Seasoned with Grace (18 page)

Grace was bombarded after the service by a bevy of boys, girls, and some adults who wanted to take photos with her. She posed for countless selfies. Social media had turned everyone into the paparazzi, and at this stage of the game she already knew how to grin and bear it. However, she wished that she had followed her gut and had at least applied some concealer this morning. If they were true fans, they'd all use the filter function on their phones before posting her photos.

Once they were done treating Grace like a museum exhibit, the churchgoers discussed whose house they would eat at if they were not staying for the meal being cooked up in the pantry, and then they slowly disassembled. The smell of chicken broth and collard greens had somehow made its way up the stairs and into Grace's nostrils. Famished, she was ready to find Ethan so she could resume her community service and get herself a plate too. Grace didn't have to look far to find Ethan. He was in the middle of the aisle, conversing with the other two men in her life—Pastor David and Horace.

Grace approached the band of men and stepped in the middle of their circle. Standing up straight, she was practically eye to eye with each man, give or take a few inches. She didn't allow those few inches to impede her. She exhaled a long breath and began speaking so rapidly that her words ran together. “This was a great service, man. I didn't know y'all got down like that on a weekday.” She clapped her hands together, trying to center herself and regain the composure she'd lost moments ago, during her meeting with the Holy Ghost. “However, I'm ready to get back into the groove of things, Pastor David,” she said, waving her hands from side to side like she was surfing.

“We were just discussing that issue,” Pastor David said. “We're not sure that this is going—”

“Uh-uh . . . You don't get to make this call for me,” Grace said, wagging her finger at each one of them. “None of you get to make this decision for Grace King. That's how my life got so messed up. Other people who thought they knew better than me meddled in my life, and now I'm all screwed up.”

“Don't talk about yourself so negatively,” Horace told her. “You are not screwed up. You have been broken, bruised, and mishandled, but you are not screwed up. You're reclaiming your life today.” He grabbed her hand and interlocked his fingers with hers.

This simple gesture bolstered Grace's confidence and gave her the green light she needed to proceed. Someone was in this fight with her.

“That's right. I'm reclaiming my life, and I like it here,” she declared while squeezing Horace's hand firmly.

Pastor David cleared his throat and fidgeted with the black band on his watch before responding. “There are a number of reasons that we”—he pointed at Ethan and then back at himself—“thought having you continue your community service here at Mount Carmel was not a good idea.” He glanced down at Grace and Horace's interlocked fingers with a slightly pained look in his eyes. “However, Grace King, y-you are right,” he stammered.

“What?” Grace asked, staring intently at him.

Pastor David clamped his burnished, brown, hard-knuckled hands against his chest. They seemed to glow against his toasted orange button-down. He ran his hands straight down his chest as he inhaled and exhaled deeply.

“You're right,” he said. “You were manipulated into doing something that was against God to make others forget about their sins or feel ashamed. You're manipulated every single day to sell some product, and you don't get a say, but today the ears of heaven are open to your request. Where the spirit of Christ is, there is liberty. You are free to do your community service here and to worship here if you like.”

“Pastor David,” Ethan interjected while stepping forward to stand beside the pastor. “Are you sure that this is going to be beneficial to all the parties involved?”

“It's by faith and not by sight, Brother Ethan,” Pastor David said, shaking his head. Pastor David placed one hand on Ethan's shoulder. “I know only one thing for sure.... Jesus would do anything to save even one lost sheep, and I can't deny my own role in what happened to Grace by pretending she isn't around or acting like I don't know something is going on.” Pastor David shifted his attention from Ethan to Grace. “Grace King, I pray that you can forgive me for my role in what happened to you and our baby.”

The words
our baby
reverberated inside of Grace, shaking her insides, as if someone had just banged a gong right beside her. She leaned on Horace's shoulder and placed her free hand on her abdomen. It seemed like she'd been waiting her entire life for someone to acknowledge the fact that she had been pregnant once—that there had once been someone living and breathing inside of her. The guilt associated with being responsible for the murder of her baby had eaten at the marrow of her bones. Unlike other models, Grace didn't have to resort to bulimia, anorexia, macrobiotic diets, or extreme workout regimens to maintain her weight. The guilt and the shame she'd felt over the years had done a good job of keeping her at a model's size. It took Grace a few beats to find her words.

“What are you saying, David?” she asked, dropping the title and speaking to the boy she'd once loved.

“I am saying that I am sorry. I am sorry for being complacent. I watched them usher you into back rooms for meetings with the elders of the church. I allowed them to cordon you off, as if remaining silent would help, because I was ashamed.” He dropped his head and lowered his voice one octave. “I was ashamed. . . .”

Now it was Ethan's turn to play the supporting cast role. He patted his pastor and brother in Christ on the back, while Grace tapped her toes on the floor. She was growing impatient as she waited for Pastor David to reveal what he'd been ashamed of. No one had walked around calling him a jezebel, Bathsheba, or any other name. There had been no whispers when he walked by, and his parents had continued to speak to him with love in their eyes.

“Forgive me, Grace.” A solitary tear slid down Pastor David's face. “My silence made it possible for me not to acknowledge my sin before God or my parents. I was ashamed . . . that I was not the man of God everyone thought I would be.”

Pastor David's head remained down. A hush covered the sanctuary. Ethan and Horace seemed to be paralyzed. They barely looked at each other. Grace doubted that they'd ever seen or imagined Pastor David as a man or even as a boy. Although they were still locked tightly in Horace's, Grace's fingers trembled as all the hurt, the shame, and the names returned to her. She didn't want to say what her heart was saying.
Go on. Say it. Take the first step to reclaim your life.

“David, you were just a boy then.”

Raising his head to meet her eyes, Pastor David replied, “Now I am man seeking forgiveness on behalf of the boy who hurt the girl still chained up inside of you.”

 

 

“Well, are you going to forgive him or not?” Horace called out to Grace from his favorite spot in her condo—in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. “If you're going to be at Mount Carmel, then you've got to find a way to reach some sort of closure.” He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his pressed graphite-colored khakis.

“How do you like your coffee?” Grace asked, leaning over the countertop and dangling a large white porcelain mug from one finger, ready to fulfill his caffeinated desires.

“The same way I like my women—strong and uncompromised. I like my coffee black,” Horace stated, finally looking over his shoulder at Grace.

“This will be done in two shakes of a horse's mane.” Grace spun around and tapped each K-Cup on the rack until she found the flavor she thought would best meet Horace's desire for strong and uncompromised coffee.
Dark Magic, extra bold, ought to suit him,
she decided, thinking the description applied more to herself than the coffee. She popped the K-Cup into her Keurig, and in less than two minutes she was traipsing across her living room with a steaming hot mug of coffee in her hand.

“Here you go, Horace,” Grace said softly as the mug of coffee exchanged hands. “Be careful. It's hot,” she advised him, delicately resting her hand on his arm.

“Thank you.”

Horace blew on the mug a few times. Each time he puckered up, his supple lips called Grace in for a kiss. She eased a bit closer to him as he took his first sip of the coffee. She couldn't understand why all that talk about reclaiming your life and a few minutes of hand holding had her feeling like she was sitting in a hot spring. Grace removed her blazer and threw her shoulders back. She knew her breasts were still perky enough to command attention from even the most devout worshipper. Horace, however, didn't even try to sneak a peek from his periphery.

“Well, Grace, what are you going to do?”

“Is this a decision I have to make right now?”

Horace turned around and looked at her face-to-face. “What do you think?”

Grace knew what Horace wanted to hear. He wanted her to do the good Christian thing and say that she forgave Pastor David for everything that had happened. However, those words had not entirely taken root in her heart yet. She understood his position now, but that didn't mean she forgave him. Thankfully, the intercom buzzed, announcing the arrival of an unexpected guest.

“Hold that thought,” she said as she sped off to the intercom.

“Who is it, Arnie?”

“Some woman in dark glasses and a ridiculous hat, claiming to be your best friend,” Arnie said, rolling his eyes. In the background Junell could be heard shouting, “It's me, Gracie,” and it was evident that she was trying to force her head over the counter into the camera's view.

The tip of her nose and the extra-wide two-tone brim on the fedora they had bought the last time they were in Milan were enough to let Grace know that it was, indeed, her best friend. “Arnie, let her up, and tell her she's lucky this is a video intercom.”

“My best friend, Junell, is on her way up,” Grace announced to Horace. “You two should get along well. She's all saved and fire baptized like you.”

Grace remained by the door, waiting to greet her best friend and avoiding Horace's question. As soon Junell rapped on the door, Grace whipped it open. Removing her glasses and fedora, Junell waddled in. The little pouch of fat she had had when she first announced she was pregnant was now a pronounced mound on her belly.

“Hey, G!” She wrapped her arms around Grace and scooped her into an embrace. “I missed you so much. Where have you been? Wrapped up in the arms of that chocolate drop you told me about?”

Grace stared at Junell fiercely. If Junell wasn't pregnant, she would have popped her one time.

“I hope I'm the chocolate drop she's been telling you about,” Horace said as he turned from the window to face the ladies, a wide grin on his face.

“Oh my . . .” Junell covered her mouth. “I didn't know you had company.”

“I'm sorry I didn't have a chance to post it as my Facebook status,” Grace said, letting out a gurgle of laughter.

“Well, don't be such a bad host. Introduce us,” Junell instructed, walking to the center of the open living room.

“Horace, this is Junell. Junell, this is Horace,” Grace mumbled quickly, her cheeks still glowing from embarrassment.

“Horace, you
are
the chocolate drop she told me about. When are you going to give my girl some play?”

“Junie.”
Grace stomped her foot on the parquet floor. “Horace,” she said, pleading with him with her eyes. “Don't mind her. I think it's the hormones that have her speaking like this. Usually, she sings hymns and quotes Bible scriptures to me.”

Chuckling, Horace replied, “You mean when she's not chasing perps on
Bloodshed.
Grace, I had no idea you were friends with Junell Pierce.” He turned to Junell. “I am so glad to meet you,” he said, raising her hand to his lips.

“Oh, Grace, he's a keeper,” Junell said. “What do you have to eat in here?” she asked, turning toward the kitchen.

“Have a look around, Junie.”

“Grace, I'm going to head out. A pregnant woman on the hunt for food can get ugly,” Horace said.

“All the more reason why you should not leave me alone with her.” Grace clasped her fingers together and pouted. “Please.”

“She's your best friend. You'll be fine.” He placed both of his hands on her shoulders. “I'd rather keep the vision I have of her as the no-nonsense, hot cop in my mind.”

“You know, I never pegged you for a groupie,” Grace said, poking Horace in the chest.

Horace leaned in closer to her and whispered, “And once you give yourself over to the Lord, I'll be glad to be your biggest groupie.” He rubbed his nose against hers, transforming an Eskimo kiss into foreplay for Grace.

“Don't torture her like that,” Junell shouted from the kitchen.

“She's the one torturing me.” Horace looked into Grace's eyes and then swiveled his head to face Junell. “All I want is a whole woman, and she keeps on withholding herself from God. I don't want to have a woman who's not on my side, like Job's wife, or a Delilah, who will do me in for a few pieces of silver, and I'm not trying to lose her, because she's looking backward.” Shifting his gaze back to Grace, he said, “I want her, but I want her whole.”

His deep-set dark brown eyes and the way his lips curved when he said the letter
r
made Grace's legs weak. Her desire to become whole was increasing, but it had not yet grown larger than the enmity that she carried for the church that had been so quick to cast her aside. Then there was the debacle of a movie that his church brother was forcing her to do. A return to the vortex of darkness that she was sucked into after her initial dealing with Javier Roberts didn't come with a return ticket, either.