The Sunday Only Christian (2 page)

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Authors: E. N. Joy

BOOK: The Sunday Only Christian
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Chapter Two
Deborah didn't know how to feel after hearing the clerk's words.
“I'm sorry, ma'am, but Mr. Chase sold out about an hour into his signing,” the clerk said with pride, as if she were his publisher, agent, or something and not just a store clerk. “Folks had been lined up long before he even arrived. We practically could have sold out of his books before he ever even showed up had we a cash register outside to ring the folks up.” She shot off a half laugh/ half snort. “He hung around, autographed copies, read from his book, and did a Q and A; then he left.” She shrugged as if to say, “Sorry about your luck.”
Deborah felt sorry all right. And no matter how much she tried to hide it, she was certain it had shown all over her face. Instead of feeling sympathy, the clerk continued to pour salt in the wound. “And you should have seen him.” She blushed. “He's exactly what you'd expect someone with the name
L.C.
who wrote a book titled
The Fantasy Fairytale
to look like.” She sighed and her eyes took a mini vacation to la-la land. “Tall, dark, handsome, exuding confidence with a bit of conceit. And you should have seen his—”
“Trust me,” Deborah shot, cutting her off, “I'm sure I've seen his . . . his . . . whatever you were gonna say. Anyway, thanks for your help.” Deborah turned on her four-inch heels. In her peacock strut of an exit, she tripped, nearly falling to the floor. “Dang shoes,” she fussed, wishing she'd never taken a chance—on the shoes or seeing Lynox.
The highest heel Deborah had ever worn was three inches. But for some reason she just had to have those Mary Jane–looking tan suede pumps with red bottoms that some booster had carried into the hair salon. Not for some reason—for one reason. It was moments after she'd picked up the flyer about Lynox's book signing when the middle-aged, clean-cut man had entered the salon rolling his very own makeshift department store. With the flyer in hand, Deborah had been visualizing an encounter with Lynox after not seeing him for over two years. Those shoes just seemed to be the cherry on top of the vision. Deborah could picture Lynox drooling at the mouth, among other places, upon seeing her long, slender legs in those babies. They would make him forget all about their crooked past, and dream about their straight future.
“One hundred seventy-five dollars,” the booster had requested of the shoes. A small price to pay, Deborah thought, for the opportunity to be in the arms of the most suave, debonair man she'd ever met in her life. Not to mention caring. Not to mention a man who could have loved her like she'd always dreamed of being loved.
A small price to pay out of her pocketbook anyway. Her conscience tapped her on the shoulder and reminded her, though, that there was never a small price to pay when it came to sin. And it just might have been a sin to buy those shoes from that booster for $175 after seeing the department store sticker on them that clearly read $800.
Heck, but he's worth it,
Deborah had concluded after giving the man a hundred dollar bill and four twenties, then telling him to keep the change. But now, as two teenagers pointed and giggled at her near fall, as she felt the clerk's eyes burning a hole through her back, burning up the pages of a story she'd fantasized about all week, she felt none of it had been worth it; certainly not those dang-on shoes.
With nothing left to lose, Deborah kicked off the shoes in anger, and embarrassment, and as she exited the store, pitched them in the trash bin. There were no good memories attached to those shoes, probably the same way Lynox had no good memories of his and Deborah's short-lived romance.
“Ouch! Ouch! Ugggghhh!” Deborah roared out in pain after feeling a large shoe come crashing down on her bare foot. The pain was excruciating. She immediately looked down at her battered toe and let out an expletive. She was immediately embarrassed and conflicted by the Holy Spirit, but that didn't stop her from wanting to look up at the person who had just stomped her foot and call them an expletive or two.
She knew that's exactly what she would have done had she dared look up at the person; so, instead, she focused on her injury while she hopped around on one foot while holding the other in her hand. It hurt so bad that tears began to stream down her face. Now she was really embarrassed. Here she was just a-cursing and a-crying, hopping around, looking like some crazy woman. She wanted to bury her head in the sand. But instead, she just kept it down, squeezing her eyes shut, hoping to stop the pain. Hoping to stop the tears. Deborah just couldn't distinguish which tear represented which type of pain. Was it the physical pain from her throbbing foot, or the pain from her throbbing heart?
“I'm . . . I'm so sorry, ma'am. I'm so sorry,” the pain inflictor apologized.
“Sorry?” Deborah shouted, her eyes still squeezed closed. “Do you think the word ‘sorry' is going to make me feel better? Do you?” Deborah cried, opening her eyes and eyeing her foot, on which the big toenail was ripped down to the skin.
“Please, let me take a look at it,” the very sympathetic male voice requested.
“Why? Are you a doctor or something?” Deborah snapped, trying not to gag from the grossness of her toe.
“No, but—”
“Then there's no need for you to look at it, now is there? Seems like what you need to look at is where in the heck you're walking.” Deborah meant to say the word “heck,” but that certainly wasn't what it sounded like had actually come out of her mouth. That darn cursing demon was rearing its ugly head to the tenth power. She buried her head even deeper in shame. This was not how a Christian woman was supposed to be acting, supposed to be talking.
“Look, I said I'm sorry. If there's anything I can do—”
“Yeah, there's something you can do; watch where you're walking.” Since Deborah was already looking down, she allowed her eyes to roam over to the man's feet. “And maybe get a license for those big boats before you go sailing them across someone's feet. How about that?”
The voice that had initially been kind and concerned suddenly changed to match the nasty tone in which Deborah was shooting off. “Look, lady, I said I'm sorry. And besides, who goes walking around barefoot anyway?” He looked at the words printed on the outside of the store's door. “Besides, it says right here”—he pointed—“shoes and shirt must be worn. Looks like you need to learn to read, and I find it ironic that you can't, seeing that you are at a bookstore.”
Not only had this jerk just smashed her foot, but now he was insulting Deborah's intellect. Oh she was not about to have that. Saved or not, she was not going to take any mess from anybody. “Look, you piece of work . . .” Deborah rose up and began before that same clerk talking to her in the store hurried outside to see what all the commotion was about. She immediately put her head back down. She definitely did not want that clerk seeing her in that condition. She probably looked like a raccoon from crying.
“Is everything okay out here?” Deborah heard the clerk ask.
Assuming the clerk would come running to her aid, Deborah shifted her focus directly to the ground, just knowing she'd see the clerk's little feet come running over to check on her. Deborah instantly forgot all about the pain in her foot when her blood boiled over to realize that instead the clerk had gone running over to the perpetrator's side.
“I'm the one out here in pain and you're running up next to him and asking him if everything is okay?” Deborah spat at the clerk. She looked up and was about to give the clerk a dirty look when, not thinking, she decided to add a cherry on top of her tantrum sundae by stomping her foot. “Ouch!” She howled out in pain as she once again hobbled over and grabbed her throbbing foot.
“
I . . . I
was just coming back for my rolling briefcase when this woman came barreling out of the store barefoot,” the man said. “I accidentally stepped on her foot.”
The clerk paused and looked down at Deborah's disgusting-looking toe with the nail practically hanging off, then replied to the man, “I'm sure she'll be okay. Let's head back inside and locate your briefcase.”
That's it!
Deborah was going to give both Mr. Foot Stepper On-er and that clerk a piece of her unsanctified mind. She didn't care if she embarrassed and humiliated herself more than she ever had in her entire life put together. Deborah's eyes went from her foot to the man's feet, then drove from his feet up to his knees. Next her eyes went from his knees, to his midsection, to his chest, and then to his face.
Deborah had managed to keep from falling inside the store when she tripped in those four-inch pumps. She'd managed to keep from falling as she hobbled around outside on one foot while holding the other in pain. But now, as she looked into those all–too-familiar eyes, she landed flat on her butt.
“Deborah?”
“Lynox?”
Chapter Three
“You really didn't have to wait. I'm sure you had much better things to do than sit here in the urgent care lobby waiting for me.” Deborah gave her best shot at trying to sound undeserving and humble about Lynox having followed her to urgent care, and now two hours later, after she'd gotten her toe cleaned up, still waiting to make sure she was okay. In actuality, her insides wanted to burst she was so moved. She honestly had not expected him to still be waiting for her, especially after how nasty she'd been to him for stepping on her foot. Of course, that was before she realized it was him. And that all of this had been a divine encounter, perhaps. But then again, it could have been purely bad timing and a bad case of the klutz.
Lynox stood. “I didn't mind waiting. I'm accustomed to waiting.” He raised an eyebrow and Deborah thought about how long he'd waited for her to come around and show an interest in him. “I figured it was the least I could do after practically taking your big toe off.” He looked down at Deborah's bandaged foot. “I didn't recognize your feet were the ones I'd slammed down on. Heck, I didn't recognize you.” He stared at Deborah's hair.
“Oh, yeah. I've had my sisterlocks out for a while now.” She ran her hands through her natural hair. After wearing it in sisterlocks for years, while in Chile she'd gotten them cut off. Finding someone to tighten her locks every four to six weeks had been next to impossible, so she had decided to cut them off and let her hair grow out natural. After coming back to the States, she found a wonder salon called Synergi Salon. It was in Whitehall, which was just a little over a half-hour drive from Malvonia. And the way those women up in that shop specialized and worked with natural hair, it was well worth the drive.
“I guess you hadn't recognized me either.” He rubbed his facial hair. “Decided to let my facial hair grow out.” His once clean-cut, brown-skinned face was now covered in waves of hair.
“Well, actually, I was too busy focusing on my foot.” She watched his hands massage the hair down the sides of his face down to his chin. “But the facial hair; it's becoming.” And Deborah was becoming a little hot just picturing her own hands running the course of his face. Feeling embarrassed that Lynox might be able to detect the flushing of her blood in her cheeks, she cleared her throat and said, “Anyway, like I said, thanks for waiting.”
He shrugged. “Like I said, it was the least I could do.” He then looked over at the reception desk. “That and pay the bill that is. I sort of saw to it that your bill gets charged to my credit card.”
“You didn't have to do that,” Deborah replied, but she was glad he did. Being self-employed, in her case, meant no insurance. A doctor visit in her home meant payment arrangements with the provider in order to cover the bill. She'd thought about getting medical insurance, but it was just so expensive, and she rarely ever needed medical care. Her baby's father had paid all her medical bills in relation to having his child, so that hadn't been a financial burden she had to bear.
“Oh, but I did,” Lynox stated. “And please, if you have to make any future visits as a result, please let me know what the bill is and I'll reimburse you.”
Deborah knew when to accept a blessing. “I'll do that.” And she left it at that.
There was silence as the two just stood there basically looking over each other's shoulders as if they were afraid to look each other in the eyes. The tension was so thick, a regular knife could not have cut through it. Oh, no—a chainsaw was needed to cut through this type of tension.
“Seeing you back at the bookstore . . .” Lynox swallowed. “I was shocked. The last I recall you were living over in Chile.” Lynox left it at that. He was going to add, “with your ex,” but tried to remain as cordial as possible, even though over the years the thought of how Deborah had dumped him for that LeBron James wannabe made his blood boil.
“Yeah, well, I was, but now I'm back. As a matter of fact, I've been back for several months now.”
“Is that so? I'm surprised I hadn't run into you until now.” He smirked before adding, “Literally running into you.”
“Ha-ha. Tell my big toe that joke,” Deborah snarled.
“I'm sorry. I guess that was in poor taste.” He looked down at her foot, which was donned in those hospital booties with the rubber grips on the bottom. “Does it hurt much?” He'd managed to wipe the smile off of his face and become serious—very serious. He asked her those words as if it wasn't her toe that he was questioning about, but her heart instead.
“Ummm, so-so. The doc gave me a little something. Once the goodies wear off, though, no telling.”
“Hmmm. I know how that can be; pain that is.” He looked into Deborah's eyes. “Especially the kind that just won't go away no matter what you do to try to get rid of it.”
For some reason, Deborah felt as though Lynox was no longer talking about the kind of pain from jamming a big toe. And just when she thought he couldn't look any deeper into her eyes . . .
“Do you know what I mean? Huh, Mrs. Culvins or Culiver or whatever your name might be now?” He tried to recall the last name of the basketball superstar she'd run off to marry. Not wanting to lose his cool, and feeling a wave of heat coming on, Lynox knew it was time to go. “So, like I said, you get any more bills, send them my way.” Lynox turned and walked away.
The last time Deborah had seen Lynox, she was walking out of his life. Now was she going to just stand there and let him give her the ol' eye for an eye? No. Heck no! “Lynox, where can I find you?”
He stopped, but he didn't turn around to face Deborah. He turned his head so that his chin was over his left shoulder. It was as if just seeing her silhouette in his peripheral vision was enough.
Deborah worried that she'd sounded too desperate, so she quickly added, “Where can I find you just in case I do get any more bills?” Deborah wanted to shoot herself in her good foot. Was that the best she could come up with? What was keeping her from being real and just telling him that she wanted to see him again? She wanted him again, not that she ever really had him before. She'd had a nice grip on him though, before her ex had hit the scene. It was a nice enough grip for her to know that if she'd held on long enough, right now he'd have no trouble guessing her last name: Mrs. Deborah Chase.
“LCfantasywriter.com,” Lynox shot over his shoulder.
“Excuse me?” Deborah's face twisted up. Was he really doing what she thought he was doing? He might as well have just told her to Google him.
“LCfantasywriter.com,” he repeated, knowing darn well he'd said it clearly the first time. He didn't mind repeating it, though, as a slight grin barely spread across his lips. Fearing Deborah might see it, he turned back forward and continued. “That's my Web site. There's a contact form. Hit me up there if you need to.” And then he strolled through the double doors, which automatically opened for him like they knew he was the mega national–bestselling author he was. And the doors closed right in Deborah's face like she was that groupie chick who was trying desperately to get to him but couldn't.
“No, he didn't just send me through the Web site route,” Deborah said softly to herself. She let out a “tsk” sound before she herself began marching out the door. “I wish I might give him the pleasure of having me stalk him virtually. He thinks it's cute trying to turn the tables on me?” Deborah huffed, remembering how once upon a time it was Lynox who had tracked her down via Internet. “Well, I'm going to show him cute.”
Deborah made it to her car, started it, and just as she threw it in reverse to back out, she looked up and saw Lynox. She was parked up front in the parking lot and he was parked a few rows back, getting into his larger-than-life Hummer, which fit his larger-than-life persona. Even before he was a bestselling author with a book that had held the number one spot on every bestsellers list since it had come out three months ago, he had this superstar quality about him. Now, who he was always meant to be and had always had the confidence to know that he would be had only been validated. But all Deborah wanted was to validate who he was meant to be with: her. And that hadn't turned out so well. Just when Deborah was about to mentally throw in the towel she reminded herself that this was only round one. She'd been in longer bouts with the devil and had prevailed. Surely she could take on Lynox—a man of flesh and blood.
With a fresh wind of confidence blowing upon Deborah, she smiled at herself in the mirror while backing out and saying to herself, “If Mr. Lynox Chase wants a chase, then that's exactly what I'm going to give him.” Unbeknownst to Deborah, she wouldn't have to chase him down too long. She'd run into him again soon—sooner than she thought.
Bam!
The sound—the jolt. “Oh my God!” Deborah's car came to an almost violent halt. She turned around in her seat and looked behind her. “You've got to be kidding me,” she said upon seeing the rear end of her car smashed into the driver-side door of Lynox's Hummer. “Jesus.” Deborah immediately pulled back into her space and got out of her car.
Lynox didn't get out of his; he simply said through his rolled-down window, “Your toe, my vehicle.” He leaned his head out to see Deborah's white paint mixed in with his black paint. “Guess we're even now.”

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