I smiled. “A honeymoon baby? Oh, yeah. She’ll go nuts. But don’t worry about her, she’s busy being mad at me.”
“What’s up with you two? Is it—”
“More than I have time to tell.”
“E-mail me.”
“I will.”
The phone beeped indicating another call. Who was it now? Rochelle would be on the way to the seven o’clock service by now. Had I given Mother Holly my number? Maybe she’d looked it up in the church directory.
“Look. I’ve got to go. Someone’s calling.”
“At this time of the morning? Who is it? Should I hold—”
“No. I love you. And it will be okay. It really will. Bye.”
I pressed the button, collecting my apologies.
“Mother Holly?”
A man’s voice, still and calm, answered my greeting. “No, sorry to disappoint. It’s Adrian.”
I stumbled, trying to jab my foot into my other shoe, now overturned beside the bed. “Uh, hi. Coming to Broken Bread today?” My ankle wobbled. I flopped onto the chair. “Or are you going to the Messianic place?”
“I’m coming with you today. Are you okay?”
Probably sounds like a dogfight over here. “I’m fine.” I watched in horror as an inch-wide run tore up my leg like a flame. My last pair of hose.
“I just figured that since we’re going out after service to talk business…”
“We are?” I clutched the closet door.
He sounded hurt. “I think that’s what your last e-mail said. Me coming to Broken Bread. Us going to lunch to discuss the joint coupon promotion idea?”
Somehow I’d missed that part of the e-mail. Honestly, I’d forgotten the whole thing until he called. I’d have to read these electronic communications from him more closely. Us girls just sent stuff back and forth, knowing we’d have to follow up with a reminder or a call. Guys actually scheduled things based on a “sure.” Me, I’m a skimmer. There was always some fine print to our interactions that I never got around to. “Right. Lunch. No problem.”
“Great. I’ll pick you up,” Adrian said calmly, while I tried not to panic.
I stared down at my bare leg peeking through my torn hose. “On second thought, today’s probably not the best day. I have to pick up one of the elders this morning.”
“Even better. I’d be honored to help. My car’s got plenty of room.”
I’ll bet, I thought, trying to keep my mind off my last image of him—long, strong legs, packed into a pair of jeans. What would he wear today? I gulped, thinking of how he’d looked in that gray suit at Tracey’s wedding. Those square-toed shoes…
That’s one fine bald-headed somebody.
As I realized that I had just had “man feelings” without realizing or authorizing them, Adrian’s voice creaked through the receiver, tangled in a ball of static.
“So…I’ll be there in a minute…I’m losing the signal.”
“Huh? Wait!” Too late. He was gone.
Chapter Six
When the doorbell rang, I’d peeled off my ruined stockings, buzzed the downstairs door and ran to my own door, my legs bobbing like skinless drumsticks. I reached for the knob, thanking God that I did at least have good calves. Probably from riding a motorcycle through high school and college. It was hard for me to imagine doing something like that now.
I pulled back the door, hoping Adrian wouldn’t notice my fancy-free legs.
My concern was unwarranted. Adrian wasn’t the one at the door. The face that met me on the other side, eyes so much like my own, stared back at me, draining any remaining resolve I had.
My brother Jordan. The last person I expected to find at my door. A month ago, I’d been dying to see him. Now, I was late, my legs were bare and I had no idea what to say.
“Hey, sis.”
“Come in.” It was all I could think of.
We never were close. He was always running, jumping, shooting, dribbling…Moving past me, away from me. Away from the women trailing behind him—Rochelle, Mama, my sister Dahlia. They pounced on him every chance they got, cornering him, demanding he confess his unrequited love.
And he did, on cue, like a battery-operated action figure, while Daddy and I looked on, both in awe…and disgust. In awe of Jordan’s muscles, his magnetism, his power to make the women in our house love him so readily, so greedily. In disgust of the same things. How could he be so cavalier about being, well…himself?
It seemed arrogant in the rudest way then, but looking back, I guess he was just a kid after all. Nineteen. A few years older than