Max could not accept what he had just heard. Platonic. Is that what she thinks of our relationship? Platonic? Max thought as he hung up the phone. He had wanted to have lunch with Shante. He had waited all weekend to see her. He couldn’t get his mind off of Hilton Head. He thought their relationship had finally gone beyond just friendship. He thought about that night on the beach, how they had walked and talked for hours. He relived how she felt in his arms when they were dancing. She could not have been more beautiful that night. He had longed to be with her. But she had taken no notice of how his heart raced as they danced, or had paid no attention to how his eyes brightened when he listened to her talk. He loved her laugh, her corny jokes, and the way she teased him about growing up in Alabama. He had been desperate to kiss her that night.
She would be a perfect mother for his sons; they loved her. They had drilled him for every detail about “Mama Tay” at the conference. She was the only mother Joshua had ever known. He was only a baby when his mother died. Without the merest hesitation, Shante had stepped in to help with the boys. She cooked meals for them. She even took Joshua to work with her until Max could find a nanny. She frequently took the boys to the park, movies, or shopping just to give him a break. He trusted her completely with his children. They loved her; he loved her.
Platonic. Max couldn’t get that word out of his mind.
“Hey, Max, want to get some lunch?” Max’s business partner, Gary asked, pausing at his door. “We’re going to Smiley’s.”
“No, man, I’ve got to finish up something here,” Max said. The truth was, he had lost his appetite. He loved a woman who didn’t love him. Lord, I don’t know what to do. You said in your Word when a man finds a wife, he finds a good thing. But what does he do when she does not choose him? God, give me direction. I know in my spirit and my heart Shante is my wife. I love her. God, what should I do? Max prayed.
When the phone rang he quickly picked it up, hoping it was Shante calling him back. But it was Bishop Thompson. Bishop was like a surrogate father to him. Friends since Max had arrived in Charlotte, he couldn’t hide anything from him. Bishop always knew when something was wrong.
“Hello, Bishop.”
“Hi, Max. How are you?”
“All’s well, Bishop. How are you?”
“I’m blessed.”
“How’s Mother?”
“She’s well. She starts chemo tomorrow. Pray for her. The treatment is worse than the disease. But, we know God is a healer. She will be all right.”
“I’ll keep her in my prayers. So what’s up?”
“I was wondering if you weren’t busy if we could have lunch today.”
“Sure, Bishop. Where and at what time?”
“Let’s meet at Kat’s Place in thirty minutes. I feel like home cooking.”
“That’s fine. I’ll see you there.” Max hung up and sat wondering how he and his queasy stomach would get through any meal—much less a rich Southern one. Thinking about what Shante said was beginning to make him physically sick. But even though he didn’t feel like eating he was glad to be seeing Bishop. Perhaps he could provide some insight into why, despite years of friendship, his relationship with Shante had not progressed to love—at least not on her part.
Max drove the short distance from his office to the restaurant. Only Bishop would come to the middle of the ghetto to eat lunch. Max belatedly wondered if his Mercedes would be safe in this neighborhood. Turning into the restaurant’s parking lot, he saw people hanging out near the door. Some looked depressed and hopeless; others were probably up to something. Max got out of his car and looked around. What had been a neighborhood of well-kept houses owned by blacks had become one of run-down houses and high crime rates. Kat’s Place had been there for more than fifty years. The granddaughter of the original Kat, or Katherine, was now running the restaurant. Even though her name was Janice, everyone still called her Kat. The restaurant was renowned for its good Southern cooking. However, eating was not on Max’s mind; the word platonic was.
Bishop Thompson was not hard to find in the small restaurant. He was wearing a red-and-blue plaid suit, which reminded Max of an old zoot suit popular in the 1940s. Max walked toward the table wondering where he found his clothes.
Bishop Thompson was so wide he could not close his legs, which spread beyond the small table on both sides. He was so busy talking he didn’t notice Max walking toward him. Bishop was a popular man in the community, as he and his wife had helped many people.
“Hello, Bishop,” Max said.
“Max,” Bishop smiled. “Sit down.” He turned back to the man he had been talking to at the next table. “And when we got there, the Lord had already worked everything out,” Bishop told the man. “You wait. He will work it out for you, too.” And then he turned to Max. “Well, son, how are you today?”
“I’m fine, Bishop,” he answered just as the waitress appeared.
“Can I get you something?” the woman asked.
“Trudy, you know what I want. Ask Irene to put some peppers in my greens and give me some buttermilk for my corn bread,” Bishop said.
“I’ll have the meatloaf. I’m not very hungry. Thank you,” Max said. He still did not feel like eating and hoped he could get some of his food down without vomiting.
Bishop began talking about a meeting of the Mecklenburg County Ministers’ Fellowship slated for the following week, outlining what he needed Max to do there. Max did not hear anything he said. He was in his own world, and Shante was the only one in it. He did not see when the food was placed on the table or hear Bishop’s prayer. Nor did he notice Bishop devouring his food.
“You know she loves you,” Bishop said without looking up from his food.
“What?” Max replied, his mentor’s words having cut through the fog that had enveloped his mind.
“You heard what I said. Have you talked to her?” Bishop asked, placing his arms down on the small table and causing it to shake on its uneven legs.
“Who?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know who I’m talking about. You know who.”
“I’m guessing you’re talking about Shante,” Max said, sighing.
“Guessing? Look, son, what’s going on between you two? I saw how you looked at her at the conference. You can’t hide it.” Max didn’t answer him. He was afraid all his emotions would spill forth and he would lose control. Bishop continued talking and eating at the same time. Then he took a break and looked at Max. “Did you talk to her?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Well . . .” Max fell silent. He was reluctant to talk about such a personal matter in public. “Bishop, we shouldn’t talk about this here.”
“What’s wrong with here? We’re more at home here than anywhere else in the city. Now, tell me what’s going on,” Bishop said. “You love her, don’t you? When the Lord spoke to me and told me Shante was getting married, I knew it was you. I know when the Lord speaks to me. Don’t worry, son, it will be all right. You watch. God has it all worked out.” Bishop began attacking his food again.
“Bishop, you need anything else?” the server asked.
“Yeah, bring me a piece of that sweet potato pie. What’s wrong, son?” Bishop asked as the woman walked away. He seemed very concerned, and Max knew he only wanted to help him.
“She doesn’t think of me that way.”
“How do you know if you haven’t talked to her?”
“She told me this morning. She said we have a platonic relationship and she liked it that way.” Holding comment, Bishop just looked at Max and let him talk. “The first night of the conference, we went walking on the beach. We talked for hours. Someone was having a party at a beach house, and they had a band. It was the perfect night. We danced on the beach. We had so much fun. Dancing, walking, talking, laughing—”
“Anything else?” Bishop interrupted.
“If you mean sex, Bishop, no. It was more than that. It was a closeness I haven’t felt in a long time. It was as if we had connected finally. She has been my rock since Meko died. If it hadn’t been for her, I don’t know if I could have made it. She’s so good with the kids. I love everything about her—her walk, talk, style of dress, the way she laughs, preaches. I could go on. I even love it when she puts me in my place. None of the women I’ve met since Meko died compare to her. She’s sincere and not fake. I loved her in college, but I was afraid to ask her out. She was so sophisticated. I got nervous every time I was around her. I thank God for her, but . . .” Max stopped.
“But what?”
“She doesn’t feel the same way,” Max said, looking down at the table.
“Where is your faith, boy?” Bishop asked firmly. Max looked up, surprised at Bishop calling him boy. Bishop had never addressed him like that. And his smile was gone. He seemed frustrated with him. “Do you believe this is your wife?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then put your faith on it and begin to call those things that be not as though they are. Hold your head up. It will be all right! I believe the Lord sent me to you today to tell you to keep the faith. Be encouraged. It’s going to work out.” Bishop’s voice rose as he spoke as if he was gaining strength. He noticed Max had not eaten. “Now, son, eat your food. You’ll need your strength. Now there’s something I need you to do before the meeting,” Bishop said, changing the subject.
Max began eating. His talk with Bishop was just what he’d needed. He made up his mind to talk to Shante as soon as possible and invite her out to dinner. No, he would do something special—maybe on their next First Friday outing.