The Truth Is the Light (3 page)

“Just from those thirty-five minutes, I believe I received a pretty good introduction,” Zachary said. “So . . . where would you like to go eat?”

Gabrielle put her hands up to her face to compose herself, then took them down. “I'm so sorry. I can't believe she did that. Wait a minute—yes, I can. That's classic Aunt Cee-Cee. And the funny part is, she has no idea that what she just did was totally wrong or completely selfish. No idea at all.”

“Oh, she knows,” Zachary said. “I get the distinct feeling Aunt Cee-Cee knows
exactly
what she's doing.
Exactly
.”

Chapter 3

“M
arshall, your son is being baptized Sunday night at six. Are you planning on being there or not?” fifty-four-year-old Zenobia Walker said as she waited, not so patiently, on the phone for her ex-husband to respond. When it came to their two sons, there wasn't anything she wouldn't do to keep them from being hurt.

Sixty-four-year-old Reverend Marshall Walker took his time in answering his second ex-wife, ten years his junior. He'd married her straight out of high school, and he still knew how to put a little starch under her collar. “Zenobia, I've already had this discussion with Clarence. He called me Sunday night after going to that Followers of Jesus Faith Worship Center and rededicating his life—”

“He says it's not rededicating, Marshall. Clarence says this is his first time honestly giving his life to Christ. I know that's hard for you to appreciate since you're the last one on earth who'll admit you don't perform miracles. But this is an important event for your son, and I would think you'd want to be there to support him in this,” Zenobia said.

“Our son is not a little boy anymore. He's a grown man now. That means he's used to disappointments in life. I already have something scheduled. It was scheduled long before Clarence decided to get baptized . . .
again
. Frankly, I still don't understand the logic behind a person choosing to go into the water twice. It's not the water that saves us anyway. It's our faith in Jesus Christ. I baptized him with water when he was twelve. Believe me, he's not going to get any cleaner just because he wants to go down into the water again. But if that makes him feel better, then more power to him.”

“Okay, Marshall. It's obvious you haven't changed one bit. That's one of the reasons you and I didn't make it as husband and wife. Can't nobody tell you nothing! You think you know everything and everything has to go your way. You don't care about anybody but yourself. Well, I'm going to pray for you because you're wrong about this. You're
so
wrong. Your son has been out there in the world for decades now doing God knows what. Then one fateful day, he goes to a church. He hears the Word. Okay, I'm sorry if it wasn't your church. But the point is, he heard the Word. And God's Word caused him to see that he needed to make a change in his life . . . that he needed to hook up with Jesus. He saw that it was time he got right with the Lord.” Zenobia let out a sigh.

“So, whatever it is that you have to do,” she continued, “I don't see how anything could be more important than your being there to support your son during this, if it's at all possible. Clarence is finally doing what you've always wanted him to do,” Zenobia said. “He's doing what you and I have been praying to God to happen. Clarence has given his life to the Lord.”

Reverend Walker released his own loud and audible sigh. “Zenobia, I told you: I have a commitment already. Otherwise, I'd be there. You know that my life is not my own anymore. I have responsibilities and obligations. As I said to Clarence on Tuesday when I spoke to him again, if I didn't already have something scheduled, I would be there. But I do. And I'm not one who breaks one commitment for another commitment later. That's just not how I conduct my business. You'll be there for him. I'm sure Knowledge will come if he's available. Clarence knows how happy I am that he's made the decision to change his lifestyle. And if he needs me, you and he both know I'll be right there for him. As I stated to you earlier: I've seen him go down in the water before. Just because he decided
that
particular water baptism at age twelve didn't count doesn't mean it didn't happen. Nor does it mean that I must rearrange my entire life and schedule to accommodate what
they,
over
there,
decided to schedule, on short notice, I might add.”

Zenobia nodded her head, her medium-length, feather-cut hair moving as though it were trying desperately to stay with each of her nods. “Fine, Marshall. I'm going to pray for you.”

Reverend Walker laughed. “Oh, you don't have to pray for
me
. God and I are straight. Everything is wonderful in my life. But if you want to pray just to be doing something, then by all means, pray away.”

“See.” Zenobia slowly shook her head as she primped her mouth. “I don't know why I even bother trying to be civil to you. Listen, you have a wonderful time Sunday night doing whatever it is you're going to be doing. All right?”

“Same to you,” Reverend Walker said evenly and calmly. He hung up the phone.

“Ugh! That man!” Zenobia said, raising her fist to the ceiling. “I can't believe I was actually married to him once upon a time. Talk about being blind but now I see! Ugh!”

“Calm down, Mama,” thirty-seven-year-old Knowledge Walker said as he walked into the den popping a black grape into his mouth. “I still don't see why you let Daddy get to you like you do.” He brushed his two hands quickly together to dispel any remaining moisture from his hand.

Zenobia rolled her eyes as she shook her head once more. “I can't believe he's not going to come to your brother's baptism on Sunday night.”

“Clarence is getting baptized again?”

Zenobia squinted her eyes at Knowledge as she glared at his six-foot-two frame. “Don't you start with me,” she said. “I'm not in the mood to play with you today, and especially not after your father just got my blood pressure up.”

Knowledge hugged his mother. “Mama, you must learn to let things go, specifically when it comes to Daddy. He's not going to change. You know that. Clarence likely knows Daddy's not coming. He's okay with it. I know
I
knew it. Daddy's always
too
busy.”

“So, I'm the only one holding out hope against hope that he'll finally see the light and start treating you both the way he ought to?”

“Mama, Daddy is . . . Daddy,” Knowledge said. He spun her around and began massaging her tensed shoulders. “And I can assure you, the last place Daddy probably wants to be on Sunday night is watching his wayward son, who has now seen the way, being baptized at a church other than his own, by a minister other than himself. Unless of course that minister happens to be one of his little minions he's instructed to do so as he oversees everything from his high, golden perch.” Knowledge spoke the last of his sentence with an overly proper accent.

Zenobia turned around and swatted her son softly. “Knowledge, that's not nice. You still have to respect your father. I don't care how angry and frustrated he makes us.”

“Oh, I respect him as my father. I just refuse to lie, even when it comes to him.”

“Why don't you give your daddy a call and see if you can't talk him into seeing how wrong he is for not coming? I checked the church's Web site. He's not preaching anywhere Sunday evening or that night. So whatever his plans are, they don't involve him having to cancel a speaking engagement or church service.”

Knowledge shook his head. “No, ma'am, Mama. We both know once Daddy has decided something, nothing and no one can change his mind.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Yeah, but nothing,” Knowledge said. “I love you, Mama. But you need to drop this and move on. Capiche?”

“Yes, I get it,” Zenobia said. “I really do understand. And I really
am
trying.”

Knowledge kissed his mother on the cheek and grinned at her.

“Stop that,” Zenobia said with a laugh.

“Stop what?”

“Stop making things light with your pragmatism when things start to get heavy.”

“Ah, Mama. Admit it: you love the way I use my skills as a negotiator. It's just the art of negotiation in practice. This is why the finance world pays me the big bucks.”

Zenobia tilted her head slightly and looked sternly up at him. “Oh, so is that why the FBI is so interested in you lately?”

“Mama, I told you. The FBI is interested in me and my skills in finance and accounting. That's what happens when you're good at your job and word gets back to the Big House.” Knowledge plucked his white silk shirt twice with both his thumbs and index fingers like a bird pecking at the ground trying to snatch up a worm. It was his way of emphasizing his pride in himself.

“People in high places begin to search you out for positions in their organization. The government is stepping things up within the financial world. There's too much corruption too high up. People aren't sticking up banks with guns and a note the way they used to. Things are high tech now, sophisticated. And the government is looking for the best of the best to put a halt to a lot of these things, or at least slow them down. I know you've seen the movie
Men in Black
. Well, the government really is looking for the best of the best now.”

“Yeah, okay. That's what you keep telling me. You'd just better be sure that's the only reason the government is interested in you. I mean that, Knowledge.”

Knowledge kissed his mother again on the cheek. “Mama, you raised me better than that. I won't embarrass you or our good name. I'm the good son, remember?”

“Knowledge . . .”

“I'm just kidding, Mama. Well, I'm out of here. It's Thursday and I have to pick up Dominique and Jasmine from ballet and Deon from karate. I'm just glad Isis found a place with both activities next door to each other. At least I don't have to run all over town dropping them off and picking them up for this. After I get them, I'll go by the daycare and pick up Dante before they close at six and end up charging me a late fee.”

“Poor Dante . . . having to be the last one picked up,” Zenobia said of the six-month-old. “You should have stopped by and gotten him before you came here. I'm sure he would have loved to see his granny. And how is Isis these days?” Zenobia asked of her daughter-in-law. “We don't see very much of her hardly ever.”

“Oh, she's good. The law firm is keeping her busy. But as she tells me often when I try to get her to slow down: this is what she was born to do. And I must admit, when you see her in action, grilling a witness on the stand, connecting the dots, that wife of mine
is good
. I believe they're thinking of making her a junior partner soon.”

“Well, I hope to see all six of you Sunday night. In fact, I think it would be great if we all got together for dinner after church. I could cook a nice, big meal, check Gramps out. Clarence could come over and maybe bring his two children. It would be fun.”

“We could do that. I need to check with Isis to be sure she's available. But me and the children could be here. As for Clarence getting his two daughters . . . you know Tameka and Clarence are like a Mac and a PC: they both work well respectively, but they use totally different operating software to function. With Clarence's previous line of work, he didn't always get the children on his weekend. If it's not his weekend this week, Tameka may not cooperate just to get back at him for all the times he
didn't
get them when he could have.”

“But this is a special weekend. Their father is being baptized. I'm sure Tameka will be fine with us having a family gathering here at my house,” Zenobia said. “You just see about Isis and I'll handle Tameka.”

“Yeah, Tameka still loves you. You two are sort of like Ruth and Naomi in the book of Ruth in the Bible. ‘Where thou goest, I'll go. Thou God will be my god.'” Knowledge quoted Ruth's words to her mother-in-law, Naomi.

“You know what would really be great? If we all went to church together this Sunday . . . as a family. Then afterward, we could come here for dinner. We might even consider visiting Clarence's new church. You know, show our solidarity as a family unit.”

“Okay, Mama. It's time for me to go now. Because you know that's not going to fly. There's no way I can tell Daddy I won't be at church Sunday because I'm going to the church that stole his other son away from him. No way.”

“Knowledge, don't even play saying things like that.” Zenobia's tone was serious. “Nobody has stolen anyone from anywhere. You sounded just like your father then.”

“Well, Mama, I know you don't want to hear this. But Daddy isn't always wrong.” Knowledge headed toward the door. “I do know from comments Daddy has made, just recently, that he doesn't care much for Pastor Landris, not much at all. I'll call you later tonight and let you know for sure whether we're coming to dinner Sunday. But if we don't, I'll definitely be there for my brother Sunday night.”

Knowledge opened the door and left as Zenobia stood there unconsciously trimming and tidying up a few of her hangnails with her teeth.

Chapter 4

“H
ey there, Miss Countess,” Gramps said. “Where you headed so bright and early this morning?”

“Morning, Ranny,” Countess Gates said to the ninety-nine-year-old, Tootsie Pop–looking bald-headed man most folks, with the exception of her, generally called Gramps. “I was on my way out to the garden for a morning walk.”

“Would you mind having some company?”

“No,” she said with a smile. “You're welcome to come if you like.”

Gramps walked alongside Countess. She looked up and her eyes followed a red robin that flew right past them as soon as they reached the gazebo. She smiled at Gramps. “For an old man, you sure do get around well. You do better than some of the people who work here.”

He grinned. “Who you calling old? You know age ain't nothing but a number and a state of mind. That's all it is. A person can be twenty and think and move like they're fifty. I've seen them; see them now. You ever meet a young person that complains about everything? Every time you turn around, something on their body is ailing them.”

“Hypochondriacs,” Countess said.

Gramps stopped and tilted his head. “Look at you. Using all them big, fancy words on this old country fellow. I just call them kind of folks constant complainers.”

Gramps could tell Countess was having a good day today. With her diagnosed Alzheimer's, you never knew from one day to the next what to expect from her. Recently, it was from one minute to the next. Whenever she went back in time in her mind and he tried to strike up a conversation with her, she would react to him as though he were some dirty old man trying to pick up some young girl. He would merely play along with her whenever she went to that place—apologizing if he'd offended her in any way.

He was thankful that, so far, the disease hadn't attached itself to his mind. Sure, he had plenty of his own forgetful moments. But his was a natural progression of life. He couldn't imagine what it must feel like to look at your own children, grandchildren, or great-grandchildren and not know them. Being in a home filled with senior citizens, he had witnessed all too often the hurt registered on various family members' faces when their loved ones didn't have a clue who they were. And then there were the ones who were forever walking, trying to go “home.” But home for them was a place in time, a place that no longer existed in the present world.

Gramps and Countess sat out in the gazebo for a while, neither one of them having more than casual things to say. They talked about the plants, specifically the beautiful, velvet-looking, multicolored shades of red, yellow, blue, and purple pansies the gardener had just put out. They discussed the trees that were beginning to shed their leaves as they tried to guess how old some were. And the sky that was a perfect indigo blue with not a cloud marring it. Countess sneezed. She sneezed again, and then again.

Having said “Bless you” following three of her sneezes, Gramps pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her. A habit that began with his mother when he was a teenager going to church; she always gave him a fresh handkerchief to put in his pocket. When he was old enough for her not to insist, he did it because there was always some need to have one, even if only to hand over to a woman spilling tears in church or on a date.

“Thank you,” Countess said, sneezing again as she used it now to wipe her nose.

When they got back inside the building, Countess went to her room and Gramps went to his. After minutes of dozing in his recliner, he looked over at the old black trunk he kept in the corner of his room. Stuff was stacked up on top of it. He got up and started removing those things. Opening the trunk, he began to pull out this and that until he finally found what he was looking for. He smiled as he touched the wooden, hand-carved box. He couldn't help but admire the workmanship of the seventy-something-year-old box. It was indeed impressive. Carefully, he took it out of the trunk, closed the trunk's lid, then carried the box over to his bed.

His grandson was going to be baptized Sunday. Clarence had finally heard the voice of Jesus and chosen to give his life to Him. Inside of that now-antique-looking wooden box was an antique pocket watch Gramps wanted to give to Clarence. It would be his way of letting Clarence know that time still has a way of catching up with you. He of all people could testify to that. But one could also use time to his or her advantage. Here he was less than two months from turning one hundred.
Who would have ever believed he would have made it this far and still be clothed in his right mind? If anybody, he, of all people, should have lost his mind a long time ago. But for the grace of God . . .

Just as he was about to put the special key he'd kept in a secret place into the keyhole to unlock the box, there was a knock on his door. Before he could even respond, the door cracked open.

“Ranny, it's me . . . Countess. Is it okay for me to come in?”

He quickly set the box down and pushed it to the side. “Sure, Miss Countess. Come on in.”

Countess pushed the door open and sauntered in. “I washed your handkerchief and ironed it,” she said, holding out the pressed, white, square-folded poly/cotton to him.

“Oh, Miss Countess, you didn't have to go and do that. You could have kept that thang.” He took the handkerchief and laid it on the bed. “I have a drawer full of handkerchiefs. In fact, when folks ask what I want for any occasion, I generally tell them handkerchiefs and socks. You know, you can never have enough handkerchiefs or socks.”

“I know. I just don't like keeping folks' things, not if I can help it. I now realize with all that's happening with me, sometimes I just can't help it. And socks . . . I have yet to figure out why it is that socks, especially men's socks, have a way of just walking off between the ride from the dirty hamper and coming out of the dryer back into the clothes basket. And it's always just one of them. Two go in but only one comes out,” she said.

Gramps laughed. “That's a good one. ‘Two go in but only one comes out.' Yeah, I'll have to use that one.”

Countess looked at the box on the bed. Her look turned into one of puzzlement. “Wow, where did you get
that
from?”

“What?” He followed where her eyes were fixed. “You mean this here box?”

“Yeah. I haven't seen that in a while.”

“No, ma'am, Miss Countess. I don't believe it's possible you've ever seen this before.” He tried to smile. It was obvious she was having one of her moments now.

“Yes, I have,” she said adamantly. “I've seen that box before. That one right there.” She pointed at it so there would be no mistaking what she was referring to.

“Okay, Miss Countess. You've seen this box before,” Gramps said, quickly agreeing with her so he wouldn't upset her. He was certain that there was no way she could have ever seen that box. It had been deep in that trunk since he'd arrived at this place, well before her arrival. He'd never taken it out before, so she couldn't have seen it sitting around his room at any time. The box was definitely not something you'd find in a store, since it was hand-carved and homemade. And this particular box had been made more than seven decades ago.

Countess Gates cocked her head to the side. “Listen, Ranny, I'm not having one of my ‘moments,' senior or otherwise, as so many fondly whisper behind my back as though what's going on with my mind somehow affects my hearing and my ability to understand spoken English. And I'm telling you that I've seen
that
box
right
there before, and I mean
that
box right
there
.” She gave him a stern look. “All right. I'll prove it. When you open it up, it has wings etched inside of the lid. At least, the one I saw did. It's called a Wings of Grace box.”

Gramps was now the one staring back at her as, with great intensity, he studied her face.
How was this possible?
He picked up the special key, and with a slight trembling in his hand, he unlocked the box and opened it up.

And just as Countess had said, wings were etched inside the top of the lid.