Made of Honor (25 page)

By noon, I’d come up with a whole new line of peace products—body gloss, bath milk and scented eye pillows. Maybe I’d even have Tracey design some scented drawer liners…Anything to keep my mind off what I would say to Adrian, who gave me the puppy dog look every few minutes. It was going to be a long lunch.

Unable to wait that long, Adrian assisted the last morning customer, flipping the closed sign behind her and pulling down the blinds.

“What are you doing?” In all the time he’d been here, I’d never seen him close during business hours even if nobody came through. He believed a business should be open during its scheduled hours. Period.

The next blind fluttered down. “I’m conducting real business. Something I should have done a long time ago.”

I swallowed hard, trying to sort through the determination and regret battling in his voice. Before I could sort out my thoughts, he snuffed all the candles but one, which he grabbed before dragging me to the back room.

He pulled out my chair and set a tall white pillar with gold chunks on a pewter saucer between us. He trimmed the wick to
almost a nub and lit the flame, his eyes focused on the flickering light and then on me. “I need to tell you something.”

“Wait. I—”

“Please.” His voice was firm. “Let me get it out.”

Realizing that he needed to receive forgiveness as much as I needed to give it, I sank back into my chair for the second time in one week and listened to a tale of seduction, sin and sorrow. Only this time, it was much harder to hear. Adrian hung his head as he told of his baby Christian pride and how he’d allowed himself to be alone with Dahlia in hopes of “ministering” to her. And that’s just what she had done, but to him instead.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Yeah, right.”

I nodded. God had really helped me restrain my emotions in the past few years—a little anyway—but back then? Who knows what I might have done? And he had been a snob about his spirituality. I’d considered myself a Christian and he’d gotten on my nerves. Jesus makes all the difference. “But Sandy? Why get married?”

He dropped into the chair and leaned over, his elbows gouging his thighs. His head rolled into his palms. “When I got up from that bed with Dahlia, it was like I’d killed somebody. Murdered something. How could I face you? Face your mother? Your father?” He stiffened. “I could barely face myself.”

His hands slid to his ears as though he were holding his head on his body. “So I stayed away—from your family, from our church family, from everything that I knew. And Sandy, well, she filled the gap. Eventually, I told her everything and she convinced me that marrying her was a way out.”

My head rolled in a circle the way it had during the cool downs for my workouts at the hospital.

He touched my shoulder. “Don’t hate her. I think she believed that.”

Okay. Maybe Dahlia as the villain was easier than dealing with the first wife thing. “I don’t hate Sandy, Adrian. How could I? She loved you. You loved her.”

He shrugged. “She was a good wife, Dana. She helped me a lot, especially with my mother. I don’t know why things happened the way they did, but we were happy together.”

A chuckle cracked the tension, surprising us both—especially me, since it came from my mouth. “I have to hand it to her. She wanted you bad.”

He didn’t laugh. “I guess. I grew to love Sandy and I mean no disrespect to her memory. I forgave her for some of the things she said and did without my knowledge and I asked her forgiveness for using her as a way out, though I grew to love her. I would have liked to never revisit all this, but I needed to come clean with you. Especially about your sister.”

My head moved up and down a bit. Not quite a nod, but close enough. “Dahlia told me anyway. At Tracey’s shower.”

He froze. “All this time? You knew? Is that what—”

“No. It probably didn’t help, but the stroke was the result of many things.” I rolled my shoulders back. “You know what? We’ve both done some shaky stuff. I never should have left your wedding with Trevor. The real questions we have to answer are about right now.”

A knock on the glass interrupted.

We ignored it. The customers would have to heed the sign today.

Adrian rotated the candle plate, watching the pool of wax widen around the wick, now curled over like a bent reed. “Can you forgive me—can you love me—knowing, well, everything?”

I smiled. “I do forgive you.” I paused. “And I couldn’t stop loving you if I tried.”

A relieved look passed over his face.

“Building a relationship though is going to take some time and effort, on both our parts.”

Adrian nodded and kissed my hand. “And a lot more candles, huh?”

I laughed and opened my arms to him for a brief, sweet hug. Hand in hand, we walked to the front door, to find Dahlia, crying.

As Adrian clicked the lock and pulled back the glass, my sister tumbled into his arms and wadded his shirt into her fists. “It’s over. Trevor’s called off the wedding. What am I going to do?”

“What? Why?” Adrian pulled his cell from his pocket and flipped it open, dialing furiously.

I clicked it shut. “What happened, Dahlia?”

A fury of microbraids streaked with blond tumbled over her fingers. “He overreacted. He—he came by the house and I had a friend over. It was innocent—”

Adrian threw up his hands. “Who was it?”

Not that I wasn’t curious myself, but why did he care?

Don’t go there.

She bit her lip. “Bob.”

Adrian pinched the bridge of his nose. “The Visa guy?”

I shook my head. “You didn’t.” And what was up with Bob? He was better than that, though evidently he didn’t know it yet.

She paced back and forth in front of the door. “No, I didn’t. It was just a kiss. I was lonely. Upset. Confused. I kept trying to talk to Trevor, but he’s so scared of doing something wrong that he wouldn’t even be alone with me….” Her voice broke up. “He says maybe we’re not ready to get married if I’m kissing somebody. That maybe we should get rooted in Jesus first. How long does that take?”

Adrian and I grabbed hands, trying not to count how much time we’d spent apart. I touched my sister’s hair. “You don’t want to know.”

“Looks like that karate is doing some good.”

I shoved the leftover salad into the refrigerator, then dumped the leftover red velvet cake into a disposable container and slid
it across the counter. Dad would have to take that home with him. I popped another cube of honeydew into my mouth. “It’s kickboxing, Dad. And thanks. I think so, too.”

My father came closer, smelling of figs and fried potatoes, a refreshing change from the years of beer and Old Spice imprinted on my memory. Caught up in memories, I tread on our moot subject. “Would you like to go back to church this evening?”

He stroked his beard.

“It’s a singing.”

Dad’s salt-and-pepper eyebrows bushed upward. Sermons were one thing, but singings were quite another. He dumped the fried chicken grease into a coffee can, replaced the lid and dumped it into the trash. He seemed to have made the healthy transition on most things, but he still thought anything fried with olive oil was healthy eating. He frowned at the can for a second as though saying goodbye to an old friend.

I shook my head.

“I’ll tell you what, moppet. If you and your sister sing a duet for me tonight, I’ll come.”

The refrigerator door slammed on my finger. “I don’t even know if she’s going tonight—” Since Trevor had called off the wedding two weeks ago, Dahlia’s church attendance had been scarce.

Dahlia’s perfume entered the kitchen ahead of her. “I’m going to church tonight,” she said. “And I’ll sing if Dana will.”

Now you’ve done it.

Daddy did a little jig. His laughter filled the kitchen as the scent of his dinner had an hour earlier—fried chicken, baked pork chops with an apple-onion sauce, au gratin potatoes, snap beans, red velvet cake, and my dessert, a wedge of the biggest honeydew melons I’d seen in many a summer. He tugged his beard once more. “Be sure and sing it a capella now. No music. I want the real thing.”

I took a deep breath and nodded in agreement as my sister’s eyes met mine. She smiled. I tried to, but she’d hopped on
Adrian’s lap after church. He pretty much pushed her on to the floor like she was a giant bug, but I still wanted to knock the taste out of her mouth. Instead, she’d knocked the taste out of mine. I hadn’t been able to eat a thing until this melon. Now I was starving, but we were out the door and at the church before I could think about eating more. I didn’t like to sing on a full stomach anyway.

For some reason, the church was packed. I wonder now if Daddy didn’t call everyone in the church directory. Pastor certainly didn’t seem surprised when the Minister of Music asked if anyone would like to share a song. We hadn’t done that since the old days, when evening services were a loosely stitched patchwork of prayers and praise. Today’s modern programs didn’t allow leeway for such sharing. But tonight was different. For the first time since in years, I sang with my sister. My mother’s missing alto echoed in the shadows.

Dahlia started first, both in the procession to the front and in the song. I sighed, thinking she was grandstanding, but I followed anyway, urged on by Daddy’s pleading eyes.

“I’d rather have Je-sus…” Dahlia lifted the mic to her mouth, singing in a haunting key.

I followed, trailing up and down the scale, both with my voice and my emotions. “Than silver or gold—” I brought the other microphone closer to my mouth, then farther away. “I’d rather be His…than to have riches unto-oold.” My cornrows tickled my neck. I looked over at Dahlia for the next note, but she wasn’t singing, she was just standing there. Crying.

The preacher started clapping. “Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Better than gold.”

Tears blurred my vision, but my ears worked just fine, though I couldn’t believe what I heard next. A deep gut voice, Mama’s note, came out of my sister’s mouth. She sang the next verse, but refused to relinquish the song, going on to Christ’s nail-pierced hands and beyond. It was as if she’d found her ten-year-old self,
tucked away all these years waiting to be reclaimed. Like a master, she pulled the room in until most everyone was singing. At “sin’s dread sway,” she waved for me to join in.

I gave myself to the song, too, remembering what my sister and I had once had. What my family had once had. In the corner of my tear-soaked eyes, I saw a trail of people heading for the altar. We sang on, Dahlia and I, losing our shoes and our pain as Trevor led the pack. Daddy, Rochelle, Jericho, Shemika and Adrian followed close behind. The pastor and his wife came next, sinking between the mountains of brown skin and tailored suits.

When my sobs choked back the song, another voice, a clear tenor rang out between us.

“I’d rather have Je-sus…”

Jordan. I came unglued.

Mother Holly met us down front. The pastor stood and waved to the seated congregation. “Come on. This is some good ground down here. Holy ground. Take off your shoes and bring somebody you love.”

I sang on, even as the last creak of my voice slipped away. The revival that Rochelle, Tracey and I had prayed three years for, had come. Only not in the way we’d expected. Had all the pain of this last year led up to this?

I watched as daughters crossed the church to hug their mothers and sons took their father’s hands. Jericho climbed the stage and stood next to Jordan, adding a son’s voice to a father’s. They didn’t hold hands, but they stood so close their shoes touched. When they finished, the quiet was so strong that no one spoke for what seemed eternity.

Finally, Trevor broke the silence. “Y’all know me here now.”

“We do,” Pastor said.

“I’m happy to say that I only love one woman now. Sorry for that confusion.”

Laughter rippled through the sanctuary.

“We were supposed to get married….”

“Come on,” the pastor nodded, urging him on.

“And we will. But not right now. God has been made real to me since I started coming here, but I realize there’s a lot I don’t know about being a man, about treating a woman the way she should be treated, especially a woman as fine as Dahlia.”

Strained laughter flowed into the aisle.

Trevor, however, took a more serious tone. “We’re not ready, but we’re not giving up. Even though we went about this thing backwards, God gave us a beautiful baby. We’re asking everyone to pray for us as we study with the Pastor and his wife and try to prepare the foundation for a marriage that will last a lifetime. In the meantime, we need to parent this baby girl and learn more about Jesus.” He lifted Sierra up on his shoulder.

“Amen to that.”

Trevor slid a wad of bills out of his pocket. “Pastor, we had a lot of money tied up in this wedding, but I know that flowers and cake won’t make things the way they need to be. Take this for the church.”

Pastor waved for two deacons to come and take the money to the back. “Thank you, brother. We’re going to use that to start a daycare for your baby and all the others coming up behind her.” He stared up at Jericho. “We’ll all make it through…together.”

I wiped my face and headed off the stage. I’d have to sit down for this.

Trevor raised a hand. “Wait, Dana. Your sister has something for you.” He handed up another wad of money to Dahlia, who stepped toward the mike, speaking once again with her own high voice.

She waved for me to come back and held my hand. “Church, this is my sister. I’ve done her wrong many times, but she keeps forgiving me. Tonight, I want to make a new start for her and for me.”

I stared down at Adrian, now seated on the front pew. He shrugged. Daddy swiped at his face with a handkerchief. I stared at the ground as she continued.

“Dana, you’ve been through it this year. You’ve almost lost your life and your business, but you never stopped trying to help others. This time, Dana, it’s your turn.” She motioned to Trevor, who slid yet another envelope from his breast pocket. “Here are our honeymoon tickets to Jamaica and a little change, just enough for a nice wedding of your own.” She pressed the envelope with the tickets and the money into my hand.