No Good Thing

By B. T. Pleasants

Mason Jefferson had everything she ever wanted. A luxury home, a stellar
career, and a man who knew how to handle her driven nature. The only
problem is hes married to her best friend and worship partner and refuses to leave
his wife and children to build the life Mason so desperately wanted.

Selah David still cant believe she handed over her heart and the last eight years
of her life to a man who has no interest in committing to her or God. When
drama within the family unfolds when a long-kept secret is revealed in the midst
of Selahs storm, an unlikely source of encouragement offers her strength and
comfort but at a cost.

As faithful members of Atlantas fastest growing multicultural ministry both
women are fighting for deliverance as new temptations and old enemies threaten to
overtake them. Mason and Selah combat the fiery trials of Christian singlehood
fornication, trust, and envy. All the while, as Reverend Moses Kings flock depend
on him for direction and a Word straight from Heaven to light their path the
young, charismatic pastor of Salt Covenant Baptist Church quietly struggles with
a thorn of his own

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 13, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462854639

B. T. Pleasants

B. T. Pleasants was born and raised in Jacksonville, North Carolina. She earned her bachelor’s degree at Livingstone College in Salisbury, North Carolina where she now resides. This is her first novel.

Book preview

Chapter One

THE WAY WE WERE

No! Don’t leave me Bryant, please! I love you! Baby, just tell me what I need to do. Mason pleaded, grabbing for Bryant’s bag. He snatched it out of her grasp and continued down the hall leading to the great room. It was turned upside down from their altercation. Now a busted lip, a black eye, and a sprained wrist later, Mason was the one begging him to stay. She stood in the middle of the hall as Bryant took everything he had ever given her and stuffed it in an empty duffle bag. The one he brought from home whenever he would tell his wife he was visiting the gym but was really with Mason. Meanwhile, she smoothed her flying hair while trying to figure out how to make sure Bryant Smallwood didn’t leave.

I’m not playing, Mason. Where are my car keys? I don’t have time for this mess. All of this is your fault. Look what you made me do. Bryant gestured to Mason’s battered face without an ounce of remorse in his voice.

Lord, please give me the words to say to this man. I know I haven’t been living completely by Your Word these past five years but I truly believe in my heart that Bryant is the man for me. Change his heart. Mason prayed. He’s just in a tough situation right now. Sometimes we marry the wrong people. Bryant married the wrong woman. I’m the right woman for him and all I need is for You to reveal it to him.

We can go somewhere. Mason suggested. You need time away. I can afford to take off two weeks. Mason pleaded, unable to see past her intense desire to keep Bryant there. She never wanted or needed anything more in her entire life. Beside Bryant, nothing else mattered. She found she couldn’t function without him. Mason felt even now she couldn’t breathe at the thought of him walking out of the door never to return. The way he was staring at her now, with a look of pure hatred dimming his eyes, it crushed her.

"I’m never leaving my wife, Mason. You’ve known that from jump. You don’t deserve all of me full-time—you can’t even handle me part-time. I need someone who can satisfy me mentally and physically. You have proven you cannot do two things at the same time. You’re unstable! You always have been. One moment you’re a holy roller and the next a nymphomaniac! You wonder why those church folks sit up there and laugh at you behind your back. Who are you? Do you know who you are?" Bryant chided. Mason ignored his ruthless remarks. She knew if he allowed her to calm him down he would start thinking rationally. She invested everything she had and didn’t into their affair. She couldn’t let his wife win. For once, Mason wanted to walk away with the prize. Mason believed she did more for Bryant than his wife did in all of the years they’ve been married.

She even turned away from the church she felt wasn’t filling the gaping hole in her heart only a man could fill. Married or not, Bryant was that man for her and his wife would just have to accept that. Mason didn’t understand Bryant or the way God chose to play out their relationship. Why was He making it this hard for them to be together? Mason felt his wife wasn’t doing her job or else he wouldn’t have been seeing her on and off for five years. If only Mason could get him to remember why they came together, she could fix this—God could fix it.

She doesn’t understand you. You said it yourself. You dread going home after work and she’s always downing you about being a cop and her making more money than you do. Put your bag down. Let’s talk in the bedroom. Mason lowered her trembling voice to a thick, sultry whisper. Bryant shook his head and regarded her with an air of contempt. Their relationship had run its course but Mason refused to believe it was over. She prayed too long and too hard for this man and believed they were meant to be together.

It’s over, Mason. As soon as the words left Bryant’s lips, Mason’s disposition changed. Her eyes narrowed and her face twisted.

Fool, are you crazy? Mason snapped, drawing a mixed look from Bryant who stood beside the front door of her apartment with busted knuckles, a torn button-down shirt, and a pair of rumpled slacks. He knew he would have to run by his friend Micah’s place to clean up and change clothes. Something he did regularly after one of their heated altercations. Maybe swing by a twenty-four hour dry cleaner so his wife wouldn’t question him. Bryant’s face, now bright red, was the lightest shade of brown and his steel-gray eyes grew wide. Sweat beaded up on his clean-shaven skull. Mason never called him such a name. His rage rekindled. His hand itched to go upside her head. Before he could react, Mason continued.

Do you actually think that you’re going to have sex with me—unprotected—for five years, lay up in my house when you want, eat my food, then walk out of my life just like that? Do you think I’m going to let you go through that door and be with your wife? Wait… she still doesn’t know does she? Does she know your kids call me Auntie? Does she even know I pick them up from daycare twice a week and that I’m the one who takes them over your mother’s house while you two are at work? How do you think she’d react if she found that out? Mason crossed her arms over her ripped blouse, forgetting that her face felt like it’d been struck with a metal baseball bat.

A short maniacal giggle escaped her swollen mouth, daring him. Her split upper lip curled in defiance. A crimson thread of blood and spittle ribboned down her blouse the faster she spoke. So… no, you’re not going anywhere. Mason said firmly with a crazed look in her eye. A moment of silence passed between them before anyone said or did anything. Bryant dropped the heavy duffle bag and took a step closer. Mason didn’t flinch when she saw his right hand ball into a fist.

If you so much as breathe on the phone while my wife is listening…  Bryant smirked. Without a word, Mason walked away, disappearing into the darkened hall. Bryant snickered and picked up the bag that lay open at his feet. He made a swipe at the perspiration on his baldhead and grinned.

I thought so. Too much of a good thing isn’t good for you, Mason. He turned the doorknob and heard the muffled sound of someone talking. Before he realized it, Bryant was moving down the hall towards Mason’s bedroom where they spent the majority of their time together. He wouldn’t be surprised if the foolish woman was in there talking to herself. Something he found her doing on more than one occasion. After standing outside of the doorway for several seconds listening to the hushed conversation Bryant rushed to the side of the bed where Mason sat talking to Sheena, his wife. Bryant grabbed the back of Mason’s neck and jerked her away from the receiver. "Have you lost your mind? Hello?" Bryant spoke with bated breath into the phone.

Bryant, what are you doing over Mason’s house? Sheena asked with an unsettling calmness. If looks could kill, Mason would’ve dropped dead as she scrambled across her queen-sized bed. She darted into the master bathroom, slammed the door shut, and locked it. Bryant felt his heart explode in his chest. Heat flooded his face and chest when he heard his four-year-old daughter in the background asking when daddy was coming home. It was almost ten o’clock at night and his beat shift ended four o’clock that evening—Bryant had yet to go home.

Sheena… h-hey, baby. I stopped by to fix— Bryant ran a shaky hand over the back of his damp head.

Save it. Bryant, there are a lot of things I want to say to you right now but because my children are less than ten feet away, I’m going to hang up and advise you not to waste your time coming home. Sheena stated plainly. Bryant peeked through the wooden Venetian blinds covering Mason’s thirty-seventh floor window, just waiting to see a concert of flashing blue lights. He wanted nothing more than to wrap his hands around Mason’s scrawny neck. How dare she hurt his wife this way because she didn’t know her place? She was a woman on the side. Bryant made it clear when he started fooling around with his wife’s best friend that he would never leave his family. Now she wanted to stir up some mess because she wanted to change the deal.

Babe, what did she say to you? Bryant quickly tried to rebuild his case. Right now, his credibility was shot in his wife’s eyes. He couldn’t lose his family to a lunatic. Bryant had to admit that the sex was good, but when he looked deeper, he realized Mason was just another woman who desired to have the life of another woman, not just the man. She was the type of woman that tried to seduce her friend’s man just to see if she could pull it off. Bryant knew all along that Mason was a nutcase with issues of jealousy, control, and lust. He knew he should have ended the whole thing early in the game but Sheena’s ignorance made it too hard for him to do the right thing.

Negro, please. The line went dead. Bryant, seeing red, rammed the solid oak door to the bathroom with his shoulder. On the first try, he cracked the crown molding along the doorframe. On the third try, he successfully broke through and found Mason on the other side trembling in the clothes she wore to church that morning. A silk, pearl-buttoned blouse now ripped down the middle exposing her white lace bra speckled with dried blood. A black pencil skirt with a seductive split all the way up her thigh was damp in some places from where Bryant tossed a cup of cold coffee in Mason’s face after she asked him again when he was going to leave his wife. Her eyes were wide with fear as she held a small pistol in her hands, the one he’d given her for protection. The one still registered in his name.

What’s that? Bryant lifted an eyebrow. A muscle along his jaw twitched. Mason flinched when he took a step forward. She didn’t have a plan of action when he came through the door. If only Bryant would have told Sheena their marriage ended long ago and now they were going to make a life together.

Instead of protecting me from intruders, I should’ve asked God to protect me from you. Mason felt the hot tears run down her face. She was still beautiful even with the bruises and cuts. It didn’t compare to the damage done to her broken spirit and her relationship with the Lord. Bryant tried another approach. He usually got what he wanted from Mason by using mind games. This shouldn’t be any different.

God? God—if He’s listening—wouldn’t have any parts of you. Look at you; you’re pathetic. You’re a selfish, church-playing whore. You’ve been sleeping with a married man for going on five years. When you pray, He ain’t listenin’. Bryant said then turned to leave. That should have done the trick. Now she had enough to stew on for a few days until she decided whether to retaliate again. If she did, he had enough loyal friends down at the department to make sure she thought twice about bothering his family again.

I’m begging you, Bryant. Don’t walk out that door. Mason barely gripped the gun in her sweaty palms. She padded across the cold marble floor into the shadowy hall where she could see nothing but the whites of his eyes.

Mason, seek help. Bryant laughed as he made his way to wherever he was going to lay his head.

God, please forgive me. Mason sobbed before pulling the trigger.

Selah rolled over in her comfortable bed. She’d been in a deep peaceful sleep when strange noises began to erupt outside. At first, she could’ve sworn she heard something outside of her bedroom window disturbing the leaves of the peach tree shielding her sleeping form from view. Then around two o’clock in the morning Selah heard a loud snapping of what sounded like branches. Just when she felt herself drifting off to sleep for the third time that night the deafening sound of a car alarm went off. Springing up in the sitting position, Selah squinted against the harsh light of the historic-style streetlamp cascading through the blinds.

In a daze, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. She muttered to no one in particular while dragging to the window. Selah craned her neck to look outside. Her cream Toyota Camry had a busted windshield and a slab of broken asphalt was lying on her hood. She could barely make out the jagged letters of the words home wrecker carved across it. To make matters worse, all four of her tires were flat down to the caps.

Jesus! Selah gasped as she darted away from the window. She snatched her cellular phone out of her purse on the nightstand. Just as she was about to dial 9-1-1 it rang in her hand. Selah quickly answered but regretted the decision as soon as she heard the voice on the other end.

You need to stop callin’ my man! The furious voice of a woman said. Selah frowned. Lord, give me strength. The last thing she needed was another call from some confused woman ranting about her talking to her man. Selah didn’t know why she began to receive threatening calls from unknown numbers about a man she didn’t have. Selah would never get involved with a man who was already in a relationship.

Are you the one that vandalized my car? Selah yelled in disbelief. She forgot about her neighbors and the alarm echoing through the quiet neighborhood filled with working professionals and their sleeping children. People who were enjoying the fruits of a calm, drama-free life. She couldn’t believe the culprit had the audacity to call after destroying her car. Fumbling in the dark for her car keys Selah maneuvered her shaking hand to point the keypad towards the howling Camry.

Immediately the osculating noise ceased but the ringing in her ears hadn’t. She felt her heart beating in her throat and wondered where the lunatic was now. Was that the noise outside of her window? Did the psycho actually climb a tree to peek inside her bedroom to see if her man was lying next to her? The thought alone made Selah shudder. She pulled on her terrycloth bathrobe just in case whoever was on the phone could see her. She walked out of her bedroom wanting to hold the woman on the line long enough to call the police on her landline in the kitchen.

The next time I see your number on my man’s phone I’m going to do more than throw a brick through your raggedy window. The woman threatened. Her voice sounded more menacing now Selah was awake. She knew since she didn’t know where she was she shouldn’t go provoking her to further violence. Every time she looked at the news someone had been shot, stabbed, or gruesomely murdered some other way in Atlanta during random acts of violence and Selah didn’t want to be on anyone’s seven o’clock news because of a misunderstanding. She put her hand on her hip.

First of all, I don’t know what you’re talking about. In whose phone did you find my number? And how do you even know where I live? Selah shrieked, blinking against the dryness of her eyes. Lord, I’m not trying to show up to church looking the way I look, Selah thought. How dare this crazy woman intrude on her life?

Nick said you lured him over your house and begged him to take you back. Nick lives with me now. I’m having Nick’s baby and he most definitely will be here to take care of his child. Now if I catch you anywhere near my man… let’s just say I won’t be as nice next time. The woman hung up. Before Selah could be offended, her doorbell rang. She stood stock-still for a moment before moving through the darkened living room. The small, oval panel of frosted glass revealed the clearly identifiable outline of Nicholas Washington. Selah never felt so furious and didn’t know what she was capable of when she opened the door. When Nick swaggered into the foyer, Selah hauled off and slapped him. Nick held up his hands in defense cowering in the shadows of the entryway. The scuffling of his shoes on the hardwood echoed.

What was that for? He sputtered. Selah grabbed a handful of his shirt to yank him inside and slammed the door behind him. Nick immediately began to hug up on her but Selah shoved him away.

I suggest you get your women in check! One of them had the nerve to come to my neighborhood and throw a brick through my windshield—do you know how much that’ll cost to fix! Selah screamed at the top of her lungs. She hadn’t seen Nick’s face in over two weeks and now he waltzed into her apartment as if nothing was wrong.

Aw, Selah, you know these young girls don’t know how to control their emotions. Nick sighed, drawling excessively. He obviously had been drinking. It wasn’t uncommon for Selah to be his last stop-through after club hopping all night long in hopes that she would allow him to stay.

"What? Are you serious? Then she had the nerve to call me and tell me I need to leave you alone. Did you tell her we are not involved? The last time I checked you weren’t ready to settle down. You aren’t ready for a commitment. Or am I imagining you said that? Plus, I don’t appreciate the lies you’ve been telling her. She also said she’s expecting your baby. I don’t want you in my house if you’re some unstable woman’s baby’s daddy. I don’t have time for this drama, Nick.

What are you doing here at three in the morning anyway; you know I have to get up for church. Selah was so upset she forgot the time. She had to report her car vandalized before too much time passed. She lived in a predominantly white neighborhood and was the only black tenant. She was annoyed she might be labeled because of the ruckus going on. Selah tried to live her life decently and in order but when it came to Nicholas Washington, everything was indecent and in disorder.

You don’t believe that do you? I don’t have any kids. If I was to ever have kids it would be with you. Nick made another drunken grab for Selah’s hips and sloppily placed an alcohol-perfumed kiss on her lips. She had to grit her teeth to keep from getting sick. Pushing him away for the last time Selah swung open her door.

Get out, Nick! Can’t you see you’ve done enough? This doesn’t make any sense. This crap is getting old. You’re twenty-seven years old. Aren’t you getting tired of running game on these crazy women? Don’t you want better for your life? No, what you really need is Jesus! Selah charged in exasperation knowing Nick hated her throwing up her relationship with God in his face. Nick waved a dismissive hand and almost tripped over his own feet as he moved deeper into the condo.

If you would just give a brother a chance I wouldn’t have to keep settling for these ‘crazy women’. At least let me stay the night. I’ll sleep on the couch. You won’t even know I’m here. Nick rocked back on his Stacy Adams and made a heaving motion. Selah fought against her better judgment and caught him hoping he wouldn’t soil her while she held him up. If this isn’t symbolic of our entire relationship, Selah groaned in her spirit.

I’ll call you a cab or something but you can’t stay here, Nick. Your car is parked in front of my house. Selah said more to herself than to Nick who began to stagger towards the plush accent pillows covering her antique dusty rose chaise lounge. She didn’t want to chance his jilted lover coming back to see her man there after the heated argument they just had. No, Nick. You have to get out of my house! Selah pushed and pulled at Nick’s limp body. He didn’t budge.

Just get me a blanket and I’ll sleep here. He slurred.

I just had my couch reupholstered. It’ll smell like alcohol and weed. Selah pinched her nose dramatically, fingering the feathery bangs of her tousled bob out of her eyes. Nick opened one bloodshot eye and smiled impishly.

Or I can sleep in your bed. It isn’t Christ-like to kick me out when I need you. Do you really want me driving home in my condition? Is it me you don’t trust or yourself? He suggested. Selah stormed out of the room and left Nick fully clothed. His leather blazer and v-neck shirt were bunched up around his chest as he settled into a twisted pose. Selah didn’t offer him anything that would make his short stay comfortable. How he managed to maintain the same lifestyle for so long dumbfounded her. How she put up with him for so long knowing that he couldn’t love her the way she deserved surprised her even more.

Nicholas Arshon Washington had a lot going for him as a commercial real estate broker but refused to settle down and share his achievements with a wife and family. Women—mostly gold-diggers—flocked to him like bees to honey and Nick being a self-proclaimed free agent bachelor received them all. He always in jest told Selah he wanted to be like King Solomon—he wanted to have seven-hundred wives.

Selah knew he never read far enough in the scripture to find out that women were Solomon’s downfall. Most of the women Nick dealt with accepted their unattached agreement but Selah encountered the ones who had difficulty going along with the program. Tonight was one of those times. Looking at his sleeping body with the ill gray moonlight splashed across the features of his pale face Selah realized if she didn’t cut Nick loose, she would become one of his bitter side dishes.

Father, she prayed in her heart. What more do I have to see? Give me the strength to withstand his advances. Give me the wisdom to not set myself up. Help me separate myself, oh God. I want to keep myself Holy, as a living sacrifice but it’s hard. Are all men like Nick—am I keeping myself for nothing? Selah wanted a man she could be proud of—a man she could respect. Right now, looking at Nick, she was ashamed to even know him.

Chapter Two

THE UNWELCOME TABLE

Sister, how old is you now? Do you have a boyfriend? I heard Atlanta’s full of professional, single, black men. I pretended not to hear my aunt’s second question. If I had a dollar for every time someone asked me if I had a man, I would have enough money to buy Atlanta. Why is it always your married relatives that are so concerned about your relationship status? Like being single is a condition a woman has and it must be taken care of as soon as humanly possible. Whereas a man’s bachelorhood, like fine wine, matures in value as it ages. I opened my mouth to reply but decided against it.

Leave that child alone, Irene. Mama giggled, seeing the bewildered look on my face. Lily David, I like to call her when I’m particularly irritated with her, should have known what it was like to be a single woman. She was once a member of the club until she met my father some odd years ago and grew hot in the pants but nobody wanted to talk about that. I shook my head and continued spooning a large helping of peach cobbler onto my plate forgetting that I didn’t care for the stuff. I wanted a slice of my aunt’s sweet potato pie but after putting her recently cosmetically altered nose all up in my business I decided to avoid it for the rest of the evening. She knew she always had a fan in me when it came to the deep-dish delight. I rebelled in silence.

I’m twenty-eight, Aunt Irene. I breathed for the first time that evening. It felt like every since the table was spread everyone had their foot on my neck.

Irene knew how old I was; we shared the same birthday. She just wanted to emphasize the same point she did every year—that I should be married with children at my age. All of my mother’s sisters were married and had at least one child by the time they turned twenty-one but Irene didn’t understand times were different. Women have more choices nowadays.

I made the decision to pursue a degree and a career. Most of the women in Irene’s generation ended up putting their degrees in their mother’s China closet along with their aspirations and ended up being a stay-at-home wife and mother. I left home with no intentions of going back. Now I was enjoying my independence without the stress of trying to find and keep a man happy. As for the professional, single, black men in Atlanta, yes they were abundant. Nevertheless, when it came to professional, single, saved black men—that was a different story.

I don’t know what she waiting on. Irene called herself commenting under her breath. She twisted her heavily painted lips and shifted her narrow hips in her chair. Yes, Irene was married to a fine well-to-do orthodontist in Savannah but when she visited with her just-as-spoiled teenage daughter Ivy and middle school-aged son John Paul Jr. all she did was brag and I never heard her mention or give credit to the Lord when she did. All glory went to her stuck-up-too-good-to-visit-with-his-southern-in-laws-husband. Irene was the youngest David sister. She inherited Pawpaw David’s flawless banana-brown skin and curly auburn hair that was elegantly threaded with strands of silver all the way down her back. She kept it up in a stylish crown of natural ringlets. Her almond-shaped eyes were an exotic moss-green and she still had the body of a dancer at forty-seven.

"Excuse me, Irene, but I’m in no hurry to get married. I’m hardly where I want to be in my career and children will have to wait for at least another five years. If I decide to have children." I stated, deciding to take my stand on the matter early on. They may as well know that I still had reservations about baring children the way I observed Ivy and J.P. Junior carrying on. Couples with money even disciplined their children differently.

Honey, those hips have two good years on them—three tops, so choose wisely. Irene pointed a manicured finger in my direction. I turned my head away from her to keep from disrespecting my mother in her home as well as my grandmother. I considered myself a well-mannered child of God but certain family worked my last nerve.

Selah went to college; she can choose whether or not to marry. In my day, you were lucky enough to finish junior high. Now she has options. When she marries she’ll do it for love, not for security. Clementine, my eighty-nine year old grandmother, piped up. I felt my shoulders bend back and my chest stand out with pride. Compliments from Granny Clem were few and far between. I basked in the glow of her acknowledgment of my success.

Thank you, Granny. I said scathingly, giving Irene the eye. I also gave my mother a look since she didn’t bother to defend me. She of all people should’ve known where I stood on the issue of marriage and family. She was the primary influence for my views regarding relationships. The divorce was the catalyst that started it all. My fight for an intimate relationship with God before I let a man become my world and he makes me hot in the pants. And besides, the Lord knows the desires of my heart. I’m not going to go all ahead of Him and wind up with someone that I wish I hadn’t. I’m waiting on my husband. I momentarily regretted my words when I saw the look on my mother’s face. My heart broke for her a little.

Like that Nicholas Washington. Granny coughed. She didn’t care for Nick and voiced her dislike as often as she could. In the tradition of the elderly, she said whatever came to mind with no apologies. Clementine David had a sharp mind, a quick tongue, and a memory like an elephant. I looked up from my plate of greens and baked macaroni and cheese and felt myself blush like a teenager.

Granny Clem, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Can we eat please? I sighed.

Chile you know that boy is no good. That bad apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree. Granny went on, alluding to Nick’s mother. She shuffled back and forth between the stove and the dining room table. I watched in amazement as my mother and aunts laughed at my expense.

Whatever. I yawned, knowing a losing battle when I saw one. I just wanted to eat and go home. The evening turned into an all-out tag team effort to tear me down. So what if I wasn’t married and wasn’t even on the way to becoming engaged? I would date when the time was right and until then I’m waiting on God to prepare my perfect mate. If I let Mama tell it, I would never get married if I continued giving Nick the time of day. Little did she know, I wasn’t ready to be anyone’s wife.

Now don’t go getting all salty because we’re telling the truth. What average woman in her right mind doesn’t want to have her own family? Irene went on, garnering looks of approval from her sisters. I practiced not rolling my eyes. I still respected my elders and wished one day it would pay off and it be a two-way street. Sometimes I felt like my mother and her sisters were a part of a private sorority I would never graduate in maturity about men and life to join. You’re lying if you say you don’t. Irene accused.

"Irene, I didn’t say I didn’t want to get married. I do. One day. Why won’t yall ask me about my job? Or my friends? Or my church? Did you know I just bought a condo in Buckhead? Did you know that I’m looking into going back to school for my doctorate?" I announced, getting tired of trying to convince my family that the life I was living was a blessed and abundant one even without a man by my side.

That’s all well and good but are you going to have any babies anytime soon? You know I saw a show on Oprah where these women put off having children so long while they worked that by the time they went to get pregnant they couldn’t. Could you believe your eggs have an expiration date on them? June, the eldest David sister asked. My face fell. Now my eggs were out-of-date.

June, I saw that show. Irene’s face lit up, making my stomach turn. Where was my Bible when I needed to read the scripture on studying to keep my mouth shut? I’ll remind June that she shouldn’t look for any Mother’s Day gifts from me come May. June was usually my favorite aunt because she was so down-to-earth, had no children of her own, and was a successful businesswoman that went back to school in her middle age to get her law degree after her husband, Uncle Carl, died. So you better hop to it, Sister. Irene warned me with a serious look. The endearing childhood nickname given to me for reasons unknown since I was the only child now sounded like a verbal slap in the face. Mama heaved a sigh. The only relief I got was seeing June slip on the moss-green sweater shell she wore over her camisole—the evening was drawing to a close and June would soon be heading to her home office.

Don’t worry about it, Sister, Granny came to rest her heavy hand on my shoulder whispering in my ear. These heifers here are just jealous because they wish they were as free as you. They never lived by themselves a day in their lives except June. And she was fifty years old. You work your job and go home to that pretty home of yours. Be proud of yourself. The Lord wants you to be able to bring something to your marriage table. Don’t let them make you think you’re doing something wrong. See, they got married just to get out of my house and out from under my rules, ’specially that hot-tailed Irene.

Granny Clem cut her eyes at her youngest child who was laughing and talking about the latest wrinkle-reducing cream she found. "Lucky, she ended up with the man that she was supposed to be with. Then there’s your mama… you know how that story goes with your daddy. June, death was the only way she got out of her marriage.

So you keep doing what you doing, Sister. Obey God. Wait on Him. He’ll present your black king to you and he’ll be just for you. Now that I said that… Granny straightened to her full height of five-feet two inches and patted me on the back as if I was making a motion that I was choking. "God don’t bless in no mess. So if you want that blessin’ of a man that I know you want you got to sweep that trash out of your house."

Granny! I gasped, not believing she could say something like that even if she didn’t like Nick.

I ain’t sorry! I say what I mean. Sweep that trash out the backdoor and you’ll see. You’ll get that man you’ve been waitin’ on. Mark my words. Devil got you confused. See these women are confused nowadays. Been seein’ sorry Negroes so long they don’t think there’s nothin’ left. Don’t know what a good one look like. Then you end up settling. Granny Clem wagged her gnarled finger in my face as if I were still a child. I studied my lap where my face was located.

"The man is supposed to choose you, that’s why, Ma. Mama finally spoke, emerging from her temporary silence. Granny lifted her gray head and huffed. She knew her daughter had room to talk. The way she chased after her ex-husband—a good thirteen years worth—she would’ve thought he had gold in his drawers. Granny knew my watching my mother trying to make a home with a man that wasn’t supposed to be her husband had an effect on me. It was never a mystery why she often came to gather me to come stay days, sometimes weeks at a time during the summer months. She probably thought what I had with that sly-mouthed Washington boy" was a coming in of the tide. No wonder I felt like I was drowning. Was I studying my mother’s hymn book?

Chapter Three

OUR KIND OF PEOPLE

Those people need to take their socializing elsewhere.

"‘Those people’? Takeia, those ‘people’ are our parishioners. Without them, there is no Salt Covenant Baptist Church. I don’t see anything wrong with fellowshipping after hours. If anything that’s what the church needs nowadays instead of people taking off for the exit as soon as the benediction is given. Moses protested. That’s what’s missing. There’s no sense of community."

"Yes, but they’re loitering in the parking lot like common criminals. You keep forgetting that this church sits on a prime