Church Folk - Michele Andrea Bowen [113]
Saphronia took the knife and practiced flicking it open a couple of times. She was surprised that she could learn to use a knife so well after only a few moments of practice.
"Saphronia," Precious said. "When you walk around in that neighborhood, try and look like you belong. Don't you get out of the car looking and acting like some proper Miss It. That's all some of them people gone need to mess with you— you understand?"
Saphronia walked into the living room, put the knife in her purse, turned toward Precious and said in her best new voice, "Okay, Precious, girl, I heard you already."
Precious patted her arm and smiled. "I ought to charge you for all this. I'll be waiting to find out everything that happened, okay?"
Saphronia nodded her head.
"Now, you remember where you supposed to go—the Sanctuary, right?"
"Goodbye, Precious."
"Saphronia?"
"Goodbye, Precious."
"Saphronia, what are you going to do to Marcel?"
"I don't know at this moment. It will come to me once I get there. Good-bye, Precious."
"You sure you will think of something?"
"Good-bye, Precious."
Chapter Twenty-six
SAPHRONIA GRABBED HER PURSE OFF THE SEAT and locked the car. She was putting her keys in her purse when she noticed that the man who had been on the other side of the street had crossed over and was heading in her direction. Trying not to look afraid—remembering Precious's advice about warding off trouble—she managed to smile at the man, who dropped one shoulder down and began to swing his arm, doing that strut that indicated he was going to try and "talk" to her.
Anxious not to offend but wanting to keep her distance, Saphronia smiled again and began to walk away from the car. She tried to switch like Precious had instructed but wobbled in those shoes and had to steady herself by leaning against a tree. She remembered to throw another smile at the man when he said, "Baby girl, baby girl. I sho' do wish I could just turns myself into a pretty pink dress and wraps myself all o-ver your fine self. Lawd, ha' mercy!"
She inched away from him and half switched, half tripped her way down the block toward the Victorian-style funeral home. She wondered if anyone on this quiet street of older homes, a barbershop, a restaurant, and a small dry cleaners knew what was going on just steps away from their own front doors. Walking around to the back of the building, just as Precious had instructed, she tapped three times on the door leading to the screened-in porch.
To her horror, a man wearing white shoes came to the door. That had to be Laymond Johnson. She was tempted to run off as he unhooked the door, but thought to herself, "If I am to get in, I had better be prepared to get past him."
He stood with his face pressed against the opened door, leaving only a narrow space for her to squeeze in past him. She recoiled, and he gave her a curious look, saying, "You must be new here, baby, or you'd know that all you girls have to kind of squeeze by to get in."
Saphronia's cheeks flushed under their soft strokes of brushed-on color.
Laymond laughed right in her face, amused that she didn't want to participate in this ritual. "Now, so that we can get out of this here doorway, you go on and tell me what I need to know to even let you in."
Saphronia stared at him dumbly for a few seconds until she realized that he was asking her for her entry code.
"Uh . . . Mr. Sonny . . . uh . . . I mean Rev. Sonny Washington, he the one that sent me and gave me number 10 and I was told to come on over here and just mingle unless somebody sayed number 10 which he said they wouldn't do tonight, right?"
Laymond had a hard time following her, and she watched him processing all those words. He finally said, "Precious Powers sick or something? Number 10 the number for the book-keeper and she the only one we got. And I know you not one of the regular girls