The Devil Made Me Do It (4 page)

Sweat beaded across Esther's body as the sheets stuck to her plump shapely thighs. She tossed and turned into the night, but the sheets twisted, clung, and rode her wave of sleeplessness. She could not get comfortable. She hadn't come up with any answers to Mother Reed's questions. Instead of a peaceful sleep, she was caught up in a Minnie Riperton flashback and was strolling down memory lane.

Restless, she reached under her bed for her memory box. She riffled through it and dug out two pictures. They represented all that was left of her life with her ex-husband, Roger. One of the pictures portrayed two eager faces, blissful and optimistic on a day beaming with sunshine and promises. It was their beginning . . .

Esther sat on a bench hypnotized by the flow of the Detroit River. It was like life, not pretty, but it kept flowing, moving, to its rightful place. She had done it, after a three-year delay. She was getting her bachelor's in social work. Between her job, classes, and church activities she was busy but not fulfilled. She couldn't even lie; she was alone and lonely. She pushed away thoughts of the love she threw away.

“If I ever have a chance at happiness again,” she spoke to the still dark water.

She loved coming to the riverfront. During the week it was peaceful, and she could think without being hassled.

A honeyed voice tinged with interest interrupted her musing. “Sis, mind if I sit down?”

Esther squinted through the sun's glare into liquid pools of pleasure. His eyes were a gray-silver that spoke of an ancestry from other lands. In contrast, his skin reminded her of her favorite Starbucks latte with a dollop of caramel on top. There was a negative; he was tall but too lean for her taste. However, he carried a carefree attitude and a teasing grin that added to the positive side on his balance sheet. Esther looked around at all the vacant benches and knew his game. She uncharacteristically decided to flirt. This had never been her skill, and if nothing else, she could practice.

Esther batted her eyelashes. “Well, I don't know. I was enjoying the solitude. Are you guaranteeing me something better?”

“Well, if I'm not better than nothing at all, I need to kill myself now.” Confident, he began to sit.

“That's not even a little funny,” Esther fumed.

Shocked, he sprang back up. “I beg your pardon. Let me begin again. I'm snapping a few pictures with my new camera. It was a birthday gift from a friend. I'm really a harmless guy who couldn't pass up the opportunity to meet such a lovely lady. My name is Roger.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I never joke about a subject as morbid as death. If you can handle that, then I'm Esther. Please have a seat. Looking up at you is making me dizzy.”

“Then we're even 'cause I got dizzy the moment I saw you.” He jokingly acted out a dizzy spell resulting in a smooth move to sit down next to her.

Later, Roger bought her an Italian ice. As she enjoyed her lemonade-flavored treat, they strolled along the riverfront and he took pictures of her and passing boats. At one point, he asked a passing stranger to take their picture. At the end of their time together, he wanted her phone number but had to settle for her taking his. Thirsty for attention, she called him the next day and over the next ten months they were inseparable.

Esther sighed heavily into her pillow. She should have read the signs: his moodiness, folded scraps of paper with numbers in his pockets, and his inability to keep a job. Her newly acquired tolerance had her making excuses for him. She felt that he just needed her steady influence and encouragement. Sheri's suicide made her second-guess her ability to distinguish fact from fiction; a valiant effort versus a waste of time. She was too naïve to understand that some drowning people will take down the one trying to save them too.

Esther flipped over onto her stomach and bunched the pillow beneath her. She flung the picture across the room. It landed facedown. Some memories were too painful and regret was a wasteful emotion. She picked up the second snapshot; she kept both pictures for different reasons. The first picture revealed how they got together. The second picture illustrated why the relationship ended; it was cliché and tawdry. Only her fingerprints gripping a photo of herself, tearful, holding her bruised shoulder was unique.

Soon the night breathed her name, and her lids drifted shut. In slumber, she rolled over on the picture burying it beneath her.

 

 

The morning tapped on her shoulder much too early. “Ugh . . .” She was tired after a nightmarish slumber. “Move it, girl.” Sleep-deprived, Esther rolled out of bed. She staggered into her bathroom and plopped down on cold porcelain. The toilet made a rumbling noise through the house when Esther flushed it. She didn't mind because it was her place; therefore, her noise. When she shared a house with her ex-husband, Roger, nothing with the house ever went wrong . . . just everything in the marriage.

Esther spoke into the quiet of the morning, “Lord, I can handle a loud toilet as long as I have a quiet life. Mother Reed has stirred up some mess.” She rubbed her sleep-swollen eyes in frustration. She was not about to sit back on her assets and fall back into a state of past depression. “Somebody call the king. I can't be bothered with all this foolishness. Rain down, Lord, bring back my peace. I fought for it; it was mine.” Esther, more upset than ever, stomped into the shower. “Shoot, now, I'm going to be late for work.”

 

 

The sun dazzled like small diamonds through the large-paned window, and the plants on the window ledge gleamed green and fertile as Esther looked over the reports on her desk. The Helping Heart Agency targeted the low-income population of Detroit; its mission to provide a hand up, not out, one person at a time. As director of Social Services, she wondered again why she ever wanted to be the “boss.”

Esther sighed. “I must have been out of my mind.”

She heard a throat clear and turned. One of her least favorite team members stood in her doorway. He was the manager of their home repair program. John Johnston sported a permanent scowl and a handlebar mustache. He once rode his Harley to work, wearing a bandana. As a result, to her, he resembled a pirate. Esther always thought it was an apt description since he appeared to be unscrupulous. Unfortunately, she was never able to catch him in anything.

“Hello, John, come on in.” She wondered why her administrative assistant, Simone, had not announced his presence.

John stood at the door with a smirk on his face.

Esther motioned for him to enter the room, “How can I help you this morning?”
Can I slap you upside your big ol' head? Forgive me, Father. This uncircumcised Philistine gets on my last nerve
.
If you asked me if I had an enemy in my camp, he would be it.

“Esther, I received your changes on the vendors' contracts. You made a really large cut in the amount of funds they'll be getting, and you want all the bids to come through you now?” He frowned. “Will you even know what you're looking at?”

Don't you curse him—stay holy—stay holy.
She chanted in silence to keep calm. He had a habit of being condescending and after a restless night she wasn't up to his attitude. She had recently learned that some of the vendors who had contracts with their agency also had personal relationships with some of the staff. In a nutshell, relatives and friends were getting rich off of the government contracts, and to top it off, they were doing shoddy work. She suspected John as the number-one violator.

Esther leaned forward with her hands folded before her. “Let's see—you want to know if I know what I'm doing? Is that really your question?”

John squirmed under Esther's poised, pointed look. “Maybe I said that the wrong way. You've always let me handle the vendor contracts. It's worked well, don't you think?”

Esther's eyes hardened. “Positive change is good. I've had several complaints from customers on the unprofessional way the vendors treat them and that the work never seems to get finished.”

“Oh, those people will complain about anything. They're not paying a penny so they should be happy for whatever help they get. You coddle them too much and believe everything they tell you.”

Esther's neck muscles tensed. “John, may I remind you that
those people
are the reason you have a job? I suggest you learn a little compassion or you won't last at this agency. Then you might actually become one of
those people
.”

Cocky, John rolled back on his heels. “Naw. I'll never beg for help. I chase that paper. I know how to make money.... So when will these changes start?”

“It's effective immediately. Turn over all your case files to Simone. A letter went out this morning letting vendors know that there are new guidelines and everyone will need to rebid to keep their contracts.” Esther turned to her computer screen, effectively dismissing John.

He stormed out, leaving her door wide open. Simone approached the doorway of her office with a concerned look on her face. “Everything okay, Ms. Esther? I only stepped away from my desk for a moment. I took a potty break.” Simone pulled at the back of her dress.

“Yes, I'm fine, but thanks for checking. John barks a lot, but I've never known him to bite.” Esther shifted through papers on her desk. She lifted folders and looked under her desk.

“Humph. My mama tol' me all dogs got teeth, and if they got teeth, they can bite. And that John? He do be a big ol' bowwow, but before you tell me to mind my business, I'll go on back to my desk. Oh, your sister called. I told her you'd call her back when you were finished. And, the report you need is on the top of the middle file rack.”

Esther laughed out loud. “Girl, that is your job, security. I don't know how you do it, but if I need it, you know where it is.”

Simone smiled and strutted back to her desk. “Don't forget your sister called.”

Esther nodded her head. She'd have to call her sister back later. She had too much work to do.

Hours later, Esther decided to leave the office an hour early. She had been in three meetings and worked through her lunch. She was suffering from lack of sleep, and she was going home to get some.

Her cell rang. Caller ID showed it was her sister, Phyllis. “You could have called me back. What was up with you and Mother Reed? Your conversation looked intense.”

“Hello to you too. You might want to tell a person hello before you start in on them,” Esther said, reading through her last e-mail.

“Oh yeah, well, hello. I really called to see if you heard the news.”

“What news?” Esther responded to her e-mail and begin clearing off her desk.

“Reverend Gregory is taking a year's leave of absence from church.”

“What? When did this happen?” Esther stopped moving, stunned at the news. Reverend Gregory had been her rock since college.

“According to the church grapevine, he notified the deacon board today. Of course, then our first lady called Mama. You know how tight they are.”

“I can't believe it. Pastor is dedicated to Love Zion.” Esther's spirit sagged at the news.

“Now you know that pastor's daughter, Jeanette has those lung issues. She moved to Arizona for that job and was diagnosed after she relocated. She has pneumonia. They're concerned with all her complications; she'll no longer be able to take care of herself.”

“She's worse?” Esther remembered sleepovers and church picnics with the vibrant, young Jeanette.

“Yeah, and after all that fasting and praying the church did.” Phyllis had a bad habit of murmuring and complaining through every church-assigned fast. Later, she'd point out that the person or situation wasn't any better.

“Phyllis, our fasting and prayers are probably what has pulled her through so far. You have to have faith. Remember, prayer changes things, and some situations are only broken through fasting and praying.” Esther resumed packing up her desk.

“Uh-huh, well, anyhow, I thought I would let you know. You being so church involved and all, and being a charter member of the ‘willing to do' board. By the way, I still haven't forgotten that you never answered my question about you and Mother Reed.”

“Nope, I didn't. But thanks for the info. I took a personal day off tomorrow so I may swing by to see you. I'll let you know.” The phone rested between Esther's shoulder and cheek as she wrote a reminder Post-it and placed it on her calendar.

“Whatever, Miss I'm Keeping Secrets,” Phyllis shot back as she hung up.

Esther picked up her purse and headed out the door. She paused at the receptionist desk. “Simone, I'm out for the rest of the day.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Simone replied saccharine sweet with a goofy smile.

Esther walked away, but listened as Simone used the office phone and dialed a friend. She surmised that, as usual, Simone's cell was low on minutes, and she was taking advantage of the opportunity for some juicy, uninterrupted gossip. What she didn't know was the topic: the office bad boy, John.

 

 

Esther started her Lexus and slid on her shades. She thought about her sister's phone call and burst out laughing. “My sister is a trip, Ms. 411.” She pressed the praise station on her satellite radio.

Phyllis was private investigator-like nosy. She would listen in to conversations, even when she didn't know the parties involved. Her information was better than
The View's
hot topics. As a bored housewife, she needed to get out of the house and find something to do.

Esther wondered who would take Reverend Gregory's place. She hoped it wasn't Elder Shaw. He had a good heart, but he would put wood to sleep. Maybe elder was like the Apostle Paul who could write better than he spoke. The last time Elder Shaw preached, Sister Joseph's visiting grandson snored so loud that an usher had to tap him awake. When the usher hit the young man's shoulder, he jumped straight up out of his seat and moaned, “I'm getting up now, Mama.”