by Pat Simmons
“Hey, sweetie.” Shari’s mother, Annette Carmen, knocked before stepping into her bedroom. “I didn’t know you were here until I heard you on the phone.”
“Hi, Mom. Yes, I’m here. The Whitmans just ambushed me.”
“Impossible.” Her mother laughed. “They couldn’t possibly take down a Drexel University Law School magna cum laude graduate.”
“Don’t underestimate those two,” Shari said before rehashing their request.
Her mother stretched across Shari’s bed, making herself comfortable. “Listen, baby,” she said after Shari had finished her tale of woe. “Your father would want you to play the song to God’s glory. For us, as saints of God, everything we do is about Him.” She pointed up in the air. “Never about us.”
“I know that,” Shari whined. “But that song has such sentimental value to me.”
Her mother nodded. “Saul was larger than life sometimes, and our memories of him will never fade. But he was big enough to share that song with Brother Nash’s grandparents. Plus, you don’t need to spend your weekends stuck in the house with me.”
Growing up, Shari had earned the nickname “house kid” because she’d always preferred claiming a cozy corner and devouring a book while her three sisters played with the neighborhood children.
Shari shrugged. “I happen to like being a homebody,” she good-naturedly argued.
Her mother gave her an amused expression that let her know she wasn’t going to win this argument. Annette Carmen had perfected the art of convincing her daughters to see things her way—telepathy or something.
The way her mother smiled, Shari almost wondered if she was in on John and Rita’s scheme. “Seriously, I don’t have anything to wear!” she protested, even though she knew the weakness of her rebuttal. After a long day in court defending those with colorful criminal portfolios and interviewing prospective clients, dealing with the Friday-night crowds at King of Prussia Mall was not something she looked forward to.
Craning her neck, her mother squinted into Shari’s closet. “I think I see a black skirt in the back on the right-hand side. It may be a little short, but I’m sure it’s respectable.”
Who said eyesight diminishes with age? Shari mused. At fifty-four, her mother, a former beauty pageant contestant, was as stunning as ever.
After a search-and-rescue in the maze of her clothes, Shari tugged the skirt off the hanger—it wasn’t black but an indiscernible shade of dark brown. Close enough. It would have to do.
Shari manipulated the sleek fabric over her hips. She braved a glance in the full-length mirror, then patted her backside. “Yep, I see where the five pounds settled from Aunt Camille’s earthquake cake, your pecan pie, and the cheesesteak from lunch.”
Her mother chuckled, then gave a wistful sigh. “Ah, to be so generously endowed.”
“It isn’t always a blessing.”
“Tell that to a skinny woman,” her mother stated. “Speaking of food, I’ll go warm up dinner. Leftovers okay?”
“Sure.”
Left alone with her thoughts, Shari studied her reflection once more in the mirror. She would wear this outfit in the courtroom in a minute, but in church, the flared skirt, which hit just above the knees, would raise eyebrows, considering that her church clothes were always a little loose and inches longer. “It is what it is,” she mumbled, not happy that Brother Nash wanted her to give up a piece of her that she held dear, even though he couldn’t possibly know its value to her.
That night, Shari’s sleep was anything but restful. When she awoke the next morning, she petitioned the Lord to keep her from embarrassing herself by crying. She grabbed her saxophone case and the garment bag containing her flirty cream ruffled blouse and brown skirt, then headed downstairs to say good-bye to her mother.
She found her in the kitchen, standing by the sink with a cup of steaming coffee. Wrapped in a long black satin robe, the woman easily could have been a stand-in for a movie scene as she strolled out of the kitchen. She turned to Shari and smiled. “Everything will be fine. I know you’re not exactly happy granting this favor, but who knows? God has a reputation for giving back more abundantly when we give of ourselves.”
Shari nodded, inwardly chiding herself for her selfishness. “I know, Mom. Thanks for the pep talk.”
“It’s called a love talk.” Her mother gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be praying for safe travels.”
After the women shared a warm hug, Shari left. She made it to church in no time.
When she boarded the fifteen-seat passenger van, her best friend, trumpeter Faith Harper, gave her a brilliant smile. “Welcome aboard.” Faith scooted over to the window to let Shari have the aisle seat. “I can’t believe John and Rita talked you into playing that tune.”
It was no secret among the band members how distraught Shari had been after performing the song at her father’s funeral. Her sisters had needed to assist her back to the pew before she’d collapsed. “I’m still not sure about this.” She groaned, once again regretting her decision. It felt as if she was getting on a roller coaster, even while knowing she was scared of heights. “I’m definitely losing my edge outside the courtroom to have been swayed.”
Faith gave her a quick hug. “I’ll be there for you, playing and praying.”
“Why do I have this strange feeling that I’m being set up?” Shari asked her. “Of all the songs, new and old, why that one? And Terrell ‘just so happens’ to get sick. Doesn’t he have a prayer cloth?”
“Stop it.” Faith grinned. “Only God knows why things happen the way they do.”
As the van merged onto the New Jersey turnpike, Shari closed her eyes and sank comfortably against her small travel pillow.
Just when she started to drift off, Rita began chatting away. “Brother Moses and Sister Queen Miller had seven daughters, giving them all biblical names, and those daughters went on to produce twenty-something children and even a few great-grandchildren.”
What a tribe, Shari mused.
“Garrett and I go way back to when I attended BU in Boston,” John chimed in from his spot behind the wheel. “I’ve met some of his family members. Many of them have exceptional musical abilities.”
That part she could relate to. Who in the Carmen family didn’t play an instrument? She smiled. As teenagers, she and her sisters had earned a reputation locally and in the surrounding cities for their musical talents. At various times, the Carmen sisters had tried to mimic the Clark Sisters, the Newell Sisters, and other family singing groups.
Her oldest sister, Stacy, who lived across town with her husband, Ted, commanded the keyboard like a pro, while Shari manipulated the high notes on the tenor sax—an impressive feat for a woman, as her two male cousins always reminded her. The two younger sisters could hold their own, too. Shae, a TV reporter/weekend news anchor who resided in St. Louis, had perfected her craft on the drums, admiring Sheila E. But it was Brecee who was out of control with her Chuck Berry antics on the guitar. Now the little fireball was pursuing her calling as a pediatrician in Houston.
Like Stacy, Shari doubted she could ever live anyplace other than Philly. She loved the feel of the historic city, she loved her home church, and she loved the local culture. Regardless of the city they now called home, she and her sisters had made their parents proud. Shari only hoped her performance tonight would be one that would honor her father rather than shame the Carmen name with another public meltdown.
Chapter 2
Shari hadn’t realized she had dozed off until she awoke when their van arrived at the Doubletree by Hilton in downtown Boston. Once all the band members had gathered their things and strolled into the lobby, Shari’s anxiety faded instantly, replaced by awe.
The grandeur of the entrance paled when compared to that of the ballroom. Festive gold helium balloons served as centerpieces, matching the ribbon that was tied into bows behind each chair. From the decorations, Shari deduced that no expense had been spared for this celebration.
An usher guided them to a small lounge where he said they could relax before their performance. According to John, they’d have just enough time to change clothes and freshen up before it was time to start playing. “Remember to keep the music going until every family member is seated,” he told them. Then he gathered them together for a group prayer. “Lord, let us be a blessing so that we can receive one.”
Shari and the others whispered, “Amen,” although she continued praying silently for strength. She swallowed, anticipating the moment that would conjure up every emotion—when she blew life into her sax. Her heart pounded heavily as they set up in the banquet room.
Some guests arrived as much as an hour early. Many of them seemed content to gather around the ivory linen-covered round tables, chatting. The women were wrapped in colorful lavish African garments; the men, from toddlers to overweight, cane-stepping elders, strutted in their black tuxedo tailcoats. Their excitement was almost palpable. The young girls looked picture-perfect with bows and baby’s breath adorning their salon-curled hair. Shari remembered the days when her mother would dress her daughters like quadruplets. Yes, it appeared that the hundred-plus guests in attendance were in their finest apparel, fit for an audience with King Moses and his Queen.
Shari stopped gawking when Faith nudged her. She and her friend headed for the lounge.
“Aren’t you glad you came?” Faith asked, her hazel eyes twinkling.
“I haven’t played yet.” Shari playfully scrunched her nose, a habit all four of the Carmen sisters had picked up in childhood.
John frowned. “I haven’t seen Brother Nash yet.”
Shari had been thinking the same thing but kept it to herself. John inquired of one of the ushers regarding Garrett’s whereabouts, then trailed the man out the room.
When John returned, he had an apology from their sponsor. “Garrett said he appreciates that we came and he’s sorry he couldn’t meet us when we first arrived. He’s trying to put out a fire. He seems flustered, so pray for our brother.”
Murmurs of “Not a problem” and “It’s okay” circulated around the room. Shari didn’t reply. This was Garrett’s shindig. The least he could do would be to extend a personal thank-you to her for opening her heart to share with his family.
Then Shari chided herself for her self-righteous attitude. She wasn’t being fair to Garrett. The man had no inkling of her pain.
She lost track of time as a hush spread across the room, and the main double doors opened. Seconds later, the guests went wild, applauding the honorees and their dynasty as they made their appearance in a processional to the head table. John’s fingers glided over the keyboard while the drummer tapped the cymbals. The horn section stood—Shari with her saxophone, Faith holding her trumpet, and Steve, an older gentleman, hoisting his trombone.
Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, Shari closed her lips on the sax’s mouthpiece as she blew the first notes of “Thank You.” She fought back the tears, rebuked the sadness that tried to overpower her, and clung to the wondrous event that she had the pleasure of not only witnessing but also participating in. Lord, help me not to fall apart—please.
Shari didn’t remember when her lids drifted closed, but suddenly she was transformed to another place and time where she played the piece with the same fervor that she had at her father’s funeral. Time hadn’t dulled her desire for the hugs her father gave every night at bedtime or for his encouragement and support on the dawn of her teenage years. The void he’d left in her life was still unimaginable. If only she could marry a good, godly man like her daddy one day.
With ease, Shari hit the notes she had mastered and manipulated her sax like a child skipping rocks across a pond. Claps, shouts, and whistles reminded her that she was not in a secret place. She dared to open an eye and was shocked to see the spotlight shining directly on her. Compliments to whoever was on special-effects detail for the event.
She eyed Faith, who winked at Shari before joining her on trumpet for the chorus. Together they moved as if they were dancing the salsa, taunting each other with their instruments, until the last note was squeezed out from Shari’s lungs and her heartbeat settled. She had peace.
***
Wow. Never before had Garrett heard a woman take command of a tenor sax like that. To be honest, few male musicians played with that much discipline. Not only was her performance mesmerizing, but the saxophonist herself was stunning.
Shame on him that he didn’t know her name. He couldn’t even recall an introduction. Since he’d started attending services at Jesus Is the Way Church, he had been busy fending off what seemed to be an endless stream of sisters vying for his attention. After the relationship he had just escaped, Garrett was not looking for any new entanglements. But now, from where he was sitting, that self-imposed edict seemed too severe.
Joining everyone else on their feet, Garrett gave the band a hearty applause. He chanced a glimpse down the table at his grandfather. A Cheshire grin stretched across the old man’s face beneath his trim gray mustache. Not many people impressed Moses Miller, but evidently this woman had.
Again, it wasn’t only her musical ability that was the showstopper. Under the spotlight, her thick curls had bounced with each sway and dip. The richness of her dark skin reminded Garrett of his own. She was dark and lovely, like a goddess from Greek mythology.
But her assets didn’t stop there. Even in a modest top and dark skirt, her allure could not be dulled. And despite the heels that supported her shapely legs, she moved with ease, despite gripping her ten-plus-pound sax.
If Garrett didn’t force his eyes away, he would be drooling any minute. That was not good, for too many reasons. Lusting after a woman could cause a man to lose his morals and common sense. That had already happened. The scandal with Brittani had driven him from his homeland like Joseph in Genesis 39. But fleeing had been God’s idea, and after his initial reluctance, Garrett had seen it for the opportunity it was and had run with it.
Garrett’s heart had been like the heroes in the Bible that didn’t yield. Joseph submitted to the Lord and resisted the devil’s temptation from his queen’s advancements. It was the other way around in the New Testament, where the devil fled if saints stood their ground as mentioned in James 4:7. So why hadn’t that Scripture worked in this present situation?
He sighed heavily. Sound judgment and wisdom had been compromised after the demise of his last relationship. What really threw him for a loop was when some of the elderly church folks tried to convince him that marriage would clean up the mess. Had they lost their mind? The damage had already been done and he was walking away.
Garrett shook his head. This is not the time or the place. He was in Boston for a few days to celebrate bliss, not to dredge up past hurts and personal bitterness. He snapped out of it just in time. He was up next on the program with his nephew. Because of his on-again, off-again shyness, his nephew, Jamal, had asked Garrett to help serenade his great-grandparents. Grabbing his own tenor saxophone, Garrett escorted the boy to the front.
His eyes strayed to the saxophonist, but she barely acknowledged him, so he addressed the honorees. “Grandpa and Grandmother, throughout your marriage, you both have demonstrated a boundless love, an amazing ability to forgive, and a strong determination to walk with God. I pray that God will bless you with at least thirty more years of marriage.”
He lifted his instrument and played as Jamal did his rendition of “You’re My Hero” on the congas. The boy was impressive, and the audience agreed, judging by their thunderous applause.
Up next was his cousin Landon Thomas, who slid behind the keyboard, but not without first trying to get the saxophonist’s attention—to no avail. At least Garrett wasn’t the only guy she ignored.
All seventeen great-grandchildren were out of their seats for the next selection, dancing and singing the words to an old-time gospel favorite of his grandmother.
Midway through the song, Garrett strolled to the sexy saxop
honist and looked her in the eye. Up close, she was even more beautiful, glowing and almost bewitching. And she wasn’t wearing a ring. Why did I go there? “Play with me,” he whispered.
Without hesitation, she reached for her instrument and stood. For fun, Garrett decided to challenge her musically, but she turned the tables on him, teasing him unmercifully with her performance. He could feel himself perspiring, and it had nothing to do with the lights or the energy required to blow his horn.
Together they held the last note to the max, as if testing each other to see who would surrender first. Garrett lost, gulping for air, and bowed to acknowledge her superior expertise. He grinned, knowing that the joke was on him, as the guests cheered the “battle of the sexes” on the saxes. To his amazement, the woman didn’t gloat. With only a slight nod, she turned and started to return to her seat.
But Garrett closed the distance between them and escorted her. “Thank you, Sister…uh…. I’m embarrassed that I don’t know your name.”
The cute trumpet player, sitting nearby, seemed more than pleased to answer, “She’s Counselor Sharmaine Carmen, or Sister Shari.”
Shari glared at the woman. “I can talk, Faith.”
Faith grinned. “You were taking too long.”
Garrett chuckled at their exchange as he stored away the information—Sharmaine, attorney, single, gorgeous, talented musician. As a child, he’d loved jumbo puzzles, and now, as an adult, the more complex the hundreds of pieces were, the better the challenge. His sudden attraction to Shari was definitely complex, and contrary to the bottom line that he wasn’t interested in another relationship for years to come. The challenge was to make himself believe it.
“What a beautiful name,” he said, realizing he was practically cooing. “Hope you didn’t mind being put on the spot.” Quit flirting. His head needed recalibrating.
