One Prayer Away (27 page)

Mitchell looked at his pastor and nodded in silence. He should have known that Chris would make the battle between the two of them public knowledge. Before long, everybody would turn against him, just like his family had done once his uncle had broadcasted Mitchell's blame for the death of his grandparents.

“My final session with him and Lisa was yesterday,” Rev. Inman explained. “He told me everything. He was quite angry.”

Mitchell shook his head in frustration and fought the onset of more tears. He was tired of defending himself . . . tired of being called a batterer . . . tired of being called a liar . . . and tired of being labeled by his past.

“I know you didn't do it, Mitch.”

Quickly raising his head, Mitchell looked at his pastor. Rev. Inman continued.

“I saw the mark on her wrist and I heard the story, but I know you didn't do it.”

“I didn't,” Mitchell said with a whisper as he shook his head once more. “He wouldn't believe me, but I promise, if God was standing right here in front of me, I'd tell the same story. I didn't try to have sex with her. I didn't try to make a move of any kind on her. Lisa lied to him, Rev. Inman. She was the one who was coming on to me.”

“I know,” Rev. Inman said.

“I mean, I'm not all innocent,” Mitchell said. “For a minute, I felt like I was melting right into her hands, but I beat it. It wasn't easy, but I won the battle over the weakness of my flesh. But she kept trying, so I grabbed her wrist as hard as I could to let her know that I meant what I said. I knew I hurt her because she yelped. But I didn't know my grip was tight enough to leave a bruise. I'm sorry for hurting her, but I didn't try and take advantage of her.”

“Mitch,” Rev. Inman said, raising his voice slightly. “I said I believe you. You don't have to convince me.”

Turning his body so that his legs dangled off of the side of the bed like his pastor's, Mitchell winced. It was nearing time for him to take his second dose of antibiotics for the day.

“Head hurts?” Rev. Inman asked.

“Not as much as this.” Mitchell rolled up his shirt so that the pastor could see the dark spot that Chris's fist had left behind.

“Ouch,” Rev. Inman whispered.

“You're telling me,” Mitchell said. “I can't believe he thinks I'd do something like that.”

“Sometimes love really is a blinding force, Mitch. I think at some time in all of our lives we are misled by one emotion or another. God has a way of bringing us back, but many times we have to learn our lessons the hard way. I'm almost certain that Chris believes you; he just doesn't want to believe you. He wants to believe that Lisa is telling him the truth, but I saw something in his eyes yesterday that indicated that he might have had his own reservations about her. But I fear he'll choose to give her the benefit of the doubt. Unfortunately for Chris, since he's unwilling to listen, he'll probably have to learn of Lisa's true self after he's married her.”

“Like her first husband probably did,” Mitchell mumbled.

“That's my guess as well,” Rev. Inman agreed. “When he told me about the brawl in yesterday's meeting, I decided to stop by to see you last night, but no one was home.”

Mitchell sat quietly. He didn't want to tell his pastor that he had been home but just hadn't answered. Yesterday, he was still dealing with the pain. He'd heard the doorbell but ignored it.

“When I rang the doorbell today,” the preacher revealed, “I didn't get an answer either, but when I turned the knob, I found that your door was unlocked, so I let myself in.”

“I must have left it unlocked when I came back from picking up my package,” Mitchell said, pointing in the direction of the shattered glass that was now filling his house with the smell of vodka. “I'm right back where I started, Pastor,” he suddenly said, shifting Rev. Inman's attention away from the broken glass and back to him. “No family, no friends, no job. That's why I stopped by the store and bought that stuff anyway. It only seemed right. It was all that was missing from the original equation.”

“That's where you're wrong on all accounts,” Rev. Inman said. “You've not returned to your starting point at all. You may not have a natural family surrounding you, but you have a spiritual one, and you also have friends. Your job
situation is temporary. You're very marketable, and someone else will see that in you.”

Mitchell nodded and tried to look hopeful, but starting over wasn't something that he looked forward to.

“And let's not even talk about equations,” his pastor added. “You have Someone in your life now that you never included in the original equation, and He is all powerful. That's why you were able to throw that bottle out the door. Nothing in any equation is a match for the power of God.”

Before Mitchell could respond, the sound of his doorbell interrupted them.

“Are you expecting anyone?” Rev. Inman asked as he stood.

“No. And I really don't feel like much company.”

Mitchell was certain that his pastor had heard him, but only seconds after Rev. Inman left the room to answer the door, Mitchell could hear a woman's voice nearing his bedroom door. It sounded very familiar, but Mitchell struggled to place it. Only wearing a T-shirt and boxer shorts, he pulled his legs back on the bed and covered them with his comforter.

“Is that liquor that I smell?” the woman demanded. “What on earth happened here? Look at all this glass.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Rev. Inman replied. “It happened in a moment of victory. Watch your step.”

In the next instant, Mitchell could see Beverly Oliver standing in his doorway and Rev. Inman towering over her from behind. Beverly took one look at Mitchell lying in the bed and rushed to his side.

“Are you all right?” she asked as she cupped his face in her hands and examined the discoloration on the side of his face.

“I'm fine, Beverly. What are you doing here? Where's Virtue?”

“Don't you worry about Virtue. She's fine. It's you that had me driving two hundred and forty miles in the middle of
the week. I'm here because I heard about what happened.”

“You got the word about this all the way in Houston? How?”

“That scared rabbit that that rascal's got working for him down at your old job told me,” Beverly said as she set her large tote bag on the side of Mitchell's bed and began searching it. “At first she didn't want to tell me what was going on, but that number was the only one I had; so I kept calling, and I told her I wasn't gonna stop calling until she told me what I needed to know. I had just talked to you a few days ago and heard how much you loved your job, and it just didn't make sense that you'd just up and leave it. When I called up there yesterday afternoon for the umpteenth time, I told that woman that if she didn't tell me the truth, I was gonna hunt her down like a mangy dog.”

Mitchell tried to join his pastor in a hearty laugh, but the soreness in his rib cage stopped him.

“You're hurting there too?” Beverly asked when she saw him cover the area with his hand. “I ought to find that boy who did this and give him the whipping of his life.”

“He's thirty-two, Beverly,” Mitchell said.

“And?” she challenged as she removed his glasses from his face and nudged at him so that he would lie down flat.

“What's that?” Mitchell asked as she dipped her hand in a jar of something that looked like Vaseline but smelled like grapefruit and peppermint. He closed his eyes while she carefully smoothed the cream on the bruised area.

“Something my mama taught me to make. Whatever the doctors gave you is fine and good, but most of what we need for the healing of the body, God gave us in nature.”

“Amen,” Rev. Inman agreed. “That's true.”

Mitchell grasped at his covers when Beverly reached for them and attempted to pull them back.

“Boy, you don't have nothing under here I haven't seen before,” she said, prompting another moment of entertainment for Rev. Inman to laugh at.

Mitchell released his grip, and Beverly peeled the comforter back so that it only covered him to his waist. Then, slowly lifting his shirt, she examined the larger, more tender wound. Mitchell flinched when she touched it, and Beverly shook her head in disgust.

“This is a God-in-heaven shame,” she mumbled just before dipping her hand in the jar and pasting the concoction on him.

The salve, whatever it was made of, felt cold to Mitchell's skin and seemed to relieve some of the discomfort upon contact. He couldn't recall the last time someone had cared for him with such maternal tenderness. The times when Grandma Kate would massage Vicks VapoRub on his chest was the closest thing to it.

“You came all the way here to take care of me?” he whispered, looking up at the woman who nursed him as if he were her son.

Beverly chuckled. “Had to,” she said. “From what I heard, you were half dead. I didn't know if you had anybody here to see about you, and when I told that woman that I'd hunt down all of her children if she didn't give me all the details, she started giving me their addresses.”

This time, Mitchell laughed through the soreness. He imagined Barbara being glad to finally find someone who might be able to scare her children straight.

“Your number is private, so I couldn't get it from information or the phone book,” Beverly said. “I had to make sure you were okay. I'm glad to know you weren't all by yourself, though,” she concluded, looking toward Rev. Inman with a look of gratefulness.

The preacher returned her smile and then began approaching Mitchell's bedside. “I wish I could stay longer, but I have an appointment in my office shortly. Mitch, I think I'm leaving you in good hands,” he said, placing his right hand on Beverly's shoulder. “But before I go, I'd like to pray with you.”

Twenty-Three

T
here were still two days before the night of the Christmas banquet, but the decorating committee at Temple of Jerusalem had already done an excellent job of transforming the fairly simple dining hall that they used during periodic fellowship dinners into an elegant space that looked like something straight out of
House Beautiful
magazine. All of the tables were covered in red cloths, and silver candelabra were aligned in a neat row down the center of all of them. More candles stood on tall stands lining the walls. The plan was to dim the overhead lighting so that the white lights that would be twinkling from the Christmas tree would stand out. Since the overhead lighting would be lowered, the candles on the table would add to the ambience. There was still more decorating to be done, but to Virtue, it already looked like a showstopper.

The altered space almost looked too good to use as a rehearsal hall, but Virtue's routine was at the stage of development where she needed to practice her moves in the place where she would actually perform them. She needed
to get a feel for the available space and be sure that every sweeping move would be perfect. Ducking into one of the back rooms, Virtue changed into an outfit that would allow her the comfort she needed to move freely. It wasn't the dress that she would wear on Saturday, but it was a worthy substitute. As usual, she bowed her head and said a quick prayer before beginning. The next step was to insert her CD into the stereo system. She chose track number thirteen and took her place on the stage.

Virtue could never understand the power that music had in her life, and she'd given up trying to figure it out years ago. For as far back as she could remember, ever since she was a child, it had been that way. Whenever she felt sad, frightened, or even angry, she'd lock herself in her room and turn on the radio for comfort. She didn't know then that music would become such a pertinent part of her life, but it had, and it continued to be a source of strength. The sounds of beautiful instrumental music or music that was accompanied by meaningful lyrics took her to another place. That was the reason that gospel music was her favorite. In her mind, there was nothing like it; and when she danced to songs of worship, she lost herself in the freedom that they offered.