Preacher's Wifey

by Dishan Washington

  “I’m going to bed. I want to pretend today never happened,” I said finally.

  “I understand. I’ll be up soon. Do you need anything? Have you had dinner?”

  “No and no. I have no appetite. But if you don’t mind, I have a prescription for pain medication in my purse. Go get it filled for me, please.”

  “Sure, anything you want or need. If you think of anything else, just text me. I’ll go do that right now.”

  He helped me up from the sofa, as if I was fragile, and I climbed the stairs to our bedroom with him at my side. Just as I got to the top, I remembered something.

  “Byran?”

  “Yes, babe?”

  “Who was that woman that was here earlier?”

  Silence.

  A moment later, he said, “Oh, that was . . . that was my cousin.”

  I stood for a second, trying to recall if I had seen her at our wedding. With the pain racking my body, and the memories of the day and the past week, I could barely remember if I was coming or going. So I definitely could not remember everybody who attended our wedding.

  “Why was she here?”

  “Babe, get some rest. I’ll tell you later. I’m gone,” he said as he turned to walk back down the stairs. a few moments later I heard the chime that signaled he had walked out the door.

  Thoughts of the woman and why she was here faded as I walked in my bedroom and the soothing chocolate and gold hues greeted me. The smell of my lavender plug-ins tickled my nostrils, and immediately I felt my body begin to relax. I walked into my closet and sat down on the leather ottoman that was positioned in the center of the floor. I removed my earrings and placed them on the marble island in front of me. I reached down and pulled open my mini-refrigerator and selected a smartwater. I popped the top and took a few sips as I surveyed my closet. Gucci this. Gucci that. Gucci everywhere. Nothing was basic. From the shoes to the blouses to the jewelry—everything was designer. The items in just this closet alone had to be worth more than a hundred thousand dollars, if not more.

  I dropped my head. All of this stuff and none of it was making me happy, as I had hoped. I stood, opened one of my drawers, and pulled out a tiny gray box. I lifted the cover and removed the picture that was inside. It was a picture of me, Mom, and Dad when I was younger. When they were married. When they were happy. When they were in love.

  I studied the photo for a minute before I carefully placed it back in the box and lifted the gold herringbone necklace. It was the first piece of jewelry I had ever owned. My dad had scraped together enough money to purchase it for my thirteenth birthday. I smiled as it brought back memories....

  “Allyson, come in here. I have a surprise for you,” my dad said.

  I bounced into the living room, where Dad was sitting. Mom was in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on my strawberry birthday cake.

  “Yes, Dad?” I said as I plopped down in his lap and planted a huge kiss on his cheek.

  “You know I love you, right, baby girl?”

  I was cheesing. I loved when he called me that.

  “Yes, Daddy, I know. I’m your bestest girl in the whole wide world.”

  “That’s right. And don’t you let anyone tell you anything different. Now, I might not live here anymore with you and Mom, but there ain’t nothing I won’t do for you. Okay?”

  “I know that, Daddy. Now, what did you get me for my birthday?” I asked, unable to contain my excitement.

  He pulled a long black box from behind him. “Happy birthday, suga.”

  I squealed in excitement. I grabbed the box and broke through the bow in two seconds flat. Every girl in my class had the one thing I wanted, and I knew my dad would not disappoint. I opened the lid to reveal the shiny gold necklace. I squealed again, this time grabbing my father around his neck. I squeezed him so tight, he pretended to be choking from suffocation.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you! You are the best dad ever,” I shrieked. “I am never taking off this one-hundred-karat gold herringbone in my life. Not even to wash my neck.”

  He laughed. “It’s not one hundred karats, Ally.”

  “Well, I don’t care. I am never taking it off.”

  I smiled at the thought as I placed the necklace back in the box. I had kept my promise for a long time. I wore the necklace so much, it left a mark on me. Six years later my first rich boyfriend, NFL player Damon Hall, convinced me that gold was for little girls and diamonds were for grown women. He replaced the gold herringbone, which had once meant so much to me, with a platinum necklace that held yellow and white diamonds. It was the most beautiful piece of jewelry I had ever seen. It was also on that day that I realized simple was no longer good enough for me. I needed extraordinaire. I needed the bling.

  I put the lid back on the gray box, and on my memories, and put the box back in its place. If only I could go back to the day of my thirteenth birthday and start my life from there.

  My phone ringing in the other room interrupted my trip down memory lane. I walked over to it and picked it up to see an unfamiliar number. I didn’t feel like talking to anyone right now. I just wanted to relax. I sent the call to voice mail and decided to do just that. I didn’t even bother to put my clothes away properly. I let my skirt and blouse fall to the floor.

  Wearing just my panties and bra, I pulled the satin comforter back and tried to bury my entire body in the fibers of the sheets.

  The phone rang again. Same unknown number. What city has a 706 area code?

  I sent the call to voice mail again.

  I closed my eyes and exhaled. Tomorrow morning the thoughts of this day would be long gone. Just as I was preparing to drift off into the land of sleep, the phone buzzed. Whoever had called had left a message. I debated listening to it, but ultimately curiosity got the best of me.

  “Allyson, this is Seth Carson. I, um, just wanted to check on you to see how you were feeling and to check and make sure you had made it home safely.” There was a pause before he continued. “I know I am way out of line, but I want to see you again. Away from the office. I’m coming to Atlanta in a couple of weeks for a medical conference. I thought about what you said, and I think it’s time for me to explore another area in my field. Thanks for being an eye-opener. So, hopefully, you will call me back. I’m sure you saw the number on your caller ID. It’s my cell. Call me.”

  My heart was beating rapidly. I wasn’t sure if it was because he had actually called or if it was because he thought enough of me to check on me—to show concern. Or it could have been the heat building up within me when I thought about the kiss we shared. Whichever it was had me giddy and confused.

  I contemplated calling him back, but I had no idea what to say. A part of me wanted to see him again, and a part of me knew it was wrong to even consider it. Then again, was it wrong? My marriage wasn’t a real marriage. It was a business arrangement, as I had been reminded of a lot recently. But I was still on my mission to get Byran to love me. No, I couldn’t call back.

  I touched the button on my phone that led me to my screen for texts. Texting was safer than calling.

  Seth, sorry I missed your call. Don’t really feel up to talking right now. I’ll try to reach out to you some other time. Take care & all the best, Allyson

  I waited for his reply, and it never came.

  It was for the best.

  Chapter Eight

  “Good morning, Lady Allyson. As always, you look gorgeous. That St. John knit was made for you,” said Damita, my assistant at church.

  “Thank you. You know your pastor loves to see me in my knits,” I said, smiling my best first lady smile.

  “Indeed he does.”

  “Pastor, don’t forget you and First Lady have breakfast this morning with the deacons and their spouses. Everyone is there except for Deacon Walters. He isn’t feeling well this morning and won’t be attending the breakfast or service,” said Renae, Byran’s assistant.

  “Thank you, Renae. Can you go into the conference
room and let them know that I am on the premises and will be there shortly?” Byran replied.

  “Yes, sir. Do you want apple, orange, or cranberry juice this morning?”

  “Cranberry. But I also want a cup of—”

  “Coffee. Two sugars and two creams,” she said, finishing his sentence for him.

  That irked me. The little heifer was always walking around bragging about how well she knew him. It was obvious to everybody around that she had a thing for Byran. Oh, well. She was too simple. He would never even look at someone who looked like her.

  “You have a great memory, Renae,” Byran said.

  “That’s not a testament to a great memory, Pastor. Anybody could remember how you take your coffee if they prepared it for you several times a day, every day,” Damita said, looking directly at Renae.

  Renae shook her head. “Oh, hush, Damita. You are such a hater. But I am not going to let you steal my joy. Because the joy of the Lord is my strength. I bet you don’t even know where that is found in the Bible, do you?”

  “I am sure you are going to tell us all,” Damita said, rolling her eyes.

  “You are right. It is in the book of Nebuchadnezzar, chapter eight, verse number ten,” Renae said proudly.

  We all immediately stopped walking. Damita and I exchanged a glance, as did Byran and I. The three of us were waiting on the burst of laughter that was sure to come from Renae at any moment. Instead, she looked at us as if we were the ones who had uttered something so ridiculous.

  “You just showed your stupidity, Renae. There is no such book in the Bible. You meant Nehemiah,” Damita said.

  Embarrassment flooded Renae’s face. She had been serious. “Of course I know that. I was just playing,” she said, laughing nervously. She turned to Byran. “Pastor, you know I was just playing, right?”

  “Don’t make our pastor lie when you know he has to preach this morning. Our pastor is a man of integrity, and causing him to lie shows just what kind of woman you are—let alone an assistant,” Damita said.

  I knew she was talking to Renae, but Damita’s words caused me to grimace. Little did they both know we were both already liars. We lived a lie.

  “Renae, it is fine. We all make mistakes. I am confident that you knew there was no such book in the Bible called Nebuchadnezzar,” Byran assured his assistant.

  “I bet she didn’t,” Damita shot back.

  “Damita, it does not matter. Let us not highlight our sister’s weakness, if that be the case,” Byran said, totally taking control of the situation. He was great at being a pastor. “Both of you ladies are my stellar students in Bible Study. I am proud of the progress you have both made. That is why you both get to have positions that a thousand others would love to have. Only the best could assist my wife and me. And you two are the best.”

  He had successfully squashed the beef and had made both ladies feel affirmed. He was quite the charmer.

  We walked into our joint office, and Byran darted into his restroom to put on his tie. I walked into my space in the office and went directly to my floor-length mirror to check the status of my perfection. Still satisfied with the reflection I saw, I went and sat down on my oversize, lemon-colored chaise, which flanked one side of the room. It was my favorite piece of furniture in all of the church. No sooner had I sat down than Byran popped in and announced he was ready to head to the breakfast.

  We walked into the conference room, where the deacons and their spouses had already begun eating. I surveyed the breakfast choices. From grits to hash browns to pecan waffles . . . there was everything you could imagine.

  “Good morning, everyone,” Byran said.

  “Morning, Pastor. So glad to have you and our stunning first lady join us for our first Quarterly Deacon’s Breakfast,” said Deacon Stanley, the chairman.

  “And we are indeed honored to be here,” Byran replied, grabbing me by the waist and pulling me closer. “I see you all have already started partaking in this heavenly feast. My, my, my, this is a lot of food. Who on earth prepared all of this?”

  “I would have you to know my wife and Deacon Sparks’s wife made everything you see here—and from scratch,” Deacon Stanley said as he looked proudly at his wife, who was sitting next to him.

  “Yeah, Pastor, my old lady here is a monster of a cook,” Deacon Sparks added. “That’s how she got me.”

  The light moment caused laughter to erupt throughout the room.

  “Well, First Lady and I are ready to dig in, aren’t we, honey?” said Byran.

  I nodded. “Yes, Pastor. I’m famished.”

  “First Lady, you do look amazing this morning. Actually, you do every Sunday, but that turquoise color really brings out your skin,” complimented Deaconess Adams, one of the younger deacons’ wife.

  “Thank you, darling. You look radiant yourself,” I said as I sat down in my seat.

  As soon as Byran sat down, two ladies from the kitchen staff entered the room. One went over to Byran and the other to me to find out what we wanted to eat. They prepared our orders and brought us our plates. The food was delicious.

  “Pastor, again, we appreciate you and First Lady joining us this morning. We are blessed that we get to meet with you on a weekly basis to handle the business affairs of the church, but we also wanted to have a time to get together to fellowship with you outside of business. Also, our wives haven’t had the chance to spend any time with you and your wife. So that’s why we are here this morning.”

  Byran nodded. “I think this was a great idea, Deacon Stanley. I look forward to these quarterly meetings.”

  “First Lady, I know it has only been a year, but all of us ladies are just dying to know when we can expect an addition to the first family,” Deaconess Stanley said as the other ladies chimed in, in agreement.

  The water I was drinking spewed from my mouth and landed in the center of the table.

  All eyes fell on me.

  It was an innocent question, but the timing of it could not have been worse. Unbeknownst to them, I had just lost my baby a few days ago, and to be asked about children unnerved me. I was tempted to lose my composure and add tears to the water I had spit across the table, but I remained poised. I went into my first lady role immediately, forced a smile on my face, and gave them an explanation.

  “I do apologize, Deaconess Stanley, for my outburst. Your question caught me off guard.”

  “No, I apologize, Lady Allyson. I did not mean to pry or offend.”

  “Oh no. You did not offend me at all.” I picked up my linen napkin and wiped the corner of my mouth. “I want children. I wanted my baby.”

  Byran nearly choked on his piece of bacon. This time all eyes were on him. He quickly grabbed his juice and took a huge gulp.

  “As I was saying, I wanted my baby.”

  “Honey, do you think this is the time to be sharing this?” Byran asked through gritted teeth.

  “These are some of the leaders of our church, honey. If we cannot be transparent with them, who can we be transparent with?” I looked across the table at Deaconess Stanley. “Am I wrong? Can we trust you all to be transparent with?”

  Everyone eagerly nodded their agreement. By the looks on the ladies’ faces, they could not believe their luck. Their ears were perked up out of a desire to hear this gossip, which was sure to spread throughout the church like wildfire.

  Byran frowned. “Still, I do not think it is wise to involve them in our private affairs.”

  “No disrespect, Pastor, but we are a part of your family now,” Deaconess Sparks quickly stated, hoping to dissolve any reservation he had.

  I studied Byran. His facial muscles were rock solid, and his left eye was jumping. He was hotter than a country day in Alabama. Good.

  “First Lady, what were you going to say?” another deaconess asked.

  “For the third time, I wanted my baby.”

  “Wanted? Wanted is a past tense word. You speak as if there was a baby at some point,” Deacon Sparks said.


  “There was up until a few days ago. I—”

  “Allyson! Don’t go there,” Byran shouted, his tone warning me of possible severe consequences if I kept speaking.

  “I had a miscarriage,” I continued, then released an unexpected sigh.

  Saying the words for the first time since that god-awful day at the abortion clinic was actually an unexpected relief. While I had not planned to say them in front of the entire deacon board, the opportunity had presented itself, and in some odd way I felt like it was a chance to get back at Byran. Until this moment, I did not realize I had an innate desire to make him pay, but I guess I did. Had it not been for him and all the stress he had put me under, I would not have miscarried, nor would I have been at the abortion clinic in the first place.

  I stole a peek at Byran. His rage had intensified. He hated surprises and to be caught off guard. Again . . . good.

  The silence was loud in the room. As a result, I found solace in staring at the food left on my plate.

  “I’m so sorry to hear about you-all’s loss,” Deaconess Stanley said, breaking the ice. “First Lady, I know things like that tend to have more of an effect on a woman than they do on a man. And I think I can speak for all the ladies here when I say if you need anything, and I do mean anything at all, please don’t hesitate to call on us. We are here for you, if only just to be a listening ear.”

  “Thank you. I . . . we appreciate it.”

  One by one, each of the ladies came over to hug me, and not even meaning to, I fell into their comforting trap. The tears snuck up on me and attacked me faster than I had time to wave them away.

  “I think it’s safe to say that breakfast is now over. Please excuse my wife and me. We are going to our office to regain our composure before it is time for worship. Deacons, again, I look forward to our future meetings and thoroughly enjoyed this one.” Byran pushed his chair back and stood up. “Ladies,” he said, addressing the deaconesses, “thank you for being a shoulder for my wife this morning. As you can imagine, this is a difficult time for both of us, and we appreciate your support.”