Divine Intervention Page 3

  4

  Friends … How Many of Us Have Them?

  “Sistah!” 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’ wi
ves 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.”

  5

  It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday

  T he Reverend Doctor Pastor Bishop Overseer Mister Stanley Obadiah Meshach Brook Jr. placed one last tie in his bag and zipped it up. During the time it had taken him to pack two suits, three shirts, an extra pair of slacks, and plenty of underwear along with his accessories, he’d almost been able to drown out Dorothea Noble Bates Jenkins’s whining. Almost, but not quite.

  “It’s not right, Obadiah,” Dorothea snapped, pacing the length of the modest master bedroom that was a part of Obadiah’s two-bed, two-bath condo. “I’m supposed to be your woman, yet you’re leaving me behind on such an important occasion? The very first wedding of one of your grandchildren? I love you more than life itself, but I swear I don’t know how much more you think I’m supposed to take. It’s been almost a year since you moved down here and we’re no closer to our own nuptials than when you arrived. We’re living in the same complex but not the same house. This relationship isn’t progressing at all!”

  “I’m a married man, Dorothea.”

  “Oh, really? Why don’t you tell that to your peter while it’s poking my kitty.”

  Obadiah’s mouth became a straight line as he determined not to beat an already dead horse into its final resting place. They’d had this conversation before. More than once. But Obadiah’s heart was fixed and his mind was made up. He might be a low-down dirty dog in some people’s eyes, but he was still a man of God with a heaven to gain and a hell to shun. Which is why he’d not be bringing his mistress to the same town where his wife lived. Sure, he’d thought about it, but his mind was as far as that madness had traveled. Lord, Obadiah wondered as he brushed by a still ranting Dorothea on the way to his car, throwing a “see you when I get back” over his departing shoulder. How in the world did I get to this place? And on his way to the Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport, he pondered the answer.

  His interest in sex began when he was around seven or eight years old, when the thirteen-year-old daughter of a neighboring farmer showed him her privates. More than showed him, truth be told. She actually let him touch her “pocketbook,” as the female genitalia was referred to in 1930s rural Texas. That moment in the hen house, amid the scratch of the hay and the stench of the poop, was a defining one for young Stanley Obadiah. He’d experienced his first hard-on brought about through outside forces, and a few years after that his first wet dream. At the ripe old age of fourteen he became a man, when sixteen-year-old Sadie Mitchell, the daughter of the farmer on the other side of the Brooks’ twenty-acre spread, decided to make him her birthday present. He became obsessed with women as soon as his pole slipped into her hole, bedding women up and down the roads of Clay County. But it wasn’t until 1961 that he met his match. He was twenty-two at the time, already a father, a pastor, and a fairly well-known revival preacher around various parts of the Lone Star and surrounding states. He’d heard about the beautiful Noble sisters and had been almost certain he’d spotted one mere moments after, along with ten other preachers, he’d walked onto a Texas pulpit.

  He’d been right. Her name was Dorothea. And from the moment he laid eyes on her, he knew one thing for sure: he had to have her.

  Obadiah recalled this initial meeting, which had happened in the hosting minister’s home. They were sitting around the dinner table and, whether by fate, luck, or the devil’s wishes, Dorothea had been seated on his left-hand side.

  “Enjoyed your sermon,” she’d said, as she ate fried chicken with a knife and fork.

  “Uh-huh.” Rarely had the Reverend been at a loss for words, but now was one of those times. She was without a doubt the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen up close, reminding him of Lena Horne or Dorothy Dandridge. All uppity and whatnot with fingers too cultured to touch fowl and Crisco, smelling like vanilla and flowers and all types of goodness, and sounding like a lark. It had taken all of dinner and two rounds of dessert before mustering up the courage to try and have what he wanted.

  “Sister Noble, correct?”

  “Yes, Reverend.”

  “Would you be so kind as to give me a ride home?” It was then that he’d learned that Dorothea had ridden to the house with her sister. His eyes had always been almost as expressive as his conversation, and he’d let them do the talking. Dorothea’s answer was that she’d call a cab. They’d gone to her house and screwed up one side of her modest yet chicly furnished Dallas home and down the other. There were very few affairs that lasted half a century. Obadiah Brook’s and Dorothea Noble Bates Jenkins’s had been the exception.

  After parking in long-term, catching a shuttle to the Delta terminal and being freed from the long security line by an airline employee who was also a fan, Obadiah plopped down in a chair at the gate, waiting for the boarding process that would began in less than an hour. As he mindlessly stared at the television monitor locked on CNN, another set of memories came to mind. They were of a young, holy-rolling country girl with the big four: lips, hips, booty, and thighs. The Johnson family farm was located on the other side of the fork in the road, a couple of miles and a large catfish pond away from the Brooks’ country spread. Like most of the boys in those parts, Obadiah had eyed Maxine’s ample assets for quite some time and, after being taunted by some of his peers, became determined to approach her.

  “Miss Maxine,” Obadiah drawled, in as manly a voice as sixteen could muster at the time. “You sho’ looking good today, girl.”

  “Well, you ain’t,” Maxine retorted, quickenin
g her pace at the same time.

  “Is that so? Then why you trying to run away before you kiss me?”

  “Ain’t nothing wrong with running away from trouble. And you’re trouble with a capital T.”

  “Ain’t nothing about me for you to be scared of, Maxine. You not like those other girls.”

  She kept walking, fast enough to keep him chasing but slow enough so that she could hear every word he spoke. “That’s right, I’m not.”

  “I know you’re not. You’re special. That’s why I’m gonna marry you.”

  Maxine’s heart skipped a beat as she stopped and turned around. “To how many girls have you told that lie?” she asked all nonchalantly.

  “Aw, girl, why you got to act like that? I’m serious. I’m gonna be a big-time preacher, and you’ll make a good preacher’s wife.”

  “What makes you think I’ll marry you?” Maxine asked, even as she worked hard to keep the smile off her face and out her voice.

  “Maxine, get on up to this house!” Maxine’s mother’s yell cut through the flirty atmosphere surrounding her and Obadiah.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Maxine gave Obadiah a slight smile before turning to walk toward her mother’s hard stare.

  “I’ma marry you,” Obadiah whispered confidently, before walking in the opposite direction.

  Barely a year later, Obadiah had gone and done just that, and within a year of their union Maxine was pregnant. This one ended in a miscarriage but after a couple more years of trying, Maxine became pregnant again and nine months later, King Brook was born. Obadiah pulled out his Bible as he remembered the joy he felt at holding his first child and then, as though pushing a fast-forward button in his mind, he remembered the mixed emotions that accompanied the announcement that King was getting married. It was even harder for Obadiah to relinquish his daughter’s hand, so he was well aware of the turmoil that King must now be experiencing.