Boaz Brown (43 page)

I stalled the tears as long as I could, but lost the battle. I seized my father’s neck and felt him hug me back. Then he reached into his pocket and handed me a fifty-dollar bill. Without looking up, he said, “For emergencies.”

* * * * *

My phone rang as I was getting dressed for work Friday morning. It was Jonathan.

“You’re lucky I’m already up,” I told him.

“Hey, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t we have Sunday dinner at your house? I think it would be a good idea for Daddy and Stelson to meet.”

“Daddy’s not even talking to me right now, Jonathan. I don’t know.”

“Well, he’s talking to me, and I’m talking to God. So get this thing all ready to go, okay? Just order something and serve it in some crock pots.”

“You’re wrong for that!” I pouted.

“Seriously, Shondra, call Stelson and invite him over for the Sunday meal at your house. I’ll work on Daddy. Don’t worry, he’ll be there with bells on. What time?”

“I don’t know. I guess if I go to church at Gethsemane with you and Momma, we could all be out by the same time. Stelson’s church lets out by one o’clock.”

“Okay, so we’ll play it by ear and have the meal at your house.”

“All right,” I blew it out, “I’ll tell Stelson.”

We had to cancel our plans for miniature golf Saturday night due to rain. Peaches and Quinn followed me to Stelson’s house instead for another night of movies. This time we brought Chinese food.

“Hey,” Stelson greeted us at the door. “Glad you could make it.”

He squeezed me tightly and dusted my lips with his. He gave Quinn that “brother” hug and kissed Peaches on her cheek. “Come on inside.”

Okay, where is all the furniture?

“Sorry I don’t have much for us to sit on in here,” he apologized, leading us past a bare dining room with nice, shiny hardwood floors. High ceilings added another dimension to the spaciousness to his home, which was perhaps even more pronounced without any furniture. “I’m not much for decorating.”

“Needs a woman’s touch,” Peaches said, talking to Stelson but glancing at me.

“You’re right about that,” Stelson agreed. He took one of the sacks of food from Quinn and led us to a living room. It did have furniture: a large, pillowy sofa, love seat, and chair ensemble.

We took turns making our plates and then assembled around the television to watch
Men in Black.
As the credits rolled and Quinn prepared to put another DVD into the player, Stelson asked Peaches and Quinn to excuse us while we went out to the covered patio to talk privately. The rain had stopped, but the recently showered earth shimmered beneath the moon’s glow.

Stelson led me out to the veranda. He had a spectacular view of Lake Jones, lit by strategically placed lamps near the shore. It was beautiful, but I was not the one for a lake and all the little critters that come along with water. I cuddled up next to him on a wicker love seat and tucked my feet under my behind.

“This is nice,” I said.

“It is, isn’t it? Sometimes I just come out here and marvel at God’s handiwork. It’s very humbling.”

“Mmm.

“Stelson,” I asked, “what are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling. . . I don’t know. What do you mean?”

“I mean, when you are with me, what do you feel?”

“I feel blessed. And I have a confession to make,” I said, facing him. “When I went out to lunch with you that first time, it was only to make the white women at my job jealous.”

He laughed and pulled his hair back.

“What are you thinking? Do you ever think about the fact that I’m a black woman?” I needed to know.

“Not
nearly
as much as you do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I raised my head.

“The fact that you are black is always on your mind.”

“That’s because I’m always black.”

“I’m always white, but it’s not always on my mind.” He shrugged.

“That’s because neither your race nor your gender has ever been a disadvantage to you. If it were, you’d understand.” I relaxed a little and settled back into the tiny space between his neck and shoulder blades. “This relationship has been harder on me than it is on you. It’s difficult sometimes for me to see past color. But I’m learning.”

“Close your eyes,” he said. Stelson reached over and gently lowered my eyelids with his fingertips. I felt his lips near my ear, the warmth of his presence. He whispered, “I love you, LaShondra Smith.”

He said he loved me. He said he loved me.

Then he kissed me, and my heart melted right outside on the patio.
Just love him.
This kiss wasn’t one of those get-physically- turned-on kisses. It wasn’t like any other kiss I’d ever experienced in my life. Our souls were connecting, as if our very spirits became one. I felt so peaceful when his lips left mine. Stelson had kissed me with everything he had in him. And I received it. I made up in my mind that if I had to walk around for the rest of my life with a blindfold on, I was gonna love that man. Period.

When I got home, I knew I needed to pray. I felt myself coming to a point within, where I knew I needed guidance. This whole thing had come in a series of powerful, convicting truths and awakenings, building from subtle observations to this very substantial relationship with Stelson, with twists and turns along the way. The final destination, however, was at a place that I’d never known before. Neither had anyone I knew of. True to Himself, God had given me my very own Boaz. But I needed Him now more than ever.

I prayed for the answer, but I didn’t get it. Instead, I felt the urge to call Peaches, of all people. I explained the situation to her the best way I could, sparing few details about what happened out on the veranda.

“So, what did you say when he told you he loved you?”

“I couldn’t say anything. He kissed me.”

“Then?”

“Then what?”

“Then what did you say?” she pushed me.

“I didn’t say anything. I just. . . I just sat there. I don’t think he was expecting me to say anything. He just wanted me to know that he loved me.”

“Look, I’ve seen how Stelson treats you. He adores you, LaShondra. Your problem isn’t loving him, your problem is letting
him
love
you,
and that is not a color thing
.
You need to sit back and let the man woo
you,
for once in your life. I mean, get your big behind right up there on the pedestal and become his queen, ‘cause if you won’t, somebody else will.

“You done went all this far with a white man, no need in stopping now. Don’t bring up your past issues. You are in a godly relationship. Everything is different. Everything is better.”

I didn’t say anything. I just let her talk. As she expounded on the message that I needed to allow myself to be loved, unexpected tears began to flow down my cheeks. She was speaking the gospel—I really didn’t know how to be loved, how to do this relationship thing God’s way. It seemed almost too good. But then again, everything from Him is always above and beyond our imaginations.

“You still there?” Peaches asked after a while. She heard me sniffle and slowed down a bit.

“LaShondra, Stelson is not perfect, but God’s love is. So the next time Stelson puts his arms around you, you accept that embrace like it was God Himself, ‘cause, girl, I’m telling you, all that’s good and perfect comes from Him. Accept it.”

Confirmation.

I wiped my tears and thanked Peaches for speaking to me. “Girl, you broke it down for me.”

“Somebody had to,” she laughed. “Daddy
is
good to us, isn’t He?”

“All the time,” I agreed, then asked, “How did you learn all of this, Miss Thang?”

“Girl, I didn’t know. The Holy Spirit is teaching me right along with you. I’m just telling you what I learned about a week ago, when Quinn asked me to marry him.”

“Yeah. He proposed in a roundabout kind of way. He was all asking me what I thought about the name Patricia Robertson.”

“And what did you say?”

“Girl, he ain’t gettin’ no answer till I get a ring, okay?”

“Peaches, you are wrong!”

“No, I ain’t! We are not tryin’ to do a Harper from
The Best Man
here. This is real life—a sister needs a carat!”

“I’m gonna keep praying for you.”

“Please do.”

It had been a while since I’d been to the old church— probably a good two years or so. The church was just as I remembered it: run down but somehow dignified by its towering steeple.

Jonathan, Momma, and I walked up to the front steps and through the wide white doors into the vestibule. Gethsemane smelled the same. I closed my eyes and breathed in deep. A flood of fond memories came crashing down on me with an intensity I was not prepared for. I stopped for a moment and let my heart feel whatever it was that overtook me. I could almost see Mother Dear sitting in her usual spot on the front row next to the Sunshine Band. And there I was, sitting next to my friends, passing notes and discussing the contents of my almost-empty purse. Then Mother Dear popped me on the leg and told me to pay attention to the preacher and spit out my gum. It was all there. It had never left.

I opened my eyes and used my hands quickly to fan the tears away. I checked myself in the mirror before entering the sanctuary. The ushers led us to the fifth pew, and we sat quietly as the announcer read off the list of announcements and asked the saints to govern themselves accordingly.

My eyes roamed the edifice and came to a standstill at the altar. How many times had I been there with the saints praying all around me, praying for me, tarrying for my soul’s sake? Their heavy, worn hands rubbing my back and coaching me on what to say to the Lord. And there, on that altar so long ago, I’d cried out to Him for everything. I’d been to that altar and back out into the world so many times I couldn’t keep count. And every time I’d come back, God had forgiven me. He never did keep count. It seemed that through the years, in His own way and in His own time, God had given me everything I’d ever asked for, even though I didn’t deserve it.
Thank you, Lord.

I enjoyed the foot-stomping, hand-clapping service and sermon delivered by one of the newer assistant ministers at Gethsemane. He spoke on faithfulness and the importance of staying on the course through tough times.

Following the benediction, we hung around talking to old church friends for another half hour. Jonathan had on his navy garb, and Momma made him take pictures with almost every saint in the building.

After church, Jonathan and Momma went back to my parents’ house to pick up Daddy while I went back home to get prepared. I called Stelson and told him to come on over. In the meanwhile, I took the steaks and other side dishes from a local steak house out of the foil packaging, heated them, and then placed them in nice serving dishes. I pushed the sacks and containers deep into the trash can.

“Shondra,” Jonathan called in the midst of my preparations, “Daddy made chicken!”

“Does he know Stelson is going to be here?”

“Not exactly. But he does know that we were having dinner at your place. Maybe it’s the sign of a truce between the two of you,” he cheered.

“You guys hurry up. I want to tell Daddy before Stelson comes waltzing through the door.”

“We’re on our way.”

My steaks could wait for another time. Daddy’s chicken could not be trumped.

Jonathan must have driven like a bat out of hell. They pulled up in record time, and I estimated I had roughly ten minutes to tell Daddy Stelson would be at dinner. Daddy walked past me at the door and went straight to the kitchen to put his chicken in the oven.