Chapter Twenty-nine
“There's my little guy.” Helen greeted him with a smile as Deborah brought her son to children's church. “Oh, no, looks like somebody's been crying,” Helen observed, noticing the frown on Deborah's son's face and his tear-stained cheeks.
“He's all right,” Deborah said as she glared at her son. “He just almost made us late by pooping on himself right before we were about to walk out the door.”
“So I take it the potty training is not quite where it needs to be.”
“Hardly.” Deborah sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes.
“Well, just hang in there. I hear boys are harder to potty train than girls. I can't even tell you how long it took for my son to catch on.”
“Well, hopefully it won't take mine too long. I'll most certainly be needing the patience of Job to keep from hurting that boy.” Deborah laughed.
“Now I do remember having to get my son's legs with the switch a couple of times. And if memory serves correctly, it wasn't too much longer after that, that he got it down pat.” Helen high-fived Deborah. “You know how black people gotta get things done with their babies.”
Deborah smiled in agreement. On the inside she frowned a little, wondering if perhaps this whole “black way” of raising kids was just like an urban mythâan old wives' tale. Just something black people used to justify the way they bring up their children. Just yesterday Deborah was watching an episode of
Oprah
she had recorded. Joe and Katherine Jackson were being interviewed by Oprah. When Oprah posed the question as to whether Joe Jackson had whooped on the kids, all three pretty much agreed that it was okay for him to answer honestly, because that's how black people raised their children. Deborah could only imagine how many black families had caught that episode and perhaps were now using those very words to justify the way they were raising their children.
That was the only thing that had really set off a red flag in Deborah's mind as to how the yelling and fussing and carrying on was truly affecting her son. It hadn't been her own emotions she'd felt back when her mother used to do that to her. It wasn't even the conversations her mother had tried to have with her in convincing her that there was a better way. Deborah knew firsthand the effect, but it took some icons speaking about it to make her look at it in a new light. It took her imagining children all over the world having to be subjected to that type of behavior by their parents, just because they'd watched an episode of a talk show and might have taken from the show that it was okay for black families to raise their children under such conditions.
But no sooner had those thoughts soaked completely in, than Joe Jackson said something very powerful. He shared with Oprah that the way he'd brought up his children had kept them all out of trouble and out of jail.
“Amen, hallelujah,” Deborah had shouted, and just like that, her spirit was okay with some yelling, fussing, and cussing here and there if it meant keeping her boy out of trouble. If it meant her, and not the system, teaching him a lesson. So this morning, when he went to the bathroom on himself instead of telling her he had to go potty, she laid into him with her tongue real good.
“I bet you you won't poop on yourself anymore,” she'd exclaimed to her son, only she'd used the more vulgar word for poop.
“Sister Helen,” Deborah said as she handed her son over to the children's church leader, “I know exactly how black people gotta get things done with their kids. So trust me, he'll be potty trained by the end of the month by the time I get done with him.”
“And I'll help out while he's here with me. I'll make sure I ask him does he have to go potty and all that good stuff.”
“That's cool, but he had me so heated, I just threw a diaper on him so I wouldn't have to deal with it. I'm not trying to be in the middle of getting my praise on and see my baby's number pop up on the monitor for me to come get him.”
Helen laughed. “I feel ya. But it still won't hurt for me to ask him.”
“I appreciate you,” Deborah said before turning to exit.
“Enjoy the service,” Helen said to her back and then tended to the children.
Enjoy the service was exactly what Deborah did. Heck, she even broke a sweat getting her praise on. When Pastor asked if anyone needed prayer, or for someone to touch and agree with them, she was one of the first to head down to the altar.
“What do you need prayer for?” Pastor Margie asked her.
“Please pray for me and my mother,” Deborah had cried. “I want to be able to forgive her for my childhood. I want to get rid of the anger and not take it out on my own son.” Deborah couldn't believe she had said those words. It must have been the spirit talking, because let her flesh tell it, there wasn't anything wrong with the way she acted toward her son. “I don't want to be like my mother. When my son gets older, I don't want him to hold the same grudges against me that I hold against my mother. I need prayer, Pastor.”
Pastor Margie began touching and agreeing with Deborah that God would send His comforter, the Holy Spirit, to direct Deborah's path and to fill her heart with forgiveness. That any family curses be broken in the name of Jesus. That God would send a legion of angels to watch over Deborah's son, to protect him and his little spirit. In Jesus' name they prayed and in Jesus' name they touched and agreed with an “amen.”
“Thank you, Pastor,” Deborah said. “I receive it.”
“I hope you mean that, Sister Deborah, because that's the only way you're gonna get it, is to open up your heart and receive it. You know the God we serve ain't in to force-feeding nobody. Either you're going to receive His gifts or not.”
Deborah nodded and then allowed an altar worker to aid her back to her seat. She truly felt in her spirit that God was going to do a work when it came to her mother and her own role as a mother.
“Dang it,” Deborah said with the snap of her fingers. She'd forgotten to ask her pastor for prayer when it came to something else as well: her and Lynox and the whole thing with her pretending her son was her nephew. Everything in her wanted to stroll right back down to that altar for seconds, but she didn't want to be greedy.
One prayer at a time,
she thought. But by putting the situation off yet again, would she be a day late and a prayer short?
Chapter Thirty
Deborah was excited to be spending the day with Lynox. She'd yet to talk to her mother since their big blowup a few days ago. She intended to though. That was the next thing on her list. First, she needed to take care of the situation that was really stressing her out and was probably the cause uprooting all the tension between Deborah and her mother these days.
Thank God Helen had been willing to do a little babysitting for Deborah in her mother's absence. Of course, Deborah did not tell Helen she needed her services so that she could go out on date with Lynox. No matter what Helen said, Deborah felt a little part of Helen still desired Lynox. After all, a big part of Deborah had still desired him and was bound and determined to get him at all cost. The cost: making a fool out of herself several times and then ultimately denying the existence of her own child.
All of that was about to change, thoughâtoday. Deborah had prayed on the situation with her and Lynox and she was certain she'd heard God clearly say to her, “Tell him. Tell him the truth.” So that's exactly what Deborah was going to do todayâat all cost. She had made it up in her mind that nothing and no one would interfere.
In hopes that Lynox wouldn't flip out too much, she decided she'd tell him in a public place. That way, more than likely, he couldn't overreact or anything. After all, he was somewhat of a local celebrity. Even if most authors weren't recognizable, he had quite the female following. He wouldn't want them to see him in a negative light.
This worked out well for Deborah, because if after finding out the truth Lynox decided to leave her hanging, it wouldn't be some huge production. In all the romance novels Deborah had read in her lifetime, public breakups were always less dramatic. All that begging and crying didn't go on.
She thought back to the last time she and Lynox parted ways. That had been in a public place. A bench at Easton Towne Center. This time though, Deborah wouldn't be the one doing the leaving, and if God was on her side, at the end of the day, Lynox wouldn't be doing any leaving either.
“You didn't have to drive all the way here,” Lynox told Deborah as they met outside of a designated store inside the shopping center. “I wouldn't have minded scooping you up at all. The price of gas is crazy. Didn't you know carpooling was the new thing?”
“That and biking,” Deborah added with a smile. It wasn't even a nervous smile. She was
so
ready to do this. And whatever would be would be.
“So, are you challenging me to a bike ride?”
Deborah laughed. “TuhâI haven't been on a bike since Columbus set sail. I probably couldn't make it a few pedals without falling on my tail.”
“Nonsense. You know what they say, once you learn how to ride a bike, you never forget.”
“From the sounds of things, I take it you're some pro or something.” The two started walking toward no particular destination. “You ride?”
Lynox thought for a second before breaking out in a chuckle and admitting, “No. My bike would probably end up on top of yours.”
Deborah joined him in his laugh. “See, told you. I'd be a fool to try to climb my tail on somebody's bike.”
“Yeah, me too,” Lynox relented. “So maybe we didn't have to bike it over here, but I still could have come and picked you up.”
Deborah just kept walking. No way was she going to have Lynox pick her up. This time it wasn't because she was afraid of the whole situation with her having a son. This time it was because there was a chance if she'd allowed him to bring her to Easton, she'd be needing to hitch a ride home.
“Speaking of bikes . . .” Lynox rushed away from Deborah's side to a display in a window. The mannequins had on biker gear. “Now check out those helmets.” Lynox pointed at the snazzy bike helmets the mannequins were wearing.
“Yeah,” Deborah said, walking up beside Lynox and staring at the display. “Those must be the Cadillac of helmets. Look at all the colors with that pearly paint and the bedazzled out one for women.”
“Yeah.” Lynox stared. “Makes you just want to go in that store, buy'em, go out, buy a bike . . .” At this point, Lynox slid his hand around Deborah's hand. “Get on it with the woman you want to spend the rest of your life with and just take a chanceâno matter how many times you fall.” He turned to look at Deborah. Her eyes met his in a sentimental gaze.
This was getting too heavy for Deborah. It was like a fairytale coming to life; a fairytale that could be over before it ever even got started. As much as she wanted to just stand there and stare into Lynox's eyes while listening to him say all the right things, she knew she couldn't. The more she did, the harder it would be for her to be able to tell him something that could possibly put an end to things anyway.
“What do you say we head to the food court?” Deborah changed the subject, slipping her hand from Lynox's. The food court, over a plate of chow mein noodles and orange chicken. Or a slice of Sbarro pizza; yes, that's where she'd tell him the truth. If through a man's stomach was the way to his heart, her chances of preserving their relationship would be much better in the food court.
Lynox pulled out his cell phone and looked at the time. “I guess it is after lunchtime, huh?”
“Yes, and I'm starved.” Deborah rubbed her stomach for added effect.
“Then to the food court we shall go.” Lynox extended his elbow for Deborah to loop her arm through. She did, and the two headed to the food court arm in arm.
They were almost there when they heard, “Is that that Chase guy? The author?”
“Yes, I think so,” another voice replied.
The voices were coming from behind them. Never one to pass up the opportunity to acknowledge his reading fans, Lynox turned around and greeted the two women who had been questioning his identity.
“OMG!” one of the women screamed. “It is him.” She immediately raced up to Lynox and threw her arms around his neck. “Mr. Chase, you look exactly like the picture on the back of your book.”
“And even better than that spread in the Black Expressions catalogue,” the other girl added, bumping her friend out of the way so that she could get a hug from Lynox as well.
While the two vied for his attention, they were making such a ruckus that soon others stopped to see what was going on. Before Lynox knew it, he was swarmed with females.
“Are you going to write a sequel?” an eager fan asked Lynox.
“If so, when is it coming out? I just can't get enough of that fine, tall glass of water, Brad.”
All the women giggled and blushed at just the mention of Lynox's lead character, Brad. They were acting as if he were a real person and not just some character Lynox had created for a book.
Deborah stood back in awe as she watched Lynox take it all in with pleasure. A smile caressed her face as she thought,
My guy, the famous author. Watch out, Carl Weber and Eric Jerome Dickey!
But no sooner had those thoughts escaped her mind, than a huge knot formed in the pit of her stomach.
“Helen?” The word, in a mumble, came from Deborah's mouth. Could it have been? Was Helen the woman she could barely see far off in the distance over the swarming crowd of fan's heads?
Deborah stood on her tippy toes, but that wasn't working. She still couldn't get a good view of the woman. “No, it can't be,” she finally told herself. “She's home babysitting my son,” she reasoned. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them again, hoping to see things a little more clearly. Hoping to clearly see that the woman was, in fact, not Helen.
The woman had walked a little closer, but had stopped and was now staring through a store window. The similarities between the woman and Helen were uncannyâbut it couldn't have been.
Lynox was preoccupied with answering the questions all the reading fans were throwing at him. Deborah couldn't rest until she proved that woman was not Helen. Because if it was Helen, that meant that her son was not far from her.
Deborah began walking sideways, her eyes glued to the woman's every move. Before Deborah knew it, something had stopped her in her tracks. “Oh, excuse me,” Deborah said after bumping into a woman.
The woman smiled and nodded, but Deborah could see her true feelings of disdain behind the fake smile. After all, the woman had been nibbling on a pretzel that Deborah practically knocked out of her hand when she bumped into her.
“I'm so sorry.” Deborah offered up one final apology without even looking at the woman.
She continued to walk sideways until the woman she'd been scoping out was in full view. And as the woman came into full view, Deborah could see that she was pushing one of those mall rented strollers. Since it was a side profile, she couldn't see the occupant of the stroller, but what she could see were the shoes she'd just purchased her son two weeks ago on the little feet that were kicking from the stroller.
“Oh my God,” Deborah said, her body weakening and her having to catch herself from falling. “This can't be. This just can't be.” But it was. The woman and the child turned and faced Deborah's direction, and Deborah could say beyond a doubt that the woman was Helen and the child was her son.
Deborah threw her hand over her forehead, which was throbbing, and her other hand over her stomach, which was aching, and not because she was hungry. But when Lynox just happened to look up in search of Deborah, and then landed eyes on her, that's just what he thought: that she was signaling to him that she was hungry. He was reminded that it was after lunchtime and he and his girl had been on their way to the food court before he got caught up in Fandemonium.
“Look, ladies, I'm sorry, but I have to go now,” Lynox told the fans. “But if you want to be kept up to date on my future works and what I have going on and where I'm going to be, check out my Web site.”
“Oh, I wanna know where you gonna be all right,” a woman flirted while others giggled.
Lynox acknowledged her comment with a humble smile and then peeled himself away from the crowd and began to walk away.
“One more thing, Mr. Chase,” a woman called out. “Do you have a girlfriend?” Once again, the other women chuckled.
Lynox stopped in his tracks. Staring at Deborah he replied, “As a matter of fact, I don't.” He strutted over to Deborah and said, “I have a woman.” Once again he extended his elbow for Deborah to grab a hold of. Just as they had been a few moments ago, the two were arm in arm, heading off to the food court.
Deborah would have blushed at Lynox's gesture, but she was too busy trying to keep her eyes on Helen. She deliberately and quickly tugged Lynox toward the food court and away from the direction of Helen.
“Hey, you must be hungry.” Lynox laughed as Deborah practically dragged him toward the food court.
She had spotted Helen, but she could not risk Helen spotting her. Once she felt they were safely out of Helen's view, she relaxed and tried to have a civil conversation with Lynox. “You know you left a lot of disappointed, heartbroken women back there.” Deborah nodded over her shoulder at the women whose eyes she could feel burning a hole through her back. Eyes envious that it was she who was walking arm in arm with the great novelist instead of them. Deborah loved how it felt. She loved how Lynox made her feel. She loved everything about him. Caught up in his rapture, eventually she'd forgotten all about the fact that Helen, with her son in tow, had been heading in their direction. Lucky for Deborah, though, Helen had stopped off into a store.
“So what do you have a taste for?” Deborah asked as she and Lynox approached the food court.
He looked down at Deborah, giving her the googly eyes. “Trust me, you don't want to know.” He immediately turned his attention away from Deborah and began scanning the choices of vendors in the food court.
“Oooh, you bad, bad boy you. Did you forget you're out with a Christian?” Deborah asked while she scanned her choices as well.
“And did you forget that you are out with a man?” he reminded her. “Or don't y'all cover that kind of stuff in that singles ministry of yours.”
“We cover lots of stuff. As a matter of fact, you should join us one Friday.”
Lynox looked over at Deborah like she was crazy. “Woman, I can think of a lot of better things to do on a Friday night than sit around listening to a bunch of lonely, single women male bash.”
Deborah play punched Lynox in his arm. “That is not what the singles ministry is about. It's a support group for singles.” Deborah thought for a moment. “Although I do admit that, once upon a time, that's exactly what it used to be.” She laughed, thinking back to some of the stories she used to hear from those women. But thank God for taking the ministry to a higher level in Him.
“See there,” Lynox quipped.
“But it's not like that anymore. Back then it was just single women. Now there are men in the ministry as well. It's different. It's better. You should really think about joining us one Friday.”