The Deal, the Dance, and the Devil (9 page)

The next Sunday, Adam and I became official members of the church—though his mother returned to Solid Rock, telling us that she wasn’t feelin’ this new kind of preaching. But Adam and I were, and now eight years later, we were founding members of one of the largest churches in Washington, D.C.

Through my thoughts, Bishop said, “Hug the person next to you and go in peace.”

I hugged Adam first, then Tamica before we made our way into the aisle. It was slow moving, as usual. The church was packed with half of its forty-five hundred members. There were rumblings that Bishop was starting to look for a larger facility.

After we’d made our way through the receiving line, Brooklyn said, “So, y’all want to head over to Golden Corral?” even though it had been weeks since we’d joined them for the Sunday brunch gathering.

“Naw,” I said. “We’re driving down to Pearly Gates.”

“Oh, that’s right. You didn’t go yesterday.” Brooklyn gave me a hug. “Y’all tell Ma Ruby I said hello.”

“Hello and good wishes from all of us,” Bishop added.

As we walked away, I heard Brooklyn ask Tamica, “So, are you bringing your behind with us?”

Tamica sucked her teeth but answered, “Yeah.”

I shook my head. My girls. I was glad we weren’t going with them because today, all I wanted was some peace. And going to see my mother-in-law always gave me that.

Chapter 11

F
OR JUST ONE AFTERNOON,
I
DIDN
’
T
want to think about bills. Or finances. Or foreclosures. For a few hours, I wanted to go back to the old days when I was just Evia Langston … a wife and a mother without issues.

God certainly answered prayers, because right now, it felt like one of those days. The twins chatted easily in the seat behind us, their talk of simple things: school, dance lessons, student government, and the upcoming schedule of parties. Then their chatter died down to whispers, meaning the subject had shifted to boys. Our daughters were eager for their sixteenth birthdays for more than just the promised party and possible cars. Turning sixteen meant that they were eligible to date, which was going to bring along an entire new slew of issues.

But still, this was life at its most normal, and I glanced over my shoulder into the backseat, taking in this view of the wonderfully mundane.

Ethan was in the row behind his sisters, his designated seat, since he was the smallest. But the fact that he was all the way in the back never bothered him. With headphones on and an electronic game in his hands, he was oblivious to the girly whispers and giggles.

Adam’s half grin let me know that through the rearview mirror, he was soaking in the same scene. He stole a quick glance at me, winked, then slipped one hand off the wheel to hold mine. I sighed, closed my eyes, and rested in the center of this calm.

Ninety minutes later, just outside of Richmond, we exited I-95. With just two more turns, Adam maneuvered the SUV through the wrought-iron entry of Pearly Gates Estates.

I didn’t move, but I did open my eyes. I wanted to take in this view, which always made me feel so serene that I often wondered what it would be like to live here. I wasn’t sure what it was about Pearly Gates—didn’t know if it was the name or the long, winding road. Or the hundred-year-old trees whose winter-bare branches bowed to us in greeting. Maybe it was the way the sun always shined, no matter the season. Whatever it was, the founders of this sixty-four-year-old estate had named it right; I imagined the welcome gates to heaven would open to a setting such as this.

Two miles up, we pulled into the lot and parked right in front of the administration building where all visitors checked in. Adam and I held hands as we strolled behind Ethan and the twins, who’d quieted their chatter.

“Good afternoon to all the Langstons!”

Nathan, the security guard, welcomed us inside the lobby the way he did every weekend when we made this trip to Virginia.

“I didn’t expect to see you on a Sunday. How you folks doing?”

“Fine,” the twins answered for all of us as Alana signed our family in.

But before we stepped toward the back of the building, Nathan said, “Ah, folks, Mary Johnson left a message for you. Asked me to have you stop by her office if you came in today.”

My hand was still inside Adam’s, and though it was just a slight flinch, I felt my husband tense. Adam asked, “She’s here today?” and the peace that had met us at the gates was gone just like that.

Nathan nodded. “I told her you never come on Sundays, but,” he shrugged, “I guess she knows more than me.” He laughed. “That’s why she runs this place and I’m out here.”

“I didn’t think she’d be here today,” Adam said more to himself than the guard.

Now I understood my husband’s desire for a Sunday, rather than our usual Saturday visit to his mother. “You folks can go right on in,” Nathan said, his tone so pleasant that one could’ve thought that Mary Johnson just wanted to say hello. But I knew that wasn’t the case.

“Daddy, do we have to go with you?” Alexa whined.

In a softer tone, Alana suggested, “Maybe we can just go on ahead to Grandma’s room?”

“Yeah,” Adam nodded. “Go on.” To me, he added, “You go, too.”

Shaking my head, I watched as the twins dashed out the back and headed toward the two-story building across the path. Ethan followed his sisters at a much slower pace, but once he was out of my sight, I turned back to Adam.

He whispered, “Go on to Ma. I’ll handle this.”

I looked over my shoulder, making certain that Nathan’s attention was away from us before I said, “I told you … I’m in this … with you.” I took his hand.

I expected at least one more round of protests, but what
I got was a slight light in Adam’s eyes. As if he was grateful. I squeezed his hand right before he knocked on the opened door.

“Ms. Johnson.”

She looked up, and her greeting was a smile. She’d told me once that she was in her midfifties, but that was hard to believe. There was not one crack in her chocolate skin, which almost shined in its smoothness. And her bouncy ponytail made her look years younger rather than the two decades she had over me.

“Mr. and Mrs. Langston.” She stood. “Come on in.”

When she strolled around her desk to shake our hands, I noticed her denim jumpsuit was more casual than anything I’d ever seen her wear. I guessed her appearance at Pearly Gates Estates on a Sunday was definitely just because of us.

“Have a seat,” she said before she went back around her desk. “I’ll make this quick because I know you want to spend as much time as you can with your mother.” With a breath, her smile disappeared and glasses were suddenly resting on the bridge of her nose. “Our records show,” she began as she opened a manila folder, “that we haven’t had a payment for your mother’s room in a couple of months.”

Adam twisted a bit in his seat. “Yeah, I know, but—”

She didn’t let my husband finish. Still looking down at the chart in front of her, Ms. Johnson added, “Four months, to be exact.” Now she looked up and into our eyes. Now she wanted to hear what Adam had to say.

“Like I told you a couple of weeks ago, I’m working on it.”

Ms. Johnson nodded slightly. “I understand,” she said in a tone that made her sound like she
was
in her midfifties. “These are difficult times for everyone.”

“Yeah, but you’re gonna get your money. We’re pulling everything together.”

She blew out a slight breath. “Would you consider”—she paused for a moment—“a semiprivate room? That will cut your expenses considerably.”

Adam was shaking his head before Ms. Johnson could even finish. “My mother has always preferred a single.”

“Well, no matter the preference, the room has to be paid for.”

I flinched at her words, at her tone.

Ms. Johnson continued, “And really, you’re so far behind, we could have your mother released to one of the public homes.”

My eyes were on Ms. Johnson, but I could feel my husband. I could feel his jaw tightening, his fingers curling. I jumped in, “We’re not going to take her out of here. Let us go home, figure this out, and get back to you next week.”

She shook her head slightly. “I’m afraid—”

“All right,” Adam said. My eyes widened when he reached into his jacket and flipped open his checkbook. “We’ll pay you for a couple of months now,” he said, writing out a check, “and by the end of the month, you’ll have the rest.”

When he handed the woman the payment, her eyes went from me to Adam, then back to me. “Thank you. This will help me keep the board at bay.”

With a nod, Adam shoved the checkbook for our empty bank account back into his jacket.

She added, “But I really need to know your intentions before the end of the month. We have to know which beds are going to be available for the beginning of the year.”

“I just told you,” Adam said. “My mother’s bed won’t be available.” Then he stood, dismissing her.

“All right, then.” Ms. Johnson stood with us. “Enjoy your visit, and thank you for understanding.”

I didn’t say a word until we were outside, crossing the lawn toward building number 12.

“I can’t believe you did that, Adam.”

“What?”

“You just wrote a seven-thousand-dollar check and there’s less than one hundred dollars in our account.”

He pressed his lips together, shoved his hands into his pocket. Said nothing.

To me, it would’ve been better if Adam had just told her that we didn’t have the money. Even better if we moved his mother to another room.

But it was his pride that wouldn’t allow Adam to tell Ms. Johnson the truth. Pride that just kept raising its head in my husband’s heart. Pride that now had him doing things that were so far out of his character.

“I can’t let them move Ma,” he finally said. “That check is going to give me what I need—just a little time. Because by the end of the month, I’ll have the job and we’ll be good.”

All I did was nod, because it didn’t make sense to tell him the truth. My husband knew what was going to happen. When that check bounced, a semiprivate room might not even be an option. We’d probably have to find his mother a new place to stay.

That was going to break Adam’s heart, so there was no need to bring him down now. Hitting the bottom was going to happen soon enough.

Chapter 12

S
ACRIFICE
.

That’s what Ruby Langston was all about.

Sacrifice and survival. Before I’d even met my mother-in-law, before she’d even carried my husband inside her womb, Ruby had been surviving heartbreak and making sacrifices.

Her history was a litany of tragedies. First, as a teenager, she’d witnessed her drunken father murder her mother because he’d seen rats crawling over her. So from the age of fourteen, she’d had to provide for herself and her sisters. For the four years following her mother’s death and her father’s imprisonment, Ruby had done that. She’d moved herself and her sisters from relative to relative, staying in dank basements, sleeping on worn couches, living with family members who’d not been at all interested in the young girls but who’d been completely interested in the government checks that had come in the girls’ names.

Even so, Ruby had trudged on. Her life had been loaded
down with school, church, and taking care of her sisters in the best manner she’d known how. She’d worked hard to instill the values that her mother had given her as the oldest—that loving Christ with all of your heart and going as far with your education as you could go were the keys to a life away from the generational poverty curse that had plagued their family.

But even with those values, even with her diligence, Ruby hadn’t been able to save her sisters. By the time Ruby graduated from high school, her sisters had been lost: the one who was just a year younger had succumbed to the very nature of D.C.’s streets—drugs; the next one, at thirteen, had been put in a juvenile facility for a list of charges—including robbery and assault—that would have her behind bars until she was twenty-one; and finally, at just eleven, her youngest sister, Ruby’s heart and the one for whom Ruby had had the most hope, had been gunned down in what was thought to have been a gang initiation shooting.

Yes, Ruby Langston had endured all of this, plus two failed marriages and the death of a child—Adam’s younger sister, just a year after she was born. But though Ruby’s heart had been broken many times, it had never hardened. Even when Adam and I brought our own wear and tear to bear on her heart, she was always there with love.

But now, six decades after she watched her mother die, Ruby’s mind had decided that it was time for her to rest. According to the doctors, she’d begun her journey to the other side.

My head was filled with these thoughts as Adam and I stood at the door of the room watching Ruby with her grandchildren.

Ruby sat by the foot of her bed in a wheelchair, her hands clutching her worn Bible, but her glassy eyes lifeless, as if she saw nothing. The twins chatted away, though, as Ethan sat on
the edge of the bed, his head down and his thumbs moving across the controls of his electronic game.

“So, Grandma, wouldn’t it be cool if you could come to our party?” Alexa asked.

Alana added, “It would probably be too much, though. Remember you said you couldn’t stand all that hip-hop music?”

Though the girls spoke as if their grandmother would answer, they knew she wouldn’t. Ruby hardly said a word these days. Though in the beginning their grandmother’s descent into dementia had shredded their young hearts, they now talked to her as if all was well.

One of the doctors had helped them cope by taking the time to explain the illness to them.

“The best way to understand this,” the doctor had said to a then eight-year-old Ethan and thirteen-year-old Alexa and Alana, “is that your grandmother has kind of gone inside of herself.”

“Why?” Ethan had asked.

The doctor had shrugged. “We don’t really know. We’re working on finding out, but it could be that she’s done so much in her life, she’s just a bit tired.”

“Of us?” the twins had chorused.