Nine
I awoke early the next morning on the floor next to my bed. I had tried to sleep in it, but it was even cushier than my old bed at Moms’s house. I went searching the kitchen cabinets for something to eat, but found them filled with non-nutritious junk. I’d have to go grocery shopping later. I settled on some eggs, bread and milk.
As I sat down to eat, I noticed Tiffany had left some mail on the table. I perused several letters and noticed a very official looking one from my mortgage company. When I opened it and read it, my head began to pound. Apparently, my adjustable rate mortgage had ballooned four months ago.
Tiffany obviously hadn’t bothered to open any of their letters and had kept paying, or had Moms keep paying the same rate. I had it automatically withdrawn from my checking account, and they deposited the money each month. Now I was two thousand dollars behind on my mortgage.
Which meant I needed to get a job . . . yesterday.
I forced myself to go out on my back patio and lay on the hard concrete, determined to seek God. I prayed, praised and worshipped, but it felt so different here. Like even the spiritual atmosphere was different. In Africa, I felt like I could reach my arms upward and touch God. Here, the heavens literally felt like brass.
I thought about banging on Tiffany’s door to confront her about it, but what was the point? She’d make up a bunch of excuses and lies, and I wouldn’t be any closer to having the bill paid.
Instead, I went into my office and booted up the computer. I needed to update my resume, and then send it out to every possible opening in the non-profit sector. Two hours later, I was even more frustrated. The available jobs were slim to none, and nothing really seemed like what I wanted to do. It occurred to me that I might have to consider going back to PR for a short while, just to overcome this financial crisis. Just until Moms got healed and I got all our bills caught up.
As I checked online job databases, I was shocked to find my old company had an opening. They were one of the most prestigious public relations firms in the area and rarely had openings for long. In fact, most of the time when they posted openings, it was just a formality. They usually had already picked the new hire. The boss lady must be desperate for some fresh blood from the outside.
I put in a phone call to a friend that worked there with me.
“Well, well, well. I can’t believe what I’m seeing on this caller ID. Is this Trina Michaels, back from Africa?”
I smiled. “Yes, Sonya dear. It’s me.”
“When did you get back? And did you bring a Mandingo warrior with you?”
I had to laugh. “Girl, you still crazy, huh?”
“Won’t ever change.”
Sonya used to be my gurl at work before I left. She was one of those sistahgirls that you loved to talk to because they were crazy and so much fun. The only thing that kept us from being closer and hanging out together outside of office hours was the fact that she wasn’t saved and still living the life I fought so hard to overcome. I didn’t need to hear about all her different lovers and her over-the-top experiences with them. Just wasn’t good for my walk.
We exchanged pleasantries for a while, and then I needed to get down to the business at hand. “So, I noticed there’s an opening at Silver Public Relations Management. What’s going on?”
“You looking? When you left, you said it was for good.”
“I know, but I miss doing PR. More than I thought. You know once it gets in your blood, you can’t let it go,” I lied.
“Girl, Blanche will be too happy to hear from you. She’s had the worst time filling your spot.”
Silver PR was a large firm in DC. I was the “church girl” that handled most of their Christian businesses and clients and many of their non-profit organizations.
“Really? What happened?”
“The first girl they hired was a super crazy religious fanatic. She blasted gospel music and got mad when we played hip hop or R&B, talking about how we was introducing spirits into her holy atmosphere. And she screwed up accounts with the clients. She was too churchy even for church people. Blanche fired her after a couple of months.”
“Oh dear. Sounds like a nutcase.”
“Then she hired this other guy that was just weird. Didn’t really talk to anybody and didn’t have much of a personality. He sat at his desk with his hands folded and his eyes closed all the time. I don’t know if he were praying or casting spells on all of us. He was just that strange, girl. I think Blanche was desperate, and he had a decent resume and said he was a Christian.”
I searched through my desk drawers for some fancy paper to print out my resume on. It was starting to sound like that was only a formality that I might not have to bother with.
Sonya continued, “Since then, they’ve been assigning church clients evenly between all of us, but we ain’t you. We don’t use the right churchy talk and can’t connect well enough with the churchy people to make them happy. Girl, ain’t nobody like Trina Michaels.”
“Dang. So Blanche ought to be happy to hear from me?”
“Yeah, but you know her. She ain’t gonna let you know the position she’s in. She’ll probably make you feel like she’s doing you a favor. Play hardball with her. Make her pay you what you’re worth. Especially with this new big client they’re trying to hook. Girl, it’s some craziness, and they need a straight-up church girl to handle it. With you, it would almost be a guarantee. Otherwise, Blanche will probably try to dress me up in a long skirt and no cleavage top, make me wash off my makeup and send me in there trying to pretend I got Jesus. Can you imagine?”
I laughed, knowing Blanche would go that far for some money. “Thanks, Sonya girl. I appreciate you giving me the scoop.”
“Girl, you know we got to stick together.”
I hung up and sat still in my office chair for a minute. Did I really want to go back to public relations? Could I really stand to go back to my old job at my old company? The real question was, did I have a choice?
I would take the day to pray about it, and if I felt like God gave me the go ahead, I would give Blanche a call. Until then, I would continue to perfect my resume and search the computer for other opportunities.
I didn’t get a chance to ask God about getting my old job back. Fifteen minutes later, the phone rang and the caller ID read Blanche Silver. Sonya must have gone directly to her office to tell her I was back and interested.
“Hello, Blanche. How are you?”
“Trina Michaels, welcome back to civilization. Great to hear your voice. How are ya?”
She was being friendly. Must be desperate. “I’m good. Tired, but adjusting to being home. How are you?”
“I’m good. Sonya tells me you’re in need of a job.”
“Not really in need. I just called to tell her I was back and to say hello, and she mentioned you were in need of a Christian liaison person.” I wasn’t about to let her think she was helping me out. I couldn’t afford to give her the upper hand.
“Not really in need.” Sonya was right. In spite of her being semi-pleasant, Blanche was prepared to play hardball.
“Oh. I must have misunderstood Sonya. I hope all is well. How are the kids?”
“They’re fine. Look if you need a job, your old spot is available.”
“Um, hmm. Actually Blanche, I was thinking of taking a month or so off, just to get re-acclimated and spend some time with my mother. Maybe go visit my friends down in Atlanta. I’ll give you a call when I’m ready to go back to work, though. If it’s still available, maybe we can talk then.”
“Trina, you never know what this market is going to look like. That would be foolish. You should come in tomorrow. I have a great new client for you. Something you’d love.”
“Tomorrow? My goodness, Blanche. I’m still jet-lagged and haven’t even unpacked my suitcases. How about next week some time? That still wouldn’t give me a chance to go to Atlanta though. How about two weeks from now? Give me a chance to get my bearings.”
“I’m offering your job back with a fifteen percent raise. But I would need you here no later than the day after tomorrow. This client needs immediate attention. Immediate.”
“Blanche, I wouldn’t be any good to you this exhausted. I’ll skip Atlanta, but at least give me a couple of days to rest.”
“Twenty percent, Trina. Day after tomorrow.” Her voice had escalated to a heated point that let me know I had pushed her as far she was gonna go.
“Oh, dear. Well, if you need me, I guess I can come in day after tomorrow.”
“I’ll see you at ten, Trina.” She hung up the phone.
I knew it just about killed her to give me a raise. God knew I needed it though. I hadn’t even taken the time to pray, but I felt like God was taking care of me and Moms’s need before I even asked Him to.
I had to get myself together. I didn’t think any of my suits would look decent enough to wear to work. And I had to get some nutritious groceries in the house. I got up and got dressed to go shopping.
When I got out to the garage, I peered in my car and was surprised to find that Tiffany had gotten her junk out of the backseat. Maybe she was working hard to turn over a new leaf. A few moments later, I noticed a huge pile of junk in the corner of the garage. The same junk that had been in the backseat.
I had been willing to ignore the dirty dishes piled in the sink, her shoes in the middle of the kitchen floor and her clothes on the living room floor, but this was the final straw.
I marched up to the guest room and banged on the door. “Tiffany. Wake up.”
No answer. I tried to turn the knob, but realized she had locked the door. I banged on the door several times, and there was still no answer. I went to hunt for an Allen wrench to jiggle the lock. When I finally got the door open, I had to call on the Lord not to run over to the bed and choke the life out of Tiffany.
Her room looked like an earthquake and a tsunami had hit it. There were piles of dirty clothes everywhere, including in the bed with Tiffany. There were dirty dishes lined up on the dresser, and the carpet looked like it hadn’t been vacuumed in the last two years. And the smell . . . I couldn’t even think of anything to describe it. And I had lived in Africa for the past two years.
“Tiffany!”
Even with me standing over her, yelling at the top of my lungs, she didn’t stir. I was used to her sleeping like a coma patient, but this was a bit much. I reached over and jostled her, and she still didn’t crack an eyelid. I went from being mad to scared. “Tiffy! Wake up.”
I knelt down beside her to make sure she was breathing. Just as I put my face close to hers, she let out a deep breath that almost sent me reeling across the room. Her breath reeked of alcohol and something else I couldn’t allow myself to believe. I bent and smelled her shirt, confirming my fears.
Weed. Tiffany was drinking alcohol and smoking marijuana.
I grabbed her firmly and sat her up in the bed, shaking her the whole while. “Wake up, Tiffany!” I shook her so hard, the thought of being arrested for shaken baby sister syndrome crossed my mind.
She finally scrunched her face and held up her arms, trying to push me away. “What? Leave me alone,” she said without opening her eyes.
“Wake up. Look at me.” I squeezed her shoulders so tight, I was sure she’d have bruises later.
“Owww, Sissy. You’re hurting me.” She finally opened her eyes, but kept them downward, refusing to look at me. “Let me go.” She sounded like a little girl when she said it. My little baby girl I had tried so hard to raise and protect from the elements of the world.
“What is your problem? Do you really think you’re gonna live in my house and carry on like this?” I let her go.
She rubbed her shoulders where my hands had been, studying them for marks I may have left on her.
I stood up. “Wash your face, brush your teeth and meet me downstairs in ten minutes.”
She flopped back over on the bed and whined, “I’m tired, Sissy. I don’t feel like getting up right now.”
I grabbed her by the arm and snatched her back up into a sitting position. “You got two choices. You either get yourself downstairs to talk to me, or you pack your stuff and get out now. You hear me?” I let her arm go and pointed a long finger in her face. “I don’t care nothing ’bout Moms being sick. I will put your nasty, trifling tail on the street in a heartbeat if you don’t straighten up. Believe it.”
Her eyes widened as if she finally realized I was serious. She hung her head, blinked a few times and scooted to the edge of the bed.
I stomped out of the room. I went down to the living room to wait for her, pacing and praying the whole time.
I had always known Tiffany to be between jobs. She never got fired, because she was usually a reliable, conscientious worker. She either ended up quitting a perfectly good job because someone offended her, she couldn’t get along with her supervisor or because she “just didn’t like it.” Therefore, she was always in financial trouble, borrowing from me and Moms when she got into dire straits.
She had moved so many times in the last ten years, the post office probably refused to honor her changes of address anymore. She always picked the wrong men who were usually just as trifling and transient as she was. I even knew, although she and Moms had tried to keep it from me, that she’d had abortions on two different occasions. Maybe more.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, now drugs and alcohol? That had never been a part of her routine. As I walked and prayed, I asked God for the best way to deal with her. Screaming and physically abusing her wouldn’t do any good. I had to get to the bottom of what was going on. I knew she was depressed about what was going on with Moms. But still, to go that far? There had to be some man involved.
I finally heard her feet shuffling down the steps. I knew she was taking her time getting down to me and probably thinking of what lie she would tell to dig herself out of this. She finally emerged from the staircase and shuffled her feet over to the armchair. I almost expected her to stick her thumb in her mouth like she used to when she got in trouble as a little girl.
I sat down on the couch and clasped my hands together. We both sat in silence for a few minutes, me staring at her and her playing with the tie strings on her sweatpants. I knew it was too much to expect her to act like a grownup and explain herself, so I decided to speak first. “What’s going on, Tiffany?”
She shrugged, continuing to tie and untie knots in the strings.
I gently grabbed her chin and forced her to look at me. “Tiffany?”
Her eyes went down and to the right. “I’m just a little tired. I took some medicine last night because I felt like I was coming down with a cold.” She pulled back from my hand and looked downward again. “Oh. Sorry about the room. I’ll clean it today.”
I could feel my blood turning hot. I took a few deep breaths, but couldn’t seem to get control of the anger rising in me. “Do I look like a fool?” I ran two fingers across my forehead and got right up in her face. “Do I have stupid written on my forehead?”
She shrugged her shoulders and bit her lip.
I stood up and started pacing back and forth in front of her. “Do I? You have the smell of alcohol seeping out of your pores and your clothes and hair smelled like you slept at a rap concert last night. If you tell me one more lie, Tiffany, I swear, I’ll . . . I . . .” My eyes searched around the room. I felt like my mother. When we made her mad when we were little she would search the room and grab the nearest thing she could find to beat us with. Well, usually Tiffany with. Wooden spoons, hairbrushes, shoes—anything she could get her hands on quickly.
Tiffany sunk back into the couch.
“Do you really think you’re gonna live in my house and carry on like that? You know I don’t roll like that, nor will I allow that in my home. You’re supposed to be finding a job so you can help me and Moms out with the bills. Instead, you’re out partying and getting high all night? I just had to accept a job I have no desire to take. You think you’re gonna lay up in this house, in that nasty room, while I go to work everyday? Huh?”
Tiffany blinked her eyes and shook her head.
“You are thirty years old, Tiffany—a grown woman. You are too old for me and Moms to be taking care of you anymore. And she can’t right now. Do you want to be a burden to her while she’s fighting this illness? How do you think she would feel if she knew you were out smoking and drinking? Are you trying to kill her yourself? How do you sleep at night?”
“I can’t.” Tiffany bowed her head and her shoulders started shaking. She burst into loud sobs. “I can’t sleep, Sissy. What if Moms dies? She’s gonna die. Soon. You saw her.”
I let out a disgusted breath, but went over to the couch to sit next to Tiffany. I took her in my arms and held her. She still smelled—bad, but I had held people who smelled far worse in Africa. Shoot, I smelled far worse the whole time I was in Africa.
When her sobs finally subsided, I said, “Baby girl, I understand you being upset about Moms. It was very difficult for me to see her like that. I have to rest on my faith that God is going to heal her. That’s the only thing getting me through this. I’m sorry you’ve had to go through this by yourself. And even though Moms threatened you, I wish you had called me.”
I gently turned her face to look at me. “But you have to understand that drinking and smoking isn’t going to make it any better. It can only make it worse. How long have you been smoking weed?”
She shrugged and cast her eyes downward. I nudged her chin to make her look at me. “About a month,” she finally answered.
“And the drinking?”
She let out a long, stinky breath, forcing me to let her face go. “A couple of weeks after Moms got diagnosed.”
I made a face and fanned the air. “Anything stronger than that? Cocaine?”
“No! Of course not.” She looked shocked and hurt that I would ask her that. “I’m sorry, Sissy.”
I shook my head. “I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to do better.”
“I will. I promise.” She gave me that little girl look.
I stood up. “You’re going to spend the rest of the day cleaning that room and the messes around the house you’ve made since I’ve been back, including the garage. Tomorrow, you’re going to have to start searching for a job. I’m gonna be just like the unemployment office. Everyday, you have to report to me where you’ve looked for a job and what the outcome is. You need to have a job by the end of the week.”
Her eyes flew open. “There’s no way I can get a job that quick, Sissy. You know what the economy is like?”
“I don’t care nothing about the economy. Get a job at Macy’s, shoot, McDonald’s if you have to. After you get your job, we’ll decide on what your monthly payments will be.” I planned to collect her money every two weeks until she had enough to get a good apartment on a METRO line. I would let her stay here until she had at least three months rent saved up.
“And no more alcohol or marijuana. If you need to go see somebody to talk about all this, we’ll set something up.”
“I ain’t going to see no shrink.” She folded her arms. “I’m not crazy, Trina.”
“I didn’t say you were crazy. I know Moms’s condition is difficult to deal with. Especially if you don’t have faith to know that God will make everything okay.”
Tiffany narrowed her eyes, and I almost expected flames to shoot out of them. “You sound just like them crazy church people. Always talking about what God’s going to do. When it’s all said and done, you’re gonna be standing right there at Moms’s grave site next to me, crying and wondering why God didn’t show up. What you gonna say about God then?” She spat the words, sounding just like my mother.
“Tiffy . . .” I reached out to rub her back, but she snatched away and stood up. “I’ll do everything you said, Trina. But don’t try to drag me into some magical fantasyland and believe that God is gonna do some miracle and poof!—Moms will be fine. She’s gonna die, and you need to get ready to deal with it. At least I’m trying. It might be the wrong way, but at least I’m facing the truth. Moms is gonna leave us. And all we’ll have is each other, and crazy Aunt Penny. I don’t want to hear none of that Jesus mess no more, Trina.” She marched up the stairs to her room and shut the door.
I thought of the scripture where Jesus could work no miracles in His hometown because of the people’s unbelief. A little fear rose in my heart.
What if Tiffany and Moms talked us out of the miracle we so desperately needed?