Chapter 24
Angelina Preston was a woman of her word. She'd called just like she said and invited me to a picnic lunch at the church where she and I would get down and dirty about the Bible. This was going to be interesting. Although I knew I'd never be one of those Holy Roller type devoted Christians who believed in the evangelical, whimsical, all-knowing God, I had to admit there were some things I was curious about.
“Okay, my first question is about the whole creation thing,” I said, and we were on a roll.
Angelina knew a lot about the Bible, and it was pretty clear she believed everything in it. The most interesting fact among them was the idea of this TrinityâFather, Son and Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit, in particular, was the voice in our head and our hearts that tried to speak to us. The voice I thought of as a conscious or instinct. Angelina had me thinking about how many times that voice on the inside had niggled at me or downright warned me about things that I paid no attention to, and then ended up sorry for later. Like walking into Bergdorf's that day almost eight years ago.
Slam!
I let out a deep breath. Would I ever stop hearing those bars come together in my memory?
“The last thing I wanted to talk about was grace.” Angelina pulled me from my memory.
“Grace,” I repeated. “Your pastor must have said that twenty times yesterday.”
“Yes, because those parables all illustrate the grace of God. God's grace is one of the gifts of salvation. When we lose our way, we can always come back home. God wants us to come home. Sometimes He looks for us like in the case of the sheep and the coins, and sometimes He waits for us.”
“Like the Prodigal Son.” I was surprised that I remembered so much.
“Right.” I could tell Angelina was pleased. She looked at her notes. “There's another story I want to share with you. Turn in your Bible to the book of John, chapter four.”
“John. He was one of the gospels.”
“Yes. His book is one of the four gospels.” She corrected me with a smile.
“If I don't get anything else today, I've got those four names down.”
“You're getting a lot, Rae. You've asked me some of the most thought provoking questions anyone has ever asked me. I can't tell you how much I appreciate you challenging me this way. This has been just as good for me as I hope it has been for you.”
Angelina really looked like she meant what she was saying. I couldn't imagine. I nodded and kept turning. “Okay, so I have John ... chapter four.”
Angelina reached for a glass of juice. “You read this time. Keep going until I say stop.”
“The Pharisees heard that Jesus was gaining and baptizing more disciples than John, although in fact it was not Jesus who baptized, but his disciples. When the Lord learned of this, he left Judea and went back once more to Galilee. Now he had to go through Sam ...”
What was this?
I stopped and looked at her. Did she know who I was? Was this some kind of game she was playing with me? She was just sitting there, as Angelina-ish as always with that guidance counselor slash friend expression on her face.
“Keep going. The pronunciation is Samaria.” She sounded out my name.
I forced my eyes back to the pages, looked at my name, and then at Angelina again. I had to be sure I wasn't being played. “My mouth is dry,” I whispered, and I reached for my bottled water. I took a long drink, cleared my throat, and regained my composure. “
Now he had to go through Samaria
,” I continued and read the passage all the way down until I finished the twenty-sixth verse.
I was paralyzed with some emotion I couldn't qualify or quantify. It was a weird sense of displacement, like I knew who I was three minutes ago, and now I wasn't so sure. I shook my head. Tried to clear the cobwebs. “What's this about?” My voice croaked.
“The story has a lot of issues, and like most of the stories we have talked about today, it can mean different things at different times to different people,” Angelina began, “but the one message that never changes in this story is that God loves us regardless of what we've done. We have grace through God's love. We're all His children.”
I shook my head again. The Samaritan woman was a whore, but God loved her. “I don't get it.”
“Rae, the Samaritan woman at the well was no angel. She was from the wrong side of town, and she was mixed up with some of the wrong crowd. She had a reputation. She'd had a bunch of men in her past and still didn't have it right with the one she was sleeping with. He was a married man. So from this story we learn that God doesn't accept a sinful or carnal lifestyle. We talked about that earlier, you remember?”
I nodded.
“If we want to be in right relationship with God, we can't live to please ourselves and our wants. But the story also shows that a well of grace is always there to renew us, to refresh our souls. It's like I told you earlier. Jesus came not for the healthy, but the sick. The church is about helping the sick, and none of us, church people, Samaritan women, lost sheep, none of us are perfect. It's only God's grace that makes us acceptable.”
I stared at the pages. I couldn't stop looking at my name. I couldn't stop thinking about the parallels between my life and this woman's. I couldn't believe the irony that of all these stories in this humungous book that she would chose to share this one. I had the same feeling I'd had the other night when Nadine had told me about her boyfriend. I had the feeling that I was being warned, but maybe it wasn't a warning. Maybe it was the Holy Spirit trying to talk to me.
No. I pushed that thought away. I wasn't falling for that. What would God have to do with me? He'd never paid attention to my life before. I closed my Bible. “That was an interesting story.”
“It's not just a story. It's the reality of our faith. Think about it. Reread the scripture tonight and read the parable of the lost sheep again. Pray. The Lord will give you clarity about the meaning for you. Always trust that voice inside. It's God inside of you, and He's never wrong.”
I helped Angelina clean up the picnic lunch. I thanked her for teaching me the things she thought someone considering Christianity should know, and then I hugged her. Not because it was a church sister thing to do, but because I wanted to. It felt strange. All my life I'd only ever gotten hugs or gropes from men. I'd never had a girlfriend who hugged me. My mother had never in my entire life hugged me. It was weird, but it also feltâI don't knowânice. Like it was something I needed.
Mentor-a-Sister.
Angelina's heart was so pure. No wonder she could believe all this stuff about grace and mercy and forgiveness. She'd probably never done a corrupt thing in her life. I was a liar, a fraud, and a thief, and I didn't care how many undesirables Jesus had flanked around Him when He was crucified on the cross. He didn't have anyone hanging next to Him like the likes of me. I had slept with Angelina's husband last night and hugged her today. Grace, mercy, forgiveness, and all the water in the deepest well on the earth weren't going to wash away my sins. Nobody was going to convince me that Jesus was leaving His flock to look for a sheep like me.
Chapter 25
The call from my cousin, June, came just after three o'clock. My mother had been taken to the hospital. For what, that knuckle head didn't know.
“She was acting strange. I got scared and called for a bus,” he said, using the word folks in the hood called an ambulance. “Holla back when you find out somefin'.” The line went dead.
June was useless. Mama told me he hurt his arm in some kind of accident on the job. That's how he'd started taking oxycontin. That's when his drug use got out of control. While I was sympathetic to the fact that he had been injured, I kept wondering why that Negro couldn't just be a crackhead like all the other drug addicts in White Gardens.
I took a seat and lay my head back against the wall. My cell beeped a reminder, and I pulled the phone from my pocket.
Bible Study
. I was supposed to bring a refreshment item to the meeting. I dialed Angelina's number and hoped to heaven she didn't answer. I didn't feel like talking. Just when I thought the voice mail would come on, I heard her voice. “I can't make the meeting tonight. My mother had to come into the emergency room.”
“Oh.” I could tell she was stunned. “Is she okay? Is it serious?”
“I don't know. I haven't been told anything.” I paused. “I'm sorry. I know I'm supposed to bring a snack.”
“Rae, it's all right. It's cookies, and we're talking about your mom. How are you?”
“Scared,” I admitted, letting out a breath. “For someone with a background in healthcare, I'm a complete punk when my mom is sick. She's a bad asthmatic, she has high blood pressure, and some other chronic health issues, so I've been here before.”
“We're all like that when it's our own family.”
“And I hate this hospital. They take so long to give you updates. They're always short staffed.” I ran my free hand through my hair and pulled it into a knot at my neck.
“What hospital is it?” Angelina asked.
“Atlanta South Regional.” I rolled my eyes wishing I was anywhere but here.
“Okay, I'm going to get somebody to teach the class for me, and I'll be right there.”
“What? No. Angelina, that's not necessary.”
“Of course it is. You shouldn't be alone. I'm coming.” And the line went dead. Angelina Preston on this side of town. I stared at my phone. Were there any limits to this woman's Christian charity?
I found myself pacing the floor and constantly checking my watch. I had arrived more than an hour ago, and no one had told me anything about my mother. I'd even tried to pull the professional courtesy thing. Talk to the staff, nurse to nurse, but the emergency room was swamped with patients. Nobody had time to massage another nurse's ego.
“Somebody had better tell me something soon,” I whispered.
“They will, and it'll be good news.”
The velvety timbre of the masculine voice came from behind me. I closed my eyes and Mekhi touched my shoulder. A tingle radiated from my neck to my knees. “I came as soon as I heard.”
He turned my weakened body toward him and massaged my upper arms in his strong, but gentle grip. “She gonna be straight.”
Something yummy filled my nostrils and set my heart to racing. My eye lids popped open. I wondered if this man could ever not look good. Ever not smell good. I stepped out of his grip and took in his complete appearance.
Mekhi was wearing a suit; a black, single-breasted, three button, peak collar designer number that hung on his six foot frame like he'd had it custom made. He had Eel wingtips on his feet. He was looking fine at a level that left me speechless.
“You didn't need to come here.” I was eye level with his enormous chest, and that was all I could think to say. I was trying to keep from trippin' on how he looked.
“You an only child, and I heard June was too messed up to ride in the bus with her.”
“You still didn't have to come.”
“Nobody should wait in this place by theyself.” His voice grew huskier. “I'm trying to be a friend. Can't you think of me as a friend?”
I rolled my eyes and stepped back again, trying to distance myself from his scent.
“Dang, Sam. We used to be good friends.” Annoyance peppered his tone, but his eyes were begging for forgiveness.
We used to be lovers
, I thought, looking at the sexy set of his jaw. He always did look good when he was getting heated. I sat down in a nearby chair and stared at my hands. I couldn't look at him anymore. The worse thing about looking into Mekhi's eyes was that I wanted to stand back up and fall into his arms. I wanted his strength. I wanted him to hold me. I wanted to lean against that chest, but I couldn't go there, couldn't go back. Not with him. I had to resist this power he had over me because it was so crazy. Especially when I was feeling vulnerable, like now.
Mekhi took the few steps necessary and stooped in front of me. “Sammie I'm just trying to be here for you.”
This Negro.
I wanted to scream. He was on my mind more and more these days. I kept seeing him, in person and in my memory. Why, after all these years, was he resurfacing like this? I had to release the tension that was gathering in my gut. I did it the only way I knew how. I got nasty. “I don't do friends. And even if I did, I definitely wouldn't consider you to be someone I could trust like that,” I said. “We passed friendship a long time ago.”
Mekhi let out a deep breath, stood, and dropped into the seat next to me. “Look, I didn't come here to talk about us. I told you I was through doing that. I didn't want you waiting by yourself.” He looked at me sideways. He smirked, and when his lips twisted a long dimple appeared in his cheek. I loved those dimples.
We sat there for a few minutes, neither of us saying anything. My mind had finally drifted back to my mother, where it should have been all along. The wait was really getting on my nerves. I didn't trust this place. Didn't trust these overworked, underpaid employees. Mekhi seemed to sense my anxiety because he reached for my hand, which I promptly snatched back.
“Uh-uh.” I shook my head. I didn't look in his eyes. I was afraid I might melt. I might grab his warm, strong hand and lay my head on his shoulder. I was scared, and I was tired of being strong all the time. I wanted somebody else to be strong for me, like Mekhi used to be in the old days, before he left me hanging.
“Rae.” I heard Angelina's voice before I saw her, and I sprang from my seat.
She gave me a tight squeeze. “Do you know anything?”
“Not yet. I'm thinking they'll have to tell me something soon.”
Mekhi stood.
“I'm sorry to interrupt.” Angelina's eyes moved between us. I noticed she stole a glance at Mekhiâa head to toe sweep. She had to be impressed. He looked like a million bucks. “I don't know why I assumed you were waiting alone.”
“No, it's okay. He was leaving.” I pinned him with a look that said “go.”
Mekhi raised his eyebrows. “It's like that?”
I didn't hesitate. “You know it.”
“I don't want to intrude,” Angelina said. Like Mekhi, she was looking like a mint standing in this crappy hospital in a Chanel suit with matching bag and shoes. I thought I could dress. She was light years ahead of me and definitely out of place in this dump.
Her attire wasn't wasted on Mekhi either, he looked her up and down, and then returned a disapproving gaze to me. “No, it's cool. I think she'd rather be alone than be with me anyway.”
An uncomfortable beat passed between us all, and then Angelina stuck her hand out at Mekhi. “I'm Angelina Preston. Rae and I go to church together.”
Mekhi shook Angelina's hand and cleared his throat. “Rae.” His expression said what he couldn't.
“Mekhi is a childhood friend, Angelina. Nobody called me Rae as a child,” I stuttered over my words. “I don't go by nicknames anymore, Mekhi,” I said it with the same firmness I implied in the look I gave him. He was a con artist. He got my game.
Mekhi's head moved in a disapproving shake, and then those optic white teeth of his filled his face. He looked at Angelina and said, “It was a pleasure.” He gave me a nod. “Call and update me on your moms. I'm out.”
Angelina and I watched him stroll out of the waiting room. I let out the breath I'd been holding and turned to her. I could tell she was curious about Mekhi, but before she could ask a nurse entered the room. “The family of Winnie Jacobs.”
“I'm her daughter.” I moved like an Olympic sprinter to get closer. Angelina was on my heels.
“We've stabilized her,” the nurse reported. “We'll let you see her once we get her to ICU. She had a couple of seizuresâ”
I interrupted. “Seizures.”
The nurse put a hand up to let me know to let her continue. “Her blood pressure was elevated, and we've got her on a ventilator. She had a severe asthma attack.”
A ventilator. It'd never been this bad. I closed my eyes tight to block out the image. I'd cared for many patients on ventilators, but the thought of my mother not breathing on her own was more than I could bear. Angelina squeezed my hand, and I opened my eyes. The nurse continued. “We've sent her blood work to the lab, and we're doing some other tests. We're trying to pinpoint the cause of the seizures.” I nodded. “We'll let you know as soon as we have more information.”
I nodded again. I didn't know what else to do. Tears were brimming in my eyes. A seizure . . . that was something new. That didn't have anything to do with her blood pressure or her asthma. The nurse left the room.
Angelina put her arm around me. “Let's sit down.”
I followed her lead to my abandoned chair. I reached into my handbag, trying to find a tissue when Angelina handed me some. “I grabbed a bunch on the way out the door,” she said. “I know how it works when you're in a place like this. We women can't turn off the water works.”
Angelina was looking around the dingy gray room, looking at all the other people waiting. It was a motley crew. One ghetto fabulous chick with gold teeth, finger nails too long to wipe a butt good, and hair as high as a 1960's beehive was on her cell phone chewing somebody out about missing money. Three young men that looked like gang bangers clad in white T-shirts and jeans with red bandanas tied around their heads were waiting to hear about their friend who'd been stabbed. I'd heard that report earlier. Then there were the two transvestites in the corner that were dressed like rejects from a Patti Labelle and Lady Marmalade revue. It took all kinds to capture the essence of poverty. I would have bet good money that Angelina would have been scared in this environment, but she wasn't. She was cooler than I was, and it made me wonder about Dr. Preston's wife's background. For real.
“So tell me about your mom,” Angelina said. “Are you close?”
I chuckled. “Close. I wouldn't call it that. I'm an only child, so I'm the only one she has, but we've never really been close in the mother-daughter sense. My mom isn't one of those people you get real close to.”
“Humph,” Angelina grunted. “I know what you mean. We have something in common. I'm an only child too, and my mother drives me up a wall.”
I laughed. “Really.”
“She has these ideas about how my life is supposed to be, and she won't let certain things go. I get tired of it. Sometimes you want someone in your corner, even if you're making a mistake. I can't get that from my mother.”
I was in shock. “You couldn't have surprised me more if you told me you're mother was in jail, girl.” I laughed. “I guess I pictured your mom and you attending some Sisters of the High Tea Secret Society meetings every week.”
“Not even close.” Angelina laughed. “My mother is in New Jersey, Asbury Park, where I grew up, and I'm glad she isn't close enough to attend anything with me. It's hard enough talking on the phone. I think that's why my friendships are so important. I've always protected my female friendships. They make up for what I lacked with my mom.
“So that's why you do Mentor-A-Sister?”
“Probably; my deep seated need for an older or younger sister. Being an only child is lonely.”
“But you have a husband.” I almost bit my lip. I actually felt guilty about bringing Greg up.
Angelina's smile didn't reach her eyes when she responded. “That's a different kind of relationship. Plus, men are men; you knowâself-absorbed. Not like your girls. Your girls are there for you through thick and thin.”
I didn't know. I had no idea. Had never had a “girl.” Had never wanted one.
We were quiet for a moment, and I felt compelled to share. “My mother is different from yours. I don't know what she feels about me. She worked a lot when I was growing up, had way too many boyfriends that always had her attention, and now she only calls me when she needs something, which is a lot. I always felt like I was a burden. Like she resented me after my father left.”