In Covenant with Ezra (Love Unaccounted Book 1) Read online

  In Covenant with Ezra

  the Love Unaccounted series

  by Love Belvin

  MKT Publishing

  Copyright © 2015 by Love Belvin

  All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without written permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidences are fictitious and a product of the author’s imagination.

  Cover design by Visual Luxe

  Table of Contents

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  one

  two

  three

  four

  five

  six

  seven

  eight

  nine

  ten

  eleven

  twelve

  thirteen

  fourteen

  Love Acknowledges

  Other books by Love Belvin

  Extra

  Prologue

  2008

  Deep in the bosom of a wadi, next to a stream of water, in the distant land of Oman, on the coast of Saudi Arabia, laid a man—a troubled, besieged man—stretched prostrate with his face collapsed against the warm sands of the desert. The sky was a hue of purple from the expansive darkness of firmament covered with luminous, blazing stars. Under the celestial body his broad, solid shoulders trembled and in a thick, raw and deep tenor he cried out, harrowingly, in a language foreign to his own. His dialect, in fact, was a miscellany of parlance if heard by human ear. However, the Recipient of the man’s conversation understood the supplication of his groans.

  “Äbbä, äbbä,” the man groaned tearlessly, but with gut-wrenched emotions.

  “أستسلم!” he cried repetitively in a different dialect, which could be interpreted in English dialect as I surrender.

  The unusual and audible winds blew fiercely—eerily—over his body as the man made his plea. The shallow water wrinkled in waves in the dale. The land that matched the man’s disposition.

  Minutes later, seemingly in response to his Recipient, the man continued chanting, “سأذهب.”, which was I will go. He howled it from the pits of his belly, finally feeling liberated by his delayed submission to the other party.

  “افعل ما تريد,” the man cried what could be understood as I will do as you please. And he meant each syllable of his solemn declaration.

  And though the sounds of the man’s entreaty roared against the raging wind, it was clear there was a two-way dialogue taking place in the valley. The man quieted for moments long to receive a response.

  Then the man offered with fewer tremors in his chords, “شرط واحد,” which meant just one condition.

  Now, this was a bold move for the man. Demands and instruction of the other party of this conversation had always been and will always be, invariably, one way and never bi-directional. But this man… This abundantly favored and grossly gifted man was especial to the opposing party. This man had been sought after since leaving his mother’s womb. The man was particularly crafted for a life work far beyond what he understood. For years, the resourceful man escaped the demands of his heritage, denounced his lawful legacy. The man was ornery and rebellious, determined to create and implement his own will. That was until recently when his allotted grace had run thin. The man understood that mercy would begin to deplete next. So now—yes, now—was the time to surrender to what he was created to do.

  Seemingly after being queried by the Recipient, the man continued and begged, “إرسالها إلى لي!” which could be understood as send her to me.

  The wind blustered, the water sounded its disturbance and the man coherently knew he’d made a parlous decision by demanding anything from the other party. But this errant man wouldn’t yield in his requisition.

  “إرسالها إلى لي!” The man repeated send her to me, now saturated with desperation for a new thing. “الشيء الصحيح بالنسبة لي,” he shrieked his amendment of the right one for me, perceptively understanding that he’d had just a fleck of a chance for his counter.

  The man waited with bated breath. His heart rate took off to a disproportionate rate. His large hands astride his face were misted with liquid anxiety. He knew his demand was unprecedented, understood with sound clarity that this could put him in grave danger. But the man didn’t recoil in will; he never had. Instead he waited for a comprehensive response from the other party.

  It was unclear how long a period the man waited. He remained on his knees with his face burrowed and back bowed in exaltation. His lungs released their pending air in aching anticipation. The man’s belly toiled with nervous fear as he awaited his response. He was unhurried—nauseatingly anxious—and at a crossroad in his life: he had to surrender. If he could be granted this one concession, the man believed he could carry out his charge.

  The land was quiet: its villagers deep in the throes of slumber. The man had been a guest to the natives. He was known to leave his homeland and travel, hiding amongst natives of foreign lands and ingesting their culture, taking on extended pilgrimages, escaping what could no longer be evaded.

  Unaware of how long he tarried, the man realized the answer had come when a harsh wind whipped through the desiccated land, taking a layer of sand lifted from the ground, seeding it like a sheet of rain. And rain. Heavy droplets of water fell over the village with unrepentant force. In the torrent, the stars were no longer visible. The moon had been removed and replaced by a complete black backdrop of firmament.

  This was it. It was the response the man had been hoping for, but was not quite confident he’d be granted. But it was undoubtedly here. The torture had ended. The man’s tenure of rebellion had concluded.

  This was covenant.

  “It is well with my soul,” the man cried in his native tongue under the torrent, unable to discern his tears from those of the heavens. “I will go.”

  And from that day forth, the man fervently served the Recipient in spirit and in truth.

  one

  February 2015

  Lex

  My. Gooooood…

  With my tongue pressed against my top lip, labored breaths pushed through my heavy lungs. My trembling fingers swiped my engorged bulb for the final time and my metatarsals curved into balls. My body quaked its fit madly atop the mattress over and over and over again ascending me above the clouds until I…coasted.

  The quivering of my limbs had begun to slow, my breathing hadn’t quite stabilized yet and the lids of my eyes opened as my float began to wane.

  And then…it was…gone. I’d landed.

  I masturbate too damn much in my twenties.

  I twisted on the mattress for the time.

  Good…5:06.

  Easing off the bed gingerly, I reached for the housecoat on the back of my door before slipping into my bedroom shoes. I tiptoed into the bathroom to clean up, grabbed my key ring and the pharmacy bag from my purse in the kitchen then headed out the door. I paced three doors down before pulling out my keys and entered the dark apartment. The motor from the fish tank droned on the opposite side of the room. I wondered if Oscar had been fed yet as I padded down the short hall to the lone bedroom in the place. From the cracked door, I caught the faint light over the nightstand and as I inched closer, I saw her back as she rested perched on the far end of the full sized bed.

  I made my way in quietly, but knew my presence was known. Though I’d always given her just due privacy, it’d been made clear over the year
s that I’d come into her place without announcement.

  “Yuh up early again?” she mumbled on a lost breath, not even facing me. “Yuh life’s envy-worthy.”

  “Has Oscar eaten?” I murmured, ignoring her grumpiness.

  She snapped her tongue on the roof of her mouth. “Nuh, unless he feed himself.”

  I rounded the bed and handed her the bag of meds.

  Sucking her tongue again, she rolled her eyes into the back of her head.

  I sighed out loud. “Dr. Patel said you have to be regular with these or it won’t get better,” I pleaded with a nasty tone. I’d learned from her how to be a nurturer and a bitch at the same time.

  “Meh dun’t care what da man said. I nobody’s baby. I nuh on me momma’s tit na more. Me dun’t need ya fetching me meds. I fine, yuhnuh,” her Caribbean tongue had been unleashed, but I didn’t give a damn. She needed the medicine.

  “Look,” I growled. “You said you’d get it yourself two days ago and didn’t, so—”

  “Lexi, yuh have nuh money. How’d yuh even get these?” More than an inquiry, it was admonishment. We lived in separate households, but very much aware of each other’s financial woes.

  “I had Peewee pay me in advance. It’s no big deal—”

  “Nuh big deal my ass—”

  “And your rent has been paid up until the middle of June—”

  She sucked in a lungful of air as her eyes went wild. “What da hell—”

  “And”—I didn’t let her speak until I’d gotten it all out—“…you’re going back home next month. You deserve it and it wasn’t a lot of money to make much of a fuss over!”

  “Yuh little…” Ms. Remah’s eyes flitted around the room in search of something, likely something to throw at my head. “Yuh dun’t know nuh better, gyal! You graduate next month!” she shouted. “Yuh need to care fa ya’self!”

  “My graduation fees are all paid for,” I countered, trying to top her volume.

  “And yuh rent?”

  “Will get paid!” I hurried. “It will get paid when I get paid from my jobs. It’s okay,” I lowered my voice as I sat next to her on the bed, handing her the bag. “It’s all going to work out.” I deliberately attempted a soothing tone.

  That didn’t work.

  “Where’d yuh get the money from for the trip and rent?”

  Ms. Remah was nobody’s fool. I tried to throw in a method of getting my hands on some money to appease her, but didn’t disclose it all and she’d caught on.

  “My last refund check,” I whispered with clipped confidence, unable to face her.

  “Uhn-huhn,” she processed the information. “Yuhnuh the trip back home is the same week of yuh graduation, don’t yuh?”

  After releasing a long sigh, I nodded solemnly. “I know.”

  “Hmph!” she grunted then fixed her eyes straight ahead toward the sole window of the bedroom, mirroring my position.

  We’d been down this road before. She hadn’t been back home since I met her. According to her, it’d been over ten years. Her sister and cousin were making a trip back to Portland, Jamaica and Ms. Remah had started saving up money last summer, but it wasn’t enough.

  “I dun’t need yuh looking out fa me,” she grunted. “We nuh you can go to the far deep end if it means survival for yuh.”

  I went rigid next to her, air vacuumed into my lungs.

  Her neck swayed in immediate reaction. “I apologized. I should’nuh take it there.”

  “No!” spun from my lips. My face froze from shock. “It’s okay. Let’s just drop it.”

  Although Ms. Remah had never gone there with me—and that within itself should have been disconcerting—I couldn’t lend credence to it because we’d never hit this level of low before. Her back had put her out of work. And while she received disability, the modest monthly payouts didn’t provide for much. It hardly covered her rent, food, utilities and medical expenses, let alone this visit she wanted to take back to her homeland. I wanted her to take the trip. She deserved it.

  Ms. Remah had had a rough year and a half since succumbing to debilitating back spasms from six herniated discs in her spine. She believed the damage had come from so many years of improper lifting and bending in her lengthy career as a licensed practical nurse. Not to mention her bad habit of slouching forward while reading in bed. She didn’t have to live in the horrible pain she did, but Ms. Remah wasn’t a fan of being a patient, though a health care professional herself. She refused to seek out long term solutions. I blamed it on her stubborn Caribbean spirit.

  But her stubbornness provided a damn stressor to me. I needed her well. Ms. Remah’s mean ass was all I had. I’d been working three jobs for years now. The full time job at one of the local recreation centers was primarily great for my health benefits. My part time gig at Saks was supplemental pay for the bills that the rec didn’t cover. And my tertiary earnings came from doing inventory and some accounting for a local sneaker store downtown. Just two years ago, I may not have had time for a personal life, but my finances had been pretty stable. Now… Well, now I depended on the refund checks from my loans to provide essentials. Once upon a time, the bonus money was used to pay for a mini vacation down to Virginia Beach for me and Ms. Remah to break the monotony of life. Yesterday, as soon as the refund hit my account, I started spending the money to keep a roof over her head and help keep her pain-free.

  Someone had to look out for her. Although she had family, they were estranged. Ms. Remah and I were both orphaned souls. As dismal as it appeared, we needed each other. When I was low she’d stood fiercely beside me, nursing me back to physical and emotional health, never leaving my side. And I’d be damned if I was going to bail on her. As it stood, I would have to be responsible for her financial care until a breakthrough occurred. If things didn’t improve, by the end of the year we’d be living together.

  So, yeah… When Ms. Remah brought up the biggest and most mortal mistake of my life that caused unmitigated suffering and robbed me of the ability to procreate, it stung, but that’s what people do when they get desperate: they start to bite at each other. No, I wouldn’t hold it against her. I couldn’t; she’d been my rock over the years and we’d get through this.

  “A husband,” she murmured, breaking me from my musing. “Yuh need to have a husband. A partner to work with. Yuh need help.”

  I steeled. She’d never mentioned the need of a husband to me. She, herself, had been single in all the time I’d known her.

  With her gaze still ahead, peering out of the small window, Ms. Remah continued, “In this country…no longer can yuh survive in it on just one modest salary. That’s what yuh need. Yuh need partnership, someone to help you stay afloat.” She annunciated crisply. She did that when she wanted to get her point across. “Yuh dun’t need to be worried about me, a old woman who made bad decisions when she still bled monthly. Yuh need to be thinking about you. Yuh need to think about your future.” There was a pause, and I was grateful for the reprieve. Out of all the lectures I’d conjured in my mind when I thought of the consequences of paying for a few things for her, I’d not been expecting this. “Look at Nyree,” she snorted without humor while facing ahead. “That boy ain’t no more good for her than the man in the moon, but for whatever her reasons, she marrying him. That should be you. Yuh young girls…I don’t know what yuh looking for—that mystical love ting—but yuh gotta be practical about this ting. Yuh need to go out and get a husband that’s going to be a partner. Yuh can’t survive on yuh own.”

  I began to wonder was this Ms. Remah’s private reflection of her own life. Since our financial independence had been deteriorating over the months, had these been her thoughts? Was this the period of regret? I didn’t want to be that woman in life—

  Shit! I am that woman!

  Since my 26th birthday, the girls who went straight to college, unlike me, had still been getting married to their college sweethearts or someone in their field. I was still single. There was no ‘one.’
I was still making things happen for other people and I, myself, was struggling. It was one thing to be single and happy, but I wasn’t content with being alone and hustling for my next month’s rent. At least with Ms. Remah, I had a focus of someone besides myself. I had to stay up for her and not focus on my woes. That’s what partnership meant, right? If I paid it any attention, I could admit I was miserable, but I wouldn’t get into a loveless situation. I’d just have to figure it out until the tide changed for me. For us.

  Oddly enough, I looked to my left at Ms. Remah, a middle-aged voluptuous woman who was mean out the ass, yet loving…tender and certainly had something to offer. She could be the meanest woman on earth some days, but no one had ever shown me the level of dedication she had. I know she was a good person. So, why hadn’t the tide turned for her? Why wasn’t she married? I didn’t want to be that. But I didn’t want to reflect on the negative.

  I heard that damn leak again from the bathroom.

  “Has Pablo fixed that leak yet?”

  “No,” she quickly grunted and shook her head like an angry bear.

  “But I told him…” I whined much to myself. “It’s been almost two weeks.”

  “Pablo been busy. He earns money, yuhnuh. We don’t pay him—”

  “We do pay him!” I corrected emphatically.

  “We dun’t pay him like a client pay a business.” Then her eyes met mine. “Pablo is single. Pablo ain’t got nuh partner either. Maybe if he had a partner like yuh, yuh could help keep the books straight.” Then she shifted her gaze ahead again.

  I shook my head, trying to fight a rebellious snicker. So, just sell me to the highest bidder now, why don’t you!

  I rose to my feet. “I’ll give him another call.”

  Ms. Remah’s neck snapped up. “Who gonna pay de man?”

  I sighed. “It’ll get done.”

  As I neared the doorway, I heard a lighter tone, one I relished as it was so rare, “Lexiiii…” she called out in her high pitched tenor. I turned back to catch Ms. Remah quickly check to see if she had my attention before going back to window watching. She then tapped the paper bag of medicine.

  It was her way of thanking me. She’d verbally thanked me for things in the past, but I’ve come to learn the more she needed, the less gracious she became with that particular etiquette. She’d also been battling insomnia.