is your wedding, after all,” Frieda continued, sipping on her cooler. “You’d think she’d come just to make sure the deed got done.”
“I like Queen Bee and I know she and Sistah Vivian are best friends. I included a personal note with the invitation, saying how much I wanted her there. She seemed to warm up to me toward the end, so I hope she’ll come.”
“Vivian’s your new pastor’s wife, right?”
“Uh-huh, the one you met on your one and only visit.”
“Now, don’t give up on me, cousin. There’s some fine brothahs in that building; I’ll be back.”
“And you didn’t even see Darius. He was out of town the Sunday you visited.”
“Darius…who’s that?”
“Kingdom’s newest most eligible bachelor since Cy got engaged. He’s our minister of music. He’s got a new CD coming out and it’s supposed to be fire. Cy says some major record labels are trying to sign him.”
“Oh, he ain’t signed yet? Tell a brothah to hollah when he gets that advance check!”
“Frieda, you should marry for love, not money.”
“Don’t worry. If he’s got money, I’ll love him.”
Hope just shook her head. “Maybe God has other plans for you. There are some fine associate ministers at Kingdom. You might end up a pastor’s wife.”
“Ah, hell no. Ain’t that much holy water in the world!”
Hope laughed. “Remember, they’re men first and foremost. Look at Cy; he’s a minister.”
“Yeah, and he’s marrying yo ass. I can’t be hooking up with somebody who wants me in church every Sunday. Give me a hit every now and then, maybe a song at Christmas and an Easter egg, and I’m good to go. Feel me?”
“No, I don’t feel you, but it’s all to the good. God is with you no matter where you are.”
“Ooh, don’t tell me that. ’Cause there’s some places I’d rather He not tag along. Let a sistah roll solo, okay?”
Hope looked at Frieda, her countenance serious. “No, Frieda. God is with you all the time.”
“Shut up, girl. Next time I’m fuckin’ I’ll be lookin’ up at the ceiling expecting to see a big ass pair of eyes staring down at me.” Frieda drained her wine cooler bottle and jumped up to get another.
Hope almost spit out the soda she was swallowing. “You are a bona fide fool,” she said, laughing so hard her sides hurt.
Frieda returned from the kitchen. “No, I’m a bonin’ fool,” she said. “There’s a difference.” She sat on the couch, leafing through pictures of the yacht Cy was leasing for the wedding. “And speaking of fools, I wonder what happened to that girl who went gangsta on your boy, showing up at the church with demands and what not.”
Hope’s humor dimmed. “Millicent?”
“Yeah, her. I know what she did was whack, but that was some bold shit.”
“I don’t know where she is, nor do I care,” Hope said with finality. She didn’t want to discuss Millicent. Hope didn’t want that woman, or even her name, anywhere near her wedding plans.
3
From Dreams to Reality
The hustle and bustle of LAX, Los Angeles’s busiest airport, greeted Millicent as she stepped through the Jetway. Hard to believe she was back in Los Angeles. When she left four months ago, whether she’d return at all was anyone’s guess. Even now, she felt vulnerable, not sure if she was ready to step back into the real world. But she couldn’t hide out at her mother’s forever. Her therapist had encouraged her to accept the marketing contract she’d been offered, felt that working would help her life return to normal. Problem was, Millicent wasn’t sure she’d recognize normal when it arrived.
Millicent made her way to baggage claim, keeping her hat pulled low and sunglasses firmly in place. The last thing she wanted was to be recognized. That was the main reason she’d decided to return to California but not live in Los Angeles—she did not want to see or be seen by anyone she knew. Before coming back from her mother’s home in Portland, Oregon, Millicent decided to sell her condo and had enlisted her real estate agent to find another one in La Jolla, about a hundred miles from the City of Angels, near San Diego. Based on her therapist’s diagnosis, she’d gotten disability through her insurance company and was thankful she’d played it safe with her investments. The time off from work hadn’t hit her too hard financially. Plus, at her therapist’s suggestion, to occupy her mind productively, she’d freelanced for a couple of clients in Portland.
Her contract with Innovative Designs, a computer technology firm, began at the end of January, two weeks away. For now, Millicent was anxious to get her luggage and go to the condo that she no longer called home. That would be where the test of her healing really started, when she walked into the place that held so many memories, so many dreams, the dreams that had led to…No. Not those thoughts, not right now. She dealt with thoughts of Cy every day, had even dreamed of him. But she didn’t want to think about him right now.
Standing near the carousel, Millicent looked around and saw a man holding a sign that read “Sims.” It was the town car she’d hired. She waved him over, just as the first of her many suitcases came into view. It wasn’t long before the driver saw what he was dealing with and went to find a porter. Fifteen minutes and several suitcases later, they headed out of the airport and into the LA night.
Millicent smiled slightly as familiar sights and streets passed by. It hadn’t been that long, but things looked different somehow, a stark contrast to the clean, calm city of Portland, that’s for sure. One thing hadn’t changed—traffic. Settling back for a long ride, she pulled out her Blackberry and checked e-mails. There weren’t many new ones, as she’d expected. One from Jenny, her real estate agent, confirming their noon appointment the next day; one from Alison, her good friend and one of the few who knew about “the incident” with whom she’d remained in contact; a couple from inspirational sites; and her monthly music selection from BMG. She replied to both Jenny and Alison, read the inspirational messages, and declined the BMG selection before pushing delete.
When she looked up, the car was crossing Wilshire, a main boulevard through the heart of Los Angeles. Her heart tightened a bit. This was the street she regularly took to her old church, Kingdom Citizens’ Christian Center, or KCCC, as it was sometimes referred. Thinking of the church made her think of Cy. Tall, handsome, Cy Taylor, the man she’d believed with all her heart was her husband. Husband! No, stop it. Don’t play the tape again.
Millicent used the techniques her therapist had taught her and switched her thoughts to something different, positive. That’s it, refocus. She thought about the glowing recommendation she’d received from the company in Portland, the one that helped seal the deal at Innovative Designs: “Ms. Sims’s talents and skills are superb; your gain will be our loss.” She remembered the feel of her mother’s arms around her, the unending encouragement that life would get better: “No matter how long the road, dear, eventually there is a turn in it.” She thought about the profit she’d made from the sale of her condo. Six figures in my savings! Maybe Cy will—No, Cy won’t. There were plenty investors in San Diego County. She took a deep breath, counted to three, let it out. Yes, breathe, focus on the breath, positive thoughts. She thought about her mom, the one person on earth who could make her feel better, no matter what. Just then, her phone rang.
“Mom! I was just going to call you!”
“Millie, dear, you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine. I was just thinking of you, that’s all, and wanted you to know that I made it back.” Millicent paused. “I’m on my way to the condo.”
“How are you feeling about that?”
“A