Less Than Perfect Circumstance (7 page)

“
I try not to think about him not being here, but it is hard, especially at night.
I lay in bed and it seems
everything I think about includes him. I blame myself sometimes.”

“Blame yourself?”

Denise reached across the table and g
rabbed my
hand.
She looked into my eyes as she spoke.

“
Honey, y
ou can’t keep doing that. You made a decision based on every
thing you knew, and I’m certain
that
,
as smart a man as Kelvin is, he understood your rationale.”

“I know, but I still feel
had I made an entirely different decision, things might have been different.”

“You can’t
say that
for sure. Who knows? W
hat might have been different could be that you are closer to him, going through the same thing.”

“Right, but now we will never know.”

“I can’t say I understand. What I can say is this, do what you have to. I know it’s going to
take time,” Denise
comforted.

“He says he’ll call tonight,
” I
said, smiling.

“Ok. Give him my regards.”

I caught
m
y
self and thought
,
even
when I’m supposed to be focusing on me, I still find some way to talk about Kelvin.

CHAPTER NINE

CAN’T YOU TELL

Trevor

Besides my bedroom, which hadn’t seen much action since Kelvin left, the living room was my favorite room in a house I had occupied by myself for too long now. I sat in silence. The persistent chirp of a lonely brown and white bird outside my window kept my company. The room was clean. The white furnitu
re was strategically placed. It resembled the scene
of some celebrity photo shoot. The room seemed to serve its purpose whenever I was in it.

Trice Hickman’s new novel, ‘Keeping Secrets and Telling Lies’, had been sitting on the coffee table for a little over a week. I had read her previous novel and didn’t mind losing myself in her words one more time. Reading used to be my favorite pastime, then I met Kelvin and it seemed I
spent my spare time either with him or focusing on
him.

I sat in my white on white printed tufted chair with my legs folded beneath me, a glass of white wine on the ottoman, and ‘Keeping…’ in my lap. Unlike the last few novels I had attempted to read but never completed, I was determined to finish, especially since it was a page-turner. As I read, my mind drifted. Focusing on what Ms. Hickman had written on those pages was difficult as my attempts to concentrate on her words were often in
terrupted by thoughts of
Kelvin or anticipating his call. Still, to pass th
e time, I kept on reading. As I
completed the fifth chapter and turned the page to begin the next, my cell phone rang. 

“Did you think you weren’t going to hear from me?”

Even though Kelvin’s call came more than an hour later than he said he would, I never doubted I was going to hear from him. Even if Kelvin was calling just to say he couldn’t talk long, I knew he would have called to say something. 

I was
happy to hear Kelvin’s vo
ice, and I secretly hoped he
felt the same. I tried not to sound as if I had spent my entire day waiting for him to call.

“So, how was
your day?” Kelvin inquired, sounding
as if his day had been long.

“It was very interesting, to say the least.”

“Interesting? How so?”

I told Kelvin the same story I had shared with Denise over lunch. I told him about leading the development for the new condominiums on Orchid Outlook by
money-man
Curtis Millington. 

“I’m proud of you, man.”

Kelvin sounded more elated than I did, and that made me smile.

“Curtis Millington is like the black Donald Trump.”

“Thanks. I guess I am good at what I do. Denise and I had a mini celebration over lunch today.”

“How’s Denise doing?”

“She’s doing well.”

“Is Toni taking time from her busy schedule to spend with her?”

“Whenever she can, I’m sure. I don’t hear Denise complaining. You know how demanding Toni’s job is.”

“I know. I was just messing with you.”

“Stop it,” I joked, and then continued. “Denise sends her love.”

“Ditto. Glad they’re doing well.”

My relationship with Kelvin was somewhat of a safety net under the high wire at the circus. As long as that net was there, the acrobats could perform with little fear, if any fear at all. They knew they
wouldn’t fall any further than that net. With Kelvin, I wasn’t afraid to fall. I didn’t worry about being hurt, and even if I was, I believed, wholeheartedly, Kelvin wouldn’t be the one to hurt me. Kelvin was my net, and when he left, it was as if someone had snatched my safety net from under me. I was no longer safe.

“So, how’s your conference?”

I had moved from the chair to
the
couch, becoming more comfortable as I continued my conversation with Kelvin. The brown and white bird outside the window had become a distant memory.

“Well, I spent most of the day in meetings.  Not doing anything involving the conference until tomorrow.” Kelvin paused, and then asked, “So, partner, what’s troubling you?”

His question was unexpected. I was more interested in continuing the seemingly meaningless banter for a little while longer, not wanting to talk about anything that was weighing heavy on my mind.

“Honestly, Kelvin, the more time goes by, the more I find myself missing you. I thought the opposite was supposed to happen.”

“That’s only natural, baby. I miss you
,
too, man.” Kelvin spoke
, sounding
equal
ly honest
, which was reassuring to my ears.

“Then why do I feel like I’m the only one going through the motions?”

That was actually a rhetorical question asked louder than I intended. I didn’t expect Kelvin to answer, but he did.

“Baby, just because I don’t say it every time we talk doesn’t mean I don’t miss you. I think about you more often than I admit.”

Even if I wanted to interrupt Kelvin, I held back anything I had to say
. I was enjoying hi
s candor. Just as he thinks I don’t open up to him, Kelvin was just as guilty, if not
more guilty
. To hear him say exactly how he had been feeling was refreshing. At least I now knew I wasn’t alone.

“I have the worst time getting through some of my days, and then I hear from you and I’m so at ease.”

“Baby!”

Kelvin must have called me twenty times.

“I’m h
ere,” I finally answered, fighting tears I could feel
fighting back.

“I don’t want you to ever feel as if it is easier for me to deal with us not being together. It’s just as hard for me as it is for you. I can say that everything will be ok, but if you don’t believe it, then there’s not much more I can do.”

“Kelvin, I know, and I’m not trying to be difficult.”

“I know you’re not, and that’s not what I’m saying. You have to believe that I love you. If there’s anything I can do to make it easier,
let me know. I
f it means me calling more often, whatever it is,
just
let me know. You know I worry about you.”

“You don’t have to worry too much. It’s just a little hard right now.”

The tears had subsided and talking to Kelvin had put my mind at ease for the moment.

“Yeah.
so what’s your tomorrow like?” Kelvin asked, changing the subject. I was relieved he had.

“I’m heading back into the office. I
have dinner with the Millington
s on Wednesday.”

“They must really like you,” Kelvin complimented

“It’s kind of hard not to,” I said, laughing. “Yeah, I’m going to eat my butt off.”

“Baby, you’re greedy.”

I didn’t agree, but didn’t respond.

“I know you have a long day ahead so I’m not going to keep you any longer.”

“You’re not keeping me,” Kelvin assured.“
We haven’t talked this much in a long time.”

And I wonder why,
I thought. “You know what I meant.” The smile on my face had been missing for some time. “Get some rest. Let me know how the conference goes.”

“You know I will. Ha
ve a good night, baby. Love you,
” Kelvin said.

“Love you back.”

When I hung up, it was late and it didn’t even matter. I wasn’t sleepy. There was this feeling of content that I usually got after talking to Kelvin. I caught myself smiling, and I carried the smile from the living room to the bedroom, into the shower, and eventually to bed. I finished reading the sixth chapter of my book, which I probably have to reread. I kept replaying the conversation with Kelvin in my head. There was so much more I wanted to say,
but I was satisfied.

CHAPTER TEN

HE’S
BROUGHT ME THIS FAR

Dexter

The congregation at Mount St. Daniel Holy Redeemer Pentecostal Church seemed a little unusual on this first Sunday morning in September. It was a little more quiet than usual. The church was without Sister Bethany Gloria Robinson and her little baby, Keion, who was usually screaming at the top of his lungs long before Sister Abigail Montgomery would finish reading the Sunday announcements. Jonathon Rivers and his younger sister, Jasmine, who is usually pointing fingers, hiding her face and giggling about nothing, were not there. They must have had a few too many rum and coke at the bar last night and couldn’t wake up in time to hear whatever message Pastor Edna-Mai Rockwell-Carter had prepared. 

The Golden Agers Annual Worship Service was in full swing at Mount St. Daniel. It wasn’t the service I expected, or for which I had
prepared myself. I had never made it to the early morning service, and this morning was no exception.

At the direction of Sister Saretha Blanchard, The Volunteer Gospel Chorus came to its feet, opened hymnals, and began their first selection. Music rung out from the new grand piano and organ, both donated to the church by the late Pastor Nathaniel Rockwell. The choir, dressed in majestic p
urple robes with yellow piping

obviously purchas
ed especially for the occasion

opened their mouths. Music praising the Lord poured out from their old
,
God-loving faces. They sang, “Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine! Oh what a foretaste of glory divine! Heir of salvation, purchase of God; Borne of His spirit, washed in His blood.”

I stood to join in the pattern clapping that seemed to have started from the row of wives in the front pew. Somewhere between “Perfect submission” and “Angels descending”, my mind slowly drifted from this uplifting hymn. I was suddenly overwhelmed with thoughts of Bryus and Trenton and their announced move to England. I was filled with envy, not the kind that stunk with rage and hatred, but one of love and hope of their success. It gave the rest of those hopefuls something to look forward to. I thought how two couples
who
met under the same circumstances could have two different outcomes. There’s just no figuring this stuff out.

“Yes! Thank you Lord,” Deacon Lyle Turner shouted from the back where he stood earlier, with gloved hands, handing out pamphlets detailing the order of the service.

“Praise God! The Lord has been good to me. Yes Lord!” Another shout came from the direction of the choir.

Pastor Rockwell-Carter, draped like royalty, walked up to the podium with confidence. Her striking beauty demanded attention. Her powerful voice resonated, and the word of God became even more convincing.

“Good morning, church,” she began.

Rockwell-Carter is an on-the-edge pastor, usually stepping on toes when she preached; however, made no apologies or regrets at the end of her sermon. The Lord is only using her to deliver His message. She speaks as the Lord commands. That was her motto.

“You know, church.”

She removed the microphone from the podium and descended the pulpit into the congregation.

“I woke up this morning, and I felt good. Do you hear me, church? I said, I woke up this morning and I felt good.”

“Amen, Amen,” s
everal members of the church responded.

“
Because the Lord,” she screamed,
“I said the Lord gave me another day to praise him.”

“Yes He did. Preach on Pastor,” Sister Grace Lewis shouted, wearing an oversized purple hat, and a white suite that flowed over matching purple shoes.

“And remember, church. This day was not promised. So I hope each of you gave Him thanks this morning.”

“Yes, we did,” t
he congregation assured.

“Believe me w
hen I tell you, many people… ” She paused. “Y
ou seem quiet this morning, church. I don’t think you want me to preach.” 

She turned, giving her back to the congregation. The church erupted in laughter.

“I said many people, church, did not get to thank Him this morning.”

After an electrifying sermon, most of which seemed too deep for the congregation to comprehend, Pastor Rockwell-Carter approached me with a look of concern I had never seen from anyone.
What the hell did my mother say to this woman?
I thought, trying to keep the perplexed look from a
ppearing on my face.  I knew
how dramatic my mother
can
be when describing incidents to others. Sometimes I think she deserve Oscars. Be
fore I could disconnect from my
last thought, Pastor reached out her hands to me, then leaned over and kissed me gently on both cheek.

“I’m happy to see that the good Lord brought you through your horrific experience,” Pastor said, staring into my eyes, waiting for me to respond.

“Pastor Carter, this is my good friend, Jacqueline DeMai.”

I met Jacqueline while at Mt. Saint Christian Hospital. She wasn’t too involved in church, but I had con
vinced her to come along with
m
e
.

“That was a great sermon, Pastor Carter,” Jacqueline complimented.

“I’m glad you were here to receive His word. I hope to see you next week.”

“I’m sure you will, pastor,” Jacqueline said, with conviction, and looked at me
,
reading my thoughts, daring me to say something.

“It is good to see you, Dexter.” She paused

“That was a beautiful sermon...”

I tried to avoid the obvious conversation I knew Pastor wanted to engage in. This was not the place to attempt to describe my latest mishap. I was certain she had already been given all the details. Any of the missing pieces were probably already filled in by hearsay.  Afte
r all, this was church

what is it that they do not talk
about.
I wasn’t in the mood to conf
irm or deny any of what she
heard.