Driven to be Loved

by Pat Simmons

  DRIVEN TO BE

  LOVED

  BY

  PAT SIMMONS

  This novel is a work of fiction. References to real events, organizations, or places are used in a fictional context. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical—including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system—without permission in writing from the author/publisher.

  Copyright@ 2015 Pat Simmons

  Copyright@ 2018 Pat Simmons/Generations Quest Press

  ISBN: ISBN-13: 978-1722372538

  ISBN-10: 1722372532

  Cover: www.fiverr.com/ultrakhan22

  Interior: www.fiverr.com/kimolisa

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Driven to be Loved (The Carmen Sisters)

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty- Three

  Chapter Twenty- Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty- Seven

  Chapter Twenty- Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Epilogue

  Dedication

  “Wherefore seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us...” —Hebrews 12:1

  To the pioneers of Pentecost:

  Bishop James A. Johnson and Mother Mattie B. Poole

  Thank God for the cloud of witnesses who served Him before us.

  Acknowledgments

  Heartfelt thanks to Ricky Whittington, Plaza Motors Benz, and Dr. Rachael Charney, SSM Cardinal Glennon Hospital. Without these individuals’ granting me insights into their world, this story would not have been possible—just ask them. They answered my questions through e-mails, phone calls, and visits to their places of work. Again, thank you. If you’re ever in St. Louis and need a luxury vehicle, please give Ricky a call.

  As always, I thank God for allowing me this incredible opportunity to write about His goodness!

  A shout-out to my family, especially my husband, who had to endure many days of my being “holed up in library mode.”

  My mother, sister, brother, daughter, and son; my nieces and nephews; and all the readers who have supported me over the years.

  A special shout-out to Mia Harris, my New Jersey captain, who is always on standby to help whenever I need information about Philadelphia, where my fictional characters the Carmens reside. I appreciate you!

  To the descendants of Minerva Jordan Wade; Marshall Cole and Laura Brown; Joseph and Nellie Palmer Wafford Brown; Thomas Carter and Love Ann Shepard; Ned and Priscilla Brownlee; John Wilkinson and Artie Jamison/Charlotte Jamison; and others who were tracked down on the 1800s censuses and other documents; and my in-laws: Simmons, Sinkfields, Crofts, Sturdivants, Stricklands, Downers...and the list goes on. Love you, cousins!

  Chapter One

  S

  quinting, Adrian Cole released a slow whistle as he pulled into the parking space at St. Louis Bread Company on South Brentwood. He'd chosen the cafe-style restaurant for its low-key atmosphere. With a big paper to write for his strategic management course for his MBA, he felt he would be more productive there than at his condo in Maryland Heights, where he could definitely find distractions—number one, the sports channels.

  As he mentally cataloged the shiny black Lexus IS’s features, he confirmed the model was top of the line, although he preferred his own silver- gray fully loaded Audi A6. However, the luxury sedan wasn't the only thing that caught his eye.

  A woman sat behind the wheel, and something didn’t appear quite right. Even though Adrian couldn’t make out the details of her face, there was no mistaking that she was in some type of distress. Her shoulders were slumped, and her head was bowed.

  After turning off the ignition, Adrian grabbed his laptop and got out of his vehicle. He slowly approached her car and tapped lightly on the window, so as not to startle her. But she didn't respond. He tapped again, louder this time. Still, the lady didn’t acknowledge him. Adrian debated what he should do next.

  He could see the news story now: “African-American man wanted for attempted carjacking. Man is described as being six foot three, built, and of medium complexion. Witnesses say the suspect was seen trying to break into a black Lexus....” He shook his head. He needed to cut back on his crime show marathons.

  With the sun beginning to set, there was just enough daylight for Adrian to make a quick sweep of the backseat and make sure the woman wasn’t being held at gunpoint. Nope.

  It appeared the damsel in distress was alive, conscious, and purposely ignoring him; so, he decided his good deed—at least his attempt at one— was done for the day. For all he knew, the woman was on the phone, arguing with her boyfriend or her husband, or learning of the passing of a loved one. Or, maybe she hadn’t taken her meds and was about to go ballistic.

  With a deep breath, Adrian continued across the parking lot to the restaurant. Once inside, he fought the urge to glance over his shoulder to see if the woman had driven off, was still holed up in her car, or had gotten out. By the time he picked up his tray of his favorite sandwich—a Bacon Turkey Bravo—and a cup of fresh-squeezed lemonade, Adrian had done a couple more head checks. With curiosity still gnawing at him, he slid into a booth that gave him a view of his target.

  He powered up his laptop, hastily blessed his food, and took a swig of his lemonade, still spying on the black Lexus. He eyed the parking lot one more time, then chided himself. How was he going to get any work done if he was constantly looking out there?

  Shaking his head, Adrian tried to focus on the strategic analyses he had to complete on three companies. As he was outlining their strengths and weaknesses, his peripheral vision picked up movement in the parking lot. Adrian’s head whipped up. The woman had pulled down the sun visor and was blowing her nose. He still couldn’t get a good look at her, except to see that she had enough hair that she probably could spare some—whether a gift from her parents or purchased over the counter, it was definitely an asset.

  He watched as she meticulously patted her cheeks, applied some lipstick, and then stepped out of the car, her four-inch heels hitting the pavement first. When she stood to her full height, Adrian guessed she was five feet seven or eight. She reached back into the car and pulled out a white jacket—a lab coat?—and draped it around her shoulders.

  The damsel slid on a pair of sunglasses, probably to hide her red eyes, since the sun had mostly set by now. Her skin reminded him of caramel, and the way she strutted on her shapely legs as she walked toward the restaurant said that she took no prisoners. However, just moments earlier, some type of melt¬down had held her captive.

  Maybe that was what prompted Adrian to change seats.

  With her bag of comfort food—oatmeal cookies—and cup of coffee, Dr. Sabrece “Brecee” Carmen fou
nd a booth to hide in. As she removed her sunglasses, Brecee was about to tell the handsome stranger who appeared to be about to occupy the opposite side of her booth that she was not in the mood for company. She was already drained from her crying spell. Now she was about to add another offense to her criminal record—assault, albeit in the name of self-defense.

  But when she looked into his eyes, she forgot what she had been about to say.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low.

  Was that the latest pickup line? Brecee thought she’d heard them all. She blinked to regain the upper edge. “Excuse me?”

  He tilted his head toward the parking lot. “I noticed you were upset when I pulled up in my car.”

  Great. Brecee tried to mask her humiliation by sliding her sunglasses on again. Then she took a deep breath. “Oh, that? I’m fine.” She tried to muster a smile, but it seemed like her lips were too heavy to lift. “I was just having a moment.”

  He appeared genuinely relieved. “Oh.” When he smiled, she noticed the slight indentation in his jaw. It wasn’t deep enough to be called a dimple, but it still enhanced an already handsome face. Of course, she could take off her sunglasses for a better look, but she feared that the glare from his white teeth, whether bleached or natural, would blind her.

  Brecee had always been a sucker for a perfect smile, so she finally managed to offer one of her own.

  Evidently, he took her facial expression as an invitation to join her. “Whew,” he said, taking a seat. “You had me worried. I didn’t know if you needed the police or an ambulance.”

  “I hardly have any symptoms to qualify as a medical emergency,” she told him. “And anyway, I’m a doctor.”

  “I see that.” He glanced at her lab coat.

  She didn’t usually wear it outside the hospital, but she’d mistakenly left her jacket with her older sister, Shae, who she had been shopping with hours earlier. “I just got a speeding ticket. It was very emotional for me.”

  Laughter exploded from his full lips, startling her and some nearby patrons. “A speeding ticket? You’ve got to be kiddin’ me.” The rich tone of his laughter would’ve been sexy if it hadn’t been directed at her.

  Scowling, she folded her arms, leaned forward, and narrowed her eyes. “Mr....”

  “It’s Adrian.” He extended his hand, still chuckling.

  Brecee ignored it. “It was a big deal for me. I’m thirty-one, and it was my first.”

  “But all that over a speeding ticket?” He feigned a straight face until he bowed his head, doing a poor job of hiding his amusement. “Are you counting when you started riding a tricycle?” When he glanced up, his eyes laughed at her, even if his lips were still. “I got my first one at sixteen, and the most recent one three years ago. So, I'll up your one to my two. Feel better?” This was not how Brecee had envisioned spending her Saturday evening—being issued her first ticket and then being laughed at by a stranger. Getting to her feet, Brecee swiped her cookies and coffee. If only she was acting in a movie and could throw the food in his face. But it would be just her luck to get caught by the same officer who’d issued her the ticket.

  Adrian stood, too. The man was as tall as he was handsome, if she was in the right mind to notice. Without a wave or a good-bye, Brecee walked out, never looking back. Why did all the cute guys have to be jerks?

  Chapter Two

  B

  recee’s mother always told her that her mouth was going to get her in trouble, and the warning had finally caught up with her. By Sunday morning, she was on her knees at Bethesda Temple Church, repenting of her attitude—the one that had probably contributed to her getting her first speeding ticket. She asked God to forgive her for smarting off at the officer, telling him that she had stayed within the ten-miles-over-the-speed-limit rule, and for her mood when she’d contemplated hurting the guy who’d been amused by her calamity.

  If you cannot bridle your own tongue, you deceive your own heart, and your worship of Me is meaningless, the Lord whispered, bringing to mind James 1:26.

  To some extent, Brecee was a people pleaser. She didn’t like to disappoint her family or God. Feeling convicted, she mumbled “Amen” before getting up off her knees. She took a seat next to Shae, a celebrity in her own right as a local television news anchor and reporter. She was married to St. Louis Cardinals outfielder Rahn Maxwell, making her a double celebrity.

  Even so, to the Carmen sisters, Shae was still Shae. As the two youngest, Shae and Brecee were close—very close. Being only a year and some months apart, they had been mistaken for twins by countless people. But their divergent personalities were a dead giveaway. Shae was soft-spoken, except when she was seated behind the news desk, while Brecee had a bite to her sharp tongue. She constantly struggled to overcome the habit of speaking her mind.

  “You all right?” Shae whispered as she handed over her six-month-old daughter, Sabrina, whose name had been inspired by Brecee’s. “You kind of lingered down there.” She tilted her head toward the floor, where the churchgoers always knelt to give thanks to God for the privilege of being in His house again. The salutation usually took thirty seconds or less. How long had Brecee been down there, repenting?

  “After church, I’ll tell you what happened to me yesterday when we left the mall,” Brecee mumbled as discreetly as possible.

  Shae lifted an eyebrow. “Something happened that you waited until today to tell me about?”

  “Praise the Lord, saints, and welcome, guests,” Bishop Archie said as he took his place at the podium, giving Brecee the excuse she needed to delay disclosing her woes.

  “My sermon today is simply a reminder that without holiness, no man or woman shall see God. I would guess that God has a running list of believers and their excuses for why they keep coming up short in their spiritual walk with Christ.”

  He paused to flip through his Bible. “In Hebrews, chapter twelve, God makes it clear that there is no acceptable excuse. Pick your poison: whether the offense is fornication with the same or opposite sex or a loose tongue, which the Bible says no man can tame....”

  Why did Pastor Archie have to call her out like that? God knew that, as a pediatric emergency doctor, Brecee had held her tongue many times when a parent was at fault for a child’s sickness or severe injury.

  “If God didn’t love you, He wouldn’t correct you. Every trial that He allows to happen in our lives is designed to transform us into overcomers—” Sabrina dozed off, her lips sucking the air as if it were a bottle. As Brecee stared at the precious baby in her arms, her mind began to wander. She wanted a child of her own.

  Some days, she got tired of giving precious little ones back to their parents. She’d even dated a few men who already had children, but she ended up liking the children more than their fathers.

  Since her own father, Saul, had passed away, her other family members—especially her uncle Bradford and male cousins, but also her mother— seemed to feel it was their God-given duty to harass any suitors of the Carmen sisters. Now with three brothers-in-law added to the mix, Brecee’s situation seemed hopeless. She was now the sole unmarried Carmen sister, and her whole family was waiting to see whom she would bring home next for an interrogation.

  Her two oldest sisters lived in Philly, where the rest of the Carmens resided. Stacy had been married to Ted for years, and they had a son, T.J., who was five. Next was Shari, married to Garrett, with two sons, Garrison and Saul, miraculously born after high-risk pregnancies. Most recently, Shae and Rahn had married and then blessed the family with Sabrina.

  Shortly before meeting Shae, Rahn had been the target of an attempted carjacking. After the Lord had spared his life, not only did he repent and get baptized with water and fire in Jesus’ name; he also purchased an armor- plated car for himself. Before marrying Shae, he’d bought her an armor- plated Jaguar as an engagement gift.

  And when Brecee had finished her residency at Driscoll Children’s Hospital in Houston and then moved to St. Louis to
be near Shae, Rahn had taken it upon himself to protect his wife’s baby sister in a similar way. Brecee had refused the option of armor plating on her new Lexus, but she’d agreed to an upgraded anti-theft system. That very Lexus had been the culprit behind her first speeding ticket.

  “In closing,” Pastor Archie told the congregation, pulling Brecee’s mind back to the present, “the Lord Jesus will continue to correct the error of your ways until you overcome that temptation. That is the only way to live holy.”

  I got that part, Brecee thought as the pastor gave the invitation to come to salvation.

  Three men and several teenagers walked down the aisle toward the front, most of them openly crying after hearing the sermon—the very one she had shamefully zoned out on. They were baptized in water in Jesus’ name before the offering was taken and the congregation was dismissed.

  Brecee stood and continued holding Sabrina while Shae gathered their things. As usual, several church members approached them.

  “Sister Maxwell, I got a news tip,” said an older mother of three toddlers who had yet to be vaccinated because of paperwork at the clinics. Shae promised to investigate the allegations. Then a group of teenage boys got their attention and bashfully inquired about tickets to opening day at Busch Stadium. Rahn usually gave a number of tickets to the church, but he was on a road trip, so Shae assured the boys that she would check with him.

  During flu season, Brecee was always hounded by worried congregants with medical questions, but she was glad to be enjoying a break right now.

  When Sabrina woke and started fussing, Shae excused herself from further conversation and reached for her daughter. She smothered her daughter with soft kisses before raising an eyebrow at Brecee. “Now, what happened yesterday? We were together most of the day.”

  “Well,” Brecee paused, glancing over her shoulder to double check they had some privacy. “After we finished shopping at the Galleria, I got a speeding ticket just for passing a car so I could get on I-40.”