One Prayer Away (32 page)

Sporadic outbursts from the crowd could be heard throughout her presentation. When Mitchell heard one loud, high-pitched female voice shout, “Boy, you betta play!” he realized that not all of the accolades were for Virtue. The song ended with Virtue on her knees with her hands cupped together under her chin and the crowd on its feet clapping and rendering verbal worship as though they'd just been delivered a second sermon.

The standing ovation sounded like the onset of an earthquake. The young people who had performed earlier banged on the tables, causing forks and plates to clank together under the vibration. The handclaps sounded like thunder, and cheers were deafening. Mitchell clenched his jaws together and swallowed back his emotions as he watched Virtue make several curtsies. Then, to Mitchell's surprise, she gestured an arm in his direction, making him the center of attention. The cheers that had begun dying down found new life, and Mitchell stood from the piano seat, placed his right hand over his heart, and ducked his head in appreciation.

As the pastor made his reentrance on the stage, Mitchell walked down the stairs and then turned to assist Virtue. There were only six steps, and he knew she didn't need his help, but offering it would give him a chance to touch her for the first time in seven years. She hesitated,
but placed her hand in his and made her descent. At the bottom of the stairs their eyes met, but only for a fraction of a second before Virtue turned and exited through the side door. Turning in the opposite direction, Mitchell took the long walk back to his seat at the table near the rear.

Following the official benediction, the crowd dispersed, many trying to get home to see if their neighborhoods had fallen victim to the power outage. Mitchell shook countless hands that belonged to the unfamiliar faces that he'd seen throughout the evening. Several of them raved about his craft, and while Mitchell appreciated all of the kind words he received from the strangers, he searched for a more familiar face. Thirty minutes passed, and then an hour. Mitchell had spoken at length with the pastor and his wife, and now almost half the crowd had gone and Virtue still hadn't emerged from the other room.

“Hi.”

Mitchell turned to the owner of the unfamiliar voice behind him. He returned the greeting and accepted her extended hand. She was a rather average-looking girl, but the white gown she wore was lovely. The way she held his hand longer than necessary immediately reminded him of Lisa. Mitchell pulled away.

“I'm Renee Bell,” she said.

“Mitchell Andrews,” he said, immediately wishing he could withdraw the second half of his response.

“Andrews?” She quickly picked up on the similarity. “Are you related to Virtue?” She pointed to the empty stage as she said the name.

Mitchell's mind raced at a speed quicker than light. “No,” he answered, glad that he was being truthful.

“Well, you were amazing up there,” she said. “You've had some classical training, haven't you?”

“No. I learned to play from my grandmother,” Mitchell said while flashing an appreciative smile for the compliment she'd given him.

Renee tossed a look in Beverly's direction and then looked back at Mitchell. “So what's the deal? You two can't be a couple.”

Mitchell looked across the room where Beverly stood next to the coffeemaker, sipping from a cup. She gave him a brief glance, but although she showed no outward emotion, Mitchell detected that there was friction between the two women. Before he could respond, two of the male teenagers who had participated in the earlier theatrical production walked up to him and began talking, exchanging brotherly pounds with Mitchell as they complimented him on his piano skills. The manner in which they interrupted was rather discourteous, but Mitchell was glad that they did.

“Come on, hon,” Beverly said, walking up as soon as the boys dispersed. “I'm ready.”

Renee continued to stand nearby and watched as Mitchell helped Beverly slip into her coat before putting on his own.

“The wedding was beautiful,” she suddenly said.

Mitchell turned to look at her. He didn't know what she was referring to, but the look on Beverly's face indicated that she did.

“My boyfriend was the photographer. The photos are still on his digital,” she said as she pulled the camera out of her open purse. “I'll bring them to church next Sunday for you to see.” Setting the purse on the table beside the place where Mitchell stood, Renee proceeded to use both hands to spread the skirt of her gown and make a full turn, as if she were modeling before a crowd of buyers. “See the dress that the maid of honor wore? It was so expensive that I thought I'd get double my money's worth by wearing it twice before having to return it on Monday.”

Mitchell began recalling his chat with Beverly yesterday, and the fog in his head began to lift. His first thought was to step in and rescue his friend, but as he considered,
Mitchell thought of another way that he could help that might be even better.

Beverly blew lightly into her cup and took a sip before responding. “Renee, I have no interest in your dress or the wedding.”

As if she hadn't heard Beverly's response, Renee said, “Lester said he had never been happier, and Dondra was so beautiful, she was glowing. But between you and me, I think hers came more from the baby. I did tell you she was pregnant, didn't I? Hope that doesn't ruin your Christmas.”

“Come on, let's go,” Mitchell said as he stepped in front of Renee and escorted Beverly toward the door.

They made their exit, but it soon became clear that they were not going to get away so easily. Renee had grabbed her coat, draped it over her shoulders, and continued her taunting. Beverly mumbled something under her breath and attempted to turn, but Mitchell wouldn't let her.

“Keep walking, Beverly,” he said.

“Lester said that you and your family were so poor that y'all had to get married in your mama's living room, and there weren't but eight people there to see it. Do you want to know how much money they spent on today's wedding?”

This time, Beverly turned before Mitchell could stop her. “No, Renee, I would not like to know how much the wedding cost. But it would be rather interesting to know how much the bridal shop will charge you for ruining their gown.”

Renee quickly looked down at herself, trying to find what Beverly was referring to. Mitchell looked too, but both their questions were answered when Beverly took the top off of her near-f coffee cup and splashed the contents on the front of the expensive dress. Renee's eyes bulged, and she screamed in horror while the stain expanded, creating a large ugly scar.

“Hope that doesn't ruin your Christmas,” Beverly said, mimicking Renee's own words before climbing in the driver's seat of her car and starting the ignition.

Mitchell raced around the car and got in just in time, before Beverly began backing away. Once they pulled out onto the street, Mitchell and Beverly exchanged glances and burst into laughter. When they began talking, it seemed as though they'd made an unspoken pact. Neither of them discussed Renee or what had just taken place. For the first few minutes, while they rode down the darkened streets, they chatted about the banquet, and Mitchell told her how much he'd enjoyed talking to Elder Bradley. When Beverly turned the conversation to Mitchell's playing and Virtue's dancing, the conversation fizzled when Mitchell didn't seem interested in keeping it going.

“Good night,” he said as they pulled into the hotel's drop-off area.

“I'll be by bright and early to get you in the morning. If the power comes back on in time, Christmas dinner should start at noon. But I'll come and get you around nine.”

“I don't think that's the best idea, Beverly. I think it's clear from tonight that Virtue doesn't want to see me. She's not ready for this. I've caused enough problems for her, and if she doesn't want me around, then I'd rather just not come. Thanks for everything, though,” he said as he picked up her hand and placed a small object in it.

“What's this?” she asked, turning on the car's overhead light and then looking at Mitchell with her jaw dropped open.

“Yours,” Mitchell said. “That's what it is.”

Beverly looked again at the photo card that he'd removed from Renee's camera and then broke into a grin and pulled him over for a hug. “Thanks, Mitch,” she said.

“Merry Christmas,” he said with a laugh before stepping from the car and closing the door behind him.

Mitchell zipped his coat up to his neck and watched Beverly circle the driveway in preparation for heading back
toward the street. As he turned away to walk through the hotel's entrance, a horn blew, and he stopped and turned.

“Nine o'clock,” she said through her open window. “And I know your room number, so don't make me have to come up and get you.”

Twenty-Seven

T
he two-carat diamond looked flawless to the naked eye. No one would know that it had a small chip in it that the jeweler had cleverly hidden beneath one of the prongs that held the diamond in its place. The chip was the reason that Chris had been able to purchase the diamond at such a good price. It looked perfect, but in reality it wasn't. The irony of it all made him shake his head.

Finding out the truth made Chris angry. He was angry both at himself and with Lisa, but he was angrier with her. Even with hard-core evidence pointed directly at her, Lisa wouldn't come out and tell the truth. Chris wanted to believe that Lisa was the one who was being honest, but even before he'd heard yesterday's message with his own ears, he had begun to doubt her. Since her first accusation of Mitchell, her story had changed twice. In the original account that made him release Mitchell of his duties and then attack him physically, Lisa had told Chris that his partner caused the bruise while he held her down on the top of his desk in an attempt to force himself on her. In version number two,
which he'd overheard her telling her mother in a telephone conversation on the day after his horrific nightmare, Lisa said Mitchell had her arms pinned above her head while he held her against the wall of his office, trying to kiss her. The bruise resulted from her fight to get away. In her most recent explanation, the one that had been conveyed to Chris by Barbara, Lisa insisted that the mark resulted from Mitchell grabbing her by the wrist and jerking her back to him when she tried to walk away following his inappropriate advances.

The story had changed too many times. The flag that Lisa's inconsistencies had raised was so red that Chris felt as if he lived in China. Initially, he'd lied to himself and said that Lisa had been so traumatized by what had happened that she couldn't accurately recount the details. He'd heard that trauma could cause that kind of memory loss, and that was Chris's desperate diagnosis. To explain away the nightmare, he convinced himself that it was just a result of what Mitchell had accused Lisa of doing combined with the negative vibes he got when Rev. Inman refused to outright believe Lisa's story. Mentally, Chris wasn't ready for both his best friend and his pastor to take sides against him. Their doing so had weighed heavily on him, and when he drifted off to sleep that night, those were the thoughts that were heavy on his mind. To justify the dream, Chris kept recalling the Scripture that defined dreams as “a multitude of thoughts.” Blaming the dream on the thoughts that were in his head as he went to bed that night gave him temporary comfort.

Then came the message. Because both he and Mitchell used their cell phones for business as well as personal matters, they used the same access codes to retrieve messages. They kept very few secrets from each other, and neither of them minded the other knowing their codes. Since he'd confiscated Mitchell's phone, Chris checked his messages every day to be sure that he didn't lose any clients while he
searched for a capable replacement to handle Mitchell's former accounts. Yesterday, while he was listening to the messages, he was shocked to hear one from Lisa, who was oblivious to the fact that Mitchell's phone had been taken away.