A Good Excuse To Be Bad (3 page)

“Justus, I do what I do to take care of my family. Let me throw you a lifeline . . . I made five thousand dollars tonight. That's my mortgage for three months, and it took me all of one week to track that guy down and bring him in. What other work outside of degrading myself would allow me to do that?”

“Dressing up like a go-go dancer to lurk in nightclubs for bail jumpers doesn't seem to shine a spotlight on what's so incredible about you either. Explain to me how such a dangerous and dirty profession empowers you?”

“You think I'm incredible?”

“Don't avoid my question, Angel.”

I wasn't avoiding the question. I was wondering—hoping—he crushed on me, too. Then I wouldn't feel so foolish. But the look in his eyes didn't suggest longing for me, just for an answer.

I huffed. “Every time I bring a lowlife who can't respect women to justice, I feel like the world is becoming right again.”

“Vengeance will not bring Bella's father back.”

“What did you say?” I stepped back. I felt dizzy and swooned for real that time. Just before I stumbled off the porch, he caught me. “Let go.” I scrambled out of his arms. “Did Whitney tell you my business? Because that's not cool.”

“I apologize. This is not how I meant for this conversation to go. I just want to understand you better. I didn't mean to offend.”

I walked across my threshold, but didn't turn around. “Let's just call it a night. I'll see you at Thursday Communion, Justus.”

“You will be there?”

“Yes, good night.” I nodded, then closed the door behind me.

 

 

Whitney had fallen asleep on the living room couch while waiting on us to arrive. Before I awakened her, I stood by the foyer window and watched Justus return to his truck and back out the driveway. I didn't want to be so cold to him, but that's exactly how I felt, cold and distant after he said what he did. His words and the tone of judgment in them was why I sat on the back pew in the first place. I wanted to wrestle my own demons in my own time, especially what happened to Bella's father. I had no intention of dealing with that demon anytime soon. It was too much. It still stung.

I waited for Justus to turn out of my yard, but he didn't. He stopped short of the curb, got out the truck, and marched back to my front door.

I opened the door before he could ring the doorbell and wake up the house. I stepped onto the porch and closed the door. “What in the world are you doing?”

“Do you like to read?”

I frowned. “What?”

“Pearl Cleage is reading at the Margaret Mitchell House tomorrow night. Would you like to go with me to hear her?”

My heart skipped three beats. I loved her writing. Yet, I was confused by the question and where it came from. “What's this all about?”

“I'm changing the subject like you asked of me,” he said.

“I don't understand.”

“Angel, did the doctors check your head? Give you an MRI? Because you may have a concussion.”

“Of course I have a concussion, but still . . .” I paused. “I don't understand where all of this attention from you is coming from.”

He walked up one step toward me. “I admit that I'm intrigued by you. I want to know more about you than what I've learned in the little bit of time I spend watching you from afar at church. And since I don't know when I will have the opportunity to see you like this again, I thought I'd ask. Will you allow me the chance to know you?”

My mouth dropped. I felt it go numb.

Before I could answer him, my cell phone rang, flattening the sizzle out of the past two minutes. Ava's name appeared on the caller ID. I grumbled, rolled my eyes, and took the call. “Ava, you have some nerve.”

“Can we crash at your place tonight?”

“We? Who?”

“The kids and I. Only the kids and I. Don't ask why.” She sighed. “Please.”

At that moment, I felt time pause, like my answer to her held the weight of the world. I shook my head in angst and looked back at Justus. “Sure, just get here.”

After Ava hung up, I shrugged. “Do you take rain checks?”

 

S
ugar Hill was an old church, a beautiful church in a quaint little town north of Atlanta. I had prayed to find a church like Sugar Hill. A church that from the moment I walked inside the sanctuary, I couldn't help but lift my eyes toward the steeple mosaic and fall to my knees in awe. A place that made me forget the world outside wasn't created to trouble single mothers, but to support them; a place that reminded me why I moved way out in the boondocks in the first place. Solace.

My soul needed sanctuary. Bank robbers hanging in nightclubs weren't our typical miscreants. They were mostly mothers strung out on meth and fathers too broke to be a joke, regular people who made one bad turn too many and had no one to catch them when they hit the wall.

Thankfully, I had family, a certain skill set, and I had this place, not to mention First Thursday Ladies' Communion and Brunch, which was convenient for mothers who worked near the church. The brunch was designed to relieve young mothers who were swamped with Sunday-school duties, diaper changes in the nursery during regular service, or sleeping in because they were out all night hauling bail jumpers to jail. At the First Thursday Ladies' Communion and Brunch, we could commune with each other, share survival tips, and eat lunch like grownups for a change while our children were either in school or the church nursery. And I didn't have to dress up and dip out before all the Holy Rollers informed me that I was #1 on their prayer lists. Perfect.

But today, much like my life, I had lost my focus. I should have been seeking advice on preparing for Bella's upcoming first day of kindergarten or how we would survive if I stopped taking contracts from Big Tiger. Instead, I marveled over the new shepherd of our little flock, Reverend Justus Too-Hot-to-Be-Holy Morgan, and wondered did he really ask me out on a date last night?

The tip of his hand touched mine. I shivered and shut my eyes tighter.

“This is my Body. Take it,” he said.

My chest stiffened
. Lord . . .
I tried to expel every uncompromising thought about Justus's body out of my head. Yet, my heart and my longing . . .
have mercy
. . . I had much work to do.

I felt a nudge on my right side. I didn't have to peek to know it was Mrs. Toliver, my wannabe-surrogate mother. She was one of the few African American mothers of this church and one of the few other women here who had taken it upon themselves to meddle in my life, whether I wanted her to or not.

I opened my eyes. Justus held a loaf of bread out to me. I squinted. I hadn't become comfortable taking Communion that way.

I grew up in a small, agricultural town four hours south of Atlanta. We—like most of the state of Georgia—lived differently than the people in Atlanta. In my home church, we didn't eat off a bread loaf during Communion. No, we ate stale, white crackers until a few years back when we switched to white, tasteless discs.

Come to think of it . . . those discs and crackers in an uncanny kind of way reminded me of Ava. Tasteless. She had called me twice this morning, although she was supposed to come to my house last night with the kids. I was curious about what changed her mind. I was pissed off that I postponed my sort of date with Justus for nothing. She had some nerve. When it came to me, she had little taste.

I thought about calling in my rain check with Justus. Yet, despite the fact that today was Thursday, it didn't feel right to spring my new availability on him here.

Justus continued to hold the bread toward me. The bread looked warm and yummy. Justus looked warm and yummy. I blushed and lowered my head. Did the man know what he was doing to me?
This has got to stop.

He continued our monthly ritual. His eyes shimmered through me. “Eat this in remembrance of me.”

I nodded faster than a bobblehead and ate. The sooner I got out of here, the better.

He leaned toward me and touched my head again. “Be encouraged, young mother.”

Something about the way he looked at me and the way he said those words told me that he meant it. I remembered his concern for me the other night and his question about my profession. I could see in his eyes that he was reminding me that he was praying for a better way for me. It was the nicest, purest thing I'd ever heard from a man in my life. I lowered my head and cried.
Was Justus right? Was I being too risky? Was I really doing the best I could for Bella?

I knew that I couldn't be a father to her, no matter how hard I tried, no matter my black belt or my ballistics training. I couldn't be him and was beginning to wonder if Bella needed a dad. The thought of Bella's disappointed face when I attended a Father's Day, Father /Daughter dance, or Donuts for Dads event made me feel worse, not blessed. I wanted to be more for her because Bella was so many things to me. She was everything. Being her mother had taught me a truth that I wished to God I had learned eons ago: Second chances are hard to come by. When you get one, take it, then change to honor the chance.

Immediately, I thought of Ava. After all, I did owe her and she owed me a chance to make things right between us. I got off my knees and ran toward my purse, but couldn't find my phone. I had left it in the car, so I raced out the sanctuary to find another one.

There was an old beige rotary phone that sat at the welcome desk in the narthex. I found it behind the desk, picked it up, and dialed.

But as soon as her voice purred through the phone, something weird happened. Someone behind me called my name. I held the phone to my head and searched the room. Had the Communion juice made me crazy?

Someone tapped my shoulder. I spun around. I jumped. Justus.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello?” Ava asked through the phone.

“Yes,” I said to them both.

“Angel, I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were on the phone.”

“I'm not, really.” I removed the phone from my ear, but could hear Ava screaming my name. I put the phone receiver over my heart to muffle her voice. “What do you need, Justus?”

“When you're done with your conversation, can I speak with you in my office?” His deep voice held a quiet power over me like the last, low thunder after a storm. “I need to discuss a private matter.”

I nodded and lifted the receiver to my mouth. “Ava, I'll call you back.”

I heard her shouting something about tonight and needing my help as I hung up the phone. I'd call her back. I promised myself I would, after I met with Justus.

Justus's pastoral study smelled of lavender, magnolia blossoms, firewood, and holiness—at least my version of it. Once we entered the room, he turned around and smiled. His face lit up as I smiled back. I shouldn't get too excited. He looked like that at every church member. Yet, I hoped he was sweet on me and that his invitation to see Pearl Cleage was still on the table.

He walked me toward his lounge area. “Have a seat.”

He motioned a greeting with his hand, which also reminded me of my granny. She always talked with her hands, as if we couldn't get the gist of her stories without the grand gesturing. I sat down on the love seat in front of the table, feeling all warm and fuzzy over her memory.

Justus sat in a stiff-backed mahogany chair to my right; then his phone rang.

“Excuse me, Angel. I need to answer this. It'll just take a second. Make yourself comfortable.” He stood and walked toward the door.

“What? Wait a minute.” I hopped up.

He spun around. “Excuse me?”

“No, excuse me, Justus, but I just hung up on my sister to have a chat with you at your request. Come on now. You're leaving me for a phone call?”

His eyes shined brighter. I could see fire behind his cheeks. He lowered the phone from his ear. My heart fluttered. I hoped I didn't just piss off my pastor.

“I didn't tell you to hang up on Whitney.”

“Ava,” I corrected. “Hang up on Ava. She didn't show up last night, so . . .”

“Wow. Really?”

I nodded and threw my hands on my hips.

He watched me, then glanced at his phone. “Angel, I'm sorry, but I have to take this call. I will make this up to you and Ava. I promise. Just don't leave, okay?”

“Did I say I was leaving?”

“Thank you.” He walked toward the door, put his hand on the doorknob, then stopped. “Again, make yourself comfortable.”

Of course I would.
I grinned back, then snapped a frown when he left the room. Who was he talking to that made him drop everything in an instant? I turned around and searched the room for answers.

At first glance, I couldn't tell that he had moved in. Brother Allen's old mahogany desk, the swivel chair, his wife Anne's floral settee, and the matching bookcases were stationed in the same places they were before our old pastor left this church to plant churches in France. The only items that appeared to belong to Justus were the books on black theology, civil rights, and the history of rap music on the coffee table, and of course, the black Jesus bobblehead that sat on his desk. I chuckled at that.

Justus returned. He walked in, closed the door, and met my eyes. I was locked in to him again. He sat down, looked up at me, and said nothing. Although he wasn't smiling anymore, his face glowed. I felt warmer than August in Miami.

“Have you thought about what we talked about last night?”

Of course, I had thought about Pearl Cleage all night, but I didn't want to embarrass myself. I had a bad habit of reading more into things than there really was.

I shrugged. “We talked about so many things.”

“We did.” He grinned.

God blessed Justus with intoxicating eyes. They charmed you and didn't release you until he was done with you. He'd been here at Sugar Hill for a few months, but I had picked up his mannerisms early on. For instance, he usually reserved this Jedi eye charming thing for gut-check sermon lines right before the Invitation. I watched his handiwork from the back pew most Sundays, but today as he leaned toward me, I knew he finally had me where he wanted me and it was working. I wondered what he wanted.

“However, right now I want to talk about what happened to you last night at the club. I think I have a less dangerous assignment for you.”

I sat back very disappointed that what he wanted to discuss had nothing to do with wanting me as a girlfriend. Yet, I was curious. “What are you talking about?”

“I want to hire you.”

I chuckled. “For what? Someone's been taking loose change out the collection basket again?”

“No, nothing like that. What I need from you isn't even church related. It's personal.” He paused. “I need that special service only you provide.”

I could feel my eyes roll to the back of my head. I smirked to hide my disappointment. “After last night, I thought that you wanted me to stop.”

“Perhaps I was being premature. Maybe your talents can best be served for a different purpose. A good one. And what I was thinking of definitely fits the bill.”

I thought about my daughter's dead father and my complicity in him being six feet under. “Believe me. I need to stop. What happened last night was a definite indicator that I have been walking down the wrong trail.” I shook my head. “I could be a white-collar private investigator for small businesses or one of those lady detectives who decoy themselves to catch cheating husbands. You know? I don't have to do this to make money, just like you said.”

“I take back what I said.”

I looked up. “What?”

“Angel . . .” he paused. “Is there any way I can persuade you to take on one more case?”

I wanted to refuse him, but his eyes were tugging on my heart big time. I sighed as I watched him. He didn't have a clue what he was getting himself into.

“What is it?”

“I need you to tell me anything you can about my niece's new boyfriend.”

I laughed hard. “Are you serious?”

“Very, and I have good reason to be concerned.”

“Would you mind elaborating?”

He reached for a book on the table and opened it. There was a letter inside. He handed it to me.

I glanced at it. It was a love letter between his niece, Kelly, and some boy. “It looks like your niece is in love.” I handed it back to him.

“I found this love letter in Kelly's jeans pocket two days ago while folding laundry.”

I cackled.

“Don't ask . . .” He paused. “I know I shouldn't have been prying, but there have been events lately that warranted the action.”

“I'm sorry.” I chuckled. “The sight of you folding clothes tickles me. Do you have kids . . . um, of your own?” I asked.

“No, I'm not married.”

“Neither am I, but I have a child.”

“Oh, right. . . .” His eyes widened; then he lowered his face. “What I meant was, I have kids in my house for now, but I don't have kids. I've never been married, so, of course, I don't have kids.”

My neck snapped at his last statement. Did he just judge me?

“I heard you the first time, but maybe you didn't hear me. So let me repeat myself. I've never been married and I have a child.” I reached for my purse and stood up. “I don't know if this is your way of ministering to me, but I draw the line at being judged.”

He caught my arm. I looked down at him. His gaze had changed. It was warmer, more endearing.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. I was telling you something about the kind of man I am. I wouldn't have a child and leave her mother to take care of her on her own, not if I could help it. I wasn't putting you down. I wouldn't do that to you. Understand?” His eyes stole the last bit of good sense I had left. “Please stay. I need you.”