Chapter 10
New Testament Cathedral felt like the center of the universe this week. The campus was filled with tourists who had traveled from far and wide to witness the opening of the new sanctuary. Mobile homes, tour buses, cars, and limousines were lined up at the entrance, waiting for their turn to drive along the campus’s cobblestone streets and to come that much closer to Samantha Cleaveland. Each vehicle was greeted with a hearty “Welcome to New Testament Cathedral,” from the armed security guards. “Would you mind stepping from the vehicle while we search it? We can’t be too safe these days.”
No one protested. Everyone understood that there was still a killer on the loose and that every measure had to be taken to protect Samantha Cleaveland. The first few steps into each new building took guests through metal detectors. Visible gun bulges could be seen under the arms of discreet men and women in black suits and dark sunglasses as they talked into their wristwatches while walking the grounds and looking inconspicuous.
It was now only three days until the first Sunday morning in the new sanctuary. All the hotels within a ten-mile radius of the church were fully booked. The opening was being covered in the media like a long-awaited movie premiere. It was a phenomenon due to the dramatic fashion in which Hezekiah had died and the theatrical way in which Samantha lived.
Samantha stood at the window of her glass office, surveying the grounds. From there she could see people pointing up at her office on the fifth floor, above the main entrance of the sanctuary. She could see them all clearly, but fortunately, they could not see her through the heavily tinted windows. If they could, they would have been offended by the disdain in her eye and the dismissive slant of her mouth as they craned their necks to see her.
Samantha’s world was governed by deception. As a child, she had to be perfect at all times. She was the daughter of a pastor, and her mother would accept nothing but the best from her and for her. She was a beautiful little girl. Long, naturally wavy hair, perfectly chiseled features, and eyes as black as onyx, which seemed to look straight through you. She played with the other children at church in the hallways, in Fellowship Hall, and on the lawn at the back of her father’s church, but her mother on many occasions had reminded her, “Samantha, you’re not like the other children. Always remember you’re better than they are. You’re the daughter of Pastor Herman Jedediah Armstrong. Don’t ever forget that.”
It was a working-class congregation. The members came from the poor neighborhoods and the housing tenements that surrounded the church. The faithful would come every Sunday, and on the first Sunday of each month they would give 10 percent of their monthly earnings to Pastor Armstrong. Ten percent from one person’s salary in that neighborhood didn’t amount to much, but 10 percent from over three thousand households allowed Pastor Herman Armstrong and First Lady Adeline Armstrong to drive his and hers Mercedes-Benzs, live in the city’s upper-middle-class neighborhood, and send Samantha to the finest private schools.
Samantha’s clothes were always a little nicer than those of all the other children at church. Her education was better, and the food on her table much finer. She soon learned the value of the masses. They were there to meet her needs. The parishioners who filled the sanctuary each Sunday were there for her. They were there to buy Samantha her first car at sixteen. They were there to purchase her mother a new fur coat each winter. They were there to wrap her father’s wrist in Rolex watches and adorn his pinkie finger with diamonds.
Church was the family business. Pastor Armstrong christened the babies, married the young couples, and prepared the dead, in the family-owned and family-operated mortuary, for their final resting place. The church even had its own credit union. It was the first in the community, which meant the Armstrongs held the deeds and pink slips to many of the members’ homes and cars. The church was a one-stop shop, and all the proceeds kept the Armstrong family cradled comfortably in the arms of luxury.
Samantha had always known she could never inherit the family business, because she was a girl. She did, however, inherit something much more valuable. Her mother’s ability to manipulate and control the men in her life. Pastor Armstrong was a strapping and elegant man. His pearly smile and fiery sermons would seduce the women and inspire the men each Sunday morning. But behind closed doors it was apparent who ran the business. Adeline Armstrong managed all the church and family finances, which were one and the same. She dressed her husband in the finest Brooks Brothers suits and draped him in gold-embroidered robes. Sunday morning was theater, and Adeline was the director and producer.
Samantha Cleaveland was already a master at the game by the time Hezekiah Cleaveland entered the picture. He didn’t have a chance against her. On the first day she saw him, as a young visiting preacher in her father’s church, he wore an ill-fitting suit. But there was something about him. The women in the audience hung on his every word. The men looked on with envy, admiration, and a healthy tinge of jealousy. In an instant, she decided he would be her husband. He would be the man who would serve as pastor of her church. He would be the man who would father her children. This was the man who would keep her in the finest clothes, cars, and homes. He was raw and unrefined, but he was charismatic and beautiful. Just the right man to play the role in the production that was to be her life.
She wasted no time in re-creating him. He was immediately integrated into the Armstrong dynasty and taken under her father’s wing. Adeline coached her on the fine art of training him to be the man who would keep her in the only life that she knew.
But Samantha’s skills surpassed those of her mother. The difference between the two women was that Samantha was willing to do whatever it took to get what she wanted. Adeline had limits. Oral sex was not a part of the equation. “Ladies don’t do things like that,” she had once told her daughter. But Samantha mastered the toe-curling and eye-rolling skill and used it as yet another tool to control. “Don’t ever steal, honey. God hates a thief,” was another of her mother’s instructions. Samantha, however, felt that if she wanted something, she had a right to have it, no matter who it belonged to. It’s not really stealing if it was always supposed to be mine, she had often thought.
“Marriage is a sacred bond, darling,” Adeline told Samantha on the night before her wedding. “Always be faithful to your husband, no matter how much you are tempted.” Samantha was never tempted by sex or passion. She could take it or leave it. She did, however, know that sex was one of the easiest ways to persuade men to do her bidding, whether it was Hezekiah, Reverend Willie Mitchell, David Shackelford, or any other man she needed at the time. If money wasn’t enough to convince them, then she always had her body as the ultimate bargaining tool.
Adeline didn’t believe in divorce, and she instilled the same belief in Samantha. “Now, honey, you know we don’t believe in divorce in our family,” she told Samantha on the eve of her wedding, dispensing more motherly advice. “When you say ‘until death do us part’ tomorrow in front of God and all those witnesses, make sure you mean it. My great-grandmother, my grandmother, and my mother all buried their husbands. I plan to bury your father someday, and now you have to plan on doing the same with your husband. There’s no turning back now.”
“I will, Mama,” Samantha replied, gently touching her mother’s hand. “I love Hezekiah. I will never divorce him.”
At the young age of sixty-five, Reverend Herman Jedediah Armstrong died of a heart attack in his church office, on top of his forty-six-year-old secretary, with his pants around his ankles. The funeral was lovely, and Samantha noted that her mother had never looked more radiant.
“Excuse me, Pastor Cleaveland.” The voice on the intercom startled Samantha as she looked from her office window.
“Yes? What is it?” she asked curtly.
“I’m very sorry to disturb you, Pastor Cleaveland,” the assistant said timidly. “Trustee Scarlett Shackelford is here to see you. She said it’s very important. I told her you were not available, but she insists.”
Samantha looked curiously at the phone but did not respond. In all the years she had known Scarlett Shackelford, she had never been in a room alone with her. There was no need. She was the mother of Hezekiah’s bastard child, and because of that, Samantha was resigned to the fact that Scarlett would always have a piece of Hezekiah that she could never buy, steal, or control. For this reason alone she had always hated Scarlett.
“Shall I make an appointment for her at another time?” said the intercom.
“No. Send her in.”
A slight gasp of surprise could be heard from the intercom. Samantha rarely saw anyone without an appointment. “Yes, Pastor Cleaveland.”
Samantha continued to look out the window as she waited for the door to open. Pretty, delicate, meek, and mild Scarlett was, ironically, the only woman on the planet who caused Samantha to doubt her beauty. Of all the affairs Hezekiah had had, Scarlett was the one that had affected him the most. On the day Samantha found out about the affair and the baby, she told Hezekiah to end it immediately. For the first time, he protested about ending a relationship. Not because he thought there could ever be a future for him with Scarlett, but rather because he knew that she would be devastated, and he never wanted to hurt Scarlett.
On so many Sundays mornings after the child was born, Samantha could see Hezekiah scanning the church audience from the pulpit for the mother and child.
Scarlett entered the room and closed the door behind her. Samantha took a seat at her desk facing the window.
“So you finally told David about Natalie. I had assumed you and I were going to take our little secret to the grave.”
“He had a right to know,” Scarlett said, standing in the middle of the spacious office.
“Why? What good did it do you, Scarlett? It only hurt him and destroyed your marriage. You know he’s very angry with you now. You should have kept your mouth shut.”
“The truth didn’t destroy my marriage. You did.”
“You overestimate me. The moment you told David was the moment your marriage ended. I had nothing to do with that,” Samantha said and turned to face Scarlett. “You made that decision on your own, and now you have to live with the consequences.”
“Consequences?” Scarlett scoffed. “What do you know about consequences? You’ve never had to pay for any of the damage you’ve done to anyone.”
“Oh . . . and how do you know that much about my life?”
“Because you splash your entire life in front of the world every opportunity you get,” Scarlett said, looking directly at her.
“Don’t believe everything you see on television, my dear.”
“Don’t ‘my dear’ me. You forget, I know who you are.”
“Did you come here to insult me or to discuss this like adults?”
“You’re sleeping with my husband, and you expect me to discuss it calmly, like an adult?”
“Your husband would have never come to me if you hadn’t opened your mouth. You never once considered how your affair with my husband affected me, did you? It was all about you and your delicate feelings. Well, fuck you and your feelings. He was my husband, and you had no right to touch him, and now you and your daughter are paying the price for it.”
“Is that what this is all about?” Scarlett asked, taking a step forward. “Revenge?”
“I suppose in a way it is. You tried and failed to take my husband, and I tried and succeed in taking yours. Don’t worry, though. When I’m done with him, I’ll send him back to you, at least what’s left of him.”
“I came here to speak with you woman to woman, Samantha. I apologize for what I did to you. I know it was wrong.”
“Apologize?” Samantha said indignantly. “You have my husband’s child and then blame me for how your life turned out, and all you can do is apologize five years later. You’re not the victim, Scarlett. Hezekiah and David bought that whole poor Scarlett routine, but I don’t. You’re nothing more than a manipulator. I offered you money, and you turned it down. I offered to relocate you to another city, and you turned that down too, because you wanted Hezekiah. Hezekiah is dead, so now you can’t dangle that little girl in front of him anymore. Now you just have me to contend with. Take your best shot at me, and you’ll see just how little the world will care about your bastard child.”
“I’m not here to threaten you, Samantha.”
“Then why are you here?”
“To try to appeal to you one woman to another. You’ve made your point with my husband, and I guess on some level I deserved it. I’m asking you to not take advantage of him or our situation. David loves me, and you know that. You have everything and can have any man you want. Don’t do this, Samantha. I’m not asking for myself. I’m asking for Hezekiah’s daughter. Don’t make her suffer for our mistakes, and whether you like it or not, she’s here and she deserves a chance at happiness.”
“I don’t owe you or your love child anything,” Samantha sneered. “You should have thought about all this before you slept with my husband. Now I want you out of my office. As a matter of fact, I want you off the board of trustees and out of this church. Consider yourself excommunicated.”
“You can’t remove me from the board without a unanimous vote of the members, and you know that.”
“And just how difficult do you think that will be for me to get?’ Samantha replied coldly. “They’ll vote exactly how I tell them to vote.”
“You know you can’t control Hattie Williams.”
“When she finds out about your little secret, she may be more easily persuaded.”
“I can’t believe you would use this against me. Haven’t we all suffered enough?”
“As a matter of fact, no, I don’t think you’ve suffered enough. I went easy on you when this all happened, because at the time I had other things that needed my attention. But since you’ve decided to reopen this whole sordid mess, I have no choice but to deal with it and with you.”
“Deal with me?” Scarlett said with a hiss. “You arrogant . . . I tried to do the right thing and speak to you like a reasonable human being, but I see that was a mistake. So now I’m giving you fair warning. If you don’t keep your hands off my husband, you will regret it.”
“Is that a threat?” Samantha asked with one eyebrow raised. “If it is, you better be ready to back it up, because I don’t take threats lightly.”
“Yes, it is a threat, Samantha, and yes, I am fully prepared to back it up.”
As time passed, Cynthia Pryce’s obsession with Samantha only increased. There was not a day when she was not consumed with thoughts of removing her as pastor. One scheme after another was dissected, dismissed, and resurrected when no other viable plan could be devised.
Percy and Cynthia had come to New Testament Cathedral from a neighboring church. They were a young and optimistic couple who wanted nothing more than to serve God and Hezekiah Cleaveland. In the early days the relationship was ideal. Percy fit in nicely as Hezekiah’s right-hand man. He performed weddings, funerals, and christenings when Hezekiah was not available. The church in those days was smaller and had a more intimate feel. Everyone knew everyone’s name or, at the very least, recognized their face.
Cynthia initially loved the role of wife of the second in command. The position came with more power and prestige than she had ever experienced in her life. When she was a college student from the wrong side of the tracks in South-Central L.A., the extent of her exposure to wealth and fame was watching soap operas and people like Hezekiah and Samantha on her parent’s television in the city’s projects.
But she was beautiful and cunning. There wasn’t a loss she couldn’t transform into a win for herself, and there was no man she couldn’t have if she chose him. She met Percy in her sophomore year at the Bible Institute of Los Angeles. He was the young graduate student in the theological seminary. She was the popular undergrad whose primary purpose for being on the campus was to find a husband. When she first laid eyes on Percy as he walked across a bustling cafeteria, he catapulted to the top of her list of eligible candidates. Tall, chocolate, holding an armful of books, and the eyes of every girl in the room watching him as he walked by.
No formal introductions had been necessary. One day she boldly sat next to him on the quad and simply asked him, “Do you believe in love at first sight?”
Percy’s stammering response was, “Yes, I s-suppose do.”
From nearly that moment on they were inseparable. He worshiped her from day one and continued to do so in spite of all they had been through together. She was woven into his DNA. Percy couldn’t face a day without first looking into her eyes and feeling the warmth of her body. He couldn’t sleep at night if she was not near. She was his touchstone. The reason he woke and the reason he lived. God was good, but for Percy, Cynthia was essential.
As the church grew, Cynthia began to resent the subservient role her husband’s position had transformed into. He was the backup plan. The second best. The one to call “only if Pastor Cleaveland isn’t available.”
“Why do you let them treat you like that?” soon became the precursor to many of their conversations. “They don’t appreciate you,” was another, and as was, “You’re nothing more than his lackey.”
Cynthia also took note of the increasing wealth accumulating just beyond her reach. One day the chauffeur-driven Escalades showed up in the church parking lot and the Cleavelands stepped out, as if they had had uniformed drivers their entire lives. Then increasingly expensive pieces of art began appearing on walls and tables in Hezekiah’s and Samantha’s offices. Then came the chartered jets for overnight trips for Samantha. But the final straw was the Cleaveland estate.
Hezekiah and Samantha had hosted an open house for the members of the board of trustees and seven-figure supporters of the ministry. The display of wealth was shameless. The mammoth size of the house was bad enough, but on top of that Cynthia was stunned by the army of servants and the priceless works of art scattered around the house. Peacocks, fountains, tennis courts, and swimming pools—they were all too much for her to take.
It was on that day that it became Cynthia’s life mission to replace Samantha as the first lady of New Testament Cathedral.
“Are you okay, Cynthia?” Percy had asked her in the car on their way home from the open house that evening. “You haven’t said a word since we left the party.”
Cynthia had sat silently, looking out the passenger window, as the car took them away from the rarefied heights of Bel Air.
“I’m disgusted, just sick, and I don’t understand why you aren’t too,” was her icy reply when she finally spoke.
“I know it was a little over the top, but that’s just how Samantha is.”
“A little over the top! Two Picassos. Did you see that security system? It alone must have cost at least a million dollars.”
“Don’t let it upset you,” Percy said, missing the point of her anger.
“You can’t think that all of that was okay. Especially with them giving you a lousy five hundred and fifty thousand a year. I can’t believe you’re not as angry as I am.”
“Honey, we’ve always said we aren’t doing this work for the money. It’s about spreading the gospel. It’s about ministering to the sick and—”
“You don’t have to remind me what the work is about,” she snapped. “I went to the same racist, Bible-thumping, dogma-preaching college that you went to, remember. I know the speech, so don’t lecture me. You know as well as I do there’s no justification for spending that kind of money, especially when it’s coming to you in ten-dollar increments from old ladies and widows living off their husband’s pensions. It’s reprehensible.”
Cynthia neglected to mention the near orgasm she had had when she entered Samantha’s walk-in closet. The closet was larger than her living room and dining room combined. The walls were lined with designers she had seen only in magazines. Shoe racks filled with shoes in every color seemed to cascade like rainbows from the ceiling. There were two sets of matching Louis Vuitton luggage, hats, purses, scarves, and gloves. Cashmere, leather, chiffon, and silk spilled from the walls like sweet honey from the rock.
Cynthia wanted it, and she wanted it all, but she never fully admitted it to herself. The calling of God was the perfect camouflage for the true desires of mortals. The wealth flaunted in her face and just beyond her reach made her fingertips ache.
“They ought to be ashamed of themselves. And did you see the way everyone was fawning over them?” she ranted on during the car ride home. “I thought that one woman was going to cream her panties in the foyer when she saw that Picasso.”
“Cynthia, please! Is that really necessary?”
“I’m sorry, but the entire evening left a horrible taste in my mouth.”
Now, years later, the rancid taste of jealousy was still in her mouth.
From her dining room table, Cynthia dialed Scarlett Shackelford.
“Scarlett, it’s Cynthia. How are you, dear?”
Scarlett was still reeling from her confessions to Gideon and her confrontation with Samantha. David had not been home in two nights, and Natalie was beginning to ask questions.
“Not good, Cynthia. This is not a very good time for me. Can you call me back later?”
“This will only take a minute.”
Scarlett plopped down on the sofa and said, “Okay, but could you please make this quick? I have a terrible headache.”
“This is about Samantha.”
“I assumed so,” Scarlett replied scornfully. “You put me in a very awkward position, Cynthia. I thought you had the votes locked up. I held up my end, and you couldn’t even get your own husband to vote against her. I looked like a fool at the meeting. I thought you could count on Hattie’s vote.”
Scarlett shivered when she recalled the night the board of trustees installed Samantha as permanent pastor.
The board of trustees had sat nervously around the table in the recently christened Pastor Hezekiah T. Cleaveland Memorial Conference Room. The special closed meeting had been convened at the request of Reverend Kenneth Davis. The only item on the agenda was the selection of the permanent pastor of New Testament Cathedral.
Kenneth sat at the head of the table as the convener of the meeting. Hattie Williams’s wooden cane rested on the conference table. Her purse, filled with Kleenex, peppermints, and a pocket Bible, rested on her lap. Reverend Percy Pryce sat to her left, three chairs down. Despite his best attempts at appearing calm and detached, he could not hide the glimmer on his upper lip, which betrayed the churning in his stomach.
Kenneth nervously checked his watch. Scarlett Shackelford sat stiffly three chairs to his right. The pills she’d taken before leaving home that evening had effectively erased the remains of her shattered emotions.
“I don’t think she’s coming,” Kenneth said, checking his watch again. “It’s already twenty past eight. We were supposed to start at eight.”
“Maybe we should start without her,” Percy said softly.
“She’ll be here.”
All heads turned to Hattie.
“How do you know that?” Scarlett asked coldly.
“Because she’s already in the building,” Hattie said. “I can feel her.”
Scarlett rolled her eyes and said impatiently, “I say we call the meeting to order right now and get this over with.”
As she spoke, the security guard swung one half of the double doors open and Samantha appeared in the threshold. Kenneth and Percy leapt to their feet, while Hattie and Scarlett remained seated. Before entering, Samantha made eye contact with everyone at the table.
“Good evening, Brothers and Sisters,” she said confidently. “I apologize for my lateness, but I was attending to church business. Please sit down, Brothers.”
Reverend Davis walked to the console and poured a glass of water. “Would anyone else like a glass before we get started?”
A chorus of “No” and “No thank you, Reverend,” followed, and he made his way back to the head of the table.
Samantha sat four chairs to the right of Scarlett, which placed her the farthest from the head of the table. She crossed her legs and leaned back in the high-backed leather chair.
Kenneth placed the glass of water beside a single sheet of paper, five pens, a stack of index cards, and a small tape recorder. After pressing the RECORD button on the tape recorder, he said, “I now call this special meeting of the Board of Trustees of New Testament Cathedral to order at eight twenty-five on this day of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Thank you all for coming on such short notice. As you know, we are convened to decide an issue of the utmost importance. The sole agenda item is who will serve as the permanent pastor of New Testament Cathedral.”
Samantha raised her hand and was immediately acknowledged by Kenneth.
“I would like to know what prompted this sudden need to appoint a permanent pastor,” Samantha said calmly. “It was my understanding that I would be given ample time to demonstrate to this body and the congregation at large that I am fully capable of serving in that position on a permanent basis. Is one month the trustees’ idea of ‘ample time’?”
No one spoke as Samantha waited patiently to see who would lead the charge. Finally, Percy leaned forward and clasped his hands together on the table. “Pastor Cleaveland,” he said, clearing his throat. “This is in no way a reflection on how we feel about your leadership during this trying time. I think I speak for us all when I say under the circumstances we feel you have done an amazing job in holding the congregation together and keeping the vision of Pastor Cleaveland alive and on track.”
“Then what is this all about?” Samantha asked, her question punctuated by a flick of her French-tipped nail on the table.
Kenneth stepped in. “It’s just that some of us feel we may not have fully factored in your feelings when we placed you in this position. We . . . I mean I, feel we may have acted too hastily, and selfishly, I might add. You just lost your husband. The center of your life. Reverend Pryce is willing to step in and give you the time you and Jasmine need to—”
“Reverend Davis, I am very aware that I just lost my husband,” Samantha interrupted, “but contrary to popular belief, he was not the center of my life. God is the center of my life, as I hope He is yours. I loved my husband, but I also love New Testament Cathedral. I helped found this church when it was in a storefront on Imperial Highway before any of you ever heard of the Cleavelands or the Cleavelands had ever heard of any of you.” Samantha leaned into the table. Her tone became firmer, and the words came more rapidly as she spoke. “Hezekiah and I built this ministry from the ground up, and now you think just because he’s gone, you can snatch it from under my feet.”
“Now, hold on, Reverend Cleaveland,” Percy said, jumping in and gesturing with both hands. “No one is trying to snatch New Testament away from you. We all recognize the significant contributions you have made to this church, and we all appreciate everything you’ve done to make New Testament what it is today. We’re only thinking about what’s best for you. That’s all. This is not an indictment against you.”
“You ‘appreciate’ my contributions,” Samantha said snidely. “I don’t need your appreciation, Percy. It means nothing to me. Let me ask you something. How many millions of dollars have you brought into the ministry this year? How many new members have you brought into the church?”
Percy stiffened his back and said, “This isn’t about money. It’s about doing what’s right by you. Hezekiah would have wanted us to look out for you, and by placing you in this position prematurely, we failed him. You can wait a few years, can’t you? Give it time, Samantha. You need time to heal.”
“Let’s be honest, Percy. This isn’t about me at all. It’s about you, isn’t it? Did your wife put you up to this?” Samantha said, looking him directly in the eye. “Because let’s face it. You don’t have the balls to come up with a ridiculous plan like this on your own. Hezekiah always said you were a small-minded, weak little man, and I see now that he was right.”
“That’s uncalled for, Samantha,” Kenneth interjected. “Please, I know this is a difficult conversation for us to have, but let’s at least try to be civil with each other.”
“Civil? You expect me to be civil when you jackals have plotted behind my back to steal my church? Well, let me say to you all, if you think you are going pat me on the head and brush me aside, you are sadly mistaken.”
Kenneth cleared his throat and said gently, “I’m afraid we do have the authority, Samantha. According to church bylaws, section IIA, it is the responsibility of this body to select the pastor.”
Kenneth reached for the single piece of paper in front of him and read aloud, “A pastor shall be chosen and called whenever a vacancy occurs. A Pastor’s Selection Committee shall be appointed by the church—that’s us—to seek out a suitable pastor. The pastor’s election shall take place at a meeting called for that purpose. That’s this meeting. The pastor—for the time being, that’s you, Samantha—the pastor shall be an ex officio member of all church standing committees, except the Pastor’s Selection Committee.”
Kenneth returned the paper to the table and said, “Because you are the interim pastor of New Testament Cathedral at the time this agenda item will be called to a vote, you will, unfortunately, not be allowed to vote on this matter.”
“May I speak?” Scarlett said loudly.
Kenneth leaned back, relieved that someone else had entered the fray. “Please, Sister Shackelford, go ahead. You have the floor.”
Scarlett spun her chair to face Samantha and said, “I’m not basing my vote on you or your feelings. I actually don’t think you need time to heal. Do you know why? Because I think you’re relieved that he’s gone.”
“Sister Shackelford!” Kenneth shouted.
“Let me finish,” Scarlett said deliberately. “My decision is based on the fact that I don’t think you are fit to be pastor. You are an evil woman who has demonstrated over the years that you are more than willing to destroy anyone and anything that stands between you and whatever it is you want at the time. New Testament Cathedral deserves better than that, God deserves better, and I know I deserve better. I’m ready to call this to a vote.”
With her final words spoken, Scarlett spun her chair back to its original position. Samantha sat stunned and speechless.
Kenneth held his breath, waiting for Samantha to respond, but she remained silent. Kenneth then leaned forward again and said, “We haven’t heard from everyone. Mother Williams, do you have anything to add before we call for a vote?”
Hattie remembered the vision she saw in her garden, of Samantha standing in the pulpit, with thousands of lost souls standing at her feet, crying and raising their hands to the heavens. She clutched the handle of her cane and simply said, “I have nothing to add. I’m ready for the vote.”
“Very well, then,” Kenneth said, reaching for the index cards and pens. “Please write your choice for pastor of New Testament Cathedral on these cards. Fold it in half and pass it back to me when you’re ready.”
“May I ask a question before we vote?” Samantha said calmly.
“The discussion is over,” Scarlett said. “Let’s vote please.”
“Hold on, Scarlett. Let her speak. Go ahead, Samantha. You have the floor,” Kenneth said, leaning back in his chair.
Samantha looked at Percy and said, “Reverend Pryce.”
“Yes?” he said suspiciously.
“Do you know someone named Lance Savage?”
Kenneth jerked forward in his chair and lunged toward the tape recorder. He quickly pressed the STOP button and, in doing so, knocked over his glass of water. Water splattered down the center of the table, soaking the single sheet of white paper and forming a puddle around the tape recorder
“Oh, God, I’m sorry,” Kenneth blurted out. He jumped from his seat and ran to the console for the cloth napkins. When he returned, the water had begun to drip onto his chair. Kenneth dabbed and blotted the table, his chair, and around the base of the tape recorder until much of the spill had been absorbed.
Samantha watched him curiously and noted his unexpected reaction to the name Lance Savage.
I’m so sorry, everyone,” Kenneth said with a shaky voice. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do it. It was an accident. I’m . . . I’m sorry.”
Percy retrieved more napkins from the console and wiped the remaining drops of water, all while coolly saying, “It’s all right, Reverend Davis. Calm down. It was a just a little accident. Calm down.”
Kenneth sank back into the damp leather chair and said through labored breaths, “Samantha, I don’t see what that has to do with the matter on the table.”
Samantha returned her gaze to Percy. “Answer my question, Reverend Pryce. Do you know Lance Savage?”
Percy looked helplessly at Kenneth and then back at Samantha and said, “No . . . I don’t believe I know anyone by that name.”
“Judging by Kenneth’s reaction, I think you do,” Samantha insisted.
“You’re stalling, Samantha. What does this have to do with anything?” Scarlett said impatiently.
“To be perfectly honest, Scarlett, I’m not sure. But I’m curious. You see, my assistant gives me a monthly report on the church telephone records. I like to know if anyone is making any unauthorized calls. We had a problem with that a few years ago. You remember that, don’t you, Mother Williams?” Samantha continued methodically. “Anyway, in doing so, she noticed two calls were made to Lance Savage.” Samantha looked around the room and added, “Did I forget to mention Mr. Savage was the Los Angeles Chronicle reporter who was found murdered in his home on the canals in Venice?”
She then looked back at Percy and said, “The calls were made from your extension to his cell phone and home. And, ironically, they were made on the very same day he was murdered. Quite a coincidence, don’t you think? I’ve been meaning to ask you why you called him, but I’ve been so busy burying my husband and running the church.”
There was silence in the room. All eyes were now on Percy. Kenneth sat stiff in his seat. The remnants of the spilled water had soaked the seat of his pants. Beads of sweat formed on his brow, and his heart pounded in his chest.
Samantha broke the silence. “Looks like you might not remember right now. That’s okay, though, because, you see, if I’m not going to be pastor any longer, I’ll have plenty of time on my hands to solve little mysteries like this.” She leaned back in her chair and said with a smile, “All righty, then, Reverend Davis. I think I have my answer. Now let’s get on with that vote.”
Kenneth’s hand shook as he passed the cards and pens to Hattie, Scarlett, and Percy. He kept one for himself. He used a dry napkin to wipe the sweat from his brow, only to have it replaced by even more.
Scarlett was the first to hand back her folded card. Hattie was next. Percy’s hand rested on the table, with the tip of the pen suspended only centimeters above the card. Scarlett, Hattie, and Samantha watched him as the pen finally began to glide along the surface of the card. He stopped and started several times before he finished. He then opened his fingers slightly, and the pen dropped to the table with a thud that echoed off the walls of the conference room.
Percy stared at the card without moving. All he could think of was his wife’s final words as he left their condo for the meeting. “Call me as soon as it’s over,” she said, brushing imaginary lint from his lapel at the door. “And, Percy,” she continued, “don’t screw this up.”
Samantha leaned toward the table and said, “Fold your card, Reverend Pryce, and hand it back to Reverend Davis.”
Kenneth’s card was soggy from the droplets of water that had remained on the table in front of him. He was the last to fold his card and add it to the stack of four.
“Thank you, everyone,” Kenneth said nervously. “Here we go.”
“Wait a minute, Reverend Davis,” Samantha said calmly.
“Yes, Pastor Cleaveland?” Kenneth said humbly.
“I think it might be a good idea if you turned the recorder back on. For the record.”
“Of course . . . yes, of course. I’m sorry. I forgot.”
“No need to apologize again,” Samantha said.
Kenneth reached forward and pressed the RECORD button. “Okay, where was I?” He opened the first card and read out the name written on it. “Samantha Cleaveland.” He opened the second card and said, “Samantha Cleaveland.”
Scarlett looked bewildered and betrayed. The numbing effects of the medication she’d taken began to wear off rapidly with the reading of each card.
Kenneth unfolded the third card and let out a gush of air. “Percy Pryce,” he said with a hint of disappointment.
The last card seemed to levitate above the table in front of him. He reached for it, hesitated halfway, and then picked it up. He looked around the room at each person. Scarlett looked at him with a longing glare. Hattie’s eyes were closed. She still clutched the head of her cane. Percy’s eyes were closed as well.
Samantha looked at him with the cold, narrowed eyes of a woman who was about to lose everything.
Kenneth opened the final card and read it. He then closed his eyes and released a puff of air. “Samantha Cleaveland,” he said, dropping the card to the table. “Let the record show that Samantha Cleaveland is as of this day the permanent pastor of New Testament Cathedral. Congratulations, Pastor Cleaveland.” He then slapped the table with his open palm and added, “This meeting is adjourned.”
Samantha stood immediately and walked over to Kenneth. She reached over his shoulder and pressed the EJECT button on the tape recorder, and the little cassette popped up.
“I’ll take this,” she said.
Without making eye contact with anyone there, Cynthia spun on her heels and left the room.
The others sat in stunned silence, and then, one by one, they slowly exited the conference room. The last one to leave turned off the lights.
In less than one hour Samantha had been installed as permanent pastor. Scarlett now sat on the couch in the living room with the phone to her ear as Cynthia pleaded her case.
“I never said I had Hattie’s vote,” Cynthia said emphatically.
“I assumed you already had a majority when you told me about this scheme.”
“I thought I did, but Samantha outsmarted us.”
“You mean, she outsmarted you. I held up my end of the deal. I voted against her. You’re the one who was supposed to have the other votes lined up.”
“I know, and I apologize for that.”
“I don’t need your apology. It’s too late now,” Scarlett answered.
“That’s why I’m calling. I don’t think it’s too late.”
“It is. She outsmarted you. Percy will never be pastor of New Testament Cathedral.”
“It’s not too late!” Cynthia blurted. “Don’t say that.”
“Why? There’s nothing you can do to stop her. She has the trustees following her now in lockstep. She even got Hattie’s vote. I never dreamed that would ever happen.”
“I agree. That old lady surprised me,” Cynthia said with a hint of introspection. “I’ll never forgive her for that.”
“The congregation loves Samantha. The world loves her,” Scarlett continued bitterly. “When the people see her this Sunday, standing in the pulpit of that glass cathedral, she will be set for life. Everyone will be eating out of her hands.”
“I just don’t want to believe it’s over. The world has got to know just what kind of woman she is. If people only knew the secret she kept before Hezekiah died, they would see her in a different light.”
Scarlett sat upright on the edge of the couch. “What secret?” she asked cautiously. “What are you talking about?”
There was no need for pretense or deception at this point. Lance Savage was dead. Hezekiah was dead. Reverend Mitchell had killed himself. Percy had all but given up on the idea of being pastor. There was nothing to lose.
“It was about Hezekiah. Samantha knew about him.”
“What about Hezekiah?” Scarlett said, urging her on.
“Hezekiah was having an affair with a man,” Cynthia blurted, with no regard for the impact her words would have. She sent them blindly into the phone, almost forgetting there was another person on the line. “Danny St. John is his name. Hezekiah was going to step down as pastor on the Sunday morning he was killed. Samantha knew it, and I think she stopped him before it was too late.”
Scarlett stood to her feet as the words swirled in her head. She could not form the words to respond.
“Hello, Scarlett. Are you still there?”
“You’re a liar!” Scarlett shouted into the phone. “How could you say a horrible thing like that?”
“Because it’s true.”
“It’s not true. It’s impossible. Hezekiah loved women, and he loved . . .” Scarlett stopped.
“No one doubts that he loved women. But that didn’t stop him from also loving men. At least Danny St. John.”
“How do you know this?”
“I printed hundreds of e-mails from his office computer,” Cynthia replied confidently. “I’ll show them to you if you don’t believe me.”
Within an hour Cynthia was standing in Scarlett’s living room. Scarlett hadn’t sat down since she hung up the telephone. She had managed to stop the room from spinning when the doorbell rang.
“Here they are, Scarlett,” Cynthia said, handing her an unmarked envelope. “It’s all there. Read it for yourself.”
Scarlett snatched the envelope from Cynthia and frantically removed the small stack of papers.
“That’s only a sample of the e-mails between them,” Cynthia said.
Cynthia studied Scarlett as she read each page. She could see her hand trembling and then the tears flowing. Scarlett tried to contain her sobs as she leafed through the irrefutable evidence.
She read the inflammatory text of e-mail number seven.
I love you, Danny. I love you more than I have ever loved anyone in my life. I want to hold you when you are not here. I want to hear your voice call my name when we make love. You are everything to me.
Scarlett dropped the page to the floor, where it landed on top of the first six pages. Then she read e-mail number thirteen.
I’ve never seen that look in her eye before. She looked like she could kill me.
Seventeen minutes later the entire contents of the envelope lay at Scarlett’s feet. She was numb after reading the last e-mail. Her eyes were glazed as she stared blankly into the fireplace.
“Disgusting, isn’t it? Are you okay, honey?” Cynthia asked. ”You don’t look so good.”
Scarlett did not respond. The words from the scattered sheets of paper swirled in her head, forming a vortex of pain and betrayal. “This can’t be true,” she said to no one. “This just can’t be true.”
“I’m sorry, but it is,” Cynthia said coldly. “He was gay, and Samantha knew all about it. The evidence is right there at your feet.”
At that moment Cynthia saw Scarlett for the first time since she had entered the house. She saw a trembling woman whose reaction to the news far exceeded that of a disappointed parishioner. It looked more like . . .
“Oh my God,” Cynthia said, staring at the trembling woman. “You were in love with him.”
Scarlett let out an anguished cry when she heard the words. Her fists repeatedly pounded the cushions on the couch. “No, no, no!” she yelled over and over again.
Cynthia’s eyes were wide open as she looked on in astonishment. She watched as the beautiful woman shuddered and wilted into a trembling puddle on the couch. Cynthia rushed to her side and placed her arms around her. “Honey, I’m sorry. I had no idea how you felt. It’s okay. I’m so sorry.”
Cynthia looked up at the picture of the little girl that was sitting on the fireplace mantelpiece as she held the crying woman in her arms. She immediately saw Hezekiah’s crystal-clear eyes looking back at her. Cynthia slapped her hand over her gaping mouth, her arms still wrapped around Scarlett. It was all clear now. She understood the source of the grief and pain in her arms.
“He was her father,” she whispered through her clenched fingers into Scarlett’s ear. “Hezekiah was your lover.” Cynthia continued without waiting for a response. “The bastard. How could he have done this to you?”
“I loved him,” Scarlett sobbed into the arms that held her. They were anonymous arms. She couldn’t even recall whom they belonged to. She knew only that they were the anchors that held her to the ground. Without them she feared she would float away into oblivion.
Cynthia’s mind returned to her original mission after the initial shock subsided. “Does Samantha know?” Cynthia asked shrewdly.
“Yes,” Scarlett answered. “She knew everything at the time. She wanted me to have an abortion. But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t do it. That’s my little girl. I love her. I know Hezekiah loved her too. I just know he did.”
“I’m sure he did, honey,” Cynthia replied. “In his own way.”
Scarlett jerked out of her arms. “Not ‘in his own way,’” she sneered. “He did love her.”
“I didn’t mean it that way,” Cynthia said apologetically. “I know he must have loved her very much. How could he not? She’s beautiful.”
Scarlett stood and walked over to the fireplace. She took down the framed photograph and gently touched the glass. “She looks like him. She even sounds like him.”
“You can’t let Samantha get away with this,” Cynthia said, walking over to her and placing a hand on her shoulder.
“There’s nothing I can do. It’s over. He’s gone.”
“Of course there’s something you can do. You can make sure she suffers. She made you suffer. Now it’s time for her to pay for it.”
“I don’t care anymore,” Scarlett said, pulling away. “God forgive me, but I think we would all be better off if she were dead.”
“Do you really mean that?” Cynthia asked softly.
“Mean what?”
“That we’d be better off if she were dead.”
“I don’t know what I mean anymore,” Scarlett said, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I’m just so tired. I don’t have the energy to fight anymore.”
“I know you’re tired, honey, but you’re not alone anymore. I’m here. We can stop her together.”
“Why do you care so much? This has nothing to do with you.”
“But it does. My husband served under them for years, and he lied to us. I feel betrayed. She is not fit to serve as pastor.”
“Oh, right. How could I have forgotten? You want Percy to be pastor. This is about you.”
“No, it’s about doing what’s right. It’s about correcting the mistake that was made when she was installed as pastor. It’s about exposing the lies they told us and the world all these years. She is evil, and we have to stop her.”
“But how?”
Cynthia slowly walked to the sliding glass door and looked out onto the yard. The lawn sprinklers were showering the perfectly green grass with water. A hummingbird hovered over a rosebush, then quickly darted between the buds before whizzing off over the redwood fence into the next yard.
“I’ve thought of so many different ways to deal with her, but I’m afraid there’s only one that will really work.”
Scarlett took a hopeful step toward her and asked, “What is that?”
“It has to be irreversible. It has to be quick, and it has to be permanent.”
“What are you saying?”
“I think you know exactly what I’m saying. It has to be something that she can’t recover from. It has to be lethal.”
Scarlett looked at her with a puzzled expression. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“I’ve tried everything else, and nothing has worked,” Cynthia explained. “I tried exposing the homosexual affair, and that failed. I tried securing the votes on the board of trustees, and that didn’t work. This is the only option left.”
“I can’t believe you’re saying this,” Scarlett said. “She’s evil, but no one deserves to be . . .”
“I think she does, and deep down inside, I believe you do too.”
“You’re not God, Cynthia. Only God can decide who lives and who dies.”
“I agree. But don’t you believe God uses man to execute His divine plan? How do you know this isn’t God’s plan and that we’re not a part of it?”
“Because God would never ask us to do anything that horrible.”
“That’s not true. God does call on believers to make painful sacrifices on His behalf. Look at Abraham and Isaac.”
“This is crazy, and I don’t want to discuss it anymore,” Scarlett said, turning away. “And you should put the thought out of your head as well. It’s wrong, and you know it.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think it’s wrong. What they did to you is wrong. What Hezekiah did with that man is wrong. What they did to my husband is wrong. This is justice. Pure and simple.”
“Who made you the arbitrator of justice? You are not God,” Scarlett said, putting emphasis on each word.
The two women stood on opposite sides of the room with their eyes locked. After a few moments of tense silence, Cynthia took a deep breath and said, “You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking. Please forget I ever brought this up. I’m sorry. Just the thought of her makes me a little crazy.”
Scarlett walked over to Cynthia and placed her arms around her. “I understand,” Scarlett said, holding her close. “She has the same effect on me.”
The pounding bass of Kanye West’s latest release made the floor vibrate as dancers humped, gyrated, and twirled in the frantic glow of pulsing spotlights. The hottest new nightclub on the Sunset Strip was filled to overflowing with what appeared to be all of Los Angeles’s young, rich, somewhat notorious, and shameless wannabes. Bottles of Cristal and Dom Pérignon flowed from the bar up to the mezzanine, to the private booths occupied by the richest and most infamous of the crowd and their hangers-on.
Jasmine Cleaveland sat at the center of one of the booths, which was crammed with a gaggle of partying girls as beautiful as she was and with men who were as pretty as the women. The fourth bottle of Cristal on Jasmine’s tab was delivered to the table. Powdered cocaine, Ecstasy, and an assortment of synthetic designer drugs were passed between the members of her party and consumed freely.
It was just after 2:00 a.m., and the club was in full swing. Jasmine slurred her words and dribbled her sixth glass of champagne as she laughed and hung her body from one of the male occupants of the booth.
“I’m bored with this place,” she said, slurring. “I’m tired of looking at all these wannabes. Let’s go somewhere quiet.”
“No problem, baby,” said the young man, whose name she did not know. “Let’s go to my place. It’s quiet there, and I’ve got some chronic dat’s da bomb.”
As the two stumbled from the booth, Jasmine threw an exaggerated kiss to her entourage and said over the pounding music, “Later, bitches.”
Jasmine braced herself against the young man as they descended the club stairs and maneuvered through the frenetic crowd. They bumped and scooted their way to the exit and finally made it out into the early morning air. She could barely stand on her own and required the shoulder and arms of the man who was desperate to direct her to his waiting vehicle.
Gideon sat in his car across the street from the club entrance and saw Jasmine as she exited the club. He had followed her from the Cleaveland estate earlier that afternoon. He had spent the afternoon and evening watching her from a distance. First on Rodeo Drive, where she loaded Gucci bags and other shopping bags into her convertible BMW. Then at dinner with a young girlfriend at a trendy restaurant in Santa Monica. Next was a small bungalow in West Hollywood, where, judging from the steady stream of traffic at the door, he assumed she bought drugs. That was followed by a string of bars in Beverly Hills and Hollywood and finally the club on Sunset Boulevard.
Gideon had wanted to talk to her for weeks, but he hadn’t figured out how to get past the gauntlet of secretaries, assistants, and body guards that typically surrounded her. He was determined this evening to approach her but was waiting for just the right moment.
As Jasmine exited the club in the arms of an exceptionally large man, who appeared to be in his mid-thirties, Gideon could see she was intoxicated and was having trouble walking on her own. The two stumbled together down a side street and into a residential neighborhood, where he lost sight of them. Gideon quickly exited his car and dashed across Sunset, darting through a parade of cars filled with young people still cruising the boulevard.
When he reached the corner, he saw the red security lights of an SUV flashing halfway down the block. He then saw the man lean Jasmine against the vehicle as he fumbled to open the door.
“Jasmine!” Gideon called out, without even thinking what his next words would be. “Jasmine, wait!” he called again, sprinting toward the couple.
The man looked over his shoulder as Gideon approached.
“Are you all right, Jasmine?” Gideon asked when he reached them, motivated by paternal instincts that he had had no idea he had. “I think you should let me take you home.”
“Hold up, man,” her companion said, placing a firm hand on Gideon’s shoulder. “Who the fuck are you? The young lady is with me.”
Gideon ignored the man and spoke directly to Jasmine. “Jasmine, let me take you home. You’re in no condition to be out alone.”
“She’s not alone, OG. She’s with me,” the man said in a more aggressive tone. “You need to take your old ass home to bed before you get hurt.”
Almost lifeless, Jasmine was now slumped against the car, oblivious to the scene developing next to her. The street was dark and deserted except for occasional clubbers making their way to their cars.
Again, Gideon ignored the increasingly agitated man. “Come with me, Jasmine. I’m taking you home.” Gideon reached for her arm and was stopped short by the firm grip of the man, who was now standing between them.
“Take your fucking hands off her,” the man said, pushing Gideon backward. “You better step the fuck off.”
Gideon stepped aggressively toward the man and placed his hand in his jacket pocket, hoping the gesture would cause the man to pause. But it did not. The man quickly pulled Gideon’s hand from his pocket and raised his clenched fist toward Gideon’s face. At that instant a car drove past and flashed headlights directly into Gideon’s face. For the first time the man could see who he was talking to, and froze mid-swing.
“Oh, fuck,” the man said. “You dat nigga from the news. Gideon . . . Gideon Truman.”
“That’s right, and I’m also her uncle,” Gideon said without thinking. “And I’m taking her home to her mother. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll step aside.” With that last line, Gideon placed his hand back in his pocket.
The man took two steps back and raised his open palms in the air. “No problem, brotha. I was just going to take your niece to her house. She was partying pretty hard, and as you can see, she’s in no condition to drive. I was just looking out for her.”
“Good lookin’ out . . . brotha,” Gideon said snidely, “but I can take over from here.”
“That’s cool, man,” the man said, taking another step back. “Just wanted to make sure she got home safe. That’s all. No harm, no foul.” He looked at Jasmine and said, “You got my digits, shorty. Call me.” Within seconds he climbed in his car and disappeared into the night.
Gideon put his arm around Jasmine and slowly walked her back to his car. Every step was labored as her head bobbed from side to side and was accompanied by garbled words that Gideon could not understand.
When he finally had her resting securely in his passenger seat, he said, “Okay, little girl, let’s get you to your mother. She can send someone to pick up your car tomorrow.”
“I don’t want to go home,” Jasmine told him, slurring. “I can’t let her see me like this.”
“I’m sure it won’t be the first time. You’ll be fine.”
“No!” she blurted. “No . . . I can’t go home.”
“Okay,” Gideon said reluctantly. “Do you have a friend I can take you to?”
“No,” she replied. “Take me back to the club. I can stay there until . . .” As Jasmine laid her head on the headrest, her words trailed off and she slowly drifted into sleep.
“Jasmine,” Gideon said, jostling her arm. “Jasmine, wake up.”
She did not respond. Gideon scanned the street, which was now empty of revelers. It would be hours before the morning light would begin to push the night aside. Gideon wondered what he had gotten himself into as he looked at the sleeping girl in his passenger seat.
I can’t just sit here, he thought as his own signs of fatigue began to surface. Gideon started the car, and quickly made a U-turn onto Sunset Boulevard and was heading toward his home in Hollywood Hills with his notorious and intoxicated passenger.
Gideon stopped the car in front of his home. Danny was inside, surely asleep. Jasmine was in the car. Oh God, he thought. Danny is going to be angry with me for bringing her here. I hope he understands I had no choice.
Gideon guided the listless jumble of flesh up the stairs and to his front door. The door swung open before he could place the key into the lock, and Danny was standing in the threshold.
“Gideon,” Danny said, “where have you been? I’ve been calling your cell all night. I’ve been worried sick. I thought something had happened to you. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Help me get her to the sofa.”
“Who is this?” Danny asked, reaching under Jasmine’s dangling arm. “She’s drunk.”
“Just help me get her in. I’ll tell you everything in a minute.”
Gideon and Danny gently deposited the bundle on the couch and stood simultaneously as they caught their breath,
“Who is this? Where have you been? Are you all right?” Danny quizzed.
“I’m fine,” Gideon said, retrieving a throw blanket from the hall closet and placing it over Jasmine. “Danny, you’re not going to be pleased, but this is Jasmine Cleaveland. Hezekiah’s daughter.”
“What!” Danny blurted.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know where else to take her.”
“You should have taken her to her mother. She created this mess. Let her deal with it.”
“She didn’t want to go home. She didn’t want Samantha to see her like this.”
“That’s not your problem. It’s their problem.”
“I know. I just felt sorry for her.”
“Is this what you do? Bring stray cats home?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You brought me here. Now her. She’s a mess,” Danny said, looking down at a sleeping Jasmine. “It’s no wonder, with a mother like that.”
“I know it’s very sad.”
“What are you going to do with her?”
“I don’t know,” Gideon said, taking Danny’s hand. “I guess we’ll let her sleep it off. I would like to try to talk to her about her father when she wakes up. Would that be uncomfortable for you?”
“Yes, it would be very uncomfortable.”
“You don’t have to meet her when she wakes up, but it might be good for you.”
“And what purpose would that serve?” Danny asked skeptically.
“You both loved Hezekiah,” Gideon said, squeezing his hand tighter. “It might help you to talk to someone who misses him as much, if not more than you do. It could be good for you to speak with someone who understood him like no one else in the world.”
“Are you crazy?” Danny said. “I was her father’s lover. She would freak out if she knew her father was gay.”
“Maybe, maybe not. She might also find comfort in meeting someone who loved her father as much as she did. I’m sure she knows her mother didn’t love him.”
“Look, it’s almost three o’clock,” Danny said. “You must be exhausted. Let’s get some sleep, and I’ll decide later if I tell her who I am. I don’t want to think about it right now. I’m just glad you’re okay.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t call you,” Gideon said, pulling Danny to his side. “I guess I’m not used to having someone at home worrying about me.” Gideon pressed his lips against Danny’s and added, “I think I really like it. Come on. Let’s get some sleep before she wakes up.”