Song of Solomon (18 page)

“Are you expecting anybody?” CJ looked down at his wife as the doorbell rang for the second time.

“No,” Theresa said, sitting up in the bed, where her head had been resting on CJ's chest while they both watched television.

CJ looked at the clock. No one ever dropped by their house unannounced, and rarely did he go to his door after nine. But the persistent ringing continued, and when he didn't answer soon enough, knocking ensued. This had to be an emergency of some kind, and CJ pulled himself into a seated position. He slung his legs over the edge of the bed and began the task of covering his nude body.

“Honey, you need to be careful,” Theresa said as she watched CJ button his silk pajama shirt, pull on his matching shorts, and slide his feet into his slippers.

“I will.” Although his wife didn't look reassured, CJ gave her a smile, and then quietly walked from the master bedroom to the living room. He stood still for a moment, thinking that he was hearing a voice on the other side of the door.

“CJ . . . open up, man.” It was Neil.

Rushing his pace, CJ opened the door and used all of his strength to snatch Neil inside, and then closed and locked the door behind him. “What's up, bruh? Something wrong? Somebody after you or something? You need me to call the police?”

Neil looked at him with inquisitive eyes. “Call the police for what? Man, why you talking crazy?”

Taking into account that all must be well, CJ relaxed and placed his hands on his hips. “Well, when people bang on my front door at ungodly hours of the night, what am I supposed to think?”

“Ungodly hours?” Neil laughed and sat on the sofa, making himself comfortable like it was still noon. “Man, it's still early.” He looked at CJ's pajamas as though it were his first time noticing the attire. “Were you in bed already? It ain't even ten o'clock yet, and you're already 'sleep?”

CJ hoped he didn't sound crass, but then again, he really didn't care if he did. “I wasn't asleep yet, but I was in the bed. I'm a married man, Neil. Sometimes we have business to tend to before we go to sleep. You know what I mean?
Business
to attend to.
Business
, Niel.” He stretched his eyes and cocked his head to the side for added effect.

Finally getting it, Neil's mouth dropped. “Ohhh,” he said, dragging out the word in realization. “Y'all at it again? I'm sorry, man.” Standing to his feet, Neil headed for the front door. “I'll talk to you tomorrow after I get off from work. I didn't know you were in the middle of...
business
.”

“Neil, sit down,” CJ said, pointing to the spot that his friend had just vacated. “You think if I were in the
middle
of it, I would have stopped to open the door for you?” CJ dropped the full weight of his body on the sofa and beckoned again for Neil to join him. “You're here now; you might as well say what you have to say. And don't come up in here with attitude about me calling you up to sing today. I know you didn't want to do it, but God's hand was too strong on you for me to have any regrets. The way people were blessed today from your singing, you shouldn't have any regrets either.”

Just then, Theresa walked into the living room, tightening her robe around her waist. “Hey, Neil. Is everything okay?”

Neil nodded his head. “I'm sorry for busting up in y'all's house like this. I guess I didn't really consider what time it was.”

“No problem,” she replied. “I'm going to get some water. Do you guys want anything?”

“Yeah, baby,” CJ said. “If you could bring us a couple of bottles, we'd appreciate it.”

She brought the sixteen-ounce bottles of water and set one on a coaster in front of each man. Pausing to transfer a lingering kiss to her husband's lips, Theresa said, “I'm going to bed. I'll see you in the morning.” Then turning to their guest, she added, “Good night, Neil, and happy belated birthday.”

“Thanks, First Lady. I promise not to keep him up too late. That way, y'all can get back to doing . . . you know . . . whatever it was you were doing.”

Theresa turned and looked at him. “Boy, please. You think that if we weren't already finished
doing whatever we were doing
, we would have stopped to let you in? We love you, but we don't love you that much.”

Both Neil and CJ laughed as they watched her disappear down the hall. Once they heard the door to the bedroom close, CJ looked at Neil and waited for him to begin speaking.

“Promise me that you won't jump to conclusions or start with the ‘I told you so' speech,” Neil requested right off the bat.

CJ leaned forward in his lounger, unscrewed the cap on his water, and took in a few swallows. “I make no promises after nine-thirty. Now, what's up?”

“I just spent nearly five hours with Shay, Chase, and my family. Ms. Ella Mae invited them over for dinner after service, and—”

“Oh . . . so you brought her home to meet the family, huh?”

Neil dropped his head. “See? I knew you were gonna do this.”

Hitting Neil on the back of the head with one of the decorative pillows on the sofa, CJ laughed. “I'm just playing with you, bruh. I just said that to get a reaction out of you . . . and it worked.” He laughed some more, and then concluded with, “Go ahead and tell the story. I'm listening now.”

Neil rolled his eyes, took in a deep breath, and then released it. Settling back against the sofa, he locked his eyes on the ceiling and sat in total quiet, leaving a long, lingering silence in the room before finally speaking. “As I was saying, they came to our house after service and—”

“I enjoyed meeting Shay and her son today,” CJ interrupted. “She's the one who requested that you sing today. Did she tell you that?”

Neil turned his face toward CJ, and it was evident that this was knowledge that he hadn't been privy to until now. “Shay did? She's the one who asked you to call me up today?”

“You sound surprised.”

“I am. I'm shocked, actually. I would have never expected that from her. I just assumed that Ms. Ella Mae had done it.”

“No, it was Shay.” CJ noted when his friend's expression changed from stunned to pleased. “Val gave me the note, but she said it was Shaylynn Ford who had made the request. I'll bet any issues you had with me calling on you are gone now, aren't they?”

“
Anyway
,” Neil said, “as I was saying . . .”

“You should have seen the look on your face when I called you out.” CJ cut in again, this time with an amused laugh. “Man, you looked like you wanted to strangle me right in the house of God when—”

“I'm gonna strangle you in your
own
house if you don't shut up and listen to me,” Neil huffed.

Although CJ knew that his friend was only being facetious, he also noted the exasperation in his voice and saw the struggle on Neil's face as he stood from the sofa and took steps toward the bay window that faced the front yard. Probably being reminded that it was nighttime and wouldn't be wise to open the curtain for a look outside, Neil changed directions and rerouted to the fireplace, staring up at the oil painting that hung over it.

The abstract print had caught Theresa's eye at an amateur art show that CJ had taken her to during their three-day honeymoon weekend nearly four years ago. The image on the canvas didn't appear to be anything other than a creative mixture of reds, purples, greens, and golds, but Theresa said that the splashes of bold colors represented life, and the curvaceous brush strokes, happiness. While CJ couldn't honestly say that he got the same revelation, he did have to agree that the painting was a great conversation piece, and it complemented the color scheme of their living room with perfection.

CJ watched Neil closely as his generally talkative friend studied the art as though he'd not seen it a thousand times before. He saw Neil shove his right hand in his pocket and retrieve a red-and-white hard candy. CJ observed calculated movements as the wrapper was removed and the peppermint was deposited in Neil's mouth. It wasn't like Neil to struggle with words, but there was little doubt in CJ's mind that Kingdom Builders Academy's head honcho was doing so tonight.

Just as CJ was preparing to say something that might help end the stalling, Neil made an about-face from the fireplace artwork and met his pastor eye to eye. “I need your help with something.”

CJ leaned back in his chair and waited for the still unknown request to unveil itself.

Maneuvering the mint so that it became nestled between his teeth and his right jaw, Neil said, “You still have contacts on the force, right?”

The question was an odd one, but CJ managed to hold his face expressionless, trying not to jump to conclusions. “The police force, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes. I have a few. Why?”

Scurrying back to his seat on the sofa, Neil brushed his hands over his face like his thoughts were jumbled, and that somehow wiping his face would arrange them so that they made sense. He took in and released a deep breath for the second time tonight, then said, “I need you to help me find something on Emmett Ford.”

“What?” CJ sat up straight. Deep creases in his face said what additional words didn't. Surely Neil couldn't be asking him to do what it sounded like he was asking him to do.

“Just hear me out.” Neil held up his hands to interrupt whatever CJ's next words might be, and his voice sounded pleading. “The whole time that Shay was at my mom's house, all she did was harp on this dude. It was
Emmett this
or
my husband that
.” His scowl magnified his displeasure. “I've never disliked a living man the way I'm beginning to dislike this dead one. If I had heard his name one more time . . .” CJ could see atypical frustration on Neil's face as he allowed his sentence to drift while he readjusted his seating position. When he continued, he said, “Don't get me wrong; we had a great time of fellowship at Ms. Ella Mae's, but every single time that I feel like I'm getting somewhere with this woman, Emmett somehow rises out of the grave and messes it up. Like last night at Sambuca—”

“Last night at Sambuca?” CJ's echo was filled with discontent. “So you did still meet with both of them to celebrate your birthday? Neil, I can't believe you did that after the long talk we had. I prayed that you wouldn't go through with it.”

“Well, you can calm down. Your prayers were answered.” Neil's words relaxed CJ, but he remained silent while Neil explained further. “I canceled the dinner with Ms. Dasher, which, by the way, wasn't going to be a dinner with Ms. Dasher after all. And I didn't really think Shay was gonna show up at Sambuca, so I didn't bother to call her at all.”

“But she did?” CJ fished.

A satisfied memory must have crossed Neil's mind because although he didn't answer immediately, the pensive smile that invaded his entire face spoke volumes. “Yeah, she did. And we were having a great time—talking, laughing, dancing—then somehow, from the grave, Emmett stepped in and changed everything.”

“How so?” CJ gurgled the question while downing more water.

Neil heaved a laden sigh. It had been awhile since CJ had seen his friend so on edge. A part of him wanted to rush Neil through their little mini-session so that he could get back in the bedroom where he knew his wife awaited him, but as Neil slowly unburdened himself of the whole story, CJ was drawn in, and he anxiously awaited the revealing of the plot. He watched Neil's every facial expression, counted every strenuous exhale, and heard every word his body language spoke. When it was all over, CJ had drawn one very big conclusion—one he knew in advance that Neil would contest.

“You're in love with this girl.”

Neil dropped his back against the cushions of the sofa. “There you go again, jumping to some crazy assumption! That's why I started not to even come over here in the first place. I knew you'd do this. You
always
do this!”

CJ saw Neil's flailing arms and the rolling of his eyes, but he also noted that none of the theatrics were accompanied by a straightforward denial. “Okay then, what is it?” CJ challenged. “A few minutes ago, you said you wanted me to use one of my contacts to investigate Emmett. Why would you want me to do something like that?”

“I just want to be able to find something on him that proves that he wasn't Jesus incarnate, that's all. I believe that's what she thinks. Shay thinks that man could heal the sick, open blind eyes, walk on water, turn water into wine, take two fish and five loaves of bread and feed five thousand . . . you name it. If our Savior did it, Emmett could too, and could probably do it better, as far as she's concerned.” Neil scoffed an irritated laugh. “Heck, if Emmett Ford weren't a stiff himself, she'd probably think he could raise the dead.”

“That's not funny, Neil.” CJ's voice was stern and reprimanding. “If you really cared anything about Shay, you wouldn't be making fun of something like that. The woman is still hurting from his death.”

“But why?” Neil slammed his hand against the soft padding of one of the throw pillows beside him. “It's been seven years, CJ.
Seven
!” For emphasis, he held up five fingers on one hand and two on the other. “That's way too much time to be still hurting over a man's death.”

“Who are you to say how long is long enough, Neil? You don't get to draw timelines on how long a person can hurt or grieve. When you stop grieving for Dwayne, when you stop letting his death hamper your ministry of song, then maybe you can start passing judgment on other folks.”