Made of Honor (24 page)

“And you invited me over today to make me to understand that?”

She giggled, then cleared her throat. “Not exactly. I’ve been wanting to get you all to myself for a while. I love Dahlia and your other friends, but they don’t seem to like me too much.”

“What gives you that impression?”

“Rochelle, for one. I’ve bought some pumps and a pair of mules from her since you turned me on to her place, but she didn’t seem too happy to get my money.”

It was my turn to laugh. “She just looks like that.”

Austin shook her head. “I’m in journalism, Dana. I know when someone dislikes me. Besides, someone else came in right after me and she lit up like a bulb…and the other woman was white, so it wasn’t a white-black thing. It’s personal.”

I blew out a breath. She went there, didn’t she? Austin should fit right in. “Okay, so maybe Rochelle’s got a problem, but it’s not with you, it’s with me. Same as the thing between me and Adrian. Issues, girl. Issues.” I pulled the top off one of the lemon ices heaped next to my plate. The yellow slush oozed down my throat, swallowing my thoughts with icy sweetness.

Austin grabbed one and attacked it with her spoon. “Issues? C’mon. You don’t have to give me details, but I’ve learned these last few months that you are a resilient woman. Whatever else it is, God can handle it. Just put it out there, you know?” She licked her spoon. “Aren’t these good?”

I nodded.

My God is my shield and my salvation. Whom shall I fear?

What was I afraid of? Why not just clear things up with Adrian, Chelle and whoever else and let the chips fall where they may? “I don’t know if my sister can continue to work for me.”

Austin nodded. “She’s insecure, Dana. I’ve been around those types of women all my life. What you and Adrian have is so obvious and what she has with Trevor is tenuous. Pray for her and stand your ground.” She sipped her mineral water between spoonfuls of lemon ice. “And give her a good recommendation.”

A long, lost laugh came up from my belly. The big kind, the kind that made milk come out your nose in grade school. It seemed like forever since I’d laughed like that. “You crack me up, you know that?”

She nodded. “So you’ve told me. I do hope things work out for your sister and The Fonz—”

My head fell back at her nickname for Trevor. The Black Fonzarelli. That was him for sure. “Girl, you are about to make me holler to the top of my lungs. That is too funny.”

Austin looked blank that time. “That’s funny? I call him that all the time. He comes to the study at Nehemiah.”

I held my throat. “You call Trevor that to his face?”

She nodded, wide-eyed. “Is something wrong with that?”

He’s for real saved.

I shook my head. “I guess not. So he comes over there, too? His car is at our church like he works there or something. I guess he’s taking this pretty seriously.”

“Yep. Dahlia comes too, most times brings the baby. Such a cutie, that one. The last time they came, Josh’s mother didn’t
stop nudging me the whole night. She’s on the hunt for a grandchild.”

I bit my lip. “Must be nice to have things fall into place so neat like that. Rich husband—” I waved my hand over the room “—beautiful home. I guess a baby would be next.” I tried not to think about Shemika and her growing belly. She and Jericho showed up at my house more and more. The fun had worn off and the reality had set in. It would be a long haul for all of us.

Austin’s spoon thudded against the linen tablecloth. She smiled in contradiction to the tear running down her face. “Dana, I can’t have children.” She flipped the tear away. “My mother-in-law, she doesn’t know.”

I reached across the table for her hand. “I’m so sorry.” Her salad plate fell and broke as she pulled back. My hand slid across the empty space.

Austin closed her eyes for a moment. “Forgive me. I’ve asked so much of you today, while guarding myself at the same time. If we’re going to be friends, real friends, I guess that won’t work, will it?”

Shaking my head, I thought about how easy Tracey, Rochelle and I had it in our friendship. We’d grown up together, knew most everything about each other. It was easy. Comfortable. This would require more. So I closed my eyes and leaned forward, listening as Austin began her story.

“I came from nothing. And wanted everything. In between, I lost it all….”

Somewhere between the stories of our pasts, the lowfat fudge bars and the brisk walk to work them off, Austin and I gave one another a precious gift—grace. There were no commentaries or explanations, no defenses or placement of blame, only tears and laughter in all the right places. In the end, we’d parted ways with the strength to confront those we’d hurt and those who’d hurt us.

Knowing my recalcitrant nature, I dropped by Rochelle’s shop and left a note on the way home, followed by several un
answered phone calls. As the clock struck midnight, I lost my nerve for any more peacekeeping and decided to tackle Dahlia and Adrian the following morning at work. Both posed a great problem, since my claim against one involved the other. I’d forgiven Dahlia—again—that day at the shower, but somehow her wrong had grown wings from the altar where I’d left it and dropped disease all over my spirit. It was time to bring all my “issues” down to earth.

When I arrived the next morning though, and saw Adrian and Dahlia, laughing together, looking so beautiful, so perfect, my well-planned words escaped me. I returned their waves, but slid behind the protection of the computer at the back of the store, checking for Tracey’s devotion to bolster myself. As I clicked on it, I remembered something—it was Rochelle’s week. Too late. The words filled the screen.

Therefore, if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there in front of the altar. First go and be reconciled to your brother; then come and offer your gift.

I stared at the computer screen, blinking through my tears, afraid to scroll down and read the words that followed. The heading, Urgent Grace, had almost escaped me. Though it was copied to the loop, it was my name alone that came next.

Dana,

I write asking your forgiveness and to say that this year has been more difficult than I could ever have imagined. Somehow you’ve been tangled up in the middle of it all. I tried to spend some time with the Lord today. The Lord met me there and took my hand, leading me to this verse in the Word. And so I come, cowardly I admit, writing an e-mail instead of calling or coming over, but it’s all that I have today.

Will you please forgive me? And not just for what’s been going on lately, but for the last few years. I’ve been a controlling maniac over you since you became a Christian. I’ve so wanted to protect you that I put you under rules and systems that I couldn’t even keep myself. And now I fear you’ll become as confused and bitter as I have.

Don’t. You’re a wonderful, beautiful woman. Your own woman. I release you, Dana, from everything that I’ve placed over you. May only the good things remain. I pray our next meeting will be better than our last.

In Him,

Rochelle

P.S. You were right about Shawn. It didn’t work out.

Stunned, I read the message again and yet another time before writing off a quick reply. I wanted to leave it, to write back tomorrow when I wasn’t crying so hard that my contacts were about to pop out, when the words weren’t so true. But I knew how big a step this had been for Rochelle and how I’d be waiting by my monitor for a response if it had been me. So I typed.

Rochelle,

I forgive you.

And thank you.

You wanted me to live a sincere life for God. A life like yours. Though I can say many things about you, I would never say that you don’t do things with both purpose and passion. As much as you’ve tried to change me. I’ve tried to change you, too. Now that you are changing, I miss the old Rochelle that I once ridiculed.

Also, anything that I fell bondage to was my own doing as well. I have a house full of Bibles. You have been my schoolmaster. Without you, who knows what might have become of me. Let us both now be free of the law, free of ex
pectation to conform into each other’s likeness, free to be wonderfully made in the image of Christ. Let’s not speak of it again.

Hush now,

Dana

If only it could be this simple with Dahlia.

Not that the three years of pushing and pulling and praying that had led up to those two e-mails had been easy. Whatever the case, I felt lighter. A weight I hadn’t known I was carrying lifted from my heart, though I still felt a little weepy.

I clicked off my Web browser and spun in the chair, staring at the door, where women prowled outside waiting to get in.

I smiled, now intimate with the morning rhythms of Leverhill’s Mothers of the Brides. Coffee across the street at The Bean Counter, which now occupied Adrian’s old space, and then shopping on my shelves and chatting with friends, old and new. It was hard to believe I owned all the units on this side of the street.

In an uncharacteristic move, I spun my chair around and slipped off my shoes. I walked from the computer at the back of the store to the front where Adrian was on a ladder, lighting the sconces, and Dahlia was counting off the register. Once on the carpet, I dragged my feet through the teal shag one toe at a time. They both stared at me in disbelief.

I was just as surprised, but the simple act of forgiving Rochelle had opened something up in me, the vulnerable part of me that I’d been trying to guard for so long. The seed of who I am. Though I hadn’t realized it, protecting this part of myself had kept others from wounding it, but it had also kept me from accessing it. As a holy stillness settled over the room, I saw Dahlia as God might see her, a little girl with a handful of daisies, walking through the house trying to give them away. Everyone she offered them to declined. Each already had a rose. My rose.

It was an obscure memory, like film on top of a pot of tea, forming then fading, but it was real. Yellow roses. For Mama, Daddy, Jordan and me.

“What about me?” she’d said, crying through her words.

“They’re all gone, but you can have mine if you want it.”

And she’d taken it, both then and now.

“Are you all right?” Adrian was down the ladder and at my side.

He looked like a boy to me again, with a cropped afro and a pocket calculator in his Levi’s. “Want to hang?” I could hear him say, as he so often did back then.

“No. I’m going to ride. You can’t stay up under me all the time. Go and find somebody who’ll be with you all the time. A new friend.”

And he did. He’d married her, in fact.

“I’m fine,” I said, allowing the tears to flow freely down my face, blurring the past into the present. I opened my mouth to try and explain, but a scent strong enough to awake my numb nose and smooth enough to soothe my broken heart penetrated my senses.

A Jesus breeze. I sat down on the floor and rolled onto my stomach.

Adrian pitched onto his knees beside me. “What is it?” he asked, though his eyes told me he knew that God was working, healing.

My fingers closed around his. He kissed them all together, even his own, then cleared his throat as though he’d forgotten himself. Dahlia didn’t say a word.

I took both our hands and pointed upwards toward the candle above us. “What is that?”

He dropped back onto his heels. Though he knew I loved his candles, I rarely spoke of them and hadn’t commented on a scent since I’d been there. “Island Wedding,” he said, lowering his head closer to mine. “My pineapple with a splash of your jasmine.”

A fat, crazy laugh escaped my lips. Dahlia froze at the sound of my joy. Our happiness seemed to accuse her, assault her. I kept laughing and sniffing until she braved a giggle herself.

“Island Wedding, huh?” What a man, this guy. Though jasmine was my favorite, it wasn’t a great seller. Too sweet. I didn’t make much of it except for myself and I hadn’t been doing much for myself of late.

“A little bit of both of us,” I said, drinking in the words.

Adrian nodded. He looked so pleased that I was pleased. I hadn’t seen him smile like that in a while. “I didn’t plan on it. Just started mixing something for myself and you fell into it.” He shrugged and kissed my forehead. “Like always.”

The bionic music started in my head. There were many things I wanted to say to him, but we had thirty minutes before opening and we weren’t alone. I kissed his forehead, too, leaving a heart-shaped print of coral lipstick behind. He wore it like a crown. I waved toward my sister. “Dahlia, take a load off and come and sit with us real quick before we open.”

She moved cautiously, reaching us just as the candle’s aroma reached full swell. Daddy’s triple-thick pineapple shakes with warm berries and whipped cream and a drizzle of orange juice slid across my mind. My sister’s favorite. I hugged her with my free arm. “I appreciate everything you’ve done here.”

“But it’s time for me to go, huh?”

Adrian answered before I could say a word. “Basically. I hired you at Kick! to help you out, but it’s become—”

“Confusing?” she offered.

He laughed a little. “Yeah, that.”

Here I was all ready to love up on my sister instead of firing her, like I wanted to for so long, and she decides to leave on her own. God was funny like that. Sometimes He just needs to know you’re willing.

Dahlia started for the door. “Funny, I was going to quit today and I didn’t know how to tell you two. I was praying about it all
morning. I have an idea of my own for a business. I’m going to go for it.”

I sighed, this time in a good way. “You do that.”

“We’re here for you,” Adrian said. “We’ll miss your skills.”

He’d better not miss anything else. As my sister let herself out and the new customers in—who’d seen the whole exchange but seemed to be growing used to our weirdness—I turned to Adrian and took another sniff. “Rename that. Island Wedding just doesn’t do it justice. That stuff smells like peace, pure and simple.”

Adrian smiled. “Peace it is. For them anyway. It’ll always be Island Wedding to me. It’s what my dreams smell like.”