Guilty of Love (34 page)

She nodded. “I can’t believe
this.”

“
Believe it.” Malcolm stood
and tried to slip on the three-carat diamond ring. “Will you be
still, woman, so I can claim my prize?”

***

“
I’m engaged!” Hallison
blurted out as soon as her mother opened the front door.

Fingering the diamonds on her
daughter’s ring, Addison whispered, “Congratulations, baby.
Malcolm?”

“
Yes.” Hallison hugged her
mother through blurred vision.

Stepping back, her mother scrutinized
her face. “I want you to be happy with a good husband. I assume he
loves you as much as you love him.”

“
Yes, Mama.”

“
I was hoping you would
come back to the Lord first. An unsaved husband makes it hard on a
wife who wants to serve God. Remember, you’ll both be one
flesh.”

“
I love him so much. I
can’t see my life without him.”

Patting Hallison’s hand, her mother
smiled. “I like him, too. As long as the wedding isn’t tomorrow,
we’ve got time for him to repent and be baptized, you to be
reclaimed, and for me to start planning. If you fast and pray, God
will save him.”

“
Why would I do that? I
don’t want Malcolm saved, Mama. He’s fine.”

“
A saved man today could
mean happiness later. Hold out, baby. You’ve got a fiancée who is
living outside of the church and God’s will.”

Plummeting from bliss to doom,
Hallison left her mother’s house and headed to work. Their
conversation stayed on her mind. Why couldn’t her mother just be
happy for her? At least she wouldn’t be fornicating with Malcolm.
But it could have been worse. Mama could have said that God told
her Malcolm wasn’t the one. That would have been a disaster. Her
phone interrupted her musing
.
“Good morning, Hallison
Dinkins, Director of Personnel.”

“
Good morning, soon-to-be
Mrs. Hallison Dinkins Jamieson,” Malcolm’s baritone voice resounded
through the receiver.

“
It’ll be just Mrs.
Jamieson,” she cooed back.

“
Before this conversation
goes any further, I love you.”

The corner of Hallison’s mouth curved
upward.
Can it get any better than this?
she wondered. “And,
I love you, too, for the third time this morning.”

“
Can I help it if I’m
obsessed with you?”

“
I’m addicted to you, too,”
Hallison affirmed.

“
Good. Now that we’ve
admitted to our addiction, why don’t we have a counseling session
at lunch say, twelve-thirty?”

Hallison was ecstatic. She didn’t care
what her mother said. No sanctified man could give her this much
joy. She checked her desk calendar. “Twelve-thirty is fine. What do
you have a taste for?”

“
You,” Malcolm growled into
the phone like a wild animal about to attack.

“
Malcolm,” Hallison
scolded, jokingly.

“
Then don’t ask me that
when I’m craving you.”

“
You’re too
much.”

“
Yeah, but my woman can
handle me.”

Wonderfully distracted, she scribbled
Hallison Jamieson several times on a pad. “We better hang up before
we start something on this phone.”

“
Ooh, let’s start
something, baby.”

“
Behave, Mr. Jamieson.
Good-bye.” She giggled as she heard Malcolm smacking kisses on the
other end of the phone before she disconnected. Stretching out her
hand, she admired the stones on her engagement ring as they
reflected the hues of sunlight.

She couldn’t wait to tell Cheney, but
it would have to wait. With her receptionist out, Hallison had to
deliver the new employee benefit handbooks to another department
upstairs. Blissfully happy, she strolled out of her office on her
way to the tenth floor
.

Her two-inch heels clicked against the
lobby’s marble floor as she approached a set of triple elevators.
Hallison squeezed the booklets while humming Luther Vandross’s
Here and Now
. Of all the songs she and Malcolm had danced to
on New Year’s Eve that one seemed to rotate in her head. “It’s
scary being this happy.”

Suddenly, Paula Silas, the new credit
manager, bounced off the elevator. A smile lit Paula’s face when
she saw her. “I’m glad I ran into you.”

I’m not.
Hallison forced her
lips into a fake smile. “How are you? I’ve heard wonderful things
about how you’re running your department.”

Paula beamed. “I don’t want to let
anybody down—my staff, you, and definitely not God who blessed me
with the position in the first place.”

Hallison fingered her hair in
annoyance, keeping her lips glued together.

As the woman’s eyes widened, Paula’s
mouth dropped open as her manicured hands went up in the air. “Wow.
That’s some rock. You’re engaged?”

Although Hallison wanted the world to
know, Paula was not one of them. Guarded, Hallison
nodded.

“
Well, congratulations,
Miss Dinkins.”

Glowing, Hallison glanced down at her
ring. “Thank you. My honey proposed to me New Year’s
Eve.”

Paula touched Hallison’s ring hand.
“May God bless both of you.”

Uh-oh, there she goes with putting
God in this again.
“Thanks, but I need to catch this elevator.
I’ll talk—”

As if it were natural, Paula looped
her arm through Hallison’s. “I’ll ride with you. I was just taking
a break anyway, on my way to the cafeteria.”

Hallison dared not be rude to God’s
people, but Paula was testing her. “Sure.”

After Hallison pushed the tenth-floor
button, Paula talked nonstop. “I was engaged last year to a
wonderful Black man, but I had to let the brother go. After God
saved me, I realized it wouldn’t work.”

For some odd reason, Hallison didn’t
want to hear the rest of Paula’s story.

“
Humph, and the brother was
fine, too. Good job, nice house, and great parents. I gave him up
for Christ.” Paula added, grinning, “Now, I’m waiting for Jesus to
send me my mate—a real soul mate, someone who can love me
and
pray for me. I can’t wait. God has promised to give me
someone special. I plan to prove God’s Word.”

Just Hallison’s luck they stopped on
almost every floor. Hopefully, Paula’s testimony would end soon.
They had three more floors to go.

Pausing, Paula gave Hallison an
intense look. “You and your fiancé are in the church, aren’t you?”
She looked worried.

“
We’re working on it,” she
lied, plastering a pleasant smile on her face.

“
Thank the Lord. There
ain’t nothing like a God-fearing, on-his-knees-praying,
Holy-Ghost-filled man.” She winked.

When the elevator stopped on the tenth
floor, Hallison raced out.

“
These are nice children’s
rooms, Miss Reynolds. Your home is simply lovely.” Wilma smiled as
she wrote a check mark in boxes on the Missouri licensing form. “I
feel compelled to ask, how long have you thought about becoming a
foster parent?”

Cheney fingered a native Indian doll
resting on the dollhouse-shaped bookshelf. She shrugged. “A few
years after I accepted that I wouldn’t be able to bear any
kids.”

Wilma pushed her small wire-rimmed
glasses up on her nose. “Have you decided how many children you
want to take in, their ages, or if you want to be an emergency,
specialized, traditional, or long-term foster parent?”

Twisting her fingers, Cheney hoped,
wished, and even prayed that she would be accepted. If Hallison’s
year could start off with good news of her engagement, just maybe
she would have good news, too. Plus, without asking she had Parke’s
love and support, and this was her sign from God.

“
Right now,” Cheney
explained, “I can’t do the specialized training for children with
behavioral and medical problems. I feel drawn to being an emergency
parent for on-call crisis situations. I think the thirty-day limit
would work best for me starting off.”

Nodding, Wilma added, “We might ask
you to take a child in the middle of the night with just the
clothes on his back. You may have a child just for the weekend
until regular placement is found. Not every child you take in will
be with you for a month.”

Cheney’s mind was made up. “I read
through the information you sent. I know it requires additional
skills and extra training, but I’m committed.”

“
I’ll note your preference
on your application. That’s a plus in your favor. Most people
prefer the traditional foster parents—no surprise wakeup calls,
just ordinary kids not living in the best situations.”

“
Later, I may take in
babies or toddlers under long-term care for possible adoption. That
way, they wouldn’t have been exposed to so much pain.”

Wilma folded her arms with her
clipboard against her chest. “Everybody has a history, including
the children at the division. There’s a record somewhere—family,
prenatal, birth, and hospital— regardless of their
ages.”

“
Hmm, I know, but the
younger they are, hopefully the less they will remember of their
bad circumstances and grow to appreciate the nice
things.”

“
It’s not about nice
things, Miss Reynolds. Many people make the assumption that abused
children will feel grateful to be with another family. On the
contrary, most kids truly care about their parents and siblings.
Most would return to their ‘crisis’ environment in a minute just to
be around the ones they love.”

Cheney ingested Wilma’s reprimand in
silence.

The recruiter turned and strolled out
of the bedroom. “That’s why I requested records from your
psychologist. In addition to good physical health, mental and
emotional stability, you’ll have to help the child understand the
position of foster and natural families. He should never be made to
feel he has to choose between families because one is better than
the other.”

The woman took her job seriously. Too
bad all workers didn’t, otherwise kids wouldn’t suffer abuse at the
hands of their foster or adoptive parents, or get lost in the
system like five-year-old Rilya Wilson from Miami years ago. That
child hadn’t been reported missing for fifteen months because the
caseworker lied about conducting monthly visits. That wouldn’t have
happened if Wilma was her caseworker.

Wilma continued to tour Cheney’s
house. She inspected smoke detectors, searched for possible health
hazards, and looked for structural violations that could keep her
from becoming a licensed foster care provider.

An hour later, the two sat at the
kitchen table, sipping tea and discussing Cheney’s application.
“Miss Reynolds, another concern of mine is your relationship with
your immediate family. Without question, you’ll need a support
system.” She paused. “Mrs. Beatrice Beacon described her
relationship with you as a surrogate grandmother. Parke
Jamieson—there’s something about that name that still sticks out,
anyway, his background and references checked out, as well as his
parents’ statements about you.” She shuffled through papers. “Miss
Hallison Dinkins spoke highly of you.”

Cheney beamed. Parke’s family and
friends had come through for her and made the difference. Rainey
never returned her calls, so she made a mental note to pay him a
visit. She was almost as happy as Hallison when she spoke of her
engagement then mumbled something about demons from her past not
wanting her to be happy.

Demons. As if Cheney had some power
over demons, she threatened them they were not invited to her
foster care house inspection. Reading scripture after scripture
that morning had paid off. Then Wilma twisted her lips.
Here
comes the bad news
.

“
Unfortunately, the
responses from your family are mixed.” She scanned her notes.
“Besides your twin—I informed you of his comments—your mother says
she can’t provide a support system for you because you’ve distanced
yourself from them. This information is not glowing and will have
to remain a permanent part of your files.”

Demons from her past had indeed reared
their ugly heads.

***

The next few months, Parke faithfully
accompanied Cheney to the remaining training classes with no
complaints. Mrs. Beacon stockpiled Disney home videos, computer
games, and books. Finally, Cheney received the call.

“
Congratulations, Miss
Reynolds,” Wilma greeted. “Your criminal and financial background
checks are complete, and the results are superb. Your home has
passed inspection. You’re now a licensed emergency foster
parent.”

Dropping the phone, Cheney screamed
hysterically. Within minutes, Mrs. Beacon was banging on her door
with a distressed-looking Parke close behind.

“
I passed! I passed!”
Cheney shouted.

Parke swept her into his arms in a
tight hug, lifting her off the ground and kissing her hard on the
lips. Mrs. Beacon sauntered into Cheney’s living room mumbling,
“About time. You’re making enough noise to raise the
dead.”