Heaven Right Here Page 13
Stacy stayed on her knees for a long time, not knowing whether or not her prayer had been answered, yet not being able to think of anything else to say. Finally she dragged herself off the floor and again folded herself underneath the covers. This time, sleep came quickly. And there were no more tears.
33
Thank You, Lord
“Hey, girl, how you doing?”
“I’m okay.”
“You don’t sound like it. Stacy, what’s wrong?”
“I’m fine, Hope, just a little tired. Darius kept me up last night.” She didn’t feel the need to tell her friend which one.
“Is he sick?”
If you had a man who left his wife and child for another man, wouldn’t you say so? “No, just a little cranky, maybe constipated or something. He’s all right now. What’s up?”
“I called to see if you wanted to go to church with me tonight.”
“To bible study?” At one time, Stacy had never missed a Wednesday night at Kingdom Citizens. But she couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone. “I don’t know, Hope.”
Hope persisted. “I don’t usually go either, but I just found out we’ll have an unexpected guest tonight. Rev Thicke will be there. Remember the preacher out of Texas, the one who has the prophetic ministry?”
Stacy remembered—another fine, unavailable Christian man. She didn’t know if she was up to an evening of lusting after someone she couldn’t have … again. And she definitely didn’t want to see Darius.
“Thanks, Hope, but I think I’ll pass.”
“Please, Stacy. My life’s been crazy lately. I prayed to God for a word from Him. And now the prophet is coming. Maybe he’ll have a word for you too. So, will you come? Cy is in New York today, so it’ll just be me and you.”
Hope rarely asked Stacy for anything. A couple hours in the house of the Lord was the least she could do for her friend. “I guess I’ll go. Though I doubt there’s anything Rev Thicke can tell me I don’t already know.”
The buzz about Rev Nathaniel Thicke being at KCCC had the pews filled early. Stacy and Hope walked to a row reserved for ministers’ wives. Right away, Stacy’s eyes landed on Darius, front and center, as always, playing lead keyboards for the praise and worship team.
Stacy felt the familiar flutter associated with seeing her man. “God, you promised,” she whispered.
“Huh?”
Stacy just shook her head. Help me get over him, Lord, please.
Hope looked at her another moment, then at Darius, then back at her. She said a silent prayer for her friend.
Both prayers were answered as a man who could help any woman get over anybody walked into the pulpit. Thoughts of other men fled when a woman looked at Rev Nathaniel Thicke, the thirty-year-old senior pastor of the Gospel Truth Church in Palestine, Texas. Reverend Thicke was new to the Total Truth Association and to the national stage, having joined the organization two years ago. He’d caused a female frenzy when he’d spoken for the first time at Kingdom Citizens during the annual Kingdom Conference. News had spread like wildfire about this “fine young preacher from Palestine.”
Nathaniel stood six feet, three inches tall in his deep chocolate glory—“blue-black,” as his hue was defined in the Texas countryside. He licked thick lips surrounded by a dimple on one side and small mole on the other, his creamy, smooth complexion thankfully devoid of hair, scars, pimples, or anything else that would take away from his beauty. His texturized hair was immaculate; cut to just above his ears in front, grazing the top of his tan-colored designer suit collar in the back, with groomed sideburns just long enough to make one know he was his own man with a sense of what worked for him and what didn’t. On someone else, the sideburns would have looked tacky; on him, they just made you want to smooth them down with your tongue.
After briefly scanning the congregation, Nathaniel stood with eyes closed, swaying softly to the instrumental music Darius played in the background. He licked his lips once again, causing a flurry of fluttering heartbeats, and began to sing softly: “Thank you, Lord; thank you, Lord; thank you, Lord. I just want to thank you, Lord.”
The band immediately switched to accompany him, and a spattering of congregants who knew the song joined the choir, who backed the visiting minister effortlessly. Nodding his head, Nathaniel began again, a little louder, as he opened his eyes, left the podium, and began walking back and forth in the pulpit.
“That’s it, son of God, daughter of the Most High, give him thanks and praise tonight!” The sound got louder as more and more worshippers joined in. “You’ve been so good. You’ve been my friend,” Nathaniel continued, each phrase repeated like the first. The song was simple, yet powerful, giving God the praise. By now most of the congregation was on their feet, some swaying, others with hands upraised, while still others cried openly and wiped tears from their eyes as they remembered reasons to be grateful.
Stacy was not one of these congregants. She folded her arms as Hope stood, trying hard not to have an attitude. She’d asked God to deliver Darius Crenshaw from homosexuality, but He had said no. She’d asked for God to send her someone else, and He had said no. What made her believe He’d help her get over him?
But as the saints continued to sing, Stacy’s heart softened. She knew she had plenty of reasons to be thankful: a healthy son and mother and brothers who’d do anything to keep her safe and happy; friends like Hope and Frieda; and a church that preached the unadulterated Word of God. Stacy knew she was being unreasonable, but sometimes reason flew out the window during that time of the month. She’d gotten her period just this morning, and that—not seeing Darius looking good as ever—was the excuse she used for her fairly foul mood.
Nathaniel stopped singing and motioned to the musicians to continue playing softly.
“Now some of you in here are wondering ‘What do I have to praise God about?’ You’ve got bills due; your child is sick. Some of you have prayed for a mate, while others have prayed to be rid of the mate you have!”
Laughter filtered through the audience.
“Some of you need a job; maybe others are trying to maintain your college GPA. You’re having problems with your kids; your parents just don’t understand you; gas is high; pay is low; God hasn’t come through, he hasn’t answered! Why, you ask, should I thank God? We’re going to go into detail tonight, on prayer, and getting yours answered, but for now, just know this: It’s not what you pray, but how you pray, that determines the kind of answer you get. It’s not simply the words you speak, it’s the feeling that’s in your heart that determines whether your supplication will reach the throne of grace. And then there’s one more thing beloved … you have to believe.
“Matthew 21:22 says ‘All things, whatsoever you shall ask in prayer, believing, you shall receive,’ you shall have. In Mark, chapter eleven, Jesus says, ‘Whatever you say to the mountain.’ Now, mountain can be perceived as any problem you have, but Jesus says if you don’t doubt in your heart but believe that the things you say—translated, pray—shall come to pass, you shall have whatever you say. Dearly beloved, what I am saying is exactly what Jesus said in Mark 9:23: ‘if you can believe, all things are possible.’
“So let’s sing this song again. And this time, sing it like you believe God has already answered your prayer, that you already have the victory. Close your eyes, and in your mind’s eye see that thing already done. And then thank him now like you’ll thank him later, when the desire of your heart has come to pass. Thank him now as if what you’ve prayed for, you’ve already received.”
Darius and the band bumped the music up an octave as the musicians showed why they made the band. Randall plucked his bass guitar strings as if each note were a hallelujah, while the saxophonist and drummer put the P in praise. Blending it all together was Darius’s soft and steady tickling of the ivories, his head nods serving as direction for the band and for the choir who once again lifted their voices. “Thank you, Lord, I just want to thank you, Lord.”
Stacy left church feeling better and thanked Hope for the invite. Driving home, she realized she had heard a Word from the Lord: to be thankful and to believe that what she wanted had already come to pass.
Once home, Stacy decided to pamper herself with a bubble bath. She poured a liberal amount of Bath & Body Works Coconut Lime Verbena into the tub and added a handful of bath salts. While the tub filled, she walked into her room and put on a CD Frieda’s friend from Kansas City had sent her, a phenomenal female guitar player named LadyMac. As the sounds of the CD’s first cut, “After the Rain,” began to play, Stacy took off her clothes and walked naked into the bathroom. She lit two white candles, turned off the lights, and gingerly sank down into the steamy, hot water.
After thoroughly washing her body, Stacy continued to gather bubbles and run them over her body with her hands. With eyes closed, she explored her body, running hands over thighs, stomach, breasts. She lifted an arm out of the water and placed it behind her, examining her breasts as she did regularly when bathing.
After finishing with her left breast, she changed arm positions and continued the examination on her right breast. As she pressed lightly on the outer portion of the tender flesh, her eyes flew open. She sat up in the tub, raised her arm and felt again. Her heart began beating faster, seemingly of its own volition, as Stacy felt a definite lump about the size of a quarter.
Probably nothing, she thought as she quickly exited the tub, toweled off, and went to her master bedroom’s full-length mirror to further examine the area where she’d felt the lump. She couldn’t see anything, but she definitely felt something.
Stacy forced herself not to panic and calmed herself by saying the Lord’s Prayer. But her mother’s words came in louder than thoughts of thy kingdom come. “The Lord helps those who help themselves.”
Stacy concluded her mother was right. She vowed to make a doctor’s appointment first thing in the morning.
34
Watch Your Man II
“Hey, baby, I’m home.” Cy walked into the living room late Thursday and found a sleeping Hope on the couch in the living room. Instead of watching television, the television was watching her.
Cy smiled softly as he put down his briefcase, turned off the television and lights, and then scooped up his sleeping beauty and headed for the bedroom. Hope woke up in his arms.
“Hey,” she whispered.
“Hey, baby. You were out like a light. Long day?”
“Not really. But I took a Tylenol PM—premenstrual cramps.” She yawned into his shoulder.
Cy entered their master suite and lay Hope on the bed. “Well, mine was a long day, not the least of it being the five-hour flight that was part of that weather delay in New York. And I need to be in San Diego first thing tomorrow morning. So I … Hope? Hope, are you listening?”
The soft sound of light snoring was his reply.
The next morning, Hope stumbled into the kitchen as Cy finished the glass of orange juice he’d used to down his SuperFood pills.
“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. Feeling better?”
“I don’t know. I’m feeling discombobulated. That’s it for me and those pills.” Hope looked at the clock on the kitchen wall. “No wonder I still feel sleepy—it’s seven o’clock. Where are you going so early?”
“Meetings. I’ll be home around seven or so, in time for dinner. Or we can go out if you’d like.” Cy walked over and kissed her forehead. “Take it easy today, baby. We can’t afford to have you sick during the holidays.”
Though tired and a bit jet-lagged, there was a bounce in Cy’s steps as he waited for the valet to bring around the Azure. Plans were proceeding quickly on his and Hope’s dream home. After today’s meeting, he could implement the next steps in the process—meeting the construction company the architect had recommended and clearing all zoning and construction concerns with the city. Then the stage would be set to make the home he and Hope had long envisioned a reality.
Initially, Cy had really wanted Hope to see the property, make absolutely sure it was what she wanted. But after at first insisting on doing so, Hope later refused, saying it was time she put total trust back into him and the marriage. Now, he was glad she hadn’t seen it. It would make the final unveiling that much more spectacular.
After Cy left, Hope fought the urge to crawl back into bed and instead stepped into a hot shower. Once done, she put on water for tea and then dressed in a casual, black warm-up with butterfly flip-flops. It had been a long time, but she planned to push any remaining cobwebs from her mind with a long walk on the beach.
Hope flavored her green tea English style, with vanilla creamer and raw sugar. She was on her way to check e-mails on her computer when the phone rang.
“Hi, Mama.”
“Hey, Hope. Just calling to check on you. How’s everything?”
“Okay, I guess. It’s that time of the month, so I’m pretty moody. Plus I took a Tylenol PM last night that still has me feeling like I’m underwater. I don’t think I’ll take those again.”
“But other than your period, you’re feeling better?”
… as if what you’ve prayed for, you’ve already received. Hope would fake it until she made it.
“I’m fine, Mama, really.”
She spent the rest of the conversation talking about Dr. Thicke’s sermon and her father’s ever improving health.
After pouring another cup of tea, Hope walked into the den where she’d last used her laptop. Touching a button to prompt the screen, she quickly typed in her Yahoo address and hit ENTER. Nothing. Oh, no, not again, she thought. Her laptop had been acting up the past couple weeks, but every time she thought of taking it in for repair or replacing it, the machine would act right for a few days. But here again, the screen was frozen. With an exasperated sigh, Hope turned off the computer, picked up her tea, and headed for Cy’s office.
The screen came on to Cy’s inbox. Hope sat down, clicked on the address bar, and was just about to type in Yahoo when a name in her husband’s inbox caught her eye: Millicent Kirtz.
Before Hope had time to think about it, she clicked on the e-mail. It was short and to the point. She read it twice to make sure she’d read correctly:
Hey, Cy:
Change in plans. I’ll meet you at the Hotel
Parisi.
Love, MK
Hope stared at the message as thoughts raced through her head. The first thoughts were rational: Don’t trip, Hope. He’s doing business with Jack. Millicent is probably just … Then the devil on the other shoulder took over. Yeah, just doing what? Screwing your man, that’s what. Frieda’s mental mantra was the final straw. Watch that heifah … watch your man.
Hope pushed her chair back from the desk and stood abruptly. After retrieving her cell phone from the bedroom, she called Stacy. The call went to voice mail. She started to punch in Frieda’s number and then changed her mind. By the time her cousin got through adding her two cents to the situation, Hope would be really jacked up.
She walked back to Cy’s office and read the message a third time. Why would Millicent be meeting Cy? Why didn’t the e-mail mention Jack? Hope was determined to find out, now, before the devil could steal her joy. Hadn’t she vowed last night to believe God’s promises? She couldn’t get to the phone fast enough.
The first time, Cy’s phone went to voice mail. She left a quick “call back” message, hung up, and texted him: Where are you? Call me.
After waiting five minutes, Hope decided to leave the house. She was too wound up to stay inside. She
retrieved her purse, phone, and other necessities from the bedroom and headed for her car.
As soon as she’d exited the parking garage, she dialed Cy again.
“Hey, baby, I was just about to call. Is something wrong?” he asked.
“I couldn’t reach you. Where are you?”
“Headed to San Diego. I told you last night.”
Hope didn’t remember him saying anything. “Another meeting with Jack?”
Cy didn’t want to give too much away; he planned to surprise her with a mockup of their mansion next week.
“I’m meeting with, uh, Charlie and some other construction companies. Boring stuff, baby. You wouldn’t be interested.”
You’re meeting with Millicent! Hope fought the urge to scream what she knew. He was ninety miles away from her and could easily deny it. She had a better plan.
“Baby, I have another call. See you tonight?” he said.
“Sure,” Hope said and disconnected the call. He’d see her, all right. Hope switched into the turn lane and merged onto the southbound 405.
35
Right Now
Stacy nervously twisted her purse strap as she waited in the screening room where the nurse had left her. She wished she’d remembered to bring a magazine from the waiting room—anything to take her mind off of the lump.
The nurse performing the mammogram had been reassuring: most lumps were found to be benign, especially among Black women, who seemed to have “lumpy” breasts more frequently than their counterparts. Stacy remembered hearing something like that before, but she couldn’t remember where.
What’s taking them so long? Stacy thought as she looked at the clock to see if the second hand still moved. Had it really been only five minutes? Now she was second-guessing her decision to come to the hospital alone. Maybe I should have called my mom or Hope. But she didn’t want to involve anyone in what would probably turn out to be a routine procedure. Most of these tests usually come back benign. Stacy tried to calm herself with a litany of the nurse’s words. And then she remembered the sermon from two nights ago and the prayer she’d prayed again and again since feeling the lump. Lord, please let me be all right. She took a deep breath and then took comfort in the minister’s words. God’s Word would not return void, and what He promised, He would do.