Preacher's Wifey

by Dishan Washington

  “You are welcome. Please let us know what we can do, if anything,” Deaconess Sparks added.

  Byran nodded. “We will.”

  With puddles still lingering in my eyes, I hugged each of the ladies before Byran grabbed my hand and we exited.

  “Pastor, you all are done early. I wasn’t expecting you to be out so soon,” Renae said as she struggled to keep up with the fast pace at which we were walking down the hall.

  “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing,” Damita said, agreeing with Renae for once.

  When we reached our office, Byran stopped them both in their tracks. “First Lady and I need a few minutes alone. Give us a minute, please.”

  “That is so sweet, Pastor. I just love watching the two of you express your love for each other,” Damita gushed.

  “I don’t know how you got that out of what he said. Because if you knew him like I know him, you would know that tone isn’t a good one. Trust me, I have heard that tone before, and it was only when he was pissed off about something. Sounds to me like First Lady is in trouble,” Renae snickered.

  If we were anywhere else, I would have slapped that outdated gold tooth down her throat. I made a mental note to get rid of her as quickly as possible.

  Byran ignored both women and led me into our office. The door had barely closed before he went off.

  “You want to explain to me what just happened in there? Because for a minute, I thought you had lost your mind. Are you okay? Because something has to be wrong with you if you for one second considered telling them you had an abortion.” He all but whispered that last word.

  “I was never going to tell them I had an abortion. Because I didn’t.”

  “What?” He shook his head in confusion. “What do you mean, you didn’t have an abortion? I am as lost as a blind man on a dark road right now. Did you not go to Augusta the other day to have an abortion? You kept the baby? What are you saying?”

  “If you’d stop asking so many questions, I can give you the simple answer. And the simple answer is, yes, I went there for an abortion, but I did not have to have one, because I miscarried while waiting. Go figure.”

  I resumed my earlier position on my chaise. I was developing a headache the size of Texas. I looked up at the flat panel that hung on the wall adjacent to my desk as the live feed from the service came through. I could see parishioners filing into the massive eight-thousand-seat sanctuary as the praise and worship team began singing Tasha Cobbs version of “Smile.” People were clapping and swaying to the beat of the song, while others found their seats. I wanted to smile, but I could not.

  “Why didn’t you tell me? Why have you allowed me to walk around carrying the guilt that you had an abortion when indeed you naturally lost the baby?”

  If he had any idea how I was about to go off, he would dismiss himself from my presence. Knowing that nosy Renae was just outside the door kept me calm, cool, and collected.

  “Byran, let’s not talk about guilt. Because where was your guilt when you asked me to get the abortion in the first place? I don’t recall you showing any remorse when you all but demanded I get rid of the baby. I am the one who should be feeling guilty. I should have never agreed to such a thing. And the only reason I did was to show you how much I loved you and how I would do anything for you. I was going to do it because I wanted you to love me back, and I figured if I did what you asked, then you would. But everybody plays the fool, right? I should have known that love really don’t love nobody.”

  A knock at the door cut into the heated moment.

  “Pastor, are you all okay in there? It’s almost time for you to come out,” Renae said in her most irritating voice.

  “You need to get rid of her. I do not like her,” I said through clenched teeth.

  He went to the door. “Renae, we will be out shortly. Go and tell the associate ministers to have prayer without me this morning. I’ll see everyone inside the sanctuary.”

  “But, Pastor—”

  “Just do it, Renae. No questions. No comments. No buts,” he said with a voice laced with frustration.

  She got the hint and scurried away.

  He walked over to his desk, picked up his iPad, and focused his attention on the screen.

  “You see those people in those pews? They come here week after week for me. I cannot afford to have a bad week. I cannot afford to be ‘off’ one single Sunday. They come here because they know I am one of the best preachers and psalmists in this country. And every week I stand before them, I make it my business not to disappoint.

  “You may not believe this, but when I was growing up, I was one of the shyest kids ever. No one listened to me. No one cared to know what I was thinking. No one cared to try to understand what I felt—about anything. I tried for years to make my presence known, but with no father figure in my life, it wasn’t until I went to Morehouse that I got in touch with who I was. My self-esteem skyrocketed, and for the first time in my life I felt important. I felt I mattered. It did not take long for me to become successful after that, because once I realized there was something special about me, I became confident. Some may classify it as arrogance.

  “Nonetheless, from then on I always got what I wanted. At. Any. Cost. Even if it meant someone else getting hurt in the process. And I’ve hurt a lot of people getting to where I am now. But I am here. I am right where I’ve always wanted to be. So, Allyson, this attitude, this demeanor I have, it didn’t just start with you. I have been like this for a while now, and it is the only way I know to be.” He scrolled through something on his iPad before resuming. “You wanted the truth about me. There you have it.” He popped a Halls cough drop in his mouth. “Now, are you ready to go out there and do what we both do best?”

  “And what is that?”

  “Pretend, Allyson. Pretend.”

  Chapter Nine

  Church had been awesome, and Byran’s soul-stirring message on forgiveness had gotten people up and out of their seats, shouting amens and hallelujahs. We had done our usual meet and greet after service, and after hugging and kissing a slew of old people and babies, we had finally left.

  Now I was standing in my master bathroom mirror, wearing a white, fitted Nike T-shirt and some black boy shirts, posing in every way I could, taking pictures for Byran. Of all the uncertainties in my life, I could always count on every Sunday night being our freak session. There was something about getting done preaching that made him want sex the most. It was also a part of my responsibility as his wifey. However, tonight the most I could do was take pictures. I was still bleeding slightly, and if the truth be told, I was not in the mood for sex. As much as I was attracted to Byran, a huge part of sex for me, as with any woman, was emotional. And my emotional bank was in the negative.

  I took about ten pictures before I decided there was absolutely no other pose for me to do. From sitting on the counter to lying on the counter to doing tricky handstands . . . I’d done all I could do for one night.

  I heard a knock at the door.

  “Allyson, may I come in?”

  I hesitated before I answered. Honestly, I did not want to be bothered. I had planned to run myself a steaming hot bath and soak until my problems dissolved.

  “Yes, you can come in.”

  The door opened slowly. He eased his head around the door before coming all the way inside.

  “You busy?”

  “No. I just got done taking pics for you.”

  “I know,” he said, smiling from ear to ear. “I saw them. That’s why I’m here. I wanted to see you in person.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  He walked over to where I was sitting on the side of our tub, and he began kissing me on my neck. That always demobilized me. My will, my anger, and my disdain all vanished whenever he was passionate toward me. The combined scent of his cologne and his body wash tantalized my senses. The dance his tongue did up and down the side of my neck would have intimidated the most skilled salsa dancer.

  “Byran, befo
re you get too worked up, I am not able to have sex tonight.”

  He kept kissing me. “Why?”

  “Because I am still recovering from the miscarriage,” I said, pulling away. I was getting worked up for no reason.

  “Well, can you just take care of me, then? I really need you tonight, baby. Really bad.” His kisses moved to my shoulder.

  “I honestly don’t feel up to it tonight, babe. I have a lot on my mind. It’s sort of hard to get in the mood with so much going on with me emotionally. You understand, right?” This time I slid over. Away from him.

  “What do I have to do to change your mind? Because I will do whatever you need.”

  I studied his face. What sounded like a pure offer was tainted with a hint of selfishness. It would have been great if he had meant it without wanting something in return, but that happened only in real, loving relationships.

  “I just need some time to myself. A lot has gone on in the past week, and I need to take some time to process it all. From losing my own baby to my husband telling me his heart is with another woman—and, oh yeah, she is having his baby—I definitely need a woosah moment.”

  I sounded as stupid saying all of that as I felt. Who in their right mind would be going through all of this for a front? For money? Two fools.

  “I understand,” he replied.

  We both sat in silence, not sure what to say next.

  I broke the silence after a few moments. “So when is your baby due?”

  His face hardened. I knew this was probably not the right time to bring this up, but then again, it would never be the right time.

  “Allyson, I already told you how far along she was, remember? But she is due in five months.”

  I guessed my memory was still on vacation, because I could not recall him saying that. I guessed I had successfully blocked it out of my mind.

  I sat in silence before I abruptly began to laugh. “You never planned on telling me, did you? If I had not gotten pregnant myself, you were going to keep it a secret.” I laughed again, shaking my head in disbelief.

  “Allyson, what do you want me to say? Hell, I did not know what to say to you then, and I don’t know what to say to you now. Truth is, I do care about you. A lot. I married you for business and for selfish reasons, but you are a good woman. And as much as I have tried to deny it because of the circumstances, I do love you.”

  Wow. He said it. Just when I thought he was a heartless, cold, selfish, self-absorbed man with a little boy trapped inside, he actually showed some emotion. I was stunned.

  He continued. “But I cannot lie to you. I am not in love with you. I am in love with my first love. I always have been, and even if we are never together, I probably always will be. When she got pregnant, my emotions were a mixture of excitement and despair. While I wanted to totally devote myself to her and be the man she needs me to be, I have already created a life with you that I can’t change... am not willing to change.”

  A few drops of rain fell on my parade. In one breath he had declared his love for me, and in the next breath he had declared it for someone else.

  “What is your heart telling you to do? Would your perfect world consist of paying me off and being with her?”

  “She wouldn’t take me back, anyway.”

  So he had tried to go back.

  “And why not?”

  “I hurt her deeply. And it didn’t help it any when you and I got married. That was the nail in the coffin for her.”

  “Apparently not, because she is pregnant with your child. So that means she slept with you about six months into our marriage. She is not over you.”

  “No. Does she want to be with me? No again.”

  “Here is what I know. When you love someone, you do any and everything possible to show them. And when you are in love, you do any and everything in your power to be with them. You two are not together, because you have not shown her she can trust you. You have not done all you can to prove to her that she is the one you want—the only one you want. Because if you had done everything, even if her head tells her otherwise, her heart would not be able to deny you.”

  I could not believe I was actually giving him—my husband—tips on how to reunite with another woman.

  He looked into my eyes, with tears forming in his own.

  “This is why I love you. I have treated you like the dirt I walk on, and yet you remain so nice to me. You remain a friend to me. That is why it’s not easy to just disregard you and walk away, as if you mean nothing to me, even if the contract was not in place or I was not concerned about losing my church. Not many women can handle hearing their man tell them they are in love with someone else.” He paused. “What kind of woman are you?”

  “A woman who believes in the power of love.”

  “You deserve so much better than me. You really do. I could never pay you for what you have done for me. That is why I am here to stay. No matter what.”

  I weighed his words before silence captured us again. I laid my head on his shoulder and put his words on repeat in my mind. I wished we could just stay in this moment forever. It was so nice to feel loved, wanted . . . appreciated. The sense of emptiness I’d been feeling had been replaced. The void I’d felt had been filled.

  I had some decisions to make.

  Either I was going to continue my quest to get him to fall in love with me or I was going to figure out a way to set him free from the captivity of his own heart.

  Chapter Ten

  With everything that had been going on lately, I was in desperate need of relaxation, and the perfect solution to fix such a problem was to enjoy a full spa day.

  With my hair flowing in the wind, I whipped my car into the parking lot of the St. Regis Hotel. One of the plus sides of my jacked-up life was being able to have weekly visits to the spa. The shopping was great, too, but going to the spa did it for me.

  “Mrs. Ward, welcome back. You look absolutely beautiful, as always. Will you be joining us today for lunch or for your weekly spa appointment?” the lead valet attendant asked.

  I flashed him an appreciative smile. “Thank you, Lee. I think I will do both today. I’ll be here for a few hours.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Enjoy.”

  I strolled into the lobby of the hotel and, as usual, took a moment to exhale and admire the beautiful decor. The grand staircase that flanked the left side of the foyer was always delightful to gaze upon. In my opinion, the St. Regis was by far the most elite and gorgeous hotel in all of Buckhead.

  A butler approached me. “Will you be lodging with us, or are you here to enjoy one of our other luxuries?”

  “I am going to have lunch at the bar, and then I have an all-day appointment at Remède.”

  “Okay, madam. Please enjoy,” he said as he walked away.

  I made my way to the St. Regis Bar and could hardly wait to find me a dark corner so I could enjoy one of my guilty pleasures—the West Paces Mary. It was the hotel’s special version of a Bloody Mary.

  “Good afternoon, ma’am. My name is Calvin, and I will be your server today. Can I start you off with a beverage?”

  “Yes, I would like water with extra lemons and a West Paces Mary. For lunch, I would like the grilled chicken Caesar salad with cranberries.”

  “Yes, ma’am. And which dressing would you prefer for your salad?”

  “Raspberry walnut vinaigrette.”

  “Got it. I will put this right in. If you would like anything else, just let me know.”

  “I will. Thank you.”

  As the server walked away, I pulled out my cell phone and decided to kill some time checking my Twitter and Facebook accounts. I scrolled my Facebook Timeline and News Feed to catch up with the happenings, the news, and the drama of everybody’s day. Some tweets and posts made me laugh out loud, and others made me shake my head. Some people did not understand the purpose of social media and used both Twitter and Facebook to air their dirty laundry and tell all their business.

  “Here
is your West Paces Mary, ma’am. Enjoy,” Calvin said as he placed my drink down. “Can I get you anything else right now?”

  “No, this will do it,” I said, taking a sip of my delight. I took a few more sips and focused my attention back on my phone.

  “Excuse me. Is this seat taken?”

  I did not even need to look up to know who the voice belonged to. My insides quivered, and my hands began to shake. It couldn’t be him. I put my game face on, because there was no way I was going to give him any sign that just the sound of his voice gave me an anxious feeling.

  “Dr. Carson. What a surprise it is to see you. What on earth are you doing here?” Is he following me?

  “Mrs. Ward, what a surprise to see you as well. I am here for a meeting. The medical conference is next week. And what about you? You and the husband having lunch?” he asked, looking around.

  Cute. He could have just asked if Byran was here.

  “No, I am here alone. I come here weekly to visit the spa.”

  “Are they good? Would you recommend it? Well, I guess that is a redundant question, seeing as you come here weekly.”

  I laughed softly. “I definitely recommend it. I love, love, love Remède,” I said enthusiastically.

  “Do they take walk-ins, or is it by appointment only?”

  “I am not sure. I have a standing appointment.”

  The server returned to deliver my salad. “Does everything look okay with your salad?” he asked.

  “Yes, Calvin, it does. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He turned to Seth. “Sir, can I get you anything?”

  “I will take a shot of your best top-shelf vodka with a very tiny, and I do mean tiny, splash of cranberry.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll be right back,” Calvin said as he went to go and fulfill Seth’s request.

  “Hard day already?” I asked.

  “Not really. Why do you say that?”

  “Vodka shots? This early?” I asked as I took a bite of my salad.

  He laughed, and for the first time I could see him outside of his profession and just as a man who was sharing a light moment with me.