Song of Solomon (9 page)

They were finally standing at the door of Deacon Burgess's car. Before he answered Neil's question, the old man took the time to unlock his car door and chuck his cane inside. He used the open door as a leaning post when he looked back at Neil.

“Me and Esther were divorced for three years before I married Odette.”

Neil's eyebrows shot up.

“Yep. Sho' was,” Homer said with a firm nod of his head. “We was married for near 'bout twenty years, but probably wasn't in love but for two.”

“Why did you stay together for so long then?”

“'Cause we took vows, that's why. Back in them days, when folks said they was gonna stay together for better or for worse, they did just that . . . come hell or high water. Most of the time anyway.”

“But you didn't, right? You eventually broke up.” Neil was fascinated by the story.

“Yes, we broke up. Most people say they stayed together for the chil'ren. You know . . . stayed married till the chil'ren got grown. Well, that wasn't our testimony. We stayed together for our mamas and daddies. I think if we hada broke up early on, our chil'ren woulda been just fine. Me and Esther, we stayed together till all of our parents were dead and buried. If we woulda broke up while they were alive, it probably would've killed 'em. So after Esther buried her mama, we called it quits.”

“Twenty years.” Neil followed the words with a low whistle. “That's a long time to stay married to somebody you
do
love, let alone somebody you don't.”

“Tell me about it,” the deacon replied.

After a silent pause, Neil said, “So when you said earlier that you buried both your wives, you didn't mean that literally. You just meant you outlived them both.”

“No, I meant I buried 'em both. It was an odd thing that both of 'em died of cancer. Odette died of breast cancer, and Esther had it in her . . .” He looked around as if there could possibly be someone standing close by listening to their conversation, even though there was no one in the parking lot except the security guard. He was at least a thousand feet away, pacing impatiently near the gate, but Homer still whispered when he finally said, “female parts.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Neil responded.

“Yeah. Suffering ain't no fun to nobody.”

“So if you weren't married to Esther, why'd you bury her?”

“Just 'cause our marriage didn't work out don't mean I hated her. She died, and she needed burying. What was I supposed to do?”

Neil shrugged. As far as he was concerned, if they were divorced, what Homer was supposed to do was nothing at all. No marriage meant he had no responsibility to her. Surely she had other family members who could have taken care of her funeral arrangements and the costs attached. “She never remarried?”

“Yep, but so what? I didn't have a whole lot of money myself, but for every dollar I had, I had ninety-nine cents more than her husband did. Me and Esther had six babies together, and if a woman thought enough of me to bear my chil'ren, then no matter if our marriage fell apart or not, she deserved to have an honest-to-God burial. And that's what I gave her.”

On second thought, Neil reasoned that what Deacon Burgess said made sense. He supposed that if he'd had children with his ex-wife, he would probably feel a sense of allegiance to help with her burial if she died before him. But since they'd had none . . .

“And even if we didn't have chil'ren,” Homer added, “she still gave me twenty years of her life. We might have grown out of love, but she stayed until we mutually agreed that it was over. And I'd be lying if I said that just 'cause I wasn't in love with her that she didn't bring me no joy during that time. I'd be lying if I said she never cooked me a good meal, or never cleaned up behind me, or never nursed me when I was sick, or never gave me some good loving when I wanted it. Everything wasn't roses, 'cause if it was, we would have stayed together till the end, but there were some good times in there, and I felt like the good times were enough to earn her a decent homegoing.”

Neil didn't want to admit it, but that made sense too. Old man Burgess was right again, but Neil didn't want to talk about that anymore. He wanted to go back to where his conversation was headed before they started talking about burials, funerals, and such. “So your divorce from Esther never made you hesitant about trying again?”

Through an extended laugh, Homer said, “It did till I met Odette.” He rubbed his right hand across his mass of soft, curly hair. “I wasn't always old and on a cane, you know. I was probably 'bout the age you are now when I got divorced, and just like you, Deacon Taylor, I was a ladies' man, a heartbreaker.”

For a minute, Neil thought that the wide smile that dimpled his cheeks had literally brightened the darkness around them, until he noted the two cars that were passing by the church with their headlights on.

Deacon Burgess continued. “Women used to try to catch my eye when I was still married, so when word spread that I was divorced, the sisters came from every which-a-way. I went out with a few of 'em, but I never saw 'em as much more than pretty faces and pretty legs.” Deacon Burgess laughed again. “I was a face and legs man.”

Neil laughed again too, mainly because he was starting to see a lot of himself in the old, off-key-singing deacon. The face and legs were two of the first things he noticed in a woman too. Shoving his hands in his pockets and wanting to hear more, Neil said, “So I'm guessing that Odette came in the picture somewhere along the way and changed some things.”

Homer confirmed, “She changed the rules, the game, the playing field . . .
everything
. She was the real deal. She had the face and legs, too, but what made her stand out was that she wasn't like all them other girls who were all up in my grill.”

Another outburst of laughter was released from Neil at the use of the old man's terminology, but his amusement didn't keep Homer from telling the rest of his story.

“She made
me
chase
her
. That was new for me. And when I finally caught her, I was wore out and breathless, but it was worth it. Two chil'ren and forty-one years of marriage. That's what she gave me. Plus a whole lotta good lovin'.
Real
good lovin'. Yes, sir.” Homer patted Neil on the arm like he knew the interrogation had been for Neil's own personal gain. “You wait and see, Deacon. It's gonna all be well worth it.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa . . . hold up, bruh.” CJ held up a hand to stop Neil mid sentence.

Neil watched as his friend removed his eyeglasses, misted the lenses with the heat of his breath, wiped away the moisture with a handkerchief he retrieved from his pocket, and then placed the frames back on his face. It was a calculated sequence that Neil had witnessed on several occasions over the years. Almost every time CJ did it, it was the prelude to a lecture—and this time was no exception.

CJ looked up at the clock on the wall of Neil's entertainment room and used the same handkerchief he'd just wiped his lenses with to wipe away small beads of perspiration from his forehead. “I've been here all of what, forty-five minutes?”

“So?” Neil questioned.

“In that time, you've mentioned this Shay Ford lady's name at least seven times. What's up with that?”

The conversation between the two men had been flowing constantly since CJ answered Neil's challenge to come to his house for a friendly game of ping pong. Despite it being nearly ten o'clock at night, Neil told CJ that he owed it to him. He needed to work out his frustration of having to sit through an hour-long lecture with Elder Mann.

At times, their competitive natures clashed, and the game didn't seem so amicable. But at the end of any ping pong match, no matter which of them walked away with bragging rights, there were never any hard feelings.

“What's up with what?” Neil hadn't realized that he'd been talking so much about Shaylynn. He hadn't even noticed that he'd begun shortening her name, taking the liberty to call her Shay. Having it all brought to his attention at once embarrassed him. Neil picked up a towel and wiped his face, hoping also to disguise his discomfort.

“With you and Ms. Ford, that's what.”

“First of all, it's
Mrs.
Ford, so whatever you're thinking, you can just rethink it.”
There. That will put an end to that.

“Oh.” To Neil's delight, CJ's face fell, and he clearly looked disappointed. “So she's married?”

Darn!
Neil's victory had been short-lived. He was tempted to lie just to bring an end to the conversation, but he opted otherwise. “Yes and no.”

“Yes and no? What kind of answer is that? What's she doing? Shacking? Playing house? Living in sin?”

Neil laughed, as he could almost see the preacher's collar forming itself around CJ's neck. “Calm down, Pastor,” he joked. “She's doing none of that. She's widowed.”

With a nose crinkled in confusion, CJ asked, “Then why did you say, ‘Yes and no'? If she's a widow, then she's not married.”

Neil laughed again, but this time there was no amusement on his face. “I know that, and you know that, but can you go and see if you can get that through to her?”

CJ placed his paddle on the table, and in one heave, scooted himself on the green surface of it and sat. Neil tossed him a look of disapproval. CJ knew that he didn't like people sitting on any piece of furniture in his house that wasn't a chair. It didn't matter that it was just a game table. A table was still a table.

“Talk to me, Neil,” CJ said, ignoring his friend's lingering glare.

“About what? How your tail is all up on my table?”

CJ still didn't move. “No, about this issue you have with
Mrs.
Ford.”

Neil gave up on trying to stare CJ off of the ping pong table and resigned to grabbing his bottled water and taking a few gulps. “I don't have an issue with her.”

“Sounds like you do to me.”

“Why? Because of what I said? I was just—”

“It wasn't
what
you said,” CJ pointed out, shaking his head from left to right. “It's
how
you said it.”

“And just how did I say it?” Neil tried to buy time while he thought of a way out of the hole he'd somehow dug for himself.

“Like you're just a bit miffed that this woman is apparently still grieving and not ready to move on. Everyone needs time to grieve, Neil. You don't know what it's like to lose someone that close—” CJ caught his words and the menacing glare that Neil tossed his way. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Yeah,” Neil said halfheartedly just before he sucked the rest of the liquid from his bottle and tossed the empty plastic container in the bin with his other recyclables.

“But let's build on that,” CJ came back. “See how ticked off you got just then? Dwayne's death still hurts you when you think about it. Maybe it's the same for her. How long has her husband been deceased?”

“I don't know exactly, but she told Ms. Dasher that it had been some time ago, so it didn't just happen.”

CJ repositioned himself on the game table, and then said, “Well, your brother died, what? Fifteen years ago? It's still not easy for you, so why should it be easy for her?”

“I didn't say it should be easy, CJ, but you can't compare Dwayne's death to her husband's. Dwayne died suddenly. We weren't expecting it. It hit all of us hard—even you.”

“True.” CJ nodded in agreement. “So how did your friend's husband die?”

Scratching his chin thoughtfully, Neil admitted, “I don't know. And she's not my
friend
. I spent a few hours with her on a field trip. I don't think that's enough time to draw lines of friendship.”

“Why not? It was enough time to draw lines of attraction.”

Neil released an irritated huff. “Man, what are you talking about? Nobody said nothing about being attracted to Shay. Where are you coming up with this stuff? And get your butt off my table.”

“Why does it bother you that she still wears Mrs. as her title?” CJ remained seated.

“Who says it bothers me?”

“You did, Neil. Just not in those words. Come on, bruh. The two of us have known each other for almost two decades. How you gonna try to play me now? I know you, Neil. Whether you've spent a few hours or a few days around this lady, she's gotten under your skin so deep that you can't even reach the spot to scratch it away. Do I need to go put on my clergy garb and come back in order for you to open up about this? If so, I will, but whether you talk to me as your pastor or as your friend, this is something you need to talk about.”

Neil shook his head and turned away.

“Am I lying?” CJ challenged.

Neil turned back to face his friend. “Okay, let's get this straight before we even get into this conversation. Shay isn't under my skin, okay? Do I find her interesting? Yes. Do I find her intriguing? Yes. Do I find her attractive? Yes. But is she under my skin? No.”

CJ raised both hands in surrender. “Fine.”

Neil sat in a nearby chair and took a much-needed moment to be sure that he chose his words carefully. He didn't need CJ jumping to any more unfounded conclusions. “She doesn't just insist on wearing the title, CJ; she still wears the ring too.”

“Wedding ring, you mean?”

“Yep. The whole set.”

“On the left hand?”

“Uh-huh. She must have had it bad for this guy is all I can say.”

“Did you meet her at Kingdom Builders?”

Neil nodded. “She has a son in the first grade. She stopped by the school one day a couple of weeks ago, and I helped her unlock her car door. After that, I didn't see her again until the field trip.”

“Have you seen her since?”

“That was just Tuesday, CJ. It's only Thursday. Not hardly. Her son has been at Kingdom Builders Academy since the beginning of the school year, and until a couple of weeks ago, I'd never seen her. I'm sure we won't just arbitrarily run into one another at the school any time soon.”

“But you're interested in her, so you're not going to just let it go at that, are you?”

“Man, why do you keep putting words in my mouth? I never said I was interested in her.”

“Yes, you did. Just a few minutes ago.”

Neil shook his head. “No. What I said was that I found her interesting. That's different.”

The clarification didn't discourage CJ one bit. “My question remains the same,” he said. “You're not gonna just let it go, are you?”

“One thing I didn't tell you,” Neil said, not answering the repeated question. “She's very young.”

CJ's eyes enlarged themselves. “Oh? When you say
very young
, what—”

“Twenty-six, twenty-seven, maybe. I don't know.”

CJ let out a long whistle. “That
is
young.” Silence rested for a brief moment before he added, “But when you think about it, that's not unusual these days. Older women are marrying much younger men. Older men are marrying much younger women. It's like we're taking it back to the old days when age really didn't factor in too heavily. A twenty-year difference wasn't out of the ordinary for our grandparents and great-grandparents, and a twelve or thirteen year difference ain't all that uncommon in the twenty-first century.”

“Why are you talking about marriage, CJ? See, that's why I didn't want to get into this with you. I made more progress talking to Deacon Burgess.”

“Deacon Burgess?” CJ tilted his head to the side. “You talked to Deacon Homer Burgess about this? When?”

“Well, you weren't at the funeral . . . I mean the men's meeting tonight, so I had to talk to somebody.”

CJ laughed at Neil's faux mix of words. Then he announced, “I said I'm sorry, didn't I? I needed time with Resa tonight.”

“Yeah, well, you and
Resa
are like two rabbits. Y'all need to let it rest.”

“Don't hate, bruh, don't hate.”

“Whatever,” Neil mumbled. He was happy that his friend was happy, but he couldn't pretend that he didn't sometimes envy what CJ and Theresa had going.

“So what did you and Deacon Burgess talk about tonight? He must have been having a good day if what he said made sense.”

“Oh, he was plenty lucid tonight. I hadn't seen him that coherent for that long in ages. He must be on new meds or something. He talked to me about love and marriage. It was pretty cool, actually.”

“So you told him you wanted to marry Shay?”

“No! Dang, CJ. I mention finding a woman interesting and you already have me marching down the aisle.”

“The bride marches, Neil, not the groom.”

Neil rolled his eyes to the ceiling, and then shook his head.

“Is she saved?”

“Man, I don't know,” Neil said with a laugh. He knew that question would get thrown in before long. “We talked a little about church on the ride back to the school. I invited her to KBCC, and she thanked me for the invitation. She's been visiting at another church, but said she hadn't been led to join.”

“Did she use those words?” CJ asked.

“What words?”

“Led to join. Did she actually say she hadn't been led to join?”

“Yeah.”

“Sounds to me that she knows something about being in communication with God.” CJ seemed pleased as he spoke the words, and he didn't try too hard to hide it.

“Anyway,” Neil said, trying to mask his own satisfaction at the notion that Shaylynn had a personal relationship with the Lord. “Even if I were drawn to her in some way, she's made it pretty clear that her name is still
Mrs.
Shaylynn Ford, so I think that's a message that has been delivered loud and clear.”

“I hope Resa feels that strongly about me after God calls me home. I mean, if I died young, I'd want her to move on with her life, but I'd also want her to feel so strongly that nobody else can treat her as well as I did, that she'd be very selective. You know what I'm saying?”

Neil didn't particularly want to agree under the circumstances, but he responded with a slow nod anyway. “I guess it
is
a compliment to a man, huh?”

“The highest,” CJ said. “So whoever Mr. Ford was, he must have been a great guy.”

“Emmett,” Neil said.

“Huh?”

“Emmett. That was his first name. As young as she is now—unless he was a lot older than she—Emmett Ford had to be rather young when he died.”

“Emmett Ford?” The words dripped from CJ's lips like crystallized honey.

“Yeah.” Neil looked at his friend through curious eyes. “You act like you knew him or something.”

“I know several guys named Emmett, and the last name Ford is probably way too common for it to be the same one I'm thinking about right now. It's just kind of ironic that the one person that I know of who had both the first and the last name is dead.”

“What are you saying? You know an Emmett Ford that also happens to be deceased?”

“I didn't know him personally, but I knew of him, and so did you. Mayor Emmett Ford.”

An oblivious look overcame Neil's face. He shrugged his shoulders and twisted his mouth.

“Mayor?”

“Yeah. The one up north who got murdered five or six years ago . . . remember?”

Neil's recollection slowly caught up with CJ's words. He remembered the breaking news story that had taken place too far away to remain a major story for any length of time in Atlanta.
It couldn't be.

“Probably not, though.” CJ voiced Neil's sentiment, and then slid down from the table and into a standing position. “I mean, what are the chances? Ready for another round, old man?” he added while tapping the head of his paddle on the surface of the table. “You should have your wind back by now.”