If Memory Serves

Book 0: Blessed Trinity

by Vanessa Davis Griggs

Genres: Paranormal; International Crime & Mystery

Synopsis

Best-selling author Vanessa Davis Griggs presents the third installment of her Blessed Trinity series. For years, Memory Patterson has been running away from her problems and conning her way through life. Then a chance encounter with Pastor Landris’ pregnant wife Johnnie Mae puts her on the path toward meeting the mother she never knew. But a storm is brewing on the horizon, and soon Memory, Johnny Mae, and Pastor Landris will find their faith tested.

Release date: January 28, 2011

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 320

Sample

Memory, who was going by the name of Elaine Robertson and had asked Johnnie Mae Landris to just call her Elaine instead of Ms. Robertson, sat on the bed in the room Johnnie Mae said would be hers for as long as she stayed. Certain that she was alone, she picked up the phone and dialed. “Hi, Sam,” she said with a grin. “It’s me—Memory.”

Johnnie Mae had just finished showing her two bedrooms, in both of which the beds were low and close to the floor. The first room had a queen-size sleigh bed with stone-top night-stands set on each side.

“What’s the name of this collection?” Memory had asked, attempting to show she was somewhat knowledgeable about life’s finer things. Fine furniture always had a name.

“The Amherst collection—it’s English inspired,” Johnnie Mae said with a smile. No one had ever asked her that before. She was impressed Memory had, but even more impressed that she’d recalled the collection’s name to be able to answer her.

“They certainly crafted some exquisite pieces,” Memory said, leisurely strolling around the room, touching and tracing various intricate details lightly with her fingers for an up-close-and-personal feel. Fully aware Johnnie Mae had another bedroom she wanted her to see, Memory wasn’t trying to be snooty or picky. She’d just never been this close to a setup so nice and was determined she would experience this on her own terms without rushing or glossing over it in order to appear even more refined.

Memory touched the antique brass hardware, felt the smoothness of the cherry-finished wood . . . the coolness of the stone-topped nightstand. She marveled at the overlaid carving on the bed’s head- and footboard and the doors of the large, three-drawer armoire. Yet nothing she’d seen rivaled the swirling, hand-carved pilasters that topped the nine-drawer dresser’s mirror and the armoire that stood catercornered between two walls.

Easing down gingerly on the cushioned bench at the foot of the bed, she looked around again, taking a visual inventory of the entire room. “This is lovely,” she said. “So lovely. It’s warm and engaging. Feels like . . . home.” She nodded. “Yes, like home.”

“Thank you,” Johnnie Mae said as she quickly glanced around the guest bedroom. It was a place she rarely came into and—with the exception of having to periodically dust the furniture and hardwood floor covered largely by a maroon Oriental rug—really had no reason to. “Before you get too comfortable,” she said, “don’t forget there’s one other bedroom I want you to see. Then you can decide which of the two you prefer.”

Memory stood up. “This one’s fine. In fact, it’s better than fine. I keep trying to tell you that I’m not sure I’ll even be here long enough to need a place to lay my head.”

“Look, Elaine, you can at least stay the night,” Johnnie Mae said. She hadn’t had a chance to call Sarah Fleming yet, so she wasn’t sure what the plan for Memory would be. She just knew she needed to keep her close until she could relay her suspicions to Sarah and find out how she wanted to proceed from here.

Memory strolled toward the doorway and looked back at the room as she and Johnnie Mae stepped into the all-white carpeted hallway. They walked two doors down, passing the opened door of a large bathroom accentuated with gold fixtures and faucets.

Johnnie Mae opened the door to another bedroom. This was the room her mother usually stayed in whenever she came over (which had only been a total of three times since they’d moved into their newly built house back in August 2004).

“Oh my goodness,” Memory said, gasping aloud as she scanned the bedroom with one quick swoop. “This is breathtaking . . . absolutely breathtaking! Whose collection is this? Not that I’d ever be able to afford anything this grand, but, still, I can certainly brag about having seen it.”

“It’s called the Royale collection,” Johnnie Mae said, then leaned over and whispered, “and it’s really not that expensive.” She flashed Memory a warm smile.

Memory began to walk around the room. “It has a sort of architectural feel to it.”

Johnnie Mae was slightly taken aback. “That’s exactly what the woman at the furniture store said when we were looking at it.” Each piece had elements found in medallions, crown moldings, and various ceiling tiles (often used throughout Europe) embedded in it. “You’re really quite good at this,” Johnnie Mae said, again impressed.

Memory noted the low poster bed with its smoky cherry tone. She sat down on the mattress, bounced on it, then stood up—just to see how easy it would be to get in and out of it. That was one thing, at almost seventy, she and people her age cared more about these days: whether they could get in and out of bed without having to climb up or slide down. This bed was perfect, as was the one in the other room. She walked toward the dresser that proudly boasted twelve drawers: three small ones across the top, nine large dovetailed ones below. Her attention darted from the dresser to the armoire to yet another piece of furniture in the room that was too large to be a nightstand yet too small to be any type of dresser.

“What’s this called?” Memory asked as she glided her worn, wrinkled fingers across the furniture’s gold-painted shells, leaf moldings, and scrolls while noting how the details on it were identical to the other pieces in the collection.

“Oh, this? It’s called a demilune. It has shelves inside,” Johnnie Mae said, opening its door to show Memory the three shelves now filled with various books.

“A demilune?” she repeated with a look that indicated more information was needed.

“Yes, demilune—for the crescent or half-moon shape of the furniture’s top.”

“Oh,” Memory said, tapping its top with her fingers. She walked back to the dresser, fascinated by how much the design resembled the cherrywood tiles she’d seen on the ceilings of expensive homes in a magazine she’d thumbed through just the other day. The medallions on it—as well as the ones on the armoire, mirror, and dresser—favored floral rosettes. The furniture was visibly solid. A baby blue chaise longue in front of a white-mantelled fireplace seemed to commandeer attention to the large sitting area.

“We can put my things in here,” Memory said, deciding on the Royale room. “But again, I want to make it perfectly clear that I don’t wish to impose on you or your family. Of all the things I intended today, believe me, this was not one of them.”

Johnnie Mae nodded. “Oh, I know. But as I’ve told you already, you won’t be imposing. You can clearly see for yourself, we have more than enough room here.”

Memory smiled. “I do thank you for this time to, at least, regroup. I still need to decide where I should go and what I should do next.” Memory looked at the French-style telephone on the nightstand. “Would it be okay if I use your phone? I have a calling card, so the long-distance charges won’t be charged back to you.”

“Of course it’s okay. Please make yourself at home. And we have unlimited long distance, so save your calling-card minutes for another time. Feel free to talk as long as you need, to whomever you need.” Johnnie Mae headed toward the door. She stopped and turned around. “Can I get you anything? Something to eat or drink, maybe?”

“No, thank you. I’m good for now. Perhaps after I’m finished here, though.”

“As soon as Pastor Landris gets home, I’ll have him bring up your luggage.”

“Oh, I can get them,” Memory said as she eased down onto the bed. “With four suitcases, it’ll take a few trips, but I’m used to it. I’ve been dragging those bags around for a while. But I really don’t see a reason to bring them up, especially when we’re just going to end up having to take them right back to the car, most likely, later tonight.”

“Nonsense,” Johnnie Mae said. “Pastor Landris will get them. And whether you stay a few hours, a night, or a week, I’m sure there are things in your suitcase you need.”

“Whether I stay or for how long . . . Well, we’ll just have to see about that. But please know that I appreciate you.” She looked around the room once more. “Truly, I do.”

“Again, feel free to call as many people as you need to and talk for as long as you like. When you’re finished, you can come back downstairs to the den. Now, there’s a private bathroom right there,” Johnnie Mae said, pointing to a closed door.

“I was thinking how I might need a map just to find my way around this place.”

Johnnie Mae smiled. “You’ll be fine. I’ll see you downstairs. I’m going to close the door”—she grabbed the door handle—“so you can have your privacy.” She stepped out, shut the door quietly, leaned against it, then released a long, slow sigh.

Johnnie Mae couldn’t help but think this might be a good time to call Sarah. Only she wasn’t sure how much time she’d have before Memory came looking for her. She decided it was best to just wait for Landris to come home. That way, he could keep Memory occupied while she took the time needed to explain everything that was going on to Sarah and whomever else she might have to. Almost two weeks shy of being seven months pregnant, Johnnie Mae waddled slightly as she walked down the winding staircase.

Memory picked up the phone. She’d been quietly listening to make sure Johnnie Mae had indeed gone back downstairs. Johnnie Mae had told her it was okay to use their long-distance service, but Memory figured that would likely leave some type of paper trail. She pulled her calling card out from the purse she’d kept securely underneath her arm, pressed the toll-free number to connect her, keyed in her calling-card number, then the number of the person she was dialing, and waited patiently as it began to ring.

“Hi, Sam,” she said with a grin when the familiar voice answered the phone. “It’s me—Memory.”

“Well, it’s about time I finally hear from you,” a deep, scratchy voice replied. “I’ve been worried sick about you. What’s going on? Where are you? Are you all right?”

“Everything’s fine and going according to plan.” Memory glanced around the room. “Well, truthfully, it’s going better than planned. Would you believe I’m at Pastor and Mrs. Landris’s house? That’s if it’s proper to call a mansion a house.”

“You’re kidding,” Sam said.

“Nope. And get this. I had my choice of two of the most gorgeous bedrooms I’ve ever laid eyes on. Of course, you know me. I ended up going with the Royale room. It’s a gorgeous blue. Johnnie Mae says I can stay for as long as I want. Can you believe this?”

“You’re lying, Memory. Stop lying.”

Memory lightly brushed her hand over the baby blue, jacquard satin comforter (half of the bed was covered up with baby blue and dark blue shams as well as geometrically shaped designer pillows). “You know I wouldn’t lie about something like this. I didn’t plan for it to work out this way, but you know what they say about God.”

“Memory, now, I done told you—don’t be playing with God or His name.”

“I ain’t playing. I’m just telling it like it is. God really does work in mysterious ways. Don’t forget, you were the one who reminded me that I’d visited Pastor Landris’s church back in Georgia when I stayed with my daughter and granddaughter that time,” Memory said. “That had to be God. You know how it is when you think you know someone from somewhere but you can’t recall when or where it was or whether it’s just your mind playing tricks on you? Well, that’s how it was when I saw Pastor Landris here. It was you who ended up helping me pinpoint where I’d most likely seen him before.”

“Then I guess you should be thankful for me,” Sam said in between a hard cough.

“Now, you know I appreciate you.” Memory stopped for a second. “And what are you doing for that cold or whatever that is you have? You sound terrible.”

“Oh, I’ll be fine. You’re the one who needs to take care and watch your back.”

“I’m doing that. After that no-good Christopher Harris double-crossed me . . .”

“Memory, don’t go getting your blood pressure all worked up over him again. God is going to take care of that situation one of these days. And you can believe that.”

“Yeah . . . Well, God takes a little too long for me. You of all people know how impatient I can be when it comes to having to wait.”

“So, what happened with that woman you were staying with last we talked?”

Memory got up and walked toward the closet. The phone wasn’t cordless, but the cord was long enough to reach it. She opened the double doors and walked in. The closet was huge. “Arletha was threatening to tell that private detective fellow who’s been following me everywhere that I was at her house. I had to get up out of there in a hurry.”

“Does she know where you are now?”

Memory came out of the closet and closed the doors. “No. Nobody knows, except for you and the Landrises. And they only know me as Elaine Robertson.”

“Well, my lips are zipped. You plan on staying there a little while or what?”

“I don’t know what I’m planning to do at this point. As I said, I wasn’t expecting any of this to happen this way. But now that this opportunity has practically fallen in my lap, maybe I’ll just ride it out and see where it takes me. I just need to think about this a little more, I suppose.”

“Memory, I know I don’t have to tell you this again, but I’m going to say it anyway. You really need to be careful. Take care of yourself. My friend Mabel died the other night. And you know what they say about death—it always comes in threes.”

“Well, don’t you worry none about me. I’ll be careful. Just because I got saved here recently for real, it doesn’t mean I got stupid.”

“You just keep me abreast of what’s going on,” Sam said. “Check in every chance you get, ’cause you know I worry about you when I don’t hear from you every few days.”

“I know. I’m going to get off the phone now. I’ll call you again later and let you know what’s happening on my end. ’Bye, dear.” Memory placed the receiver on its hook, sat down, then grinned as she looked around the room once more. As she relaxed on the stack of pillows behind her, Memory’s grin quickly began to swell into a low, soft chuckle.

Landris had come home earlier than was normal for him. In fact, he’d been caught off guard by just how blinding the June sun could be if you happened to be facing west between four and five o’clock in the afternoon. As soon as he walked in the house, Johnnie Mae asked him to get Memory’s luggage out of the car and take it to the bedroom her mother generally used. Johnnie Mae, Memory, and Johnnie Mae’s daughter, Princess Rose, were all laughing and talking in the den next to the kitchen when Landris came and joined them.

After Johnnie Mae felt certain Landris had Memory’s full attention, she excused herself and hurried upstairs to her bedroom to call Sarah.

“Don’t be giving me hypotheticals. Bring my child home to me,” Sarah said after Johnnie Mae explained the situation as she perceived it. “Catch a plane first thing in the morning, or if you must drive up, then drive. Just bring my child home to me.”

“Okay, Sarah. But I need to know how much you want me to tell her about who you really are,” Johnnie Mae said.

Going by the name Elaine Robertson, Memory didn’t have a clue Johnnie Mae suspected whom she really was. Then again, Memory didn’t know that most of what she believed to be true regarding her own life was, in fact, not the whole truth. If she was truly the Memory Patterson they were seeking, the world as Memory knew it was about to quickly go from flat to round. Johnnie Mae wasn’t sure she should be the one telling Memory any of this or whether this was truly the best place for it to be done.

“Tell her whatever you need to tell her to convince her to come. Everything, if you have to,” Sarah said.

Johnnie Mae hung up the phone and made her way back downstairs. She walked into the den just as Landris was telling Memory one of his favorite jokes.

“There was a feud between the pastor and the choir director of this church,” Landris said, smiling just a tad. “Now, the first hint of trouble seems to have come when the pastor preached on ‘Dedicating Yourselves to Service’ and the choir director decided the choir should sing ‘I Shall Not Be Moved.’ Of course, the pastor believed the song had merely been a coincidence, so he put it behind him and didn’t think any more about it. The next Sunday, the pastor preached on ‘Giving.’ After that sermon, the choir members squirmed as the choir director led them into the hymn ‘Jesus Paid It All.’ By this time, the good pastor was starting to get a bit upset.” Landris chuckled a little.

“Sunday morning service attendance was beginning to grow as the tension increased between the pastor and the choir director,” Landris continued. “One of the largest crowds the church ever had showed up the next week to hear the sermon, which just happened to be ‘The Sin of Gossiping.’ True to form, the choir director selected ‘I Love to Tell the Story.’ Well, it was on—there was no turning back. The next Sunday, the pastor told the congregation that unless something changed, he was considering resigning. The congregation collectively gasped when the choir director led the choir into ‘Why Not Tonight?’ ” Landris struggled to maintain a serious face. He continued.

“Well, of course no one was surprised when the pastor resigned a week later. He explained to the congregation that Jesus had led him there, and Jesus was leading him away. The choir looked at the choir director, who just couldn’t resist. Jumping to his feet, he joyfully led the congregation into the hymn ‘What a Friend We Have in Jesus.’ ”

Memory started laughing and couldn’t stop. “I’ve never heard that before,” she said, trying to compose herself. “You’re really funny. I didn’t know preachers were allowed to have a sense of humor.”

“Oh, you didn’t?” Landris asked. “Well, the Bible says, ‘A merry heart doeth good like a medicine.’ ” Landris looked at Johnnie Mae, who stood by the couch, beaming.

“Pastor Landris can be quite the funnyman when he wants to be,” Johnnie Mae said. “He’s not stuffy like some preachers can tend to be.”

“So I see,” Memory said. She looked from Johnnie Mae to Pastor Landris and instantly picked up on an unspoken communication between them. “Miss Princess Rose,” Memory began, “you’re in school, huh?”

Princess Rose stood up and began to hop on one foot. “Yes, ma’am,” she said, then hopped on the other foot. “Today was our last day.”

“What grade are you in?”

Johnnie Mae touched Princess Rose to make her stand still. Princess Rose stopped hopping and began to twist her upper body from side to side, causing her two long pigtails to swing the way she loved for them to do. “I’ll be in the first grade, Miss Elaine,” she said, emphasizing the word “first,” “when school starts back.”

“Oh, you will?” Memory said, glancing at Johnnie Mae with a smile, then back over to Princess Rose. “How old does that make you? Five? Six?”

Princess Rose held up one hand, showing all five fingers, and the index finger of her other hand.

“Talk, Princess Rose. You know how to talk,” Johnnie Mae said, looking sternly but lovingly at her daughter.

“Six and a half,” Princess Rose said.

“Then why aren’t you going to the second grade when school starts?” Memory asked.

“Her birthday comes late. She was born in December,” Johnnie Mae said, answering the question for her daughter. “I considered putting her in private school for a few years so she could be in her right-age grade, but I decided against it.”

“Well, I bet you’re really, really smart,” Memory said, looking at Princess Rose.

Princess Rose started to nod, then stopped when she looked at her mother. “Yes, ma’am. I really, really am,” she said with a contagious giggle. “Everybody says so!”

They all laughed.

“M . . . Ms. Elaine,” Johnnie Mae said, having almost slipped and called her Memory, “would you mind if I borrow Pastor Landris for just a few minutes?”

“Of course not,” Memory said, immediately taking a swallow of her iced tea.

“I’m sure you’re past ready for supper,” Johnnie Mae said.

“Oh, no, I’m fine for now. That snack you gave me earlier really did the trick.”

“We’ll only be a few minutes,” Johnnie Mae said with a smile. “I promise.” Landris stood up and they went upstairs to their bedroom.

“Okay. What’s up?” Landris asked as soon as Johnnie Mae closed the door.

“I spoke with Sarah.”

“And—”

“And . . . she wants me to bring Memory to Asheville, North Carolina, tomorrow morning.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know about that, Johnnie Mae. You’re pregnant. I don’t think you need to even be considering anything like that.” Landris stared firmly into her brown eyes. “Just put her on a plane. It’ll be faster that way, anyway.”

“Landris, you know how important this is to Sarah. I’m pretty sure that’s Memory downstairs. What if she decides to run away again?”

“That’s, of course, if the woman downstairs really is her. Has she admitted to you that she is, in fact, Memory?”

Johnnie Mae glanced at the floor for a brief second, then backup. “Well, no.”

“Then you really can’t be certain she’s Memory. And you just may have gotten Sarah’s hopes up for nothing.”

Johnnie Mae looked lovingly into her husband’s hazel-brown eyes as she spoke softly. “I know it’s her, Landris. I can feel it. So can you. I plan on talking with her and finding out once and for all, though.”

“When?”

“As soon as I go back downstairs. I wanted to talk with you first.” Johnnie Mae walked toward the door. “I didn’t want to do anything before talking with you about it. If my suspicions are correct, then Sarah’s long-lost daughter is downstairs in our den at this very moment. Sarah’s been searching everywhere for her. You know this. I can’t take the chance of losing her before the two of them can meet. And if that means I have to drive her to Asheville, North Carolina, myself, then that’s exactly what I’m prepared to do.”

Landris came over and pulled Johnnie Mae into his arms. “Now, you know I’m not going to let you go up to Asheville by yourself. You know that. But first things first. You need to be certain the woman downstairs is really Memory Patterson. So tell me. How are you planning on accomplishing that little feat?”

“Now, that much I’m not so sure about yet. She was telling me things at the church earlier today. I don’t know whether I should see if she’ll tell me on her own who she is, and then I tell her what I know, or whether I should just tell her what I know, and we move on from there. I just don’t know.”

“And precisely how much are you planning on telling her?”

Johnnie Mae grabbed the door handle. “Landris, I truly don’t know. Just pray for me while I do this, okay? Honestly, I haven’t a clue what my plans are from here on out. All I know is that something has to be done. And now is the time. I’m just trusting God.”

“Do you want me there while you talk to her?”

Johnnie Mae released the door handle, tilted her head, and smiled before rising up on the tips of her toes, caressing his face with both hands, then giving him a quick peck on his lips. “No. But if you could keep Princess Rose occupied for me, that would be such a tremendous help. Princess Rose appears to be somewhat smitten with ‘Ms. Elaine,’ and I don’t want any interruptions when she and I begin our talk.”

“Are you sure?” Landris asked. “We both know this is some heavy stuff here.”

“I’m sure. It’s going to be okay,” Johnnie Mae said as she smiled at him.

It was Landris this time who planted a soft kiss on her lips. “Well, whatever you need”—he planted yet another kiss on her lips—“you know I’m here for you.”

She nodded, opened the door, and they walked back downstairs hand in hand.

“Princess Rose, how about you and I go to the game room and watch a little TV on the widescreen,” Landris said as soon as he and Johnnie Mae entered the room. “Or maybe we can play a game. If memory serves, I believe you and I are due for an air-hockey rematch.” Straightway, he noticed how Johnnie Mae’s eyes widened right after the word “memory” came out of his mouth. He touched her hand to put her back at ease.

“I’m just going to beat you again, Daddy Landris,” Princess Rose said, getting up off the couch and skipping toward him. “I don’t know when you’re going to ever learn.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll just have to see about that then, missy, now won’t we?” Landris said with a sly grin. Princess Rose grabbed his hand and started pulling him toward the hallway that led to the downstairs game room.

After the room was quiet, Johnnie Mae went and sat down across from where Memory was sitting at the end section of the U-shaped sectional sofa.

“I suppose you want to finish what you and I were talking about at the church,” Memory said, releasing a deep sigh. “I did say some things that could cause you to be a bit leery of me right now. Especially considering you’ve so graciously opened up your home to me—a perfect stranger, in actuality.”

Johnnie Mae was still unsure of which direction she should take. Should she let Memory tell her the rest of what she had begun at the church and see whether or not she would tell her the whole truth? Or should she admit to Memory up front what she suspected and tell her the things she knew?

Namely that Memory Elaine Patterson, the daughter of Mamie and Willie B. Patterson, was neither Mamie nor Willie B.’s child, but in fact, the daughter of one prominent and extremely wealthy Sarah Elaine Fleming. Johnnie Mae prayed silently.

“Elaine, back at the church,” Johnnie Mae began, “you were telling me about your family and how you were feeling bad about some things that had happened in your life.”

“Yeah. And you probably think I’m a real jerk or something now.”

“No. No, really I don’t. We just didn’t get to finish the conversation, and there appeared to be more you wanted. . .