Made of Honor (18 page)

All it earned me was a look of confusion. “You? Sorry, Dane.” He cracked his wallet. “Do you want something?”

I shook my head. How stupid did that sound. I made the stuff!

“Some candles then?”

“No,” I said, though my lemon pound cake votive stash was dangerously low. Dahlia had probably primed the wicks with gasoline in hopes of me buying some. I’d stick to choking on breath mints, thank you. I shook my head, wrapped the last gift and handed him his bag. I didn’t know what he was up to, nor did I care. Well, a little.

He dropped the bag to the floor like an afterthought. Guys. Who could figure them out?

“Sorry I missed dinner Sunday. Did everything get straightened out?” He wiped away the sweat beading on his lip.

I stared at the thermostat. Seventy-three. Not hot enough for sweat. Did that mean he was asking about Dahlia and Trevor? How would I know if things were straightened out between them? He was the one working with her.

When I didn’t answer, he clarified. “With Rochelle and Jericho, I mean.”

“After you left church? It got a little ugly. Jericho got up and told everybody about Shemika and asked the church for forgiveness. Mother Holly fell out and started screaming.”

He winced. “That bad, huh?”

Worse. “Pretty much. But once we got back to my house, somewhere between the catfish and the peach cobbler, people started acting civil again.”

His lips formed a grim line. “Your Dad’s food has that effect on people. Always has.” I knew he meant the way his mom would chill out at those dinners, even when she was off her meds. I could still remember the fear in Adrian’s face when the last song stopped and they all had to go home.

“Everything else got straightened out, too? For you, I mean.”

For me? Which everything was he referring to? “As much as possible I guess. Some things just take time.”

He looked away. “Tell me about it.” With a smile, he leaned down for his bag and dug in his pocket as he straightened.

His handkerchief. Was he looking for it? “Your hanky is in the back. I washed it.”

“Hanky? You are so cute.” He took out his wallet. “This is what I was looking for.” He tossed a hundred dollar bill on the counter. “Go get your hair done.” Before I could comment, he added an identical bill to the pile. “Better yet, tell her to come to you. And get some rest. There’s a lot going on.”

A little too much going on if you asked me. I grabbed the bills without hesitation. If anyone else had done it, besides Rochelle and Tracey, I would have been insulted, but how could I argue the truth? My do had given up on the job long ago. I stuck my fingers in the bird’s nest formerly known as my scalp, braving my personal safety to do so. “Microbraids, you think?”

He shrugged. “Whatever you want. Don’t start trying to please me now.” The smile he tried to hide escaped.

I snickered. “Try to please you? I’d never be so foolish.”

He rolled his eyes.

“As if I’d know what you like anyway, mister.”

He lifted the bag of his purchases onto the counter. “Oh, you know what I like.”

My face got hot. I did know what he liked. Even with my hair. If he had his way, I’d take out my extensions altogether and get my real hair braided like I did all through high school. Mama hated it, but Adrian went wild over it. I always did, too, until two weeks later when it looked like…this. Hair just isn’t my thing. I need to be free from dealing with it for months at a time.

He walked to the door for the second time in one day while I tried to ignore how good he looked from this view. And forget how bad I’d probably looked from his view. The sad thing? I felt even worse. For all my superwoman act, the trouble on the home front was getting me down.

“Adrian.”

He stopped short of the door.

I needed to know something, something I didn’t really have the courage to ask. Just say it. “Why did you leave the church on Sunday? Did you think Trevor was going to contradict what I’d told you?”

“Nope.” He turned to me, the light gleaming off the lens of his glasses. “I knew exactly what Trevor was going to say.” Adrian shoved a fist into his pants pockets. “I also knew what I’d do if I were there to hear it.”

to: Soldoutsista1

From: Soldoutsista2

Subject: Tracey

Hey, Rochelle. It’s me. I know it’s cowardly to e-mail instead of call, but I need to be brief. I don’t know if Tracey’s told you yet, but she’s pregnant. If she hasn’t told you, please pick yourself up off the floor and keep reading. She’s been call
ing me a bit down (and probably you, too) and wants to come up for a while. I’m going to put together a surprise baby shower for her this weekend. I need for you to be there. Saturday 2 o’clock. My place.

Agape,

Dana

I’d wanted to sign it with love or your friend or something, but only God’s love seemed an appropriate closing. At this point, not much else seemed left between us.

When Rochelle showed up Saturday morning and started cooking and folding napkins without saying a word, the smile flashed between us said it all. This was bigger than both of us. This was what friends were for.

And we were friends. My brother’s emergence reminded me that Rochelle wasn’t always somebody’s mother or big sister. That there was a time when she wasn’t Rochelle much at all. She was just Chelle. Today, I saw under her watchful eye and reproving glance the girl who’d gotten knocked up by my brother at seventeen and knocked down by the world not much later. She’d worked long and hard, but there was still a fun-loving person inside there. Her part of “Chelle and Jordan” had somehow managed to survive.

Four hours later, when my apartment blared in pastels as if someone had dumped Easter onto the walls early, the first knock came at the door. I gasped when I opened it and saw Naomi, my former boss, looking as shrill as the day she fired me. “Come in.”

She dragged on a cigarette. “Don’t look so shocked. You invited me, didn’t you?”

I nodded, thinking I had Renee to thank for that. What kind of gift would my former assistant bring? Definitely something from Fingerhut. “Can you, uh, put that out, Naomi? Tracey will be here soon and smoke isn’t good for—”

“Whatever.” She held up her hand and released another wisp of smoke as she stepped inside. “Where’s the bathroom? I’ll go in there.”

Great. Now I’d have to gag for the rest of the weekend. I considered the possibility for a second and decided against it. She wasn’t my boss anymore. This was my house.

With a light touch, I draped my arm over Naomi’s shoulder and guided her back down the hall to the stoop. “This is a no smoking zone. House rules. I’m sure that you, of all people, can appreciate rules. Feel free to come in when you’re done.”

Her face scrunched like she’d sucked a lemon as she tottered onto the metal balcony. “I can’t believe this—”

Believe it. “Have fun.” Refusing the urge to slam the glass door, I slid it shut instead and sniffed my freshly done braids for smoke, while running for the air freshener. When Rochelle emerged from the kitchen choking, I figured the deed was done.

“What’s with the death by Lysol?”

I nodded to the stoop. “Smoking. Naomi.”

Even Chelle looked shocked. “Naomi? Here?” She stared at the glass door. “Wow. That’s two in a row. Tracey’s really got pull.”

She got you here, didn’t she?

“I’ve got pull, huh?”

We both spun to find Tracey behind us in a pink maternity dress. The light bounced off the butterfly clips in her newly cropped afro.

“Tracey!” Chelle and I cried in unison, racing to her side. For someone who was considering leaving their husband and upset about her pregnancy, she sure looked good to me. As we hugged her, my stomach lurched, looking at all the decorations.

“Oh, no! The surprise!”

Rochelle threw a hand across her mouth and let Tracey go. “You weren’t supposed to get here until—how did you—”

“The door was open and Naomi’s Saab was parked outside.”

I took a deep breath. “Well, surprise anyway. Welcome to your baby shower. Have a seat.”

Tracey shook her head. “I’m tired of having a seat. I came to work. Why do you think I’m early?”

Both my hands flew up. “So you knew?”

“Of course.” Tracey grabbed a bag of mints and filled the last empty candy dish. “You were acting too fishy, girl. I know when y’all up to something. And I’ve been up to so much nothing, I couldn’t stay away.”

Rochelle shook her head and walked into the kitchen. “You can’t even surprise folks these days.”

Too happy to see Tracey to lament the ruined surprise, I took her hand and walked towards the front door to close it. Man, how I’d missed her. Seeing her made me realize how much. “Maybe we can’t surprise you, but we’re going to feed you good. Your hair is too cute.”

She giggled a little and then drew a quick breath.

“What is it? Are you in pain? Should I call the doctor?”

Tracey didn’t answer, but stared at the door instead.

My eyes followed hers. I dropped Tracey’s hand. Not only should I have shut the door, but locked it, too. Dahlia stood in the hall, her coat open to reveal a celery-green minidress with matching pumps, one of which she rocked onto its side. In her hands was a small bag. A Kick! bag.

Adrian and his big mouth.

My sister’s eyes darted back and forth between us. “I know I wasn’t invited exactly, but I hadn’t seen Tracey in a while—”

I shrugged. “It’s okay. Come in.”

Sierra emerged from behind her, toddled up to Tracey, put her face up to Tracey’s belly and sniffed. “Smells like a gurrrl.” With that, she made for the candy dish as though belly sniffing were an acceptable profession. Her mother followed.

We all stared behind them. I shut the door and flipped the lock. I wasn’t sure who would walk in next, but I wasn’t taking any chances. Tracey stared wide-eyed at nothing in particular, then took a deep breath.

“Forget what I said earlier,” she said, turning again to look at my sister and niece, whose exact age I’d neglected to mention in all our conversations. “Color me surprised.”

“So the pastor is really changing things, huh?” Tracey popped the last shrimp puff into her mouth and pushed aside the tower of gifts left by the throng of well-wishers who’d filed through my living room. Not many had time to stay, but everyone brought a present, a smile and plenty of well wishes. Even Renee, who’d graced the occasion with a limited edition porcelain doll from Fingerhut. Naomi? Well, she’d eventually come off the stoop where she’d spent most of the time sulking to give a beautiful card and a wad of cash. “Baby shopping just isn’t my thing. But if it’s a girl, call me when she’s five. I’ll buy her the world.”

Too bad Naomi couldn’t afford just a little kindness instead. Not that money wasn’t nice. It was just easy for her to give. One day, she and I would have to sit down and talk about such things, since I had nothing left to lose with her. That someday, however, wouldn’t be today. Today, it was just Rochelle, Tracey, me and—surprisingly enough—Dahlia and Sierra, who was curled up like a cat at the end of the couch with a fuzzy baby rattle one of the ladies from church had brought.

Rochelle answered first. “Yeah. Pastor is really shaking things up. Just what we’d always prayed for.”

“Then why do you sound so sad about it?” It was Dahlia’s voice. We all turned, stunned. Sure she was here, but we’d neither wanted nor expected any response from her. Well, let me correct that—
I
hadn’t expected her to say anything. Tracey looked delighted.

“I was just thinking that myself, Dahlia,” Tracey said, taking a sip of orange sherbet punch. Another of Daddy’s recipes. “This stuff is so good.”

At least something had turned out right. I sighed. Usually I added too much ice cream or not enough Sprite. This time it was
just right and with a splash of guava juice. Good stuff. Better than the direction of this conversation to be sure.

“It’s not that we’re not happy about it, Dahlia. It’s just that there’s a lot going on now, you know? When we were really pressing in and praying for Pastor to hit things harder, we thought we had it going on. Thought that we were spiritual.”

Tracey snorted. “I know that’s right. I look back at my devotionals from last year and wonder who that was. I thought I was soo-oo holy. And look at me now.”

I tried to cut her moaning off at the pass. It wasn’t info I wanted to arm Dahlia with. “What do you mean look at you now?” I took her plate and cup and headed for the trash. “You’re married, pregnant and serving God. Sure things aren’t perfect, but you’re hanging in there. You made it to the altar. That was the hard thing.” I dropped the cute pansy plate into the trash and headed back to the couch.

A tear streamed down Tracey’s face.

Oh, yeah. Definitely the hormones.

“That’s just it, Dane. I didn’t make it to the altar. And now I’m paying for it.”

My eyes crinkled like they had when Naomi was smoking earlier. “Of course you made it. I was there.”

Dahlia cleared her throat. “That’s not what she means, Dana. Get a clue.”

I got a clue. Quick. So that was the weird vibe I’d had about the whole Ryan thing. “So you lied to us the whole time?”

Rochelle hung her head. Tracey looked away.

Dahlia grabbed a handful of peanuts. “Sounds like she didn’t lie to everybody. Just you.”

I thought that was your job.

Tension knotted in my shoulders. “So you, too, Tracey? Looks like everybody here thinks I’m just someone to be lied to and played like a fool. Is there anything else I should know?”

Though it was a rhetorical question, I knew as soon as I’d asked it that it was a mistake. Concern clouded all their faces, especially Dahlia’s. Anything the others had to say worried me, but another confession from her in this lifetime might just do me in.

Dahlia rubbed her cheek until her palm was covered in foundation. “I understand what Tracey said about doing things wrong and then maybe having bad things happen because of it.” She bit a nail. “I mean, I’ve done a lot of things that I’m not proud of now, most of them to you, Dana. I know you don’t think so, but I do believe in God. This is just all new to me, you know? I didn’t really get it before.”