Someone to Watch Over Me Page 16

  Flickering lights brought my therapy session to an official end.

  “Guess we’d better get out of here.” Jacob slammed his spiral shut as I collected my belongings—and myself.

  His gentlemanly acts still punctuated our transition. I couldn’t help but ruin the moment by thinking of Kevin. Were we still together? Was I cheating on him? I haven’t done anything.

  I’m sure my body was tired, but being in Jacob’s presence energized me. Smelling him, hearing him, listening to him talk about his involvement with the interdenominational pastors’ alliance. “The body of Christ has been segregated too long. It’s time we came together.”

  His comment had me reflecting on Cassandra’s viewpoint on hiring Virgie, which had proven somewhat true. I’d seen a couple of customers wait just shy of the counter until they saw Cassandra approach, then they’d rush forward to order sliced meats before Virgie had an opportunity to take the request.

  “I agree with you, Jacob. People need to stop with all these stereotypes.”

  We floated on back to Bayford with few words between us. Gospel music, songs of eternal love and peace, encased the mood.

  “Whose album is this?” I asked upon return.

  “The new Myron Williams. Want mine? I’ll get myself another one next time I’m online.”

  I suggested, “I can just burn a copy and give you back the original.”

  He winced slightly. “No, I’ll get another one. You keep this.” He ejected the disc and carefully handed it to me.

  I paused, wondering what had just transpired. “You don’t duplicate CDs?”

  “Naa.”

  Awww, man. Just when I thought we might have some common ground. “Jacob, everybody copies music.”

  “I don’t.”

  “It’s the American way,” I argued. Does he have to do everything by the Good Book?

  He made his case. “I know if I produced a CD, I wouldn’t want anyone making unauthorized copies of my work.”

  “So, this is a Karma thing to you?”

  “Some people call it Karma, I call it sowing and reaping.” He paused. “I treat people right, and I expect them to treat me right, too.”

  Guilt crept up my spine. I wondered if Jacob would have even given me the time of day if he’d known I was living with Kevin.

  Jacob walked me to Aunt Dottie’s porch. The sounds of crickets chirping and dogs barking in the distance surrounded us now. Back to the country.

  “Thanks,” he said as we ascended the ramp.

  “For what? Shouldn’t this be the other way around?”

  “For letting me be me,” he testified.

  “Who else would you be?”

  “Assistant Pastor Carter. Little Jacob Junior. Who or whatever people here have pegged me to be. It’s nice to spend time with someone who just thinks of me as Jacob.”

  “That makes two of us. I’m glad to be around someone who doesn’t remember me as the pregnant girl,” I admitted.

  He made a clicking sound with his cheek. “I have a confession to make.”

  Worst-case scenarios flitted through my mind: he’s engaged, he’s dying, he’s gay. Hey—stranger things have happened in the movies.

  “When you first moved to Bayford, I had a huge crush on you.” A coy grin replaced his confident air. “You were quiet, pretty—without a bunch of makeup. Obviously smart, because every time I checked out the honor roll, your name was there.”

  I stood in amazement.

  “When I told my parents that I was going to ask you to the junior prom, they told me I was crazy. Said it wouldn’t look good for the pastor’s son to take a fast girl to the dance. They told me I should go with someone raised in the church who knew right from wrong.”

  He motioned for me to move over to the swing so we could sit. Jacob pushed us off and the rickety hinges hummed a smooth, unhurried tune.

  He continued, “So I went to the prom with Shonda Rhymes, and we actually did everything it takes to make a baby. Out of rebellion, you know.”

  “T-M-I, Jacob.”

  “I’m sorry. I just remember thinking to myself, how is Shonda different from Tori, except Shonda’s loud and mean and happened to be a deacon’s daughter? The hypocrisy of the situation bothered me for a long time.”

  “Hmmm.” How was I supposed to respond?

  “Anyway, life goes on. And sometimes we’re blessed with a second chance.”

  “Jacob, I’m sure you’ve had lots of chances with lots of women.” He was not about to convince me he’d been pining for me all these years, not with all that fineness dripping off his body.

  “Not really,” he denied. “I’ve been busy. Working, keeping my father’s church above water, juggling life’s responsibilities.”

  I slapped his back. “Sounds like we’re both on the same treadmill.”

  “I like my treadmill, but I wouldn’t mind slowing it down a notch, you know?”

  Slowing down wasn’t in my personal encyclopedia. “Why would anyone want to slow down? I mean, life’s too short to spend it”—in Bayford—“on turtle speed.”

  “I think the reverse is true,” he countered me. “You can speed through life so quickly until it becomes nothing more than a big blur. And at the end, maybe on your deathbed, you look back and realize you blew past everything that mattered.”

  The swing’s rhythm, slow and steady, seemed to undergird Jacob’s illustration, reminding me of why I’d returned to Bedford in the first place. Aunt Dottie was here. Love was here, even if this town moved on the lowest setting. Most importantly, this was where I first believed.

  “You remember when we used to have youth night?” I pondered.

  “Every fourth Friday night,” he recalled. “How could I forget?”

  “When I started coming to the group, Mother Ash made the girls and boys sit on separate rows. You remember that, too?”

  “Yeah. I’m sorry. I should have said something,” he apologized.

  “Oh, no. I was glad she split us up. I would have been too nervous to sit next to you.”

  His eyes, barely visible now, still bore a twinkle from the moon’s light. “A little confession of your own?”

  “Yes, I liked you, too, but I knew you were off limits. The only boys who expressed any interest in me were the ones who figured I’d be easy, given my background.”

  “I didn’t think you’d be easy. I don’t think you’re easy now.” He counted off on his fingers. “I have to hang out at the church hoping you’ll need the tower signal. Gotta come up to your job and buy some lunch meat I don’t even need. Had to practically invite myself to Starbucks so I could spend time with you. I mean, come on! I’ve been trying to make up for lost time here.”

  “You’ve been doing all that for me?”

  He smirked. “Kind of. I don’t want to miss a second chance at getting to know you. Especially not now that I know we’re both moving in the same direction, spiritually.”

  A heavy puff of air escaped my lungs. Once again, the male/ female roles seemed flip-flopped. “I’m terribly flattered, Jacob, but don’t think I’m ready for anything . . . serious right now.”

  He gave the baseball signal for “safe” with his hands. “No worries, no pressure. If nothing else, I’d like to stay in touch with you about Aunt Dottie and DeAndre. I could be your ears and eyes in Bayford.”

  “That would be a great relief.” I let my hand rest on his shoulder.

  He stood, jolting the swing’s rhythm. “I’d better be going.”

  Once again, he grabbed my hand. This time to pull me up from the swing.

  “Thanks for everything, Jacob.”

  His embrace was polite, yet tentative. “Good night, Tori.”

  “Night.”

  Chapter 18

  Another week passed before Aunt Dottie was able to speak her first post-stroke words. She gave a written testimony at church the following Sunday. I stood next to her and read her script aloud. Halfway through the letter, my voice wave
red. Though I spoke on Aunt Dottie’s behalf, the truth of her message hit me.

  “No matter what you think or how things look, God’s plan is always the best way and His love is always true. Always there for you.”

  I passed the microphone back to Senior Pastor Carter and let the church carry on with worship while I took my seat, shaking with emotion. DeAndre draped an arm across my back and whispered into my ear, between sniffles, “It’s all right, Cousin Tori. People cry in church all the time.”

  Despite the past week’s after-school detention for throwing a ketchup packet across the lunchroom, DeAndre won the prize for compassion.

  My Bayford weekdays now consisted of two miles on the treadmill, getting DeAndre out of the house, then running to the church to hear/view voice/e-mail messages. I was usually at Dottie’s for opening, then back to the house to get the real Dottie ready for either physical or speech therapy. Library by noon, working until time to meet DeAndre after school. Help him with homework, get him settled. Back to Dottie’s to work until close. Starbucks if the library was closed or if I had more than an hour’s worth of online duties to tackle. The final item on my agenda, if fatigue hadn’t completely won out, was to dab oil on my hair and braid it into five cornrows for a softer texture the next morning.

  I’d actually gotten quite good at streamlining and prioritizing, thanks to this hectic schedule. No more junk e-mail lists, and every phone conversation cut straight to the point.

  Joenetta might help out. Or not. Just depended on what Sister Meecham brought for dinner.

  The only opportunity to sit down and catch my breath came when I read the Bible aloud to Aunt Dottie. She liked to revisit Proverbs eight almost every other night. Several of the verses found their way into my memory bank and resurfaced throughout the day.

  Kevin called once that week to ask me if we should keep the housekeeper, since neither of us was really home much.

  “Guess not,” I conceded. The housekeeper had been my idea.

  “Tori, when are you coming back to Houston? We really need to sit down and sort things out.”

  “You mean as in work things out or, like, figure out who’s taking what from the apartment?”

  “However you want it.”

  Why was the ball always in my court? “So, you’re fine with whatever I decide?”

  “Don’t have a choice.”

  I muttered, “Do you even care?”

  “Of course I care. What kind of question is that? You’re the one who’s putting us through all these changes, remember?”

  He had a point. “I’ll try to come home in the next few weeks. What’s your schedule like?”

  Kevin rambled through an impossibly full agenda that crisscrossed the country. New York, Arizona, Indiana.

  “How are we supposed to spend any time together with you traveling so much?”

  He chortled. “The same way we’ve always done it, babe.”

  I wondered if this was how we’d do it if we ever got married. Had kids. “Just give me a few solid dates when you’re home for at least forty-eight hours.”

  We decided on the following week, which meant I’d have to find someone to take Aunt Dottie and DeAndre to church Wednesday night. Going back to Houston wasn’t so easy anymore.

  I texted Lexa to let her know I’d be in the office as early as Tuesday afternoon so we could have two glorious days of sit-down meetings to help her get Inner-G afloat. The more I looked at the account, the more I realized we’d need to involve Preston in some serious renegotiation if we planned to satisfy this client. The budget Lexa projected, and Inner-G had agreed to in their package, simply wasn’t enough to produce the outcome she’d all but guaranteed.

  As far as I was concerned, the only thing we needed to discuss the following week was how she was going to tell Preston that he needed to go to bat for us.

  Cassandra and Virgie were all too willing to work more hours at Dottie’s while I was out of town. For Cassandra, this meant time and a half.

  “Hey, sooky-sooky now. Just in time for E-, E-, E-aster Sunday.” She scratched on an imaginary turntable. “Gonna get some extra P-, P-, Peeps!”

  “No, no, no,” I bellowed while wiping down the countertops nearest the deli case. “You are not going to kill me with all these sound effects!”

  “I put up with her all day long, Miss Tori.” Elgin teased as he switched off the neon sign, silencing the electric buzzing sound, which never registered until he disconnected power.

  “Hey—I keep it exciting in here,” Cassandra boasted.

  “That’s for sure,” Virgie agreed. “But Joenetta—she blows the top off.”

  Cassandra threw a visual dagger at Virgie, who immediately put a hand over her own mouth.

  “What’s going on with Joenetta?”

  Virgie mouthed “sorry” to Cassandra.

  “It’s okay. Might as well clear the air.”

  “What?” I bugged.

  Cassandra smacked her lips. “We cut her off.”

  “Oka y . . . ?”

  “You remember I told you I know how, when, and what people in Bayford buy?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, Joenetta buys everything—never.”

  I closed my eyes. “You’re not making sense.”

  “She doesn’t pay for things. She comes in, she gets what she wants, she leaves without paying. ’Course she only does it when you’re not here.”

  “How long has she been using her five-finger discount?”

  Elgin piped up. “She’s always thought her sister owed her something.”

  “Did Aunt Dottie let her take things from the store before now?”

  Cassandra rolled her eyes. “You know, every once in a while Joenetta’ll come in and say she forgot her purse at home, or she’ll pay next week when she gets her SSI. She never pays. So, in a way, Aunt Dottie puts up with it, but not like this. She’s taking twenty-five or thirty dollars worth of groceries out of the store every other day. We’re about to be in competition with Walmart. We can’t be tiffy-tiffyin’ no more with Joenetta.”

  From the context, “tiffy-tiffyin’” meant providing hookups.

  “Miss Tori, I’ve seen Aunt Dottie help plenty people who couldn’t afford to buy food. You know how big her heart is.” Elgin got no objections. “But everybody who’s able, family included, ought to pay for what they get. Even Aunt Dottie’s mother, when she was alive, paid for what she got here. I saw that with my own eyes. Joenetta’s downright taking advantage of Aunt Dottie’s sickness.”

  I shouldn’t have been surprised by any of this. Nothing could be put past Joenetta. Must be why she was avoiding me, hoping I wouldn’t confront her about pilfering inventory.

  “The other day, I saw her taking items for her friends, too,” Virgie contributed, shifting her weight nervously. “She came with a carload of people. They all walked around the store with her, putting things in her basket. Then she led them to the door without even looking at the cash register. When I tried to stop them, Joenetta cussed me like a drunken sailor, called me everything but a child of God. Told me I had no business working in here anyway on accounta I’m white.”

  “I’m so sorry, Virgie.” I apologized on behalf of the Lester family, I supposed.

  Cassandra wiped her forehead. “So that’s why we cut Joenetta off, Tori. Something had to be done.”

  No arguments from me. Aunt Dottie, on the other hand, might feel differently. I zipped the dolphin pendant across my necklace a few times. “Well, she is Aunt Dottie’s sister, and Aunt Dottie did know that Joenetta wasn’t paying for some things. I need to tell her what’s going on. I mean, the name of the store is Dottie’s.”

  “Uh,” Cassandra grunted, “the new name of the store will be Brokie’s if Joenetta has her way while Aunt Dottie’s recovering.”

  Couldn’t help but giggle, which actually eased the tension mounting in this small, frame-house store. “Good job, Cassandra. That was a profitable executive decision.”
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br />   She saluted. “Thank you.”

  Elgin and Virgie finished their routines and said their good-byes while Cassandra and I stayed behind to run tape and balance the drawer.

  “Do you think Aunt Dottie would be angry if she knew what Joenetta was doing?” I asked Cassandra.

  She finished counting the stack of fives first. “I don’t think she’d be angry. Hurt maybe a teench, but she’s known her sister all their lives. No biggie.”

  “Yeah, you’re right.”

  “Hey!” Cassandra nearly scared me out of my skin.

  “What?”

  “Your cell phone working now?”

  “Yeah, when I’m at the church.”

  “Nuh uh. Now. Here.” She stomped the floor. “That Walmart put up a snooty-pooty power tower. There’s a man up at the Dairy Queen selling cellular phones now. I’m gonna get me one next week, if it doesn’t cost an arm and leg, which it obviously doesn’t since Rokeshia got one and—”

  “Cassandra, stop. Are you kidding me?”

  “I’m serious as a preacher trying to hide from the cameras in Las Vegas.”

  Never mind her analogy. I reached beneath the counter and extracted my mobile device from the front pocket of my purse. Pressed the power icon, bouncing on the balls of my feet. Could this be true?

  A moment later, three—three!—lighted bars. Quickly, I sent a call through to the first contact on my list. “It’s ringing! It’s ringing!”

  Still no guarantees unless someone answered.

  “Applebee’s. Would you like to place a to-go order?”

  “Oh my gosh! Yes!”

  “Okay, what would you like?”

  “No. I’m sorry, no. Bye.” I ended the call. “Yes! This is awesome, Cassandra. Thank you so much for telling me.”

  I waltzed around the store with my cell phone for a partner, singing “The hills are alive with the sound of cell phones.” Neither Cassandra nor I knew all the words to the song. We improvised with more gobbledygook.

  “Thank God I won’t have to go to the church anymore to make phone calls,” I declared.

  Cassandra lowered her forehead and feigned a European accent. “I rather thought you enjoyed a bit of dillydallying at the temple with Sir Jacob.”