A Love So Deep (5 page)

G
raham
looked in the mirror, admiring his fresh look. It made him feel like a million dollars. Amanda didn’t peer back at him today. He looked for her, but she didn’t appear—like she knew Graham needed this time.

Graham rose early this Sunday morning, anxious for the new day he’d promised himself. He put on his best Brooks Brothers suit, a gray pin-stripe, double-breasted piece. It made him look devilishly handsome. He plopped his feet in a slick pair of Stacy Adams his daughter Deborah had given him last Christmas. He hadn’t heard from either of his daughters in a week—probably tired of putting up with an old fool who didn’t want anyone’s help, even theirs.

Graham patted his hair in place, examining it for the sixth time. When Amanda was alive, it was she who gave him the nod of approval, and as long as he had Amanda’s thumbs up, nothing much else mattered. Graham could hear the sputtering of an automobile and then the blast of a horn. Charlie had arrived to take him to church. Amanda would have chuckled at the idea of Charlie escorting Graham to church.

Graham took one last look in the mirror, then headed out the door. It was a beautiful day outside. The birds chirped loudly, adding music to the already colorful backdrop the city lent. The sun in its splendor, radiating showers of love everywhere, put a smile on Graham’s face. Even Charlie, sitting tall behind the wheel of his red Honda Accord XL, seemed to be mesmerized by all that God had made. Charlie’s long arm outstretched beyond the open window, beckoned the sun to come sit in the palm of his hand.

Charlie gave Graham the longest smile when Graham approached the car to get in. It had taken some doing—some prayer and a little cussing, but Graham Peters was on the road to recovery. Even though forty years had passed and new lives had been formed, loves garnered and lost, Graham and Charlie looked like the old duo from St. Louis ready to set out on a new adventure.

The church on Market Street was about a twenty-minute drive from Graham’s house. Charlie would have to step on it if they planned to be on time. Graham sat silent reflecting on the last time he had been to church. It was the day he had buried Amanda.

Graham’s heart was pounding so hard he felt it could be heard across town. They parked the car outside the church on Market Street, and Charlie jumped out and extended his arm to Graham, hoping the support would make Graham feel more comfortable. Graham’s knees could scarcely keep him up. The parking lot was full and it seemed that everybody who was anybody decided to make this church the place to worship.

As the pair came close to entering, Graham hesitated, not sure that this was a good idea after all.

“C’mon, Graham. Everything’s going to be all right,” Charlie said.

“I can’t do this, Charlie. I just don’t feel right. I can still see Amanda lying…”

“Well, praise the Lord. It’s Deacon Peters and his friend Charlie,” Sister Mary Ross said upon opening the door and finding the two of them standing on the steps. “Ya’ll go on in and make yourselves comfortable in the Lord’s house.”

“Thank you, Sister Ross,” Graham replied, catching another glimpse of her backside once she passed by them.

“If I didn’t know any better,” Charlie chimed in, “I think Sister Mary is a little sweet on you, Graham.”

“You’re exaggerating, Charlie. But did you get a look at that…?” Graham gestured with his hands pointing to his backside.

“You mean her ass?”

“We’re in the house of God, Charlie. Let’s go in before I change my mind.” They looked at each other and chuckled.

As the pair made their way down the aisle, heads turned forty-five degrees left and right, depending on what side of the aisle they sat. Eligible bachelorettes, young and old, did double-takes when they realized who the handsome gentlemen were that graced their sanctuary. A couple of Charlie’s past flames nodded their availability, flashed elongated eyelashes, tossing their weaved manes for further effect.

But it was Graham who stopped short before the pew Charlie had selected. Right before him sat his children—Deborah and her husband, Grant, alongside Elizabeth and her husband, Riley. They stared at one another, disbelieving their own eyes. Graham was ashamed at how he had treated them—the daughters he loved with all his heart. They turned around and stood with tears staining their faces and embraced their father who had somehow come back from the dead.

Pastor Fields, now in his eighties, stood before the congregation, flashing his new set of dentures and directing the parishioners to join in a hymn of praise.
The wooden pews that held the hymnals and Gideon Bibles still look the same,
Graham thought. It had only been two months.

Graham reached for the hymnal, but the tempo and the beat of the music led to a hand-clapping celebration of praise. “This is a time for rejoicing,” Reverend Fields shouted. “The Lord has brought our lost lamb back into the fold.” Graham and Charlie looked from one to the other, not sure if Reverend Fields were talking about them or some other lost sheep.

The rhythmic thumping and clicking of Mother Hattie Mae Johnson’s and Sister Betty Boyd Floyd’s high-heeled shoes on the worn-out floorboards left a cloud of dust in its wake. The bass of the Hammond organ pumped by the long slender fingers of Reverend Fields’ granddaughter, Charlotte, intermingled with the percussion of the snare drum and added to the frenzy of the dancers, the Spirit-filled dancers, lost in their reverent praise of the Almighty.

Charlotte made the organ roar, and the worshippers jumped from every pew surrounding Graham and Charlie. Graham was enjoying himself and felt a sly grin slide out the corner of his mouth. He looked over at Charlie who seemed terribly uncomfortable and afraid—afraid he’d get caught up, because he had too much running and womanizing left in him to give up all to follow Jesus. Yes, Graham had missed the congregation, and he felt a tear fall down his cheek remembering that it was in this very church that he met Amanda with no intention of ever coming back. He was home.

As Reverend Fields rose to speak, images of Amanda lying before the crowd at her homegoing enveloped Graham. His leg began to tremble, first slowly, then picking up the pace. His foot tapped on the floor, creating a melody all its own—shoving Graham’s anxiety out in the open. He couldn’t shake the image of Amanda in her coffin and dropped his head to avoid looking straight ahead.

“We are all going to meet Our Maker one day,” Reverend Fields exhorted, extending his index finger toward Heaven. And Graham fled, with Charlie close at his heels, followed by Deborah, Elizabeth, and their husbands.

They caught up with him in the vestibule, Graham now sobbing uncontrollably. “Why did your mother leave me?” he wailed. “God, why did You take her away from me?”

“Daddy, it’s going to be all right,” Deborah said, forever the family spokesperson. “Liz and I miss Mom, too. You have to know that her spirit lives on inside of us.”

“Yes, Daddy, Deborah is right,” Elizabeth interjected. “Mom lived a good life, but she wants us to honor her by going on and living our lives to the fullest. We weren’t trying to get you to forget Mom; she’ll always be in our hearts. If not for yourself, you have to be strong for the rest of us—me, Deborah, and your grandchildren.”

Graham pushed back the tears. “I know you girls are right, and I apologize for the way I’ve been acting. If it weren’t for Charlie here, I wouldn’t be here now. You all bear with me. I’m doing the best I can. I just saw your mother lying in there all over again, and I guess it spooked me. You’re right; I’ll be fine.”

“Everything all right?” Sister Mary asked, as she appeared through the double doors of the church, pushing a tissue at Graham. “If there’s anything you need, just call on me. I can stop by your house later this evening and bring you some dinner, Deacon Peters.”

“That ain’t a bad idea, Sister Mary,” Charlie chimed in. “You got enough for all of us?”

Graham smiled in the direction of his daughters. He was so proud of them. They had been a rock after Amanda’s heart attack; and all they wanted to do was care for him. Charlie breathed a sigh of relief.

A
ll
the progress Charlie had made, which amounted to one small victory in getting Graham out of the house, was undone in the course of one hour. It was going to take a miracle of major proportion to untie a knot Graham might ball himself into if left alone again, and Charlie knew he couldn’t let Graham go there.

Charlie and Graham took off down the street promising to meet up with Deborah, Elizabeth and their families, along with Sis. Mary, for dinner at Graham’s later on. The sun was straight overhead, illuminating the scene that had left Graham breathless earlier that morning. It had been a long time since Graham and Charlie had hung out together. When Amanda was alive, life centered on her and the family.

Charlie drove into the heart of downtown Oakland casually waving his hand as he passed familiar faces. This was his territory; and he came alive as if his very presence was the indication for life to begin. Even for a Sunday afternoon, activity seemed to evolve—perhaps the knowledge that with sundown another week of labor would begin.

“Hey, Graham,” Charlie said enthusiastically, slapping Graham across the ribs, “let’s hit the Water Hole for a couple of drinks.”

“Man, you know that’s not my scene—haven’t even seen the inside of a bar since I can remember. And…we just left church. I’m a deacon and a Christian.”

“Yeah, yeah. Remember, I know you. C’mon, buddy. We can have a couple of brews—maybe shoot some pool. You need to relax, unwind a little.”

“I don’t know. Maybe you should take me home.”

“What’s at home, Graham? You’ve got no one to go home to.”

Graham shot Charlie a hateful glance, so hot it could have melted butter. “If I was driving this car, your ass would be on the side of the road.”

Charlie chuckled. “No need to get on the offensive, Graham. Just want to see you enjoy life a little—spread your wings. You’ve been cooped up in the house for too long. You could stand a little excitement.”

They drove along in silence for the next few blocks. Urban dwelling had changed a lot of things. Drug dealers cruised neighborhoods looking for buyers. Lazy, afternoon hookers strolled the streets looking for a stray trick. Kids toted guns at school daring the teacher to make them follow the rules. Children played in playgrounds oblivious to their surroundings—then begged to be an errand boy in the gang. Life certainly had changed since the days Graham and Charlie had first arrived in Oakland.

Charlie made a sharp turn to the right and then another into the small, cramped parking lot that served the Water Hole. A red cherry sat in a tall cocktail glass with the colorful words “The Water Hole” splashed across the bar’s large Plexiglas sign. Three or four older gentlemen graced the walkway outside, dibbling and dabbling in small bits of chatter. They all had some history, a story to tell and appeared to belong to a society of brotherhood. Each wore a polo cap of assorted colors and fabrics which sealed their bond.

“Hey, Charlie,” one of the men shouted with a smile as big as a watermelon.

“What’s happening, Moe? Good day to be alive!”

“You bet! Even with all the aches in my body, I feel good.”

“Shelly’s inside. Been askin’ for you. Who you got here?” Moe asked, turning to get a better look at Graham.

“I’m Graham…Graham Peters.” The men shook hands.

“He’s my best friend,” Charlie added. “We go way back.”

“We ain’t never seen you around here,” Floyd put in. “You must be one of them special friends ‘cuz we thought we knew all Charlie’s friends.”

“Graham is a Christian man. Just lost his wife. We’re here to cheer him up,” Charlie said, feeling the need to explain and justify their being at the Water Hole.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Graham,” the group said in chorus.

“Nice to meet you, too,” Graham replied, finding no other reason to continue the conversation.

Charlie led Graham into the lounge that was dimly lit but littered with people throughout. Graham could hear soft music playing in the room they had not yet entered—the room that stragglers went in to shoot the breeze, drown their sorrows, or just pass the time away. Scantily clad waitresses scuttled throughout the room taking orders for drinks.

A high-yellow woman who appeared to be in her early forties made her way through the cluster of men as soon as she saw Charlie and Graham enter. “Hey baby, you buying me a drink?” She placed a quick kiss on Charlie’s lips, brushing up against him slightly, and turned to get a better look at the man who accompanied him. “And, who might this fine gentleman be?” Shelly asked as her eyes moved from north to south, taking in all of Graham’s five feet, eleven inches.

“Shelly, Graham. Graham, Shelly. This is my boy from way back.”

Shelly took a once-around Graham stopping within inches of his face, his mouth, and his lips. Graham backed up, and said, “It’s nice to meet you, Shelly.”

“Look, why don’t we go and sit at the bar,” Charlie chimed in, becoming a little irritated at the attention Shelly was giving Graham. “Two Chivas, Harry. One for me and the lady. Graham, whatever you want, it’s on your buddy, Charlie.”

“A Coke will be fine,” Graham insisted.

“No, Harry. Give my buddy a beer. It’ll take the edge off of him.”

Graham sat still, not bothering to look at Charlie. He wasn’t sure how he allowed this to happen, but here he was where he didn’t want to be. This was the last time Graham was going to let Charlie muscle him into doing something he didn’t want to do.

“Where have you been all of my life?” Shelly purred, pulling on Graham’s tie like he was a tuna fish fresh out of water.

“I’ve been with my wife and children,” Graham said, hastily rescuing his tie from a surprised Shelly.

“Well, what are you doing here? You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself,” Shelly plowed on.

“His wife just passed,” Charlie said, becoming even more perturbed that he had to explain it yet again.

“As in died?” Shelly asked, trying to make the connection. Her eyes widened and her mouth became a huge circle. “Ohh…Sugar, you must be awfully lonely…”

Graham jumped up from the stool and went hurriedly to the men’s room. He was tired of hearing Charlie make explanations for his being in that dump. He didn’t even want to be here. God, Amanda must be shaking a big finger at him. He could hear her say,
Couldn’t wait for me to leave you before you went running back to that life of sin. Didn’t I mean anything to you?

No, baby,
Graham said to himself.
It’s not as it appears. I will always love you.

Graham did his business and went back to the bar where Charlie and Shelly were deep in conversation. He’d try and stick it out, but this was the last time.

The small band picked up their instruments for the beginning of a new set. A long-legged, dark-skinned woman came to the stage. She appeared to be in her late forties or early fifties with a complexion as smooth as silk, and was wrapped in a black skin-tight dress that hit just above the knees. She plucked the mike gracefully from the stand and sat on the edge of a tall brass stool, poising herself for the first number. The band checked their pitch and then immediately went into some soft jazzy numbers. It was her intro—and Graham couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

“I’m Rita Long, and this is my band, Midnight Express. I’m going to sing, and if you feel like clapping your hands, do so. If you feel the groove, let your groove thing swing. If you feel like making love, do it on your own time because right now, I want all of your attention.”

“You got my attention!” yelled a large, burly man in the crowd. “You got my attention.”

Couples jumped to the floor when Rita began singing. She started with a jazzy number called “Route 66.” It had an upbeat tempo that made you just want to get up and click your heels. Charlie was on his second Chivas, and Shelly felt like dancing.

“Hey, Graham, why don’t you dance with me?”

Graham waved his hand no, but no sooner had he done that, Shelly wrapped her hand around his wrist, snatching him up from his propped position at the bar and propelled him onto the stage. Graham was dumbfounded and stood in the middle of the crowd looking like the village idiot. “Dance!” someone shouted. “Dance.”

Shelly took Graham’s arm and flung him around—just like Amanda had done so long ago.
What was it with women?
He knew how to lead and be led; Graham just wasn’t sure that he wanted Shelly to be the one to lead him. Shelly twirled him gracefully, showing him the steps that could possibly make him swing champion one day. After Graham got the hang of it, he actually started enjoying himself. He and Shelly must have danced the next four songs non-stop. Then Ms. Rita Long broke it down real slow.

Shelly pulled him close, brushing her ample breasts on his chest. That stirred something in Graham that he did not want stirred. He glanced over at Charlie who despite his fourth drink was not taking too kindly to Graham monopolizing all of Shelly’s time.

“Why don’t we sit this one out?” Graham suggested.

“Sugar, I was just beginning to enjoy the way your body was feeling next to mine.”

“What about Charlie?”

“What about Charlie? Charlie’s my good-time man—I like you.”

Shelly held Graham in a vise grip, and even if he wanted to, Graham would not feel the padding of his seat for a while. Shelly held him hostage for the next four songs, grinding her body into Graham—inviting him to take a sample. But Graham stole quick glances at the lovely Ms. Rita every chance he got. She seemed like a real lady—like his Amanda was, only he found Amanda in the House of the Lord and Rita was at The Water Hole.

Graham finally sat down exhausted and drained with Shelly at his heels. She seemed to be a nice girl, but she definitely wasn’t Graham’s type. Her ample bosom and honey-blonde features didn’t arouse him. Anyway, she was Charlie’s girl, no matter what Ms. Shelly said.

Disappointment was all over Shelly’s face as her attempts to charm Graham went unnoticed. “Let’s go, Charlie. I’m bored here. Let’s go back to your place.”

“I’ve got to drop Graham off first, but after that, it’s you and me, girl.”

Graham didn’t understand Charlie. But he had to admit, at age sixty-two, Charlie hadn’t missed a beat. Graham wished, though, that Charlie could have settled down and been a real husband to Ernestine who had really loved Charlie but could not make Charlie love her back.
Women would always be in his blood; and no one woman would ever do.