"I know who I'm talking to. Roch.e.l.le is too skinny to live. You're a great size. You just insist on buying clothes that don't fit and make you look bigger than you are. You're beautiful. And those eyes? Man. I was so afraid Ryan still liked you. Really afraid."

Whoa. What was this, Black Confessions? I could only take so much. "Afraid? Of me? Trace, you're like a genius, you dress like a G.o.ddess and you're so nice. Everybody loves you. Everybody."

She sniffed again. "Not everybody. It's horrible out here. Everybody at church has kids. All the women are perfect. Just perfect. A bunch of stay-at-home moms-"

I rubbed my eyes, suddenly feeling very sleepy. "But that's what you want to be, remember? You'll be perfect, too. The best mom ever. Now go back to sleep."

"Sleep? Ha. I can't. I have to run to the bathroom every ten minutes and then I get thirsty. Then I'm hungry, then I get sleepy and right when I nod off, and it starts all over again. I-"

"Tracey." For all my friend's bubbliness, she had a manic side, too, the side I'd considered dousing with punch at her reception. Getting her to stop this hysteria wouldn't be easy. "Let's pray."

"Okay. You go."

Of course. "Lord, You said that children are a blessing from You. Thank You for giving Tracey and Ryan this gift. Help her to stay calm to trust You and do the things she knows to do. Give her the peace that pa.s.ses all understanding."

She sighed through the receiver. "That was soo-oo-o good. Peace that pa.s.ses all understanding. You always know just what to say."

I groaned. "It's in the Bible, Tracey." She always made it sound like I'd made some Shakespearian performance every time I prayed. Her kid would have disgustingly high self-esteem. She'd probably cheer every time she changed a diaper.

"I know, but you just say it so well."

"Whatever. Look, I've got to go. Your church doesn't start until eleven, right?"

"Ten-thirty."

"Okay. Take a nap and have a great worship-"

"Roch.e.l.le is going to have a fit."

I smiled. "A honeymoon baby? Oh, yeah. She'll go nuts. But don't worry about her, she's busy being mad at me."

"What's up with you two? Is it-"

"More than I have time to tell."

"E-mail me."

"I will."

The phone beeped indicating another call. Who was it now? Roch.e.l.le would be on the way to the seven o'clock service by now. Had I given Mother Holly my number? Maybe she'd looked it up in the church directory.

"Look. I've got to go. Someone's calling."

"At this time of the morning? Who is it? Should I hold-"

"No. I love you. And it will be okay. It really will. Bye."

I pressed the b.u.t.ton, collecting my apologies.

"Mother Holly?"

A man's voice, still and calm, answered my greeting. "No, sorry to disappoint. It's Adrian."

I stumbled, trying to jab my foot into my other shoe, now overturned beside the bed. "Uh, hi. Coming to Broken Bread today?" My ankle wobbled. I flopped onto the chair. "Or are you going to the Messianic place?"

"I'm coming with you today. Are you okay?"

Probably sounds like a dogfight over here. "I'm fine." I watched in horror as an inch-wide run tore up my leg like a flame. My last pair of hose.

"I just figured that since we're going out after service to talk business..."

"We are?" I clutched the closet door.

He sounded hurt. "I think that's what your last e-mail said. Me coming to Broken Bread. Us going to lunch to discuss the joint coupon promotion idea?"

Somehow I'd missed that part of the e-mail. Honestly, I'd forgotten the whole thing until he called. I'd have to read these electronic communications from him more closely. Us girls just sent stuff back and forth, knowing we'd have to follow up with a reminder or a call. Guys actually scheduled things based on a "sure." Me, I'm a skimmer. There was always some fine print to our interactions that I never got around to. "Right. Lunch. No problem."

"Great. I'll pick you up," Adrian said calmly, while I tried not to panic.

I stared down at my bare leg peeking through my torn hose. "On second thought, today's probably not the best day. I have to pick up one of the elders this morning."

"Even better. I'd be honored to help. My car's got plenty of room."

I'll bet, I thought, trying to keep my mind off my last image of him-long, strong legs, packed into a pair of jeans. What would he wear today? I gulped, thinking of how he'd looked in that gray suit at Tracey's wedding. Those square-toed shoes...

That's one fine bald-headed somebody.

As I realized that I had just had "man feelings" without realizing or authorizing them, Adrian's voice creaked through the receiver, tangled in a ball of static.

"So...I'll be there in a minute...I'm losing the signal."

"Huh? Wait!" Too late. He was gone.

Chapter Six.

When the doorbell rang, I'd peeled off my ruined stockings, buzzed the downstairs door and ran to my own door, my legs bobbing like skinless drumsticks. I reached for the k.n.o.b, thanking G.o.d that I did at least have good calves. Probably from riding a motorcycle through high school and college. It was hard for me to imagine doing something like that now.

I pulled back the door, hoping Adrian wouldn't notice my fancy-free legs.

My concern was unwarranted. Adrian wasn't the one at the door. The face that met me on the other side, eyes so much like my own, stared back at me, draining any remaining resolve I had.

My brother Jordan. The last person I expected to find at my door. A month ago, I'd been dying to see him. Now, I was late, my legs were bare and I had no idea what to say.

"Hey, sis."

"Come in." It was all I could think of.

We never were close. He was always running, jumping, shooting, dribbling...Moving past me, away from me. Away from the women trailing behind him-Roch.e.l.le, Mama, my sister Dahlia. They pounced on him every chance they got, cornering him, demanding he confess his unrequited love.

And he did, on cue, like a battery-operated action figure, while Daddy and I looked on, both in awe...and disgust. In awe of Jordan's muscles, his magnetism, his power to make the women in our house love him so readily, so greedily. In disgust of the same things. How could he be so cavalier about being, well...himself?

It seemed arrogant in the rudest way then, but looking back, I guess he was just a kid after all. Nineteen. A few years older than Jericho was now. What a switch between those two. If Jordan was so mature and did what he did, what hope was there for Jericho?

Jesus is the only hope for anyone.

I sighed, looking over at my brother, now seated on my sofa, silent after all these years. Where did he stand with Jesus? Was it even appropriate to ask? Most Bible thumpers would have said yes, but I'm more of a relationship witness and right now whatever relationship we might have had seemed nonexistent. Or was there something left?

He'd come to my door today, with not so much as a phone call of warning and knocked softly, as was his way. He'd never needed to pound. Somebody always ran before he could knock twice. He could turn Mama's head just by breathing in her direction. Even now, with his long legs crossed and his Dudley Do-Right dimpled chin perched on his fist, he was Jordan. The one.

"I saw Dad at the airport." His voice surprised me. I'd forgotten the rumble of it, low and warm like those hot toddies Mama used to make us when we had colds. A winter voice.

"Was he drunk?"

Jordan shook his head, his eyes dancing with alarm.

I chuckled. If Dad being drunk worried Jordan, he'd be in for a lot of sleepless nights. Like the ones I'd had worrying about him.

"What did Dad say?" Besides b.u.mming money of course. That was a given.

"Not much. He said I looked good and that Mama had-had missed me. And I should have called or come to the funeral."

Wow. Dad said all that? He must have been really drunk. Or really sober. The sight of Jordan probably freaked him out. I thought back, trying to remember if he'd ever said that much to my brother...nope. In fact, he'd avoided Jordan like a flu bug once he grew past six feet.

I grabbed a pillow from behind me and clutched to my chest, as if to hold my heart in. I hadn't planned to hurt today. Not that the men in my life seemed to notice. Suddenly, the shop, Roch.e.l.le, even Adrian paled in comparison to this moment, this pain I hadn't even realized I had.

A memory invaded my head. "Do you remember payday, J.?"

My brother shrugged his shoulders. Why would he remember? I'd always been the one clinging to Daddy's heels.

"Friday, four o'clock. Dad would toss that money on the table and smile at me. I'd smile back, but Mama didn't. She'd count it, tuck it in her bra and turn back to the stove. Or the sink. Or the refrigerator. But she never smiled. Or said thank you, or even kissed him like those happy blond women on TV. She just kept chopping, scrubbing, cooking..." A tear trailed my cheek.

"Dane..."

I choked up at the image of my mother in the kitchen, her dress bulging with that wad of Daddy's money, her brown eyes glossy and vacant, her lips silent and unkissed.

"'Curse you woman,' Dad would say and march off to the back door, the front door, the window, any way he could get out."

"Yeah. He always was a runner. Always going somewhere."

I guess you got it honest.

"And you know why, J.? Because he couldn't stand to stay and see her eyes light up when her real man came home. Her true love." I turned to face him. "Jordan Kennedy Rose, her only son and gift to the world. The rest of us, well, we'd do in a pinch."

Before, he would have said, "It's not like that." But not today. Today, Mama was dead and we were grown and things just were what they were. There was no use trying to sugarcoat it. I drank in the silence, wondering where Adrian was. The last thing I needed was for him to walk in on me like this. A few swipes with the back of my hand cleared my eyes, but soon they flooded again. Adrian or no Adrian, we had to talk this through.

"I wish it would have been you, Dane. You don't know how it was. So much pressure. I could never just...be, you know. I had to do. Something. Everything. Mama. Roch.e.l.le. Even Dahlia."

I winced at the mention of our little sister. He frowned in confusion, but continued. I hugged the pillow harder. If Roch.e.l.le hadn't told him about me and Dahlia, then I wasn't going to, either. Not now, anyway.

"Everybody was depending on me to make it to the NBA, to bring us out. Even Daddy. He might not have said anything, but he didn't pay for those sneakers for nothing. The message was clear. Make it or don't come back."

I tossed the pillow on the floor. It wasn't helping. "But you did make it." I stood, trying to run before I lost it. Too late. "And you didn't come back!" The scream came up from my toes.

Sobs wracked my body. Jordan caught my wrist, pulling me down onto his lap. "I'm sorry."

"Mama waited for you! They all did. They sat by the phone every night. Watched your games on TV. Tried to call the team..." My fists pummeled his chest. His face. He didn't try to shield himself, only held me tight by my waist. Finally, I collapsed on his shoulder.

"She died waiting for you. That morning, before she had the stroke, she said, 'Did he call?' 'No, Mama,' I told her. 'He'll call tomorrow.' Tomorrow. She said that every day. But you...never...came!"

Jordan pulled me closer and lifted my hands, inspecting each of my fingers, like a father to a baby. He let me cry until I fell silent.

He looked down at me. "Are you done?"

I slumped against his chest. "No. But I'm tired."

He reached for a tissue from the table behind us. I took it and dabbed my face, trying not to think about what I'd look like when Adrian arrived. Right now, I just wanted him to knock on the door. I needed him.

"You don't have anything to say about Roch.e.l.le, Dana? About the baby?"

Baby? Jericho? The boy was almost six foot three. If he qualified as a baby, Tracey was in big trouble. "I don't even want to get into that. I'm just going to say that since Mama died, Roch.e.l.le has been there for me every step of the way. We raised your son-Roch.e.l.le, Tracey and I. Only now, he doesn't want-or need-any of us. He needs a man. Something you obviously know nothing about being."

He lowered me back to the couch, talking in that Nat King Cole voice again. "Now we're getting somewhere. Let it out."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Well, first of all, it's no fun screaming at someone who isn't screaming back and second of all it doesn't matter. It's done. Forgiven. Over."

Jordan bridged his fingers under his chin, then sat back on my sectional. He still had the same dark curls, though it looked as if someone had cut out a perfect circle in the top with a rotary cutter. Still tall, but not as tall as I'd remembered him. He was a giant to me back then. Now for all his height, he looked small. Old, as if this whole mess had hurt him just as bad. Only his eyes held that same twinkle.

Mama's twinkle.

"Forgiven, huh? It sure doesn't sound like it. Say what you need to say. I can take it. I just wanted to come here to see you-"

"See me? Didn't you see me waiting scared to death in the hospital room with Roch.e.l.le? You didn't just leave her...or Jericho. You left me." Though I screamed the words in my head, they came out as a whisper, like ashes of all the love I'd once had for him. Love? Yes, in spite of myself, I had loved my brother. And loved him still.

Where was that pillow? I reached behind me and dug my fingers into another one. Why couldn't Jordan have come here after church? I stiffened. Had he gone to Roch.e.l.le's with this same calm speech? I remembered his unscratched face and knife sharp pleats when he'd come inside. Nope. He'd come here first.

"Dad says he's handsome. Tall."

"Jericho?" My face crumpled, realizing he hadn't seen Jericho since...well, ever. Just those baby pictures Mama had sent everywhere. Most of them returned.