by Pat Simmons
After unlocking his car, he slid behind the wheel and started his engine to kill time, watching Monica gathered her things. Her air of confidence was back in place as a burst of wind propelled toward the door.
The last twenty-four hours had been frightening and enlightening. Although he promised not to fire her because of the episode, he still feared she might cave under pressure without a doctor’s examination and medication.
You promised, a whisper tickled his ear.
Yeah, I know. He gritted his teeth, wondering if her attacks were limited to the road. Would they overtake her in an elevator, or in a room full of people, or even while giving a company presentation to a prospective client? Those scenarios concerned him.
He still needed to keep an eye on her, but now, his heart was invested in her. And the evidence of that was waiting inside for her. However, if there were a next time on his watch, he would take her to the ER himself—no buts.
Bring her to Me, God spoke and Tyson trembled.
And how was he supposed to do that? When God didn’t answer, he racked his brain. The only person who came to mind was Solae.
#
After waving at Jennifer and Dennis, Monica made a beeline for her corner cubicle. She almost stumbled at what was on her desk. Her Valentine’s flowers were clinging to life, but there was a new delivery. Now things were getting creepy. Had she unknowingly entered into some “win flowers for a year” contest or was she dealing with a stalker?
They had the same florist logo as the other delivery. Hesitation replaced the eagerness she experienced from receiving the roses.
After taking a deep breath and slowly exhaling, she drummed her fingers on the desk, debating how badly she wanted to know the sender. She counted, but didn’t make it past three before releasing beautiful red amaryllises from their bondage. “Wow.”
Hearing Solae’s voice, Monica cranked her neck out of her cubicle to see her coworker talking, possibly through her Bluetooth. Back to the flowers, she reached for the envelope and slipped out the card.
The card read: You’re fearless. What kind of cryptic message was that? Frowning, she tapped into her mind for possible meanings. It definitely wasn’t romantic, simply a morale booster. Who would have known she needed a pick-me-up—Veronica or…Tyson? What about the first delivery? She and Veronica didn’t send each other flowers and she and Tyson were barely cordial around Valentine’s Day.
After pushing back from her desk, she walked down the hall and knocked on Tyson’s door, waited, then peeped her head through the opening. On the phone, he glanced up and gave her a welcoming smile before waving her in. He covered the phone with his hand and mouthed, “Give me a minute,” before tilting his head for her to take a seat.
She did, admiring this confident black man work his business. Monica imagined him on a magazine spread, highlighting the quintessential CEO. The man knew how to speak, act, and dress the part. His colorful ties caught her eye. She hadn’t seen him wear the same one twice. She liked his fashion statement.
Forcing her eyes away, she scanned his office. Her visits there had been limited to quick questions only when an email would have been too lengthy. She relaxed and took in the warm colors of blues and browns. One wall had white built-in shelves that housed more than books—artwork, framed certificates, awards of accomplishments, and numerous article write-ups. Next to his college graduation photo was that of a football team.
She smirked and glanced back at Tyson who was watching her. Ever since last night, his eyes seemed to twinkle whenever she caught him staring. As if to prove her assessment, he winked as he disconnected the call. Her heart skipped a couple of beats. She wanted to scream, stop doing that, but she happened to like the warm-and-fuzzy feeling the gesture triggered.
Linking his fingers together, he graced her with a grin she doubted any man could duplicate. “May I help you, Miss Wyatt?” he teased.
“If you sent me flowers—thank you, if not, I have a stalker and I need security detail at the office.”
Tyson chuckled and rocked back in his chair. “Consider me your security detail…and yes, I sent the flowers.” He stared. “You are fearless, remember that. You’ve got this, whatever this is.”
She blinked, then choked out, “That means a lot coming from you, but I noticed they came from the same florist as the post-Valentine’s Day flowers. You know anything about them?” She lifted an eyebrow, mimicking a stern disciplinarian.
Was he acting bashful? “Guilty.”
Not expecting that answer, Monica sat speechless. Finally, she stuttered, “Why? You barely liked me!” Or me you—but this wasn’t about her attitude, he started it.
“Let’s just say it was my peace offering before the truce.” He grinned again.
Woooo. She wasn’t mad, but embarrassed. “And you caught me doting on the flowers and thinking I had a secret admirer.” They chuckled together, then she lowered her voice. “The flowers are beautiful, but no more, please. It could make for some uncomfortable conversations with the others.”
He picked up a pen and toyed with it. “Do I make you uncomfortable?” he asked, giving her his undivided attention. The eagerness on his face let her know her answer mattered.
“Not anymore,” she responded softly and stood to leave. “Thank you for everything—the job, the flowers, and your kindness.”
Back in her cubicle, she flopped in her chair. This time when she sniffed her old and new flowers, Tyson’s handsome face came into view.
Solae’s appearance at Monica’s desk startled her. Her friend snickered as she folded her arms. “Back-to-back deliveries…hmmm. Your secret admirer again?”
“Yep.” She shooed Solae away. This was one secret Monica planned to keep.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
As soon as Monica strutted out of his office, Tyson went in search of Solae and snagged her exiting the ladies’ room. “Okay, I’m ready to listen.”
Startled, she gave him a side look. “About what?”
“Monica.” He did a quick head check and lowered his voice. “What can I do to help her with the attacks?”
“Why?” She straightened her body as if gearing for marching orders. “Did something happen?”
If Solae didn’t know about the episode, she wasn’t going to hear it from him. “You tell me. She’s your friend, but she has been on my mind—” and heart, “lately.”
She collapsed against the wall. A slow grin crossed her face as she folded her arms. “Did you know she got more flowers today? Somebody likes her,” she said in a sing-song tone as she walked away, not answering Tyson’s question.
“Hey,” he called after her. “What can I do?”
“Church service starts at eleven o’clock. I’ll text you the address. See you Sunday, boss.” She giggled and continued on her way.
Monica had stayed at her desk most of the day, so Tyson hadn’t seen her leave. He resisted the temptation to drive-by her condo to see if her car was there. That would have classified as stalking. Instead, he and Reggie hung out Friday night at a bar with some friends.
Saturday, his urge to check on her hadn’t subsided, but he stuck to his weekly routine of visiting with his parents. While eating his mother’s smothered pork chops and greens, he chatted about the black hair ad campaign. Once he finished, he joined his father to watch a college basketball game.
Hours later, as he put on his coat to leave, his mother badgered him about going to church. This time he was ready with a response sure to shock her. “A friend from work invited me, so I decided I would check it out.” After cataloguing the expression on his mother’s face, Tyson laughed.
“Praise the Lord!” His mother rested a hand over her heart and closed her eyes.
Gail walked through the door and frowned at their mother in a meditating stance. “What’s going on?”
Before he could answer, his mother snapped out of the trance and relayed what Tyson had said.
Grinning, Gail blocked his exit. “Are you
and Miss Wyatt friends now?”
You have no idea. “Yep.”
“Could you be attending the same church with her?” she continued her interrogation.
“How would I know?” he asked, but hoped so. If Solae was working on Monica as she had been working on him, there was a possibility. “I’ll be a guest of Solae and her family.”
She snapped her fingers. “Oh well. We’ll get to that altar sooner or later.”
“I’m okay with later.” He kissed his mother’s cheek and left.
Sunday morning, Tyson woke up early for service. The things he was doing for Monica. Witnessing her distress really put the fear of the devil in him. No woman had gotten him to church, besides his mother when there was some type of special event like “Family and Friends Day,” or other gatherings she spearheaded. Somehow, Earline Graham accepted his excuses about football to dodge her other invitations or summons.
I don’t.
Tyson froze. He didn’t imagine the voice. He remained still as if he was listening for a burglar, but the only sound he heard was his furnace kicking in. It was a good thing he was going today.
In his SUV, his navigation system guided him to Rapture Ready Church, twenty minutes away. The name reminded him of instant foods, and ready to consume. Tyson hoped God wouldn’t throw him into a fiery furnace for his no-shows.
He crossed the sizable parking lot to the entrance. He half-expected to see Solae waiting in the lobby. Instead, an usher greeted him.
“I’m a guest of the Kavanaughs. Would you happen to know where that family is sitting?”
“Of course,” the male usher responded in a tone indicating he knew everybody and where they sat, or maybe Solae told him she was expecting her boss.
Tyson trailed the man through a set of double doors. The sanctuary wasn’t as big as the parking lot, but the pews had few pockets of space. Marching down the aisle, the usher stopped and pointed his gloved hand, cueing Hershel to glance over his shoulder.
The usher dismissed himself as Solae’s husband stood and shook Tyson’s hand, then scooted down to make room.
He noted the singing was inspiring and the announcements brief. After welcoming visitors, Pastor Reed instructed the congregation to turn to Luke, chapter eight. “This is a book of parables, but when Jesus heals somebody, it’s a testimony. In verses forty-three through forty-eight, a woman suffered with a condition that couldn’t be explained. For twelve years, doctors could do nothing to stop her flow of blood. That’s a long time for disappointment. Just because man doesn’t have the answers, doesn’t mean there isn’t a solution. Sometimes, God is waiting on us to come to Him…”
Monica needs to hear this message! Tyson thought.
“The woman’s blood issue was her storm. What are you trying to weather today? Man can predict rain and heat, but sometimes…” he lifted his finger, “…storms aren’t in the forecast and they sneak up on us. If we’re not prayed up, the storms will beat us down. We don’t have to live in torment. Come to the Lord and let Him heal you—physically or mentally.”
The pastor paused and scanned the audience as if he was searching…Tyson was convinced for Monica.
“Isaiah 55:11 says, ‘My Word that goes forth out of My mouth shall not return unto Me void, but accomplish that which I please, and it shall prosper in the thing whereto I sent it.’” Pastor Reed seemed to fire up the crowd with that scripture.
Soon the preacher closed his Bible. “This is your day to come to God at the altar with your issues. Don’t go back home the same way you came in. Impress God with your faith and bring your worries to Him. Do it today.” He lifted his hands and everyone stood, including Tyson.
Didn’t God tell him to bring Monica to Him? But she wasn’t there, so Tyson made up his mind to fill in the gap for her.
One of the many ministers waiting at the altar greeted him with a handshake. “Welcome, brother, what do you want from the Lord today?”
“I’m here on behalf of someone who is struggling. If you can pray for Monica...”
“We can do that, but what about you? Before you can help your friend breathe through her issues, you first have to slip on your own oxygen mask as flight attendants instruct passengers. Let’s take care of your needs first.”
Needs? He didn’t have any. He came for Monica. The man wasn’t hearing him. “I’m not the one who’s sick. Monica needs help—”
“Maybe you’re not physically, but unless you’ve repented, been washed in Jesus’s cleansing blood, and filled with His Holy Ghost, then you’re spiritually sick. That’s why Jesus died on the cross.”
Tyson sighed and was about to return to his seat when the man gripped his hand, bowed his head, and prayed. Finally, he was getting the prayer for Monica.
“Father, in the name of Jesus, I ask that You bless this brother’s good intentions. Jesus, You know what they both need from You. Whatever is keeping them from coming to You, remove the obstacles, give them a mind to repent and receive the fullness of Your salvation and the rest will come in Jesus’s name. Amen.” He released Tyson’s hand and smiled.
“You had to put me in there, didn’t you?”
“Of course,” the minister said.
After the offering and benediction, Tyson said his goodbyes to Solae’s family, hoping that wherever Monica was this morning, the prayer had kicked in.
#
Monica and Veronica mingled with the crowd at the African American Women’s Tea Sunday brunch and fashion show. Although it was an annual fundraiser for various high school scholarship funds, this was their first time attending.
“Girl, do you know how many New Year’s resolutions we’ve kept besides this one?” Monica asked as she admired the balloon decorations throughout the room.
Veronica shrugged, then began to count on her fingers. “Let’s see, there were five and we were supposed to give each a try at least for two months.”
“Nope, six. This counts toward our ‘going to social gatherings.’” They secured seats at a random table and removed their coats; the two headed toward the buffet table.
She eyed Veronica’s small plate piled with more pastry than fruit. She nudged her friend. “Number one, we were supposed to eat healthier.”
“Not today, sister.” Veronica gave her a murderous scowl. “The healthy part is restricted to five days. Weekends don’t count.”
“There’s enough food for you on the table, so don’t bite my head off too.” Her friend was the one who suggested adding diet and exercise on their list, whining about the twenty pounds she had gained last year, blaming it on worrying about Alexander’s well-being while serving his country.
Without saying another word, Monica grabbed two muffins from the mountain of treats. She added more fruit than cheese to complete her selection.
Veronica backtracked to the meats. “Besides, our hair is healthy. We’ve been rocking our natural ’dos since December and I’m thinking I may keep this resolution. There is no going back to chemicals for a while,” she stated, adding an extra slice of bacon to her stack.
Monica agreed with her on that one. Her fine shoulder-length hair appeared fuller and thicker in its natural state. She disagreed with the food ideology and closed her eyes to the temptation. Of all the meals, she enjoyed breakfast too, but would forgo the meats in favor of the carbs from the oversized muffins.
Neither of them were petite; but they weren’t plus size either. Veronica’s pounds went to her shapely hips, which she overemphasized in a sway passing a table of seemingly interested male guests.
When they made it back to their table, the other occupants were four ladies. Too bad. Another one of their resolutions was double dating, which Veronica used to try to convince herself she was over Alexander and ready to move on.
They each blessed their food and dug in. Monica took a sip from her water glass. “So is double dating still on the list?” She smirked.
“Nah,” Veronica said after a couple of bites of bacon. “Not on the l
ist. My heart hasn’t been in that resolution. You’re on your own, sister.”
“Hmmm-mmm.” She lifted an eyebrow. “I wish you and my brother would kiss and make up instead of all this breaking up.”
The two were in denial. They had been childhood sweethearts, but both felt they had outgrown each other. When they dated other people, each complained something was missing.
Would the onset of the anxiety attacks keep her away from a special someone? An episode almost cost her a job and compromised her driving. If a man wasn’t already invested in her, he would label her crazy even if she weren’t hearing voices.
Tyson’s face flashed before her eyes, but she blinked him away. Although she felt a connection with him, she wondered if he felt it too, or if it was her imagination. She wasn’t going there. Not only was he her boss, he knew her weakness.
Solae said Monica needed to pray, and she had. She nudged Veronica. “What about reconnecting with church? You stood me up on the first Sunday.”
After swallowing a mouthful of bacon, Veronica nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s make that happen after our shopping spree to Chi-town next weekend. You said that Black Firefighters Ball your company is attending is formal and we have to make an entrance.”
“Too bad you’re not into the double dating resolution anymore, because my coworker Solae practically guaranteed there’s more handsome hunk firefighters to be had at the ball. And I have to say her husband is fine.” Monica fanned her face. “Whew. Hot fine.” She giggled, teasing her friend.
“Hmm. I may have to reactivate that resolution.” They laughed as the program got underway with handsome male models gracing the runway.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Monday morning, Monica decided her Valentine’s flowers had run their course, so she carried them to the kitchen to dump them and rinse out the vase before she started her day.
