One Prayer Away (19 page)

“I'll bring those out for you in a moment.” The waitress tossed Virtue one last look of bewilderment and then left the three of them alone once more.

Mitchell still knew her well, and Virtue was uneasy with having to admit that truth to herself. Seafood had always been her favorite, but when they'd been together, they had dined Italian often. Mitchell couldn't have known that the specialized grilled chicken dish was what she'd had her mind set on ordering, yet he'd ordered it on her behalf without even being given a hint. Virtue was left a bit confused by his request for hot water, but she hadn't
overlooked the fact that he remembered her favorite hot beverage. With all of that, she still never took her eyes from the table in front of her.

“It's okay, Virtue,” Beverly said as she placed a comforting arm around her friend.

Virtue wanted to look in her mentor's eyes for additional confirmation, but she couldn't. If she brought her eyes up from the table, she'd not only see Beverly, but she'd be forced to look at Mitchell as well. She wasn't ready to do that. The persistent quiet was getting to be too much to suffer, though. Virtue was just about to pick up her purse and demand that Beverly let her out of the booth when Mitchell spoke.

“I'm sorry, Virtue.”

Her body tensed at the words that Beverly had presumed he'd say. Those were the words, Virtue had been told on more than one occasion, that would give her closure and at the same time allow Mitchell the reprieve he needed in order to move forward. They were the words that would set him free, the words that would allow her to release him. Another tear dropped from her eyes onto the table.

“You don't have to say anything,” Mitchell told her. “Just let me talk. Let me get this off of my chest, and I promise I'll never impose on you again.”

Virtue shifted her eyes for the first time since Mitchell had taken the seat across from her. Her stare traveled from the table to Beverly's hand, which rested a few inches from Virtue's original focus point. Her own hands were locked together in her lap, and Virtue squeezed her fingers together, hurting her hands as she tightened her hold. Mitchell spoke again.

“I don't deserve anything from you, but there are some things that I need to say, things that I desperately need you to hear, so I thank you for being here. I know it wasn't an easy decision.”

Virtue's body felt cemented in its position. She was grateful for the napkin that Beverly used to absorb the tears that continued to stream from her eyes. More would be spilling soon, but for the moment Virtue was able to see the table more clearly.

“I made a mistake,” Mitchell said and then quickly corrected himself. “
Two
mistakes. When I finally owned up to my problems, I sought help for both my drinking and my anger. During my therapy, I was told that many times the victims in situations like ours blame themselves in some way for what happened. I'm not saying that you blamed yourself for anything, but if you do or if you ever did, I need you to know that none of what happened was your fault.”

Oh, I know it wasn't my fault. If you think I've blamed myself in any of this, you couldn't be more wrong!
That was what her insides screamed, but Virtue knew that she couldn't voice it. Not with Beverly, the woman who had been her counselor for a year, sitting right beside her. Virtue had told Beverly
everything
; and even now, as her former therapist nodded her head at Mitchell's words, she'd already given Virtue's one-time sense of guilt away.

Their waitress returned, bringing with her three plates of food that teased the nostrils. As delicious as it smelled and as hungry as she was, Virtue knew that she wouldn't be able to eat hers. Her stomach had begun tying itself in knots the moment Mitchell joined them at the table, and it hadn't stopped since.

Carefully balancing the large round tray in one hand, the waitress used the other to distribute the dinners and beverages to their owners. After she'd successfully dispersed the meals, the waitress tucked the tray under her arm and looked at each of them.

“Can I get you anything else?”

“You can go ahead and bring us a couple of carryout boxes,” Mitchell said. “I doubt we'll be able to eat all of this.”

Virtue blinked. He'd read her thoughts again.

“So, three carryout boxes, then?” the waitress offered.

“Oh, uh-uh, honey,” Beverly said, shaking her head for emphasis. “Just bring boxes for the two of them. There won't be nothing left on my plate to carry nowhere.”

Virtue didn't look up, but she heard Mitchell release a soft laugh. Imagining the expression on Beverly's face as she spoke to the server, Virtue probably would have laughed too. But just like the knots in her stomach wouldn't allow anything in, they also wouldn't allow anything out. She continued her silence while Mitchell reached across the table and beckoned for Beverly's hand. Beverly didn't hesitate, and in turn, she placed her unoccupied hand on top of Virtue's.

In the entire three years that they'd been married, Virtue couldn't recall one time when Mitchell had graced his food. In fact, she couldn't remember a time when she'd ever seen him pray in any form. She was astonished that he so freely did it in an open place such as this. When the blessing ended, Beverly wasted little time cutting into her steak. In a way, Virtue felt betrayed. The comforting arm that had been around her for the duration of Mitchell's spiel had now left her to help feed its owner a ribeye. Virtue made no attempt to eat, and neither did Mitchell. But Beverly didn't seem affected by their decisions.

“You never deserved it, Virtue,” Mitchell said while retrieving a packet of apple cider mix from his pocket and emptying it in his cup. “All you ever were to me was good. I couldn't have asked for a better wife, and I certainly couldn't have asked for a more beautiful one.”

His latest words caused Beverly to pause from her meal but not for long. The words had a different effect on Virtue. The skipping of her heart irritated her. As far as she was concerned, nothing Mitchell said should affect her in a positive manner. She
knew
she had been good to him. She didn't need him to validate what kind of wife she'd been.

“I know none of what I say means much to you now,” he said. “But it means a lot to me that you'll allow me say it. I loved you, Virtue. I still . . .”

Everything seemed to be placed on pause. Mitchell stopped his sentence. Beverly stopped in the middle of her newest cut. Virtue's heart stopped . . . but ironically she could still feel it pounding in her ears. When Mitchell spoke again, he'd chosen to leave his last thought dangling.

“Seven years is a long time. Every Christmas I think of another year that my stupidity cost me. Now here it is again. Christmas is just days away. Our tenth anniversary, or what would have been, is just days away. And instead of being able to celebrate it the way I should have, I'm forced to once again look the man I used to be right in the eye and see what a fool he was.”

Beverly finally began eating again, but her movements had become slower. She had managed to keep her feelings to herself, but Virtue knew that as soon as they were alone, Beverly would have a lot to say. Probably more than she wanted to hear.

“I need you to know that I'm not that man anymore, Virtue,” Mitchell continued. “I'm sorry for everything he did to you. For those two years of having to hear him rant and rave about things that didn't make sense. For the curses that he yelled at you and for the times that he told you that you would never succeed as a dancer. For the day he even thought in his drunken mind to draw back his hand to hit you . . .”

The steadiness in Mitchell's voice broke, and for the first time Virtue was tempted to look up at him. Maybe she just wanted to see if the genuineness that saturated his voice showed any signs of itself in his eyes. She didn't know the reason, but she now struggled to keep her eyes staring at the table. Mitchell cleared his throat in an attempt to keep his emotions in check, and then he spoke again.

“I'm sorry for everything he did to you.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “For what it's worth, I've been clean for quite a while—three years, actually. Betty Ford opened my eyes, but it was God who gave me the sight to see.”

Virtue looked out the corner of her eye and saw Beverly place her knife and fork on her plate. She'd lost interest in her food just as the waitress brought the requested carry-out boxes. Noting that neither Mitchell nor Virtue had touched their food, the woman became concerned.

“Was everything all right with your meals?”

“The meals are fine,” Mitchell answered, tossing her a look of appreciation. “We just decided to take them with us, that's all.”

“All right then,” she replied with a satisfied smile. “Will these be on separate checks?”

“No,” Mitchell said, overriding Beverly's nod. “A single check is fine.”

Once the waitress was gone again, Mitchell slid his plate to the side and used the empty space in front of him as a prop for his elbows. “As much as I know that God has forgiven me, I wanted to ask your forgiveness too, Virtue. You don't have to answer me now. You don't have to answer me ever. But I needed you to know that I am sorry and that I'd take it all back if I could. If you don't find it in your heart to forgive me, I can't exactly say that I blame you. But I hope that you can see beyond the man who hurt you and see the sincerity in the man sitting across from you now. I promise you, they're not the same people.”

Seventeen

E
funsgun Fynn had never considered himself to be a jealous man, but today he wrestled with the green-eyed monster in a way that was foreign to him. He should have been putting the finishing touches on the dramatization that the youth department would be performing next Saturday. Instead, he stood at the window of his office, looking at the world outside and wondering what had become of the meeting that his chosen bride had had with her former husband.

In hindsight, Fynn hoped he hadn't been too harsh in the delivery of his words to Virtue. He truly did love her, but in his attempt to draw her close to him, he felt that he may have pushed her away.

“It's a shame what the white man's beliefs have done to the mentality of our people,” Fynn said aloud. His father had taught him early in life that a weak mind made a man more susceptible to deadly disease than did a weak body.

“Sick bodies are far easier to heal than sick minds,” Obatala had said on many occasions while his sons sat at
his feet. “You must never relinquish your place as a man. The Creator made you to be the strongest and the highest of any other. People may strip you of many things as you grow older, but never allow them to strip you of your manhood. Sometimes it's all you've got.”

No one knew better than Fynn about how his people defined marriage. Realizing that she was born and raised in this foreign country called America, to parents who identified themselves as Americans, he even understood Virtue's ignorance. The weak minds of Blacks in America had been instilled with worthless information that was intended to rob them of the principles of their motherland. Little girls here had been raised to believe that education was the key to get them to the places in life that they wanted to be, but Fynn had been taught differently.

Education belonged to the leaders of the family. Men were the ones who needed the wisdom that came in textbook form. This was especially true in the United States. Black men needed to be educated so that they could know when they were being lied to and manipulated by those who thought of themselves as superior.

“An ignorant man is a dead man,” his father had often said. “And a dead man is worth nothing.”

Although Obatala was only a toddler when his family migrated to the United States, he had always held strong to his roots and passed the importance of doing so on to his children, particularly his boys. Fynn's grandfather, Bomani (meaning warrior), spoke only French, but managed to be successful at bringing his family to the States in search of a better life for them. Conditions in Niger had been very poor, even worse than today. Life expectancy was low, and there was little adequate work to be found. Although Bomani had left his native land, he too remained true to many of the traditions he'd grown up with. While attending the public school systems in America, Obatala and his siblings were taught English, and although his children were exposed
to English all of their lives, Obatala made sure that all of them were fluent in their native language as well.