Read The Other Side of Goodness Online

Authors: Vanessa Davis Griggs

The Other Side of Goodness

Also by Vanessa Davis Griggs
Forever Soul Ties
 
Redeeming Waters
 
Ray of Hope
 
The Blessed Trinity Series
 
The Truth Is the Light
 
Goodness and Mercy
 
Practicing What You Preach
 
If Memory Serves
 
Strongholds
 
Blessed Trinity
 
 
Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.
THE OTHER SIDE
OF
GOODNESS
VANESSA
DAVIS GRIGGS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Dedicated to
Danette Dial, Terence Davis, Cameron Davis,
Arlinda Davis, and Emmanuel Davis
Acknowledgments
I remain ever thankful to God, who chose me and continues blessing me beyond measure. To my loving mother, Josephine Davis, and father, James Davis Jr.: It's been such a privilege and an honor to call you my parents, having your love and support all of these years as we celebrate this God-given journey called life. I am truly blessed!
To my husband, Jeffery: Thank you for your unwavering support as I walk in my calling. To my children, Jeffery, Jeremy, and Johnathan: Each of you are a gift from the Lord and have blessed my life in your own special way. To my grandchildren, Asia and Ashlynn: You two truly light up my world! Danette Dial, Terence Davis, Cameron Davis, Arlinda Davis, Emmanuel Davis, Cumberlan Davis, and all of my aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces, and nephews: I'm grateful for family and the memories we continue to create.
Thank you, Selena James and Kensington Publishing, for continuing to believe in me and what God is giving me. I'm grateful for friends who've been in my corner a long time now: Bonita Chaney, Rosetta Moore, Vanessa L. Rice, Zelda Oliver-Miles, Linda H. Jones, and Shirley Walker. Pastor Michael D. McClure Sr., I appreciate your prayers and belief that great things are on the horizon for me. Ella Curry of EDC Creations, thanks for all you do!
To those of you who bless me by choosing my books and spreading the word about what I do: I love you so very, very much! Because of you and your support, I'm able to continue doing this. And to those of you who are new to my books: I pray you enjoy this read and you're moved to pick up more. To my Facebook friends who read my books and status messages: Thanks for the love. I definitely feel it! As always, I adore hearing from you! You can find me on the Web at:
www.VanessaDavisGriggs.com
.
Chapter 1
Woe unto him that saith unto his father, What begettest thou? or to the woman, What hast thou brought forth?
—Isaiah 45:10
 
 
 
“Y
ou are
not
the father!” The words reverberated through the mid-November 2009 Alabama air like the sound of a thin sheet of tin after being struck by a heavy metal object.
Twenty-seven-year-old Paris Elizabeth Simmons-Holyfield couldn't hold back her feelings and immediately jumped to her feet. “Yes! Yes! I knew it! I knew it!” she said as she danced her five foot eleven inch self around in a small circle. “
Now
what are you going to do? Huh? Huh? Oh, yeah, you're looking
real
stupid now, aren't you? Oh, no. Don't you dare fall on the floor crying now. You knew
good
and
well
he wasn't the father of your baby! What is this, the fourth guy you've said you were ‘one thousand percent sure' was the father? And now you're looking crazy, wanting somebody to feel sorry for you? Well, you're getting
exactly
what you deserve! Exact—”
“What on God's green earth is your problem?” fifty-year-old Lawrence Rudolph Simmons said, his deep voice booming as he looked on with a clear scowl of disapproval on his face.
Paris had spun around as soon as she'd heard the first word come out of his mouth. The six foot one inch tall, one-hundred-eighty-pound man always had that effect on her.
Thirty-three-year-old Andrew Holyfield shook his head as he smiled, showing off deep dimples that, since he was a little boy, had garnered attention. “That's your daughter for you.”
“Hi, Daddy.” Paris grinned as she scurried over to her father and softly planted a kiss on his cheek. “What wind brought you here this time of the day?” She then pivoted to her husband and gave him a peck on his lips. “Hi, honey. I didn't even hear you two come in.”
“Of course, you didn't,” Andrew said. “You were too deep and hooked on your favorite little show.”
“It's not my favorite show.” Paris walked over to the black Italian leather sofa, picked up the remote control, and clicked the television off. “I only watch that show for educational purposes.” She tossed the remote control back onto the sofa.
Andrew chuckled. “Yeah, educational purposes, all right. ‘You
are
the father.' ‘You are
not
the father.' ‘The lie detector says you were
not
telling the truth.' ‘The lie detector says . . . she was telling the truth.' ” Andrew shook his head. “Educational purposes indeed.”
“Well, some of these women are a trip and a half. Airing their personal business like that, and all of it on TV to boot. Bringing some man on the show, claiming he's the father of their baby when they know who they slept with and when. Although I
will
admit that some of these women have slept with quite a number of men in the same month, a few of them on the same day.” Paris shook her head. “It's crazy. Then there are the guys who know they were with them, talking about that child can't possibly be his because the baby doesn't look anything like him. Like children have to look exactly like the father to be fathered by them. Calling the poor innocent child ugly, only to learn that the child really
is
his.” Paris chuckled.
“And you can make fun of me all you want,” she said. “But I like to study people. I can pick out the ones that are the fathers and the ones that are lying about it, just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “You know I also took a semester of psychology in college. I love trying to figure out what people are really thinking and doing, and their reason behind it.”
“If I recall correctly,” Lawrence said, tilting his head slightly, “didn't you fail that course and ended up dropping it altogether instead of retaking it?”
Paris tilted her head in the opposite direction from his as she smirked. “Daddy, I told you what an awful professor Ms. Booth was. That woman just
didn't
like me.” Paris widened her light brown eyes as she spoke. “If you want the real truth: Ms. Booth didn't care much for
you
, so she ended up taking her dislike for
you
out on
me
.”
Lawrence shook his head. “Always an excuse. When it comes to you and trouble, it's always someone else's fault. It's never anything that you may have done.”
“Well, that was not an excuse. She also didn't care for me because I was the third runner-up beauty queen at the college pageant and she was merely this homely old maid of fifty who was likely never going to find a man who'd ever want her.”
Andrew laughed. “Both of you are something, if you ask me. You're like two peas in a pod. You two are so much alike that you never seem to get along or openly agree.” Three inches taller than his wife, he rubbed his perfectly trimmed goatee as he grinned lovingly at her.
“Well, you didn't answer my question,” Paris said to her father, ignoring her husband's comment. She began to run her fingers through her freshly permed, mid-length, wavy-styled, dark brown, medium-auburn-highlighted hair, tossing it a few times as she did. Catching her father's disapproving stare, she quickly stopped.
Her father had made it abundantly clear, countless times in fact, just how much he hated when women did things like that. He'd said they were
more than
aware of what they were doing (most of them merely being flirtatious instead of nervous as Paris often used as her defense to him), and that it was unladylike and unbecoming of a
decent
Christian woman.
Lawrence nodded, as though he was thanking her for saving him the trouble of having to correct her
yet
again. “My son-in-law and I came here to discuss a few of my legal woes. You know there are people who don't want to see me reelected to the Alabama State House of Representatives, so they're coming up with anything they can find to try and take me down this time around. That's what good opponents do.”
Paris strolled back over to her husband and threaded her arm through his. “Well, you can't find a better lawyer than my dear husband here, that's for sure.”
“Well, your
dear
husband doesn't seem interested in handling my most recent possible problem. So maybe you can help me convince him.” Lawrence trained his eyes hard on Andrew.
“I told you, Pops,” Andrew said. “There's not much I can help you with. Our firm would be facing a huge conflict of interest if I were to take you on. The other man involved—”
“Is a liar and a cheat, among other things I'll not say in the company of a lady.” Lawrence eased down onto the sofa.
“He's talking about Rev. Walker,” Andrew said to Paris. “That's the other guy someone in our firm is already representing on the opposite side.”
“Marshall Walker, the pastor of that church so many flock to, or at least they
used
to flock to before that other preacher, George Landris, arrived in town. The authorities are trying to say that me and William Threadgill are involved in some kind of bribery scheme or something with Walker.” Lawrence waved the thought away. “They picked him up and charged him last Friday or Saturday. This is just something the Democrats are trying to cook up, trying to tie me in to his misdoings to derail me and my candidacy. They're just upset, and likely desperate right about now.”
“Can you blame them for being upset?” Paris said. “Everybody I know who's heard you switched parties is boiling mad. I've never voted for a Republican before
in my life
. But now that you've switched, in midstream I might add, I'll either have to vote Republican this time around, vote against you, or not vote at all.”
“I'm still the same person I was before I decided to switch parties,” Lawrence said, looking up at his daughter. “But you, of all people, know the district I represent has become much whiter now and, despite our racial advancements—perceived or otherwise—this is
still
Alabama, the heart of
Dixie
. A lot of folks that moved out of the area years ago are moving back, in droves now—”
“And they're driving the prices up so high that the black folks can't afford to stay or move in,” Andrew said with a few nods.
“Please don't get Andrew started,” Paris said, grinning slightly. “You know at heart my husband is the poor man's lawyer. He loves to fight for the downtrodden and the broken who, most times, are
so broke
they can't even afford to pay his fee. So he gives of himself, pro bono if he has to, to represent them. Too many of them, if you ask me, which is the
exact
reason we're not more well-off than we are.”
“We're doing just fine. I make enough to take care of my family,” Andrew said. “I just see how unfair the system can be. Lady Justice may be blind, but her hearing lately has been overcompensating for her loss of sight. Enough so, when certain defendants speak and sound black or have a hint of a foreign accent or are just plain poor, she somehow knows who they are without having to see their faces.”
Andrew uncoupled Paris's arm from his and took a step away from her. “Do you know how many innocent folks are behind bars because they couldn't afford a high-powered or, heck, merely a
decent
lawyer who could have gotten them
at least
a
fairer
trial? While some rich person gets off by saying they didn't steal the thing . . . that they were merely ‘borrowing it' or forgot to give it back to the salesperson after trying it on. You find one who goes to rehab for the drugs he was caught
using
, while another goes to jail, getting ten years for the same or for having a small amount of another type in his possession.”
“Well, I'm not concerned about anybody except me right now.” Lawrence scooted back against the sofa. “And having this new legal thing possibly hanging over my head is no joke, either. The Tea Party movement appears to be picking up some steam, especially in some areas and especially now that we have a president of color. I figured by switching from the Democratic Party to the Republican Party and co-opting some of the Tea Party's rhetoric about being taxed enough already and the need for smaller government, I can more easily get reelected.”
“Selling out,” Andrew said as he sat down in the wingback chair across from Lawrence.
“No. It's called doing what you need to do to survive,” Lawrence said. “That's the problem with folks: They don't know how to adapt, how to be nimble and change when the situation calls for it. People get set in concrete and don't know how to move. Sure, I could stand on past principles and talking points that have worked beautifully for me in the past, but that may not get me reelected this cycle. And if I don't get reelected, then I won't be able to help
anybody
.”
“So you're saying you're just faking it,” Andrew said.
Paris sat on the arm of the chair where Andrew sat. “I think Daddy is just saying that if he doesn't change his tactics, he won't be in a position to help anyone at all. Daddy's been in politics for ten years—”
“Eleven,” Lawrence corrected her.
“Okay, eleven years.” Paris nodded. “He knows the system, knows how to get at least
some
things done.”
“So you
really
think black folks are going to vote for you as a Republican?” Andrew's look was serious and stern. “You honestly think that?”
“Yeah.” Lawrence crossed his legs and leaned back with a grin. “Many of them feel they know me and my record regardless of whether there's a
D
or an
R
behind my name. Some will vote for me just
because
my name is familiar to them—that's the power of name recognition. Folks will vote for a name they've heard of when their choice is between that name and an unknown one. Then there are those who will vote for me just
because
I'm black and they'd rather see a black man win regardless of which team he's on. And last, there are the Republicans who loyally vote strictly for the
R
s and, most likely, won't have a clue what color I am. And it won't hurt when I play up my beliefs on social issues, emphasizing how much I'm pro-life, absolutely against abortion, and that I'm willing to fight for the principles they care most about.”
Paris began to rub the wavy hair on top of Andrew's head. She couldn't help but think about their children and how beautiful they were going to be when they had them. How could they turn out to be anything but beautiful if they inherited their father's good hair and looks combined with hers? That's if she could just manage to get pregnant and have children.
“Would dinner happen to be ready yet?” Lawrence asked Paris.
“No.”
“Then why don't you go cook us something,” Lawrence said. “And make enough for William Threadgill. He should be arriving any minute now. We three have business to discuss, and since I missed eating lunch today, I'm really hungry.”

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