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Authors: E. N. Joy

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BOOK: The Sunday Only Christian
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Chapter Sixteen
Once Deborah returned to the sanctuary, she got settled and turned her attention immediately to the Word Pastor was giving. It was as if she hadn't missed a beat.
“Hallelujah!” Deborah had shouted out when Pastor said something she agreed with. “He's worthy!”
“Yes, He is, Sister Deborah. Tell 'em again,” Pastor said from the pulpit.
“He's worthy!” Deborah shouted out again.
“Again!”
“He's worthy!”
“Again!”
“He's worthy!” By now, the woman sitting next to Deborah had taken the liberty of removing Deborah's son from her lap as Deborah stood up with lifted hands raised in the air. “He's worthy! God you are so worthy to be praised. Hallelujah. Worthy is the blood of the lamb. Glory.” Tears began to fall from Deborah's eyes as she looked at the ceiling. “You're worthy, God. So worthy.” She began jumping up and down, praising God. Two altar workers made their way over to Deborah. “Hallelujah. Glory. You're worthy. You're worthy.” The next thing everyone knew, Deborah broke out in tongues. “Ah ba yo se ba ha yo se ye ma ya toe,” she rambled.
“That's right, praise Him. Praise Him,” one of the altar workers said as she held her arms out around Deborah, but still giving her room to be free in the spirit.
“Thank you, Jesus!” Deborah would shout out every now and then between tongues. “It could have been me. It should have been me.” At that moment, Deborah thought that had it been her and Elton together that deadly day over in Chile when the earthquake hit—had God answered her prayers and given her another woman's husband—she could be dead and buried right about now. “You thought of me, God. You thought of me.”
Tears streamed down Deborah's face as her tongues began to silence and she could only whimper. She let out a couple more thank-yous before she returned comfortably to her seat. It took her a few seconds to recall that her son was no longer in children's church—that she had retrieved him and brought him back into the sanctuary with her. Just as soon as she began looking around for him, the woman who had been sitting next to her and had taken her son from her arms returned to her seat. She returned without Deborah's son in her arms.
“I took him to children's church,” the woman whispered in Deborah's ear as she sat down. “He seemed a little frightened and I wanted you to be able to be as free in the spirit as you needed to be. Don't worry; he was glad to be with all the kids. Nearly jumped out of my arms to get to Sister Helen.” The woman smiled. “Must be that warm, sweet spirit of hers. Kids love that.” The woman then turned her attention back to the service at hand.
Obviously, the Holy Ghost that had touched Deborah was touching a lot of other folks too. There was shouting and running around the church. The saints were just glad to be free. Glad to be free all because their Lord and Savior had laid down His own perfect and sinless life for them.
For my jacked-up, sin-filled one,
Deborah thought.
She covered her eyes with her hand and shook her head. She couldn't understand for the life of her why anyone would be so kind and selfless as to die for her: the woman who had just acted as ugly as anyone could . . . and right in the house of the Lord. She felt she didn't deserve God's love, not with how she acted. Never mind her sins of the past. She'd received God's forgiveness and had moved on without guilt or shame. She wasn't the person she used to be. But what about the person she was now? Was this person any better?
“Now, now. You just go ahead and release,” the woman next to Deborah said as she patted Deborah's back, sensing Deborah had a little bit more releasing to do.
Deborah was crying uncontrollably. She was so upset, so upset, with herself. After all God had done for her, after all God had brought her through, this was how she repaid Him? This was how she showed Him how grateful she was? By yelling, screaming, cursing, and acting out? Not only in God's house, but in front of her son, in front of other people's children?
For a moment, Deborah tried to justify her behavior just moments ago by telling herself that it was all Helen's fault; that she had no business running her mouth to Lynox. Had it not been for Helen's actions, then she wouldn't have acted the way she had. But what about the other times she'd snapped and lost it? The times that had nothing to do with Helen?
“I'm going to do better, God. I promise,” Deborah mumbled to herself as she wiped her tears. “I'm not going to turn into how my mother used to be.” She wiped all her tears away and then sat up straight, bound and determined that from this moment on, her actions and her attitude would be pleasing to God. She would control what came out of her mouth and the tone in which it flowed. And Deborah's first test would be when she had to face Helen when she picked up her son from children's church after service.
 
“I appreciate you going to get my son from children's church,” Deborah said to the woman who had sat next to her during church service. “I just didn't have the strength.” Deborah hadn't told a complete lie in the house of the Lord. Physically, she had the strength to get up, walk down the hall, and carry her son out. What she didn't have the strength to do was to face Helen—not right now.
“It's no problem.” The woman sat Deborah's son down next to her. There were just a handful of people left in the sanctuary, as service was over and everyone was anxious to get home and start digging into Easter Sunday dinner. “I know how it can be when you go into the spirit. You come out feeling like you've run a marathon.” The woman laughed. “Well, I better get to getting. My husband is probably at home fit to be tied waiting on me to get there to serve up Easter dinner. The man only been in church and read the Word enough times for me to count on one hand, but want to celebrate Easter Sunday with a big ol' meal. But, I'm still praying for him. Been married ten years, trying to get him to go to church for seven of 'em. But I realized all I can do is pray, the rest is up to him and God. Only God can truly change a person, and that's only if they want to be changed.” The woman smiled and patted Deborah on the shoulder. “Now you have a blessed Resurrection Sunday.”
Deborah just sat there taking in the woman's words, the part about only God being able to change a person and that was only if they wanted to be changed. So now the million dollar question for Deborah was: did she really want to be changed?
Chapter Seventeen
“I would have picked you up, Deborah,” Lynox said after kissing Deborah on the cheek as she entered the museum lobby.
“Oh, no. That's okay. I had to come out for something anyway, so it all worked out.” That something she had to come out for was dropping her son off to her mother's house. She didn't think she could deal with the stress of another close call of Lynox arriving before her mother had picked up her son. “So anyway; where's this wonderful exhibit you're going to treat me to?”
“Ahh, it's on the second floor. And it looks like it's going to be a pretty nice turnout.” Lynox started walking toward the elevator, slightly pressing his hand against Deborah's back to move her along.
She loved his touch. It was so calming. It was like medicine for Deborah. Perhaps that's all she needed to make things well in her spirit—to keep her relaxed and from getting out of line every now and then . . . a simple touch.
“So you said this is the guy who designed your book cover for you?” Deborah asked, knowing she needed to get her mind off of Lynox's touch quickly before naughty desires of him touching her all over in that elevator manifested.
“Um, hmmm.” Lynox nodded and pushed the up button. “I was lucky to be able to get him to design it before he got all big and famous and stuff.”
“I'd say he was the lucky one to be able to design for someone who was already big and famous.”
“Oooooh, you know just what to say to a man.” Lynox brushed a finger down Deborah's cheek.
She closed her eyes and once again took in his touch. Just when her mind roamed to thoughts of other places he could possibly touch, the elevator doors opened. Several people exited, making room for Lynox and Deborah to hop on. Thank God, not everyone got off the elevator. Deborah could only imagine purposely stopping the elevator mid-floor and pouncing on Lynox like she was a lioness and he was her prey—had they been on the elevator alone, of course.
The couple rode the elevator up to the second floor and then followed the crowd to the local artist's display. After oohing and ahhing over it, congratulating the artist, and then viewing a couple more pieces, Lynox and Deborah left the museum.
“Thanks for joining me,” Lynox said as they walked down the museum steps. “I told you I wouldn't keep you long.”
“A man who keeps his word; what more could a lady ask for?” Deborah smiled.
“Since the evening is still premature—”
Deborah stopped walking and laughed.
“What? What's so funny?” Lynox wanted to know.
“Premature? Can you just say ‘since the night is still young'? I know as an author, when you're writing, you try to find words that aren't so clichéd. But when you're talking, especially to me, you don't have to do that.”
Lynox laughed, not realizing he'd carried over his writing techniques into his everyday vocabulary. “I guess that did sound kind of crazy, huh?”
“Uhhhh, yeah.” Deborah started walking again.
“Well, Miss Lewis, since the night is still young, what do you say we cop a squat over at the benches by the fountain and talk for a few?”
“I'd like that; besides, these dogs could use the rest.” Deborah looked down at her one-and-a-half-inch pumps she'd purchased from Payless. Ever since her fiasco in those stilts she'd purchased hot in the salon, she'd been careful about the height of her heels. And even though these shoes weren't high at all, the arch wasn't made for the shape of her foot. They were starting to feel a little uncomfortable.
The two headed over to the bench and sat down.
“Here, put 'em right here.” Lynox patted his lap.
Deborah looked around, having no idea what he was talking about.
“Your feet—you said they were bothering you. Let me see what I can do about that.”
“Are you serious? You want to rub my feet?” Deborah was surprised.
“I just want to rub your feet, not suck your toes.” He laughed. “Why you say that like I'm a pervert or something?”
“No, it's not that—not that at all. It's just that, well . . .”
“You mean to tell me you've never had a foot rub before?”
Deborah shook her head in embarrassment. “I'm one of those women who do not allow anyone to touch their feet. I don't even get pedicures. I take care of my feet myself.”
“What? Are you serious?” Lynox pulled his neck back, astounded. “Even I get pedicures, manicures too. You have no idea what you're missing. Woman, there are just some things you need to let go and let other people do for you. You deserve it.” He looked into her eyes. “Let ol' Lynox give you what you deserve.”
Deborah squirmed where she sat, deciding not to respond to his latter remark, for fear it may lead them down a path she'd promised God she'd only go with her husband. “I get manicures. It's the feet I can't let somebody else touch. That just seems so private and intimate.”
“You don't like privacy?” It was the way Lynox asked; like he wanted all the privacy with her he could possibly have without giving her a bad reputation.
“Well, yeah, but—”
“You don't like intimacy?”
She blushed. “Yeah, but—”
“Then hand them over.” Lynox held out his hands, which waited for Deborah's feet to rest in them.
Deborah looked at him like he was crazy. “You are dead serious, aren't you?”
“Woman, if you don't give me those feet . . .”
Deborah giggled like a schoolgirl while she blushed. She went to lift one foot and then changed her mind and returned it to the ground. “I can't. You'll never look at me the same if I show you my feet. They're like Myra's feet on that episode of
Martin.
” Both Lynox and Deborah burst out laughing. “Or like the girl in the movie
Boomerang
with Eddie Murphy.”
“Oh, no.” Lynox laughed even harder. “Not Hammer-Time.”
The two kneeled over in laughter until their stomachs hurt and tears were falling from their eyes. Right while Deborah was still laughing, Lynox scooped her feet up into his lap, removed her shoes, and began his massage.
“Lynox! No!” Deborah shouted, trying to stop laughing. “Stop! My feet! Tickles!”
“Just relax, silly girl. Relax and enjoy.” He winked. His wink was like a switch that had turned off Deborah's silly behavior, but had turned her on nonetheless.
“Oh, my God. I can't believe you're touching my dogs.”
Lynox looked down at Deborah's feet and examined them. “I wouldn't say they were dogs. Puppies maybe, but definitely not dogs.”
“Give me my feet.” Deborah tried to pull them away, but Lynox had a pretty good grip on them. After some tugging and pulling from both parties, Lynox prevailed and proceeded to give Deborah a foot massage.
“Does that feel good?” Lynox asked.
“Does it ever,” Deborah confessed, now completely relaxed and okay with the fact that a man was rubbing her feet.
The two sat in silence while Lynox continued to rub her feet. He decided to speak once he could see that Deborah was good and lost in herself. “About our conversation the other day,” he started.
“Huh?” Deborah's eyes were closed and her head was resting back.
“Our conversation the other day in the restaurant, you know, the one about the um . . . procedure you had back in the day.”
Deborah's eyes flipped open.
“Relax.” Lynox could feel the sudden tension in her ankles. “I just wanted to reiterate that everything is all good. You got a little heated, so I'm not sure if you were clearly hearing me. But I'm good.” He fingered her toes as if he were about to say, “This little piggy went to the market.” Instead he said, “We're good. Right?”
Deborah nodded. “Yeah, we're good,” she said while thinking,
but Helen and I are far from good.
“And since you decided to bring it up, I know Helen is the one who told you.”
“Yeah, I figured you'd figure that out.”
“And believe me, it wasn't hard.”
“I think she was just trying to sabotage what you and I had. You know I never thought she had all her marbles.”
“I know she was trying to sabotage our relationship.”
Lynox finished up his massage and began to place Deborah's shoes back on her feet. “But that was so long ago. You said she still goes to your church, right?”
Deborah sucked her teeth. “Yes, she does.”
Unfortunately.
“Well hopefully church has worked for her and she's gotten herself together. I don't know. I haven't seen or talked to her since back in the day when I first met you.” Once Lynox had placed Deborah's shoes on her feet, he tapped them, letting her know he was all done and that she could remove them from his lap.
Deborah froze, though, not able to move. “Wha . . . what do you mean you haven't seen or talked to her?” Deborah let out a nervous laugh as she ultimately placed her feet on the ground and sat erect on the bench. “You would have had to have talked to her in order for her to have told you about the . . . you know.” Deborah swallowed . . . hard.
Lynox shooed his hand in Deborah's direction. “Oh, she told me that a long time ago, like I said, when we first got together. I knew she was just telling me in an attempt to get me to look at you in a different light. She said a lot of horrible things. The girl was obsessed. But I wasn't about to go running back to you, telling you what she'd said.” Lynox thought for a minute. “Well, at one point I was going to, but then you asked me not to talk about her badly around you. I respected you for that. And I respected your request. So I let it go.”
Deborah felt sick to her stomach. She couldn't believe she had jumped all over Helen about something she'd said years ago, before they'd made amends. “But why didn't she just say that?” Deborah mumbled to herself, thinking back to how when they were at church Helen confessed to telling Lynox about the abortion. Why hadn't she just told Deborah it was back when they were certified enemies? But then Deborah realized Helen had tried to tell her, but she was being too hotheaded and out of control to allow her to get her words out.
“Why didn't who say what?” Lynox asked, confused.
Deborah looked at him with this pitiful expression on her face. “Never mind. I was just thinking out loud.” Deborah stood. “Look, Lynox, I have to go.”
Lynox grabbed Deborah's hand. “No. The evening is still premature,” he joked.
“Yeah, and so were my actions.” Deborah sighed. “I'm sorry, I have to go. I have so much on my mind right now I wouldn't be good conversation. I'll call you tomorrow.” Deborah squeezed Lynox's hand and headed back to her car.
Her erratic behavior had gotten her in trouble. She had to stop losing it and flying off the handle the way she did sometimes. “God, please fix me!” she pleaded as she arrived at her car. Hopefully He would, but for now, she had to fix things with Helen herself. But how?
BOOK: The Sunday Only Christian
4.61Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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