In the Midst of It All Read online

  ALSO BY TIFFANY L. WARREN

  The Bishop’s Daughter

  Farther Than I Meant to Go, Longer Than I Meant to Stay

  What a Sista Should Do

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2010 by Tiffany Warren

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Grand Central Publishing

  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue

  New York, NY 10017

  www.HachetteBookGroup.com

  (http://twitter.com/LittleBrown)

  First eBook Edition: February 2010

  Grand Central Publishing is a division of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  The Grand Central Publishing name and logo is a trademark of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  eISBN: 978-0-446-55848-8

  To my people still in the struggle… there is life after the borg! Stay encouraged…

  Contents

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Part One

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Part Two

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Acknowledgments

  Okay, so these are really, really hard to write—harder to write than the stories, I think, because I always feel like I sound so repetitious. But there are so many people I need to thank over and over again, because they help me continue this dream.

  I thank God because He is awesome beyond measure! I don’t have words for the appreciation I feel for the doors He continues to open.

  My husband, Brent, and my five little chickadees are the best! I get to go on the road and they have pancake suppers without a complaint. This is such a blessing.

  To the book clubs and women’s ministries who continue to support me by buying my books (and not sharing them ), thank you for all you do. I appreciate you.

  The team at Grand Central Publishing is priceless—Karen, LaToya, Linda, and Samantha! Thank you for your continued support!

  Afrika, Shawana, Tiffany T., Robin, Myesha, Kym, and Leslie—who could ask for a better crew of friends and prayer partners? Thank y’all!

  Pattie Steele Perkins is the best agent! Thank you for listening and for your wisdom on publishing.

  To the circle of authors who support me with sage wisdom, reviews, quotes, friendship and more: ReShonda, Rhonda, Sherri, Victoria, Dwan, Yolonda, Dee, and Bonnie! God bless you with more book sales than you could ever dream of counting!

  Prologue

  Zee, are you going to get that?”

  Zenovia blinked a few times, glanced at the clock, and shook her head. “Three a.m. It’s not good news.”

  She closed her eyes and buried her head under the covers, trying to escape the ringing telephone. Her husband reached over her and took matters into his own hands. Zenovia was grateful that he was home. This kind of news didn’t need to be left on an answering machine.

  Audrey lay in a pool of her own diluted blood, but the room was permeated with the scent of lavender. Pink bubbles floated on top of the pool. Scented by lavender; stained by blood.

  Zenovia’s husband talked for a few moments then pressed the “end” button on the cordless telephone. He touched Zenovia on the shoulder. She jumped. She was expecting him to wake her, to be the town crier of her misery, but she was startled nonetheless.

  “That was your stepfather. Your mother has passed away.”

  “How did she die?”

  “He says in her sleep.”

  Zenovia rolled her eyes. “He’s a liar.”

  “Did you see it?”

  She nodded. “But not in enough time to stop her.”

  Zenovia turned away from her husband and buried her head into the pillow. A salty river trickled down her face, but Zenovia was not ready to share her tears with her mate. She wanted two minutes of private grief.

  She heard him pressing buttons on the telephone.

  “Who are you calling?” she asked.

  “Bishop. You can’t preach in the morning.”

  “I’m preaching.”

  “It’s okay, Zee. He’ll find someone else. You need to handle your mother’s affairs.”

  “That can wait. I’ve got a word from the Lord that cannot.”

  Part One

  Chapter One

  Zenovia heard knocks on the door.

  They were not the soft knocks of the children in the apartment next door. There were two of them—a boy and a girl. Always dirty, with unwashed faces and mismatched socks, if any. Their mama was on crack, like so many of the mothers in King Kennedy, one of Cleveland’s most notorious housing projects.

  The two children visited Zenovia and Audrey every morning looking for breakfast. But it was ten a.m. and they were probably plopped in front of their television, watching the Saturday morning cartoons.

  Zenovia waited for the knock again. This time it came with a voice. “Hello? Is anyone home? We’d like to share the Gospel with you today.”

  Zenovia laughed. She had been thinking that the person behind the door was a drug boy running from the police or a crackhead hustling some stolen property. But it was a lady, and she wanted to share the Gospel. No harm there.

  Still, she didn’t answer the door.

  Audrey rushed from the bedroom of the one-bedroom apartment. She was wearing a ratty yet colorful housecoat. Wild red hair framed her face like a flame, perfectly complementing her freckles and green eyes.

  “Why don’t you get the door?” she asked.

  She didn’t wait for a response, but went to the door herself. She swung it open wide and smiled at the two ladies who stood before her.

  “Good morning!” Audrey sang.

  “Well, good morning to you, too!” said the lady.

  Audrey asked, “Did I hear y’all say, y’all was talking about the Gospel this morning?”

  “Yes, you did. The Gospel of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.”

  “Well, come on in and keep talking! Zenovia, something told me we were going to have good news today.”

  Zenovia felt a smile tickle the sides of her
lips. That something was a vision. Audrey had been having them since she was a little girl, and Zenovia had started having them when she’d turned twelve. They were haphazard messages, sometimes future, sometimes past. Usually there wasn’t enough information contained in the visions to do anything useful. Most times, Zenovia was annoyed by the visions; treated them like unannounced visitors. Just like the two Bible ladies.

  Both of the ladies stepped gingerly into the spotless apartment. Their eyes darted back and forth; inspecting. Their nostrils flared; inhaling the scent of the ocean breeze candles that Zenovia had lit. Zenovia watched their facial expressions change from cautious to pleasant surprise.

  Zenovia narrowed her eyes. “You can sit down. Although I’m sure you saw roaches in the hallway, none of them have taken up residence here.”

  The ladies smiled nervously as they took their seats on the worn, but clean sofa. Audrey sat across from them in her leather recliner.

  “My name is Charlotte Batiste,” said the lady who’d knocked.

  Audrey’s smile beamed. “Charlotte. Like the little pig in that book.”

  “Actually, the pig’s name was Wilbur,” Zenovia corrected. “You’re talking about the spider.”

  For a fleeting instant, Audrey looked irritated, but it quickly faded. “Well, that doesn’t matter. My name is Audrey and the smarty pants is Zenovia.”

  Both ladies looked from Audrey to Zenovia with tight yet friendly smiles on their faces. The second lady, not Charlotte, actually wasn’t a lady at all. She was a girl, no older than Zenovia, but she was dressed in a much older woman’s apparel—a long corduroy skirt and sweater with a turtleneck. At their feet were little bags stuffed to the hilt with tracts and pamphlets.

  “Well, it’s nice to meet you both. This is my daughter Alyssa,” declared Charlotte with yet another smile.

  She never seemed to run out of smiles. Zenovia wondered if her face was sore.

  Charlotte continued. “I am here this morning to share a wonderful thought from the Bible. Do you have a Bible?”

  “Of course!” replied Audrey.

  Audrey reached into a side compartment on her recliner and pulled out a huge white leather Bible. The kind grandmothers pass down to their grandchildren with the family tree on the inside cover and the picture of Jesus in the center. There was no family tree in the front of Audrey’s Bible; only her name, in big block print.

  “I’m going to read you some verses in the Book of Revelation Chapter Twenty-one. It’s the last book of the Bible.”

  “Oh, I know where Revelations is,” Audrey said.

  Zenovia cringed. She wanted to say, It’s Revelation not Revelations, but since she had already been labeled as a smarty pants, the critique went unspoken.

  Charlotte read: “And I heard a great voice out of heaven saying, Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and He will dwell with them, and they shall be His people, and God Himself shall be with them, and be their God. And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.”

  Zenovia liked that scripture. No tears and no sorrow sounded like just what she needed. Apparently, Audrey liked it, too, because there was a tear in the corner of her right eye.

  “Well, I can’t wait to go to heaven and see Jesus. He’s going to take away all sadness and death. I believe that,” Audrey stated with conviction.

  “What if I told you that this scripture was talking about a paradise here on earth?” Charlotte asked.

  Zenovia almost slipped from her usual academic self and said What you talkin’ about, Charlotte? like Arnold querying Willis on Diff’rent Strokes, but she held her tongue. She wanted to see Audrey’s response.

  Audrey asked, “This scripture ain’t about heaven?”Charlotte went on to explain how God was going to make the earth over into a big park and that believers were going to live there in a utopian nirvana. She said that children would have lions and bears for playmates and go unharmed. Zenovia was a little skeptical, but Charlotte flipped through her little orange Bible with such skill that she had to be telling the truth.

  After she was done, Charlotte let out a loud sigh. “Now, Audrey, don’t you think God wants you and your sister to live in paradise and not squalor?”

  Audrey looked confused, but Zenovia laughed. It was not the first time that she and her mother had been mistaken for sisters. Audrey was a young-looking thirty-two, and Zenovia was a mature-looking seventeen.

  “She is my mother, not my sister,” Zenovia said.

  “Oh,” Charlotte replied, and then… with recognition, “Oh!”

  Audrey dropped her head. “Had her when I was fifteen.”

  “Well, that’s all right,” Charlotte said. “That doesn’t matter once you give your life to God and get baptized.”

  “I’ve been baptized,” Audrey replied.

  “Oh, but not like this. When you get baptized as one of the Brethren of the Sacrifice, your life will surely be changed.”

  Zenovia cleared her throat. “I’ve never heard of the Brethren of the Sacrifice. What denomination are you?”

  “We’re not a denomination at all. We are true Christians, teaching true Christianity.” She said this with such conviction that Zenovia wanted to pump her fist, yell power to the people, and hand her an afro pick.

  Charlotte turned her attention back to Audrey. “Would you like to come to one of our services?”

  “I’d like that,” Audrey responded eagerly.

  Zenovia rarely saw her mother get excited about anything, so again she held her tongue. She wanted to object, and tell Charlotte that she and Audrey had a church home. First Gethsemane Baptist Church, up the street, was where they had fellowshipped for the past two years.

  But maybe it was time for a change. Audrey had gotten into a particularly embarrassing scuffle with one of the usher board members. The usher, Sister Brown, had told Audrey that she couldn’t sit on the Mother’s row. Audrey had responded by accusing Sister Brown of being jealous because Audrey was pretty and Sister Brown was “black and greasy.”

  After the altercation, Zenovia had done what she always did. She apologized to First Lady Benson and Sister Brown. She’d explained that Audrey had just been prescribed new medication for her schizophrenia and that it had not yet taken effect.

  That all happened a month ago, and they hadn’t been to church since. Zenovia liked to let things die down before they returned to worship. Admittedly, though, she missed the anointed singing of the choir and the spirited preaching.

  Audrey looked over at her daughter. “What do you say, Zee? You want to join a new church?”

  Zenovia shrugged and answered her mother’s question with a question. “Why not?”

  Chapter Two

  Zee, hurry up! They’re going to be here any minute.”

  Zenovia rolled her eyes. Charlotte and her husband, Thomas, were coming to pick them up for their first visit to the Northeast Devotion Center. Charlotte had said that they would be there at six thirty and it was only six o’clock.

  Zenovia thought that Audrey’s excitement at visiting this church or “devotion center” was bizarre and unnecessary. They had worshipped all over the city and to Zenovia, it was all the same. A rose by any other name is still sweet and a church called a devotion center is still church. Zenovia knew churches and she knew evil church folk.

  Audrey’s father was the pastor at a Holiness church. She was raised singing in the choir and going to Sunday school. When she became pregnant at fifteen, her father had put her out and told her to never return.

  Audrey had packed her bags that day. She’d had a vision that she would be married, so she wasn’t worried at all. Audrey had never looked back and Zenovia was deprived of the father, grandparents, or any other family members she might have had.

  “Are you ready yet?” Audrey pestered.

  A scowling Zenovia responded, “As ready as I�
�m going to be.”

  Zenovia turned her frown to the mirror. She was not satisfied with her reflection. She had curled and recurled her short, relaxed hairstyle with a curling iron, but a little bit of frizz remained. Her outfit was a plain black wool skirt and a sweater.

  “You look fine!” Audrey encouraged as she stood in the doorway wearing an alluring hunter green, form-fitting sweater dress and knee-high leather boots.

  “Yeah, right.”

  Zenovia wished that she had been blessed with her mother’s silky red hair. Audrey had flat ironed her tresses and they hung in layers, softly brushing her shoulders. The differences in their appearance always made Zenovia wonder what her father looked like, because she had to be his spitting image.

  “Your hair would grow if you’d stop putting all that mess in it. Go natural.”

  Zenovia’s response was a hearty laugh. She thought that her hair was too natural to go natural. “My hair is too nappy for that.”

  “Your hair is curly, rugs and sweaters are nappy.”

  A honking horn ended their conversation. Zenovia watched her mother’s eyes light up as she raced to grab her purse and the orange Bible that Charlotte had given her.

  Charlotte was grinning and waving as Zenovia trudged and Audrey bounced to the silver minivan. Alyssa slid the back door open, and the two of them got into the vehicle.

  Audrey sat in the second row of seats, next to Alyssa and directly behind Charlotte. Zenovia sat in the last row next to the most beautiful boy she’d ever laid eyes on. She wanted to kick herself for not running over those curls one more time.

  He stuck out his hand. “Hi. I’m Tristan and you’re Zaviera?”

  “It’s Zenovia.” She shook the outstretched hand without making eye contact.

  “Can I just call you Zee?”

  Zenovia nodded, but she wanted to say something like, You can call me any letter of the alphabet… just call me.

  Tristan had smooth caramel-colored skin—straight-from-the-Mother-Land dark with a little bit of cream. His eyes were big and dreamy, framed by dark eyelashes that looked like they belonged on a girl. His large nose and deeply waved hair gave away some obvious Indian commingling with his African ancestors. He even had the audacity to smell good, too, like drier sheets and Nautica cologne.