Third revision
Chapter One
If I didn’t know Jesus, I would’ve sold my soul a long time ago for a nice looking man, who made me feel pretty. Instead on Friday afternoons, I clung to the chancel rail of Sugar Hill Community Church and prayed that God would fill me up and help me forget what it felt like to be kissable. Yet every time after I stood up from that altar and walked out of that sanctuary I felt lonelier than I did when I came in, except for today. Today I felt my change coming.
The church was an old church, a beautiful church in a quaint little town north of Atlanta. I had prayed to find such a place, a place that from the moment you walked in you couldn’t help, but lift your eyes toward the steeple mosaic and fall to your knees in awe. A place that made you forget the world outside wasn’t created to trouble single mothers, but to bless them; a place that reminded me why I moved way out in the boondocks in the first place.
Solace.
My soul needed sanctuary here, not to mention Friday afternoon ladies’ communion.
This service was designed to relieve young mothers, who were swamped with Sunday school duties or diaper changes in the nursery during Sunday service. At the Ladies of Sugar Hill Afternoon Communion and Brunch we could commune with God and eat lunch like a grownup for a change, while our children were either in school or the church nursery. Perfect.
But today, much like my life, I had lost my focus.
I should have been praying about me and my daughter’s future. I should have been praying about what I just found out about her father. Instead I was fawning over the new shepherd of our flock, Reverend Justus Too-Hot-to-Be-Holy Morgan.
Justus for short, but he looked like a tall drink of Hawaiian Punch. He had brown twists that fell past his shoulders. His eyes were the color of cane syrup drizzled over toasty flapjacks. His cheeks captured the rosy glow of young boys playing football in the snow, and a dimple on his right cheek deeper than the slits in Aunt Frankie’s hot apple pies. A bronzed angel was what the other ladies kneeling beside me called him. I thought he was perfect, and looking at that man now standing in front me I wished to God I was.
A tip of his gloved hand touched mine. I shivered.
“This is my body. Take it,” he said.
I opened my eyes. My chest stiffened. My body and mind jerked every uncompromising, hell-bound thought about him out of my head.
I gulped.
He continued. "Eat this in remembrance of me."
I nodded faster than a bobble head, and then ate that nasty cracker. It was tasteless and white, a different kind of pure, which—in an uncanny way-- reminded me of my twin sister, Ava.
She had called me twice this morning. We hadn’t spoken in three years, yet I was curious, more like missing her. Should I call her back, Lord?
The nasty cracker hit the pit of my stomach with a sour gulp that felt like a No. Now that was a problem.
See. I came to communion for some guidance and to help recover from my addiction to unforgiveness and bad, bad men. My neighbor, Lisa Engberg, the person who ran the Ladies’ Communion had been advising me to come here for months, but she was out on maternity leave today. I had forgotten. So, of course, I didn’t expect Justus—or any man for that matter—to be here. But Ava calling, that was a huge surprise, the heavens opening up kind of huge. Lord knew I needed a word.
Justus blessed my head. “Be encouraged, young mother.”
I looked up at him and cried.
The thought of another Friday night watching Disney Channel and eating cheese pizza made me feel worse, not blessed. Young mother all out of focus sad over a man, who didn’t know I existed. No, not said about him, but men period. I was sad that the older I got, the more I one of those. Not that I deserved one, but my baby girl, Bella needed a good man in her life.
She‘s everything to me. Being her mother had taught me a truth that I wished to God I had learned ions ago: Second chances are hard to come by. When you get one take it, and then change to honor the chance.
Lord, give me another chance. I prayed.
“What about your sister?” a whisper in my gut replied.
The question lit a fire in me. I got off my knees and ran toward my purse but couldn’t find my phone. I had left it in the car, so I raced out the sanctuary to find a phone. There was a phone at the welcome desk in the narthex. I picked it up, and dialed. But as soon as her voice purred through the phone something weird happened. I couldn’t speak, and it wasn’t my unforgiving second self that held me at bay. Someone was calling me. I held the phone to my head, while searching the room. Had the communion juice made me crazy?
Someone tapped my shoulder.
I spun around.
Justus.
I gasped.
“Hello,” He said.
“Hello?” Ava asked through the phone.
“Yes.” I said to them both.
"Can I speak with you in my office?" His deep voice held a quiet power, the last, low thunder after a storm.
I nodded, again the bobble head.
I lifted the receiver to my mouth. “Ava, I’ll call you back.”
I'm not sure if I hung the phone up, but I heard her screaming my name and something about tonight and needing my help. I’d call her back. I promised myself I would.
Justus’ pastor study smelled of lavender, magnolia blossoms, firewood and holiness (at least my version of it.) His face lit up like the Phantom of the Opera House chandelier when I walked into the room. I shouldn’t get too excited. He looked like that at every church member. Yet I still hoped.
He walked me toward a settee area. “Have a seat.”
He motioned a greeting with his hand, which reminded me of my grandmother, Granny. She always talked with her hands, as if we couldn’t get the gist of her stories without the grand gesturing. I sat down on the loveseat in front of the table, feeling all warm and fuzzy over her memory.
Justus sat in a stiff back mahogany chair to my right, then his phone rang. As he answered, I took another peak at the room.
From first glance I couldn’t tell that he had moved in. Brother Allen’s old mahogany desk, the swivel chair, his wife, Anne’s floral settee and the matching bookcases were still there stationed in the same place. The only items that appeared to belong to Justus was the books on black theology, civil rights and the history of rap music on the coffee table, and of course, the black Jesus bobble head that sat on his desk. I stifled a giggle at the sight of it.
He leaned toward me.
I held my breath.
“I’m sure you’re wondering why I called you in here,” he said.
I wagged my head like a lovesick puppy then stopped. Granny had taught me that when a man of God—especially one as fine as this one -- called a woman aside I better Ruth-up. She meant I needed to be humble and ready to serve him. As degrading as I once thought Granny’s ideology was today I decided to channel my inner Ruth. Like I said today felt different.
I lifted my chin and spoke in the lowest, non-flirtatious register I could pull from my gut. “I believe you need me.”
He sat up. His eyebrows puckered. “Yes, I do.”
My heart leaped. Grandma was a savant.
I took a slow quiet breath to calm the Hell down. “So how can I be of service?”
“I’ve been reading your online magazine, Mama Knows.”
My stomach fell to my shoes. “Oh.”
For the past three years I published an online magazine for mothers titled, Mama Knows. It wasn’t celebrity focused or fashion forward, just content that mattered to me: baby daddy drama, popping pedophiles in the neighborhood, wooing unmarried ministers, the usual stuff. Most of my subscribers were women, who--once like me— feared tree limbs rustling in the night, but now slept in relative peace. It was nice to know that there were other women living my life and from time to time I connected with my subscribers. Sometimes I did a few favors for them. But lately, I had overheard there were some haters in the church, who thought Mama Knows set their neo-antifeminist movement back five years. But I didn’t think that they would sick sugar-faced Justus on me. Unbelievable.
“I’m a subscriber,” he blurted.
I coughed, almost choked on my spit. “Why?”
“Because you have something important to say, and I don’t want to miss a word of it.”
I blinked. “Is this some kind of a joke?”
He smiled. “Do I look like I’m joking?”
I took a long look at him. He was too handsome for me to get a good read on. I sat back and grunted. I hated not being able to feel out a man. American penitentiaries were filled with promising, young women who realized too late that a charming criminal had stolen their hearts, their common sense, and their natural born minds. I had my share of that kind of deception. That was the reason I clawed my way to the chancel rail every Friday in the first place, the Ghosts of Bad Men Past.
“Sounds like you’re trying to stroke my ego,” I said.
“Sounds like you don’t trust men.”
“Ha. So you do read Mama Knows.”
He chuckled. “Like I said before I’m a subscriber.”
“And like I asked before why would a man subscribe to a women’s rag?”
“And why are you so suspicious of everything and everyone?” “I’m not, man.” I had to catch my breath. That little interchange had homegirl exhausted. “No offense, Rev.”
“None taken, and I prefer you to call me Justus.” He paused. “I had assumed when I saw you today not sitting on the back pew-- as you usually do—that I wasn’t the reason you were so standoffish. Am I wrong?”
Oh, Lord. Have you been telling this man about me?
I wanted to lie, but I feared going to Hell. I prayed for a good, quick response that wouldn’t out me or have my lying.
“I lost my focus a while back, Justus. It has nothing to do with you.”
“So what changed today?” He asked.
I sighed. “I have no idea.”
He placed his index finger over his right eye and watched me long enough for me to wish I’d took back what I just said. I couldn’t breathe. I was afraid to breathe.
“Do you miss being an investigative journalist?”
“No. Yes. Why?”
“‘Cause I need a favor, sister.”
I could feel my eyes roll to the back of my head. Someone had told him about the other thing I did. I wondered who?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, brother?”
He leaned forward. The way he stared at me made me shiver. “I need you to find someone for me today.”
I wanted to refuse him. Not because his turn around time was too doggone fast, but because I never took on male clients. I did favors for women, mainly mothers who either couldn’t trust the system or couldn’t afford a fair chance to play in it. I didn’t advertise my services. Worked strictly by word of mouth. No one had contacted me about Justus.
Then I thought about Granny. I could see her hand shaking at me now. Ruth-up. Humble yourself and stop being so stubbornly selfish.
I huffed. He looked so pitiful. “Tell me the truth. Why do you have a subscription to my blog?”
His mouth dropped. He shrugged. “I got the subscription for my sister, Trish, but she doesn’t have time to read it. She’s a single working mom whose children’s father is dead just like you. And up until a second ago I thought she needed your help.”
I sat back. “Well what changed?”
“Your unwillingness to help. I’m surprised. That’s not very Ruth like, not like the you I had imagined.”
I gasped and looked around the room, then up at the ceiling, then at Justus. Lord? Granny? Are you telling this man my thoughts?
Justus looked up, then at me. “Are you alright?”
“I’m…” I sighed. “I’m making an exception.”
He stood over the table and hugged me. “Thank you.” He smelled divine.
I exhaled. “Don’t thank me, yet. My favors aren’t cheap.”
“Not even for your pastor?” he grinned.
“Didn’t I make an exception?”
“Yes, but we’ll talk about that later.”
“Let’s talk now.” I smirked. “Who do you need to located today and why?”
“My teen-angst niece is sneaking out of the house at late hours to meet a guy.”
“She lives with you?” I asked.
He nodded. “My sister, my niece and her twin boys.”
“Wow.”
“Wow, right,” he looked away. ”Trish, my sister… her husband was killed in Afghanistan last year. She’s staying with me as long as she needs to.”
I felt like a big dufus jerk. “Ok. I guess I’ll give you a discount, a big one. Ok. I’ll give you a freebie.”
“You’re an angel.” He jumped up, leaned over the table and hugged me. IT felt so good.
I pulled away from him. “You might not think so after what I have to say. Your niece, on the other hand, is, and I think you need to relax a bit. She’s at that age. You know. First love. She’s still missing her dad. She’s probably milking you and your sister for sympathy discipline. If I were in her shoes, I would. Let Kelly know that the life her parents designed for her hasn’t changed. Justus, you don’t need me to find this boy. You need to scare the bejesus out of him the next time he calls.”
He shook his head. “He doesn’t sound like a boy. He called two nights ago. Late. I picked up the phone and overheard a man—not a boy-- talking to my niece about meeting him tonight.”
“So what did you do?” I asked.
“We grounded Kelly, but you can’t ground a man. And when a man wants something. He wants it. You know what I mean?”
I nodded. My stomach churned. “Exactly.”
“And guys like that don’t show up on your doorstep. He’s trying to lure my niece to him. No. Uh-huh. I need to find this guy tonight. I need to be sure he’s not a pedophile. I need to make sure he won’t bother her or any other girl again.”
“So why not call the police? They’ll definitely help you.”
“Why, because they’re often here at Sugar Hill?”
“Well, yeah. This place has more security than the White House.”
Then he looked at me with a connection that ran threw my veins. “What would you do if someone took Bella’s innocence?”
“Vengeance is the Lord’s, Rev,” I said, knowing full well I would throw a pot of piping hot grits on anyone that hurt my baby.
“Angelina, I’m not going to hurt the guy. I just want to find him. You can locate him faster than the police. Everyone knows that.”
“Everyone like who?”
“Like your sister, Avalyn.”
I dropped my hold of his hands.
He reached for my hand again. “Did I say something wrong again?”
“No.” I lied. “I promised my daughter, I would eat lunch with her today at school. Her lunch starts in a few minutes, so how about you give me your sister’s contact information and I’ll call her?”
“She lives with me. Long story.”
I nodded and picked up one of his cards off his desk as I walked toward the door. “I’ll call you.”
“Have dinner with us,” he said just as my hand reached the doorknob.
I turned around still in a daze over hearing Ava’s name again. “What?”
“We can talk about Kelly’s problem. I’ll bake mac and cheese. It’s Bella’s favorite right?”
“You know my daughter?” I asked.
“She’s the brightest voice in the Sunbeam Choir.”
“Are you for real?” escaped from my mouth. My gut smacked me. I looked around the room again. Ruth would never say something like that.
“Yes. I am. Can I pick you two up around six?”
Angel, the bobble head wagged again, but I wasn’t lovesick this time. I was curious. How did he know my sister? Forget Ruth.
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Sunday, January 20, 2008
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