My Wife My Baby...And Him

by Shelia E. Bell

  “I don’t think I’m ready. Holy Rock holds too many painful memories, if that makes sense. And I can’t preach anymore.”

  “Give it time.” Pastor reached out toward his son and took hold of his hands. “You know she was my little princess. I loved that little girl. She reminded me so much of your mother. Spunky, stubborn but sweet.” Pastor smiled. “It hurts real bad to lose her. But I know that God makes no mistakes. We don’t see it now, but even in this tragedy, there is something good that is going to come out of it. I believe that because I believe the Lord.” Pastor’s eyes swelled with tears.

  Stiles began to cry softly. He didn’t know if he would ever stop. Didn’t know if there would come a time when he could remember his little girl without feeling the weight of grief.

  Pastor leaned in and rested his hands on his son’s shoulders and cried with him.

  ***

  Leaving Pastor’s house, and on the drive to his townhome, Stiles made a sudden decision, and instead of going home, he went to see Detria.

  “Why are you here?” Detria asked. “If you’ve come to remind me that it’s my fault our little girl is dead, go on and say it, and then leave me alone.”

  Stiles looked over at the woman standing in the doorway of the family room holding Elijah. She had introduced herself as Priscilla, Detria’s caregiver. It was difficult for Stiles to look at the handsome little boy without feeling resentment and anger toward Detria. Nonetheless, he tried to focus on the reason he was there.

  “I’m not here to argue, and I’m not here to put the blame on you. And as much as I want to hate you, I can’t.”

  Detria turned away from Stiles in her wheelchair.

  “I came to tell you that the divorce is in the works.”

  “I see.” She turned back around and faced Stiles.

  “This house, your car, the money in our joint bank account, everything, it’s yours. I don’t want it. I only want my freedom. I want to move on with my life.”

  “You always want to come off like the good guy, don’t you?”

  “Are you serious right now? Good guy? So that’s what this is about? I’m penalized because I wanted my marriage to work, because I loved my family, because I expected my wife to be faithful, because I’m not slapping you around and spitting out mean and vicious words to you for letting my little girl get killed. I’m a good guy because all I want from you is for you to be out of my life?”

  “Well, you have me out of your life, Stiles! I don’t have any ties to you anymore. You think that this house,” she waved her one good hand around and looked at her surroundings, “can make up for the fact that my child is dead? I will have to live with that for the rest of my life. For every day I spend in this wheelchair, I’m reminded of her death. Every time I try to use my arm and can’t it reminds me of that God awful day, so don’t you come up in here and act like you’re the only one who’s hurting.”

  “See, that’s your problem, Detria. You’ve always been selfish. You think everything is about you. God knows I’m so ready to be done with this divorce, and everything connected with you.”

  “Look at me! I’m in a wheelchair. I don’t know when or if I will ever walk again. My arm is nothing more than a noodle, and I will never be able to use it again. My baby is gone. So, this is about me.”

  Stiles smirked and shook his head. “You are a true piece of work. I thought I could come over here and somehow just end this peacefully between us. I thought you would go your way, and I could go mine, but you, you always have to…” Stiles threw up his hands. “I’m out.” He turned around, dismissing Detria. “I’ll send someone over here this week to get the rest of my clothes and any other personal items I have here. Have a good life!”

  “You can go to hell, Stiles Graham!” Detria cussed and screamed but Stiles continued walking to the front door, refusing to respond. He yanked the front door open and almost ran chest to chest into Skip.

  Stiles looked at Skip, shook his head, looked back over his shoulder at Detria, then stormed past Skip. He got in his car and sped off.

  “Why are you here? You have no right to show up here anytime you feel like it,” she blasted Skip.

  Priscilla appeared, coming from the direction of the family area. “Mrs. Graham,” Priscilla said, “are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine, Priscilla. Skip was just about to leave,” she said, shooting an evil eye at him.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, Priscilla. I’m sure.”

  Elijah started crying from the other room.

  “Please, go on and check on Elijah.”

  “Okay, I’m going to go make his bottle.”

  “Will you get him ready for his bath after you feed him?”

  “Yes, of course.” Priscilla turned and walked away, leaving Skip and Detria alone in the foyer.

  “I want you to leave.”

  “I’m not leaving until we talk.”

  “Talk? What is there to talk about? I don’t have time for a two-timing, low-life dog like you.””

  Skip stooped down in front of Detria. “Me? A dog? You gotta be kidding me. If I’m a dog, what does that make you?”

  Detria pouted and began swearing. Get…out…of…my….house! Go back to that little tramp Meaghan. Just leave me alone!”

  “So, that’s what this is about? Another broad?” Skip shook his head. “You forget you had preacher boy, huh. You expected me to be true blue? Look, let’s not even go there because long story short, she has nothing to do with me and you. Now, I’m here because I want to see my son.”

  “He is not your son. Your name is nowhere on his birth certificate.”

  Skip reached in his pant pocket and pulled out his wallet. He parted the money pouch and removed a piece of paper. Unfolding it, he held it out in front of Detria.

  She studied the paper then looked up at Skip with eyes that could kill. “How did you get this? Who did you get to make this up?”

  “Make it up?” Skip laughed. “This is far from being made up. Now, I want to spend time with my son. He is going to know who his father is, his real father. Now we can do this the hard way, or we can do it the easy way. The hard way? I take you to court and get preacher boy’s name removed from the birth certificate, and then I ask for visitation with my son. The easy way…” Skip said, resting each hand on the wheelchair’s armrest, and leaning in so close to her she could feel the warmth of his breath and smell the scent of his body like a vampire smells blood. It enticed her and momentarily she forgot she was in a wheelchair and unable to walk. She wanted to grab ahold of Skip’s neck, pull him into her, and listen as his heavy breathing told her that she was the only woman who could ever satisfy him.

  “The easy way is for you to go to court with me and get preacher boy’s name off that birth certificate and replace it with mine.”

  Her defenses began to subside. “I hate you!”

  “Really?” He seemed to enjoy watching her struggle to keep her composure. He moved in on her quicker than she could blink an eye. He sucked lightly on her bottom lip while using one hand to caress the familiar contours of her body.

  Abruptly, and shaking her head like she’d come out of a trance, Detria pulled back as much as she could in her wheelchair. She met the intense stare of his eyes.

  “Look,” she stuttered nervously, “if you want to see Elijah, we’ll work something out,” she said with as much conviction as possible, hoping that it was enough to keep him from kissing her again. “But that’s it. You will not come here anytime you feel like it. Is that understood?”

  “Fair enough,” Skip replied. “Now, where was I before you so rudely interrupted?” he whispered in her ear before kissing her on her earlobe and along her neck.

  She closed her eyes and prayed that he would stop. If he didn’t, she wouldn’t be able to fight him off. She didn’t want to. But why would he want her? She couldn’t walk and she felt like the one-armed bandit. What could she do for him the way she was? Fear and sh
ame pounded at her heart. How badly she wanted to be held by him. But things had changed. God had seen to that.

  Skip stood upright and took one step back. Looking down at Detria, he smiled and extended both hands outward. “So you hate me, huh?”

  “Oh, so this is some game you’re playing? I should have known better. It’s always about divide and conquer with you.”

  “It’s not like that. All I wanted to see was if you hate me as much as you say you do. You forgot that I know you, Detria. I think I know you better than you know yourself.”

  “You think so?” she asked, trying to portray the hardcore tough girl so he wouldn’t sense the overwhelming need she had to be close to him.

  “I don’t think so, I know so. You want the world to think that you’re tough and invincible when the Detria I know is sweet, kind…,” His words were soft and enticing, “…sensitive, passionate.” He kissed her again.

  Priscilla walked in, surprising both of them. Detria exhaled, placing her left hand over her heart like she was trying to still its beat.

  “Ummm, Mrs. Graham, I’m getting ready to give Elijah his bath and then he’s going down for his nap. Do you want to hold him before I bathe him?”

  “Yes, bring him here, please.” Detria turned in her chair and stretched out her left arm.

  Priscilla walked over and lovingly placed the baby in the arm of his mother. “I’ll be back shortly.”

  “Thanks, Priscilla.”

  “You’re welcome,” she replied before she turned and left out of the foyer.

  Skip walked behind her wheelchair. Peering over her head, he looked down at his son. Sheer joy was evident on his face.

  With a voice full of pride, Skip grinned. “Hey, look at him. Man, he’s the spitting image of his daddy. It even looks like he’s going to have my same color eyes.” Skip kissed Detria on the top of her head while he used one of his hands to massage her upper body. His lips then trailed along her temple, her ear, and down to her neck. He stopped and lightly patted Elijah on the top of his head, before standing upright again.

  “This boy here is going to be a lover just like his daddy.” Skip pounded himself on the chest and laughed. “I’m telling you these little females better watch out. Lord help the world!”

  Detria leaned her head back and boldly met Skip’s eyes as her emotions melted away any resolve she may have had. For the first time in months, she laughed, and then shamelessly remarked, “Boy, you still silly.”

  Chapter 48

  “No matter how bad a heart is broken; the world doesn't stop for your grief.” Susane Pieffer

  How could it be? When had the hours changed into days; days into weeks; weeks into months? When had the seasons changed?

  Here he was again, posted on the couch, surrounded by the deafening sound of a life of turmoil, heartache, and grief. His divorce from Detria had taken close to six months, just as his lawyer told him it would. Today marked two weeks that it was final, but instead of feeling like he had been set free, he felt like he’d been given a death sentence. Thursday night, and he was all alone in his townhome. Alone to fight the demons of self-pity and the surmounting realization that he had failed in his marriage and his ministry.

  He was thirty-six years old, divorced twice, and both ex-wives were cheaters. He questioned his ability to choose the right kind of woman. Had answering his divine call to the ministry turned him into a pillow cushion with no backbone and no ability to recognize game? He questioned his manhood and his life’s decisions. He questioned his sense of reasoning. What had happened to the days in high school and college when he could have any girl he wanted? He had gone from being a player to being played.

  Stiles thought of Detria. She was a modern day Delilah; the beginning of his downfall. She appeared in his life when his mother was still alive. She was kind to his parents and to him. She was smart, intelligent, and she helped him forget about Rena. All the time she was out to destroy him. Right under his nose, she was sleeping with another man. The more he thought about it, maybe there had been others before Skip. Maybe, Skip just happened to be the one he caught her with.

  Like Delilah did Samson, Detria captured Stiles’ heart, and in the end, she had cost him dearly. He felt like a total and complete failure.

  If God was trying to show him something, he wished that he would hurry up and do it, and make it real clear because he couldn’t grasp what he was supposed to do next.

  His nostrils flared as he pounded his fist full force on the coffee table. Anger, humiliation, frustration, embarrassment, and shame consumed him again. He could not control his tears. He cried over the demise of the life he had messed up, a life that he hoped would be pleasing to God. He fell back on the sofa, with his hands tucked under his head, staring at the ceiling.

  He dozed off but was awakened by the sound of a strange voice on the television or had he been dreaming? He couldn’t determine which just yet, but that wasn’t important. He glanced around the room, shook his head, and then sat upright. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you.

  He looked around again, like he was expecting to see God himself in the room with him; there was no one. The television was on but there was no sound coming from it. He didn’t recall doing it, but the television was muted. The still small voice replayed in his mind and spirit. The flames shall not consume you. I am the Lord, thy God. Is there anything too hard for me? Get up and live.

  He recognized it was God speaking to him in his spirit. Stiles got up then fell down to his knees and sobbed. He cried over the death of his dreams and the death of his daughter. The more he cried, the more the weight of his troubles seemed to lighten. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for I am with you wherever you go.

  “I hear you, Lord. It’s time to move forward, but I can only do it with you, Father God.”

  Chapter 49

  “We must be willing to get rid of the life we’ve planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us.” Joseph Campbell

  It had been four months since Stiles packed his bags, loaded down his car, and drove nine hours nonstop until he arrived back in Houston, Texas. He was determined to see what he could do to reconnect the broken pieces of his life.

  Tuesday evening he sat in Wallace’s church listening to him teach about ‘forgetting those things that are behind and focusing on the things ahead.’ When he was at Holy Rock, he had preached from the same passage of scripture many times.

  The more Wallace talked about letting go and moving forward to the things God has in store, the more Stiles thoughts regressed to his past, but he had to remind himself that he was not in Houston to dwell on the things of the past. He was here to take the next step in renewing his life and reestablishing his rightful relationship with God.

  After Bible study was over, Stiles had a quick dinner with Wallace’s wife and their five kids before he retreated to the guest apartment over Wallace’s garage.

  Stiles had been living with Wallace since his return. While he deeply appreciated Wallace’s hospitality, it was time for him to get his own space and see what life really had to offer in Houston.

  Tomorrow morning he was going to sign the lease on his new apartment. The apartment he chose was to his liking. Twelve hundred square feet, two bedrooms, two baths, nice size living room, a dedicated patio, and modernized kitchen with tons of amenities on site like a full exercise room, sauna, two pools, and housekeeping services.

  Initially, he grappled with the idea of relocating from Memphis to Houston, until he reminded himself that there was nothing to keep him in Memphis. No wife, no church, no child. His father was living his own life too. Pastor’s health had improved remarkably thanks to God’s healing grace and his loving, attentive wife, Josie. Pastor was doing so well that for the past month and a half he had been able to return to attending church on a regular basis. Stiles
was happy for his father.

  Later that evening, while Stiles was laid back on his sofa watching football, Pastor called.

  “Son, I thought you would want to know that we had the official vote after worship service today.”

  “Oh, yeah. How’d it go?” Stiles asked.

  “The majority won. They voted to appoint Hezekiah as the senior pastor effective the first Sunday of next month.”

  “Good. To God be the glory. I know he’s going to be a great leader. He’s proven that time and time again since he was appointed associate pastor then interim senior pastor.”

  “Yes. I agree. I believe Holy Rock made the right decision.”

  Stiles could hear the satisfaction in Pastor’s voice. Part of Stiles felt sad but he didn’t say anything to that effect to Pastor. Although he accepted that his time was up at Holy Rock, the realization that someone else, namely Hezekiah, had assumed the position that he once reveled in, was a hard pill to swallow. Nevertheless, he swallowed it, and told Pastor he would call and congratulate his brother in Christ.

  One day, if God directed him, he would pastor again. Until that time came, like Paul, Stiles made the decision that he would be content. Houston was his new home. He recalled tonight’s scripture. I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do; forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead.

  Chapter 50

  “Power does not corrupt men; fools, however, if they get into a position of power, corrupt power.” George Bernard Shaw.

  Hezekiah was enjoying his role as Holy Rock’s senior pastor. It felt good to be in a position of leadership and authority, and he was determined to make the best of it.

  The scandal and gossip about Pastor Graham and First Lady Detria had finally played itself out. What happened between the couple was rarely ever mentioned anymore, which was fine with Hezekiah. He had grown sick of hearing about Stiles and his world of mess.