Tangled Roots (5 page)

Opinions varied in Willow about Holy Cross. There were people, like Mama, who thought the towering steel and glass church was too modern and cold for their tastes. Then there were people like me, who thought Holy Cross was beautiful in its simplicity, and admired the clean lines, and the way the modern look jarred with the quaint, old-fashioned surroundings. Neither Mama nor I had ever been inside Holy Cross. I only attended church on rare occasions and Mama was a loyal member of St. Luke’s Baptist Church who prided herself on never having missed one of Reverend Robert Merriman’s sermons.

“I hope we can get a seat,” said Mama, quickly walking ahead of me towards the front doors. The parking lot was almost filled up and it had taken me five minutes to find a parking place. I hurried after her, trying my best to walk fast in my pencil-slim skirt and high heels. By the time I got to the church entrance and was handed a program by one of the two solemn-looking brothers standing at the front doors, Mama was waiting for me in the atrium looking quite annoyed. But once we were inside it was all I could do to keep my jaw from dropping. The church’s open design, high ceilings, and glass walls took my breath away. But, remembering why I was there, I put my admiration in check and followed Mama into the main church hall after we signed the guestbook.

We found places to sit at the back of one of the gleaming, blond oak pews in the center aisle of the church. At last, I was able to look around. It looked as if most of the black community of Willow was crowded into Holy Cross. I waved at Lynette, who was sitting with her family several rows ahead of us. Gwen and Alex were in the row behind them. I noticed that many of the women had braided hair. I figured many of them to be clients of Inez’s. Looking towards the front of the church, I saw a large, ornate stained glass window depicting Jesus on the cross, the empty pulpit, and Inez’s closed white casket, which was almost obscured by floral arrangements. A large picture of Inez, without her trademark braids, was displayed on an easel next to the casket. The same picture was printed on the front of the program. The picture looked dated, like a high school graduation picture. I was unable to get a good look at Inez’s family, who were presumably seated in the front row.

After about five minutes of listening to muffled sobs, sniffles, nose-blowing, and low whispers, I watched the Holy Cross choir, resplendent in their green-and-gold robes, file into place behind the pulpit. Shanda was among them. Many of the choir members were wiping their eyes with tissues. I noticed that Shanda was stone-faced and staring straight ahead. She seemed to be purposefully not looking at Inez’s casket. The organist, a middle-aged man in a tight brown suit, took his place at the organ and the choir began a soul-stirring rendition of “Precious Lord Take My Hand.” I had managed up to that point not to succumb to all of the raw emotion floating around me. But, when the choir started singing “Amazing Grace” with Shanda doing a solo, I started crying and Mama pressed a handkerchief, scented with her rose perfume, into my hand. Shanda had a beautiful, haunting voice and I wasn’t the only one moved by it. A few people were overcome and had to be taken out. Boy, do I hate funerals. I was more determined than ever to prove Timmy innocent. He couldn’t have caused all of this misery.

Finally, the choir stopped singing and took their seats as the minister took his place behind the pulpit. I looked closely at the man about to give the eulogy and realized he was way too young to be Morris Rollins. I could hear mumbling, whispering, and see the bewildered looks as everyone around me realized it was not Morris Rollins standing behind the pulpit.

“He’s probably too broken up,” I heard someone behind me whisper.

“Poor man,” said another disembodied voice.

I felt a pang of disappointment. I’d heard that Morris Rollins was one hell of a minister. He’d have to be to acquire the funds to build such an impressive church. I flipped through the program and saw that Morris Rollins’s name had been inked out and that the assistant minister, George Leach, would be delivering the eulogy. I sat back and listened as Reverend Leach gave Inez Rollins her final tribute.

An hour and a half later, the funeral came to an end. Reverend Leach was an adequate if somewhat passionless minister. But I felt drained just the same after a succession of friends and family members came forth to read scriptures, poems, and to tell funny, poignant stories about Inez. Inez’s casket was removed from the front of the church. She would be buried later that afternoon in a private grave-side service. A line formed for people to pay their condolences to her family. Mama and I joined the long line and waited for our turn. By the time we reached the front of the church, the crowd had thinned out considerably. I watched one of two women ahead of us embrace an older, attractive black man that I assumed to be Inez’s father, Morris Rollins. I used the opportunity to get a good look at him.

Morris Rollins was almost as tall as a basketball player with smooth, unlined, dark chocolate skin. He had a medium build, was bald, sported a goatee, and wore a diamond stud in his left earlobe. I guessed that his charcoal gray suit was custom-made because it was very expensive-looking. He had to be in his early fifties but hardly looked it from where I was standing. He wasn’t conventionally handsome but he definitely had a certain something that made you look twice.

The two women he was talking to were trying their best to be comforting, but it looked to me as if Rollins was comforting them. He caught each of them up in a big bear hug before ushering them on their way and turning his attention to us. I noticed one of the women looking back at him wistfully and I couldn’t blame her. He was that kind of a man.

“Estelle Mays, it’s been too long,” said Rollins. He had a low, soothing quality to his voice that made you want to hear more of it.

“Yes, Morris, it has,” said Mama, clasping his outstretched hand. “I am so sorry about Inez. You and your family are in my prayers.” Rollins hugged her, spotting me over her shoulder in the process. His quick, almost imperceptible assessment left me with the odd feeling that a predator had just picked me as its next meal.

“Thank you, Estelle. It means so much to me that you came today. I thought losing my first wife was hard, but this has been one of the most difficult days of my entire life.” He was talking to Mama but he was staring at me. I noticed that his eyes were red-rimmed from crying and I had a strange urge to hug him.

“Morris, this is my granddaughter, Kendra Clayton. Kendra, this is Reverend Rollins.”

“Nice meeting you,” I said, shaking his hand. His skin felt hot, like he had a fever.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kendra. I’m sorry it had to be under these circumstances.” He still had my hand in his and it felt like a mild electric current was running up my arm. I felt the blood rush to my face and I giggled like an idiot.

What was with me? I have a man and the last thing I need is to get my panties in a knot over some married, womanizing minister. Mama hadn’t missed the vibe that Rollins was throwing my way and didn’t look at all pleased, especially since I appeared to be buying what he was selling. She quietly excused herself and went to look for Gwen and Alex. We barely noticed that she’d left.

“I knew your daughter and I’m so sorry for your loss. If there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know.” I squeezed his hand and gently eased out of his grasp. He gave me an amused look, which embarrassed me for some reason.

“Thank you. It’s been hard trying to see to every detail and to get Inez’s affairs in order. But life goes on and things have to be taken care of whether you want to deal with them or not,” he said with a weary sigh.

“Well, maybe I can do something? Like pack up some of Inez’s things for you? Would that help?” I needed to get into Inez’s apartment to look around. This would be the perfect opportunity to do it. Surely there must be something there that could help Timmy.

“That won’t be necessary, Kendra. Some of the church sisters will be packing up her apartment. But I appreciate the offer. Perhaps you can stop by my office sometime for a chat. I always enjoy talking to Inez’s friends. It makes me feel closer to her,” he said in a low whisper, like he didn’t want the whole world to hear him.

There was no doubt in my mind where a private visit to his office would lead. The man obviously wasn’t too broken up over his daughter’s death to try and get him some on the side. But, what was far more disturbing to me was the knowledge that, judging by my reaction to him, he might not have to work too hard to get into my pants.

“Actually, Reverend Rollins, I’ve recently been watching your talk show, and I have to say, I’m very impressed.” I hoped the Lord would forgive me for telling such a blatant lie.

“Thank you. We tape new shows every Thursday evening. I would be most honored if you would attend a taping.” He was smiling at me and had taken my hand again.

Before I could reply, I heard an anguished moan coming from behind Rollins. I looked and was shocked to see a slim, veiled woman in a hat, dressed in black from head to toe, slumped and almost falling over, in the pew behind him. I hadn’t noticed her before. Her braided hair cascaded down around her shoulders. But, the only thing I could see of her face beneath the sheer veil of her wide-brimmed hat were a pair of glassy and dazed-looking eyes that stared straight ahead without blinking.

“Kendra, please excuse me. My wife, Nicole, is having a very hard time with Inez’s death. I need to get her home.” Rollins immediately went over to help his unsteady wife to her feet. I watched as he slowly escorted her from the church. The difference in their heights made it look like he was walking with a child. Poor woman. I hoped she was too out of it to notice her husband hitting on me practically in her face.

I heard some murmuring behind me and turned to see a group of women looking in disgust at a young couple who were deep in conversation. I recognized the women as stylists from B & S Hair Design and Nail Sculpture. Even if I hadn’t recognized them from the shop, I would have noticed their varying hairstyles and colors. With their heads bent together in conversation, they reminded me of a handful of crayons. I looked at the couple they were talking about and realized it was Shanda, no longer in her choir robe, and the same gorgeous young man that I’d seen at her house. Today he was dressed in a dark green suit and cream shirt without a tie. Even though we were inside, he had on the same Ray Ban sunglasses he’d been wearing the last time I’d seen him.

“I can’t believe he would have the nerve to show his face here!” exclaimed an outraged sister with a short blond pixie cut.

“I’m surprised he didn’t burst into flames when he walked through the church door,” remarked a woman with a long red weave.

“If that’s what happens when sinners walk into a church then most of the folks in this place would be spontaneously combusting, including all of us,” said a woman with an auburn bob, causing her companions to laugh.

I inched my way over towards the group, hoping to hear more. I looked through my program intently while I listened to them vent.

“That little cousin of Inez’s needs her butt beat,” said a woman with a jet-black updo. The other women nodded in agreement.

“I know you’re right. It’s bad enough to be creepin’ with your cousin’s man, but to do it at your cousin’s funeral, that’s just scandalous,” claimed a woman with pink Afro puffs.

“And he’s nothin’ but a thug. Inez found out the hard way what he was into, poor baby. She’s probably dead behind some of
his
mess,” said Auburn Bob, bursting into tears and burying her face in her hands. Her companions gathered around to comfort her and the conversation was over.

I was rooted to the spot. Shanda was messing with Inez’s man who was also a thug. That could only be Vaughn Castle. I looked over and saw that the two of them were still deep in conversation.

As I approached to say hello, I heard Vaughn tell Shanda, “Just have your ass over there like I told you, and don’t keep me waitin’.” He walked off, leaving Shanda looking like she was about to throw up.

“Shanda, girl, you have a beautiful singing voice,” I gushed, hoping to put her at ease.

“Oh, Kendra. I’m sorry. What did you say?” She looked back over her shoulder at Castle’s retreating form before turning her attention to me.

“Your voice, it’s beautiful. I had no idea you could sing like that.”

“Her voice is a gift from God almighty,” exclaimed a loud voice from behind me. I turned to see the organist in the too-tight brown suit. He was beaming with pride at Shanda, who looked uncomfortable.

“Kendra, this is my daddy, Rondell Kidd. Daddy, this is one of the teachers I work with at the literacy center, Kendra Clayton.”

Rondell Kidd was as tall as his half brother, Morris Rollins, and had the same smooth chocolate skin, but that’s where the resemblance ended. Rondell was overweight and seriously lacked his brother’s fashion sense. His brown suit looked like it had fit him about twenty-five pounds ago. He wore his short, salt-and-pepper hair in an Afro à la Nipsey Russell. I noticed he had on a gold tie tack that said “Jesus Saves.” He was smiling at me in such a friendly way that I couldn’t help but smile back.

“It’s good to meet you, Mr. Kidd. Please accept my condolences on the death of your niece,” I said, holding out my hand for him to shake. He grasped my hand firmly, pumping it up and down vigorously like he was jacking up a tire.

“Yes. This is a bad business, very bad. But Inez has gone home to be with her Lord. She’s in a better place. God will help us with our loss,” he said, looking heavenward like he could see Inez waving to him from the afterlife. For some reason, this made me feel like crying again.

As we stood contemplating Inez in heaven, a petite, middle-aged, brown-skinned woman in a dowdy navy blue dress with a lace collar joined us. She had her hair pulled back into a severe bun and wore thick horn-rimmed glasses and no makeup. The only jewelry she wore was a thin gold wedding band and a cross pendant. Her ears weren’t even pierced. She was pretty despite her attempts to look otherwise. She was staring at me and her nose was wrinkled up like she smelled something bad. I had to resist the urge to sniff my pits and check the bottoms of my shoes for dog doo-doo.