Walk a Straight Line (19 page)

“I know. I totally understand.”

“This is awkward. But, let's at least agree that while we'll never regret what happened between us, we'll never allow it to happen again. We'll never allow ourselves to be put in that situation again.”

Keith nodded in agreement. “I can live with that. Can you?”

Terence called Bishop Greenfield and informed him that he'd decided to withdraw his candidacy for the ministerial position. The bishop was saddened at the news. “Terence, you're making a rash decision. Take some time and reconsider.”

But Terence was adamant, and he convinced the bishop that he would not change his mind.

Bishop Greenfield stubbornly repeated, “Wait a few days to think it through completely, and then give me a call. If you feel the same way, then I'll accept your decision. In the meantime, I'll be praying for you.”

Terence agreed to the bishop's terms, but knew that he was not about to change his mind. His heart was not in it, especially since it would be without his wife by his side. Bereft, he took a few days off work to get his mind together.

He looked a sorry mess. It had been three days since New Year's Eve, and he was still wearing the same clothes. He had not showered or shaved. The only thing he had done was pray. He had been on his knees practically the entire night, repenting and begging God to allow Colleen to give him another chance. “Lord, if you just soften Colleen's heart, I will never ever hurt her again.”

When he wasn't praying, Terence was calling Colleen and leaving messages on her cell and their answering machine. Each time, his heartfelt pleas got even longer and even more poignant. But Colleen had not returned his calls. He didn't even know if she was at home. She could be anywhere. Her cell phone was turned off. Terence could only continue to pray and hope for a divine intervention. He needed God's help. Now.

 

 

Francine opened the door to a familiar face.

“Hello, Sister Francine,” came the formal greeting.

“Hello, Bishop Greenfield,” Francine responded and let him in.

“I'm here about Terence,” he said. “For the first time since I've known you, I am truly mad at you. You have some explaining to do.”

“Oh?” Francine asked with an air of innocence.

“Surely, you know that he's resigned,” the bishop informed her. “I'm not falling for that innocent act. Not today.”

Francine held up her hand. “Whoa . . . Yes, I know.” It was no use trying to deny it.

“What did you do?”

“Me?” Bewildered, Francine took a step back at this belligerent tone. Was he trying to blame this all on her? She looked slyly at the bishop, wondering if Terence had told him anything from his childhood or . . . Boy, the secrets were too numerous to count.

Then she dismissed the thought. Terence was not the type to talk about his personal business to just anybody.

“Yes, you,” Greenfield replied. “It's no use trying to pretend, Francine. I know you're behind this, or you have an idea of what's going on.”

Francine sat down with hunched shoulders. She couldn't lie to him. Besides, Bishop Greenfield was the only person still talking to her, and she needed someone to talk to. She no longer had Terence. Francine shocked herself by confessing how she'd interfered with Terence and Colleen's marriage because she'd felt he'd chosen Colleen over her. “I was afraid to be alone,” she explained. “But, I went too far.” Francine gathered her courage and told about how she'd invited Dana to drive a wedge between the couple.

Bishop Greenfield leaned forward. Fury emanated from every fiber of his being. “I don't believe you,” he spat out. “How could you do something like that? I can't believe that you did something so malicious and cruel to your own son.”

Francine was not prepared for his anger and put her hand to her throat. She had never seen him act this way toward her before. “I . . . I . . .”

“I had no idea you were so selfish!” Greenfield huffed. “That is not how God wants you to be. That's not how
I
want you to be.”

Francine's eyebrows shot up at his last statement. He had made it personal. She retaliated. “I'm not answerable to you, Bishop. Only God.”

“Yes! Yes, you
are
answerable to me!” he returned heatedly.

Francine gasped. She was appalled at his harsh tone. He was sounding more like her man than her pastor. Francine was unsure of how to deal with this stranger before her. He had always been so kind and good to her. What on earth had she done to deserve this? “Why? Why am I answerable to you?” Francine asked the last question without an ounce of respect. She was going to give it as he was dishing it.

“Because I have been in love with you for the past ten years. That's why,” the bishop panted. Then he got quiet as he realized what he had just revealed.

Francine's mouth hung open, dumbfounded by his confession. “I had no idea.” She hadn't seen this coming.

“That's because you were too busy minding your son's business to realize it,” he said and jumped to his feet. “Now, I'm not even sure what I ever saw in you. I was in love with a figment of my imagination. Because the person I fancied myself in love with would never purposely destroy two lives because of jealousy. It's time you let your son go and for you to live your own life. Woman, get a life!”

With that last statement, Greenfield stormed out of Francine's house. Francine wasn't even given a chance to make a comeback. She was too struck down to reply.

She moped around the house. She prayed to God for strength but knew what she had to do. Thus, the reason she was standing outside Colleen and Terence's home. She bunched her shirt in her hands before catching herself. Smoothing the wrinkles and patting her hair, Francine supposed she was as ready as she would ever be.

She gathered her courage and walked up the small flight of stairs. Nervously, she pressed the little round button and waited. She saw Colleen peer through the window and prayed for the younger woman to open the door. She wouldn't blame Colleen if she didn't let her inside. But Francine knew that this was something that she had to do.

She waved when Colleen looked through the windows a second time. Francine knew Colleen wished she would disappear into thin air, but she dug her heels into the ground. She wasn't going anywhere, and if she had to stand outside all day, she would.

She expelled a relieved sigh when Colleen opened the door, albeit with evident reluctance.

Francine nodded at the young woman and entered with a light, “Hello, Colleen. Thanks for letting me in.”

Colleen assessed her with shock.

Francine touched her hair self-consciously. She knew she must look a hot mess because she wasn't wearing any makeup and her nails were unkempt.

Colleen plowed her hands through her own hair. She didn't look like a beauty queen at the moment, either. “I'll be right back,” she said.

“I'll be here,” Francine answered and took a seat. She hoped Colleen took the moment to drag a comb through her hair.

Truthfully, Francine was glad for the brief reprieve. She used that time to gather her thoughts. Groveling did not come easy for her, but she knew that this was the time for it. She had come to try to make amends.

Lionel had been so mad at her, and she couldn't have that. Francine blushed at the thought of using the bishop's first name. But ever since his declaration the other day, she had begun to privately think of him as Lionel. She whispered the name aloud. Francine supposed that she could get used to it. She hadn't had the nerve to call him since he'd stormed out of her house. She knew that there was no point in calling him without first fixing things.

Colleen returned. Francine could see that she had made an effort to make herself presentable for she smelled the distinct minty toothpaste, signaling that she'd just brushed her teeth. She'd also changed her robe into a jogging suit.

Francine gathered her courage and started talking. “Colleen, I came here to apologize because I am a fool . . .”

Francine talked until her mouth felt parched. When she took her leave, she wasn't sure how much progress she'd made, but there was more to do. At least Colleen had listened.

For the second time that day, she stood outside another door. This would be the more difficult of the two, but she couldn't back down now. “Get it together,” she upbraided herself. Warily, she hit the knocker.

Terence answered the door. “What do you want?”

For an instant, Francine was caught off guard. But she barged her way in anyway. “I want to talk to you,” she declared. Colleen had been the one to give her Terence's hotel and room number. She had obtained it from one of the several messages he had left on the answering machine.

“You and I have nothing to talk to about,” Terence shouted in her face and turned to leave.

“Colleen told me where you were,” Francine replied, ignoring his tirade. He whipped around at the mention of his wife's name. Aha! Open sesame . . . He sat down and curiosity blazed in his eyes.

“I went to see her today,” Francine explained as she settled further into the chair. “I knew I owed her a big apology.”

Terence's eyebrows shot up at her confession. He gave her a speculative look. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

“I realized how wrong and how selfish I was,” Francine admitted.

“What new stunt is this you're trying to pull?”

Francine heaved. “Don't narrow your eyes at me, all suspicious and stuff. I'm not pulling anything. Can't a woman just be sorry for her actions?”

“Not you,” Terence jibed. “You've never been sorry for anything you did a day in your life.”

“Well, I am,” Francine countered. “I'm sorry, Terence.”

Terence stood up, looked her dead in the eye and said, “It's too late for sorry. My marriage is over, Mother. There's nothing you can do or say to salvage that now. Colleen made it perfectly clear that she wants nothing more to do with me—ever.”

Francine opened her mouth, but words failed.

Terence, however, didn't have that problem. He slapped his head and gave a cackle. “Oh, let me guess. Bishop Greenfield told you, didn't he? That's why you're so penitent all of a sudden. Well, Mother, if you came here thinking this sorry song is going to change my mind, well, think again.”

“No!” Francine denied, vehemently shaking her head. It was like he was going to misread everything she did or said. How was she to get through to him? “That's not why I'm here.”

“Oh, so, the bishop didn't tell you anything?” Terence spat out.

“Yes!” Francine answered, “But—”

“But nothing!” he interjected harshly. “I think you should leave, Mother. You've done enough for a lifetime.”

Anger infused her spine. Her hands shook. Terence was not even giving her a chance to explain. She shouted, “When I said that I was sorry, I wasn't talking about your marriage, Terence. I was talking about . . .” Francine paused, gulped, and gathered her courage. “I was talking about other personal matters between you and me, and I came here to explain.”

Terence looked at her.

Francine met him look for look. They kept that position for what felt like forever.

Then Terence said, “Okay, tell me.”

Francine hung her head in shame.
Here goes nothing.
“Let me tell you a story of a little girl. Her name was Francine, and she got pregnant by some sweet-talking, light-skinned, wavy-haired loser, so her parents kicked her out. She was only fourteen, and she was a disgrace to her family. So, anyway, this girl, Francine, was sent to live with her aunt. She had the baby, but she had to work and go to school. Things were hard, and she begged and begged her parents to let her come back home. But they wouldn't let her return no matter how she pleaded. Francine decided she'd show them by making sure that her child turned out to be something. He wasn't going to be trash. This made Francine especially hard on her son. Then one day, Francine got a phone call.”

She stopped, not sure of how to continue. She could barely conceal the agony she felt. Shaking her head, she tried to stem the harsh pain. No, she had to do this. She had to go there. Francine clutched her stomach as memories assailed her. She felt herself cracking as she lost what semblance of control she had left.

“Go on, Mom. Tell me.”

Comforted by the friendly tone in her son's voice, Francine lifted her hand to touch his face for a brief second. His gentleness gave her the courage to press on. However, she couldn't look him in the eye. “Well, I got a phone call, you see. And it was my mother. She called to tell me that my father had died. I started crying. I wanted to go to my father's funeral, and my mother wouldn't let me.” Francine cried again as the awful recollections resurfaced.

Francine regressed to that time in her life. She had never wanted to go back there, but she knew she must. For her son's sake, and for her own.

“It's okay, Mother,” Terence interrupted and used his hand to wipe her small face. “I can't bear to see you so broken. I don't want this, Mother.”

He got her some napkins and a glass of water. But she'd come too far to turn back now. “I have got to do this,” Francine said as she wiped her tears. “So, my mother was adamant. She said that my father would turn over in his grave if I showed up at his funeral; then she hung up on me. Once she did that, Terence, I swear, I think I just lost it. I used to spank you before, and I know I was hard on you, but it was nothing like this. You weren't as young as you thought, either. Terence, you were actually nine years old when this happened. I only remembered that I started yelling at you and blaming you. I put the blame on your shoulders when I shouldn't have. The only thing you tried to do was comfort me, and you put your arms around me, and I . . .” Francine started crying.