Falling Into Grace

by Michelle Stimpson

  “Cat!” Camille screamed as she watched him amble down the staircase and across the parking lot before he disappeared under an SUV. “Cat! Come back here!” Then she saw the problem. Another cat, which led the way across the courtyard and into a set of bushes.

  Cat had a friend. A friend with benefits, which would explain why he’d been clawing at the windows and acting like he was running things. Mmm-mmm. It was time for Cat to get fixed, ’cause all this running out the door chasing female cats in heat was not going to work.

  She stood on her balcony for a few minutes. Should she wait until he ... finished his business? What if a dog found Cat? Or a mean serial killer in training? What if he got run over by a car? Cat might instinctively know what to do with another feline, but he had absolutely no experience with humans or vehicles.

  “Cat! That’s enough!”

  When did he get like this anyway? He was too little to be mating, wasn’t he? That other cat was grown. What if she didn’t like Cat snooping around? What if another male cat beat Cat up?

  All thoughts of church slipped Camille’s mind as she followed the trail to the bushes, hoping Cat would be finished by the time she reached him. But when she approached the spot where she thought they’d be, they were gone. She glimpsed the tip of Cat’s tail in a water draining hole.

  “Cat! Why are you doing this?”

  She didn’t bother to answer the question for herself. She knew why. But why now? Of all the hundreds of times she must have walked out the door, he chose the one morning she was about to return to church to run off and act uncivilized.

  Immediately, the tail disappeared. Camille got down on hands and knees, peering into the opening between the street and sidewalk curb.

  “Oogh!” Camille shrieked in frustration, beating the ground with her hand. That’s when her phone slipped out her pocket and landed within centimeters of the drain. Without considering the momentum of the device, Camille reached for the phone. In her haste, she managed to shove it over the edge and into the underground abyss. “Aaah!”

  Fearlessly, she extended her hand into the unknown and felt a slickness she wasn’t even sure she wanted to identify. A four-letter word as intense as the horror of losing a cell phone in such an absurd manner escaped her lips. “Lord, forgive me,” soon followed. He must have forgiven her a hundred times now since she walked out of the jailhouse. And that was just for the stuff she remembered to ask pardon for.

  The phone was gone. Courtney’s number, gone. Bobby Junior had it, surely, but come to think of it, she didn’t even know Bobby Junior’s number by heart. Mohawk Street. He’d said the woman attended a little church there. Not far from her apartment. She’d have to run by there as soon as she was dismissed from Grace Chapel.

  A few months ago, she wouldn’t have dreamed of risking her knees, let alone her phone, to chase down this cat. Cat gone, off in the free world, doing catly things with his cat buddies, would have been a dream come true. Now ... now he was hers. He had a bowl and a nice spot under the bed. Had his own kitty litter box, for crying out loud. Why leave at this point, after she’d invested all this money and they’d been through all this mess together?

  Camille stood, but her shoulders slumped with her next thought. What if Cat never comes back? Some people might find him, take him in. He probably wouldn’t even miss her.

  She was tempted to go back to the apartment and drown her sorrows in television while waiting for Bobby Junior’s church to dismiss. Maybe she should try getting in touch with Sheryl. She would know what to do. And even though their parting hadn’t been friendly, Sheryl would do anything for an animal.

  Against all pride, Camille scuttled to the 7-Eleven, asked the attendant for a phone book. At first, he looked at her like she was crazy. Then she looked behind the counter and saw the subject of her question. Poor boy didn’t even know what the white pages were. Camille looked up Sheryl’s number and jotted it down, certain that there weren’t many Sheryl Finkowichs listed. She grabbed a quarter from her coin bag and made the most unsanitary call she’d made in a long time. Public pay phones should have been banned a long time ago.

  This time, the emotion in her voice came from within her chest rather than feigned from her throat. “Sheryl, I’m sorry to call you but my cat ran away. What do I do?”

  “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh. Where did he go?”

  “He chased another cat.”

  “A female cat?”

  “I guess,” Camille wondered. “Maybe she was in heat?”

  “Has he been acting weird? Trying to get out of the house?”

  “Yeah. He’s been scratching at the windows.”

  “You’re right. The female cat was probably in heat. He got a whiff of her and had to chase her down. Don’t worry. I mean, you can worry because of traffic, but you’re in an apartment complex. They’ll probably just go do their business and he’ll be back in a while.

  “But you’ve got to get him fixed or else he’s going to drive you crazy. Has he sprayed your furniture yet?”

  Camille guessed, “No. I don’t think so.”

  “Oh, if he did, you would know. No human can stand the smell of a cat marking his territory while he waits for a female cat to mate with. Get him neutered before he starts spraying, or you’re gonna be in huge trouble.

  “Don’t you know this stuff already?” Sheryl questioned.

  “No. I don’t.”

  “Hmmm. Fluffy must have been fixed when you got her.”

  “I never actually owned Fluffy,” Camille said.

  “Well,” Sheryl slipped on her empathetic tone, “I guess you’re right in a sense. God only lends us our pets for a little while.”

  Never mind. “Thanks, Sheryl.”

  “Anytime.”

  With Sheryl’s assurance that Cat would most likely return when he was good and ready, Camille drove on to church. Courtney’s call, too, still frazzled her nerves. What did he want? Bobby Junior had said there was good news. She should have pushed her father until he spilled the beans. If she didn’t get hold of Courtney immediately after church, she’d get Bobby Junior to talk.

  The main lot was packed, so Camille had to file in with the overflow and take a five-minute hike to the sanctuary with the rest of the stragglers. Most of them had kids and babies. They had some kind of excuse for being late. All Camille had was a cat who might not even come back.

  Ushers pointed her in the direction of the balcony, but Camille snuck off down a different hallway. If she sat where they were telling her to sit, she was sure to run into a smorgasbord of off-week choir folk. They always sat near the front on the left side so they could stand up and support whoever was singing.

  She peeked down the right hallway. The coast was clear. No ushers watching. Camille dashed down the hallway. As she neared the less-used entrance, one of the classroom doors swung open, nearly bopping her in the face. “Woo!”

  “Hey! You’re back. Girl, get in your choir robe,” Mercedes ordered. “We’re singing your song.”

  “What song?”

  “The one Ronald rehearsed last month—‘All Things New.’ Remember?”

  Of course she remembered. She and Ronald had practiced it only once, but it was a simple, pure praise. Totally beside the point. “No, I’m not singing this week. I haven’t been here in forever.”

  “Camille, get over yourself. We want you back. Ronald texted you this morning. Didn’t you get it?”

  “No. My cat got out and my phone slipped into a drain hole.”

  Mercedes frowned. “Ewww. That’s nasty. I hope you didn’t retrieve it.”

  “I couldn’t.”

  “Good. So go get your robe on.”

  “Mercedes, I feel—”

  “Haven’t you learned anything in all this mumbo-jumbo you’ve gone through? It’s not about you, Camille. It’s about Jesus. Do what will bring Him the most glory. And hurry up, they’re about to pass the buckets.”

  Mercedes gently shoved Camille in the direction
of the choir room. They want me back? Who’s they? Mercedes and Ronald or Mercedes and the choir? While she slid the robe in place and snapped the bib with the church’s initials into place, Camille warmed up her cords. “La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la.” The notes soothed more than just her diaphragm. She was about to sing. In church. With Ronald.

  She was home again.

  Mercedes appeared from nowhere and yanked Camille from the choir room and directly onto the center platform. The band had already played the introduction. One of the media ministry workers thrust a microphone in Camille’s hand.

  “You make all things new,” Ronald sang. “You make all things new.”

  Camille joined in, “By Your grace and Your mercy, You make all things new.”

  The choir repeated Camille’s line. Camille and Ronald’s voices then mingled, yielding a sweet spirit of peace and surrender in the sanctuary. The congregation picked the song up, sang it with conviction as Camille added her own personal thank you.

  She raised her hands toward heaven as tears trailed in the opposite direction.

  She was home, indeed.

  Unintentionally, Camille caught Ronald’s eyes and sang the final couplet, hoping he would get some sense of how sorry she was about everything, how much the words to this song meant to her now. “When I gave my life to You, You made all things new.”

  “When I give my life, when I give my life,” he improvised, returning Camille’s heartfelt gaze.

  Together, they reconciled in song. “When I gave my life to You, You made all things new.”

  CHAPTER 35

  Back in the choir room, choir members drowned Camille in hugs, questions, and warnings. “Don’t get ghost on us like that again, you hear?”

  Their love for her nearly caused her second public meltdown of the day.

  Mercedes must have sensed Camille’s emotions overflowing. “Y’all give her some room.” She swatted them away, and the girls exited. Mercedes grabbed Camille’s arms. “Okay. I’m going to leave you two alone now.” She winked and nodded her head toward Ronald.

  Camille looked to her left and saw Ronald standing at the doorway. He must have been the reason the room cleared so suddenly. These people were conspirators for love ... or at least for a good romance story.

  Finally, they were face-to-face. “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.”

  She waited, unsure if he was sorry that she was sorry, or if he was sorry for something he’d done, whatever that could be.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you,” he explained. “You were in jail and I was like whatever. I wouldn’t have treated any other choir member or brother or sister in Christ that way, and I certainly shouldn’t have done it to you. Especially considering your condition.”

  “My condition?”

  “Your heart condition.”

  Snap! She’d forgotten all about that lie. “Oh, yeah, about that. I don’t have a pacemaker. That lump you felt was actually the digital recorder I used to record our song. Sorry.”

  “Okaaay. Is there anything else you need to reveal?”

  “No. No more lies.”

  “Good. I don’t want to have to lug a polygraph machine around everywhere we go.”

  Her stomach twitched. This was good. He planned to spend time with her in the future. “Ronald, I can’t begin to tell you how awful I feel about what happened. I mean, I couldn’t even come to church without thinking about—”

  “Mercedes told me.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah.”

  Camille huffed. “I wanted to tell you myself.”

  “Well, she wasn’t the only One who beat you to the punch. I knew it. Inside.”

  “There’s something else I want to tell you. Something Mercedes couldn’t and the Holy Spirit probably didn’t.

  “Ronald, being around you has changed me. You make me think about what God would want and what the Bible says before I make decisions. You make me question everything I thought I believed, reevaluate what I thought was important. I mean, I know God was working through the pastor and even Brittney and the rest of the girls. But you ... you made this walk real to me. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He laughed. “I have to admit, though, you’re not the only one benefitting from our ... friendship, relationship, whatever you want to call it—”

  “I want to call it a relationship,” she staked her claim.

  A full smile ripped across his face. Those gorgeous teeth peeked out.. “Okay. This relationship brought joy back into my life. Taught me that God is not only righteous and true and sovereign, but He’s also compassionate. Merciful. And He never gives up on us. That’s what I see in you.

  “Aside from the fact that your face is almost one hundred percent symmetrical.”

  “What?”

  “And beautiful.”

  Pop-pop-pop!

  “We’d better get out of here”—he chuckled—“before we start kissing.”

  They finished what they’d started about two blocks from the church at a stoplight. The van behind them honked and the driver yelled, “Get a room!”

  Camille yelled back, “Sorry!” She drove them back to her side of town, trying to remember exactly where this street was.

  “What was it again, babe?” Ronald asked again while consumed with his phone.

  “Mohawk,” she repeated. “You looking it up?”

  “No. I’m texting Brittney to make sure she made it home. Telling her I’m out.”

  “She’s home alone again these days?”

  “Yep, but I never tell her how long I’ll be gone so she should expect me when she least expects me.”

  He slid the mini-keyboard back in place and began reading off the street names as she passed them. “Seahawk ... Blackhawk. . . Redhawk. Somebody downtown must have been smokin’ somethin’ when they came up with these street names! There it is. Mohawk.”

  Camille hooked a quick right, since there was no other way to turn. They cruised down the narrow residential roadway. Finally, as the street dead-ended, a makeshift steeple appeared. “Must be the church.”

  By the number of vehicles still parked along the curb, Camille figured they were still in service. She and Ronald grabbed their Bibles and approached the entrance. On the driveway, she asked, “You got twenty dollars?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “’Cause Bobby Junior’s probably gonna ask for it.”

  “Who’s Bobby Junior?”

  “My daddy.”

  “But ... this is my first time meeting him. Why is he going to ask me for twenty dollars?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. My Daddy is kinda throwed, all right? I’m only trying to prepare you.”

  “If you say so.”

  Ronald opened the door for her. The heat from the house-turned-sanctuary nearly pushed them right back outside, but Ronald gently placed his hand on the small of Camille’s back and whispered, “Go in. You know what they say, it’s gonna be hotter than this in hell.”

  “I ain’t goin’ to hell,” she whispered back, stifling a giggle. Ronald could sure bring back some good memories.

  The sanctuary itself consisted of what probably used to be a living room and a dining room, only the dining room wall had been torn down. Four rows of chairs flanked the main aisle. Camille spotted Bobby Junior on the front pew. He was sitting conspicuously close to a woman in a hot pink three-piece dress suit and a humongous matching hat.

  He nearly jumped out of his seat when he saw Camille, and waved at her like a child flagging down the ice cream man. The other twelve members of the audience smiled, but the lady in pink frowned and began talking to her father. Camille waved back, then sat down next to Ronald. The preacher must have been nearing the end of his sermon because the piano player had begun steering him in for the landing, which consisted of nothing more than age-old clichés he’d probably heard all his life.

  Suddenly, Miss Hot-Pink was up dancing, amen-ing, and sho-nuffin’ the preacher on
. Camille had to consciously make a decision not to judge the woman, especially knowing that she was shackin’ up with Bobby Junior. After all, Camille should know better than anybody the pain of acting one way and living another. And Bobby Junior was no great catch by any means. Grace and mercy. Grace and mercy. God’s not through with us yet.

  Bobby Junior stood up and announced his visitors just before the pastor dismissed. “Well, all right. Let’s give these young people a hand. We sure appreciate you coming by.”

  Applause and up-and-down stares from the congregation. After the benediction, Camille introduced Ronald to Bobby Junior. Then Bobby Junior introduced them both to Miss Beverly Deveraux. She’d probably been a New Orleans beauty back in her day, but now her face spoke of too many hours spent in the sun.

  “How y’all doin’?” She shook Camille’s hand vigorously. “Your daddy told me about your new singing career. I sure do hope you and your brother do well.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Camille said, glancing at her father.

  “Honey, I’ll meet you at the car,” Beverly told Bobby Junior. Ronald followed suit.

  “What’s this Courtney wants to talk to me about, anyway?”

  “Well, I wanted to let him tell you. Didn’t you call him back?”

  “No. My cat got out and I lost my phone while I was looking for him.”

  “You have a cat!”

  “Yes. It’s a long story. I didn’t want him, but now he’s mine and I’m keeping him.”

  Bobby Junior shook his head. “I raised you better than that.”

  “Daddy, it’s a cat, not a criminal record.”

  Still disturbed, Bobby Junior proceeded to answer her initial question. “It’s like this, Cami. Courtney and some of the girls did some songs together a few years back. They’re doing pretty good in London or somewhere.”

  “They’re singing without me?” Camille could hardly breathe.

  “Yeah, but a couple of ’em decided they wanted you back in. So they finally broke Courtney down and made him agree to let you back in. Now he’s got a deal to rerecord some of the Sweet Treats songs somewhere overseas.” No! No! No! She couldn’t sing those songs now. Not after the surrender and all. Bobby Junior flipped open his ancient cell phone. “Here. Let me call him for you.”