accusation she leveled against him, given the abrupt shuttering of the ministry.
How much evidence of suspicion would the police need? The IRS? What if others knew, too, but had never said anything? He’d been so careful, but obviously not careful enough. What other slipups had he made that he was unaware of? Who else was sitting at home, stewing at the meager severance they’d been doled out at the ministry’s closing, plotting out their revenge?
He had a timeline for how things were supposed to go. He had the information he needed, he was just trying to figure out how to go about starting things off. It was taking longer than he’d expected to ramp up the courage to tell Savannah he wanted a divorce. But after that, assuming she cooperated, things could go quickly. And then he could finish things, up in the mountains, somewhere where he’d be eventually found. Then it would all be over and Savannah and Jessie could get on with their lives.
But knowing that Marisa was on to him, even with what little evidence she had, changed things entirely. The plan needed to go more quickly.
Either that, or he had to skip to the end.
SAVANNAH WASHED THE RAW HAMBURGER from her hands. “Can’t wait for lunch, Aniyah. Thanks again.”
“Naw, thank you, ‘Vannah. It’s nice to work a little slower and not have to rush. The three of us make a good team. Gonna miss you when you go.” Her eyes glinted when Savannah glanced at her. “And just when is that, anyhow?”
“Trying not to think about it.” She made room for Tim, the quiet young man who worked as Aniyah’s assistant, as he passed behind her with a sack of potatoes. “Who knows what might happen. Maybe I’ll just move here for good.”
Aniyah let out one of her deep chuckles. “Aw, ‘Vanna, stop that now.”
Savannah dried her hands. “It’s about time to go. Are you ready?”
Aniyah slid the green onions she’d been dicing into a bowl and covered it with plastic. “Just about. Now Tim, you watch them fries and make sure they don’t burn. You get overwhelmed, you just holler. I’ll hear you.”
Tim looked up from the pile of fries he’d made. “I’ll be fine, Aniyah.”
“Let the boy be,” Savannah said with a grin. “He’s plenty competent.”
Aniyah pulled off her apron. “I just don’t like leaving my kitchen.”
The two women walked out together and Savannah said quietly, “You think Tim even knows how to holler?” Aniyah’s laugh echoed through the foyer.
With the scent of hamburger and spices still in her nose, Savannah followed Aniyah into the group therapy room where nearly everyone else was already present. As much as she’d begun to enjoy meeting with the others, she hated leaving the kitchen just as much as Aniyah did. It was where she felt most in touch with her old self. The act of service, not just to Aniyah and Tim, but for the Refugees and Tabitha as well, gave her a sense of purpose and served as her way to thank them for letting her hide among them while she sorted out her life. Even the thought of her family wasn’t enough to stir a desire to leave. She tried not to dwell on that uncomfortable truth.
Tabitha saw them enter and smiled. “Alright folks, I think we’re ready to start.” The group settled into their seats and gave Tabitha their attention. “Every once in a while a former Refugee comes back to share his or her story with us, as a way to encourage and support those who are struggling the same way they did. And today Aniyah is going to do that for us. She’s been here for a few years now, cooking up the world-class fare we get to eat every day, and now she would like to share her experience. Aniyah – whenever you’re ready.”
Aniyah had everyone’s full attention. Savannah had only heard a small sliver of the story, the first day she’d stepped into the kitchen to lend a hand. Aniyah had never continued the tale, and Savannah hadn’t felt comfortable asking. Now, with the others, she waited with anticipation to hear how the feisty woman had come to stay at The Refuge.
“Sometimes folks think I’s telling tales when I tell them about my life. But I think I can trust y’all to know I ain’t lying. And hopefully it’ll speak to you, somehow. God’s been good about redeeming my lost years that way.
“My mama was a voodoo priestess. We lived out in the Bayou, in a shack you couldn’t reach but by boat. I learned cooking from her, though it wasn’t just food we cooked, but charms and spells, too-though mostly I just watched when she did those.”
She told her story without hyperbole to the riveted audience, repeating the details Savannah had heard while cutting beignets.
“So’s I got to New Orleans and couldn’t get a job. Didn’t know my social security number, and didn’t want to bring attention to myself trying to find it. I took to the street, turning tricks to make money, but then this guy finds me and gives me my first crack. It was all downhill from there. Had to keep selling myself to buy the crack, and because of the crack I couldn’t do nothing else but keep turning tricks.
“Sometimes when I wasn’t high – which wasn’t very often – I would think about my mama, and my auntie, and about spirits and God and all that. I’d grown up surrounded by talk about the loa, the spirits and souls, and when I got to Auntie’s she talked about the spirit and soul all the time, too, but in a different way. Mama’s way had been mysterious and beautiful, and a little creepy sometimes – but Auntie’s way had been all mean and depressing. I was never good enough. I was always bad, always sinful and evil, didn’t matter if I really did something wrong or not.
“This street preacher used to come down to the tent city and talk about God. Most folks didn’t like him, thought he was gonna rat on them to the police or something. But all he ever did was talk about God loving people, even when they was all messed up. One day he saw me watching him, and he came right over to me and said, ‘Sister, he was bruised for your transgressions and crushed for your iniquities because he loves you.’ I didn’t know what he was talking about, but it sounded like a lot to go through just to love someone like me.”
She tugged at a thread on her sleeve. “But then I’d think about Auntie and what she said about God, and I figured Street Preacher didn’t know enough about me, ‘cause if he did he’d know God could never love someone like me. And besides, why would I want him to? What had he done for me? I was a homeless druggie prostitute – a whole Bible worth of sins rolled into one, and ain’t nothing lovable about that.”
She looked to Tabitha and smiled. “But then one day this white woman comes walking down by the tent city, looking all pulled together and nice. I saw her and thought she’d be done for, but it was like nobody saw her but me. I was on the corner, looking for customers, and she stopped and said, ‘God told me to help you. Can I please help you?’”
All eyes turned to Tabitha, who shrugged and grinned. “Well, he did.”
“That was the first time I thought maybe Street Preacher was right. Maybe God was trying to look out for me. Maybe this white lady was an angel. So’s I didn’t even let myself think about it, I just said okay. She walked me to her car, and it was like we was invisible, nobody was looking at us like they shoulda been – this cleaned-up white woman and this dirty black lady that looked like a skeleton. She took me to a rehab place and checked me in and come to visit me every day. And when I was finally clean, she brought me here.”
Tabitha shrugged again at the faces that looked to her in awe. “Nothing like that had ever happened to me before, but truly, I felt like God told me to find her and help her. I was on the other side of town, meeting with a psychologist that had been working with spiritual abuse cases, and when I left I got this impression to turn right at this one street, so I did. Then left at another, then right again, and then I saw an open parking spot on the street and just grabbed it. And then it was like God said, ‘Just start walking.’ I figured I’d know what I was supposed to do when I came to it, but I will admit I was nervous – that was not a good part of town. But when I saw her, I just…
“But you weren’t a believer before, right, Aniyah?” Savannah asked. “Why did you come here?”
Tabitha answered. “I told her about The Refuge and we figured together that, if nothing else, this would be a safe place for her to be. Alanna-she helped me start The Refuge – she was the one in charge of the kitchen, but her husband was being relocated and we knew we had to find someone else. I asked Aniyah if she wanted to try her hand at cooking, in exchange for free room and board and, if she wanted, therapy.”
“I wasn’t gonna say no, not to a roof over my head and decent food. Plus, how could I say no to the woman who saved my life?”
Aniyah pulled one sneakered foot beneath herself and continued. “So Alanna taught me some basic cooking stuff, and when I wasn’t working I would sit in group therapy or just talk with folks. I didn’t tell no one why I was really there; they all just thought I was the new cook. And after a while I started thinking about how different these
