Chapter 20
“Whole?” Grace guffawed, slamming her kombucha on the table. “Junie, what type of Holy Ghost rap was that?”
Grace stared intently at her best friend, hoping she had a better understanding of Horace’s last words to her before he walked out of her condo last night. She’d spent most of the night on her iPad, combing through commentary on BibleStudyTools.com, trying to find a biblical reference that matched Horace’s statement. All her clicking had only led Grace back to the same statement. Thy faith hath made thee whole.
Junell remained silent.
“Well?” Grace nudged Junell, whose gaze was fixed on the amalgamation of dry leaves that had gathered in the gutter across the street from the Chelsea coffee shop they were sitting in.
“I’m sorry.” Junell shook her freshly colored chestnut-brown bangs out of her eyes. “I totally spaced out on you. Blame it on the baby.” Junell rubbed her stomach and smiled widely, reminding Grace of the announcement she’d made just a few weeks ago. “He said he wants you whole?” Junell asked, making sure she understood the matter being examined.
Grace bobbed her head up and down.
“Have you read Ruth yet?”
Grace turned down her lips and arched her eyebrows. The Bible had become like kryptonite to Grace over the years.
“I’ll take that as a no.” Junell raised her finger and pointed at Grace’s face. She leaned back in her chair, took a deep breath as she raised her leg to cross it, and exhaled once, positioning herself comfortably. “Grace, he wants a whole woman, a woman who is not broken. I love you, but until you let Jesus in, you’re not whole. You gotta surrender.”
“I like your bangs,” Grace stated effortlessly, diverting the conversation away from her conversion. “Who cut your bangs? Maybe I should get some. What do you think?” Grace ran her fingers through the front of her hair, which was now parted to the side.
Junell looked at the people seated beside them, leaned in, and whispered, “It’s a wig. My hair is starting to fall out, and my mother says I can’t cut it while I’m pregnant, or the baby will be bald, or some nonsense like that.” She chuckled. “Now back to the subject matter at hand.” Junell clapped her hands together and drew her closed palms to her face. “Any good Christian man worth his weight in salt would not accept you in your condition. Grace, you’re like a half-baked potato. Serving a few meals in a church doesn’t make you Mother Theresa, and the man wants substance.”
Substance. Whole. Salt. The words sucked Grace’s power from her. Everyone around her was speaking in metaphors and measurements, and she could not match those words. She rested her cheek on the palm of her hand and gazed out the window of the Chelsea coffee shop.
“When are you going to begin filming with Javier?” Junell asked.
Grace raised one eyebrow and glared at Junell.
“It’s no secret that you’re holding up production, Grace. You’ve got to give me something. Everyone is asking me questions, and I have no idea what to tell them.”
Grace smacked the ceramic countertop. “Why don’t you tell them to mind their f—”
“Grace! Have you taken to cursing again?”
“I need a drink.” Grace swiveled around on the metal stool and hopped off it. She was grateful for this new coffee spot. Only in Chelsea could you find a place that served coffee, kombucha, and wine. For this conversation, Grace would have preferred a glass of whiskey; however, wine was enough to take some of the edge off. “You want something?” she asked Junell dryly.
Junell pointed down at her baby bump. It was barely noticeable now. It looked more like Junell had skipped some of her SoulCycle classes and was bloated rather than pregnant.
“Well, I’ll drink yours,” Grace said, strolling toward the wine counter behind them. Cracking half a smile at the guy behind the counter, Grace ordered two glasses of red wine and biscotti. Grace slid her credit card across the counter and watched intently as he prepared her order.
Slowly, he drew the biscotti out of the white ceramic canisters that cradled them, but poured her wine quickly. Grace took a sip out of one glass and cradled the second glass and the biscotti in her other hand as she took long, pointed steps back to their window seats, channeling her early runway-walking lessons to maintain her balance.
She set the glasses on the countertop and caught Junell staring at them and then at her. Grace shrugged her shoulders. “What? I told you I’d drink yours for you.” She reclaimed her seat in the window of the coffee shop and bit into a biscotto, letting the crumbs gather at the sides of her mouth. Between bites, she grumbled, “You want to know why I’m not filming with Javier?”
“If you’re going to get crazy and all worked up about it, then no.” Junell folded her hands over her slight belly. “I have to be back on the set in another hour, and I don’t need you freaking me out.”
Grace blinked her eyes multiple times and looked her friend up and down. She’d never once cared more about filming a scene than what Grace was going through. Grace wondered if that was because of the baby or because Junell had just simply grown tired of the multitude of issues that seemed to follow Grace everywhere she went.
“Must be a difficult scene,” Grace said offhandedly. She looked into her glass of wine, trying to hide her disappointment in the burgundy liquid in her glass.
“It’s beyond difficult.” Junell rubbed the center of her forehead, as if thinking about it was exhausting. “You know, getting pregnant while filming is difficult, and the writers have decided to write my pregnancy into the story, rather than write me off or have me go on a hiatus. So, I’m going to sleep with the captain of the squad this evening.”
“Oh, yeah!” Grace perked up a bit. “Isn’t the captain married?”
“Yes. Apparently, my character has been secretly in love with him since he was her teacher at the academy, and they finally have the opportunity to do the deed.”
“All the Christian sisters that support you are going to be up in arms.”
“I know.” Junell tsk-tsked. “I had to repent so many times while reading the script. I don’t think I’m going to make it through this scene.”
Grace looked up from her wineglass and stared at Junell. A wet film covered her eyes. Junell was so worked up about this scene, she was oblivious to Grace’s pain. She let the tears run down her cheeks. They rolled slowly over her cheekbones, creating streaks on her flawless face. Grace bent over and rested her head on the countertop they were seated at.
Junell rubbed Grace’s back. “G, are you all right?” she whispered, bending over Grace.
Raising her head slightly, Grace turned in the opposite direction of Junell’s coos of comfort. She let the sobs and nose sniffing flow freely.
“Come on. Talk to me, Grace. People are starting to look at us.”
“Let them look,” Grace spat. She sat up, picked up a napkin, and blew her nose. Her chest tightened so much, she could feel her heart rattling around inside of her. She wanted to jump through the picture window they were seated in front of to escape Junell. She’d expected more from her than this. Closing her eyes, Grace let her head fall to her chest and buried her chin in the layers of her gray wraparound scarf.
“People have been looking at us for a long time,” Grace said. “Isn’t that the business we’re in? You’re a model turned actress. Aren’t you used to being looked at already? Or are you suddenly bothered because this is your real life that people are looking at?” Her voice dropped. “This is your friend breaking down, not some character on one of your little episodes.”
Grace slid off the stool and turned toward the door. Junell reached for Grace’s arm and caught the elbow of her oversize tribal-print cardigan. Grace had meant to move faster than that, but the heaviness of her wounded heart had slowed her down.
“Grace, what’s going on?”
Their eyes met. Junell’s large brown eyes zigzagged from side to side, as if she possessed the power to scan Grace’s brain.
Breaking eye contact, Grace looked down at the raw, untiled floor of the coffee shop. She cupped her own arm and slowly pulled her cardigan out of Junell’s grasp. “Now’s not a good time to discuss it. People are looking,” she whispered, backing out of the coffee shop.