Keeper of My Soul

by Keshia Dawn

Genres: African American; African American Christian; African American Urban; Christian Fiction

Synopsis

Keithe and his wife of fifteen years, Michelle, have not had a good marriage by any stretch of the imagination. It's bad enough that she neglects him, but she's stepped out on him, bringing home STDs. At forty-one, the handsome Houston attorney needs some real love in his life, and he starts to seek it out. Except Michelle knows all too well what he's up to—and even knows things about his potential prospects he doesn't. And now all of a sudden she doesn't want to let go of him, and will smash anyone who tries to come between her and her man. But Michelle is soon left to realize that her own betrayals are much deeper than she would care to believe in this powerful story of righting wrongs and finding peace in the soul.

Release date: June 8, 2011

Publisher: Urban Christian

Print pages: 304

Sample

Thank you is what I continue to say to God for his ability to show himself through my writing. For my personal growth, I’m in awe of what God can do. And in being obedient to his word, he has released books from me that have been ministry for others. Thank you, God, for your son Jesus.

My family has been continuously by my side through my writing, sometimes giving me ideas and inspiration to spin out words like a spider’s web. Elder Donald and Fannie P. Sauls (the P is for priceless), I’m grateful for you and thank you for being good to my Chayse. She loves her Pawpaw and nana! My sister, Fanasha, you are a rock wrapped in all the love you are now sharing with Baby Kayden. Thank you for making me an auntie, and finally bringing a son into Daddy’s life. You are a great wife and mother. Oh, and sister! Continue to allow God to point you in the direction he would have you to go, love you bunches. Li’l sister, angel, I pray God’s blessings as you start off your twenties with a bang. Stay with God throughout your college years and roll into adulthood with God’s manual tucked tight. Can’t wait to see how God is going to move in you. Love you bunches.

Baby Chayse, who is so not a baby anymore, you have definitely been here before. You remind me so much of me, and that’s a good thing, LOL. You inspire me to be all I can be (even past age thirty) so that I can show by example how you can do and be anything you set your mind to. President maybe?

Too many family and friends to name, but you all know who you are! especially everyone who celebrated His Grace, His Mercy with me at Brooklyns in Dallas. Love you, guys!

The literary world can be full of friends (I don’t worry about the foes). Through that, loyalty is not lost. Fon James for continuing to be the best literary buddy an author friend can have. Being a life coach looks good on you! Thank you for allowing God to speak “realness” into my life. Let’s keep ’er going!

I’m ever thankful for Urban Christian and their approach to stand out in a world where so many are lost. Christian fiction is not just entertainment, but it’s a ministry that surpasses drama. It’s an example of how to deal with issues with God leading. Joylynn, thank you for staying the course and pushing us authors to seek God for the words that will become permanent. Blessings.

I hope Keeper of My Soul blesses you. If so, drop me a line and let me know. If not, drop me a line and let me know. It’s all in love.

 

Blessings,

Keshia Dawn

www.KeshiaDawnwrites.com

The sky split down the middle, pouring rain from the seams as he pulled out of his driveway. Headed toward the highway in order to leave Houston, the nonstop rain seemed to follow Keithe for the entirety of the four-hour drive into Dallas. The gray clouds that followed seemed to promise no let up anytime soon.

For the past twenty-four hours, Keithe had had an ongoing battle within himself to find the courage to do what was right. Against doctor’s orders, Keithe fought for the gumption to get into one of his vehicles, his Porsche, and start on his journey that would finally set him free. Each time, it was Michelle and the love he had for her that halted his steps. But today was different. She had finally pushed him to his limits.

Michelle, his wife of fifteen years, had betrayed him in ways that he couldn’t believe someone would do. With all the cheating, the lying, and manipulating she had done, through all of that turmoil, he had made up his mind to stand right by her side, regardless. Not just because she was a socialite, a respected judge in the community, but because he had made vows to her that he had actually taken to heart. After fifteen years of a rocky-road marriage, it all seemed to be in vain.

Driving, Keithe replayed the scene in his head of the last moments of what he was sure to be the end of his marriage. Reaching over to the passenger’s seat, Keithe dug around in his medicine bag. Retrieving his daily seizure medication he’d been taking for the last five years, Keithe hoped his meds were able to calm the jitters, ward off the onset of a seizure he felt deep in his body. No matter what, he had to go.

He couldn’t think of another way the entire scenario could have gone. He wondered if he should have just spent the rest of his life ducking and dodging, blinding himself about his wife’s mishaps, as she had, but he knew he couldn’t. Years had already gone by without him really considering himself, thanks to his ever-loving wife and her ability to persuade him with her gift for gab. The years full of denial that had passed were long enough to make him feel as if he’d wasted an eternity.

Not one time had he messed up, and if he had, she would have shot him down, making him believe his correspondence with another to be the ultimate marriage betrayal. But no, he stayed. And what did he get in return? The scene that had taken place in front of his home earlier that morning.

Screaming at the top of her lungs while standing on their wet and cold lawn, Michelle had made it known that she wouldn’t forgive him if he left the house.

“Whatever,” he had roared back, allowing the then drizzling rain to seep onto his bald head. Standing toe-to-toe with his wife in front of their million-dollar home, Keithe felt daggers in his back as he turned to continue a wide-legged stride toward his prized vehicle: his Porsche. Just because she loathed the car he had bought himself for his fortieth birthday, he made sure he loved it.

Just when he’d thought he was in the clear to leave for his route to work, once more, and relieve himself from the rain that had started to sprint from the full clouds, the fists she had balled to her sides were put to use. Michelle, almost fifty-five years old, used her physically fit ability to run and jump on her husband’s back, landing punches anywhere they would stay. Keithe, like many times before, had to pry and push her off his body and restrain her from doing any more damage. He didn’t care for another argument or another fight. Enough was enough.

“Enough, Michelle,” Keithe had let slip through his lips without the parting of his capped and pearly white teeth. Looking down at his wife, who had landed violently on the wet ground, Keithe fought the urge to help her up and make it all better. Her hatred had finally reached into his heart and furnished him a rite of passage to give her a taste of her own medicine.

The demands of who, why, when, and where were way too much for him to get into, especially when he’d gotten information that let him know Michelle definitely hadn’t been who she had claimed to be. For all the questions she had for him, he had once had the same for her. There had been fifteen years’ worth of unanswered questions as to why he wasn’t enough for her, or why she wouldn’t love him the way he loved her. Today had changed everything.

“Michelle, you’ve brought more men to our bed than I care to imagine. Should I remind you?” He had taken a step forward with his foot landing in a grassy, muddy puddle. With splats of residue landing on her silky apparel, Michelle struggled to rise from her wet seat and rid herself of Keithe’s presence.

When he had reached for his wallet, Keithe’s shoulders eased of the tension, but it was replaced by heartbreak. The faxed paperwork, which was folded enough times to make a home for itself, was his weapon. Michelle’s eyes landing on the paper caused enough embarrassment to make her turn and hurry back toward their home.

The piece of crinkled paper that lay in his wallet housed creases of his disbelief. More than twenty times in the few hours since he’d owned the results, Keithe had opened and refolded the test results his doctor had faxed over to him after he’d given him the details over the phone. The results told of his wife’s latest tryst. The latest scum must have been his clone twin, because from where he was standing, Keithe had inherited the same residue: an inherited pile of gonorrhea he was sure Michelle forgot to tell him about.

Deciding to keep the paperwork would come in handy for a time such as this. If he couldn’t forget, he surely didn’t want his wife to forget how she had given him a disease that someone else had let her borrow.

“Crazy self!” Cutting his verbal fight short, Keithe then headed toward his car, making sure she didn’t come back at him before he made it to his black-on-black Porsche.

When he pulled out of their driveway, Keithe was soaking wet, with fresh scars on his arms and hands on top of the ones that had barely healed. He could see Michelle standing under the threshold of the entrance door with her arms folded across her chest. In her damaged silk champagne-colored outfit, she stood without tears, but with a glare that once burned holes right through to his heart.

“That’s right, get out of here,” is what he thought she might have said if he hadn’t sped off so quickly. Instead, her longest finger was the wave that sent him gliding over the puddles on their street.

Keithe made his way to the office but his mind just wandered back to his homelife. Half the day had passed before he realized his body was there but his mind was still on the other side of town. He left with no real sought out plan. He just knew he had to get away.

The forced, almost four-hour drive allowed him to think back on his life and how he had spent it. Wasted. Yes, he was the number-one sought-after attorney, living in the lap of luxury, but he was just as depressed as a homeless person would be. Instead of being penniless, he had no happiness.

Coasting on the highway, re-familiarizing himself with Dallas’s surroundings, Keithe retrieved his BlackBerry from his holster. Scrolling to a text that he had gotten hours ago, he was glad he’d gotten the information, because he hadn’t a clue exactly where he would land while in Dallas. Nighttime had greeted him as he proceeded into the live city, and just as they had been along the route there, the thunderstorms were treacherous. Nevertheless, it wouldn’t stop Keithe’s quest to go into the part of town he felt he should have already been familiar with. Tapping the brakes, Keithe slowed his vehicle. He hoped the rain would let up just a bit in order for him to make out the name of the apartments he needed to venture to.

Easing along the almost flooded streets of north Dallas, his heart suddenly ached as he thought about the situation at hand. He prayed for acceptance and wished he had made up in his mind a day earlier, a year earlier, for that matter. All he ever wanted to do was live right and be right, wanting to have a family and be the husband and father God had wanted him to be: the same type of man his father had been to him and his mother. But it never happened, and with Michelle, it never would.

“Found it,” Keithe announced to himself as he inched his way into the upscale apartment complex. Excited about the possibility of resting without argument, Keithe drove further into the crowded complex.

With pressure added to the gas pedal from his size-fourteen Cole Haan shoe, Keithe looked down toward his gadget-filled console in search for the defrost mechanism. One push turned the contraption on. Just before Keithe placed his eyes back on the narrow pathway, he searched once again for the button to lower the force of the breeze. Studying the space a little longer than he should have, Keithe raised his eyes to see the windshield clearing, but not before his vehicle made contact with something other than the road.

“Oh my God!” was all Keithe had enough time to shout before hitting the brakes. The hard braking forced his face into the windshield, but even with the short daze and blood trickling down his face, Keithe was concerned with the object he’d hit.

With the rain clobbering his sporty ride, he struggled to remove his sixfoot frame from the car to check the seriousness of the accident. It was dark and rainy, and the image of a human, maybe even an animal, was what came to mind first. As Keithe made his way to the front bumper, he found nothing. The dark of night and the rain meshed; Keithe, without thought, got on his hands and knees to see what had gotten stuck under his vehicle.

It only took a tenth of a second for Keithe to find his breath that had lodged itself in his chest. Saturated with rain, but no longer feeling any effects, he pulled himself up as fast as he could.

“Oh my God,” his voice rang out, the second time in less than ten minutes. “Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God,” he cried out as he made his way back into his car and reversed. “somebody help me!” Before he could gain energy to start his search for help, the pressure built up from a seizure in waiting caused him to black out while his body jumped against the steering wheel.

“Stoney, g’on out yonder and get me a switch from that tree. I’m fed up wit’cha, girl.” Grandma Susie was ready to make a promise of her threats. “G’on now.”

Walking as slowly as her bony legs would tote her through the screen door, Stoney hesitated as she teetered under the threshold. “But I didn’t even do nothing,” the seven-year-old mumbled under her breath. “I just don’t want no medicine, that’s all.”

“Wha’cha say, gal?” Grandma Susie positioned her big hands on either side of the rocking chair’s arm-rests, hoping to show Stoney that there was no playing. “Don’t make me come out there and get it myself.”

Once her bare feet landed on the porch, Stoney looked back at her grandmother and snatched her head back around as fast as she could. Knowing her grandmother couldn’t see her facial expression, Stoney stuck out her tongue and wrapped it in the corner of her mouth, which was her only comeback.

This would be the third whooping she’d gotten in one week, all because she didn’t want to take medication that Grandma Susie said she didn’t have a choice but to take. Grandma Susie said, “If I gotta take some medicine, so do you.” Every time Stoney drank the bottled purple stuff, she didn’t like the way it made her eyes look at things. She’d heard Grandma Susie tell her old lady friends that giving Stoney medicine was the best way to get her to sleep, hushed up, or to sit down somewhere. As far as Stoney was concerned, she didn’t want to do any of the above.

Finally moving forward in Grandma Susie’s mission for her to get self-destruction ammo, Stoney stood in front of the only thing besides medicine that she hated: the switch tree.

With the house she lived in with Grandma Susie behind her, Stoney looked to her left and watched her friends scatter off on the hidden trail. To her right was the alley that would take her toward town. Peeping over her shoulder, Stoney took off toward the alley, hoping her plan to run away led her right into the arms of her mother: someone she had never laid eyes on.

“So are you down? hello? earth to Stoney.” Vicky snapped repeatedly in her coworker’s face.

“Uh, huh? Oh, girl.” Stoney sat up straight at her desk. Lost in the recap of her youth, Stoney broke loose from thoughts of one of her runaway attempts.

“No can do, Vicky the Vixen,” Stoney joked around with her coworker and friend who had been pressuring her all afternoon to have cocktails after work. Remembering that she held a tablet of medication in her left hand, Stoney reached for her bottled water to wash down the pale capsule. “When are you going to give up? If I don’t boogie, you know I don’t guzzle.” Stoney stared at her friend before her frequent eye flutter took over. When Vicky’s own eyes began to water while looking at Stoney’s repeated eye jerking, Stoney paid no mind, and continued her reasoning on why happy hour was out. “Drinking is for the birds. Plus, hanging around you already has me acting thrown off. What you trying to do, get me locked up?”

“Uh-uh. Chunked is more like it. I feel ya, though.” Vicky shared a laugh with her younger counterpart. “You’re doing the right thing.” easing seriousness into the conversation, a short and vibrant Victoria really did admire Stoney for being young and making God the head of her life. Totally.

Knowing Stoney had been raised by her grandmother, Vicky could argue with some of the old-fogy ideas that her young friend had about individuals and the world itself, but she respected the twenty-one-year-old for at least giving her life to God and sticking with it. She just wished Stoney would take her advice and lose the coffee-colored stockings and sandals.

“Girl, keep doing what you doing,” Vicky halfway chanted. “By the time I was your age, I had twenty-one painted on my forehead and all I wanted was for the bartender to keep mixing and pouring. No small talk please.” She hunched her broad shoulders and turned her face, giving an academy award example of her story. When she saw Stoney give her a questioning start, Vicky announced, “Oh, that was months before I knew I was pregnant. By the time I was twenty-five, I had sobered up and was pregnant with my third child.” Vicky let out a weakened sigh, thinking that in her thirty years she had experienced a lifetime.

Getting up from her desk, Stoney shook her head about Vicky’s comment. “You are a mess,” Stoney said in her nasally tone. “Anyway. I have choir rehearsal and I’m teaching a new song tonight,” she shared as she filed away patient charts for the doctor she worked for.

“Brother Mike is letting us borrow space in his home since new bleachers are being put in the choir’s stand. You know he got that bad house everybody been talking about. I sho’ can’t miss tonight. You sure you don’t want to come?” Stoney sang to her girlfriend. “I keep telling you he got the sweets for you.”

“Hmm. That’s nice,” Vicky responded, and then silenced herself. Vicky had had a major crush on Brother Mike since she started going to Bethel sanctuary five years earlier. Recently she had made her move, jumped the gun, and acted on her feelings before knowing all she needed to know about Brother Mike. There was no way she would let on to Stoney, who was still considered fairly new to the church, that she had been all up and through Brother Mike’s new home. And she surely wasn’t going to let on that the fling they had had flung. He may have been sweet, but on her, she figured, he wasn’t.

“Girl, well, let me run and meet up with the girls. You know li’l Risha Coleman from church charging me by the hour now for keeping my kids.” with the “no she ain’t” expression on Stoney’s face, Vicky knew she couldn’t believe it either. “Yeah, girl. I know. Okay. Well, I’m out of here. I’ll see you at church on Sunday if I don’t see you tomorrow.”

“Cool. See ya.” Stoney gave her friend a quick hug and waved her out of the office. Glad that she was finally close to someone who was more like a big sister than just a friend, Stoney allowed her smile to linger longer than usual.

Not used to having any female friends back home, Stoney thought about what Grandma Susie would say if she’d known that Stoney had let someone in her personal life. That was just something people shouldn’t do, as Grandma Susie always said. “People just nosey and want to be in your business.”

“Aw, Grandma Susie.” Stoney snickered to herself upon reminiscing on her grandmother’s words. “Vicky is different. I finally got a friend.”

When she first moved to Dallas, Stoney became one of the smartest female students at the most expensive private university in town. That’s where she met Vic. . .