Chapter 8
Latoya (née Moët)
“L
et the church say . . .”
“Amen,” the entire congregation sang in unison.
Latoya lowered the right hand she held up during the benediction. She smiled up at her husband standing proud in the pulpit of the United Love Church of Christ. She kept her eyes on him as he shook the hands of the other ministers in the pulpit before one of the ushers helped him to remove his robe as everyone in the church looked on.
Taquan straightened his silver and blue tie and smoothed his hands over the front of his gray suit as he came down the few stairs to make his way over to where she sat in the front pew to the right of the pulpit. He pressed a kiss to her brow and then bent a bit to kiss the cheek of their six-month-old son, Taquan Jr. Lastly, he picked Tiffany up and sat her up on his hip. Together they made their way up the empty aisle as the ushers kept any of the churchgoers from flooding the aisle. They exited the massive double doors of the church and came down the stairs to stand at the foot of the brick steps.
It was a routine they had down pat. They could all do it in their sleep.
“Smile, Latoya,” Taquan said low in his throat to her as the first of the worshippers began to descend the stairs.
Latoya put on her perfect First Lady smile as they shook the hands and shared a few words with his flock. She was there physically but her mind was elsewhere. She was on autopilot. Said the right things. Kept her composure. Played the perfect role.
Just the way Taquan wanted.
Just the way the Reverend Taquan Sanders wanted it.
What did Latoya want? She didn't know for sure and Taquan didn't care. And that left her in one helluva rut.
“You know how to deliver the word, Rev.”
Latoya shifted the baby in her arms as she looked over at her husband smiling broadly as a tall and round man shook his hand vigorously. She had a vision of her husband turning his hand over and presenting his ring to be kissed. She snorted in derision.
Taquan and the man both glanced at her.
Latoya gave them her hallelujah smile as she lifted the baby up onto her shoulder and soothingly rubbed his back.
“Sister Sanders, the baby is getting so big.”
Latoya shifted her eyes down to Reeba Nunzio, the president of the Women's Ministries. The woman was barely five feet in height and wide like she enjoyed good food all the time. Latoya could barely stand her. If the woman put as much time into praying as she did burning up phone lines with gossip she'd be the next Mother Teresa. “Yes, he surely is,” Latoya finally answered her and then eased her free hand past the woman to shake the hand of the next person in line.
And she shook hand after hand and gave smile after smile as she felt her calves cramping from standing up. She checked and was glad to see the line of parishioners was finally dwindling
. Thank God for
that.
It wasn't that she didn't want to spare any of her time on the churchgoers; she just had so much on her plate. Her life was so much more than just sitting and looking pretty on Sundays. She was busier now than she was working for DYFS. It was no joke being a full-time mother, wife, and First Lady to an ambitious minister.
And Taquan was very ambitious. So much so that his eyes were locked on his goal and completely missing the unhappiness he was causing in their marriage. In her.
“We need to get the kids home for a nap,” she said, reaching up to wipe a fine beading of sweat from her daughter's forehead as she slept on Taquan's shoulder.
“We can put them down on the sofa in my office,” he said as they turned and walked back up the stairs and into the church. “I have a meeting with the deacon board.”
Latoya felt her jaw clench. “Taquan, we came early because you had a church board meeting. I still have to finish dinner, prepare my speech for the awards banquet tomorrow, clean the houseâ”
He stopped in the middle of the aisle and looked down at her. “Latoya, you know I am trying to get everyone to support getting a loan for the renovation of the church,” he said.
“Yes, I know but what I don't know is why you even want to double the size of the church anyway,” she said, her eyes widening in frustration. “You're already stretched with the church at
this
capacity.”
Taquan's frame stiffened. “And it's up to you to put a limit on the Lord's work.”
“I think the Lord's work can be done in a megachurch or in a lot,” she snapped, as she used her free hand to shake Tiffany lightly. “Come on baby wake up.”
“I'll carry her to the car for you,” Taquan said, turning and striding away from her back down the aisle.
Latoya looked around at the large church that could easily seat a thousand people or better. And although it didn't matter to her the church was beautiful. White walls. Stained glass windows with Biblical figures. Deep oxblood carpets. Pews that were a dark mahogany.
Why isn't this enough for him?
Taquan had received his calling four years ago and attended divinity school. Initially Latoya had felt it was a blessing to be married to a minister. She felt like they could really do God's work, but once he was appointed as the minister of United Love his work became more about growing the church than growing within the church. Everything he did was not for the glory and grace of God but for impressing someone else or garnering support for something else he planned. All of it was to make himself more powerful.
Everything else, including their marriage and even his relationship with the children, was falling to the wayside.
With one last look around Latoya turned and headed out the church. Taquan was already buckling Tiffany into her booster seat in their white Denali. She walked around to the other side of the car and placed the baby in his car seat in the second row.
They looked up at each other briefly as they worked.
Just as quickly they looked away.
“I'll come back and get you when you're done,” she said softly, her eyes on a smiling Taquan Jr. She genuinely smiled down at him in return, feeling her heart swell with motherly love.
“It shouldn't be any more than a couple of hours at the most.”
Latoya nodded as she stepped back and closed the door. She gave herself a few deep, calming breaths before coming around to slide into the driver's seat. She didn't particularly care for driving the SUV, especially in a skirt almost to her ankles and heels almost to the sky, but she didn't have a choice since they all drove together.
Taquan came over and closed the driver's side door. Latoya lowered the window as she turned the key in the ignition. “No kiss, huh?” he asked.
She turned and looked at him, a smile begrudgingly spreading across her face. They always shared a kiss whenever they separated. Always. Even if they were mad enough at each other to spit, they still shared that kiss. Be it on the lips or cheek it was a moment to demonstrate their love that they never let pass.
Latoya closed her eyes and puckered her lips as she leaned out the window.
“Reverend Sanders!” someone called out.
Latoya waited for the touch of her husband's lips. And when the moment never arrived she opened one eye to see her husband hustling over to the church steps where the members of the deacon board all stood. “No, this nigga didn't,” she muttered in surprise.
But he absolutely did.
Latoya fought the urge to flip the whole crew of them a forceful bird as she raised the window and reversed out of the reserved parking place. She checked her rearview mirror and Taquan entered the church without sparing a glance.
Or thought.
And there on the edge of every other emotion was anger. It was stewing slow and long, but there. She felt it like a second skin. Swallowed it like water. Embraced it like a long lost friend. Like three long lost friends that she turned her back on for
him
. Danielle, Keesha, and Monica were three of the most important people in her life but the day after they were married she packed up her things, gathered her daughter in her arms, and moved in with Taquan. No phone calls. No visits. No catching up. Nothing.
And as her happiness dwindled, her anger over that grew until it had a pulse of its own.
During the entire twenty-minute drive to the home the church provided for their use, Latoya dwelled somewhere inside the triangle of anger, hurt, and emptiness. Each of the emotions took their blows. She was just grateful that Taquan Jr. was a pleasant baby who only cried for a Pampers change, out of hunger, or from a certain positioning during sleep. And Tiffany slept peacefully.
She would absolutely freak if she had to deal with her emotions, traffic, a crying baby, and a talkative child. She would absolutely freak. Like hit the brakes in the middle of the road and snatch every single piece of hair from her body. Just freak.
“Never would have made it . . .”
Latoya pulled to a stop at the next red light and reached in her console for her cell phone. She always left it in the car during the church services. Checking the caller ID she shook her head. “No. No. No,” she said, letting the phone slide back down onto the console as she accelerated forward.
She loved her parents and they had come through the roughest of times over the last ten years with the war between their strict religious beliefs and her desires to be anything but religious. Like seriously rough, but they were in a better place and they were so eating up the fact that their daughter was a minister's wife, but at times they were still overbearing. Still pushing her more toward their way of loving God than her own.
“Your skirt is too short. ”
“Are you having a glass of wine with dinner?”
“Those are some . . . high heels.”
“Is that any way for a minister's wife to act?”
Latoya shook her head as she made the turn onto the paved driveway of their modest two-story brick home. It was a nice, family-oriented neighborhood in Hartford, Connecticut, just a few blocks from the school and a park. To Latoya the house was the best of the perks the church offered.
She climbed from the car and opened the rear door. “Come on and wake up, Tiffany,” she said, gently nudging. She hated to do it but she had to because there was no way she could carry both of the kids in her arms.
“Surprise!”
Latoya froze as she was bending over to unlock Tiffany's seat belt.
Tiffany lifted up in the booster seat and turned to look out the rear window. “It's Grandma . . . and Grandpa,” she said with excitement, all of her sleep completely gone.
Latoya wished she could feel the same way. She undid the seat belt and Tiffany climbed down and pushed past her to go running toward her grandfather. The other rear door opened and her mother spared her a quick glance before she cooed at Taquan Jr. as she freed him from his car seat.
As always, Lou Mae's naturally waist-length hair was twisted up into a bun at the nape of her neck and her face was completely free of makeup. She wore a beige T-shirt and long jean skirt that shadowed the tops of her flat shoes. Latoya's mother could make Michelle Duggar look like a sexpotâand that's what she wanted from her three daughters as well.
“How are you, Mama?” Latoya asked, stepping back to close the door.
“Better now,” Mrs. James said, her Alabama accent still in place. She pressed her face into the baby's neck.
“So y'all were just in the neighborhood . . . from Newark?” she asked.
“We need an invite to see our family?” she countered.
Latoya let her be. The summer sun beamed down on them brightly and Latoya shaded her eyes with her hands as she looked at her father walking up to her with Tiffany's hand firmly in his. She felt a pang of regret that he had never been that demonstrative with her or her younger sisters. When they were growing up Deacon James had nothing but condemnation and Bible verses for them.
“Hi Daddy,” she said, not knowing if she should hug him or kiss him or just nod.
Latoya wondered if the awkwardness between them would ever thin.
“Is that what you wore to church?” he asked, frowning a bit over the rim of his glasses.
Latoya ignored the question and moved past him to hug each of her sisters. Latasha was eighteen and Latrece was about to turn seventeen. They reminded her so much of herself at that age, looking like mini-Mamas with their gloss-free lips and severe ponytails. Spending time with them was the only bright spot of this family hijackingâuh, visit.
They weren't going to say much in front of their parents and Latoya knew she would have to get them alone to really get the scoop on how they were doing. She turned and moved back to the SUV to retrieve her purse from the car, then unlocked the front door. She froze as she took in the unkempt living room. Tiffany's and Taquan's toys were everywhere. The laundry she had yet to fold was in a hamper by the suede sofa. The dishes from the breakfast they ate were in front of the television set. And no, there was no down-home Sunday dinner waiting to be eaten.
Latoya's shoulders slumped lower than Eeyore's from
Winnie-the-Pooh.
She opened the door wide and waved them in. “Excuse the houseâ”
“Lord,
truly
have mercy,” Mrs. James sighed.
Her father clucked his tongue in disapproval.
Taquan Jr. reached for Latoya.
Tiffany went straight to the sixty-inch flat screen and turned on her favorite DVD of
The Powerpuff Girls
.
“Excuse me,” Latoya said, holding up her hand and turning to head down the hall to the guest bathroom off the den.