I put my hands on my hips and shook my head at my neighbor. Zeely was on her knees, putting in seeds before the first frost. I should have been doing the same. I’d hardly touched my yard since coming here. I slid my shades back into my hair, squinting past the afternoon sun. “That isn’t funny, you know.”

“It is funny. Trust me. Go and take a nap, you look tired. Email me when you wake up. I’m expecting a call from my brother and he acts a fool if I click over to the other line.”

“Right.” I didn’t ask which brother she was expecting a call from. Zeely had so many brothers I could never keep up. I noticed that someone had weeded my front plot. Zeely had urged me to pay the maintenance fee even though I hadn’t thought at the time I’d need it, but I was thankful for it now.

“When school is in, things get crazy,” she’d said. I’d had no idea how true her statement would turn out to be. I thought I’d be able to do anything I’d always done before while teaching, but this year was something totally different. So was the conversation Zeely and I needed to have.

“I need to talk to you about something.”

Zeely cut off the flow from her hose. “Go ahead. I’ve got a minute.” “Joyce wants to start Ngozi again.”

“Really?” My friend’s face brightened, then sobered. “What’s she going to do, teach from a chair? She can hardly bend over.”

“She has another teacher in mind.”

She turned away from me, pulled her straw hat down over her eyes. “You should try for it, Grace. Joyce always loved your style.” I took a deep breath, wishing she’d turn around so that I could see her face. “You think so? She asked me.”

Zeely bent down to turn the water back on. “You’ll do a great job.”

“I’m not going to do it.”

The flow stopped again. “Why not?”

“You were the one who traveled with the dance company. I never made it.”

Zeely dropped the hose, one hand on her hip. “Look, Di, if you hadn’t missed the audition, you would have made it instead of me. We both know it.”

“Maybe. I still don’t think I’ll do it.” I’d actually been stressed out by the idea when Joyce first proposed it, but as the day wore on it had grown on me. It hadn’t grown taller than my friendship with Zeely, though. It wasn’t a big deal.

She wound her hose around an attachment on the side of her condo. “You are always making excuses, girl. People up here killing themselves to use the little bit they have while you going on about how you don’t think you can do it.”

This is what I can’t do, have an argument. Not today.
“I’ll email you later.” I left the yard, but looked back over my shoulder.

“Hit me back in the morning if you don’t get on tonight. I know you probably have papers to grade the way the kids were complaining today about the writing you had them doing.” Her voice lightened like she hadn’t just been letting me have it.

I played along. “You know how that goes.”

“I do. In a few weeks, you’ll be hearing the same things about their math and science assignments.”

I couldn’t get inside fast enough. Sometimes talking to Zeely made me tired. All the circling ’round a thing again and again. If only she would come out and say that it bothered her that Joyce had asked me to teach the class, we could just deal with the thing in the open. Not that I could judge anybody for hiding things.

A vase of the Indian Blankets I’d transplanted from my house brightened my kitchen. From where I stood, I could see the trail of discarded outfits and unused walking clothes I’d left behind this morning.

Clothes piled on each arm, I climbed the stairs, bypassing the computer. They didn’t call it the Web for nothing. A few emails and I’d look up and it’d be time to meet Brian for dinner. After the way Zeely had reacted about Ngozi, I hadn’t bothered to bring up Brian’s dinner invitation. I knew what she’d say already. Don’t go.

Having one mother was enough, even if we didn’t talk often. Zeely would have to settle for just being my friend. I took a shower upstairs in the bigger bathroom even though I slept on the first floor. It was a strange arrangement, but any woman who’d ever tried to dry off in a tiny bathroom and ended up sweatier than she started would understand my logistics.

Refreshed by the shower, I surveyed my twists, which had been threatening to unravel since the day after I’d had them done. The hairdressers in Testimony were a little sketchy on natural hair care, but I’d keep trying.

Despite my attempts to avoid the computer downstairs, Mal was determined to reach me and started messaging me on my phone just as I finished shaking my hair like crazy and creating a new, funky style.

BrownBibleMan
: Where have you been?

First my mama outside, now my daddy on the phone. We’d agreed not to act like a couple anymore, but sometimes Mal forgot himself.

SweetSavour
: Hello to u 2. Been busy with school. Gettin ready for meeting with co-teacher.

BrownBibleMan
: Meeting? 2night? I told u not to do that charter school. 2 much work.

SweetSavour
: The guy is a trip but he knows his stuff.

BrownBibleMan
: Guy? That’s a date! Did u tell him about me?

SweetSavour
: Let’s not do this, OK? Talk to you l8r.

I put down the phone before he could reply. Maybe Brian was wrong for asking me to dinner, but at least he’d asked. Malachi had been content with private affections. While married, I’d declared my love to Peter audibly and often. So much that I think he stopped hearing it after a while. Or maybe it was all the preaching I did in between that drowned it out.

At the time, I’d just wanted so badly for Peter to know the comfort of being held in Christ’s hands, hidden under God’s wings. Now I sometimes wondered how he’d accepted my radical changes without complaint. He hadn’t embraced my beliefs, but eventually he came to respect them.

I didn’t want to make the same mistake with Brian. A few sprays of fresh aloe vera on my hair plus coral lipstick and brown mascara and I was headed for the door. On my way out, I paused at the mirror, shocked and pleased with what I saw.

I need to do this craziness every day.

When the phone rang, I blew out a breath and prepared a firm, short speech to keep Mal from blowing up my phone for the rest of the evening.

“Look, I told you—”

“Mrs. Okoye?” The voice was playful and even smoother on the phone than in person.

“Brian?”

He laughed. “It’s me.”

How did he get this number?
I tucked my purse under one arm and grabbed a notebook and pen. I don’t know what shocked me more, the wonder of his voice or that he had my cell number. Life was scary these days. I checked the clock on the microwave. Six thirty. “Did I get the time mixed up? I thought we said seven. I’m heading out now.”

“You’re not late. I just thought I’d pick you up.”

I glanced around, thankful I’d picked up a little, but unsure about having Brian anywhere near my house, let alone inviting him inside. I was a Christian, not a saint. “Not to be mean or anything, but I’m freaked out enough that you called on my cell. I’m not so sure about you coming to my house. Where are you? I’ll ask Zeely for the directions.”

Jazz started up outside. Billie Holiday.

“No need. I’m in your driveway.”

27

Brian

Grace looked like she didn’t know whether to slap me or thank me. I made a mental note not to show up at her house unannounced again. She paused to check out the car before sliding in. I couldn’t blame her. I’d been shocked myself when I picked it up. Sean’s father had restored the Jag to its original color—who knew?—electric blue. Purple if the sun hit it right.

Not that I knew how the sun was hitting the car right now. I was too busy looking at Grace. This woman had more personas than the law allowed. I’d seen her soft and beautiful look, her intellectual administrative gear, but this was something else altogether.

This was Diana.

For the first time I knew what Ron meant all those years ago when he said he couldn’t stop staring at Zeely in the choirstand. Perfect. “You look—I mean, you always look nice, but you look—”

“Hush. Let’s go.” She slid across the buttery leather and fastened herself in.

I got in too, with a familiar Psalm pressing against my mind.

The Lord is my Shepherd. I shall not want.

“So how’d you find my place? My number? Did I list it in the faculty directory?”

“I got your number from there. Your place? Google.”

“That’s terrifying.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Don’t do it again. Please.”

“I won’t.”

We went along like that for miles, all our words hovering in a cloud of the peachy-vanilla-smelling something she’d generously applied. It was all I could do not to reach out and run my fingers through her hair, all loose now and flowing free around her face. Maybe I could use a few fire-and-brimstone sermons after all. My personal discipline was seriously slipping.

“I probably shouldn’t be here.”

True. “With me?”

“With anybody.”

I liked that answer for my own selfish reasons, but I didn’t understand it. “What’s wrong? Are you some kind of nun?”

She shook her head at first, then cracked up laughing. “Sort of. I don’t know. I just don’t usually get this personal with people I work with. Or any people really. Male people. Men.”

“So you can go out with women?”

“Right. Well, no, not like that. Oh. This sounds bad. Forget it. Where are we going?”

It didn’t sound bad. I loved to hear her ramble. It reminded me that she was human. Sometimes she seemed too controlled. “I think you’ll like it. It’s called the Whole Nine. Not many people know about it, but the few who do are faithful.”

“Are you faithful?” Her words hit me hard, like a kick between the eyes.

“To the restaurant?” I drove a little faster.

“To anything.”

“I’d like to think so. The school, I guess. My wife when she was alive.”

“That’s something.”

Was it? “I suppose.”

The honeymoon was over, the romance officially sucked from the car. I didn’t want to talk to this woman any more than I had to. I was the one who usually unnerved people. It didn’t feel so good on the receiving end. She was such a wife, even though she didn’t have a husband. I was confused about that part. Someone would have surely tried to pin her down in seven years. I was a man and I’d been proposed to more times in my mind than I’d like to admit. I’d spent less than a month working with her, and already I’d lost my mind. I turned onto the main road leading out of town.

“So how is it you’re not married? I know I’m unprofessional and you don’t have to answer, but I really am curious. Long-distance relationship? Evil boyfriend?”

She turned to the window. “Wishy-washy fiancé. Broken engagement.”

“I’d call the guy a fool, but I guess his stupidity is my gain.”

“You think so?”

I know so. “Don’t go getting mad now. I’m just talking.”

“Well, stop.”

“Okay.”

We were on the highway now, headed down near the Dayton Mall. The trip seemed a lot longer than the last time I’d taken it alone, and I could tell she was getting worried.

“We really are going to a restaurant. I promise. I should have picked somewhere closer, but we’ll be there soon.”