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Authors: E. N. Joy

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BOOK: The Sunday Only Christian
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Chapter Thirty-three
“Blessed and highly favored,” Deborah responded to Helen after Helen asked her how she was doing. Deborah's response was a lie. Maybe it wasn't a lie. Perhaps she really was blessed and highly favored, but she certainly didn't feel that way.
On the inside Deborah was in pain. Her insides hurt. She felt guilt. She felt sorrow. And now here lately she'd felt something that she'd never really felt before: crazy.
One minute she was up, another minute she was down. One minute she was laughing at the things her son did, the next minute she was frustrated, agitated, and aggravated at the things he did. One minute she'd want to call her mother and tell her how much she loved her and that the past didn't matter. The next minute she became filled with rage at her mother. Things felt complicated. Her life felt complicated; too complicated to let anyone in. That's why she hadn't called up her mother and gotten things back on track between the two of them. That's why when Lynox invited her out, she declined, stating she was behind on work. She simply didn't feel like being bothered. She didn't feel like talking. She didn't want to converse with anyone. She didn't have the strength to put up a front and be phony, pretending like everything was kosher. And for the life of Deborah, she couldn't figure out why anyone would want in anyway.
She was in such a cold, dark, dreary place. There appeared to be no light—no hope. No matter how hard she tried to dig herself out of that dark hole, she just kept sliding back down in it. So why would anyone in their right mind want to be a part of that? Unfortunately, her son was left with no choice.
“What happened here?” Helen asked, pointing to the bruise on Deborah's son's arm.
“What?” Deborah asked, curious as to what Helen was referring to.
“This, right here, on his arm.” She pointed to a round strawberry-like mark.
“Oh, I don't know,” Deborah replied, shooing her hand. “You know how boys are, especially terrible twos.”
“Yeah, but it looks like it hurts. I think maybe I better get some ice or something for it.”
“I'm sure it's nothing, but ice won't hurt,” Deborah agreed. “I'll go to the church kitchen and get some.” Deborah exited the room, wishing she had never even bothered to come to church. She didn't feel like all this talking and being fake with all those blessed and highly favored responses. She didn't feel like going to get ice. She just wanted to lie down somewhere and die. She didn't even want to be in church. Obviously, whatever it was that was going on with her, Jesus couldn't fix, because here she was right in His living room, and she felt just as bad as she'd felt in her own. Where was His spirit? Where was all that strength-of-Jesus crap now?
Sure, some time ago, right there in that very house of the Lord, she'd experienced a breakthrough and received deliverance. But look how long that had lasted. She felt worse off than ever. So why come to church and have to keep the lights on with her tithes when she was surrounded by darkness?
“Sister Deborah, my God, I'm so glad I ran into you,” Pastor Margie said as she exited the kitchen with a cup of coffee in her hand. “If you have a minute, I'd like to speak with you after service today.”
Frickin' great!
Deborah roared on the inside. Now her pastor wanted to talk to her. Didn't the world get it? She didn't feel like talking. She didn't even feel like living. “Actually, Pastor, today is not a good day. I've got something going on today and—”
“I promise you, it's very important,” Pastor Margie assured her. “You know I almost never meet with anyone right after Sunday service, but you and your son have been in my spirit heavily.”
Deborah thought she was going to choke on her spit. Had the pastor sensed something was going on in Deborah's household? The pastor always said how God spoke to her about things—how God gave her a spirit of discernment to be able to know what's going on with her flock. Had God opened His big, fat mouth and ratted Deborah out to Pastor Margie? Those were the last thoughts in Deborah's mind before Pastor Margie spoke again.
“Please, Sister Deborah. It can't wait.”
“Okay, Pastor,” Deborah reluctantly gave in.
“Good.” Pastor Margie exhaled and the two heard clapping in the sanctuary as prayer followed. “We'll go in and head into the sanctuary. I'll see you after service.”
“Yes, Pastor,” Deborah said, making her way to the sanctuary.
Deborah had given herself a pep talk in an attempt to encourage herself to try to take in today's service, but she did not want to be there. She wanted to be at home in bed. And up until the eleventh hour, that's what she had planned on doing—skipping church and staying home in bed. But she knew better. She knew service wouldn't have been let out five minutes before a New Day member was doing a drive-by to come check on her. She figured the better of two evils would be dragging herself out of bed, putting on her church face, sitting through service, and then going home and going back to bed. Yes, that would be better than some member showing up at her door unannounced and uninvited, fishing around in her business. But now Pastor was throwing a monkey wrench in her game plan by wanting to talk to her after service.
“Lord, get me out of this,” Deborah said under her breath as she sat miserably during praise and worship. And just as if God had heard her plea, she looked up and saw her son's assigned number from children's church pop up on the little screen. “Praise God,” Deborah said, this time not so much under her breath.
The number method was something a lot of churches used in children's church/childcare. When a parent checked their child in, their child was assigned a number. The parent is given a little ticket with the number on it, just like in dressing rooms or at the deli counter in a grocery store. If that number flashes up on the screen in the sanctuary during church service, that means there is an issue going on with a child and the parent needs to come get them. It can be anything from the child made a mess on himself to the child misbehaving. For Deborah, it didn't matter what the reason. She was just glad to be getting rescued from the sanctuary.
“I saw my son's number show up on the screen in the sanctuary,” Deborah said to Helen's assistant once she entered the children's church. She didn't see Helen or her son anywhere in sight.
“Oh, yeah,” Unique replied. “Helen put his number in, but she took him to—”
Just then the door opened and Helen entered with Deborah's son in her arms. She had a bag of ice in her hand. “You forgot to bring the ice.” Speaking of ice, Helen's tone was a little icy.
“Oh, yeah, I forgot,” Deborah replied. “I ran into Pastor right before I went into the kitchen. She got to talking to me, then we heard service start . . . I guess I just got thrown off.”
Helen brushed by Deborah. “Well, I really think this bruise is bothering him. He's cranky, whiney, and acting a little mean,” Helen said. “And that's just not like our little guy.”
“Oh, Mommy's poor baby.” Deborah took her son from Helen's arms and began to console him. “Him not feeling well,” she said in baby talk. Then, grateful for a way out, she said, “I think I'm just going to take him on home and get him together.”
“That might be a good idea,” Helen agreed. “And here . . .” She extended the bag of ice to Deborah. “Still try keeping some ice on it. It might make it feel better. But you still might want to call his doctor as well.”
“Yes, thank you.” Deborah accepted the ice, signed her son out of children's church, and then raced to her car.
It was as if she couldn't get out of that church soon enough. Once she hit the exit doors she exhaled like she hadn't been able to breathe the last half hour. And that's exactly how she'd felt.
As she buckled her son in his car seat she scolded herself for not just staying home in the first place. She was a mess all the other days of the week, so what made her think that on one day she would be okay? Well, she wasn't okay, and she was coming to grips with the fact that there was nothing she could do about it—or God either, for that matter.
Deborah got in the car and pulled out of the church driveway. Hopefully Helen would tell Pastor Margie about how she had to leave church early; that way her pastor wouldn't think she'd stood her up. Deborah had to admit, though, the last thing she wanted was to have a sit-down with her pastor. So she was glad that now she didn't have to. But soon enough, she'd wish she had.
Chapter Thirty-four
“Is everything okay? When you called me on the phone and asked me to come over, it sounded urgent.” Lynox stood in Deborah's doorway, genuinely concerned.
“No, everything isn't okay,” Deborah replied. “You mind coming in for a moment?” Only seconds after the invitation, Deborah wished she hadn't extended it. Why bother? Just as soon as she told him what she had to say, he would be out the door anyway. Therefore, he might as well have stayed outside. But it was too late.
“I don't mind at all.” Lynox stepped inside.
Instead of closing the door behind them, Deborah left it open. At least he'd be able to make a quick exit. Leave, stay; she didn't care anymore at this point. The entire situation was making her crazy. Or more crazy, should she have said? Right now, she just needed to start unloading a lot of things that were weighing her down—things that were making her stressed and tense. Things that wouldn't let her rest and had her mind on edge. There were lots of things, including her relationship with her mother she'd yet to mend. But that was next on her list. Her and her mother's past went deep. Her little secret she was keeping from Lynox would be a breeze to fix compared to that. So she decided to start off in the shallow end of the pool and deal with Lynox first.
“There's something I need to tell you,” Deborah dived right in. Enough time had been wasted. If she beat around the bush and put it off any longer, history would probably repeat itself. There would be some interruption—some type of threat of him finding out she had a child from someone other than her.
With her luck, some fairy would probably drop from the sky holding a sign that read,
DEBORAH LEWIS IS YOUR KRYPTONITE
:
A LADY WITH A BABY.
And if that didn't happen, then surely her son would wake up from his nap before she had a chance to get the words out.
Within minutes after laying him down in his crib for a nap, Deborah hopped on the phone with Lynox. Her son typically took a two-hour nap. What she needed to tell Lynox would only take five minutes. So when he told her that he could be at her house in a half hour, she knew that Lynox would be there and gone before her son ever even woke up. Or at least he'd sleep until after she got a chance to tell Lynox about him.
“What is it you need to tell me, Deborah?” Lynox was looking more concerned than ever as he went to sit down on the couch. He'd barely bent his knees before he stood back up. “Wait a minute. This isn't déjà vu, is it? I mean, the last time you had something to tell me, it involved you hopping on a plane headed out of the country... with another man, might I add.” Lynox shot Deborah a worried look. “This doesn't have anything to do with another man, does it?”
“God, no, Lynox,” Deborah huffed.
“Thank God.” This time he sat down, but on the way down a thought entered his head. “It's not your health, is it? You did say you had a doctor's appointment the other day, that was why you couldn't meet me out for lunch.”
“No, yes, I mean . . .” Deborah began to stammer. Yes, she had told Lynox she'd had a doctor's appointment, which was just another lie to add to the collection. There was no doctor's appointment. She just hadn't been up to dealing with him. As snappy as she had been, he was liable to call it quits with her whether she had a kid or not. That's just how ugly and nasty Deborah had been lately.
“Oh, no, Deborah.” Lynox stood again. “What happened at the doctor's?” He walked toward Deborah just in case she needed some comforting.
“Nothing, Lynox. The doctor didn't say a thing.”
Lynox exhaled. “Then what is it?”
“If you'd stop playing the guessing game, I'll tell you.” She was snappy.
“I'm sorry. Like I said, you had me worried when you called me.”
Deborah put her hands up. “Please, Lynox, just let me say what I have to say,” Deborah pleaded.
“You're right. I'm sorry.” Lynox walked back over to the couch. “Go ahead. It's just that, to be honest with you, I was scared to death after I got your call. On the entire drive over here all I kept doing was replaying the last time you asked me to meet you so you could tell me something. I know that's in the past, though, and we said we wouldn't let the past dictate our future. So nothing in the past can affect our future.” Lynox plopped back down on the couch, crossed his legs, and opened his arms spread eagle across the couch. “I promise, no more interruptions. Go ahead.” Lynox zipped his lips with his fingers.
Deborah's jaws filled with air and then she let it out. “First of all, I apologize for not telling you this a long time ago. I wanted to tell you several times.” She laughed and shook her head. “You wouldn't believe how many times. But it seems like every time I went to tell you, I was interrupted.”
And this time would be no different as there was a knock on the screen door.
“Are you kidding me?” Deborah groaned those words to no one in particular. She then huffed and turned around to see who in the world was at her door—unannounced at that. Heck, she'd at least shown her face at church on Sunday, so it better not have been a New Day Temple of Faith drive-by.
She held her index finger up at Lynox. “Wait one second, just one second.” Deborah turned and walked over to the door. “Yes?” she said to the suited-up woman standing on her porch.
“Hi, I'm looking for”—the woman looked down at the paperwork in her hand—“a Miss Deborah Lucas.” She read over the paperwork again. “Deborah Lewis.”
“It's both Lucas and Lewis, and I am she,” Deborah confirmed. Deborah had already made up in her mind that whatever this woman was selling, she wasn't buying. “But this isn't really a good time.” Deborah was going to give it her all to try not to reflect the agitation she was feeling right about now.
“I'm sure it's not, Miss Lucas-Lewis, and I apologize if I interrupted you, but I need to speak with you.” The woman reached in her front jacket pocket and pulled out her business card. She held it toward the closed screen door. “My name is Pricilla Folins. I'm with Franklin County Children Services.” Next, she extended a badge that she wore around her neck.
Those words and that ID got Deborah's full attention as she wondered why Children Services would be at her door. She slowly cracked open her screen door and took the business card that was being extended to her.
“Miss Lewis, I'd like to talk to you regarding a report we received regarding possible child abuse,” Ms. Folins explained to her.
“Child abuse?” Deborah had opened her mouth to say those words, but she was in such shock that nothing came out. So Lynox had asked the woman standing in front of her what Deborah had wanted to ask, but couldn't find her voice.
Deborah looked over her shoulder to see Lynox, who had made his way from the couch, standing there.
“You've obviously got the wrong person here,” Lynox said to the woman in Deborah's defense.
“Please, Lynox, I can handle this.” Deborah had found her voice.
The woman at the door looked confused. “You did say that you were Deborah Lucas-Lewis, correct?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then I have the right person.” The woman looked down at her paper and confirmed the name once again. “I'm here regarding child abuse allegations against you that—”
“Pardon me for interrupting again, but I assure you that you have the wrong person.” Lynox chuckled. “She doesn't even have a kid to abuse.” Suddenly a thought entered Lynox's mind. “Oh, that's right, your nephew.” He looked at Deborah. “Or rather that close friend of the family's kid.” He looked back to the Franklin County Children Service caseworker. “But she'd never hurt him.” He placed his arm around Deborah. “She wouldn't hurt any kid.”
The caseworker shook her head and her blond, bouncy curls did a jig. She took a deep breath, puckered her lips painted in soft pink lipstick, then fluttered her hazel eyes. “Look, Miss Lewis . . .” That was her way of ignoring Lynox. “Can I please talk to
you?
As you know child abuse is a very serious allegation. I'd just like to talk to you for a moment and maybe see your son.”
Again, Lynox laughed. “I'm telling you, she doesn't have a son. Don't you get it, lady?” Lynox was trying his best to keep his cool, but this woman was irking him with such nonsense. “You're wasting your time here when it's somebody else's doorstep you should be on right now.” Lynox pointed outside. “There's some poor crumb snatcher out there being mistreated as we speak because the system is so messed up that you can't even get paperwork, names, and addresses straight.”
“Please, Lynox.” Deborah found her frozen voice again. It was beginning to thaw out slowly but surely. Perhaps it was the heat caused from the rising fear inside of her. Child abuse. Children Services at her doorstep. This was heavy. She turned to the woman. “I assure you, no child abuse has been going on here. I'd never hit my sss . . . son.” She looked down because she knew Lynox's eyes were glued on her in shock. She could just feel it.
“Deborah?” Lynox said under his breath as he continued to hold a steady stare at the caseworker. “What are you talking about? What's going on here? You don't . . . you don't have a son.” He looked down at Deborah. “Do you?”
After taking a deep breath, Deborah was able to look Lynox in the eyes. “Yes, Lynox. I do.” She closed her eyes. She didn't want the tears forming to escape. She didn't want Lynox to see the shame and guilt in her eyes. Even worse, she didn't want to see the disgust in his, that same disgust that was in his eyes when he talked about that woman he'd dated who had a kid. That same disgust that was in his eyes when he'd seen Helen at the mall and thought the boy she was pushing around in a stroller was her kid.
“Wha . . . what did you say?” Lynox's hand slowly slid from around Deborah.
Deborah opened her eyes, but she didn't look Lynox in his. “It's what I've been trying to tell you. That's why I invited you over today.”
Lynox stepped away and put his hand on his head and cupped the throbbing headache of confusion that was coming on. “A son? But it doesn't make any sense. . . .” Lynox's words trailed off momentarily; then he snapped his fingers. He looked up at Deborah with a gleam of hope in his eyes. “I get it. You're adopting your nephew. His mother—she's the one who has been abusing him. So you're just rescuing him from her. And now the caseworker here needs to talk to you about it. Yeah, that's it,” Lynox said as if he'd just come up with a wonderful plot to a story. Shamefully enough, if that woman hadn't been standing at the door to counter the story, Deborah probably would have rolled with it. But she was tired of lying. She was just tired, period. She was tired, but on top of that, anger was starting to form.
“Look, Lynox, this is not one of your stupid books. You can't write everybody's story,” Deborah shot at him, “and you dang sure can't write mine. Trust and believe that,” she added with a head snap. “I have a son. I don't have a nephew; I have a son. I'm an only child and I don't have any friends, let alone a close enough friend where I'd keep their kid. I have a son. He's mine. Mine and Elton's.”
Dumbfounded, Lynox asked, “Why? Why didn't you just tell me?”
“Ha! Are you serious? The way you continuously make it a point to let me know how you feel about women with children? How you don't want the readymade family? How you don't want to be a father to another man's kid?” Deborah brought up everything Lynox had said about women with kids. “And now you ask me that like it should have been the easiest thing in the world to tell you. You made me feel tainted. You made me feel as though something was wrong with me because I'm a single woman with a child. Why didn't I tell you?” she mocked. “That's why!”
The woman at the door cleared her throat to remind the feuding couple that she was still there. As interesting as the soap opera unfolding before her very eyes seemed to be, she had a job to do.
“Oh, yes, I'm sorry,” Deborah said to the woman. “Please come in so we can get this straightened out.” Next Deborah looked to Lynox. “He was just leaving . . . for good.” Deborah stepped to the side and opened the door, for the woman to enter and for Lynox to leave . . . for good . . . forever. It was breaking her heart inside for him to leave, but for the first time since reconnecting with Lynox, there was something more important she had to focus on, and that was her son.
BOOK: The Sunday Only Christian
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