She rolled her eyes and got out of his bed. “Whatever, man. You’re the one missing out.”
Isaac shook his head as he watched the praise leader at his church squeeze into her long conservative skirt. He thought Cassandra was different, but she was just like all the rest; trying to get in his pants. That thought almost made him burst out laughing. All his life he had been a sexual predator. But he was doing this thing for Jesus now. No room for compromise. Straight and narrow was the only walk his Lord would accept. He had slipped once. He vowed never to let it happen again.
“Denise said that you used to love for her to surprise you like this when you returned home.” Cassandra put on her shoes and continued pouting. “What’s wrong? You don’t think I’d be as good as Denise?”
“Just give me my key and get out.” She took his key off her key ring and threw it at him. Isaac sat on his bed, shoulders slumped, and allowed his heart to fill with shame as Cassandra slammed his door. How he’d gotten caught up again, Isaac didn’t know. It had been two years since that thing with Denise. After confusing Denise so bad that she still didn’t know it was wrong to fornicate, Isaac had sworn that he would never lie in bed with another woman that wasn’t his wife. Every time he thought about how he’d messed up Denise’s life, Isaac remembered Cynda Stevens.
For a time, Cynda’s beauty outweighed the defects of her personality. Isaac had used her to make Nina jealous. But that had been years ago. He’d also passed Cynda on to his old friend, Spoony, when he was done with her. The guilt of that still ate at him. Spoony had turned Cynda out.
Isaac looked to heaven. “I thought you cast sins into this great sea and stop thinking about them.” He sat in miserable silence as he waited on the Lord to soothe his soul. He was truly trying to change his life. He just didn’t know why he kept finding himself in the same place. After five years of being out of prison and working in the ministry, Isaac still had so much anger in his heart. Sometimes he thought that his short lived affair with Denise was the cause of his stunted spiritual growth.
Eyes still lifted heavenward, Isaac asked the Lord, “When will I stop paying for the mistakes I’ve made?”
The room was silent again, then Isaac heard the voice of God say to him, To whom much is given, much is required.
He fell back on his bed and sighed. “I’m sorry, Lord. I never meant to hurt you. I’ll get this thing right, if it’s the last thing I do.” He wanted to talk to his Lord a little while longer, plead his case. But his eyelids won the battle and sleep consumed his soul.
Dreams were much better than reality anyway, when Nina was the star of the show playing in his head, Isaac could sleep for days. She was wearing that hand-me-down blue jean dress that looked so good on her that she used to wear when she worked for him at his laundromat. She walked toward him smiling. No, she didn’t just walk. Baby-girl strutted with purpose. Confident of who she was and what she wanted. He always did like a woman who had her mind made up.
“It’s time, Isaac,” she told him with fire in her eyes.
He gave her an ‘I got you now smile’ as his dimples dipped into his chocolate coated face. “You ready for this?”
Her head bobbed.
He reached out for her, but it wasn’t Nina anymore. His mother was now in front of him. She was falling. Oh, God! He couldn’t catch her. Her head hit the table. The glass shattered and his sweet mother lay in a pool of blood.
“Nooooo!” Isaac bolted upright, panting, as sweat drizzled down his face. He ran his hands from his forehead to the back of his head.
Bam ... bam ... bam.
Before he could calm his nerves, Isaac realized that some lunatic was trying to knock his door down. The half moon that still clung to the sky told him that it was way too early for visitors. The sound would have normally irritated him and curled his fists. But right now, he was grateful for anything that would pull him out of bed.
He walked through his bedroom and the creak, creak, creak of his living room. The bamming stopped once he stepped in the living room. He’d never be able to sneak up on a burglar in this mug. Rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hands, he looked through the peephole then flung open the door. “Man, it’s five in the morning. What’s the emergency?”
Keith stepped in, clothes wrinkled—hair hadn’t seen a brush. “I’ve been trying to call you.”
Isaac plucked a fur ball out of Keith’s low-cut fade. “You must have been dialing the wrong number. I’ve been home since about two.”
Keith picked up Isaac’s phone and put the receiver to his ear. “No dial tone.”
“What do you mean there’s no dial tone?” He grabbed the phone to investigate. “Man, I know I paid this bill.
Keith raised his hands. “Calm down. Maybe something’s wrong with your line.” He walked away from Isaac. “Let me check the phone in your bedroom.”
Isaac looked to heaven. “This suffering for Christ stuff is getting old.”
“Here’s the problem,” Keith hollered from the bedroom. “You had the phone off the hook.”
Isaac clenched his fist. “Cassandra must have done that. I’m so tired of these Holy Ghost filled jigga boos. I’m gon have to get me a woman off the street. Maybe she’ll respect the fact that I’m trying to live saved.”
“Another one trying to give you the midnight special?”
Isaac shook his head. “I ain’t gon’lie, Keith. I almost took it.” Keith smiled, then his expression changed, like something was wrong. Real wrong. “What’s up, man? Why you stalking me at this hour?”
Putting the phone back on the receiver, Keith sucked in his breath. “Sit down, Isaac.”
“Just tell me what’s up.” Isaac got in his mac-daddy stance. “I can take it.”
“I’m not joking, Isaac. I really think you should sit down for this.”
Isaac folded his arms across his chest. “Look, I’m a man. I can take your news standing up.”
Keith opened his mouth, then closed it. He stood there contemplating his options. He shook his head. Sometimes there was just no reasoning with Isaac. “There’s been a shooting.”
Isaac unfolded his arms. “Someone at the church?”
Keith shook his head.
Isaac hunched his shoulders. “Don’t just stand there. Who got shot?”
Moisture creased the edges of Keith’s eyes. “I—Isaac, can y-you please sit down?”
“Just spit it out.”
“Someone drove by their house about one o’clock this morning. Nina must have been waiting up for Donavan. As soon as he stepped on the porch, she opened the door. The neighbors said she was yelling at him when the shooting started.”
Isaac’s knees buckled. “Are you trying to tell me that my family is dead?” Now his dream made sense. He’d seen Nina’s face before he saw his mother lying in a pool of blood.
The moisture escaped Keith’s eyes and ran down his cheeks. Isaac’s legs gave out and he fell to his knees. “The last I heard they were in surgery.”
“Oh God, not my family.” Isaac pulled at his shirt. Ripping it, just as his heart was being ripped.
Keith wiped his face with his shirtsleeve, then tried to pull Isaac up. Isaac yanked away from him. “Come on, man. Dayton is hours from here. We’ve got to get going.”
Isaac didn’t hear him. Couldn’t hear anything from the turmoil going on in his head. For as long as he’d known Nina, his life had been about loving her and their son. A decade plus, hadn’t changed that. Nina’s unwillingness to come back to him hadn’t changed that. And now some bullet was supposed to end the dreams he had for his family.
He looked toward heaven. “God, do what you want to me. I can take it. But not my family. Please don’t destroy my family like this.”
2
Six weeks earlier
The night air was cold and wet. Or was it hot and sticky? Nina Lewis rolled those thoughts around as her fingers tapped the keyboard. If anyone asked, she’d most likely admit that scene setting was the le
ast favorite part of her job. She loved the telling of a good story. Loved to send her readers on a rollercoaster ride from page one to three hundred. But setting the stage to tell the story always gave her pause.
She rested her palms on her forehead, trying to sort out the scene. Her stories dealt with real people, real issues. Like Ramona, the heroine of her third book, trying to decide whether to have an abortion or trust that God was able to see her through single parenting. Or, Johnson Smalls, the exhustler/hero in her first and second books, struggling to live for the Lord in an ungodly world.
Her characterslives, situations and circumstances were not always neatly packaged in a saved, sanctified, Holy Ghost filled, got-a-mind-to-run-on-and-see-what-the-end’s-gon’-be body. But this is what she knew: the struggle of life, and God’s great big ability to turn it all around for His glory. She was awed by the fact that He had chosen her to tell redemption’s story. She didn’t take this call on her life lightly. She prayed constantly, asking God for guidance. “What will this character do next? What’s this scene about, Lord?”
God’s guidance also gave her pause at times. Like now. Ramona had decided to keep the baby she was carrying. But she was struggling with the knowledge of the abortion she’d had a couple of years prior. Ramona wondered if God had forgiven her, or if she would still have to pay for the mistakes of her past.
God was speaking into Nina’s spirit. Telling her that He casts sins into the sea and decides not to remember them. Nina stood and paced the length of the room. “Oh, God, help me to believe it.”
This was Nina’s greatest sin against God. Murder. After eleven years of living for the Lord, she still hadn’t forgiven herself for the abortion she had as a teenager. So, how could she encourage her readers when she didn’t fully believe?
Her hands plowed through her short, layered hair. “Why do you have me on this subject, Lord?”
Even as she asked the question she knew. The Lord had given her the same gentle answer when she first asked the question. It’s time. Yes, Nina knew. The writing of this book was not just for her readers. This book would resurrect her demons. But could she slay them this time? Would she ever be free from this thing—this haunting?
If she didn’t have enough problems, Donavan had plum lost his mind again. But that was to be expected. Every time Isaac used the work of the ministry as an excuse to neglect his son, Donavan started tripping. This time he had outdone himself. He was staying out way past an eleven-year-old’s eight o’clock curfew. Hanging out with some older up-to-no-good thugs down at the neighborhood park. She’d caught him down there a couple of times and ran him home. His grades in school had gone from Bs and Cs to Ds and Fs. She’d gotten him a tutor and had shown up at the school unannounced to see what he was doing, since he obviously wasn’t doing his school work. Each time she sat in one of his classes, Donavan would come home promising to do better. He’d beg her not to sit in his class again—he was losing cool points with his homies. But Nina didn’t care about his cool points. Day by day she was losing her son, and she was determined to do something about it.
Up until six months ago, she had been working two jobs and writing in her spare time just to make ends meet. Then readers started spreading the word about her books. Bookstores started carrying more than just a few of her books at a time and church groups began ordering her books in bulk. Soon, she earned enough that she was able to quit both jobs and devote herself to Donavan and her writing career.
Nina had promised herself that as soon as her next royalty check came in, she would put her house up for sale and move her son into a better neighborhood.
That thought brought another problem to mind. Nina gnawed at her nail, agonizing over the fact that she and Donavan could be living in a much better neighborhood sooner, if she would just go on and plan her wedding.
She stood with fist clenched. “Oooh, if only Isaac hadn’t filled Donavan’s head with all his we are family crap.” She wouldn’t be so worried about telling Donavan that she was going to marry Charles Douglas III.
That’s right. Love had finally come her way. And it was in the form of a fine, six foot two assistant district attorney with political aspirations. A man with principles, and no felonies. Instead of rejoicing over Charles’s declaration of love, she had hidden his engagement ring in her jewelry box and asked him to be patient. How long did she expect him to wait? Was she crazy? Wasn’t this what she had been waiting for all her life?
Thirty-six, but didn’t look a day over twenty-seven. Thank you very much. Saved now eleven years. She had kept her vow to God, she wouldn’t have even considered fornicating. But she was tired of waiting. She wanted her husband—and excuse the bluntness—the rumpled sheets that came with him.
Someone knocked on the door. Nina jumped. “Get yourself together, girl.” She tugged and pulled at her sage green knit dress as she looked through the peephole. Charles was on her porch, peering at her, as she looked at him through the peephole. Nina smiled and stepped back, opening the door. His navy blue, I’m-a-businessman suit fit nicely on his three-nights-a-week-at-the-gym form. Being five foot three with heels on, Nina got a crick in her neck staring at such close proximity. But the man was so fine she didn’t care. She stood her ground and took in the black mustache against that satin, caramel skin. The shine on his bald head was more provocative than a saved woman should dwell on.
Nina stepped back. “I didn’t expect to see you this evening.”
“I couldn’t go home without bringing these to you.” He pulled his hand from behind his back and showed off two dozen lilies.
She grabbed the flowers and hugged them to her chest. Lilies were her favorite flower. Charles strutted through her living room as Nina smelled her beautiful flowers. Nina’s eyes moved from the lilies to study Charles. She couldn’t help it. He had the walk of a man who knew who he was, and didn’t care if the rest of the world ever figured it out. King Charles he would have been called, if he’d been born before they shackled and shipped us to the land of the free.
“Come sit over here with me, Nina.”
She smiled. He liked to run the show. She didn’t mind, much. She set her flowers on the dining room table and moved toward the love seat, where Charles sat, unbuttoning his jacket. “How was your day?” she asked, squeezing in next to him.
He sighed. “Things didn’t go so well today. The Feds finally brought in this hustler I’ve wanted to prosecute for years. His preliminary hearing was today. I thought I had him when the judge gave him a million dollar bond, but he was back on the street by the end of the day.”
Nina frowned. “Do you have enough evidence to get a verdict?”
“Without a doubt. That punk is into everything, but Jesus. The Feds have two hours worth of film showing Mickey Jones’s drug dealing and the rest of his felonious activities. The boy even video taped himself as he counted his money and sold the drugs.”
She rubbed his arm for support. “Well then, he may have won the battle, but you’ve got the war. Just leave it in God’s hands.”
He pulled her hand from his arm and covered it with both his hands. “That’s why I had to see you today. You know how to make me feel better.”
Smiling felt good. A long time coming was this man.
He patted and rubbed her hand. “I didn’t come over here to talk about that low-life.”
Nina flinched. Yeah, this Mickey Jones was a drug dealer, and maybe he should be put in jail, but did that mean he was too low for God to redeem?
“I know what you’re thinking, Nina. Yes, I’m sure that God can deliver him. But you don’t know everything he’s done. Scum like this guy should be sent straight to the devil.”
She kept silent.
He rubbed her finger; the one his ring should be on. She caught a glimpse of his dark eyes. Sad eyes. “I want to see it on your finger, Nina.”
She tried to pull her hand away. He pulled it back. “I know, Charles. Be patient with me.”
“How patient, b
aby?”
Nina opened her mouth to respond, but caught a glimpse of the door opening.
Before she could move, Donavan rushed in, accusing them. “What are you doing? Get your hands off my mother.”
Nina pulled her hand from Charles’s grip and stood. She saw the look of rejection on her fiancé’s face and wanted to kick herself. She’d done it again—chosen Donavan over Charles. If this man was to be her husband, how could she continue justifying her actions?
3
Isaac and Keith sat in their small office counting the church offering and reviewing bills. The irony made Isaac laugh.
He and Keith used to count money in the crack houses he’d littered throughout the city of Dayton. At that time, Isaac’s only concern was fattening his pockets. Money was power, and Isaac had more than his share of both.
“So what are you doing this weekend?” Keith asked while opening the last bill.
Isaac smiled. “Picking up Donavan. I had to cancel last weekend, so Nina agreed to switch off with me.” He glanced at the imitation gold plated watch on his wrist. It was three o’clock. He was supposed to be there by now. Nina was going to kill him.
Keith whistled.
“What’s up?” Isaac asked.
“Man, didn’t we already purchase all the lumber MacMillan needed?”
“Last month. Why?”
Keith handed Isaac the latest bill from MacMillan Construction. “Looks like we’re getting fleeced.”
Fleeced indeed, Isaac thought as he looked at the twenty thousand dollar bill for items that had already been bought and paid for. “This dude must think he’s dealing with some suckas.”
“Who is stupid enough to take the two of you for suckers?”
Isaac turned to greet Bishop Sumler as he strutted into their world. He had his priestly collar on with gray pin-striped pants and a jacket to match, with a black vest.
“Hey, Bishop,” Isaac said.
Latter Rain Page 2
