her granddaughter into submission, I took a deep breath, avoiding Rochelle’s gaze in the choir stand. This morning was so jacked up I was going to have to call and tell Rochelle about it even though we weren’t speaking.
The pastor’s voice cut in again. “Sometimes things just don’t make no sense. No how. Can I get an amen?”
“Amen.” I couldn’t restrain from joining in. Nothing was making sense. Not my business. Not my family.
Adrian winked in my direction. I fought off a chill tickling up my back. Nothing made sense but Jesus, and the man sitting next to me. How I’d missed his friendship.
My eyes wandered back to Rochelle, above us, and my empty seat beside her. We’d arrived too late for me to sing and I wasn’t sad about it. I could have made a fuss and gone on up, but I’d leave that to grandstanders. There are certainly enough of them, I thought, staring at the hats blooming across the front row like a wayward garden.
I read the sermon text again, this time really considering it’s meaning.
“You have shown Your people hard things; You have made us drink the wine of confusion.”
That was in the Bible? I checked the verse again. Psalm 60:3. How had I missed that in all these years? Even when I was doing my thing, I’d read the Psalms, and this one was a zinger. Not only had I been sipping the drink described in this Scripture, but everyone in my life was, too.
The pastor’s collarless suit bulged around his neck in defiance of his attempt to keep up with style. “When things get rough, saints, when you’re swirling around, drunk with the wine of confusion, you got to cry out to the Lord for direction.”
“Yes, sir,” Mother Holly half shouted, nearly scaring me to death.
Confusion? What did the old woman know about it? I looked over at Shemika—or was it Jemicka?—who was filing her nails and brushing the dust on to the floor. Well, perhaps Mother Holly had problems, too.
Didn’t we all? Rochelle lifted her hands in the choir stand behind the pulpit, looking first toward heaven and then toward me, with that we’ve-really-got-to-talk look I’ve always dreaded.
“We cry out, Lord. Tell us where we have we made wrong turns. Did we go into battle without guidance as David did in this passage? Or is something stumbling us? Stopping us up? Meet us where we’re at, Jesus. Show us the way out of our mess.”
I closed my eyes. Had I done that? Gone up without God’s guidance? Sure I’d prayed about my business, given it a scriptural name, gone to a Christian accountant, talked to the pastor…but had I really put myself in God’s hands? Asked Him what He wanted?
Adrian grabbed my hand and gripped it with the kind of force serious praying required. I squeezed back, just as hard.
Lord, if I’ve taken a wrong turn, lead me back to where I went wrong so I can fix it or better yet, You fix it for me. I’m fresh out of solutions.
The pastor was praying, too. Everybody was. In whispers and in shouts. The building was filled with prayers and praise. Then someone gasped from the choir stand. A hush fell over the congregation and I got that knot in my stomach I always felt when people stare at me. Someone shuffled into the aisle behind me. Two someones, from the sound of it. I dared not open my eyes, but knew I had to.
Jordan. He’d made it to church after all…and he’d brought a friend, a woman who looked like she’d been painted by number and greased into her dress, bright orange with matching heels.
This is so trifling.
Before I could say anything, Jericho fought his way out of his aisle, past the couple and out the back door. His charcoal suit whizzed past me like smoke.
After smoke came fire, that much I knew. I grabbed my purse and pushed through the aisle, while Rochelle sat frozen in the alto section.
Mother Holly, having already twisted herself into a pretzel to see the action, grabbed my wrist as I shoved past her. “No wonder you came out with naked legs. Y’all got trouble.”
It’d taken considerable effort to tackle Jericho in the parking lot—well, more like grab his waist and let him drag me a few feet—but somehow I’d managed it, even with my circulation constricted by the waistband of my too small undergarments. Once I got him to stop running, things got complicated. I