Practicing What You Preach. Vanessa Davis Griggs

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СКАЧАТЬ still had plastic on them, the hard kind that when cracked could do some damage to a leg if you sat or moved the wrong way. The kind of plastic I thought everyone had gotten the memo about stating that it was no longer chic or cool to have on your living room furniture. I sat down. I was thankful—no detectable cracks.

      “The clock’s ticking,” Arletha said. “You might want to start your pitch right about now.”

      Gayle sat, not having said a word. She looked over at Angela, who sat down, pressed her lips together several times, then quietly and slowly exhaled.

      “My name is Angela Gabriel.”

      “That much I got when you were outside my door,” Arletha said.

      “Ms. Brown, my mother’s name was Rebecca. After my mother died, I was raised by my great-grandmother, Pearl Black Williams.” Angela took in another deep breath. “I have reason to believe you may be my grandmother,” she said, releasing that breath along with those words.

      All eyes were now fixed on Arletha.

      And that’s when I suddenly realized, that’s when it struck me…I had forgotten how to breathe. As much as I was trying to, I couldn’t remember how to breathe. Something we all do day in and day out without ever thinking about it. But as we sat there, eyes glued on Arletha, all I could hear my brain saying, at first calmly, was, “Breathe. Breathe.” Then in a more panicked tone, I heard my brain begin to scream, “Hurry up, girl. You need to breathe!”—then scream louder—“Breathe!”

      Chapter 11

      And whatsoever house ye enter into, there abide, and thence depart.

      —Luke 9:4

      Arletha sat there, not moving a muscle. She looked at Angela, then Gayle, and finally, she stared at me. “What did she say your name was again?” she asked, directing her question to Gayle.

      “I’m Gayle Cane.”

      “You were the one who called my house a few times a few months back, aren’t you?”

      “Yes, I am.”

      “And I told you to stop harassing me, did I not?”

      “Yes, but—”

      “Yes, but nothing!” Arletha said with obvious anger lacing her voice. She stood up, then turned her attention to Angela. “Young lady, your minute is up,” she said, as she indicated we had officially worn out our welcome.

      Angela spoke in a hurried manner. “Ms. Brown, I don’t want anything from you. I’m merely searching for my grandmother, that’s all. Surely you can appreciate that. Her name was Arletha, just like yours. I hate to confess this, but I just learned this today. When my cousin, Gayle, here”—she looked over at Gayle and nodded—“came in for my wedding and told me. You see, even though I live here now, I’m originally from Asheville, North Carolina. My mother, Rebecca, died when I was only five. So I don’t remember a lot about her. Just the bits and pieces I have been able to hold on to.”

      Arletha shrugged. “I’m sorry to hear that. But none of this has anything to do with me.”

      “My great-grandmother who raised me, her name was Pearl, she died four years ago. I’m getting married on Saturday to this wonderful man. His name is Brent…Brent Underwood.” Angela spoke passionately. “I didn’t think it would mean so much to me since I had never known much about my grandmother, but when I learned today, for the very first time, my grandmother’s name—”

      “You’d never known your grandmother’s name before today?” Arletha asked.

      “No. My great-grandmother never talked about her daughter, at least not around me. And the other family members didn’t either. I don’t know what that was all about, I don’t know what happened, but that’s how things were. No one talked about it. Ever.”

      Arletha shrugged her shoulders a few times. “Sounds messed up, if you ask me. In fact, it sounds like your family pretty much disowned her. I’m sorry for what you have probably lost in all of this, and I’m also sorry that I can’t help you.”

      “So are you saying you never lived in Asheville, North Carolina? That there is no way you could even remotely be my grandmother?” Angela asked. She looked directly into Arletha’s eyes as she stood close to her.

      “I’m saying that I wish I could help you, seeing as you seem to be a nice young lady, a very pretty young lady at that. But my advice to you is to have a wonderful wedding and to forget about this nonsense of finding some grandmother that may or may not still be alive and may or may not want to be found,” Arletha said. “That’s just my opinion. I’ve been on this earth a long time, and I can tell you that this world brings you enough trouble without you going out looking for it unnecessarily.”

      “But it’s not trouble I’m searching for right now. I’m looking for family. And if that’s you, then I want you to know that I love you. I truly do. No, I didn’t grow up knowing my grandmother, but if you are my grandmother, I love you.”

      Angela began to cry as she spoke. “I don’t have a mother to sit on my side of the aisle for my wedding. And yes, when I heard my grandmother might still be alive, of course I was going to stop whatever I was doing and go look for her. And when I learned there was a possibility the woman I seek might be you, of course I was going to come over and do all I could to see you, to talk with you. I promise I don’t want anything from you. But there’s something I can’t explain and don’t quite understand myself about knowing that your own blood is out there somewhere that causes a person to want to find them.” Angela broke down. I reached in my purse and handed her my packet of tissues.

      “I never fully appreciated why, when it came to adopted children who are raised in loving families, they still feel a need to locate that missing parent,” Angela continued. “But for some reason that I can’t explain, you have this burning need, a desire to connect. You want to look into the eyes of where you came from. In some ways, you feel it will possibly help you find yourself. It’s hard to put what I feel into words.”

      Gayle hugged Angela. “Ms. Brown. I’m Angel’s second cousin. My grandmother, Pearl, Angel’s great-grandmother, asked me to do this for her right before she died. She asked me to try and find her daughter Arletha. At the very end of her life, she wanted Angel to know her grandmother, if by God’s grace she happened to still be alive.”

      Gayle’s voice became softer. “If there’s even the smallest chance you are Angel’s grandmother, please do the right thing. Please do whatever you can. And if you’re not sure, for whatever reason, please—”

      “What do you think? That I have amnesia? I’m in stages of dementia, Alzheimer’s or something where I don’t remember whether I had a child or not? You think I don’t know who I am? Who my own mother was? Where I came from?” Arletha asked.

      “No. I’m just saying we can do a DNA test and put this to rest for all concerned,” Gayle said. “It’s a pretty simple procedure to administer. They swab the inside of your cheek with a Q-tip, send it to a lab equipped to handle DNA tests, and it will tell us once and for all whether you are any kin to Angel…and to me.”

      “And what are you supposed to be, some kind of DNA specialist?” Arletha asked as she stared at Gayle, who had moved even closer to Angela.

      “No. СКАЧАТЬ