Not to the Swift

Chapter 5

Decked out in an earthy brown suit and a lime green tie, George walked with LaTasha on his arm as the Washington family entered New Hope Tabernacle's cozy foyer. A thin middle-aged man in long black robes with a maroon mantle laid over white stood at the door to the sanctuary. His horn-rim glasses hung down over a gold cross stitched into the mantle.

"Brother Washington," he called, his face bright and inviting.

"Bishop Simms," George replied with an extended hand.

"Welcome to the house of God! Good morning, Sister. Thank you once again for the service you and your children provide. The church was positively gleaming this morning when I unlocked the doors."

"You're welcome, Bishop," LaTasha said, beaming. "Gotta teach these two the value of hard work. We're glad to help out any time."

Henry Simms laughed. "How about same time this Saturday?"

LaTasha chuckled. "We'll be here."

George suppressed a snort. Like it ain't already been figured out for months in advance. Every able-bodied member had a month or two on the list in the church office. LaTasha volunteered the kids for two months to keep Elder Henry from throwing out his back scrubbing toilets and sweeping the floor.

Bishop Simms straightened up before Chris. "Good morning, young man. Isn't it good to be in the house of the Lord?" His deep voice spoke with precision and gravity.

That's what LaTasha liked best when Bishop took over. No "Lawd" or "Jeezus" or traditional "chu'ch" preaching here. Not for the first time, George longed for the passionate Gospel services he'd grown up in. Messy sometimes, but folk were real.

They found their usual pew, three rows from the front on the left side. LaTasha's mother already occupied her spot at the outside aisle. With salt-and-pepper hair pulled into a tight bun underneath a sunhat to match her Sunday dress, and a stern glare as hard as oak when needed, Nana's thin frame showed no signs of frailty. She hadn't grown weaker over the years, just tougher. "Good mornin', Nana," George said.

LaTasha hugged Nana, then the kids followed. Nana snuck René a pink buttermint from a metal case in her purse, and René beamed.

Henry Simms' wife, First Lady Evonne approached with a notepad. Her long hair had been relaxed then curled into a pristine style that shimmered in the light. She wore a dress splashed with luscious rose reds and maroons to complement her husband's colors. "LaTasha, my, you're the picture of beauty. I'm taking down names for our Thanksgiving potluck, and I wondered if you can provide a side dish."

George tuned out the women's voices and headed over to lay a hug on JJ—who sat alone—and Thomas, whose wife wrangled their three unruly boys into their pew.

The guys engaged in small talk as the rest of the congregation filed in. Services started at ten, or so the sign said out front. Truth is, fellowship starts at ten, and the service starts whenever. And that's fine by me.

Then George saw Clarence and Dre slip into the back pew. Dre looked respectable in dark slacks with a bright button-down and matching tie. Probably from his Mama. After the divorce, after Clarence landed in the pen for the second time, Nadine found comfort with a wealthy doctor she met in her job at the hospital.

Clarence wore his best too, such as it was. A loose denim jacket covered a clean monochrome T-shirt hanging loose over the waistline of his slacks. He caught a few disapproving glances from other members. In the small congregation, where everyone knew everyone else, there was nowhere to hide.

I better go give him a greeting, let him know he's welcome. But the anger from the night before surged back up into George's chest. His feet stood still.