3
Like a Good Neighbor . . .
“H
ow do, Maxie.” Henry Logan’s long, sure strides quickly ate up the distance between his yard and Maxine Brook’s driveway. “Here, let me get those groceries for you.”
Mama Max chuckled at the name that only Henry called her. Besides her husband, Obadiah, who called her Maxine, everybody—including those who were older—called her Mama Max. “Now, Henry, don’t strain yourself. I might be old, but I think the Lord’s done left me a muscle or two.”
“It’s no trouble,” Henry replied, easily hoisting the two grocery-filled sacks into his arms and following Maxine through the garage and into the kitchen. “Besides, you might think you’re getting older, but I say you’re getting better.”
“Ha! Man, you’d better get on way from here with that foolishness.” Maxine’s face was fixed with a frown, but her dark brown, still-bright eyes twinkled. Truth of the matter was, she’d come to appreciate Henry’s company since her longtime neighbor’s son had moved back home to care for his mother. Just after he’d arrived, Beatrice Logan had had a stroke and Henry was forced to put her into an assisted-care facility. Maxine appreciated that he hadn’t wanted to be more than a phone call and a ten-minute ride from the woman who’d raised him single-handedly after her husband died. He said he was keeping the place ready for his mama’s return but neither one of them really thought that eighty-five-year-old Beatrice would ever come back to the block. There was somebody else who Maxine thought would never again live on the block or, more specifically, in her house, which again made her all the more thankful for this kind man’s company. Henry was a man, but harmless, with Maxine having known his mama nigh unto thirty years, and him being so much younger than her. Maxine wasn’t sure how old he was, but she had a pretty good idea that she’d beat him into glory.
“What do you think about this unseasonably warm June weather?” Henry asked, removing groceries and setting them on the table as if it were the most natural thing for him to do. It was. He’d been Beatrice’s only child and not only had she been an overprotective disciplinarian, but she’d also taught him everything that the daughter-she-never-had would have needed to know. Henry could cook, clean, wash, and iron. And what Beatrice hadn’t taught him, the army had.
“This Kansas weather can’t be any crazier than last year,” Maxine replied as she placed flour, sugar, and other baking goods into the pantry. “Over a hundred degrees one day, and under fifty the next? Whoever heard of such? I think those old folk were on to something. Weather ain’t been quite the same since we started sending men to the moon.”
Henry smiled but said nothing.
“Beatrice would agree with me, son. In fact, if she was here she’d tell you that if God wanted us all up in the air, he would have given us wings.”
“Ha! She would indeed. But I don’t think it has anything to do with our space travel.” Having handed Maxine the two-liter bottle of cola, Henry leaned against the doorjamb. “I think it’s all about global warming.”
“Well, God said no more water but fire next time. I thought he was talking about a few fields, or cities, though. Not frying up the whole earth!”
Knowing it would be pointless to go into a diatribe about climate systems, greenhouse gases, and fossil fuels, information gleaned from his addiction to the Discovery Channel, Henry looked at his watch instead. “I’ve got a couple more yards to cut before the sun goes down, so I’d best be getting a move on. I’ll get to yours tomorrow, Maxie.”
“I sure appreciate it. You plan on seeing your mama tomorrow?”
“Of course.”
“Well, give her a how-do for me. And tell her that I’ll see her on Monday. My grandbaby is getting married on Saturday, so it’s going to be real busy these next couple days.”
“I remember your telling me that. Princess, correct?”
Maxine nodded.
“Well, Maxie, I wish her every happiness. Marriage isn’t easy but a good one is worth the sacrifice.”
Maxine didn’t dare touch that sentence with a ten-foot pole. “Thanks for helping with the groceries,” she said by way of dismissal. “And don’t forget to drink a bunch of water while you’re cutting those yards. They was talking on the news about keeping hydraulic.”
“Uh, you mean hydrated, Maxie?” Henry countered, hiding a smile.
“That too. Whatever word keeps you from passing out and crushing my lilac bush.”
“I’ll be sure to put a gallon jug on the back of my lawn mower.” With a wave of his hand, Henry was gone.
Maxine hummed a verse as she decided on whether to bake a lemon, red velvet, or buttermilk cake. “
What a friend we have in Jesus, all our sins and grieves to bear. What a privilege to carry, everything to God in prayer.”
“I haven’t made a buttermilk cake in a while,” she muttered to herself, opening the fridge to reassure herself she had all the right ingredients.
But then Obadiah loves my red velvet.
“Who gives a good hallelujah what that rascal likes?” she asked aloud, reaching for the lemons and the buttermilk and pointedly ignoring the semisweet chocolate. Thinking of her soon-to-be ex-husband almost took away the joy of cooking. Obadiah Brook had lost his mind and spurned his marriage almost a year ago, and that she was thinking about the cakes
he
favored made Mama Max want to slap her own face.
“ ‘Jesus, keep me near the cross,’ ” Maxine sang loudly, chasing unwanted thoughts away with every word, “ ‘there a precious fountain, free to all a healing stream, flows from Calvary’s mountain. ’”
The phone rang.
Maxine heard it but she sang on, even louder than before. “ ‘Near the cross, near the cross. Be my Glory ever.’ ”
The phone rang again.
“ ‘Till my raptured soul shall find . . . rest beyond the river.’ Hello?”
“Hey, Mama,” King Brook said. “Sounds like I interrupted your church service!”
“Hello, son. Just praising the Lord is all.”
“He’s worthy.”
“That He is.”
A brief pause and then, “Mama, I was just wondering if you’d heard from Daddy.”
And with one sentence, the rest her raptured soul had found flew straight out the window, replaced by indignation. “Why would I be hearing from that man?”
Because “that man”—as trifling as he is—is still your husband.
She heard King sigh into the phone. “I’m not trying to start nothing, Mama. I just called his house and his cell. When I didn’t get an answer, I tried to reach Tai and got her voice mail, too. He’s supposed to get in sometime today. I just thought that maybe you’d heard from him.”
“Hmph. Ain’t a reason on this earth that that rascal would be calling me.”
“Really? You have no plans to speak to Daddy this weekend? During this special time when your first grandchild is getting married. . . this is how it’s going down? Listen, Mama, I don’t want to take sides here—”
“Only one side to take and that’s the Lord’s—”
“And I know you’re still upset—”
“And with your father trampling all over his marriage vows, I shouldn’t be the only one—”
“But for Princess’s sake, do you think that we can be civil for just a few hours, maybe even all of Saturday? If we can just get through the ceremony and the reception, then you and Daddy can go on”—
acting like old fools
—“not talking to each other.”
This wasn’t a new plea to Maxine’s ears. Tai had spouted a similar one for the last two months. She’d promised her daughter-in-law not to cuss him out on the church grounds (Maxine was a Christian after all) but that was as far as her word could travel. “If he comes to the house,” she’d finished, “then he just might get real acquainted with my cast iron skillet.
Real
acquainted.”
“I guess we don’t need y’all side by side at the rehearsal dinner, but it would be nice if you could sit together on Saturday. Do you think that could happen?”
Maxine almost smiled. King Brook was a grown man, almost fifty years old, but in this moment he sounded like he did when he was fourteen and wanted to go to the high school dance where the devil’s music was being played. “Even though you’re asking me to take the chance on lightning striking me, son, you know how much I love Princess. Come Saturday, I’ll behave.”
4
Friends . . . How Many of Us Have Them?
“S
istah!” Tai opened her arms as her best friend, Vivian Montgomery, entered the restaurant lobby. “Girl,” she whispered as they hugged, “you get on my nerves!”
Vivian gave her best friend of more than twenty-five years a firm embrace. She stepped back, still holding Tai’s shoulders but looking into her eyes. “What’d I do?”
“It’s what you haven’t done. You never change, sis.” Tai’s look, or more specifically her weight, went up and down more than a yo-yo, and while she hadn’t put back all of the fifty pounds she’d lost the past eighteen months, there was more jiggle to her wiggle and more bounce to the ounce than she’d like.
“Girl, please, if you saw how hard my personal trainer worked me, you’d know what I pay to maintain this size six.”
“Hmm, sounds like a story there. Does Derrick have some competition?” Tai signaled to the hostess that her guest had arrived.
“Not unless I’ve switched lanes,” Vivian answered, nonplussed. “My PT is female, and her workout is a beast.”
“Well, you look good as always,” Tai said honestly. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Tai and Vivian had been friends for almost as long as either could remember, having met at a Baptist convention in Florida when Vivian was thirteen and Tai was one year older. They’d spent the entire week together sharing teenage secrets, and even a hundred-mile distance during their high school years hadn’t diminished their friendship. In an age before the Internet, Tai and Vivian had written countless letters and made hundreds of phone calls, giving themselves front row access into each other’s lives. From the beginning, Tai had imagined herself the housewife, Vivian the professional. In a way, both women got their wishes. After a few years at Sprint during the early part of her and King’s marriage, Tai had settled in to life as the mother of his four children and a preacher’s wife. For Vivian, her well-planned path from college to career woman took an unexpected turn. She’d graduated with a degree in broadcast journalism and when she met her husband, Derrick, was already on her way to becoming the pre-Oprah, black Barbara Walters. Even when love came knocking, along with Derrick’s call to the ministry, she’d imagined herself a Superwoman who could successfully juggle marriage and career. An old church member affectionately called Mother Moseley—who’d observed the single sistahs circling around the hardworking, handsome, passionate young preacher—had pulled Vivian’s coattail and suggested that if she wanted to keep her husband she’d need to lose her job. It was some of the best advice that Vivian had ever received. Every day she thanked God that she’d listened, and she still mourned the fact that the woman who’d been like a second mother for almost two decades had recently gone home to be with the Lord.
After being seated near a window and having their water poured, the two women quickly scanned the menus and then dove right in to catching up. “So . . . how are you holding up?” Vivian asked Tai.
“Girl, I don’t even know.”
“Ha!”
“Where the ceremony itself is concerned, things are going surprisingly smooth. That’s due in no small part to Erin Flynn.”
“She’s the wedding coordinator, right?”
“Along with her team she’s a wedding maestro! Besides the consultations, I’ve hardly had to do a thing. The women of the church have been willing mother hens, more than happy to stay all up in my daughter’s wedding business, and Joni, her maid of honor, has flown out twice in the last four months to help keep Princess’s blood pressure down. So as far as the ceremony goes . . . I’d say we’re doing pretty good.”
Vivian took a drink of her water, eyeing the friend she could read like a book. “Why do I feel there’s a
but
at the end of that sentence?”
“There’s nothing I want more for my daughter than a happily ever after,” Tai said, pausing as the waiter set down their ice-cold teas. “But Rafael is only Princess’s second boyfriend.”
“Uh, and just how many did you have?”
“That’s true. King has been the only man in my life and honestly, I don’t know if that’s a good thing. I mean, when I married King, I had no one to compare him to.”
“But Princess does. She has obviously compared Rafael to Kelvin, and has made her choice.” Living in Los Angeles, Derrick and Vivian had been in unwittingly close proximity as Kelvin and Princess’s love affair unfolded.
“That’s what she says, but I’ve had a funny feeling about this wedding for months now and I can’t seem to shake it. I’ve prayed about it, talked to Princess about it, but it doesn’t go away.” Tai looked at Vivian. “She’s still in love with Kelvin, Viv. She says she isn’t, but Mama knows.”
“I wouldn’t make too much of these emotions, Tai. Princess is your oldest daughter, and the first of your children to marry. It’s normal that you’d feel discomfort and have reservations. But at the end of the day, you’re going to have to put your trust in the Lord.”
“I trust in the Lord, Vivian. I just don’t totally trust Princess . . . or Derrick’s son.”
Derrick’s son.
Vivian pondered this irony after the waiter had taken her order and while Tai decided on what she’d eat. It had been six years since Vivian and Derrick had received the shock of their lives—that instead of two children, Derrick had three. Part one of the who-woulda-thunk-it was that had it not been for Tai and the suspicions that her own husband, King, was hiding something, the secret may have remained Tootie’s alone. Tootie was the oh-no-she-didn’t irony part two. Never in a million years would Vivian have guessed that the woman who’d been a thorn in Tai’s side since high school would play such a significant role in her own life.
King and Derrick were both from Kansas City and had both gone to school with Janeé Smith. They were the high school’s basketball stars, and Tootie’s cheering for them hadn’t stopped when they walked off the court. Derrick only hit it a couple times but King had had an on-again off-again relationship with her for years, one that unfortunately didn’t stop after King’s “I do.” Shortly before Princess was born, Tai found out it was still going on and moved out of the house. King ended the affair, which devastated Tootie. King had been her one true love. Derrick went over to make her feel better. Nine months later came the proof of how good a job he’d done. But by then, Tootie had moved to Germany, got married, and began using her middle name. Tootie Smith became Janeé Petersen and life went on.
Fast forward fifteen years. Tootie returned to Kansas City to care for her ailing mother. That’s when Tai found out that Tootie had a son who was fifteen years old—just a few months younger than Princess. This meant Tootie was pregnant while still in Kansas City, which, in Tai’s mind, meant that the baby belonged to King. She was determined to find out the truth and enlisted Vivian’s help to do it. They found the young man all right, but when they saw his face it wasn’t Tai’s mouth that fell open. It was Vivian’s. Kelvin was the spitting image of Derrick Montgomery, and that’s how the woman who’d comforted Tai regarding all things Tootie had then needed Tai to comfort her. Even now, Vivian deduced, life couldn’t get any more ironic than that.
“Wow, sis, you’ve gone all quiet on me.”
Vivian shook her head slightly. “Sorry, just thinking.”
“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Tai said, misreading the slight frown on Vivian’s face. “You know it isn’t so much that Kelvin is Derrick’s son, but that he’s Tootie’s, too.”
“I didn’t take that personally. I was just thinking about how crazy life is, and how unpredictable. No matter how much we’d like to, we can’t live our children’s lives. Princess is an intelligent and spiritually grounded young woman. I have a feeling that King will walk her up the aisle”—Vivian winked at Tai—“and Rafael will walk her back down it.”
The waiter brought out their salads and Vivian filled Tai in on the next big SOS conference that would take place in Chicago. An idea inspired by Vivian and molded and shaped by Ladies First, a pastors’ wives group based in Los Angeles, the Sanctity of Sisterhood meetings had grown to epic proportions, bringing thousands of women together annually for networking, fellowship, learning, and support. By the time their entrées arrived, the topic had changed once again.
“Is Doctor O in town yet?” Vivian asked, as she placed a liberal amount of butter on a warm honey-wheat roll.
“King will pick him up later this evening.” An eye roll accompanied Tai’s answer.
“Uh-oh. What’s wrong?”
“I’m just hoping for Princess’s sake that for one day he and Mama Max can put on their grown folks britches and get along.”
“Of course they can,” Vivian said, with more confidence than she actually felt. “Their separation has flown under the radar all this time, and with a national spotlight shining on Princess’s nuptials, I doubt either would do anything to shake that facade.”
Tai thoughtfully chewed a perfectly medium-rare rib eye. Vivian was right. Most of the public had bought the story about Obadiah mentoring a new, young pastor in Palestine, Texas, as his reason for being away from home. There was some truth to the story. Obadiah had come out of retirement and pastored the Gospel Truth Church for a year before admitting that at the age of seventy-two he no longer had the stamina for full-time ministry in a church of this size. But there was no keeping a true man of God out of the pulpit, so when Obadiah returned to Texas, albeit Dallas, he still made his way to Palestine two Sundays a month to help the young man who was enjoying his first position as senior pastor. Only a handful of saints knew that on his other days Obadiah was busy enjoying something himself—adultery. Something with which Tai doubted the Lord was pleased. “You know the saying that there is no fool like an old fool?”
Vivian nodded.
“Well, you know I love Daddy O and Mama Max like my own flesh and blood, but that’s what I’d call both my in-laws right about now—fools.”
“You still think there’s no chance for reconciliation?”
“You know what the scripture says. . . . All things are possible to him who believes.”
“But you don’t believe it.”
“I want to, but pride and pussy has Daddy O standing his ground, and a stubborn streak the size of the Grand Canyon has Mama Max holding hers. God knows that if he has the audacity to bring that home wrecker Dorothea to the wedding, as he recently suggested to King that he might, then shortly after witnessing Princess’s wedding . . . we may finally be seeing him and Mama Max divorce.”