Five
I’d thought my carsickness on the way home from the airport was because of Tiffany’s crazy driving, but once we got on 495 headed to Baltimore, it felt like Monica was zooming at a hundred miles an hour too. I gritted my teeth and clutched the door handle.
Monica looked over at me. “You okay?”
I nodded, then shook my head. “I think I just need to get used to being in a car again.”
“Well, I assure you I’m a safe driver. Kevin would kill me if I let anything happen to me or his baby.” She grinned.
It made me happy to see her so happy. When she dropped me off at the airport two years ago, I never imagined that when I got back, she and Kevin would still be married, and she’d be pregnant with his child.
Almost as if she heard my thoughts, she said, “Remember when you were about to get on the plane to leave for Africa, and you gave me that scripture that says what Satan meant for evil, God was gonna turn it around for good and that somehow, my life would end up being better than it ever had been before?”
I nodded.
“Isn’t God awesome? He did just what you said. Even more than I could have imagined.”
I decided it was a good time to broach the subject. “So, what ever happened to Bishop Walker and the guy that molested Kevin?”
Her face clouded over a little. She gestured her head toward the backseat. “Grab that newspaper back there. You’ll see. A bunch of drama just broke. I was afraid this would happen.”
“I read the article while I was in the airport waiting for Tiffany,” I admitted. “I was trying to see if you knew.”
She nodded. “Yeah, I know. Kevin mailed off the letters to the Bishop’s council last July. I guess it took them this long to do their investigation and find out that what he said was true. What saddens me is that a couple of the boys that came forward have been molested in the last year. I wonder what would have happened if Kevin had come forward sooner. I wonder how many other boys there were in the last twenty years. It’s scary when you think about it. How many men’s lives were potentially destroyed like Kevin’s would have been if we hadn’t come across Exodus ministries?”
“What if . . .” I didn’t want to mention the unthinkable.
“What?” She glanced over at my face. “What if during the investigation Kevin’s past gets leaked out?” She shook her head. “I don’t know what I’d do. Our life has been great for the past nine months. Our marriage is better than I could have ever imagined. His first album has been off the charts since it debuted. He and our friend, David, are working on a new project with a group they’ve started down there. We just moved into our new house. And we’re gonna have a beautiful, healthy baby boy. I don’t want it to get leaked. I’m happy now, and I don’t want anything to mess that up.”
I pried my fingers from their death grip on the seatbelt to rub Monica’s arm. “I hear you, Monnie. It’s gonna be okay. God didn’t work all this stuff out to let things go bad now. He’s gonna take good care of you guys.”
She smiled and took my hand. I wanted to tell her to put it back on the steering wheel, but reminded myself that Monnie was the safest driver I knew, in spite of being a little heavy on the gas.
“You’re right, God has been too faithful for me to even worry.” She put her hand back on the steering wheel. “You know the craziest part? Kevin says he wouldn’t mind. Since he finished his classes, Kevin’s worked closely with Pastor Ford, the head of the deliverance ministry who wrote the book I told you about. Kevin feels like if his story came out, he would use the platform to minister to people who have experienced sexual abuse and are struggling with their sexual identity. He says that since God sent people into his life to help him get delivered, he should reach back and do the same. He says he’d be able to represent as a successful gospel artist with a strong healthy marriage and children—that if he could overcome, so could they.”
I considered it. “He may be right.”
Monica gripped the steering wheel tight and squeezed her eyes shut for a second, almost causing me to have a fit. “No, I can’t handle that. I have to admit, sometimes it’s still a little embarrassing to me. And what if the gospel world rejects him and they don’t buy his albums or go to his concerts? What would he do? This might sound bad, but I’ve gotten used to being the kept wife. Other than spending a few hours a week doing personal training and step classes at me and Alaysia’s gym, I like not having to work. And when the baby comes, I definitely don’t want to work.”
“Girl, you know that’s where me and you differ. I wouldn’t ever depend on a man to support me. I would never trust a man that much.”
“Yeah, girl, we’re still praying for your deliverance in that area.”
“I don’t need deliverance. I’m happy being just how I am.”
“What, untrusting and lonely?”
“No, independent and self-sufficient. And I’m not lonely.”
“Girl, I don’t see how you do it. I thought I would die in the eighteen months without Kevin. I like having a man in my life.”
I shook my head. “Naw, girl. I ain’t like that.”
Monica snuck a peek at me. “Come on. You don’t ever get lonely?”
I shrugged. “I always got something to do. I ain’t got time to be worried about no man. I don’t need anybody slowing me down or distracting me from my purpose.”
Monica sucked her teeth. “I ain’t got that anointing. Maybe you’re one of those women who’s called to be single. I never realized you were like that. I just thought you were taking a break because of your battle with the fornication demon. I didn’t know you planned to stay alone forever.”
I had to laugh. I didn’t grow up in church and before I got saved, I had my share of sexual encounters with more than a few men. Even after I gave my life to Christ, it was awhile before I could give it up. It took many days of crying out at the altar, immersing myself deep in the Word, and being mentored by an awesome women’s ministry at my new church to get free. I wasn’t ever trying to get entangled like that again.
In spite of the number of men I had slept with in the past, I had never been in a committed relationship. On my introspective days, I had to admit that I was afraid to give my heart to a man. I never wanted to experience the heartbreak and devastation I had seen my mom go through when my father left and in the few relationships she’d had after. I don’t think she ever recovered, and I wasn’t trying to let any man mess me up for life.
“So what about the guy in Africa then?” Monica brought me out of my thoughts.
“Huh?”
“Yeah, what’s his name anyway? How old is he? What does he look like? Give me some details. You know a girl needs details.”
“There’s really nothing to tell. We got close while I was over there and ministered a lot together. But now he’s there and I’m back here and that’s all there is to it.”
I wished that was all there was to it. Because as much as I had tried to prevent it, Gabriel Woods had maneuvered his way into a place in my heart where no man had ever been allowed before.
“Dang, Trina. Humor me. Just give me a few details.”
I exhaled to let her know I was annoyed by this conversation. She grinned to let me know she didn’t care nothing about me being aggravated with her relentless questions.
“His name is Gabriel Woods. He’s thirty-nine years old. He grew up poor in Detroit, and that made him want to become an urban community developer. He transformed some neighborhoods in the inner city there and made a huge amount of money in the process. And then God turned his heart to Africa. He’s been instrumental in building houses, roads, wells, and hospitals in the area where I was stationed. He pours most of the money his businesses in the States make into Africa. He’s lived back and forth between Mozambique and the States for the past ten years. There. Is that enough details for you? Not that any of this matters.”
“Wow . . . he sounds intriguing and worldly and smart . . . and rich. You sure you don’t feel anything for him?”
I rolled my eyes. “Can you stop at the nearest rest stop? I have to pee.”
“We just passed an exit. Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”
“Because you were grilling me about Gabe.”
“Gabe? So he has a nickname. That’s a good sign.”
I exhaled loudly. “Monnie, just pull over and let me pee in the bushes.” I opened the glove compartment to her rental car to see if there were any napkins in there. I should have brought my roll of toilet paper like I’d planned.
“Eeeeww, no way. You’re back home now. Like the Bible says, when in Rome, do as the Romans do. In America, we use toilets.”
“Fine, Monnnie. I need you to stop somewhere soon, then.” I chuckled. “Do as the Romans do? Where is that in the Bible? I thought you told me you’d been studying the Word more since you started going to your new church.”
“I have. That’s in the Bible . . . somewhere.”
We both laughed.
After about five more minutes, we pulled off the freeway and into a gas station. We both got out and hurried through the little convenience store to the restrooms like we were afraid we wouldn’t make it. Me from all the water I drank, Monica probably from just being pregnant. Monica walked in first. She turned back around quickly and bumped into me. “Oh gross, it stinks in there and it’s dirty.”
I rolled my eyes and walked around her into the restroom. After I finished and washed my hands, I came back outside to the car where she stood, holding her stomach with one hand and fanning with the other. “That was so disgusting. I don’t see how you could stand the smell.”
I shook my head. “You have no idea.”
“Girl, listening to you, I might never go to Africa.”
“You’d be fine if you went to the city. We just happened to be in a remote area, that’s all.”
“Yeah, girl. You’ll never find me in the bush.”
“Don’t call it that, Monnie.”
“Why not?” She frowned.
I got in the car. It had to be because I was tired. My absolute best friend in the whole world was getting on my very last nerve being all prissy and entitled. I rolled my eyes. Americans . . .
“So what are you going to do now that you’re home?” Monica maneuvered her way back onto the freeway.
I reached out to grab the door handle. My fingers were sore from clutching it. “Well, I have enough money saved to live for about six months while I look for the right job. I want to take my time and make sure it’s something I love.” There was no way I was going to tell her that in my heart of hearts I really wanted to go back to Africa. Although with Moms sick, I didn’t think I’d get to do that anytime soon.
“You’re not going back to PR? I thought you loved public relations. You’re so good at it.” Monica looked down at my hand gripping the door handle and slowed down some.
I shook my head. “I don’t want to do PR anymore. It was starting to get on my nerves before I left, and I can’t imagine going back to it now. I want to find something in the non-profit sector. I’d love something working with kids or women in transition or something. If I did anything remotely close to PR, it would be to raise awareness about what’s going on in Africa. There’s been a lot more of that lately with the Red campaign and Bono and Madonna and all those folks. But if people really knew, this country and other developed countries would be doing so much more to help. Maybe I would use my PR experience and fundraising skills for that.”
Monica looked over at me. “I really admire you, Trina. You’re really like a real Christian is supposed to be. I ain’t gon’ lie. I don’t think I could give up my life and comforts over here and live the way you did for the past two years. You make me feel selfish. All I want out of life is a happy family.” She rubbed her belly. “A good marriage, one or two more children, and a peaceful life in suburbia. I enjoy teaching Sunday School and volunteering with the kids at church from time to time, but that’s about it. I’d never even dream of going to Africa. Makes me feel like I’m not really saved, or that maybe I don’t have enough of the love of God in my heart.” She saw me grab the dashboard when it looked like a huge truck was going to ram into the side of the car, and she slowed down some more.
“It’s definitely a call, Monica. God put it in me. That doesn’t mean I’m any more of a Christian than you are. We have different callings, and no one is better than another. You’re called to support Kevin’s music ministry and to be an awesome wife and mother. Don’t take that for granted. That’s a beautiful thing.”
“And you’re called to sleep in huts and pee in holes in the ground in Africa.” She laughed at her own joke. “Girl, God knew better. I can’t live without my bed and down comforter and the mall and my hair products and razors. And toilets. And bottled water. And good food.”
I laughed with her. “Girl, it’s amazing what becomes not important to you anymore. All the things we think are essential . . . you learn to live without them. It’s a fair trade-off for a much simpler and more meaningful life.” I added, “For me, anyway.” Not wanting to make her feel bad.
I looked at the clock on the dashboard panel. “Gosh, I didn’t remember Baltimore being this far away. Why is it taking us so long to get there?”
Monica’s mouth dropped open. “You’ve got to be joking. I’ve had to drive sixty miles an hour to get your hand off the door handle, and then fifty-five to keep you from pushing that imaginary brake you got on the floor down there. You know me. If you want me to get you there, I can. I was just trying to keep you from putting a hole in the floor of the car.”
I laughed. ”Sorry, girl. You have no idea.” I leaned back against the headrest. “Go ahead and do your usual eighty. I’ll just close my eyes and plead the blood.”
She laughed, and I felt the car shift into high speed.
I must have drifted off to sleep because next thing I knew, Monica was jostling me. “Trina, wake up, girl. We’re here.”
I sat up and blinked, trying to orient myself to where I was. Instead of trees and mud huts and swarms of African children running around, I saw brick buildings and concrete. And the kids running around on this street didn’t make me feel like bending to embrace them. They made me want to lock the car door.
“You okay?” Monica rubbed my arm.
“Yeah. I’m good. Just jet-lagged. Let’s go on in.”
We locked the car and rushed up the walk to my mother’s brick row house. I noticed the mailbox was overflowing and opened it and pulled the mail out. Without meaning to, I noticed several of the letters had pink envelopes. A couple said, “final notice.” My heart sank. One thing my mom never did was get behind in her bills. She had worked two jobs the entire time me and Tiffany were growing up. It was important to her that even though we were dirt poor, we could wear designer clothes like the rest of the kids. I never cared, but Tiffany, the fashion maven, took full advantage.
Moms also put large sums of money aside from her paychecks for us to go to college. I had gotten a full scholarship and told her to keep it for herself for everything she had done for us growing up. Tiffany had wasted the money going on and off to college for many years. She never finished a degree because of her frequent major changes. Moms was probably still Tiffany’s primary means of financial support. Or at least until now. Looked like she needed some support herself now.
I rang the doorbell and stepped back. Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw when the door opened.
I gasped. “Moms.”