Song of Solomon (7 page)

“Ford's Home Interior and Designs.” Neil mulled over the name like a cud-chewing cow. It was too wordy and just seemed too ordinary for the extraordinary woman who would be running the business. Neil's thoughts must have shown on his face.

“What? You don't like that name?”

Neil turned to look at Shaylynn. She had removed her sunglasses and was turned in his direction, leaning forward and looking directly into his eyes as though his opinion mattered. For a brief span, her pecan-shaped eyes grabbed his tongue and held on, not allowing him to form the words for a prompt response.

“What's the matter with Ford's Home Interior and Designs?” she pressed, breaking his momentary trance.

Neil's mouth suddenly begged for moisture. “Nothing's wrong with it,” he managed to say, licking his lips for relief, and then continuing. “I think I was just expecting you to say something different. Something with a little more . . .”

“More what?” Shaylynn urged when his voice trailed.

“I don't know. Just something a little catchier, a little jazzier, I guess.”

A lasting period was placed on Neil's response when the school bus slowed and came to a brief stop as the driver maneuvered the large vehicle into the parking lot of the aquarium that had made special allowances for field trip visitors. Generally, tours such as the one Kingdom Builders Academy had planned, began at noon, but the Georgia Aquarium had acquired two new whale sharks, the only ones known to be in any aquarium outside of Asia, and elementary schools from all over the city were taking advantage of the exclusive Tuesday morning four-hour tour invitation.

Their tardy arrival forced the driver to park farther away than most other school buses had, and the children's excitement level rose as the engine was turned off and the driver opened the door in preparation for their exit. Neil stood and Shaylynn followed his lead. Her petite stature made him feel taller than he really was. He liked that.

“Children, children, children,” Miss Berkshire said in an attempt to gain the attention of those who had marveled by the mere sight of the outside of the facility. “Have a seat for a moment and quiet down. We cannot get off of the bus until you quiet down.” When the children complied, she continued in a tone that seemed mastered by grade school teachers. It was a slow, rhythmic speech that paralleled one used when speaking to a foreigner who wasn't fluent in English. “Remember the rules that we went over in class. We will do what?”

“Stay together,” the children chanted.

“And we will what?”

“Use our inside voices.”

“And we will what?”

“Keep our hands by our sides.”

“Unless we are what?”

“Given permission to touch something.”

Neil laughed to himself and hoped the rookie school teacher realized that for the children, repeating the rules was much easier than following them. He predicted that he, Shaylynn, and Miss Berkshire would have their hands full for the next few hours.

Satisfied that they were clear on the memorized rules, Miss Berkshire stood at the front of the bus and instructed the students to form a line. As the children made their dismount and the line ahead shortened, Neil extended his arm in a silent invitation for Shaylynn to step into the aisle ahead of him. As she did, his eyes automatically scanned her shapely form. Nice.
Real
nice. Now that he knew Shaylynn wasn't the married woman he'd thought her to be before she set the record straight at their first meeting, checking her out in such an exploratory manner didn't feel so out of order.

Resuming their conversation would be difficult now that their duties as chaperones had officially begun, but Neil knew that he had to find a way.

“Three hours and counting. You must be on a roll in here.” Theresa approached CJ from behind, massaged her fingers through his short, coarse hair, and then sealed it all with a kiss on his shoulder.

Swiveling around in his dark chocolate leather executive chair where he'd been sitting and jotting down scripture notations, CJ faced his wife of four years with an appreciative grin. He not only liked what she said, but also what he saw. To him, few women could hold a candle to First Lady Theresa Loather. She was top light and bottom heavy, and most days she wore her thick shoulder length hair pulled up into a bun that was held together by some chopstick-looking hair accessory. Brown designer frames sat on her nose, but the frames didn't come close to hiding the prettiness of her face. To most men, Theresa's school teacher–like guise probably wouldn't be the most appealing one, but CJ loved it.

His home office, sparsely decorated with only a fully stocked bookshelf (mostly biblical reference guides and law officer handbooks) and a few family photos and ministerial certificates on the walls, was the one room of the house that Theresa rarely entered. Especially on Wednesdays. That day, more than any other weekday, was when CJ was hard at work outlining what would ultimately become his sermon for the upcoming Sunday. But on those infrequent occasions when his wife crossed the threshold of his study space, CJ always welcomed the intrusion.

“Hey, baby.” He reached for the steaming cup of coffee that she dangled in front of him like a fishing lure. “Ahhh. A jolt of java. Just what I need to get me through the second half of my studies. Thank you, Resa.” It was the nickname she had been given by her parents as a child, and the name CJ most often used when speaking with her. He took a second to blow into the cloudy brown liquid and to inhale a whiff of his favorite vanilla hazelnut fragrance before placing the mug on his desk to cool.

“I'd like to see what sort of message you're going to come up with that will top last week's. Whew!” Theresa used both her hands to fan herself like the thought of it all ignited a flame in her soul. “It was some kinda hot up in that church Sunday.”

Shaking his head, CJ replied, “I wish I could take the credit for that, but it was no doing of mine, that's for sure. If you'll recall, the Spirit took over, and I never got the opportunity to bring the message.”

Theresa disagreed. “Oh, you brought the Word, Pastor Loather; make no mistake about it. ‘When God Is In The Building' was the Word whether it came straight from a scripture text or not. It was what God gave you and what the people needed to hear. The message might have been short, but believe you me, it was brought. Your daddy was probably up in heaven with the other saints, pointing down at you and going, ‘That's
my
boy right there, y'all. That's my boy!'”

CJ's fair skin blushed for two reasons. One, he relished when Theresa called him Pastor Loather. He had never been able to determine why the words sounded different coming out of her mouth than when they were said by one of his congregants. When they said it, it sounded like a term of respect. When
she
said it, it sounded like an aphrodisiac. The second reason the weight of the compliment nearly overwhelmed CJ was because he often wondered whether his father was able to look down from heaven and see his only son standing in the pulpit, leading the worshippers that the elder Loather had faithfully served as their shepherd for so many years. And if his father could see him, CJ wondered if he approved of what he saw and was indeed proud. Charles Loather Sr. had left some mighty big shoes to fill. CJ could only hope that Theresa was right, and his dad was satisfied.

There was no questioning the fact that last Sunday's worship service had been extraordinary, but CJ had never been one to pat himself on the back. He felt far more comfortable praising others. “I don't know who would have made Daddy prouder: me or Neil. Did that Negro sing Sunday or what?”

Theresa reached upward and waved her hands in the air like she was back on the front row of Kingdom Builders Christian Center. “Oh my goodness! Baby, I know the Holy Spirit led you to give Neil that mic. There's just no other way to explain it. I just wanted to pick up something and throw it at that boy.” She coughed out a short laugh, then dropped her hands by her side and began pacing back and forth. “I hadn't heard Neil sing in so long that I had just about forgotten that he could. And I think he sings better now than when I last heard him. It's a sin, a straight-up sin that Neil keeps that talent to himself. When God entrusts us with gifts, it is so He can be glorified through them. What kind of glory is God getting from Neil's voice if he muzzles it like it's something to be ashamed of instead of displayed?”

CJ tried to hide his grin behind the cup as he took his first sip of coffee. Theresa often walked the floor when she got worked up about a particular topic, and CJ enjoyed the way her ample butt cheeks bounced when she paced with a purpose. Their preset five-year plan would end in less than a year. Prior to getting married, they had agreed that five years into their union, they'd begin a family. If everything went according to plan, he'd be forty-six and she'd be thirty-eight when they had their first child. The second addition would come very soon thereafter. It was late by most couples' calendars, but they'd gotten married later in life than most couples they knew, and it was important to both of them that they were able to give their children the stable environment that they deserved. The Loathers' spiritual, financial, and romantic lives had never been stronger than they were right now. It was definitely time, and CJ was ready.

“Don't you think it's a shame?” she stopped and asked when her husband remained silent.

CJ stretched his eyes, and the tickertape of his mind did a quick recall to try to find the place where it had zoned out of the conversation. “Absolutely, baby. I totally agree.” He furrowed his eyebrows and nodded his head vigorously, hoping the added theatrical effects would hide the reality that he wasn't even certain as to what he was agreeing. “It's more than a shame. A doggone shame is what it is.” Lucky for him, his quick response worked.

“I know that's right.” Theresa folded her arms in front of her and gave her head a solemn shake. “I'm surprised Neil still has that voice at all. It's a wonder God doesn't snatch it right out of his throat. There are countless people—
willing
people—who would love to have his talent, and he has the nerve to withhold it.”

Glad to now be caught up to speed, CJ placed his cup back on the desk and said, “Well, the Word tells us that gifts and callings come without repentance. God's not going to take it just because Neil doesn't use it like he should.”

“I don't know about that, baby.” Theresa sat in the only other chair in CJ's office. It was an aged but sturdy wingback chair that had once belonged to his father. Theresa crossed her legs at the knees. “Somewhere in the Bible, is there not a story of the servant who hid the one talent he'd been given instead of multiplying it? And if I recall correctly, when his master saw that the servant had done nothing with that one talent, he stripped it from him and gave it to another servant who had not only made good use of the talents he'd been given, but had multiplied them.”

CJ appreciated the fact that his wife was just about as well-versed in scripture as he was. She kept him on his toes, often helping him with the outlines for his sermons. “I'm very well aware of that biblical parable, baby. It's Matthew 24:14.” He threw in that last part just so she'd know that he still had the upper hand. “But because that servant had his talent taken away doesn't automatically mean that God will hand that same judgment down to Neil. It's not like he has no basis for why he doesn't enjoy singing as much.” He scooted closer to the edge of his chair. “When Daddy was alive, he and I used to take the male youth of the church on a fishing trip every year. Remember that?”

“Come on, CJ.” Theresa sucked her teeth, folded her arms, and pressed her back into the cushion of the comfortable chair. “I know about those trips, and I know you haven't taken the boys on one of those summer outings since your father died. But if you think that taking kids on some overnight camping trip is to be compared with singing for the Lord—”

“Those were more than
some overnight camping trips
, Resa.” CJ stood from his chair and walked the length of his modest-size home office, coming to a stop beside a hanging framed photo of his parents. He pointed to his father's image, and then back at himself. “We did a whole lot more than fish with those boys. We fished
for
those boys. For their souls. We talked to them about more than just growing up to become men of honor; we schooled them on how to become men of God. We read scriptures with them and prayed with them. It was way more than a simple fishing retreat.”

The look on Theresa's face said she had no idea. “I'm sorry. I never knew it was so intense. I mean, the boys were always so eager to go, and there were always more of them than there were available seats on the bus. With them being so excited, I never thought much more than fun and games went on.” She uncrossed her arms and her legs and clasped her hands together in her lap. Her eyes took on a disconcerted gaze. “But if the outings were so spiritually enhancing for the kids, why did you stop having them?”

Tossing a brief glance toward his parents' photo, and then looking back at his wife, CJ said, “Because my father was no longer around to do it with me.” He sighed and his feet were heavy as he made his way back to his chair and plopped on the seat of the leather padding. “That's why I have a heart for what Neil is feeling. As much as I know that those fishing trips blessed those young men, without Daddy by my side, I lost my heart for that particular ministry.” He looked at Theresa and hoped she'd get what he was trying to say. “But just because I no longer want to minister in that particular fashion doesn't mean that I'm gonna wake up one day and find out that God has taken away my ability to minister.”

“I know that, honey, but there's still a difference between your situation and Neil's,” Theresa said. “You still mentor and witness to the young people at the church. You may not take them fishing, but you do other fun things to keep them active in the church while showing them God's will for their lives. Neil, on the other hand, has completely stopped ministering.”

“I disagree,” CJ insisted. “Neil has stopped
singing
, yes. At least, he doesn't do it without a major protest. But he hasn't stopped ministering. How many parents of the children who have been enrolled in our school have ultimately come to worship with us at the church? When they fill out their visitors' cards, more than seventy-five percent of them say Dr. Neil Taylor was the one to extend the invitation. That's ministry, Resa.”

When CJ saw Theresa sit forward in her chair and nod her head, he knew he'd won her over. But he still wanted to finish making his point. “I'm not saying that Neil shouldn't be using his gift of song. I mean, look how God used him Sunday.” Rehashed thoughts made the corners of CJ's mouth curl upward. “Man! Just imagine how many souls would be blessed if he sang all the time like he used to back in the day. I wish he would just as much as you do, baby.” He looked at Theresa. “But at the same time, I understand why he doesn't.”

“I suppose you're right.” Theresa stood and smoothed out her khaki Capri pants. “Well, I'm gonna go and let you finish your studies.”

CJ stood too. “You don't have to leave on my account. As a matter of fact, I might want to bounce some scripture expositions off of you and get your input.”

Theresa smiled. He knew she'd like that, and he willingly accepted the kiss his wife delivered to his lips. “I'm not leaving the house, just the office. If you need me, you know where to find me,” she said. “I've got to get started on dinner because I know you've got to be getting hungry after all this studying.”

CJ would have denied it if it weren't true, but it was. He slipped his arm around Theresa's waist, and then allowed his hand to trail the full length of her backside as he pulled her closer. “Okay, I guess I'll let you go.” He brushed his lips against the base of her neck and added, “Not that I want to.”

“Get your mind back on the Word,” Theresa teased as she pushed him away.

Laughing, CJ returned to his chair and handed his cup of lukewarm coffee back to his wife. “Yes, ma'am.”

Theresa stopped at the office door, and then turned back to face him. “But don't get too spiritual,” she said with a wink. “I saw you checking me out earlier,
Pastor Loather
, and just so you know . . . I'm only feeding you because you're gonna need the strength later tonight. So finish up so you can fit me in your schedule.”

CJ twitched like he'd suddenly been touched by the Spirit. “Hallelujah,” he said, then added a sheepish grin as he spun his chair back around so that he faced his desk again.