The Morning After (9 page)

“Brother Demps?” He stood at the sound of his name and extended his hand toward the man who had spoken it. It was Mason's first time personally meeting the famed Reverend B.T. Tides, and for a moment, Mason's heart swelled like he was meeting a Hollywood celebrity. In his own right, Reverend Tides was somewhat of an icon. His name, face, and voice were renowned not only in Atlanta, Georgia, but all over the United States. Until now, Mason had only seen the aging, but strikingly handsome pastor on television, in the newspaper, and on the covers of magazines. Glowing phrases like “highly respected citizen,” “prayer warrior,” and “powerfully anointed man of God” were used frequently when people referenced Reverend Tides. And all of that weighed in on Mason's choice to confide in him. But if he were to be honest with himself, Mason would have to admit that the component that tipped the scales in his decision to walk through the doors of New Hope Church today was that he was as much a stranger to Reverend Tides as the preacher was to him. And for this particular problem, that was exactly what Mason needed—a counselor who knew nothing about him, his family, or the problems that had led to their problems.

“Pleased to meet you, Reverend,” Mason said as the gentleman directed him into his study with an inviting sweep of his hand. Mason waited for the pastor to close the door behind them and point him in the direction of where he would sit. He said, “Thank you,” as he eased onto the soft, buttery leather of the chair closest to the preacher's massive desk.

“Would you like a cup of water?” Reverend Tides offered.

“No, thank you.” Mason watched the leader of New Hope Church grab a nearby chair and move it closer to where he sat. He'd expected Reverend Tides to sit behind his desk like all the preachers in the movies did, but he didn't. Mason set his face and tried not to look as uneasy as he was beginning to feel. “I guess you're wondering why a man who's not a member of your congregation would call on you for counsel, huh?”

A slow smile crossed Reverend Tides's face as he sat back in his chair, ran his fingers through his short, naturally curly hair, and crossed his legs. He shook his head from side to side and said, “Not really, son. I counsel many people who aren't members of New Hope. The wisdom that God has given me is not only for those who sit inside these four walls every Sunday; so please don't feel out of place here. You're at home.” The preacher readjusted his chair so that he was sitting face-to-face with Mason, and then leaned forward and extended both his hands. “Before we begin, let's pray together.”

Nervous moisture was beginning to build in Mason's palms, but he wasn't given time to wipe the embarrassing clamminess away. Mason concluded that although Reverend Tides didn't react to it, he had to have felt the dampness when their hands came in contact.

“Heavenly Father, we come before you this evening, asking that you let your commanding presence rest in our midst. I haven't been where this brother has been, Lord, but you are omnipresent. I don't have all the insight to his troubles, but you are omniscient. I don't have the power to change his situation, God, but you are omnipotent. Let Brother Demps know that you are a God who is able to do above all that we ask or think, according to the power that worketh within us. Give him comfort and let him know that his quandaries, whatever they are, are no challenge for you. Give him trust in your servant, and let him know that he can open his heart and speak to me with confidence. And when he speaks, Lord, give me the wisdom to understand and the words to say that will encourage him. Let him know that you are God. You are the alpha and omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the ending, and with you, he is more than a conqueror. We speak victory in every aspect of Brother Demps's life in the matchless name of your son, Jesus Christ. Amen.”

“Amen,” Mason whispered through a throat that had become more parched than ever.
Lord, I wish I'd accepted that water.

“Are you sure you wouldn't like something to drink? I have plenty,” Reverend Tides said, pointing toward a water cooler that was positioned near a door that provided an exit to the outside.

The eerie follow-up offer shook Mason, and for a split second, he stared blankly at the pastor. A moment later, upon finding his voice, Mason rubbed his chin and said, “Well, I guess a cup of water would be good. Thank you.”

“You're quite welcome, son.”

Mason watched Reverend Tides bounce up from his chair without strain. He didn't know the exact age of the pastor, but Mason knew that he had three adult children, the oldest of which had to be nearing forty; so Mason figured the preacher to be at least sixty. Whatever his age, Reverend Tides had very few strands of grey in his hair, and his steps were as vigorous as any thirty-year-old.

“Tell me a little bit about yourself, Brother Demps.”

“Please, call me Mason.” Mason noticed the slight tremble in his own hand as he accepted the cup from Reverend Tides. He immediately brought it to his lips for much needed relief.

“Okay, Mason. Tell me about you.”

The cool water felt good going down Mason's throat. “What is it that you want to know, Pastor?”

“Just who you are in general,” Reverend Tides said while again making himself comfortable in his chair. “Who are you? What do you do? Where do you worship? Tell me about your family. That kind of thing.”

Mason wondered what all that had to do with the reason he'd come to talk to Reverend Tides, but he followed the instructions given. “Well, let's see. There's not much to tell, really. I'm a thirty-three-year-old ordinary guy who likes sports and cars like most men. I live in Braxton Park in Alpharetta. I'm a truck driver, and I've been married for a little more than eight years.”

“Do you know the Lord as your personal Savior?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Both of you?”

“Yes, sir,” Mason repeated, assuming the preacher was referring to him and Elaine.

“Wonderful.” Reverend Tides's grin gave away his pleasure in hearing it. “How long have you been a born again Christian?”

Mason drank from his cup, then said, “We were both saved a while back, right after we got married, and then we kind of lost touch with God,” he admitted. “We stopped going to church and stuff and kind of lost our way, really. But we rededicated ourselves to God about ten or eleven months ago.”

The pastor nodded his head. “Amen, amen. And you have a place where you worship regularly?”

“Yes, sir. Temple of God's Word in Alpharetta.”

Reverend Tides's facial expression said that he wasn't familiar with the church. Mason wasn't surprised. It was more than thirty miles from New Hope, and unlike Reverend Tides, Reverend Owens wasn't a household name.

“Good, good.” Reverend Tides seemed to approve despite not knowing Reverend Owens on a personal level. “Any children?”

“No, not yet.” Mason took a moment to drink more water.

“Ah,” Reverend Tides said with a knowing smile. “I hear a strategy in there somewhere. You and your wife plan to have children soon?”

Mason took another sip. “Uh, well, uh . . . no. I mean, yes, I suppose. I mean, it's not that waiting this long was a strategy, it just hasn't happened yet. We've tried, but . . . well, none yet.”

“I see.” The pastor's eyes turned serious, and then he smiled again and quickly changed the subject. “My oldest son is a minister, but he's a truck driver too. He shares many of his onthe-road stories with me. It's a very interesting job. I suppose one would have to love to drive in order to choose to do it professionally. Jackson is sometimes gone for a week or two before coming home to spend time with his family. It's a bit of a sacrifice, but the job pays well, and God has blessed him with a very supportive and understanding wife. Does your job keep you away from home like that?”

“I don't do long hauls,” Mason explained. “The farthest I travel is Gainesville, Florida. I take the haul there, help the company unload it from my truck, and then come back to Atlanta. So I'm home every evening, and I also get every other weekend off.”

“Your wife must be delighted about that.”

Mason shrugged and then readjusted himself in his seat. “I don't know. I guess.” He turned up his cup and drained the remaining water in his mouth before sitting up straight, clutching the Styrofoam between his hands and looking at the empty bottom.

Without pause, Reverend Tides took the cup from Mason's hands and stood. “Can we talk about your wife for a few minutes?” he asked en route to the water cooler to replenish the supply.

“What about her?” Mason felt comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time. A part of him wanted to talk about Elaine. Talking about her meant he didn't have to talk about himself.

“What does she do?”

“She's a writer.”

“A novelist?” Reverend Tides's eyebrows rose with piqued interest as he brought the newly filled cup to Mason.

“Thank you,” Mason said. “She's writes columns and short stories for magazines. But she claims that she's going to write a novel about Ms. Essie one day.”

“Ms. Essie?”

Mason smiled for the first time since being seated in the pastor's office. “Ms. Essie . . . Essie Mae Richardson . . . was this lady that lived in our neighborhood for years. She was like some kind of angel or something. She was the person that Elaine . . . that's my wife . . . would go to when she needed to talk. Not always. I mean, Elaine didn't get to know Ms. Essie until a few weeks before Ms. Essie died. None of us other than Colin and Angel—those are two friends who live in Braxton Park—knew her personally prior to then. Until then, we just knew Ms. Essie as the old lady who sat on her porch knitting, singing, and reading her Bible.” Mason felt like he was babbling.

“Sounds like my own mother, rest her soul,” Reverend Tides said with a chuckle.

“Not mine,” Mason mumbled. Then to avoid any probable oncoming questions about his upbringing, he hurried to resume his speech about Elaine and Essie, especially since Reverend Tides seemed to be enjoying it. “Anyway, Ms. Essie was the reason that we got back in the church.”

“You say she passed away?”

“Just over a year ago. It really crushed us all, because even though she was pushing eighty, she just seemed so full of life. We weren't expecting it.”

“Sounds like she was a true soldier for the Lord,” Reverend Tides said. “She won souls for the kingdom. That's a beautiful legacy to leave, and I'm sure the angels rejoiced upon her entrance.”

“Yeah.” Mason's eyes dropped. “But ever since the morning after . . . seems like something went wrong.”

“The morning after?”

“The morning after Ms. Essie died.”

“When you say things went wrong, what do you mean?” Reverend Tides was sitting forward in his chair, with his hands and fingers linked together in his lap.

Mason was feeling far more comfortable than uncomfortable now. “I mean, right before she died, all of our lives were coming together. Colin and Angel were expecting their first baby, Jerrod was doing better in school and had broken free from the gang he had gotten involved with, Jennifer and T.K. were starting a new relationship, and me and Elaine . . . well, although her affair was still kind of fresh, I thought that I was on the road to being able to resume my role as her husband.”

Mason knew that for the most part, Reverend Tides didn't have a clue of the people whose names he'd just rattled off, but it was clear from the pastor's response that the only names that immediately meant anything to him anyway were Mason's and Elaine's.

“Is that what you are here to speak to me about today? Elaine's affair?”

It really wasn't, but Mason figured that it was a good place to start. If he didn't start with the affair, he'd end up having to talk backward to get the pastor up to speed anyway. “That's a part of it,” Mason said. “That's where it all began.” He looked down in his still-f cup and realized that he was no longer dying of thirst, and rattled nerves no longer caused his heart to race. In the few minutes of conversation, he had developed a level of trust in Reverend Tides.

The pastor rested his back against the cushion of the chair and resumed his crossed-legs position. He placed his right elbow on the armrest and struck a pose that was similar to the ones Mason had seen of Dr. Martin Luther King on the church fans at Temple of God's Word. The pastor's index finger was directed toward his ear and his other fingers rested below his chin. “If that's where it began, then let's start there—with Elaine's infidelity.”

A bit of Mason's discomfort returned as he revisited the darkest moment of his life. Reverend Tides sat quietly while he told the story of how Elaine had befriended Danté Prescott, and later betrayed their marriage vows when she consummated the extramarital relationship by sharing a bed with the Bermuda-born mechanic.

“The actual sexual part of the affair was a short one,” Mason said. “It only lasted for a week, and they were only together a couple of times, but still, she slept with him.” He had to take a break to drink from his cup. Mason felt the need to wash down the vile aftertaste that the words left behind.

“I imagine that it was very disheartening to find out she'd betrayed you in such a manner,” Reverend Tides put in. “Did you confront this other gentleman?”

Mason scowled. “First of all, he was no gentleman, and I did way more than confront him. I whooped his—” Mason caught himself just in time, and immediately, his brewing anger fizzled into a sea of embarrassment. He lowered his eyes to the carpet near the pastor's feet. Taming his tongue had probably been the biggest makeover that God had done after he'd rededicated himself, but when Mason thought of Elaine and Danté, it tested him on a whole new level. “I'm sorry,” he whispered, bracing himself for the pastor's reprimand of his near-blunder inside the house of God.