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  “Just go,” Mink mumbled between sobs.

  By that evening her eyes were swollen shut from crying, and she couldn’t sleep. Moving through the house like an automaton, she found herself in Dwight’s office. It occurred to her that she hadn’t looked at the court papers—maybe they would tell her more. She lit a fire and sat at his desk, but the papers weren’t there. She studied a revised blueprint for a new client’s yard he was working on. The design called for an octangular pattern to be cut in the garden that mirrored the shape and theme in the dining room leading off the patio doors. Her husband’s talent was awesome. Mink missed him. The wall around her heart cracked open.

  “Daddy! Daddy!” Azure screamed at the top of her lungs. Before Mink could budge, the child was standing at the office door.

  “It’s Mommy,” Mink said.

  “Where’s Daddy? I’m scared, Mommy.” Azure hugged her mother’s legs tightly and buried her head between her thighs. “And so is Jelly,” she said, pointing at the puppy, who’d followed her. “I had a dream; it woke me.”

  Mink reached down and lifted her little daughter into her arms. She stroked her fuzzy afro puff, then smoothed her cheek against hers. “What’d you dream, honey?”

  “I dreamed the devil was beating his wife, Rosemary.”

  With great care, Mink carried Azure back to her room and set them both down in the rocking chair beside the bed. Jelly joined them, lying down alongside the chair, listening and panting with his tiny head cocked toward Mink’s voice.

  “Why is the devil beating his wife?” Mink asked, intrigued by her daughter’s seriousness.

  “I’m not sure, but I think it’s because she’s pregnant.”

  She stifled a laugh. “Doesn’t God watch—”

  “The devil watches, too,” Azure cut in, “since he’s got to get into people. You know the devil gets into people and makes them do bad things.”

  Jelly turned his head inquisitively toward Azure.

  Momentarily Mink thought about her argument with Dwight, and she was instantly lonely.

  “You listening, Mommy?” Azure asked, turning her face with her small hand. “Lie down, Jelly,” she commanded. “You’re so spoiled.”

  Jelly whimpered and laid his head down.

  “Yeah, Baby-Z. Mommy ain’t missed a word. Aren’t you sleepy?” she said, looking into her daughter’s serious chocolate eyes.

  Azure squeezed her mother’s middle, putting her tiny arms around her shoulders, “No, Mommy. I can’t sleep now. Can you close the door, please?” Jelly followed her to the door and back, then resumed his position beside the rocker.

  “It’s okay, baby.” Mink felt her daughter’s small body tremble. “Mommy’s here.” She rocked her for a few minutes.

  Mink felt Azure’s body relax, her breathing slow down.

  Suddenly Jelly started barking. Azure looked at her closed bedroom door. She folded into her mother. “Where’s Daddy?”

  I should have given him more time to explain, Mink thought. “It’s okay, baby,” Mink said, rocking Azure. “Mommy won’t let anything hurt you. Daddy won’t let anyone hurt us, because Daddy loves us. He loves us so much, baby.”

  SPICE

  We are starving our children to death at every level.

  —OSSIE DAVIS

  E verywhere she looked, Spice saw something green. The grass, the flowers, the trees slipping leafy bracelets out along their arms, all were bringing the pale green wonder of March to life from its winter’s sleep.

  Since her conversation with Mink last month, Spice began to feel more comfortable about dating. However, her thoughts weren’t of Otis.

  Music, starlight, the taste of vintage wine—each time her senses received the slightest nudge, Spice had felt the urge to seek out the man who had said: “Love is natural. Love is free. Love is the essence of God.” It was the truth of those words that had brought her to his church today. And it was also the thought of finally seeing him again.

  The sky shone a brilliant blue on this perfect Sunday morning. It seemed to her that God had bequeathed this day as her baptism into the community of Christian fellowship.

  Wearing a muted gray Valentino suit trimmed with a standing mink shawl collar, chocolate Robert Clergerie pumps, and a matching clutch, Spice tucked her shoulder-length bob behind both ears, inhaled a fresh breath of courage, and climbed the steps to Divinity Baptist.

  “Good morning, miss. Have a blessed day,” a young man said, offering his hand to Spice as she stepped inside the church.

  “Thank you,” Spice said, shaking his hand nervously.

  “Nice to see you today,” a woman said to her, smiling.

  “Thank you.” Spice smiled and accepted a program from the usher. The beautiful glow reflecting through the stained-glass windows touched not only the sky, Spice thought, but the men, women, and children seated in the pews. All seemed bathed in an identical aura. Happiness and peace reigned here. Soon music started softly, and the choir stood. The church program listed the page number of every song on the morning’s service, and when the congregation joined the choir in song, Spice nervously flipped through the hymnal book until she found the first selection and sang along.

  As they neared the close of the last hymn, she saw Golden enter and take his place on a chair on the dais. He was clothed in a royal-blue-and-white robe with silver brocade, which Spice would come to know was Golden’s trademark church attire.

  She was also about to learn that Reverend Golden always put on a show. His congregation expected it, and he never let them down. He began with “Let’s Just Praise the Lord” and concluded with “Walking Up the King’s Highway.”

  “If you’re not walking, start while I’m talking, walking up the King’s Highway. . . . There’ll be a blessing you’ll be possessing, walking up the King’s Highway.”

  Listening carefully to the words, Spice understood the message and hummed along as the choir sang softly in the background. And while the congregation was feeling the emotion and strength of the song, Golden jumped into a fiery sermon, commenting on the shortage of schoolbuses in Detroit public schools this year. “How are we going to educate our youth if we can’t get them to the house of learning?” he demanded.

  A few minutes later, a young member brought out a chalkboard. Golden draped a black smock over his robe, then asked the congregation to open their Bibles to the Old Testament and turn to Zechariah 8:4, then to the first chapter of Joshua.

  Spice struggled to find the text. Then the man sitting next to her obligingly explained the reference and flipped the pages to Joshua 1:1–9 of the Old Testament.

  “Show us!” someone shouted out. “Show us what you talking about, Pastor.”

  With a large piece of chalk in his hand, Golden moved to the chalkboard and began to draw a picture of children on a bus and children standing outside a high school, talking simultaneously. Using these visual and verbal cues, he began to explain the meaning of the Scripture.

  “All leaders need constructive critics to keep us doing our best job. The preacher is not God.” The gold cross hanging from his neck swung back and forth like a pendulum with each movement of his shoulders and stomp of his feet as he moved across the platform. “We need to be filled with Bible study, and a little bit of prayer, then most of us would realize how God has blessed us. Leaders need to wake up—do in our communities what we’re supposed to do.”

  Spice felt the spirit of Golden’s words, and she began to feel proud of him now, her chest broadening with each breath she took.

  “A woman called me the other night at three o’clock in the morning. She was upset. She said, ‘Pastor, do you know that they had the nerve to serve my son a chicken wing at the church picnic and give the rest of those children some spaghetti?’” Golden paused for a full fifteen seconds. “I asked her, ‘Did he eat? Did he get full? Did he have a good time?’ ”

  Everyone laughed along with Golden, including Spice.

  “What nonsense she concentrate
d on. Leaders need to feel faith because faith cuts down on a whole lot of nonsense—bigger than the chicken wing. I’m talking about terrorism, cynicism, antagonism, and any other ‘ism’ that gets in the way of our faith in God.”

  Spice loved the rhythm, she loved the caressing sound of his voice. Without understanding exactly how, he seemed to pull her very soul to him. As she replayed the words of Golden’s sermon inside her head, she felt a quiet peace, something she had never experienced before. Who was this man she wanted to wrap herself around until she found one moment of eternity?

  “Amen,” the congregation shouted. Spice felt euphoric as she joined those around her. The next hour went by fast, and soon the service came to an end. She left unobtrusively, wanting to think about what she’d seen here before she saw him next.

  As she drove home, Spice remembered Pastor Golden’s closing words: “He always says you need to take the time and listen to the quiet. Allow your mind to relax, reflect, and eventually the words of God will fill the silence, and you’ll end up in prayer and left with a good feeling.”

  As she allowed herself to relax in silence, she felt closer to Golden—felt the silence was Golden.

  * * *

  The next day, Spice called Golden under the pretext of their developing business relationship. They decided it would be most convenient for them to meet at Spice’s home.

  “I’ve been thinking that we should form a limited liability corporation. If we can come to terms on how much we each plan on investing, I think it would be a good idea. I’m told the tax advantages make this type of corporation more desirable than a joint venture.”

  “True. Taxes are paid as a partnership so the individual parties can’t be sued.”

  “I’ve mentioned my interests to my brother-in-law, Otis.”

  “Otis Witherspoon.” Golden paused. “The dinner at Southern Spice; I’d completely forgotten the connection.”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “No. But you should know going in that even though the land in Detroit is relatively cheap right now, the politics surrounding prospective projects, especially in the empowerment zones, do present drawbacks.”

  Did he mean Otis? She was not oblivious to the discrepancies in Otis’s lifestyle, but she’d always turned a blind eye—Otis was family, and she herself was far from perfect. She put Golden’s comment aside. “Thanks for the advice. But I’ve done my homework, and I’m ready to proceed.” Spice dug into her bag and retrieved a set of plans she’d asked Morgan Bender to put together. “Here’s a few ideas that I have for developing the Lafayette property.”

  For a moment, his liquid brown eyes rose, caught, and held hers. His soft lips formed a small smile. It was as if he intuited her reaction to him. They both blushed, then turned away, back to business.

  Golden appraised the plans for a few minutes before commenting. The rough sketches were of a senior residence with graduated levels of assisted living as needed by each resident. “I’d recommend making a few changes, but I’m confident, after tracking the success of your Foxphasia complex, we won’t have any problems.”

  “Great.” Personally, the project didn’t excite her—it was depressing. But it fell into the good works category for sure, and it would give them a chance to take each other’s measure.

  “We haven’t discussed the value of the property. I’m figuring a hundred thousand.”

  “The land is worth more than that.”

  “Have you had it appraised lately?”

  “Certainly. My question to you is how much do you plan on investing, given the fact that my property is half paid for?” Spice asked Golden.

  “And the taxes are current?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then I owe you fifty thousand. I can have my attorney draw up the contract and deliver it to your attorney.”

  “Forgive me for being so inquisitive, but how can you run a church, head a development company, and run NAABR?”

  “Simple. I get three to four hours a sleep a night.”

  “I guess it helps to be young,” she teased, wondering when it would be prudent to ask his age.

  “Anyway, the NAABR is finally in the black. It’s taken years, but I’m proud to say we’ve made it.”

  “Of the three, which is most important to you?” Her mind ricocheted from the pulpit to the bedroom. She prayed he didn’t analyze the reason for her blush.

  “That’s a tough question. In one way, they’re all equally important—especially in aiding the black citizens of Detroit. I wouldn’t want to choose to give up on any.”

  “So the challenge of doing all three well is what drives you?”

  He smiled and said, “You could say that. Yes, you could say that.” Golden concluded their conversation by telling Spice about the current projects his company was working on and how excited he was that Detroit was finally building new homes for middle- and upper-middle-class families. “I think we’ve finally got the go-ahead. Needless to say, getting the inspections and paperwork together is a job for Hercules.”

  Spice returned his smile and then looked down at her hands, tightly clasped in her lap. She knew she could allow some silence between them, and her mind drifted a bit.

  For days she had seen his face on the ceiling when she went to bed at night. As she drank her morning cup of coffee, she saw his reflection in her cup. When she read the morning paper, the words would blur and form a surreal picture of Golden. But she couldn’t talk of that. She couldn’t say that she was in deeper than she’d imagined, and she didn’t even know why. She could only pray that he felt the same way. Subtly, quiet as a prayer, Golden was filling all the empty spaces her lonely early life had left. Through him she was redefining love rather than hanging on to wounds from long ago.

  With confidence in her unquiet heart, she took a high dive into white churning rapids. “Golden . . . I’m not sure how to say this, but I’ve felt that something was missing in my life. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this much pain and glory at the same time.” Her courage building, Spice spoke to the soul in his eyes. “It’s a feeling I don’t even fully understand.”

  “I know,” he said softly.

  * * *

  After Golden had left, Spice realized that no matter how close the situation, no matter where they’d stood, Golden had never touched her. And upon further reflection, she realized that his eyes had never lowered past her neck. Not once had she caught him admiring her breasts or buttocks.

  Their relationship was beginning differently from hers with David, but her respect for each was the same. David had loved her sexually before marriage. Instinctively Spice knew that what she would share with Golden would be very different.

  Time had taught her to trust those with principles. Life had taught her that to be able to trust your partner is a greater compliment than to be loved. And it was beyond question that Spice felt Golden was a man she could trust.

  The next day, Spice’s calendar was full. By six that evening she was back home. She’d planned on taking a shower and changing into a dressing gown, but after she kicked off her shoes and sat back on the couch in the library for a brief reprieve, she fell asleep. It was eight-thirty when she scrambled awake. By nine she had answered her phone messages and bathed.

  Her thoughts were so caught up with Golden over the past week, Spice realized that she and Carmen hadn’t spoken in days. Concerned, she started to dial her number when she remembered Carmen was on night duty this week, another reason she hadn’t seen her. Spice decided to go down to the second floor to check on her.

  Before she could follow through on her thoughts, the phone rang.

  “Get down here, Spice. Now. Carmen’s in trouble,” Travis said quickly.

  As she stepped off the elevator, Spice saw a circle of employees standing in the candy section of the second-floor kitchen.

  Pushing her way through the crowd, Spice saw Carmen facedown, passed out on the floor.

  “She’s unconscious, but h
er pulse is normal. An ambulance should be here soon,” Travis said to Spice. “When I couldn’t revive her, I called Chamberlain Hospital, then you.” He bent down with Spice as she kneeled beside her friend. “She’s breathing, but it’s serious this time, Spice. Real serious.”

  “Carmen?” Spice said, trying not to panic. “You’ll be okay. Come on, kiddo,” she said, lifting Carmen and struggling to cup her head in her arms. Spice yelled, “Get me a cold pack . . . somebody, please.”

  When her efforts to revive Carmen proved futile, she rocked her, hugging Carmen’s heart to hers.

  Soon the paramedics arrived. Even using all the equipment available to them, they were unsuccessful in reviving Carmen.

  Although Spice tried to convince Travis that she didn’t need his help, he refused to let her go to the hospital alone.

  “I should have known this would happen,” Spice said to Travis as she paced the waiting room floor. “I saw the signs, read the clues, and even warned her. I saw her breaking—” She stopped. Crying, she couldn’t continue. She allowed Travis to comfort her and fell into his muscular arms as she let out her grief.

  “Shhh,” Travis said, hugging her gently. “She’ll get through this.”

  “You warned me, too, Travis, and I didn’t listen.”

  An ugly gray day greeted Spice the next morning. She hadn’t slept a wink, tossing and turning through the night. Now, with the rain as her companion, Spice scoured the directories for a treatment center that might take Carmen.

  It was Kia’s day off, but she came into work and helped Spice go through the list, splitting it in half and outlining the questions they would ask each facility.

  Over the years, with Spice’s help, Carmen had been in numerous rehabilitation centers, including Hazelton and Smithers—the most prestigious as well as the most expensive. Carmen had hated all of them and, much worse, none of them had helped her. What she needed was a totally new approach this time around.