Something Old, Something New

SOMETHING OLD,

SOMETHING NEW

A Blessings Novel

Beverly Jenkins

Dedication

Reverend Stacy Salles

for her friendship, faith, and cowboy boots

Contents

Prologue

Miami, Florida

R
everend Paula Grant walked into her small, cluttered office and sat down tiredly in her tattered brown leather chair. She'd just come from a meeting with her bishop, where she'd been informed that her inner-city church, named after Absalom Jones, the nineteenth-century founder of the nation's first Black Episcopal church, would be closing in a month. The city wanted the land for razing and regentrification, and the bishop wanted the profit from the sale to shore up the diocese's ailing coffers. It was a win-win situation for everyone involved, except Paula and her congregation.

Her protests on behalf of the homeless and indigent who made up her congregation had been anticipated by the bishop; she wasn't know as Rev. Pesky Paula without reason, so he'd countered her arguments by showing her data on just how much keeping Absalom open was costing the diocese in terms of costs, salaries, and insurance premiums. She'd be the first to admit that Old Ab, as it was known in the neighborhood, hadn't pulled its financial weight in the decade she'd been at the helm, but she didn't remember Jesus having to meet budgetary expectations in his ministry. His work had been about saving souls, and so had hers. However, the church of the twenty-first century needed money to do what Jesus instructed his followers to do, and since Old Ab was worth more shuttered than open, she and the crumbling edifice had to go.

She sighed audibly. It hurt knowing that in thirty days the doors would be padlocked, and those in greatest need would have to find somewhere else to go to sing their off-tune praises on Sunday mornings—not that the homeless, addicts, prostitutes, or felons that filled Old Ab's pews would be welcomed at any of the other nearby houses of worship, but apparently that wasn't anyone's concern, either. The bishop had even offered her a severance bonus if she followed her church into nonexistence. “You're close to retirement age,” he'd pointed out gently.

Paula was fifty-five years young and hardly ready to be put out to pasture. It had taken her many years to answer God's call. After finishing college at Spelman, she'd taken her BS in psychology and turned it into a master's in child psychology. She then added a doctorate. As Dr. Paula Grant, she began her new career teaching graduate students, but when that no longer satisfied her, she opened a private practice, treating the moneyed and oftentimes spoiled African-American teens of Atlanta. However, always in the back of her mind and in the front of her heart was the joy of Christ, so fifteen years ago she'd surrendered to the call and given herself over to God.

After completing seminary and her ordination, she was handed the keys to her own church, Old Ab, in one of the seediest neighborhoods of Miami. Days later, she learned that she'd been offered the parish because no other priest wanted it, but that didn't matter. From the moment she set eyes on the half-a-century-old place with its crumbling spires and Gothic bones and met its eccentric, transient congregation, she knew she was home.

Now home was being yanked out from under her feet like a threadbare rug, and she was out of work. The bishop assured her that had he another position to offer her, he would, but economic times being what they were and with more people spending Sunday mornings online than in church, she'd have to leave Florida if she wanted to continue as an Episcopal priest.

She dropped her head in her hands. It was her belief that when God was in the mix, things happened for a reason, but as with most movings of the Spirit, she had no idea what that reason might be. She got up and walked over to the window. In the years since her arrival, the neighborhood had changed. Gone were the mom-and-pop stores and small businesses that once offered everything from fresh bread to dry cleaning to shoe repair. Now the church and its struggling neighbors were surrounded by graffiti-sprayed storefronts sporting security bars in faded buildings that seemed to sag under the combined weight of weariness and neglect. Even the church had been broken into more times than she'd ever reported to the authorities, but soon the whole area would be bulldozed and prettied up for the moneyed latte crowd, with their imported cars, time-shares, and 1.2 children.

She asked forgiveness for her bitter thoughts and knew that God was upstairs shaking His head. Paula asked for forgiveness a lot, but He was patient with her, so she supposed she had to be patient with herself. In thirty days, life would begin anew, and she couldn't help but wonder where the call would lead her next.

Chapter 1

September

A
t 6:00 a.m. Lily Fontaine was awakened by the ringtone on her phone crooning “Reunited,” the old-school tune by Peaches and Herb. Smiling sleepily, she rolled over and picked up. “Morning.”

“Morning. Did I wake you?”

The sound of Trent's voice filled her up like she was seventeen all over again. She turned over onto her back. “Yes, but there's nothing better than hearing from the man I love. How are you?”

“Wishing we were already married so I could wake up with you. You always sound so warm and soft in the mornings.”

Lily's heart skipped. “For a country boy, you're pretty seductive at the crack of dawn.”

“Only with you.”

Was it any wonder she loved him? “You want to come over for breakfast?”

“Can't. Meeting with the Dads at the Dog in about an hour. Did you sleep well?”

“I did, but I'll sleep better once we say ‘I do.' ”

“Now who's being seductive?”

“Just trying to keep up with you.” She told herself for the five hundredth time how blessed she was to have Trent July in her life.

“Well, hold that thought, the wedding date'll be here before you know it.”

“Can't we just elope?”

He chuckled. “Not if we want to come back and live here.”

“There is that.” An elopement would definitely disappoint everyone in town.

“Anything special on your agenda for the day?”

“Not that I know of, but this is Henry Adams. No telling what may have jumped off by the time the sun sets.”

“True, so let me let you go. Just wanted to give you your wake-up call. I love you, girl.”

“Love you back. Bye.”

Sighing contentedly, she lay there for a moment, then set the phone aside and left the bed to begin her day.

T
he Dog and Cow was the only dining establishment in Henry Adams, Kansas, and at 7:00 a.m. the booths and tables were just beginning to fill with construction-crew members, businessmen in suits, and a few casually dressed locals. In another hour the place would be bustling. The young waitstaff would be weaving in and out of the crowd, carrying piled-high plates of some of the best food in the county, while old-school music blared from the diner's fancy red jukebox.

Now, however, the place was quiet, the satin voice of Sarah Vaughan floating on the air.

In one of the back booths, Mayor Trent July was presiding over the weekly Thursday meeting of Dads Inc., an organization formed over the summer to provide a way for local fathers to get together and talk about the challenges they faced raising their children. The local women, led by town owner Bernadine Brown and Tamar July, Trent's grandmother, were forces of nature, and sometimes the dads needed the male bonding time to weather the storms.

In attendance was: Colonel Barrett Payne USMC, retired; Dr. Reggie Garland, town pediatrician; and Jack James, Henry Adams's only schoolteacher.

“So how's everybody doing?” Trent asked his comrades.

Reg sighed aloud. “Still missing Roni.”

They all nodded understandingly. Roni was Reg's wife, and an award-winning R&B singer. She was in New York, working on her newest CD.

“I thought she was going to record in the studio you all were building here,” the colonel said.

“So did I,” Reg replied, looking out from behind black-rimmed glasses. “But she decided to stay with the studio in New York. Said she didn't want to mess up the groove, and dealing with the building of the studio here was going to take time away from recording. She'll do the next CD here.”

Trent sipped his juice and asked, “How's Zoey handling Roni being gone?”

Reggie's smile showed the fondness he felt for his mute but musically talented eight-year-old daughter. “She's a trooper. She's been real patient, but she's missing her mama big-time.”

Trent understood, and seeing the way Reg had been moping around, it was obvious that Zoey wasn't the only one missing Roni big-time.

“Not to change the subject,” Colonel Payne said to Reg, “but do you think it's okay for Preston to run laps in the mornings before school? He says he wants to get in shape.” Preston was the foster son of the colonel and his wife, Sheila.

“Since when?” Trent asked, his surprise echoed in the faces of Reg and Jack.

“Since Leah.”

“Ah,” they all said.

Jack quipped, “Nothing like discovering girls to make you want to change your look.”

Leah was the eldest daughter of Gary Clark, one of Trent's old high school buddies. The overweight Preston and the stick-thin Leah had been introduced last summer, and upon discovering they both loved physics as much as they did breathing, the two had become instant friends.

“Can Preston do laps with his asthma?” Jack asked, adding more ketchup to his eggs and hash browns.

“Olympian Jackie Joyner-Kersee has asthma, and she does okay,” Reg replied. “Preston just has to listen to his body.” He directed his next words to Barrett. “Bring Preston into the clinic and let me give him a quick once-over and share some dos and don'ts. Losing weight will help him physically as long as you don't push him like one of your boot camp recruits.”

Barrett got the point. “I won't.”

Trent knew that Barrett would be the first to admit that parenting Preston had been difficult during the first year of their relationship, but in the past few months he had made tremendous strides bonding with his son.

Rocky Dancer, the Dog's lady manager and head cook, walked over to their booth carrying a carafe of hot coffee. “Anybody need a warm-up?”

Jack's cup was full, but he held it out anyway. Trent smiled inwardly. Jack considered himself in love with the drop-dead-gorgeous, stacked-to-the-max Rocky, but getting her to give him more than a warm-up for his coffee was proving difficult. She and Trent had grown up together, and she remained one of the toughest women he knew. Although Trent kept telling Jack he stood a snowball's chance in hell of getting next to her, the schoolteacher remained focused and undeterred.

Rocky poured an inch of brew into Jack's full cup and turned away. “Anyone else?”

Her frosty attitude caused Jack to shoot Trent a knowing smile, and it occurred to Trent that Jack was actually enjoying the challenge.

“If you need anything else, just holler,” she said. After giving Jack a grim look, she and her carafe departed to serve the other diners.

As they all watched her walk away, Reggie asked Jack, “So how's your campaign going?”

Amusement lit Jack's black eyes. “She can run, but she can't hide.”

The men laughed loud and long.

“What's so funny?” The question came from Malachi July, Trent's father and owner of the Dog and Cow. He and his coffee cup were standing in the spot Rocky had just vacated.

Jack explained, “We're laughing at my quest to win the hand of yon fair maiden.”

They could see her now talking with a small group of construction workers seated in a booth up front.

Mal shook his head. “Be easier to catch the wind, son.”

Jack shrugged. “I got nothing but time.”

Mal sat down next to Trent. “We'll put that on your headstone.”

Trent checked out the letters on his father's black tee. The shirt appeared to be new. “GD Inc.?”

Mal glanced down at the big gold letters emblazoned across his chest. “Yeah. Thought I'd form my own support group and get my own shirt.”

Reg grinned. “I'm almost scared to ask, but what's GD stand for?'

“Grand Dad, of course.” Mal swiveled around so they could see the letters
OG
emblazoned on the back of the shirt.

Trent chuckled. “I keep telling you OG stands for Old Geezer.”

“And I keep telling you—quit hating,” he retorted with humor in his voice. Mal was a retired veterinarian, a recovering alcoholic, and a former ladies' man. Before falling hard and fast for town owner Bernadine Brown, the sixty-plus-year-old Vietnam vet had spent his days and nights hanging with women young enough to be mistaken for his granddaughters. In the past year, he, too, had made tremendous strides.

Barrett asked, “Are you planning on having your own GD meetings?”

“Nope. Coming to yours so I can give you young bucks the benefit of my advanced wisdom.”

“Uh-huh,” Trent tossed back with a doubt-filled laugh.

A grinning Jack raised his juice. “To dads and OGs everywhere.”

“Hear! Hear!” they shouted gleefully.

Once things had settled down again, Mal asked Trent, “So how're the wedding plans going?”

Trent sipped his coffee. “If we can keep Bernadine from renting Buckingham Palace or flying in the bishop of Canterbury or the pope, Lily and I should be good.”

Mal shook his head, a knowing smile on his face. “She is something, isn't she?” Bernadine had a bank account as wide and as deep as the Grand Canyon, and she was happiest when sharing it.

Trent agreed. “Love her to death, but Lily may have to wrestle her to the ground and tie her up in order for us to have the nice, simple wedding we both want.” He eyed his dad and asked innocently, “How about telling Bernadine to save all that bling for when you two get married?”

Mal spit coffee across the table.

Snickers followed.

Mal wiped his mouth and looked Trent's way. “Don't even go there. We are not talking marriage.”

Trent loved teasing his father. “Maybe not today.”

The chuckles of the others made Mal grouse, “Stop encouraging him.”

Heads and eyes dropped, but the amusement remained.

The conversation moved on to the all-family trip to the Grand Canyon the colonel wanted them to take next year, but everyone went still at the sight of Riley Curry and his new lady friend, Texas millionairess Eustasia Pennymaker, being escorted to a booth by the hostess.

Riley was the town's former mayor. He was wearing a nice black suit that sported his signature fake red carnation on the lapel. His thinning hair was plastered on his head with pomade, and the way he was smiling and waving, you'd've thought he was campaigning. Eustasia, with her big Texas hair, was decked out in leopard print from her headband to her stiletto heels.

Mal whispered, “Well, I'll be damned.”

The two had been in town for a few months now, but as far as Trent knew this was their first visit to the Dog. Eustasia was footing the bill for Riley's legal battle with the county, and they were living in an expensive double-wide trailer on the edge of town.

They'd just taken their seats when Riley's ex-wife, Genevieve, entered with Cliff Dobbs. Cliff, Mal, and Genevieve had grown up together in Henry Adams. Cliff had quietly loved Genevieve since their teen years, but when it came time to marry, Genevieve had chosen Riley. Now they were divorced, and after all she'd endured at the hands and hooves of Riley and his six-hundred-pound pet hog, Cletus, no one could much blame her. While once Genevieve had been the epitome of decorum and good taste, Riley's antics had so changed her personality that the sight of him was liable to send her around the bend. Mal and Trent exchanged a look of worry.

Trent asked, “Has the court date been set for Cletus and Riley?”

“Not so far. Judge is still viewing the case law.”

Two summers ago, Cletus had sat on a man and killed him. The county planned to put the hog down, but before the paperwork could be finalized, Riley had helped Cletus escape, and the two went on the lam. Earlier this summer, the two were finally apprehended down in Louisiana and extradited back to Kansas. No one knew how or when Riley had first hooked up with Ms. Pennymaker and her huge sow, Chocolate.

Mal added, “Word is, Judge Davis may not hold the hearing until next spring. Me, I can't wait. Plenty of folks around here would love to put that hog on a spit with lots of barbecue sauce.”

Trent hoped Genevieve would ignore the couple, but no. Apparently this was her first sighting of her ex, too; upon seeing him, she went stock-still and flames seemed to leap from her eyes. Riley had always been clueless about her moods, and to prove it, he stuck out his tongue at her and with a dismissive air turned his attention to his menu.

Trent shook his head sadly.

“Doc, do you have your medical bag?” Mal asked Reg.

The chuckling Reg hoisted it up for Mal to see.

“Good. We may need you. Excuse me, fellas.” Mal left the booth and headed over to intercept Genevieve, now barreling down on Riley like a tank. When she spied his approach, she yelled, “Stay out of this, Malachi!”

The story of Riley, Genevieve, and Cletus had become the stuff of legend, and everyone in the Dog stared on, riveted.

Apparently Cliff had been told to stay out of it, too, because he was still standing at the hostess station up front. Trent saw displeasure on his face, but it was impossible to determine whether his ire was directed at Genevieve, Riley, or both.

Genevieve walked over to the smug-looking Riley and for the moment ignored him. Instead she politely introduced herself to the wary-eyed Ms. Pennymaker, who replied, “Um, pleased to meet you, too.”

Genevieve gave her a tight, fake smile before she turned blazing eyes on her ex, who had the nerve to say, “I hope you're happy, Genevieve. Cletus and me wouldn't be in this mess if it wasn't for you.”

The onlookers slowly shook their heads.

The outdone Genevieve rared back and decked Riley with a punch so hard he was already out cold when he slid beneath the table and disappeared. The wide-eyed Eustasia cried out, “Riley! Honey!” and immediately ducked her head beneath the tabletop.

Reg grabbed his bag.

The seething Genevieve stood over the booth.

Trent figured that the force of the blow had probably broken her hand, but she didn't appear hurt. Too mad, probably.

As Reg saw to the knocked-out Riley, Rocky hurried over to offer Genevieve a bowl of ice to stick her hand in. Trent glanced around, taking in the shocked but amused faces of the other diners, and wondered if other small towns in America started their mornings this way.