Selling My Soul Page 6

  “I had planned to stay the whole week, but Kevin is getting nervous and wants me to come home.” She looked at me, and I could tell she wanted me to encourage her to go on back to Atlanta.

  “You should get back. I know he misses rubbing your belly.” I reached over and gave her tummy a rub. “I’ll be fine. I promise. Are you gonna be okay? I thought you were going to pass out watching the news yesterday.”

  Monica was silent for a second, and then her face turned angry. “Kevin should have never signed his name to that stupid letter. What the . . . what in the world was he thinking? He should have just sent it anonymously. With such serious accusations, the council would have started the investigation whether his name was on it or not. But no . . . his therapist convinced him that it was part of his healing process to ‘own’ what happened to him. Stupid psychology . . . junk.”

  I could tell Monica was trying not to cuss.

  She continued, “You know how reporters are. They just want a juicy story. And what a juicy one this would be. Star gospel artist molested as a child. Secret past life of homosexuality. Story at eleven. And my life would be ruined. For the sake of a good story.”

  She stopped walking and turned to me, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “I can’t handle this right now, Trina. Please pray with me that this doesn’t come out.” She grabbed my hands. “Please, pray to the God that raises babies from the dead and opens blind eyes that I get to keep my new life.”

  I squeezed her hands. “I’ll pray, Monnie. But you can’t let yourself get all upset and worried about this. You have a baby to think about. You can’t get all emotional and stressed out.”

  She pondered my words for a second, then rubbed her hands over her belly, her jaw now set in determination. “You’re right. I have to think of the baby.” She looked up at me, less anxiety in her eyes. “I miss you so much, Trina. I’m grateful for my new friends in Atlanta, but no one has been a spiritual strength to me like you always were. Sure you don’t want to move down South?”

  I smiled. “Can’t. Gotta stay here with Moms.” I didn’t tell her that if I moved anywhere, it would be back to Mozambique.

  She nodded. “I know. If things get too stressful here, you know you always have a place to visit in Atlanta.”

  We walked a little farther, and she asked, “Are you gonna stay up here for a few more days? I’m sure Tiffany would be willing to come up and get you.”

  I shook my head. “I need to get back to my house and get some things together.” I let out a deep breath. “I need to find a job.”

  “I thought you were going to take some time off to rest first.”

  “Moms’ bills are pretty serious. I need to go ahead and start looking now. I still have a couple of months, but I want to take my time and find the right thing.”

  We walked along a little farther and came to a set of swings. Even though they were child sized, they were pretty sturdy looking. I sat down in one and rocked back and forth a little.

  Monica steadied herself in the swing next to me. “So have you talked to Gabriel since you’ve been back?”

  I shook my head. “He won’t go back to the mission base for a week or so. I won’t be able to talk to him until then.”

  “You miss him?”

  I shrugged, not wanting to admit how much I did.

  “How long did you guys date anyway?”

  “Date?” I chuckled. “We didn’t really date. I mean, it’s not like we went out to dinner, or to the movies or to the theatre or anything. Unless you want to call digging wells and building huts dating.”

  Monica made a face, and I realized I’d never be able to convey my experiences in Mozambique to her. “Okay, so how long were you guys seeing each other . . . uh . . . when did you meet him?” she asked.

  “I met him when I first got there. He’s one of the leaders of the mission teams. We worked closely together the whole time I was there. We got closer over the second year I was there.”

  “What does closer mean? I mean, were you guys in a relationship or was there just this attraction you were trying to ignore?”

  I pumped my legs on the swing a couple of times and sailed into the air. As I floated back toward her, I let the words slip out, “He asked me to marry him a week before I left.”

  Monica gasped and leaned forward. I was afraid she would fall out of the swing. I dragged my feet to stop and grabbed her to keep her from falling belly first onto the ground.

  “Asked you to marry him? Trina! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

  I looked down at my feet, now covered with dirt from stopping myself on the swing. “I guess I forgot.”

  Monica’s mouth fell open. “A man proposes to you and you forget? No way, Trina. What did you tell him?”

  I shrugged. “What could I tell him? I was on my way back here. He can’t imagine moving back to the States. I’m sure a cross-continental marriage wouldn’t work.”

  Monica nodded. “I guess not. And I’m not about to let you go moving to Africa.”

  I bit my lip.

  “What?” Monica frowned. “You thought about it?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Some. Well . . . a lot.”

  “I’m trying to figure out a way to get you to move to Atlanta, and you’re thinking about moving to Africa. How can you possibly think of moving to Mozambique?” She smiled. “That must be some kind of man.”

  “It’s not the man. It’s just . . . being over there changes you. I understand what he means about never moving back. I kind of felt the same way myself.”

  “You mean, you would trade toilets and showers, running water and clean clothes, cars and highways, television and a comfortable bed, air-conditioning and good food—”

  I held up a hand to stop Monica’s list of creature comforts she obviously couldn’t imagine surviving without. “Yes. I would. For a much simpler life. A much more meaningful life. Where everything isn’t superficial and materialistic. The way we live here feels ridiculous to me now. It’s all an illusion.”

  “So it’s just the simple lifestyle you want to go back to?”

  “Not only that. It’s my calling. What God put me on earth to do. I don’t think I could be happy anywhere else doing anything else.”

  She nodded. “So it’s the simple life and the calling. Not Gabriel? He has nothing to do with the longing I’ve seen in your eyes to jump on a plane to fly back to Mozambique ever since you got home?”

  I bit my lip, then pumped my legs and started to swing again.

  When I swung toward her, she said, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

  When we got back to the house, I spent a little more time with Moms, and before it got dark, we decided to head back to Silver Spring. When she walked us to the door, she held me tight before I left. She was trembling, and I hugged her as hard as I could without hurting her.

  She clasped my hand. “I have chemo on Monday. Tiffany or Aunt Penny usually takes me. Do you think . . . ?”

  “Of course, Moms. I’ll be here first thing Monday morning to get you. I’m gonna go home and take care of a few things, and as soon as I’m done, I’ll be back. I’ll stay the whole week, and we can go have some fun like we used to. Go to the movies and out to eat or something?”

  My mother looked down at the ground. “I don’t like going out that much anymore, Tree. I don’t like the way I look.” She put her hand up to her scarf and grabbed at her skirt that was hanging off her. “And I get tired real easy. Maybe—”

  “Maybe I’ll bring food, and we can rent movies. How’s that?”

  She forced a smile. “Sounds good, baby. Just like old times.”

  But that wasn’t like old times. Tiffany had gotten her vanity from my mother. She loved to get dressed up—looking “all special” as she said it—to go out and have a good time. Ever since me and Tiffany left home and Moms could live on one job, we could hardly find her home. She and my Aunt Penny went to play bingo or go thrift store shopping and yard sale hunting. Me
and Moms went out to eat and to the movies at least once a month.

  She must be going crazy staying in the house all the time. I’d have to make sure I at least took her out to go driving. What I really needed to do was pray to God for a healing miracle.

  And then it would be just like old times.

  Nine

  I awoke early the next morning on the floor next to my bed. I had tried to sleep in it, but it was even cushier than my old bed at Moms’s house. I went searching the kitchen cabinets for something to eat, but found them filled with non-nutritious junk. I’d have to go grocery shopping later. I settled on some eggs, bread and milk.

  As I sat down to eat, I noticed Tiffany had left some mail on the table. I perused several letters and noticed a very official looking one from my mortgage company. When I opened it and read it, my head began to pound. Apparently, my adjustable rate mortgage had ballooned four months ago.

  Tiffany obviously hadn’t bothered to open any of their letters and had kept paying, or had Moms keep paying the same rate. I had it automatically withdrawn from my checking account, and they deposited the money each month. Now I was two thousand dollars behind on my mortgage.

  Which meant I needed to get a job . . . yesterday.

  I forced myself to go out on my back patio and lay on the hard concrete, determined to seek God. I prayed, praised and worshipped, but it felt so different here. Like even the spiritual atmosphere was different. In Africa, I felt like I could reach my arms upward and touch God. Here, the heavens literally felt like brass.

  I thought about banging on Tiffany’s door to confront her about it, but what was the point? She’d make up a bunch of excuses and lies, and I wouldn’t be any closer to having the bill paid.

  Instead, I went into my office and booted up the computer. I needed to update my resume, and then send it out to every possible opening in the non-profit sector. Two hours later, I was even more frustrated. The available jobs were slim to none, and nothing really seemed like what I wanted to do. It occurred to me that I might have to consider going back to PR for a short while, just to overcome this financial crisis. Just until Moms got healed and I got all our bills caught up.

  As I checked online job databases, I was shocked to find my old company had an opening. They were one of the most prestigious public relations firms in the area and rarely had openings for long. In fact, most of the time when they posted openings, it was just a formality. They usually had already picked the new hire. The boss lady must be desperate for some fresh blood from the outside.

  I put in a phone call to a friend that worked there with me.

  “Well, well, well. I can’t believe what I’m seeing on this caller ID. Is this Trina Michaels, back from Africa?”

  I smiled. “Yes, Sonya dear. It’s me.”

  “When did you get back? And did you bring a Mandingo warrior with you?”

  I had to laugh. “Girl, you still crazy, huh?”

  “Won’t ever change.”

  Sonya used to be my gurl at work before I left. She was one of those sistahgirls that you loved to talk to because they were crazy and so much fun. The only thing that kept us from being closer and hanging out together outside of office hours was the fact that she wasn’t saved and still living the life I fought so hard to overcome. I didn’t need to hear about all her different lovers and her over-the-top experiences with them. Just wasn’t good for my walk.

  We exchanged pleasantries for a while, and then I needed to get down to the business at hand. “So, I noticed there’s an opening at Silver Public Relations Management. What’s going on?”

  “You looking? When you left, you said it was for good.”

  “I know, but I miss doing PR. More than I thought. You know once it gets in your blood, you can’t let it go,” I lied.

  “Girl, Blanche will be too happy to hear from you. She’s had the worst time filling your spot.”

  Silver PR was a large firm in DC. I was the “church girl” that handled most of their Christian businesses and clients and many of their non-profit organizations.

  “Really? What happened?”

  “The first girl they hired was a super crazy religious fanatic. She blasted gospel music and got mad when we played hip hop or R&B, talking about how we was introducing spirits into her holy atmosphere. And she screwed up accounts with the clients. She was too churchy even for church people. Blanche fired her after a couple of months.”

  “Oh dear. Sounds like a nutcase.”

  “Then she hired this other guy that was just weird. Didn’t really talk to anybody and didn’t have much of a personality. He sat at his desk with his hands folded and his eyes closed all the time. I don’t know if he were praying or casting spells on all of us. He was just that strange, girl. I think Blanche was desperate, and he had a decent resume and said he was a Christian.”

  I searched through my desk drawers for some fancy paper to print out my resume on. It was starting to sound like that was only a formality that I might not have to bother with.

  Sonya continued, “Since then, they’ve been assigning church clients evenly between all of us, but we ain’t you. We don’t use the right churchy talk and can’t connect well enough with the churchy people to make them happy. Girl, ain’t nobody like Trina Michaels.”

  “Dang. So Blanche ought to be happy to hear from me?”

  “Yeah, but you know her. She ain’t gonna let you know the position she’s in. She’ll probably make you feel like she’s doing you a favor. Play hardball with her. Make her pay you what you’re worth. Especially with this new big client they’re trying to hook. Girl, it’s some craziness, and they need a straight-up church girl to handle it. With you, it would almost be a guarantee. Otherwise, Blanche will probably try to dress me up in a long skirt and no cleavage top, make me wash off my makeup and send me in there trying to pretend I got Jesus. Can you imagine?”

  I laughed, knowing Blanche would go that far for some money. “Thanks, Sonya girl. I appreciate you giving me the scoop.”

  “Girl, you know we got to stick together.”

  I hung up and sat still in my office chair for a minute. Did I really want to go back to public relations? Could I really stand to go back to my old job at my old company? The real question was, did I have a choice?

  I would take the day to pray about it, and if I felt like God gave me the go ahead, I would give Blanche a call. Until then, I would continue to perfect my resume and search the computer for other opportunities.

  I didn’t get a chance to ask God about getting my old job back. Fifteen minutes later, the phone rang and the caller ID read Blanche Silver. Sonya must have gone directly to her office to tell her I was back and interested.

  “Hello, Blanche. How are you?”

  “Trina Michaels, welcome back to civilization. Great to hear your voice. How are ya?”

  She was being friendly. Must be desperate. “I’m good. Tired, but adjusting to being home. How are you?”

  “I’m good. Sonya tells me you’re in need of a job.”

  “Not really in need. I just called to tell her I was back and to say hello, and she mentioned you were in need of a Christian liaison person.” I wasn’t about to let her think she was helping me out. I couldn’t afford to give her the upper hand.

  “Not really in need.” Sonya was right. In spite of her being semi-pleasant, Blanche was prepared to play hardball.

  “Oh. I must have misunderstood Sonya. I hope all is well. How are the kids?”

  “They’re fine. Look if you need a job, your old spot is available.”

  “Um, hmm. Actually Blanche, I was thinking of taking a month or so off, just to get re-acclimated and spend some time with my mother. Maybe go visit my friends down in Atlanta. I’ll give you a call when I’m ready to go back to work, though. If it’s still available, maybe we can talk then.”

  “Trina, you never know what this market is going to look like. That would be foolish. You should come in tomorrow. I have a great new client
for you. Something you’d love.”

  “Tomorrow? My goodness, Blanche. I’m still jet-lagged and haven’t even unpacked my suitcases. How about next week some time? That still wouldn’t give me a chance to go to Atlanta though. How about two weeks from now? Give me a chance to get my bearings.”

  “I’m offering your job back with a fifteen percent raise. But I would need you here no later than the day after tomorrow. This client needs immediate attention. Immediate.”

  “Blanche, I wouldn’t be any good to you this exhausted. I’ll skip Atlanta, but at least give me a couple of days to rest.”

  “Twenty percent, Trina. Day after tomorrow.” Her voice had escalated to a heated point that let me know I had pushed her as far she was gonna go.

  “Oh, dear. Well, if you need me, I guess I can come in day after tomorrow.”

  “I’ll see you at ten, Trina.” She hung up the phone.

  I knew it just about killed her to give me a raise. God knew I needed it though. I hadn’t even taken the time to pray, but I felt like God was taking care of me and Moms’s need before I even asked Him to.

  I had to get myself together. I didn’t think any of my suits would look decent enough to wear to work. And I had to get some nutritious groceries in the house. I got up and got dressed to go shopping.

  When I got out to the garage, I peered in my car and was surprised to find that Tiffany had gotten her junk out of the backseat. Maybe she was working hard to turn over a new leaf. A few moments later, I noticed a huge pile of junk in the corner of the garage. The same junk that had been in the backseat.

  I had been willing to ignore the dirty dishes piled in the sink, her shoes in the middle of the kitchen floor and her clothes on the living room floor, but this was the final straw.

  I marched up to the guest room and banged on the door. “Tiffany. Wake up.”

  No answer. I tried to turn the knob, but realized she had locked the door. I banged on the door several times, and there was still no answer. I went to hunt for an Allen wrench to jiggle the lock. When I finally got the door open, I had to call on the Lord not to run over to the bed and choke the life out of Tiffany.