Chapter Four
Love . . . acceptance . . . forgiveness . . . commitment. These are the cornerstones of marriage.
The Reverend Atticus Green paused to smile warmly at the young couple before him at the altar of the Ebenezer Baptist Church. The young bride was swathed in white tulle. The groom was smartly dressed in a black tuxedo and gray waistcoat. Atticus winked at his best friend, Kwame, the groom.
Kwame was one of his basketball-team friends from their days at Howard University.
Kwame was a big man with as big a heart, appropriately the team’s power forward.
Beside Kwame stood a line of tall athletic men, handsome in their groomsmen suits.
Marcus, whose long arms could sink a basket from any distance, was the shooting guard.
Standing beside him was Beau, a bull both in frame and attitude.
He was the small forward. Atticus, though neither the tallest nor broadest, was fast and clever.
And like his idol, Michael Jordan, Atticus had a winning smile that endeared him to the fans and ladies alike.
He played the team’s leader as point guard.
Atticus loved these men as brothers. He felt a rush of emotion at being able to marry Kwame today. It was a privilege and an honor. Clearing his throat, he lifted his prayer book and began the service.
“Love . . . acceptance . . . forgiveness . . . commitment. These are the cornerstones of marriage. We stand together, before God, to witness this couple pledge themselves to one another. Please, take each other’s hands.”
The over-the-top wedding reception was at the St. Regis, a five-star hotel in Atlanta.
No expense was spared. There was mood lighting, tall silver candelabras blown out with flowers, and a seated dinner with prime rib and seasonal foods.
Atticus didn’t want to think of the cost nor how much his church could have done with that money.
He wasn’t being critical. Everyone had the right to the wedding of his or her choice.
He’d held services at most every venue imaginable in the Atlanta area.
Formal, like this one. In the country with horses, on beaches in bare feet, and even on boats cruising the river.
Yet there was no evidence that a wedding that cost $100,000 could guarantee a successful marriage any more than a $10,000 wedding or, for that matter, an elopement.
As the hour grew late the guests thinned out and the music had changed to the soul funk he loved.
Beyoncé, Estelle, Jill Scott—ladies who could really blow.
The lights dimmed and people shouted over the loud music to be heard.
Someone called out his old college nickname.
Atticus cringed hearing it, hating it now as much as he did back then.
“Hey, Attaboy!” Beau called, waving him over.
Following the voice, he spied Beau standing beside Kwame with his arms around his groomsmen. Their ties and jackets were off and each had a drink in his hand.
“Big Beau!” Atticus called back.
“Get your ass over here and link arms. Forget the four cornerstones of marriage. We got to get a picture of the four cornerstones of the Bison basketball team.”
Kwame laughed, waved over the photographer, and said, “You got that right. We’re the four cornerstones of the Bisons.” Kwame opened an arm for Atticus. “Our team was the stuff of legends.”
Atticus laughed softly as he slipped off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt collar.
They were ribbing him, borrowing his phrase “the cornerstones” from his service.
It was true. The four of them were the power players for the four years they were at Howard.
Atticus joined his basketball brothers, slipping arms over Kwame’s and Marcus’s shoulders, feeling the old camaraderie that he knew would always be between them.
They’d all taken different paths in life.
Kwame was a sports reporter for CNN. He was just married, wanted a family, he was on his way.
Marcus had gone into medicine. Beau was a manager for a construction firm.
His wife was at home, too far along in her pregnancy to come to the wedding.
Atticus had taken a different turn after college and gone to Yale Divinity graduate school.
In his black wool jacket and open-collared black shirt, he looked cool and available. No one would guess he was a minister.
He and his friends met on the basketball team their freshman year and were inseparable for four years.
Though Marcus and Atticus had gone off to graduate school, after graduation they’d returned to Atlanta to work.
It was quietly understood that they’d all stay in Atlanta .
. . stay in touch. On weekends they played pickup games of basketball.
They stood up for each other’s weddings and funerals.
Atticus couldn’t have gotten through his mother’s funeral were it not for them.
If all that wasn’t enough to bind them for life, the car accident the fateful night of their college graduation was. They were blood brothers.
The photographer did his duty and got the picture. Two of the bridesmaids, seeing the action, came running over, their high heels clicking on the wood floor.
“Wait,” one called out, arm waving. “We want a picture with us in it.”
They trotted up to the men, giggling and smoothing out their dresses, while the men gave them the once-over.
The two women were young and sexy in their off-the-shoulder, silver-sequined gowns that reflected the light and accentuated their ample curves.
Keisha, a sloe-eyed beauty, wiggled in beside Atticus, leaned her ample breasts against him, and pressed her cheek against his.
“That’s the way,” Marcus teased him, chuckling low. “Real close now.”
When the photo was done, Keisha turned in Atticus’s arms, her body close to his. “You’re Atticus Green, aren’t you?” she asked coyly.
“That’s me.”
“I heard about you.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. I heard you’ve got the most beautiful eyes. And know what? It’s true.” She pressed closer. “I could look in your eyes till kingdom come.” Her intonation clearly indicated that she’d look at them at least until morning.
“You like them blue eyes?” Beau teased her. “Them’s white-boy eyes. Look at mine, deep, dark chocolate. Not too sweet. African grade.” He laughed.
Atticus smirked and said nothing. All his life his blue eyes had been the butt of jokes among the boys. And a magnet for the girls.
“Hey, Atticus,” Marcus said. His arm remained around the other bridesmaid. “Mattie and I are going out after the wedding. Come with us.”
“Oh, yes,” Keisha urged, wiggling closer.
“Can’t,” Atticus replied. “Sorry.”
“Why not?” Kwame asked, slapping his back. “Keisha wants to go out with you, don’t you, baby?”
She nodded. “Sure do.”
Beau complained, “Why aren’t you asking me to go out with you?”
“ ’Cause you’re married, fool,” Marcus shot back. “Your wife’s home about to have your baby.”
“So what? Don’t mean I can’t have a good time.” Beau laughed as Marcus slapped his back.
“Not with me you can’t,” Keisha said in his face. “Come on, Atticus. We’ll have a good time.”
“Wish I could, but I have a service first thing in the morning.”
“All work and no play makes Atticus a dull boy,” Keisha said, twiddling with his collar.
“I’m sure it does.” He gently removed her hands and kissed them before returning them to her. “Maybe another time.” He ignored the loud groans of disappointment from his friends.
“But don’t you be forgetting me now.” Keisha slipped a piece of paper in his pocket, then patted it. “Call me,” she whispered in his ear before slowly disentangling herself and strolling off with her friend.
“Are you crazy?” Beau asked him when they were out of earshot. “That was a sure thing. Back in college you never let an opportunity pass.”
Atticus shrugged. “I’m not in college anymore.”
“No. You’re a priest now,” Beau fired back. “Celibate.”
The men laughed at his expense.
“Not a priest.” Atticus gave them their laugh. “And not celibate. Just more choosy.”
Marcus gave him a gentle punch. “Yeah, right.”
“Hey, I get that,” Kwame said, wrapping both arms around Marcus and Atticus. “I knew when I found my Letitia, she was the one.” Kwame got teary eyed and looked across the room at his new wife. “Look at my bride. She’s so fine. Gentlemen, my days of trolling are over.”
Beau hooted and Marcus patted his shoulder. “That’s real nice,” Marcus said patronizingly. “Give it a few years. As for you . . .” He pointed at Atticus.
A roar from the crowd interrupted them as music for the Electric Slide broke out. Marcus let out a whoop and turned to dance his way to join the lines forming on the dance floor.
Kwame took off after him, looking for his bride.
Beau grabbed Atticus’s arm. “Come on, brother. Let’s show ’em how it’s done.”
The weather was cloudy and cool when Atticus got out of the pizza joint.
The pizza was only okay, but the run-down restaurant was close to home and the only place still open.
The warmth of the pizza felt good on his hands, and the scent of tomato sauce and crust floated up to him, making his mouth water.
With his free hand he turned up his collar, hunched his shoulders, and began walking.