Authors: Lutishia Lovely

Divine Intervention (4 page)

BOOK: Divine Intervention

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It’s So Hard to Say Good-bye to Yesterday

T
he Reverend Doctor Pastor Bishop Overseer Mister Stanley Obadiah Meshach Brook Jr. placed one last tie in his bag and zipped it up. During the time it had taken him to pack two suits, three shirts, an extra pair of slacks, and plenty of underwear along with his accessories, he’d almost been able to drown out Dorothea Noble Bates Jenkins’s whining. Almost, but not quite.

“It’s not right, Obadiah,” Dorothea snapped, pacing the length of the modest master bedroom that was a part of Obadiah’s two-bed, two-bath condo. “I’m supposed to be your woman, yet you’re leaving me behind on such an important occasion? The very first wedding of one of your grandchildren? I love you more than life itself, but I swear I don’t know how much more you think I’m supposed to take. It’s been almost a year since you moved down here and we’re no closer to our own nuptials than when you arrived. We’re living in the same complex but not the same house. This relationship isn’t progressing at all!”

“I’m a married man, Dorothea.”

“Oh, really? Why don’t you tell that to your peter while it’s poking my kitty.”

Obadiah’s mouth became a straight line as he determined not to beat an already dead horse into its final resting place. They’d had this conversation before. More than once. But Obadiah’s heart was fixed and his mind was made up. He might be a low-down dirty dog in some people’s eyes, but he was still a man of God with a heaven to gain and a hell to shun. Which is why he’d not be bringing his mistress to the same town where his wife lived. Sure, he’d thought about it, but his mind was as far as that madness had traveled.
Lord,
Obadiah wondered as he brushed by a still ranting Dorothea on the way to his car, throwing a “see you when I get back” over his departing shoulder.
How in the world did I get to this place?
And on his way to the Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport, he pondered the answer.

His interest in sex began when he was around seven or eight years old, when the thirteen-year-old daughter of a neighboring farmer showed him her privates. More than showed him, truth be told. She actually let him touch her “pocketbook,” as the female genitalia was referred to in 1930s rural Texas. That moment in the hen house, amid the scratch of the hay and the stench of the poop, was a defining one for young Stanley Obadiah. He’d experienced his first hard-on brought about through outside forces, and a few years after that his first wet dream. At the ripe old age of fourteen he became a man, when sixteen-year-old Sadie Mitchell, the daughter of the farmer on the other side of the Brooks’ twenty-acre spread, decided to make him her birthday present. He became obsessed with women as soon as his pole slipped into her hole, bedding women up and down the roads of Clay County. But it wasn’t until 1961 that he met his match. He was twenty-two at the time, already a father, a pastor, and a fairly well-known revival preacher around various parts of the Lone Star and surrounding states. He’d heard about the beautiful Noble sisters and had been almost certain he’d spotted one mere moments after, along with ten other preachers, he’d walked onto a Texas pulpit.

He’d been right. Her name was Dorothea. And from the moment he laid eyes on her, he knew one thing for sure: he had to have her.

Obadiah recalled this initial meeting, which had happened in the hosting minister’s home. They were sitting around the dinner table and, whether by fate, luck, or the devil’s wishes, Dorothea had been seated on his left-hand side.

“Enjoyed your sermon,” she’d said, as she ate fried chicken with a knife and fork.

“Uh-huh.” Rarely had the Reverend been at a loss for words, but now was one of those times. She was without a doubt the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen up close, reminding him of Lena Horne or Dorothy Dandridge. All uppity and whatnot with fingers too cultured to touch fowl and Crisco, smelling like vanilla and flowers and all types of goodness, and sounding like a lark. It had taken all of dinner and two rounds of dessert before mustering up the courage to try and have what he wanted.

“Sister Noble, correct?”

“Yes, Reverend.”

“Would you be so kind as to give me a ride home?” It was then that he’d learned that Dorothea had ridden to the house with her sister. His eyes had always been almost as expressive as his conversation, and he’d let them do the talking. Dorothea’s answer was that she’d call a cab. They’d gone to her house and screwed up one side of her modest yet chicly furnished Dallas home and down the other. There were very few affairs that lasted half a century. Obadiah Brook’s and Dorothea Noble Bates Jenkins’s had been the exception.

After parking in long-term, catching a shuttle to the Delta terminal and being freed from the long security line by an airline employee who was also a fan, Obadiah plopped down in a chair at the gate, waiting for the boarding process that would began in less than an hour. As he mindlessly stared at the television monitor locked on CNN, another set of memories came to mind. They were of a young, holy-rolling country girl with the big four: lips, hips, booty, and thighs. The Johnson family farm was located on the other side of the fork in the road, a couple of miles and a large catfish pond away from the Brooks’ country spread. Like most of the boys in those parts, Obadiah had eyed Maxine’s ample assets for quite some time and, after being taunted by some of his peers, became determined to approach her.

“Miss Maxine,” Obadiah drawled, in as manly a voice as sixteen could muster at the time. “You sho’ looking good today, girl.”

“Well, you ain’t,” Maxine retorted, quickening her pace at the same time.

“Is that so? Then why you trying to run away before you kiss me?”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with running away from trouble. And you’re trouble with a capital
T
.”

“Ain’t nothing about me for you to be scared of, Maxine. You not like those other girls.”

She kept walking, fast enough to keep him chasing but slow enough so that she could hear every word he spoke. “That’s right, I’m not.”

“I know you’re not. You’re special. That’s why I’m gonna marry you.”

Maxine’s heart skipped a beat as she stopped and turned around. “To how many girls have you told that lie?” she asked all nonchalantly.

“Aw, girl, why you got to act like that? I’m serious. I’m gonna be a big-time preacher, and you’ll make a good preacher’s wife.”

“What makes you think I’ll marry you?” Maxine asked, even as she worked hard to keep the smile off her face and out her voice.

“Maxine, get on up to this house!” Maxine’s mother’s yell cut through the flirty atmosphere surrounding her and Obadiah.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Maxine gave Obadiah a slight smile before turning to walk toward her mother’s hard stare.

“I’ma marry you,” Obadiah whispered confidently, before walking in the opposite direction.

Barely a year later, Obadiah had gone and done just that, and within a year of their union Maxine was pregnant. This one ended in a miscarriage but after a couple more years of trying, Maxine became pregnant again and nine months later, King Brook was born. Obadiah pulled out his Bible as he remembered the joy he felt at holding his first child and then, as though pushing a fast-forward button in his mind, he remembered the mixed emotions that accompanied the announcement that King was getting married. It was even harder for Obadiah to relinquish his daughter’s hand, so he was well aware of the turmoil that King must now be experiencing.

It’s good to be going home,
Obadiah thought, when the boarding process began and he made his way down the Jetway. He had friends throughout Texas but Kansas had been his home for more than thirty years. He missed those things he’d grown used to over the years: LaMar’s Donuts, Gates Bar-B-Q, his barber, Glover, and the Mount Zion Progressive congregation. And truth be told if one dared tell it, he missed something—correction, someone—even more.

Fathers Be Good to Your Daughters

K
ing Brook and Derrick Montgomery strolled off the basketball court. For the past hour, these two best friends had talked trash and shot hoops in Mount Zion’s recreation center—a twenty-first century jewel in the church’s building expansion. Along with the basketball court (complete with bleachers and an electronic scoreboard) was a tennis court, a jogging track, Olympic-size swimming pool, and rooms to handle exercise classes from aerobics to Pilates to step to yoga.

“Man, I can tell you’re about to turn fifty,” Derrick teased, after taking a long drink of water. “I had to ease up on you those last ten minutes just so you could keep up!”

King swatted Derrick with his sweaty towel. “It’s a shame to lie on church property,” he said in a somber tone. “Hadn’t been for those lucky three pointers at the end, that last game would have been mine. And let us not forget that you’re only a hop, skip, and a jump younger than me. You’re coming down the same road I’m headed, junior.”

“God willing.”

“And the creek don’t rise.”

“Ha! You’re sounding more like your old man every day.”

“Yeah, don’t remind me. I spent the first fifty years of my life running away from any similarities, but as I get older, I’m beginning to embrace some of the very things he holds dear.”

The men reached King’s brand new champagne-colored, customized Lincoln MKS, which sat glittering like a jewel in mid-June’s midday sun. He popped the trunk, they dumped their bags, and soon after were heading back to the InterContinental Hotel in the Plaza, a swank combination of stores, eateries, and landmarks that had been fashioned after its sister city, Seville, Spain.

Derrick fastened his seat belt and settled in for the ride. “Ah, man, that workout felt good! I haven’t been getting it in like I need to.”

King cast a glance at Derrick. “Still burning the candle at both ends?”

“I’m trying not to but, man, my schedule is insane.”

“Tell me about it. On Monday morning, I leave for Barbados and will be gone for two weeks.”

“Tai going with you?”

“No. The twins have a full summer schedule. Her hands are full just managing that.”

“That’s a long time to be away from your good thing, my brothah.”

“Believe me, I’m not thrilled about it. But somebody is.” Derrick shot King a questioning look. “My assistant pastor is practically pushing me out the door.”

“Ha!” Derrick had met Mount Zion’s prolific number-two man, Solomon Cole, on several occasions and knew he’d enjoy delivering the Sunday message. He was chomping at the bit to get his own church.

King smoothly turned the car onto the highway. “I’m surprised Wesley didn’t invite you down to this year’s conference.” Wesley Freeman was the senior pastor of His Holy Word Cathedral in Barbados.

“He did but I declined. I’ve already been to South Africa three times this year, have a slew of revivals and conferences on my plate, and the Sunday crowds are now out of control. I’ve put it off as long as I can. We’re going to have to expand.”

“Many preachers would consider that a good problem to have.”

“I’m thankful, King. Truly I am. But to whom much is given much is required. Many of the ministers out there see the numbers, but they don’t see the hard work and sacrifice that comes with these large crowds. I’m fortunate to have Cy Taylor in my corner.” Cy was an associate minister at Kingdom Citizens Christian Center, and also one of its wealthiest members. “He’s heading up the fund-raising for our new building and is also participating in our needs and feasibility study. But no matter the direction in location, construction, and design, we’re looking at a good ten to twenty mil. My head hurts just thinking about it.”

“Been there, done that, bro, and expanding is definitely no joke. I’ll be glad to share with you everything that I know, and should you desire, I’ll also make those who led up our building project available to speak with you.”

“I appreciate that, man.” A few moments of silence passed as King’s new car fairly glided down I-35. It was a beautiful summer day—bright, blue sky, fluffy cumulous clouds, and thick greenery courtesy of the spring’s heavy rains. “So are you ready for this next big step in your life? Ready to give your daughter away?”

King let out a whistle. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“I can’t even imagine how that feels. Elisia isn’t even a teenager and I’m already sweating.”

“Enjoy her now, while she still thinks the sun rises and sets on your head and before some young nucka convinces her otherwise.”

“Oh, I already told her how it was going down in my house. She can’t date until she graduates!”

“Ha! Good luck with that.”

“Wishful thinking, I know.”

“What is she now . . . ten, eleven?”

“Lis is twelve going on twenty-one and D2 is fourteen going on forty!”

King shook his head, remembering the last time he saw Derrick’s namesake a year ago, a teenager wearing a double-breasted suit, wide tie, wing tips and a bowler hat. “He still want to be a preacher?”

“Yep.” Derrick took in the flat Kansas landscape, whizzing by him at a cool seventy miles per hour. “I keep waiting for the pretty young thang who’s going to make him open his nose and close his Bible.”

“Hmm, as I recall, those PYTs from back in the day didn’t interfere with your scripture reading.”

Derrick chuckled. “See, that’s what happens with a friend who’s known me as long as you have. You know where all of the skeletons are buried.”

“Heck, man. I helped dig half the graves!”

“Ha!”

When King spoke again, his focus had gone back to Derrick’s most provocative question. “It seems like only yesterday I was changing that girl’s diapers.”

“You wiped doo-doo?”

“You didn’t?”

“Naw, I could handle a pee diaper but when it came to number two . . .” Derrick made a face. “I don’t know nothing ’bout ’dat ’dere.”

King laughed at both Derrick’s squeamishness and his attempt at youthful slang before the smile scampered away from his face. “Well, I did. And before I knew it she was crawling away from me into preschool, then kindergarten and grade school. I remember her first rite of passage—when we let her go with a group of girls to the junior high dance. I was waiting in the parking lot when it was over, and I can still remember her shiny eyes when she got into the car. ‘It was so much fun, Daddy,’” King mimicked, in an impressive falsetto. “She was all smiles and bubbles then,” King said, his misting eyes a total surprise. “But growing up . . . they change.”

“Yeah, man. I hear you.” Derrick knew the exact moment that King was talking about: when he and Tai had come to Los Angeles and found out more about their eighteen-year-old daughter than they ever wanted to know. It was the moment that they were forced to realize that Princess was no longer their little girl but a grown-ass woman with a mind of her own. “But I’ll be there to help you get through it, dog. Complete with Kleenex and everything.”

“I wish I could tell you to store your hankie, dude. But a brothah might break down for real.”

“Naw, you can’t do that. You’re not only the father giving away the bride, but the officiating minister. Responsibility trumps emotion. You’ll hold it together.”

“I’d better, otherwise I’ll have to answer to Rafael. I must admit I’ve never seen a man want to get married more than my soon-to-be son-in-law.”

“From what I’ve seen and what you’ve told me, he’s a solid young man. Congrats again, King.”

The two fist bumped. “Thanks, Derrick. It’s good to have you here.”

BOOK: Divine Intervention

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