The Devil Made Me Do It (6 page)

Esther nodded, moving with renewed fervor down the hallway. Phyllis followed. “Girl, stop. I need to take a picture of any injuries you may have with my phone.” Esther rolled her eyes and pulled her sleeve up to show her bruised shoulder. Phyllis snarled as she snapped pictures from several angles and continued revealing the earlier evening. “When Sister Edmonds called Mama and told her what she saw Roger do to you in the church parking lot, I thought she was going to have a heart attack.” She then turned her phone for Esther to see the pictures. “It's not as bad as I thought. Drunk can't throw a punch.”

Esther ignored her sister's last statement. “So, that's how y'all found out.” She rubbed her shoulder as they entered her bedroom. She didn't show Phyllis her scrapped and bruised thigh or the back of her head which throbbed. She just wanted to go and leave all this behind her. But if Roger ever hit her again, she would bury him under the jail.

“Yea, while Daddy was getting dressed, Mama was calling me. As you can see, I wouldn't let Charles take the time to put clothes on. I felt this was a come as you are party.” Phyllis gestured to the pajamas and robe ensemble she was wearing.

Esther opened the closet door, then pulled out several dresser drawers. “You start in the closet, and I'll pack up what I need from here.”

“I'm on it.” Phyllis tugged a black suit from the assortment and showed it to her sister. “Not this, you need something to say, ‘I'm back.' Let me pull some new-attitude clothes for you.”

“Anything that will help me move forward, I'm for.” Esther secretly rubbed her sore side.

Phyllis rifled through the closet. “Umm . . . Esther?”

“Yes?” She rummaged in her dresser drawers.

Phyllis's lips trembled. “Baby, you don't have any new-attitude clothing.”

“Nothing?” Esther froze, a nightgown in her hand.

“Just this old gold blouse,” she held it out. “Everything else you got from the Flying Nun.”

Esther was dumbfounded. She used to love clothes. She took the blouse out of her sister's hand and silent tears fell. Her energy and freedom now snatched away.

Phyllis looked alarmed at Esther's mood shift. The spirit of depression was a sneak. It made a person think it was just coming to visit and before they knew it, letters went out, telling the world that it had taken up permanent residence in a new home.

She took Esther's hands in hers and began to pray, “Merciful Father, we come humbly before you. We are in pain, Lord. We ask for your healing and your mercy. I come in your Son Jesus' name against the spirit of depression and oppression. I thank you that as we speak, you are straightening crooked roads. We have come to a fork in our journey and need your direction and guidance to travel the road that is your will. We don't want to miss a step, because we don't want to miss you. I thank you, Lord, for being in our midst. Bring us peace that surpasses all our understanding. We surrender all, everything, to you. Amen.”

Esther felt a sweet spirit of peace. She hugged her sister, who could be a walking contradiction—critical controller and loving protector.

“Thanks, I do appreciate you.”

Phyllis sniffed and waved away her little sister's comments. “You make a decent salary. We'll just go shopping tomorrow and buy you some more clothes. As a matter of fact, I feel a shopping spree coming on,” her voice ending upbeat. She blinked away her tears.

Esther used her nightgown to wipe her eyes. Her sister didn't get sentimental often, and when she did, she usually backpedaled when she realized she was being mushy. Esther went down the hall to the bathroom to pack her toiletries.

Phyllis followed talking. “I hesitate to bring this up, but I think that the path you're on started with Sheri's death and Deborah's abandonment. You marrying Roger and trying to save him is just a symptom of a much-larger disease. Girl, I still don't believe that you ever really loved Roger. Who could but God?”

“So tell me what you really feel,” Esther muttered as she shoved toiletries in her overnight bag.

Phyllis put one hand on her hip and another to point out Esther's transgressions. “Oh, I'm just warming up. What have you done about your misery? You joined church committees. Let me count them all.... You're on the Daughters of the Vine committee, the usher board, the Missionaries of Hope, the pastor's strategic planning committee, and you got the nerve to be the part-time church administrator. Shoot, girl, the last I heard, you even volunteered to be head of the volunteers. Just how miserable have you been? Boo, anyone that busy is running from something . . . usually themselves.” She ended with a snap of her fingers.

Esther blew her hair out of her eyes and grimaced. “Thank you for your considerable opinion of my life. If you don't mind I'm a little tired and sore. I'm about ready to get out of here.” Esther began moving through rooms, lifting her suitcases and handing some to Phyllis. “Dang, Sis, couldn't you, just for once have kept your mouth shut?”

Phyllis nodded and packed. There was a quiet lull in their conversation, and Esther doggedly pressed her lips closed.

“I guess I let my tongue speak before my brain was engaged. Tonight wasn't the time to say all of that. If Mama wasn't outside guarding Roger from Daddy, she'd have known the right thing to say. I'm sorry.”

Esther didn't pause in her packing. “We're good. I can only muster the strength to be angry at one person a day. This is Roger's day.”

Phyllis dragged the suitcase and bag to the front door. Esther was close behind. She paused at the open door; the tasteful furnishings, color coordination of drapes, wall covering and carpet attested to the time she had taken to make this house a home. She'd learned that home was about the people, not the building. This was a beautiful prison with invisible bars; it had kept love out and her pain in.

When she descended the stairs, she passed Roger. He ignored her and leaped up the steps two at a time. She looked over her shoulder and saw him enter the house and slam the door. The sound echoed in her heart, and she knew that the door to her heart would never open for him again.

Mr. and Mrs. Wiley came and placed their arms around her shoulders. “Let's have a word of prayer,” he said.

The extended Wiley family held hands in the front yard.

“Well,” Phyllis whispered to her husband, “I'm glad this isn't our neighborhood. I hope her neighbors don't think we're out here doing voodoo.”

“Shush.”

 

 

Esther adjusted the visor as the morning sun glared through the moving truck window. A caravan of cars followed the truck down Rosedale Lane. Late into the night, Esther and her family talked. It was agreed that it was best to move her out of her house today.

In the past four years, Roger had gone through her money, her friends, and finally, her patience. They tried private counseling, but Roger walked out. They scheduled Christian counseling with Reverend Gregory, and Roger never showed up.

The slap woke her up, and the punch sealed their fate. Roger was a bully, the “boo!” leftover from a child's fear of things that go bump in the night. She was cutting her losses before she woke up dead.

The caravan stopped, and everyone piled out of their vehicles. Her cousin Tony jumped out; large, menacing, and chiseled from his recent prison workouts. “Okay, cuz, you're the boss. Just tell us what needs to go and what stays.” As an afterthought, he said, “I hope that fool tries to stop us.” He cracked his neck and punched his fist into his hand.

Esther shook her head. Tony and his siblings were the family's holdouts for salvation. “Tony, don't start any mess up in here. We're getting my things, and then we're leaving.”

Esther's parents had an important meeting and couldn't back out at such short notice. She missed their calming hand.

Phyllis marched up. “Tony, as much as I would like to see Roger's tail whipped, we are under direct orders from Mama—no fighting. And, bro, you know you on probation . . .”

The group began to get organized; unpacking boxes and labeling them by room. As they chatted and laughed, the front door opened. Roger's clothes were rumpled, as if he had slept in them. The five o'clock stubble on his face showed signs of gray. He barked, “What are all of you people doing in my front yard?”

Esther stepped out from the group. “We've come to get my things.”

“Esther, let me talk to you a minute.”

“No,” everyone yelled.

Esther looked back at her family, serene. “It's all right.” She and Roger went to the side of the house, but in plain sight of everyone.

He was fidgety and shuffled his feet. “How you gon' just leave? You know I love you.”

“Really? Since when, Roger?” Her eyes remained downcast, not out of fear, but because it was hard to look at the man he had become, not the one she imagined him to be. It was a mistake to marry potential, since there was a real chance it may never fulfill its purpose.

“Okay, things got a little out of hand, but you should know how I feel. Girl, I love you so much that sometimes I get crazy with it.” He leaned low attempting to catch her eye.

Esther continued to look down at the ground. Looking at Roger made her angry and sad all at the same time.

He tried tilting her chin up, but she stepped away. “Look how good you're looking this morning. All fresh and dewy.”

“Oh, I don't look fat this morning?” she fired back.

“I'm sorry, Baby. I was upset. You know I like my meal with more than a little meat on it. I wanted you with me last night, and I was frustrated when I came home and you were gone.” His voice was as slick as silk and just as slippery.

Esther looked over Roger's left shoulder; she saw a shadow cast against the side of the house. She shivered, closed and opened her eyes several times, but it remained; the shadow of a serpent.

The morning mist must be playing havoc on my senses,
she thought. Yet, her bones were chilled. Although hazy, it was a mild morning, and intuitively, she knew her chill had nothing to do with the weather.

“So, that's why you slapped me, stole my money, and went out on the town?” she shot back. She felt a ripple of a chill and shivered again. In defense, she folded her arms across her chest.

Roger's voice slithered out like a serpent's hiss. “See, you got to listen. I've been feeling bad. No job or money will jack a brother up. Sometimes a man needs to blow off a little steam. A real woman would understand that her man has needs, and she'd be ready to take care of them. If you had stayed home last night, none of this would've happened, and I wouldn't have gotten mad.” He punctuated his words by pointing his finger in her face. “You . . . hurt . . . me. All of this is really your fault.”

Esther ignored Roger's skewed logic. She was so done with him, nothing he said mattered. But she saw it again. Was that the shadow of a snake? She took a deep breath and stepped toward it. When she moved, Roger turned and the shadow disappeared. She shook her head and silently prayed, “Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.'”

Fear departed and warmth filled her soul. “I'm letting you keep the house, but we're done. Just let go.”

She turned away, and Roger jumped up and down in a full-fledge two-year-old tantrum. “What am I supposed to do? How can I pay the mortgage on this house? You know I don't have a job. How will I eat? You ain't leaving me!” he panicked and reached for her.

Tony sprinted over, ready to intervene, but she held up her hand stopping him. “Hold up, I got this.” She stretched and rolled her neck—from the I'm an Angry Black Woman Handbook—irritated that she had to go there and that this needed to be said. “Roger, the Word says in Second Thessalonians 3:10, ‘The one who is unwilling to work shall not eat.' Find a job, Roger; go to work.”

Roger, desperate to refute Esther's words, opened his mouth and gulped air, emitting dry croaking sounds. Esther scoffed, understanding he had no Word, and therefore, no weapon. In the realm of the shadows there was a hissing sound that slithered back into the earth.

Esther directed the crowd that had shifted closer to her and Roger into the house. As she gave directions on what to do, her cousin Tamela, Tony's youngest sister, remarked as she looked around, “Cuz, this house is hooked up. Anything you don't want, I'll be glad to take off your hands.”

Tamela's home sewn weave, long scarlet fake nails, had her shuddering thinking about her nice things in her cousin's two-bedroom, Section Eight apartment. She knew Tamela's three children would destroy everything before the day was out. However, this was family, and she loved her.

Esther smiled politely. “We'll see, Tamela. Right now, I just need to get it all out of here.”

Before Tamela could answer, Phyllis chimed in, “And don't none of y'all help yourself to anything you haven't been given. All right?”

Tamela swung her full head of swap meet hair in front of Phyllis's face and pointed her scarlet, rhinestone finger at her. “I came here to help out of the goodness of my heart, Phyllis Wiley. So don't ya be acting like ya better than nobody else or that me and mine steal. I coulda stayed home with my children's daddy if I wanted to be treated bad.”