Made of Honor (19 page)

I rolled my head in a circle. “That’s okay,” I said in a low voice. “I still don’t get it sometimes myself. I just take it day by day.”

“Yeah,” Tracey said.

“It’s all you can do.” Rochelle poured herself some punch.

Dahlia nodded. “Still. I’ve done some pretty messed up stuff. Some of it, though, I didn’t mean to happen. I mean the thing with Trevor—”

“Let’s not go there.” Rochelle’s words trembled a little. She was probably remembering the lunatic I was for a while after the whole situation. Even after I was saved.

“It’s okay, Chelle. Let her talk.” For some reason, Dahlia’s words didn’t seem to bother me as much as what Tracey had said. I’d expected more from her. Dahlia had always hurt me. Well, maybe not always, but for a long time. I was getting used to it.

“Anyway, Trevor paid me back. No matter what I do, he still seems to want you—”

“Dahlia.” I cringed, remembering her haunted look as she’d run from the church.

Another sniff. “We’ve got Sierra. She needs us. We’ll work it out. He knows that you love Adrian anyway—”

Rochelle choked on her punch.

“It’s not like that exactly,” I whispered. My heart wrenched, refusing to acknowledge the admission in my tone. A baby shower. That was all this was supposed to be. Cake. Punch. Gifts. Fun. This was not fun.

Brown mascara blurred into the creases of Dahlia’s eyes. “That’s the thing I’m most sorry for. The thing I never meant to happen…” Her voice faded.

The room spun a little as words marched past my lips against my commands. “What
thing?
”

She gave me a puzzled look. “The thing with Adrian. He never told you?”

“You don’t look so good.”

I smiled at Austin. I didn’t feel so good, either.

“Rough weekend?” She stabbed at her salad.

Rough didn’t begin to describe it. “Nothing a few pounds of chocolate couldn’t cure.”

She giggled. “A few
pounds?
Oh, man. That must have been a doozy. Well, I’m glad you came to our lunch date anyway. Did you have girlfriends to console you?”

“You know it.” I took a sip of water.

“Feel better?”

I shook my head.

“Will Dove bars help or is that overkill?”

Not for this. “I’m not turning down anything, but I don’t want to get sick on you.”

She flashed me her TV smile. “Right. No need to overdo.” She maneuvered the fork again, bringing me face to face with her rock of a wedding ring once again. Talk about overdone. What archeological dig had unearthed that thing?

I knew she wanted to talk about my sister’s untimely revelation, but as much as I liked her, we weren’t that close. In truth, if Tracey and Rochelle hadn’t been there to hear it, I don’t know if I’d have told them. But they’d been there. I didn’t want to spec
ulate anymore or try to figure out the gory details. It was over. He’d ripped my heart out, roots and all. “Enough about me, Austin. How’s married life treating you?”

She shrugged. “I can’t complain. There’s a lot to work out. Joshua has lived a sheltered, loving life. I haven’t. Sometimes it’s hard for me to understand how much family means to him and it’s hard for him to understand how much my work means to me. But we both love the Lord. We’ll work it out.”

My eyes crinkled again. “The Lord? I thought he was Jewish?”

A ribbon of romaine hung out of Austin’s mouth. She sucked it in like spaghetti. “Yes, the Lord. Yeshua. Josh is Jewish in heritage, but he’s Christian by faith. Messianic. Haven’t you heard of it?”

“Sort of.” Like that Nehemiah thing Adrian went to. I’d surfed the Internet to learn more about it a few times when I couldn’t sleep, but I’d delete those bookmarks now. I’d never be going anywhere near him again.

Austin munched on, oblivious. “Oh, yeah. It’s a big thing. Jews for Jesus and all that. Wonderful services. A friend from work invited me. It blew me away.”

“Sounds amazing. Did you meet Josh at the single’s group there?” Duh. Did they even have such things?

Austin smiled. “Hardly. I didn’t even give him a second glance. I was so into Jesus I didn’t pay much attention to anyone else. His mother was paying attention though…”

“His mother? She hooked you guys up?”

“Oh, yeah. She’s a little lady, but she knows what she wants. She irons her sheets. Powders her bathroom with lavender. She cracks me up.”

I dropped my fork. “I think I’ve met her. She’s a customer.”

Austin threw back her head and laughed. “Figures. She doesn’t talk much, but she knows everything. I thought that stuff had to be yours.” She cupped her chin in her hands. “We’re having Passover with them this weekend. Christian ceremony. Want to come and surprise her?”

I chewed my bland chicken, wishing we’d gone out like I’d suggested, that I’d ordered the ribs I really wanted right now. “Sure. Why not?” At this point, the thought of surprising anyone but myself sounded pretty good.

They called him by another name, but I recognized Him immediately.

Yeshua.

Emmanuel.

Jesus.

God.

In a dimly lit parlor scented with lamb, rosemary and honeyed apples, somewhere between the bitter herbs and the matzo ball soup, Jesus became alive to me again.

Though I’d taken many communions, read all the Gospels, sang all the songs, it wasn’t until I sat around the table with a bunch of strangers that I realized that my life was not about me paying the price for my past or even making some holy tangle of rules and rituals, but rather an offering, much the same as the one made for me, however woefully inadequate it seemed.

As I envisioned the blood on the doorpost of those Hebrew slaves and the haste and hope with which they ate this meal, my anger, confusion and pain at recent events melted away, swirled into a burst of color and then ran together in one red line across my mind.

A bloodline.

“Most folks have the wine, you know. The real thing.” Mrs. Shapiro’s peppermint breath feathered across my cheek. “I had a bad time with the drink a long time ago.” She pointed upward. “He delivered me from it, but no sense in forcing the issue, eh?”

I nodded, sliding the lamb off my fork. No sense in pressing the issue indeed. The music swirled around me as she patted my hand and moved on to the next person around the table, a colossal oval that reminded me of the conference room back at Scents and Savings. Only here, people smiled.

God had brought me so far since then. Out of the stress and pressure of that world into…my own stress and pressure? The absurdity of the thought startled me. So did the gentle rushing of the music, washing over me in waves of Hebrew. The men around the table echoed the words in throaty tones. I smiled at the underlying drumbeat, eerily reminiscent of a famous rap song.

Nothing new under the sun.

Austin winked at me from across the table. Her husband waved, then gripped her hand. She blushed and I laughed, both at her and myself. She’d seemed so savvy and cosmopolitan, but in the presence of the man she loved, she acted like a sixteen-year-old girl.

They moved in to kiss and I turned away, but not before a pounding at the door sliced through the beat of the music. Austin’s stern but pleasant husband leapt from his seat and ran from the table with expectance. Austin shook her head. “Men,” she mouthed, trying to regain her composure.

I nodded, narrowing my eyes in agreement, knowing she was trying to recover. She needn’t have bothered. Her melting at the sight of her husband had only endeared me to her more. She was a sistah indeed.

Her husband returned to the table with a laughing mouth, pulling a leather-clad man behind him.

A man I knew all too well.

My fork clattered against the china. Grape juice splashed over the rim of my glass and seeped into the linen, purple raced across the table as if highlighting the path to the newcomer. “Adrian?” I choked out his name as I righted my glass.

He looked at me, first puzzled, then delighted as he grabbed a napkin to help sop up my mess. “Dana,” he said like music. “I see you found my little Bible study after all.”

T
he grape juice came out of the tablecloth, but that night stained me forever. Though I’d spent many nights since Dahlia’s confession wondering what I’d say to Adrian when we did talk again, only Christ mattered that night. We sang to Jesus. Prayed to Him. Drank Him in though worship and Word. We laughed and cried.

More intimate than any kiss or rendezvous was the simple sweetness of our Savior and one look across the table after the last prayer left me seeing Adrian as if for the first time. Seeing Jesus for the first time. As if knowing how much the night had meant and not wanting to spoil it, Adrian slipped away first with a simple wave.

“I promise not to stay away so long next time,” he said to them, while looking at me.

His presence at Broken Bread every Sunday meant his absence here, I realized.

With that, Adrian left me there to deal with Jesus. And to deal with myself. I didn’t do a good job with either.

Spring rolled in and the days peeled back, dry and scaly, ripping at old wounds. Daddy came to cook every Sunday, but he
hadn’t been to church since “the incident” as he referred to the Trevor’s little confession some weeks prior. Jordan and his girlfriend remained scarce. Rochelle and I maintained our shaky peace, solidified through silence and distance. Tracey? Well, she went home to Ryan and called me more than was healthy for either of us.

Dahlia called regularly, her voice tinged with regret. I spoke lovingly to her, surprised to hear my pity in my voice, but it was there. Pity for her…and for me.

Sure it’s nice to know that Jesus loves the little children and all, but there was also a one-of-a-kind crazy love, the love I’d felt at Austin’s dinner. Song of Solomon love. Whether I’d been operating before out of duty or discipline I didn’t know, but now there was a devotion, a bond that made me want to pull away and be touched by Him.

Filled.

My once clear-cut goals didn’t even make sense anymore. I mean, yeah, I wanted the store, but I don’t want it to own me. And this thing with Adrian…despite my vows to protect myself from him, somewhere in the worship, as God lavished His love upon me, I’d forgiven my old friend and acknowledged my love for him. Whether anything would ever change between us was up to God.

I’d loved him all my life, but how could I consider being in love with him, devoting my emotion to someone else when I wasn’t sure how to love myself? There were no easy answers, but something had changed. I wanted Adrian, and I wanted to be the mother of his babies. Yes, that was plural.

Sierra proved to be the biggest eye-opener in that regard. Kids were something I wrote off my wish list a long time ago, mainly because I didn’t think I had time enough, money enough, love enough for another human being. Being with her, I saw that God had enough love and so would I, whenever the time came.

And Trevor? I realize now what I didn’t when we were together. No woman could fill his needs. Even Dahlia couldn’t fill that pit.
Only Jesus could. The question was, what would I do with all my love now that I’d owned up to having some? Give it away again or give it all to God, where it would be safe?

Love your neighbor as yourself.

The only thing I’d been loving lately was this shop. And I couldn’t even carry that anymore. I loved my business. It fulfilled me. But if it had to end, so be it. Really, how much was too much? Where does good stewardship leave off and idolatry take over? Seeing as it’s 3:00 a.m. again—and I’m still here with sweaty braids and dirty jeans I tugged on out of my overflowing laundry basket, I’ve crossed the line somewhere.

My fast-food-littered apartment and the foot of junk on the floor of my car skipped through my mind. My gaze wandered, stopping at my belly partitioned distinctly by my belt. And my Bible, where was it again? Still in the car from church?

I sighed, skinning peaches for Tangela’s last bridal event—the one-day spa cruise. She’d promised to have the second installment of my fee tomorrow, though I wondered now if I’d even stay awake long enough to collect it. Of everything going on, this maid of honor thing had been the first place I’d crossed the line for the wrong reasons.

And it hadn’t been the last. The red numbers on my electronic balance sheet echoed the stark reality. Even with the money Tangela had owed me, only God could help me now.

Four hours of sleep managed to look good on me, or so I thought until I scrambled down the freezing boat dock in the midst of a pink army of DKNY-clad Tangela clones. There was something so ridiculous about their head-to-toe perfection that struck me as painfully funny.

Tangela didn’t seem as amused. “Did you bring the stuff?”

I nodded, lifting the tubs toward her with my peach-stained fingers.

She grimaced. “Just take them inside. Everything is ready. What happened though? You were supposed to come and help me set up.”

Hmm…true enough, I hadn’t been reading the manual, but I certainly didn’t remember any such agreement. “Well, uh, sorry, but I was working to get this stuff made and I had to get Chelle to cover the—”

“Save the sob story. The maid of honor always helps with the spa cruise. Haven’t you ever read
Modern Bride?
”

Obviously not. I stared at her, waiting for her head to start revolving completely around.

She sniffed and stormed on to the boat. “Just come on.”

Once inside, the cabin of the boat seemed much smaller than it looked from the outside. With all that pink in a cramped space it looked as if someone had dumped a vat of cotton candy on the room. As the boat swayed under my feet, I suddenly remembered where I’d left my seasickness pills.

On land.

As I struggled to find a seat next to Shemika, whom I was surprised hadn’t been relieved of her wedding hostess duties already, Tangela slithered to the front—all she was capable of in such a tight skirt—while Shemika greeted me and offered to help carry the facial tubs. I declined, of course.

Tangela’s nasal voice whined through the microphone. “I hope you have your handbooks everyone. We’ve got some great food and fun planned, but first things first. Turn to page seven and let’s walk through the dress code again….”

I rolled my eyes. Somebody ought to be having fun. My stomach was rumbling, daring to roll down the waistband of my too tight skirt. My feet were pinched into a pair of “cute” shoes so uncomfortable I’d decided to take them back, but couldn’t find the receipt. Catching my reflection in a porthole, I gasped. With my new “auburn” wash-in hair color and my bloodshot eyes, I looked like Raggedy Ann’s sloppy sister.

I stared around the room at the princesses surrounding me. Not one of them looked capable of a smile, yet they had every hair, nail and toe in place. I unbuttoned my jacket and took a deep breath. I’d take a smile over perfection any day.

Shemika tapped my shoulder. “So how are you?”

I paused. What a simple, yet difficult question. I decided to go with the safe version. Pregnant or not, she was just a child. “God is really growing me right now in some areas. But overall, I’m blessed.”

I really was starting to sound like Mother Holly.

In a much softer voice than our previous conversations, Shemika agreed. “God’s growing me, too. In more ways than one.” She lifted her head for a quick smile, then looked away. “I think she wants you, Dana.”

Tangela motioned to me from the makeshift podium at the head of our table, littered with remains of spinach salads and picked-over trout, all except for our two plates at the end. I stood and approached the bride-to-be, remembering my plan this morning to pray instead of complain—no matter how crazy she acted. I bit my cheek. I could have waited a little longer on that one. With so much going on, the rocking motion of the boat was hardly noticeable. Okay, well more than hardly, but not that noticeable.

“Hey, Tangela. Great lunch. I must say I’m tired though. I’m going to leave the facials with you and if you don’t mind, collect my check and go home—”

She cleared her throat. “About that.” She held up a hand. “There’s been some…changes. Minor changes of course, but changes just the same.”

It was that same singsong voice that people used when they’d broke your favorite CD, eaten up the last of the ice cream or left your gas tank on empty. A closer look at the bags under Miss Moneybag’s eyes signaled certain disaster. How had I missed those black moons? Probably too preoccupied with my own.
Definitely a leftover from a crying jag. More bad news. Rich girls only cried about one thing.

Money.

I dropped into the nearest chair as she prepared to share something I knew I didn’t want to hear.

“You see, Sheldon’s been cut from the Bulls, so I don’t have the, er, finances that I’d planned on. I can still pay you for the favors, but let’s reduce it to the original price we agreed on.” Her lips curved upward into a tight smile. She patted my wrist as though I were her pet poodle. “You can keep the other four thousand. Consider it a tip. O-kay?”

A tip? My head went right. Left. Then right again. “Uh, no. It’s not o-kay. Nor is it a tip. I ordered your supplies already. You said—”

Her smile disappeared. “I said what? I don’t recall. And since we have no written agreement, perhaps I should just recall my business altogether.”

I mumbled the chorus of one of the songs we’d sang at Passover under my breath. It was either me give thanks or Tangela meet her maker. I hadn’t felt “aggressive” in a long time, but suddenly I felt capable of inflicting a great deal of bodily harm.

Chill.

“Ms. Daniels, if this is the way you do business then perhaps you should go elsewhere. You broke your word.” I shoved my fists into my pockets and stood—to keep an unexpected swing from escaping me. She was doing that crinkled forehead thing and I wasn’t sure how long I could hold it in. I rose. “Oh, and by the way, whoever you get to fill the order…let me know and I’ll send her the maid of honor dress.”

“You wouldn’t,” Tangela hissed.

You shouldn’t,
my heart whispered.

“I will!” I shouted, wishing the both of them would be quiet. Why was I the bad guy for making her stick to her word? I hadn’t wanted any part in this in the first place. Now I was going to be
stuck with a bunch of bills because she changed her mind? I was in hot water with my suppliers anyway. And without my local accounts…

A low moan, sort of like the sound of cattle waiting to be milked, pierced my eardrums. “I—I knew you’d be like this…” She sputtered and slobbed between the words. The boat eased back into the pier. Was that it? The spa cruise? A spin around a man-made inlet? She was broke.

Shemika emerged beside me with a box of tissue. I shook my head. Tangela had put me on the verge of crying many times with her careless words, but this was just plain ugly. With her lipstick half across her face, she looked like a clown.

And what did that make me, the evil ringmaster? Pretty much.

“You talked a-all about G-God and then you…Ohhhh!”

I took a deep breath. I’d try to witness to the girl one time and now she had to go and pull that card? I sighed. She’d only paid half. I was out five thousand bucks that I’d already spent to keep the store afloat. What on Earth was I going to do now?

Charge it to my account.

Come on, Lord. Sure I’ll let You cover her arrogance and rudeness, but what about the money? What about me? Why must I always be the one to lay myself down? What about the bill for Rochelle and Tracey lying to me, for Mama dying and leaving me, for Jordan leaving me behind, for Daddy wanting to be his father all of the sudden as if I haven’t been here all the time?

Tears blinded my eyes. Who was going to save me this time?

I am. I’ll take care of you, Dana. Just like always.

I shrugged. “Don’t worry about the money.”

Tangela’s eyes miraculously dried up. A moistened facial cloth appeared from her bag and whisked her face clean. Wow. She was actually pretty under all that paint.

A hand tugged at my arm. Shemika’s. “Don’t worry, Tangie. You, either, Dana. I’m sure your boyfriend will hook you up.”

My head snapped in her direction. My boyfriend? “I don’t have a—”

Shemika pointed out the window to a larger boat docked a few feet away. On top was a small group of people. I made out Austin’s face, then her husband and Mrs. Shapiro. A tall, dark man with a guitar sat between them.

He started to strum.

Adrian’s arms closed around me like a fortress. I had no strength or desire to get free. I was spent, plain and simple.

His face leaned in toward mine. “I know things didn’t work out the way you planned. I’m sorry about that.” He paused, pulling me farther down the boardwalk, his guitar banging against his back like some mariachi band member.

“You do know that I’m willing to help—”

Hadn’t he helped enough? I groaned. “So you’re my sugar daddy, now?”

He flinched, then smiled. “I’m only two years older than you so I don’t think I quite qualify for that role. And in case you forgot, we’re friends. Would you turn down help from Tracey? Didn’t Rochelle loan you the money to open the shop?”

Hmm…he had me there. Although the loan had turned into more of a gift at this point. Even if I held on to Wonderfully Made, paying off that debt would take the next twenty years. Rochelle urged me to forget about it, probably because it was Jordan’s money anyway. I wasn’t sure if that was any better. Owing Visa was bad enough, but family? Not cool. I didn’t want to add Adrian to my list of creditors. “Sure she loaned me the money, but I hate that I put her in that position.”

I bit my lip before saying something that I’d been thinking for weeks, but didn’t dare voice. “Maybe this is God’s way of shutting the door on the business….”

Adrian came up short and looked overhead. He kissed my hand. A strange look passed over his face. What was he thinking
of? Sandy? His mother? Other times when he had been “so sure,” too? “Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe God is opening the door to something else.”

My cheeks and forehead bunched up into an expression I’m sure resembled Tangela’s Klingon look. “Something like what?”