They pull into a parking spot in the midst of a sea of luxury automobiles beside which Roderick's functional black extended cab looks like a Tonka toy. Loose gravel crunches under Lucas' shoe when he steps down. Antioch Baptist is expanding yet again. The church was constructing a new recreational facility when Lucas attended the funeral.
"Preaching is big business," Lucas comments as they walk into the foyer.
"You ain't lying," Roderick replies, taking Tamara's hand and leading her into the sanctuary. "Reverend Meadows is the best dressed negro up in here. Ouch! Tam!"
Tamara twists the piece of flesh in her husband's side a second time. "We're in church now. Act up if you want to," she threatens, turning to Lucas and swatting him with her purse.
"Sorry Mom," Lucas replies, grinning.
Roderick leads them down the center aisle to the front of the church where a corner of the third pew is waiting for them. "Reserved," Roderick croons as he sits down. "I got connections."
Lucas takes a seat on the end next to Tamara. Announcements and advertisements flash on a monitor above the elaborate pulpit like movie previews. Sighing softly, Lucas tugs at his collar and tries to prepare himself for the two and a half hour festival. He is a God fearing man but not a religious one. He thinks that faith is a condition of the heart, like love. And religion isn't something you learn; it's something you do - it is the action of faith. He considers it an act of faith to trust people despite the things that he's seen. Giving the benefit of the doubt is as close as he thinks he will get to holiness.
Lucas suddenly turns to his left. Roderick had draped his arm behind Tamara's back and tapped Lucas on the shoulder.
"Nine o'clock," Roderick whispers, nodding his head to the left.
A woman at the far end of the first row is wearing a white hat with what looks like a partial reconstruction of a model airplane perched on top. Unfortunately, her plane had been bombed by a bird with serious digestive problems. "The Flying Nun," Lucas murmurs.
Roderick snickers. "Ouch!" he exclaims suddenly.
"I heard that. I heard that!" Tamara hisses, glaring at Lucas. She elbows him in the ribs.
"Ow! Jesus," Lucas gripes, reaching over to rub his side.
"That's right. Call Him," Tamara says tersely. "Ya'll are going to need deliverance if you keep it up."
The devotional service begins with a rambling prayer from an elderly deacon. It is earnest if difficult to follow; Lucas finds himself absorbed in the reverent petitions, and he whispers a heartfelt "Amen" at the end.
"Let me get a piece of candy," he hears Roderick whisper.
"Who do I look like, your granny?" Tamara replies.
"No - Thank you, Jesus," Roderick says sarcastically. "But let me get some candy. I know you have some in that duffel bag you call a purse."
Tamara heaves an exasperated sigh, but her eyes are bright with the quiet joy a wife takes in her husband's idiosyncrasies. She opens her purse, pulls out a peppermint, and slaps it against Roderick's palm. Then she places a butterscotch on Lucas' knee.
"Thank you," Lucas says, twisting the wrapper.
"Hey - why'd he get the butterscotch?"
"Because it's my candy and I gave it to him," Tamara whispers tersely.
Roderick thumps Lucas' shoulder. "Trade?"
Smirking, Lucas pops the butterscotch in his mouth. "Huh? I couldn't hear you."
Roderick narrows his eyes. "You better be glad we're in church or I would kick your lily white . . . Ouch! Okay, Tam. Okay."
Lucas silently chuckles as the worship service begins. They all rise and join in the congregational songs that are displayed on the monitor. Then they sit as the choir sways in anticipation of their first selection. He has attended services with Roderick before. In fact, Roderick is responsible for all of his church attendance outside of weddings and funerals; Lucas' parents are agnostic. Church is the one place where he mixes into Roderick's circle with ease. Lucas smiles, anticipating how he will be hugged and fussed over and given slice after slice of homemade cake by soft round women in voluminous rayon dresses. No one looks askance or wonders who he is and why he is there, even if his is the only white face in the room. They are happy to see him getting a dose of that old time religion.
"Not the only," Lucas murmurs under his breath as his eyes fall on the chestnut chignon and slender ivory neck of a woman in the first row. His eyes flick to the monitor as the video cameras pan over the sanctuary, dramatically capturing the rapt faces of the congregation as they nod in agreement to Reverend Meadows' affirmations. Lucas' lip twitches. He and the woman are a minority of two.
It is after the service that the real festival begins. One handshake follows another; smiles pile up on top of smiles. Lucas takes to his role as the little lost sheep with a certain enthusiasm. He doesn't have to do anything more than smile and be receptive to the kindness that is showered on him. His primary line is, "Yes Ma'am." Whatever is said to him, whatever is asked, "Yes ma'am" is usually his answer.
Eventually, a group consisting of Roderick and Tamara's close friends and selected members of the church hierarchy migrate to an adjoining conference room and do it all again: shaking hands, hugging, smiling until their jaws hurt. A buffet of appetizers, fresh fruit, and sparkling apple juice is set up in one corner. Next to the buffet is a small table loaded with the essential homemade cake slices. It is a small but elegant reception for the new bride and groom.
"Nice spread," Lucas comments, drawing up next to Roderick when Tamara abandons them to flash her ring all over the room.
"Tam's pop owns two restaurants in Midtown," Roderick replies while raising his arm to wave at a man across the room. "Half the people in here just came for the food."
Lucas snickers. "They didn't come today. Tamara's parents, I mean."
"Nah, man." Roderick takes a deep breath while his eyes scan the room locating his bride. "I don't like to talk about it in front of Tam, but her father is in pretty poor shape." Roderick's voice becomes flat and colorless as the doctor in him takes over. "He was diagnosed with prostate cancer three years ago, when I first started my residency. He had a minor procedure, when into remission," he pauses, nodding to an acquaintance that catches his eye, "but last year we found polyps in his colon. They found polyps - his oncologist is a colleague of mine, Dr. Schwartz. Good man. But it's been downhill ever since." Roderick sighs; his eyes drift toward Tamara. "I couldn't even get her to talk about it, and then all of a sudden she wanted to move up the wedding date. We were going to get married after I finished my residency."
Lucas' mouth flattens to a straight line. "What are you saying? You mean he's . . ."
"Yeah, man. Yeah." Roderick clears his throat. "He knows. I hear it in his voice when he talks to me. And then all the things he's done for me and Tamara: the wedding, the house. We almost had words about that house. I told Tamara that if she was going to be my wife, she had to live in what I could afford, which won't be much for a minute. Shit like that, the parents buying a house, that just sets a man up for the, 'Well, my daddy used to' nagging."
Lucas nods in agreement.
"But he came to me and talked to me. He said he didn't mean any disrespect, but he wanted his daughter to enjoy the fruits of his labor while he was still alive to see it. That's when I knew how serious it was." Roderick's hard lined face sags with sorrow. "What was I gonna say to the man? And Tamara's his only child? He was stingy with her all his life, Tamara says. And I can see it - she ain't spoilt worth a damn. He's making up for it now though." A slight smile tugs at his lips. "Do you know he set me and Tam up with a penthouse in Hong Kong? That's where she wanted to go for our honeymoon, Hong Kong." Roderick chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief. "Crazy. But I got this week off to follow her crazy butt to China."
Lucas smiles. "I was wondering about that. How in the hell did you get a week off from your residency?"
"Pulled some favors out of my big black ass, that's how." They start coughing, trying to contain their outburst of laughter. "I got ten days, man. But I had to. This is me and Tam's time." Roderick's eyes shine with affection. "I count my blessings these days, Lucas. I got a woman I love, a wedding, a honeymoon, and no bills to pay. I'm a lucky motherfucker." His eyes widen and he glances to his left, expecting Tamara to pinch him.
"So her parents paid for everything?"
"Down to the last penny. That's why I gave Mo the majority of the life insurance, on the condition that she bought a decent place to live in. She's got a nice pad now near Dupont Circle, but me and Tam had to pick it out. That fool was gonna buy some broke down split level near her school. I wanted to kill her."
"Dupont Circle?" Lucas whistles. He is stationed at Fort Monroe in Hampton, VA; he knows DC pretty well. "You wrote a fat check for that one. Your parents were really looking out for you."
"Yeah." Roderick shuffles his feet and stuffs his hands in his pockets. "But I'd burn it all in a heartbeat to get one more day." He falls silent, brooding.
Because they are men, there are no tears or commentaries. "I'm going to check out the buffet," Lucas says.
"Don't get full, man. We came here to meet and greet, not eat. I promised Tam I would take her out dancing tonight."
"On a Sunday?"
"This is Hotlanta, baby! Anyway, this ain't no shake ya ass nightclub. It's a restaurant but they have a dance floor and a nice little live set. You'll like it."
Lucas quirks a dubious brow. But if Roderick wants him around for three of the precious ten days, he will comply. He'll get a bikini wax for the sake of bonding with his best friend. "How much longer are we going to be here, meeting and greeting?"
"Hour, hour and a half."
Lucas nods. "If you need me, I'll be at the buffet." When he turns to leave, another man's voice bellows behind him.
"Rod. Congratulations boy."
"My negro Nate!"
Lucas turns to see Roderick embracing a man with the build of a football player draped in an expensive black suit. When they separate, Lucas sees the face from the photo at Roderick's house. It is Nate, Marlowe's ex.
Speculations swirl in Lucas' brain as he circles around the buffet table, loading his plate with two of everything. The obvious thought is that Marlowe didn't come to church in order to avoid Nate. But if gossip counted for anything, she was the one who broke it off. Lucas had heard a hundred times that Marlowe should have married Nate when she had the chance. If she ditched him, but her friends and family still spoke to him, Nate couldn't be the source of the tension that overcame her in the car. Lucas frowns, replaying the conversation from the house.
"Spilt milk Mo."
"Spilt milk my ass. But if it was me, I wouldn't go either. Leave Mo alone."
Tamara said that. Whatever happened, Tamara is on Marlowe's side. And being a woman, her opinion counts a little more than Roderick's in Lucas' book.
"Whew!" A dainty female voice sounds on Lucas' right. He turns to see the face of the woman from the front row, the second member of the minority of two. She is short and slender, even more petite than Tamara. Her straight brown hair is pulled back from a fresh symmetrical face, not beautiful, but youthful and pretty. She has friendly blue eyes and a small down-turned mouth that makes her face a little comical. "You're hungry," she comments, glancing at his plate.
"I skipped breakfast."
"Most important meal of the day," she asserts warmly. "You shouldn't skip. It doesn't look like you have any fat on you."
Lucas switches his plate to his left hand and offers his right to her. "Lucas Klein."
"Sara Brasher-Meadows," she replies, slipping her tiny hand into his briefly and then raising it to her throat.
She's nervous, Lucas muses. But she isn't flirting with him; she's just making small talk. He watches as her eyes rove over him, searching for something to comment on.
"Are you a natural blonde?"
"Yes," he replies, grimacing inside. He is asked that question a lot. It irritates him that people can imagine him spending any of his precious free time in a hair salon.
"I've just never seen a blonde quite so blonde," she drawls. She has a classic Savannah accent, well bred and fluid. It is totally unlike Marlowe's drawl which is peppery and uneven after the many years she's spent in Washington D.C.
"It runs in my family. Except for my two twin nieces who are flaming redheads."
"I adore redheaded children." Sara smiles at him and touches his forearm. "You're not from around here, are you?"
Another question that he is asked often, especially in the past few days. "No. I'm from Montana."
"What brings you to rebel country?" she asks cheerfully.
Rebel country? "A friend of mine was married yesterday."
"Hot Rod?" Her eyes widen with recognition. "Oh! I've heard about you." She slaps his forearm this time, laughing gaily.
Hot Rod. That was Roderick's nickname in the military. She must know him pretty well to know that, Lucas thinks.
"I only ever see them at church - Hot Rod and his wife, I mean. But my husband told me that he had a white friend from the military. Army, right?"
"Yes."
"See, I remember." Sara claps her hands together, congratulating herself.
Lucas pulls himself back from frowning. It is something about the way she used Roderick's nickname, about the way she said "white friend;" he gets the feeling that she's heard many things about Roderick and remembered few. She didn't even call Tamara by name. She talks about them like they are little pieces of trivia that she learned for a quiz, for some kind of performance.
"I'm so pleased to meet you!" Sara leans in and drops her voice to a confidential whisper. "Usually I'm the only one, but I'm sure you know what that's like." She touches his forearm again.
Lucas takes a breath. It is so clear suddenly why they are having this disjointed conversation in front of the buffet. This is the knick knack corner, the place where the odd men out congregate to comfort each other. He had been free of that feeling for a moment. It was always absent at church.
"Lucas." A heavy hand lands on Lucas' shoulder. He turns to see Roderick and Nate. Nate swipes a glass of apple juice from the table; he sips as he walks up next to Sara and places his free hand on the small of her back.
"Nate, this is Lucas Klein. Lucas, Nathaniel Meadows," Roderick says, gesturing, "and this is his wife, Sara Meadows."
"Brasher-Meadows," Sara corrects.
"Right," Roderick says flatly. "Nate is Reverend Meadows' son."
The speculations swirling in Lucas' head click into place like a slot machine. An image of Marlowe's terse face pops into his mind, and it makes perfect sense.
