Boaz Brown (32 page)

“That’s my point,” she said forcefully. “You don’t work in H-R. You have no idea how often this kind of thing happens. Believe me, it’s not the first time and it won’t be the last. You have to keep your head up and keep your knees bent in prayer, Shondra. Let those people conduct their little investigation; they’ll come up with nothing, and you’ll be back to work in no time.”

“But what about my professional reputation, Peaches? Once I’m accused, I might as well be guilty. I don’t want to live behind a shroud of suspicion.” It was nice to have someone to whine to, even if she wasn’t going to join in on my pity party.

“First of all, neither your colleagues nor your superiors are at liberty to discuss this investigation with anyone, other than to gather evidence. If they do, they’re liable for everything from obstructing an investigation to slander— and you will sue the pants off of them.

“Secondly, you are not responsible for other people’s misconceptions. If there’s one thing God has done to prepare you for this, it has been this relationship you have with Stelson. You’re not allowing other people’s thoughts to dictate what you will do or how you feel about yourself. Girlfriend, you are growing up! What are you now—thirty-five?”

“Thirty-one,” I corrected her. I wasn’t in a joking mood.

“Whatever. Look, people are falsely accused all the time. Anybody with half a brain knows that just because someone points the finger your way doesn’t mean you’re doing anything wrong. You cannot let these white people—I mean, these people at your job—have your mind.”

“I know better.” I sniffled and wiped my nose.

“All right, then, act like it,” she commanded.

“You want to do lunch?”

“Well . . .” She hesitated. “I’m meeting Quinn. But I could cancel it—”

“No, no. Don’t do that.” I knew Peaches. If she’d really wanted to cancel it, she wouldn’t have mentioned it. Besides, what I desperately needed was some quiet time alone with my Father.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll catch up with you later. Remember, I’m on administrative leave. I’ve got two to three weeks off now.” I gave her a laugh to ease her conscience.

“Don’t worry, Shondra. It’s going to be all right.”

“Thank you, girl. You sure know how to give a sister a swift kick on the backside.”

“Hey, that’s my job. Always ready to kick butt!”

My house seemed different in the middle of a weekday— when every able-bodied adult was out working. The sun’s light streamed through every window, and except for the gardeners performing their morning rituals, it was unusually silent. I rarely took off a day from work. When I did, it was to keep an appointment or attend some event that carried me away from the house for most of the day. During my two-week summer vacation, there was always the sound of children at play up and down the streets. But not now. This weekday silence was unnatural.

There were three voices vying for my attention: one saying that I needed to go on to my prayer room, stay positive, and keep focused on God; another telling me that I needed to get busy thinking of a master plan to get even with Mr. Butler, with his old funky self. The third one told me to go curl up on my bed and have a good cry while eating an entire package of Mrs. Baird’s cinnamon rolls. I had a tough choice to make, since each idea did have a certain charm about it.

I kicked my shoes off at the sofa, took my jacket off and hung it on the coat rack, dropped my purse on the kitchen counter, and headed to the prayer room, consciously choosing to obey the voice I knew was right. With every step in the right direction, I felt stronger. I felt the power of submission to His will, the surety of His sovereignty. He gave me that, even as I fell to my knees in brokenness.

Stelson called me later that afternoon. “I tried to get you at work today, but they said you were out. Are you not feeling well?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I’m out on administrative leave.” I then explained the situation to him.

“Don’t worry. If you stay in any business long enough, this kind of thing comes up.” He brushed it off.

“So, you’ve been falsely accused?”

“They say the first lawsuit is the worst,” he laughed. “It’s always intimidating when someone accuses you of something you didn’t do. The first time it happened to us, a former employee threatened to take Brown-Cooper to patent court.”

“What did you do?”

“Well, the first step was to conduct an internal investigation. I can tell you the rest over dinner, but it’ll have to be Wednesday night after church. I’m all tied up for the next few days,” he said.

“That’s a long time from now, Stelson.” I needed to see him.

“Not really.” He kept me at bay. “You’ll probably need some time to conduct the internal investigation.”

I bristled. “You think I did it, don’t you? You think I’ve been bias?”

“No. I never said that.”

“But you think that I
could
be wrong?” I quizzed him.

“Anybody could be wrong, LaShondra.”

I’d never been confronted so gently. I smacked my lips one good time. “Okay. Wednesday night. Your church or mine?”

“I’d like to do mine. I probably won’t leave this place until late, as it is. By the time I pick you up at your house—”

“You don’t have to do that. I can pick you up. Just email me the directions to your house,” I offered.

Peaches invited me to a play at the local junior college Tuesday night. Quinn was directing a jazzy production of
Hamlet.
Eric sat next to me, yawning a few times and impatiently asking when the play would be over. He liked the lights and the scenery but grew bored with the plot. “Ooh, Momma! Here’s Mr. Quinn’s name!” Eric announced during the intermission.

“Yes, baby. He’s the director—he makes sure that the actors are doing what they’re supposed to,” she explained.

Eric’s eyes never moved past Quinn’s name on the program. Obviously, my godson had come to adore Quinn. He was quickly taking up space in their lives. Perhaps the space I occupied, once upon a time. I had to step aside, I guessed, to let them become a family, if that was God’s will.

“Since when did Quinn get to be so artistic?” I whispered to Peaches as the cast and crew bowed at the end of the play.

“This is his dream,” Peaches informed me as we clapped. “He wants to get into the entertainment industry.”

“Well, at least he’s keeping his day job in the meanwhile.” I eyed her and held out my hand.

“Amen.” She gave me five.

After the last curtain, we waited for Quinn backstage. Eric was so excited to be on the wooden platform, I told Peaches that she had a star on her hands. “He is too happy to be on this stage,” I said, pulling him behind the curtain.

Quinn grabbed Peaches by the waist and lifted her a few inches from the floor. “What did you think?”

“It was great, baby.” She gave him a smack on the lips, and Quinn lowered her. They pulled Eric in and made a circle, sharing in Quinn’s successful debut. I waited for Peaches to call me into their little love world. She made the motion after Quinn released her.

“I really enjoyed this production, Quinn,” I congratulated him, shaking his hand. “I can’t wait to see you on Broadway.”

He lowered his head and smiled. “I’ve got a long way to go.”

“Well, you have to start somewhere,” I encouraged him. “You just have to stick with your heart.”

“Thanks.” He seemed reticent.

Does he know I’m on administrative leave, or am I just paranoid?

Later, as Quinn, Peaches, and Eric walked me to my car, Quinn apologized for the lateness of the hour. “I know we’ve all got to get up early tomorrow.”

I went along with him. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll be all right.”

I stayed up late Tuesday night, watching television and reading. It wasn’t until almost one o’clock that I remembered what I was supposed to do before I saw Stelson Wednesday evening.
Conduct an internal investigation.
I wanted to get started, but I desperately needed sleep.
I’ll do it tomorrow.

I brought the investigation before God in prayer on Wednesday morning. The more I thought about it, the more sense it made. I fired up my computer and printed out my notes, searching through my documentation for any errors in procedure or policy I could find. Statistically, they were right to think that I took harsher disciplinary action against white students.
But that isn’t really true.

I spent hours going through those files, pulling up records from my past two years as an administrator. Over and over again, the statistics showed a pattern on my part. Okay, they had a leg to stand on. But I had my reasons, too.

Lord, what are you trying to teach me?

By the time Stelson called for me to meet him, I was still stuck. I couldn’t wait to rack his brain with the evidence. And I couldn’t wait to see him again. I’d missed his company, his charisma. The smell of his cologne. Then, there was that certain quality about us that I couldn’t quite explain.
Chemistry.

I grabbed the printout of the map to Stelson’s house and proceeded to a well-hidden sector of eastern Dallas County. I’d heard of the outlet malls in Rockwell, but it always seemed too far out for me to use my gas getting there.

Beyond the shopping center, which boasted of clearance prices on the hottest designer brands, the main street into Rockwell resumed its country charm. When I first saw Stelson, I thought he was a Lexus, vegetarian, party-all-night kind of guy. But now that I knew him and his testimony, I knew he’d already had his fling with the high-maintenance lifestyle.

It was so dark out, I really couldn’t see much of his neighborhood. The houses were spaced a good half acre apart, with huge yards that probably required a drive to the mailbox. Stelson’s house was preceded by a wrought-iron gate, which he’d already opened for me.

I pulled up into the circular driveway and took in Stelson’s home. It was a two-story, contemporary home with gorgeous landscaping. There was a grand column on the porch and a little bay window that I guessed was perfect for a kitchen nook. Off-white trim accented the deep-red brick exterior, giving the home a touch of classic charm. The house didn’t have a big country porch with a swing on it, but it certainly looked as though it belonged to Stelson— cozy and well kept.

He was out the door before I had the chance to honk. “Hey,” he said, hopping into the front seat.

“Hey,” I said.

“Did you have any problems getting here?” he asked.

“No. The map was perfect.” I backed out of the driveway.

His church wasn’t far from his home. We rushed into the sanctuary and joined in praise and worship. I knew enough of the members now to catch a few waves and winks across the pews. My feet started hurting, so I pressed them flat against the floor, yet worshiping God.
Lord, I lift Your name above all others. For there is none like You.

After the songs, one of the younger ministers read an Old Testament and a New Testament Scripture. The sermon followed immediately thereafter. Stelson and I shared a highlighter, placing emphasis on the message scriptures that spoke most clearly to us. For me it was Ecclesiastes 7:21—22:
Do not pay attention to every word people say, or you may hear your servant cursing—for you know in your heart that many times you yourself have cursed others.
At first glance, I so identified with verse 21. But I quickly became fixated with verse 22. I knew that I’d cursed others in thought and occasionally with my mouth.
But in my heart?

I wasn’t ready to brief Stelson on the internal investigation when he asked me about it at dinner. In a way, I was hoping he had forgotten about it. We ordered a trio of finger foods for an appetizer and muddled through the preliminaries without incident.

“So, what have you come up with?”

He remembered.

“Well, I looked through all the files and, statistically, my practices are questionable,” I admitted. I went on, still searching for the words to convey my confusion. “I was prepared to justify my actions on the cases in question, but then I thought about some things tonight during the sermon.”