Page 84 of Truce Of The Matter

“I hate that phone,” he says with a smile, “But I can do that.”

“Then, I’m good. I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, sweetie.” After patting my knee, he lifts his hand then stands. “I’m getting a little hungry. You ate?” he asks and I tell a half-truth just to spend some time with him.

“I can eat,” I embellish. “In fact, I can cook if you want.” I ease off the ground and brush the back of my pants off, discarding any grass or dirt residue.

“I think I want to go to the restaurant. Who made the strawberry cake?” he asks.

“Taj. You know she doesn’t let anyone else make it.”

“Good. We can go there for sure. Call your si... Call Daija and see if she wants to meet us.”

“Oh, Daija. She’s here. She went into the church to look for you. She’s probably at my ride, angry.”

“Well, some good food will fix that.” While he lets his chair down, I grab his cup and Bible then we journey to his car. He unlocks the trunk and places the chair in while I place his cup and Bible inside. “I’ll drive you to the front.”

“I can walk, Daddy.”

“Just get in,” he says and I relent.

He drives around the church and parks next to my ride. Daija isn’t inside or standing by my ride. She should definitely be out by now. It’s three; I was back there with my dad for over twenty minutes.

“I wonder where she is.”

“Probably still inside,” he says and I’m sure my face contorts. Reading it, he says, “I’ll go check.”

After releasing an exasperated breath, I agree to do something I vowed never to do. “Nah, Daddy. I’ll go,” I tell him before opening the door. When I do, the doors to the church fly open and Daija barges out. She’s running frantically and it looks like she’s crying. Unintentionally, I slam my father’s passenger door and rush to her. She practically falls into my arms when I reach her and I catch her.

“What’s wrong?” A loud, agonizing, gut-wrenching sound falls from her lips and she screams into my shoulder. “Baby, what’s…wrong?” I ask again, trying to sound calm and cool but I’m far from cool or calm, a million damn miles away. My baby is hurting and I need to find out why.

“Daija, what’s wrong?” my dad’s smooth baritone asks. I hadn’t even realized that he was out of the car and standing beside me.

“He…wouldn’t…look…at me. He wouldn’t,” she cries, still screaming.

“Who?” my dad asks but I already know who.

Tremayne.

“I got this, Daddy,” I tell him. Then, I gently touch the sides of Daija’s arms and lift her from my chest. “Look at me, baby,” I say and she slowly lifts her head. “Stop crying over him. He’s not worth it. Do you hear me? Not worth a damn. The man who raised you and loves you is right here.” I motion toward my dad and he nods. “Tremayne has told and shown you how he feels, believe him. He isn’t going to change and you don’t need him anyway. But stay here with the only father that you know while I go deal with him. Okay?”

“Um kay,” she sobs.

My dad steps closer to her and I transfer her from my arms to his. Hurting Daija’s feelings like this for a second damn time just earned Tremayne a well-deserved cursing out. If he was offended by my few choice words at the restaurant, he’s about to have his entire soul horrified.

While walking toward the church, I say a quick prayer, asking God for forgiveness in advance. Although I wholeheartedly disagree with the leadership in this church, I respect Him and the institution. Today, I just need grace for what’s about to commence.

As soon as I enter the main sanctuary, my eyes make a beeline to the pulpit and see him standing and pacing. With my line of sight only seeing him, I march down the aisle, fury already falling from my lips.

“What the fuck did you do to my daughter?” I bellow ragefully and I hear collective sighs.

We are not alone and I don’t give a fuck.

My words and anger are reserved for only him. The others are just inconsequential and collateral victims. I hear them but my tunnel vision doesn’t allow me to see them. However, Tremayne hears and sees me clearly. So clear that he stops deadin his tracks and glares at me with shock and awe plastered across his cowardly face.

“You need to leave,” a female voice pregnant with righteous indignation says but I tune it out and focus on muted Tremayne.

“Tre-mayne! What the fuck did you do to our daughter?” I repeat, intentionally changing my words for the women minding my damn business. If he won’t say a word, I will gladly announce and expose it all, every damn thing. “Daija, your daughter, is out there crying her eyes out because you can’t be a fucking man and just talk to her. That’s all she wanted, to talk and get to know your sorry ass.”

---