One Prayer Away (12 page)

“I'm going to go and lie down now,” Chris said. “I just got a headache that came out of nowhere.”

Me too,
Mitchell thought.

“Lisa should be there in a little bit. I'll call later and check on you after I get some rest. Okay?”

Mitchell bit his lip. A part of him wanted to yell at Chris for sending a replacement without asking whether or not he wanted one. But Mitchell knew that his friend was looking out for the business. He couldn't rightfully blame Chris for putting him in this uncomfortable position. Chris didn't know that his girlfriend's friendliness sometimes felt like forwardness, and Mitchell only had himself to blame for not making it known. Even with his back turned to the door, Mitchell could still sense Lisa's presence behind him. He could feel her eyes burning into the back of his neck, singeing the hairs on his flesh.

“Mitch? Are you still there?” Chris's croaky voice pulled him back into reality.

“Yeah,” Mitchell said.

“You're okay with Lisa filling in, aren't you? I know you have a lot to do and you're used to working with Barbara, who rarely ever needs to interrupt you for anything. But it shouldn't be much different with Lisa. With her skills, she shouldn't need to bother you too much. She knows her way around an office pretty well. I'll keep the phone nearby so I can hear it ring. Call me if any fires need to be put out.”

“Don't worry,” Mitchell said, not sure whether he was trying to convince Chris or himself. “I've got everything under control here. You just take care of yourself.”

Ending the phone call and turning to face the door once again, Mitchell found Lisa still standing there as though she were waiting for her orders for the day. She broke into a pearly white grin that magnified the slant in her almond-shaped eyes. Running her fingers through her natural locks, Lisa took two steps inside of Mitchell's office and looked around as if it were her first time there.

“If it weren't for the stacks of papers on your desk, I'd say that no one even worked in here. You keep a clean office, Mitchell. That's odd for most men that I know. It's a rare but attractive trait to have.”

Although it sounded more like a come-on than a compliment, Mitchell thanked her and then took brisk steps to bring himself back behind his desk. The sooner he set a tone of business, the better. Just as he sat in his chair, Barbara stepped in the doorway behind Lisa and turned down her lips as she readjusted the strap of her pocketbook that hung over her right shoulder.

“Chris is kicking me out,” she announced to Mitchell's amusement.

He needed the laugh that her dry tone, combined with her facial expression, brought out of him. “I know,” Mitchell said. “Chris just wants to be sure that you're okay, Barbara. A little bit of rest is probably just what the doctor ordered.”

“Umph,” Barbara grunted. “Well, okay then. Do you want me to stick around and show Lisa a few things before I go? I don't mind.”

Mitchell saw a chance to erase some of his alone time with Lisa and was just about to take Barbara up on her offer, but Lisa's response was quicker.

“Oh no, Ms. Barbara,” she assured her, all while giving Barbara a slight nudge to rush her exit. “I do office work five days a week, and we have way more traffic coming
through my office than you all have here. Don't worry about me; I can handle this. You just go home and take care of that cold before it gets any worse.”

When both women disappeared from his office en route to the front of the business, Mitchell closed his eyes and released a heavy sigh that was propelled by exasperation. His vexation was becoming evident again, and Mitchell searched for a way to get it under control. He knew that Lisa would be returning soon, and he didn't want the tension that her appearance had made to be obvious.

“It's just one day,” he spoke to himself, hoping that it wasn't just wishful thinking.

Unlike Chris, Barbara just had a severe case of the sniffles. Mitchell hoped that her condition wouldn't worsen overnight like Chris's had. He reasoned within himself that he could somehow pull himself together and ignore his suspicions about Lisa for one day. Having to put on a façade of comfort for any longer, though, might be more of a challenge than he could handle.

As normal, Mitchell turned his radio on and tuned in to one of his favorite local stations. Good music helped him to work better. It had been that way for as long as he could remember. Grandma Kate had an old piano that his grandfather had bought her, and she played daily during the childhood years that Mitchell spent in their home. There was something about the melody the piano offered that seemed to sharpen his mind. The best time for studying or doing his homework was when his grandmother's fingers danced across the ivory keys.

By the time he was ten, his love for the music had turned into an interest in the instrument itself. Mitchell could remember the day he'd played his first piece by ear. It shocked both his grandparents. He had watched his grandmother play many times, but Mitchell had never had any formal lessons. It was an inborn gift that none of them
realized he had. By the time he was thirteen, his technique was like that of a man who'd had classical training.

“My, my, my,” Mitchell recalled Kate saying one day as she sat on the sofa and tapped her feet to the rhythm of the tune he played. “It looks like we've got ourselves a regular ole Little Richard on our hands.”

Pulling the newspaper away from his face and repositioning his after-dinner stogy in the side of his mouth, Mitchell's grandfather had muttered an oath and then grunted the words, “I shole hope not.”

When he'd met Virtue in the store that day and soon thereafter found out that she was a dance major, it felt as if their being together was inevitable. He'd never accompanied her as she danced, but he had a portable keyboard that he'd play sometimes, just to show off for her. Virtue liked that. They enjoyed many of the same things and shared similar long-term aspirations for their lives. They had been the perfect match . . . until he started drinking.

Memories of hitting Virtue threatened to form in his head, but Mitchell pushed them away and replaced them with more pleasant thoughts. Their wedding was the second most exciting moment of his life. It had to take a backseat to the wedding night. Mitchell closed his eyes for a moment and lost himself in the memories.

He recalled the soft music and the scent of vanilla that filled the room from the candles that provided the only light they needed. He remembered the feel of Virtue's skin. It felt like fresh rose petals beneath the touch of his hands. She wore a long, satin, peach-colored gown that night—Mitchell remembered it like it was yesterday. He recalled the sultry way it covered her body and the flowing way it fell from her at the command of his fingers. Everything about that night and many of the nights that followed was etched in Mitchell's mind like the permanent carvings on an Egyptian wall. He had yearned for his role as Virtue's husband many times over the past years, but it
had been quite some time since he'd missed her like he did today. Every kiss, every curve, every touch . . .

“Mitchell, are you all right?”

Mitchell opened his eyes and found that the hand that gently touched his cheek wasn't attached to the woman in his daydreams. Quickly pulling his face away, Mitchell glanced up at Lisa, who stood at his desk with a look of concern on her face.

“Are you all right?” she repeated.

“I'm fine,” Mitchell said without hesitation. His embarrassment from her catching him drifting to another place and time was overshadowed by his curiosity as to why she was standing over him in the first place. “Do you need something?” he asked.

“No. I was just stopping in to see if
you
needed something when I noticed that you appeared to be falling asleep at your desk.”

Mitchell readjusted his chair and grabbed a folder from the stack on his desk. “I'm fine, Lisa,” he reassured her. “You can just stay up front and take care of the incoming calls. I have a lot of work to do, so if you can take messages for me, I'd appreciate it. Other than that, I think I can handle it. Thanks.”

Lisa chuckled as she began taking a few steps away. It wasn't a laugh of humor, but the one that Mitchell defined as the titter that preceded the flirt. She almost always did it right before one of her playful touches or just before some dubious remark that Mitchell found unnerving. And this time was no different. Just before reaching the doorway, Lisa turned and flashed him one of the smiles that flaunted just how beautiful she really was.

“Christopher told me to come in and help you out in
whatever
way you needed,” she said. “So you'd better take advantage of my
skills
while you have me all to yourself.”

It wasn't
what
she said as much as it was
the way
that she said it. There seemed to be special emphasis placed on
“whatever” and “skills.” Anybody else could have said those same words and Mitchell wouldn't be reading between the lines for their true meaning. But with Lisa he did. Watching her turn and walk away with a slow, exaggerated sway of her hips, Mitchell took a sip from his lukewarm drink and opened the file he'd retrieved earlier.

“It's just one day,” he said, whispering the reminder to himself and hoping that the hands of the clock on the wall in front of him would read his thoughts and cooperate.

Eleven

I
f a cluttered desk is the sign of a cluttered mind, then what does an empty desk mean?
Virtue sat in front of her computer screen but stared mindlessly at the colorful sign she'd purchased nearly two years ago. Now it decorated the corner of her desk at Temple of Jerusalem, but when it first caught her eye it had rested on a shelf in a quaint little gift shop in New Orleans.

When her year-long therapy at the Houston Center for Women had finally come to an end, Virtue felt like a new woman from the inside out. Her mind's next mission had been to wipe the slate clean and start a new life without the burden that her past had forced her to carry around like a malignant tumor. The extended mental and spiritual therapy had given Virtue a new lease on life, and she'd decided to celebrate, back then, with a cruise to the Bahamas.

Sitting on the balcony of her cabin aboard the
Royal Caribbean
was like an added measure of rehabilitation. The waters that rippled in soft waves below the ship sparkled under the sun in the daytime hours and glistened beneath
the moonlit skies at night. For as far back into her childhood as she could recall, Virtue had always wanted to go on a cruise. She loved the water. Whether it came in the form of a walk on the beach, a dip in the pool, or just a relaxing bubble bath, water, like music, had always been a source of escape. So, shortly before they married, when Mitchell asked her how she wanted to spend her honeymoon, the answer rolled off of Virtue's tongue naturally. The Bahamian cruise was the dream vacation that they'd been saving for, but Mitchell's lack of employment and his expensive drinking habit had drained the account where the money had been stored for safe-keeping. It didn't stop her, though. Virtue took the initiative to fulfill her own dream. But she was forced to do it without Mitchell.

“May I come in?”

Virtue's trance was broken, and she brought her attention to the doorway of her office where Minister Efunsgun Fynn stood, knocking lightly with one hand and holding a large manila envelope in the other.

“Sure, Fynn,” Virtue responded. She had known the preacher for several months before she even knew what his first name was. He'd taught her how to pronounce it (
Efoon-shay-goon
), but for Virtue, it was easier not to. Like everyone else, she chose to call him by his surname. He didn't seem to mind.

Taking long, slow steps into her office, Fynn made himself comfortable, choosing to sit in a chair that was facing Virtue on the opposite side of her desk. Of African descent, Fynn had strong native features that announced his origin even before his accent could give it away. The product of an African father and an African-American mother, the youth pastor of Temple of Jerusalem had spent all of his thirty-eight years in the United States, but his native accent was still very distinct.