Stepping Down (11 page)

“I
hope so,” Sharla said with uncertainty.

“I’ll
be praying for you.” She tapped Sharla’s leg twice more and then tagged along
with the rest of Bria’s family.

Francis
had almost done Sharla in with that near-miss. Plus, now that she’d lied to the
grandmother, there was no way Sharla could get in that room without a million
questions from Bria’s family.

What
am I doing here anyway?
Sharla
slapped the magazine closed, grabbed her bag and left the waiting room.
I don’t
need to be here wearing this silly disguise
.
What if Mark found out?
What if the church found out? The media? What would I say?

This
whole thing is stupid.
Amani
was hers, Mark would heal, and her life would be fine in about six months,
hopefully. She had no business at the hospital pulling this soap opera-ish
stunt.
I am a grown woman with better things to do with my time.

Sharla
sped to the elevators and pressed the down button repeatedly, despite the fact
that the light indicating her request had been processed was already lit. She
couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

Ding!
Finally, the elevator
arrived. When the doors parted, Sharla found herself face-to-face with someone
whose image sent ice up her spine.
Lisa Logan.
Bria’s mother. Dressed in
a too-tight jumpsuit and six-inch platforms. She looked more like she was going
to the club than to visit her sick daughter.
Some things don’t change.

Sharla
looked past Lisa, waited for the woman to exit the elevator, then quickly
traded places. She took a breath, thankful to have escaped notice, and pressed
the button that would take her back to her car, back to a life of sanity.

But
just as the doors were closing, she heard, “Sharla.”

Out
of sheer habit, Sharla lifted her head, locking eyes with Lisa.

Sharla
cringed inside as she realized she’d just given herself away.

Though
the fate of his right arm was still undetermined by doctors, Mark had made up
in his mind to believe God for full restoration. In the meanwhile, he was more
determined than ever to live his life the way God wanted him to. If that meant
a megachurch, great. If not, whatever. Through the dreams, visions, and
hit-or-miss memories Mark had experienced while partially sedated, one thing
stood clear to him: God had delayed Mark’s transfer to heaven for a reason.
People like Bria needed to hear the life-changing, eternity-sealing gospel of
Christ, and Mark would preach it, megachurch or not.

As
far as Mark was concerned, the fact that his medical insurance was in question
actually worked in his favor.  The hospital was eager to release him as
soon as he could take a meal without gagging. A social worker had come to talk
with him about following up with local clinics and charities. He’d listened
patiently to the woman, who exuded a sense of compassion for the misfortunate.

“God
bless you, ma’am, but I won’t be needing the free services. My insurance will
pay once I’m cleared through the investigation,” he said as soon as he found a
break in her speech.

“Well,
just in case they don’t,” she said by way of a warning, “here’s my card.”

Mark
took the card from the middle-age woman, thinking that she would be an asset to
New Vision if he ever got the opportunity to hire more staff. He read her name.
Hope Green
. “Miss Green, if you died today, would you go to heaven or
hell?”

She
sucked in her breath, leaned back in her chair as though he’d just taken a
swing at her. Her eyes widened behind her bifocals. “Heaven, I hope.”

“Do
you
know
?”

“I
guess,” she faltered. “I’ve lived a good life, followed the golden rule. I go
to church sometimes.”

Mark
smiled gently at her. “But have you met
Jesus
?”

Her
thick, pink lips poked out. “Yeah. I pray to God.”

Surprised
that she was still with him at that point in the conversation, Mark wasted no
time. “The only way to God is through Jesus. We’ve all sinned, but Christ came
to forgive us for being…human. No matter what we do, it’s not good enough. But
Christ is good enough for you and me. He wants to come into your life and be
your salvation, Miss Green. Will you let Him in?”

She
smiled, her eyes brimming. “No one’s ever explained it to me like that before.”

“I’ve
never had the courage to share Him like this, either, close up and personal,”
Mark admitted. “But He
is
good.”

Miss
Green blinked rapidly, steering herself out of the trance. “I will definitely
keep this in mind, Mr. Carter. Thank you.”

He’d
settle for a watered seed. God would be responsible for the growth. “I’ll be
praying for you. Thanks for sharing the resources.”

He was surprised
to see that Amani had come with Sharla to take him home from the hospital. It
was one of the last days of school. Amani didn’t need to miss any last-minute
reviews before the final exams.

“He
begged me. He wanted to help make sure you got home comfortably,” Sharla
intervened when Mark accosted Amani about his absence.

Mark
wished she’d let the boy speak for himself, but now wasn’t the time to argue.
“Just don’t let this be the reason you get a bad grade on a test.”

“I’m
cool, dad. You know I always pull through when it counts.”

Mark
had to give it to his wife; she’d done an excellent job of making sure Amani
mastered the basics when he was homeschooled. With a firm foundation in
reading, writing, and math, the only real challenges Amani faced in high school
were due to lack of organization and perseverance—never his academic
ability to complete the work.

Sharla
and Amani had just finished gathering up all the flowers and cards when Rev.
Jackson arrived to help as well.

“Pastor,
you ready to blow this joint?”

“Most
definitely. I’m ready to get back into the swing of things. I’m already
thinking about Wednesday night’s sermon.”

Jackson
sucked in air through his teeth. “You might want to slow down there a bit,
Pastor. Take it easy.”

Sharla
took care of all the final paperwork, then they were off to the front entrance
with a nurse pushing Mark’s wheelchair all the way. He’d grown increasingly
uncomfortable with people waiting on him.

When
Sharla drove up the circle in her Benz and opened the passenger’s door for him,
it struck Mark that he couldn’t have driven home if he wanted to. He had no
significant use of his right arm. He might have to master the art of steering
with his left hand. Wait a minute—he didn’t even have a
car
. Was
he still an insured driver?

“Watch
your head,” the nurse guided him into the car.

He
wanted to tell her he was temporarily handicapped, not a doofus. But then he
lost his balance and ended up bopping his noggin on the window frame despite
her warning.

“Mr.
Carter, you’re going to have to take it slow,” she reprimanded him.

He
grunted an “okay.”

At
home, Rev. Jackson and Amani helped Sharla bring in his things while Mark took
a rest on the couch. Just walking from the car into the house had taken the
wind out of him. Why was he so tired? How could his legs be so weak when it
only seemed like he’d been in the hospital a couple of days?

Mark
reminded himself that it had been more than a couple days. It had been six days,
actually, according to the calendar back in the hospital room.

Rev.
Jackson brought in the last of the balloons and set them on the kitchen table.
“That’s it.”

“Thanks,
Rev.,” Mark said.

“No
problem.”

Rev.
Jackson sat alarmingly close to Mark on the couch. Any movement near the arm
posed the threat of pain. Mark stabilized himself, putting a pillow beneath his
arm.

“How
you feelin’?”

“Fair.”

Mark
watched as Rev. Jackson spied on the action in the kitchen. Sharla and Amani
transferred items to the bedroom, beyond the Reverend’s view. When they were
out of hearing distance, too, he leaned in and said to Mark, “Pastor, take all
the time you need to recover.”

“Oh,
no.” Mark shook his head. “I’m chomping at the bit to get back in the saddle.
The sooner I get busy doing what God told me to do, I believe the sooner He
will get to working on this arm. If I have to set up a webcam and preach by
satellite, I’m ready.”

Rev.
Jackson clasped his hands and looked away for a second. “Well…no…you don’t need
to go through all that trouble. The church ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

“But
just last week, you all told me that I couldn’t stop preaching. I mean, I know
I’ve had a car accident, but look at what God has done. He spared my life. He
gave me another chance to do what He told me to do before I backed away from
it. No offense, Rev., but I realize now that I shouldn’t have listened to you.
I have to preach Christ as the main course because He
is
. If that means
people walk out of New Vision, so be it. They can roll out and take their
itching ears with them.”

“Hold
on there, Mark. You got to take into consideration…the circumstances.”

“What
circumstances?”

Mark
searched Rev. Jackson’s face for clues. There, in the slight tremble of his
lips, lied the hint that a waterfall of bad news was just on the other side.
“Give it to me straight, Rev.”

“I
wasn’t going to mention this tonight, but since you brought up preaching again,
I guess I have no choice. This whole incident’s got the church in a bind. We
need to protect our image. The advisory board feels that right now, it would be
best if you stepped down for a while.”

“Step
down
?”

He
nodded. “Yes. Until this all passes. We believe it will. Soon as something else
bad happens, the media will focus its attention elsewhere, you know how they
are.”

Mark
made the mistake of shrugging “Ow! Doggit!”

“Watch
out there now,” Rev. Jackson gave a sincere caution.

After
recomposing himself, Mark tried to make sense of Rev. Jackson’s words. “What do
you mean—‘this whole incident’? It was a car accident.”

“A
car accident with you and another woman,” Jackson added.

“Another
woman who hopped into my car without invitation. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Mark wondered why he needed to defend himself with Jackson. If
that
man
held something against him, Mark didn’t have a chance against the world.

“I
believe you, Pastor. I really do. But you know the Bible tells us to avoid the
appearance of evil,” he referenced. “This whole thing looks bad.”

“Is
the media coverage really that serious? I only saw one report when I was at the
hospital.”

Rev.
Jackson ran a hand along his neck. “If it were only the few reports on TV, that
wouldn’t be so bad.  But it’s more than that—it’s…what do you call
it? Blogs, stuff on Facebook. They say you got some tweetin’ stuff. You got
your own pound sign.”

“Hashtag?”

“Yeah,
that’s it. Hashtag.”

Mark
turned his head toward the staircase. “Amani! Bring me my iPad!”

The
boy’s steps came too quickly to have looked through the office, retrieved the
tablet, then come downstairs.

He
entered the living room empty-handed. “Where is it?”

“Uh,
yeah, Dad…about that iPad. I’m pretty sure it was in the car when you had the
accident, so…um…no luck with that.”

Sometimes,
Amani picked the most inopportune times to try his hand at sarcasm. “Well,
bring me your laptop.”

Horror
gripped his face. “For real? Mine?”

“Yes,
yours. And you’d better not have anything crazy on it.”

“Is
this constitutionally
legal
?” Amani asked.

Rev.
Jackson chuckled.

Mark
gave his son a look that said he’d better bring that laptop down before he
found himself without access to any computerized device for a long time.

Amani
turned to go back upstairs.

“Now,
before you go on the internet lookin’ at all the foolishness people been
writin’, you need to know what we’re doing to counteract it while you’re…away.
We got a crisis plan. Kind of like that show, Scandal.”

“You
watch Scandal, Rev?” Mark teased.

He
denied unconvincingly, “No, not me. The Misses.”

Amani
returned with the laptop. Mark clicked on the icon that would take him to the
worldwide web. With only one hand, it took him longer to conduct a search of
his name, but in only a fraction of a second, he got over forty thousand
results. The headlines were wretched. “Another Pastor Bites the Dust”, “A Call
for Change in the Church”, “Pastor Mark E. Carter—the Apple Doesn’t Fall
Far From the Tree,” “Pastor Has Accident in Car with Baby Momma”.

Slowly,
he raised his eyes to meet Rev. Jackson’s, who could do nothing more than
apologize. “I hate things have come to this. But I think you see now why we
have to take precautions to save the church.”

“Do
people believe this crap?” Mark asked, though he already knew the answer.
People who aren’t full of the love of Christ love strife and salacious news;
and that wasn’t just his opinion. He already knew the Bible said so in Proverbs
17:19, a fact he’d tried unsuccessfully to preach to Sharla so she’d stop
watching all those strife-filled reality television shows. Somehow, she didn’t
get that feeding herself, that drama was a problem.

“Unfortunately,
they do. Some of the members have already let us know that they’re leaving, and
we got a lot of people who opted out of the newsletter.”

“That’s
all it takes, huh? One car accident. One circumstantial lie from the enemy.”
Mark chewed his bottom lip.

Jackson
cleared his throat. “Look here, Kit…
we
think if you maybe make an
apology, take off a month or two, things will work out fine.”

A
spasm of irritation jerked Mark’s body. “Make an apology for what?”

“For…this
fiasco? The appearance of evil? Whatever you want to say so the people know
you’re sorry the church is going through this.”

“Rev.,
we’re believers. We have an enemy in the land.  We shouldn’t have to
apologize to one another for being attacked—we all go through it.”

“This
is what the advisory board
recommends
,” Rev. Jackson rephrased his
words. “Besides, you need time off to rehabilitate. Recuperate.”

Rev.
Jackson gave a fake sigh. “Of course, with attendance going down…in your
absence and all…and with everybody stepping up to fill your role…it only makes
sense the salaries should be more…spread out…at least for the next few months,
you see.”

“Yeah,
I see,” Mark echoed with a trace of sarcasm. The money thing wasn’t a surprise.
Maybe they’d all been waiting for him to split their beloved pie more equitably
all along, for all Mark knew.