Made of Honor (9 page)

Tears streamed down my face. I gripped the leather so hard it squeaked. The bacon call. I could hear it just like yesterday. “Mama.”

Jordan shook his head. “No, Dane. It was you.”

I looked at my brother in disbelief. Me? He’d heard me calling him? I tried to think of a sensible response. “Let me get this straight. You heard my voice and woke up?” My hands dropped to my lap. I stared at the clock. Thirty minutes had passed since I’d opened the door. Forty since I’d hung up the phone. Where was Adrian? This was more than even I could handle alone. But then I wasn’t alone, was I?

Lord, please. Is Jordan serious?

He sure looked it, with that solemn face, now etched with time.

“Yes, Dane. I know it sounds crazy. How do you think I feel? It happened to me. I’ve spent the last few years learning everything—walking, talking—all over again.”

“But who paid for you to be there? Did the team know you where you were?”

He shook his head. “The team thought I’d split town and quit. I don’t know who paid the bill. Who knows? I’m just glad to be alive.”

I scratched my head. All these years, I’d envisioned my reunion with Jordan, this wasn’t the way I thought it’d happen. “Well, I guess this changes things, but you still could have done for Jericho the years you were around.”

He frowned. “Do for him? I was a kid, Dane. I sent him money. What else could I do back then?”

The sound of a needle screeching across a record tore across my mind. I skipped over my brother’s warped sense of responsibility, and landed on one word—
money
. “What money?”

He snorted. “The green kind. I sent it to Chelle. Mama, too. While I had it anyway.”

Confusion bubbled inside me, giving way to understanding. I paused, then exhaled slowly, to delay spontaneous combustion. My eyes watered remembering Rochelle’s mysterious “settlement” so many years before—the money that had sent her to Fashion Institute of Technology. Jordan’s money?

Had Rochelle, my friend, my mentor, my sister in the faith lied to me?

You’ve lied to her, too. And a lot more recently than that.

“Dana? What’s wrong? You didn’t know? You thought—”

“I thought you never called. Never wrote. Never sent a dime.” Wrong was still wrong, but it did give things a little different spin.

“Money wasn’t enough. I know that now. But back then, I thought money could do anything, you know. Especially that much money.”

That much? My brow furrowed. Did I dare ask the sum? Would Back-To-Life man even remember? “Do you remember how much? The money, I mean?”

Jordan stared up at the ceiling. “Let’s see…A couple hundred grand to Chelle and fifty or sixty to Mom. Might have been more, but somewhere around—”

“Three hundred thousand?” My throat closed. So that’s where Mom got the money to buy this apartment. When the co-op offered the place for sale, I’d offered my pennies, too, but the bulk of the money had been a mystery.

He nodded. “Sure. I’d planned to give more, but then I got drunk that night and didn’t wake up—”

I held up my hand. “Whoa. I can’t take anymore. We’re going to have to weed through this information a little at a time.” I took a deep breath. My brother was home after almost losing his life. He’d heard my voice, but had he heard the voice of Christ?

“How about Sunday dinner…after church. I’d love it if you’d—”

“I don’t know if I’m ready for that, Dana. I have a lot of people here to apologize to before I go prancing up in church.”

“God is the only one you need to worry about and He’s always ready to forgive.”

Jordan smiled. “People are a little more difficult, believe me.”

Dahlia’s teary-eyed face flickered across my mind. “Forgive me, Dane. Please,” she’d said.

My teeth ground together.
Don’t start, Lord. This isn’t about me. It’s about him.

The doorbell dinged. I jerked upright at the sound of the doorbell.
Thank God.

Jordan stood.

“Rochelle?” he asked softly.

I shook my head. “Adrian, most likely. I can tell them to come back—”

Ding.

He shook his head. “No, you go on to church. You took this much better than I thought. I considered wearing a football helmet in here.”

“You should have.”

Dong.

Jordan followed me to the front door. “Church must be doing something for you. You used to be something else.”

I sighed. I was still “something else,” but I was trying to make it a good something. Jordan hugged me one last time and at his nod, I pulled back the door.

Before I could say a word, Jordan dived across me and gathered Adrian, already in midair, into an embrace worthy of a greeting card—a regular sweater fest.

Adrian’s keys hit the ground. Were those tears in his eyes? “J.? Is that really you? I can’t…” He choked up and looked at me with such tenderness that my tears flowed, too.

Jordan chuckled. “It’s me. But, is it you? Look at you, man! You all thick. And here I’ve whittled away to nothing.” He hit his chest. “Dana’s cooking, huh? She always could throw down. Just like Daddy.”

My mouth hung open. Jordan had always teased me about my cooking tasting horrible. Adrian’s eyes got just as wide. “We, uh, aren’t married—”

Jordan swiped at his eyes. I paused to consider that he hadn’t shed one tear with me. Since when were he and Adrian that close? My brother’s voice cracked. “I have so many regrets. Missing Jericho’s life. Mama’s funeral. Dane’s graduation…At least I didn’t miss the big event with you two…” He stared into the hall at the door of apartment 203 where Adrian’s family had lived. “I’m sorry about your mother, too. I promised her that I’d look out for both of you.”

Adrian kneeled down and picked up his keys, then cast a quick glance over his shoulder at his old place. “Well J., that’s one promise I hope you can keep.” He stood and patted my brother’s shoulder and reached for my trembling hand before I could say anything I’d regret. “C’mon, Dane, or we’ll be late.”

W
e didn’t say much, Adrian and I, as we drove to pick up Mother Holly. Jordan’s arrival had sucked the words out of both of us. That and trying to make the second service on time. There was an hour to spare, but Mother Holly could be counted on for two things-loose change and surprises. Most times I loved that about her, but today my surprise-o-meter read “full.”

Every now and then, Adrian looked across the front seat at me and took a breath. “Jordan. Home. After all this time,” he’d say, or “Who’d have thought?”

I smiled foolishly, allowing the impact of the whole thing to settle. Sure, I’d known about my brother’s reappearance for weeks, but to see him…It brought back so many old thoughts, old hopes. I’d known in my head, that nothing was impossible with God. Now, I knew it in my heart. When Adrian’s fingers locked with mine, I knew he believed it, too. But hadn’t he always? I looked up at him at a red light. Searched his eyes. Hope flickered there, dancing amid the steady gaze of faith shining from behind his glasses. Sandy’s death had taken from him but it had
given him something new, too. I nibbled my lip as he held my hand tighter. Losing was curious that way. Getting something back that you thought was lost was even more strange.

He kissed the top of my hand. “Is this the house?”

I nodded toward the small ranch home with Holly spelled out in sticker letters on the mailbox. Getting our passenger in the car proved more difficult than I’d anticipated. She almost fell out at the sight of my shiny, hoseless legs—I marveled at them, too, but for another reason. Under my dress, the rest of me resembled an alligator. Amazing what a little shea butter lotion could do for the skin. I’d have to make another batch of that lotion for myself pronto—taking a bottle from the store was an absolute last resort.

Adrian carried Mother Holly’s coffee table-size Bible while I struggled with her suitcase-shaped purse. Was it full of dumbbells? By the time we’d tucked Mother Holly into the backseat beside me, I’d broken a light sweat despite the freezing winter air—a sheen, as Rochelle calls it.

“So nice of you two young folks to come after me this morning. Even so late and all….” She turned to look out the window as Adrian’s Mercedes pulled out of her drive. I stared at the bars on her windows, feeling just as imprisoned as she probably did every day. “I guess we’ll have just one more stop and then move on to the church—”

“Uh, Mother Holly, Adrian was nice enough to do me-us-this favor. Let’s not trouble him. I can take you back to the grocery store after service.”

Adrian’s ears twitched. I stared at his face in the rearview. I’d insisted on sitting in the back. It made him feel like a chauffeur, but I didn’t want to give the older woman any room for gossip. I was beginning to see that she might not need any room, for gossip or anything else.

This was getting too complicated. “We were going to lunch after service, Mother Holly.”

Adrian cleared his throat. “But we could take you out later, after the evening service.”

I rubbed my nose with the heel of my hand. Planning to make a day of it, was he?

The old woman shook her head. “No, baby. What we need is a ‘right now’ thing.” She ran a wrinkled hand over my smooth calves. “We got to cover them hams real quick like. You get up there with them big brown legs out and every man in the house will be lusting instead of worshipping.”

I tried to think of something to say. Anything.

Adrian chuckled quietly in the front seat. “We definitely can’t have that, can we, Mother?”

“No, sir. Menfolk try hard, you understand, but some are easy to stumble.”

Stumble? I stared down at my ankles, searching for the power to throw all mankind into the pit. Somehow, I just didn’t see it. But I knew when to go along and when to fight. This was a time to go along.

Adrian laughed a little louder.

I jabbed the back of his seat.

“Go easy, baby. Don’t be rough with the man yet. Save up something. Save up.” She nodded slightly, the silk orchids on her hat vibrating like a tuning fork.

I bit the inside of my cheek. Save up something. Wasn’t that what I’d told my nephew all those weeks back, the day that Adrian crashed back into my world? I shook my head, wondering if the shards of myself I’d gathered on the altar almost four years ago were enough to offer anybody. Even me.

With a shrug, I settled back into my seat. What a morning. First, my brother shows up and now the few inches on my body that weren’t riddled with cottage cheese were going to be a stimulant for our aging, or should I say aged, congregation.

Adrian pulled into a convenience store. “Will this work?”

Mother Holly smiled. “It’ll do fine. Hope it wasn’t any trouble.”

I rolled my eyes. Trouble? This old woman was the embodiment of trouble. She’d seemed so sweet inside the church…Mama was like that. No wonder they’d been friends.

“No trouble,” Adrian said. “It’s on the way.”

A slap hit my thigh. “Give the man some money, hon.”

My head began to throb. “I was just going to—get out and get them myself.”

Already outside of the car, Adrian pressed himself against my door, sporting a smile sure to be my undoing. “Pantyhose, right? I got it.” He bit his lip and stared inside the car. “Queen, off black?” He rubbed his chin. “I guess nude could go with that, too.”

Queen?
Did I have a sign on my forehead that read, “I am a
big
girl. I wear
queen
-size pantyhose. In case you hadn’t guessed already?”

“Uh, no. Size B, coffee.”

Adrian choked. Well, no, more like chortled. “O-kay. Coming right up.”

I spent the next few minutes listening to Mother Holly’s tips on getting a man. When I tried to assure her that Adrian and I were just friends—were we?—and that I was not looking in the market for a mate, her response…?

“Anybody who comes out for church with naked legs is looking for a man.”

At that, I crossed my ankles and shut my mouth, trying to figure out how I was going to sing in a pair of off-color pantyhose a size too small. How did I get myself into these things?

With a poker face, Adrian emerged from the store and tossed me a bag, then backed out of the parking lot slowly, his arm behind the seat and his eyes more on me than the road.

I opened the bag only to find three pairs of pantyhose—coffee B, nude queen and off-black queen plus.

“I think that’ll do it.” I bristled. Sandy had trained him too well.

“One more thing, young man. Can you turn left here and pick up my grandbaby, around the corner from me, on MLK?”

I opened a channel to God with the quickness. But not quick enough.

Adrian wrenched the steering wheel in a sharp left. “Uh, sure.”

“Stop here,” she said pointing over Adrian’s shoulder at an aging townhouse. She reached around his shoulder and mashed the horn. And I was the one being fast by forgetting my hose?

I froze, watching as the matriarch settled back into her seat, then dug in her purse for a mint. “Have one?” she asked in a sweet voice. I shook my head, steeling myself for further humiliation.

Adrian shrugged and I went back to staring, this time across the street at a house with snow-covered bushes trimmed into the shape of horses. Now that was just sad. Here I was working seventy hours a week to break even and somebody had time to make equestrian scenes in their front yard? Even in winter? Something was seriously—

“I thought you weren’t coming, Nana.”

A buxom teen with blond highlights somehow matted to her head jumped into the car. Literally. I thought I’d imagined the car bouncing, but the way Mother Holly gripped the back of Adrian’s seat, I knew it was for real. “Hi,” the girl said, turning to Adrian. “What took you so long?”

He stared at me, then answered our latest passenger, so familiar with people she’d never met. “Pantyhose. From Russell’s.”

Sporting a pink purse Bible and matching lipstick, the girl turned and shoved her pudgy hand in my direction.

“The Ebony Mama line? Those things are horrible. They don’t have anything for all this.” She ran her French manicured nails down the full-figured body that matched her face.

Adrian gunned the gas pedal while Mother Holly sat beside me smiling the maddeningly innocent smile she’d displayed all
those times in church. She was definitely back in Grandma mode. Was this a bad dream? I shook myself, but that only left me dizzy.

Mother Holly struggled to get her skirt up, revealing a lump of nylon around her more than ample thigh. “Knee-highs are good enough. When them other hose tear up, just cut them off and tie a knot—”

“Uh-huh,” her granddaughter said. “We get the picture.” And what a horrible picture it was. No wonder she was against showing skin. Whew! I checked the time. Ten twenty. In ten minutes I’d be singing…in size B hose.

The chunky young chatterbox kept going as we rolled into the church parking lot. I wondered if Adrian’s ear would catch on fire. “Did you get queen plus? You have to go one up. You know those things are made to fit a midget.”

A curious smile broke out across Adrian’s face. “She got size B.”

The girl’s head jerked around as she scrutinized me. “B? Oh, my. Whatever floats your boat.”

Her hair poked me in the eye, but I decided against mentioning it. Mother Holly tapped the back of her granddaughter’s seat. “Watch that wig now, sweetie. You like to have blinded her.”

Shemika, Jamaica or whatever she’d just said her crazy name was, went on to explain that she wasn’t wearing a wig, but a stocking cap with human hair glued to it that she’d designed herself. I could fit B hose if I walked real slow, but she was stuck with that hair hat for the entire service. It looked like a dead animal.

The church loomed on our right like a safe haven. At this point, I’d do just about anything to get out of this car. Adrian must have felt the same way, because he set a world record for parking in our church lot, where no spaces can ever be found. From the look on his face, Adrian might have just driven on top of someone’s car if someone who’d stayed behind at the early service to chat hadn’t pulled out and provided a spot.

The girl pried herself out of the passenger door. Mother Holly’s purse had blocked my view when the girl got in the car, but now I saw it all. Some of her rolls had rolls.

I am so going back to Weight Watchers.

“Thanks for the ride. It was nice meeting y’all.” She turned to me. “If you squeeze into those hose, make sure you soak when you get home, ’cause that’s gonna hurt.”

“Watch it now. My knees ain’t that good, you know. I might fall right off this pew.” Mother Holly fidgeted beside me as if I’d been the one grinding my knees into her for the past hour. I mustered a smile and received a note from the older woman’s granddaughter.

I sighed, thankful when Mother Holly snatched the paper and tucked it into her purse. Money or hair wasn’t the issue. There were other things to consider….

Like being scared to death? Confused? Unsure?

All of the above. As Mother Holly pinched her granddaughter into submission, I took a deep breath, avoiding Rochelle’s gaze in the choir stand. This morning was so jacked up I was going to have to call and tell Rochelle about it even though we weren’t speaking.

The pastor’s voice cut in again. “Sometimes things just don’t make no sense. No how. Can I get an amen?”

“Amen.” I couldn’t restrain from joining in. Nothing was making sense. Not my business. Not my family.

Adrian winked in my direction. I fought off a chill tickling up my back. Nothing made sense but Jesus, and the man sitting next to me. How I’d missed his friendship.

My eyes wandered back to Rochelle, above us, and my empty seat beside her. We’d arrived too late for me to sing and I wasn’t sad about it. I could have made a fuss and gone on up, but I’d leave that to grandstanders. There are certainly enough of them, I thought, staring at the hats blooming across the front row like a wayward garden.

I read the sermon text again, this time really considering it’s meaning.

“You have shown Your people hard things; You have made us drink the wine of confusion.”

That was in the Bible? I checked the verse again. Psalm 60:3. How had I missed that in all these years? Even when I was doing my thing, I’d read the Psalms, and this one was a zinger. Not only had I been sipping the drink described in this Scripture, but everyone in my life was, too.

The pastor’s collarless suit bulged around his neck in defiance of his attempt to keep up with style. “When things get rough, saints, when you’re swirling around, drunk with the wine of confusion, you got to cry out to the Lord for direction.”

“Yes, sir,” Mother Holly half shouted, nearly scaring me to death.

Confusion? What did the old woman know about it? I looked over at Shemika—or was it Jemicka?—who was filing her nails and brushing the dust on to the floor. Well, perhaps Mother Holly had problems, too.

Didn’t we all? Rochelle lifted her hands in the choir stand behind the pulpit, looking first toward heaven and then toward me, with that we’ve-really-got-to-talk look I’ve always dreaded.

“We cry out, Lord. Tell us where we have we made wrong turns. Did we go into battle without guidance as David did in this passage? Or is something stumbling us? Stopping us up? Meet us where we’re at, Jesus. Show us the way out of our mess.”

I closed my eyes. Had I done that? Gone up without God’s guidance? Sure I’d prayed about my business, given it a scriptural
name, gone to a Christian accountant, talked to the pastor…but had I really put myself in God’s hands? Asked Him what He wanted?

Adrian grabbed my hand and gripped it with the kind of force serious praying required. I squeezed back, just as hard.

Lord, if I’ve taken a wrong turn, lead me back to where I went wrong so I can fix it or better yet, You fix it for me. I’m fresh out of solutions.

The pastor was praying, too. Everybody was. In whispers and in shouts. The building was filled with prayers and praise. Then someone gasped from the choir stand. A hush fell over the congregation and I got that knot in my stomach I always felt when people stare at me. Someone shuffled into the aisle behind me. Two someones, from the sound of it. I dared not open my eyes, but knew I had to.