The Eleventh Commandment

by Lutishia Lovely

  “I just ran into the house from outside—trying to catch my breath.” Five seconds passed. Ten. Twenty. “Gabriel?”

  “You were outside?”

  Frieda knew the deal; Cordella had disobeyed her orders and again talked out of school. But just how much did Gabriel know? “Yes, I’m working in the office, but heard a weird sound out by the pool and went out to investigate. I didn’t see anything so . . . maybe it was a bird or something.” No back pat this time; the answer was lame at best.

  “What’s going on, Frieda?”

  “Why do you think something is going on? I told you what I was doing so what do you want?”

  “Never mind.”

  “Gabriel, wait!”

  But he didn’t. Dead air was Frieda’s confirmation that he’d ended the call. Frieda charged to the door.

  “Where are you going?” Clark asked.

  “To fire your mother.”

  He closed the distance between them in three strides. “Wait! What did she do?”

  “She needs to mind her own business, but keeps getting into mine!”

  “Come here, baby,” Clark said, once again enveloping Frieda in his long, strong arms. “Let me talk to her.” When she squirmed a bit he continued. “She needs this job, baby. My brother’s back home and you know my sister’s baby has been sick. . . . She’s their only support.”

  Frieda’s eyes narrowed as she gave Clark’s body—tall, lean, taut—the once-over. “Cordella has one more time to cross me, Clark,” she huffed, one lone finger in the air for emphasis. “One more time to get out of line and she is out the door.”

  Needless to say, the thrill was gone, so Clark left within minutes. But the moment would prove pivotal for everyone involved.

  Frieda decided that along with a DNA specialist she needed to shop for a new nanny/house manager.

  Cordella decided to begin collecting proof of what she believed were her employer’s infidelities.

  Clark decided it was time for Frieda to know who was really in control.

  And Gabriel decided it was time to spend less time with his patients, and more time with his wife.

  14

  Friends and Facebook

  Cy sat in his office, sipping a cup of green tea and staring at the computer screen. He’d had a restless night, due in no small part to the conversation he’d had yesterday. With Trisha. The fact that she hadn’t immediately answered his e-mail to her, the second one he’d sent the day after she’d decided to reconnect with him out of the blue, had left him thinking that he wouldn’t hear from her at all. But he had. Yesterday. She’d told him she’d been busy, had expressed her excitement that they’d reconnected, and ended the e-mail with her phone number. He’d had an appointment in Los Angeles and when he arrived at his LA office . . . he’d called her.

  “Trisha Underwood.”

  A long pause and then a question. “Who’s calling, please?”

  Cy smiled, realizing that the feisty skepticism that Trisha possessed had not diminished. “Trisha, it’s Cy.”

  “Cy! Oh my goodness!”

  I don’t remember your voice being so hoarse, but then again, it has been almost twenty years. “How are you, Trisha?”

  Again, a pause before answering. “I’m okay. Wow, after all these years of thinking about how you’ve been and where you are, I can’t believe I’m actually talking to you.”

  “I’ve thought about you too . . . over the years.”

  There was a palpable intensity to the moment, even though both struggled to sound casual and nonchalant. Later, both would learn that it was for very different reasons.

  “So, Cy Taylor, what have you been up to the last decade?”

  “Ha!”

  “I should add besides becoming a very successful businessman. That’s how Jeannetta tracked you down, you know.”

  “You can’t possibly mean Jeannetta Harris.”

  “The one and only.”

  Now it was Cy’s turn to pause as memories rushed in. Jeannetta Harris, the woman who’d lured him into her bed while he was dating Trisha. What he hadn’t known at the time was that Jeannetta was insanely jealous of Trisha and would do anything to dim the sunshine that seemed to follow Trisha around. Simply put, she set him up, and made sure that Trisha found out about it. To say she was hurt was an understatement. Trisha not only broke up with him, but during the remainder of their college years acted as though he was not alive. For years Cy had detested Jeannetta as the cause of the breakup with his first true love. Even after graduation he’d tried to obtain Trisha’s whereabouts, but her friend’s lips were tighter than Spanx on a fat chick. Finally he gave up and moved on.

  “Jeannetta?” he finally said. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “I ran into her a couple years ago. She’d found God and I guess as a result of that, was full of remorse about what she’d done. She asked for my forgiveness, and whether you and I had kept in touch with each other. When I told her no, she told me that she’d seen your name from time to time on various social media sites, namely LinkedIn, which I’d never joined. Lately, she saw you on Facebook and gave me your e-mail address.”

  Cy knew there was a reason he’d held out on joining the popular website. There were some people from his past with whom he’d rather not reconnect. Trisha was not one of them. Jeannetta was. “Wow, I don’t even know how to respond to that story. After the one and only time we were together, and after I found out her true motives, she and I were never even in the same room, much less talked to each other.”

  “Well, you may be surprised to know that she is living on five acres of rural land in North Carolina, married to a cattle rancher, and the mother of three rambunctious boys.”

  “I’m very surprised.”

  “I saw her at the ten-year reunion, but we didn’t talk. Then a couple years ago she looked me up on the classmate Web site, reached out, and I responded.”

  “Why?”

  “Beyond anything else, Jeannetta and I are not only sorors, but we’re human. She asked for my forgiveness, I gave it, and she felt that reconnecting us was a sort of restitution.”

  “I must say I was more than surprised to get your e-mail, but after all these years, it is truly a pleasure to talk with you again.” A comfortable silence ensued before Cy continued. “I notice you’re still using your maiden name, Trisha. Are you one of these new age women who maintain their independence even after marriage?” This time, there was no mistaking the pause. It lasted so long that Cy checked his connection. “Trisha?”

  “Nope, never married. No children.”

  Thinking of his wonderful wife and beautiful twins, Cy was immediately uncomfortable, and somewhat saddened. “Well, you always were a go-getter. I imagine you opted for the successful career.”

  “Not exactly.”

  Hmm. Cy wondered what he was supposed to do with that response.

  Turns out, he didn’t have to do anything with it. Trisha wasn’t finished. “I never stopped loving you, Cy.”

  The raw energy surrounding her honest answer caused Cy’s stomach to clench. “You can’t possibly be saying that your single status, all these years later, is because of me.”

  Trisha chuckled to try and lighten the moment. “I guess I was always trying to find someone to replace you. And no one ever did.” Cy had absolutely no answer for that, so he remained quiet. “I’d like to see you, Cy.”

  “I’d like to see you too,” Cy responded, with no hesitation. “I’m married with children and happily so, but I never forgot you, always wondered how you were doing and prayed that life had given you what you wanted. Has it?”

  “In a way. Seeing you would be a great booster.”

  “Then it’s settled. I’ve got business that will have me in and out of New York for the next few months. The next time I’m headed that way, I’ll let you know.”

  Cy hadn’t told Hope about this conversation. It wasn’t that he was trying to hide anything, but having had his share of expe
riences with women, he just felt that whatever was said to Hope regarding Trisha would be delivered on a need-to-know basis. Cy looked down at the one-sentence message he’d discovered upon opening his e-mails this morning.

  I need to see you, Cy. As soon as possible.

  The words were simple, but for whatever reason, Cy felt an urgency beneath them. He wanted to see Trisha, felt that he needed to see her. And when it came to his wife, his heartbeat, Hope Jones Taylor, this situation was now a definite need-to-know.

  15

  Assuming the Best

  “You were an early bird this morning.” Hope placed a glass of orange juice and two superfood pills in front of her husband, who was seated at the breakfast nook. It was seven-thirty in the morning, more than an hour since Cy had read Trisha’s latest e-mail, and mere minutes since Hope had washed her face, brushed her teeth, and come downstairs to prepare breakfast for her husband.

  “Yes. I didn’t want to wake you so instead of tossing and turning, I decided to just get up.”

  Hope’s hand hovered for just a moment above the French toast that she was about to flip. She took a breath, flipped the thick French bread awash in whipped eggs seasoned with sea salt, raw sugar, and cinnamon, and lowered the heat before she turned around to get a look at the reason for her breathing. “What’s on your mind, babe?”

  Cy finished drinking the orange juice Hope had given him. “I talked to Trisha yesterday.”

  “Oh?” The marital counseling sessions she’d had with First Lady Vivian Montgomery before her marriage, and the conversations they’d recently shared, caused her to absorb this news without so much as a flinch. Always assume the best about your husband. That’s what Vivian had told her. And that’s what she’d do. “How’d that come about?”

  “I responded to the e-mail she sent me and she responded with her phone number.”

  Hope lifted the French toast from the cast iron skillet that had been a wedding gift from her mother, added several links of organic veggie sausages, and walked the plate over to where Cy sat. “I remember you saying that you two were pretty serious in college,” she said, her voice light and airy as she placed a single piece of toast on her plate, along with a couple links of sausage. After getting the maple syrup from the microwave she joined her husband at the table and said, “I’m sure that that was an interesting conversation.”

  “It was.” Cy spread butter on his toast, added a liberal amount of syrup, and after slicing it into uniform cubes, took a bite. “This is delicious, baby.”

  Hope dressed her plate as well, but instead of reaching for her fork, picked up her orange juice and leaned back in the booth. “What did she say? Why is she contacting you after all these years?”

  Cy gave Hope the condensed version of his conversation with Trisha.

  “So she’s never married, has no children, and admits that she still loves you. I’m finding it hard to see the positive angle of her desire to reconnect.” She picked up her fork, cut off a generous piece of French toast, and enjoyed the bite. “Um, this is good.”

  “I’m baffled too, not only because it was Jeannetta who told her how to contact me, but because I thought this was all about the reunion. But now, I just don’t know.”

  “So what are you going to do, baby?”

  Cy devoured a sausage link. “She wants me to call her the next time I’m in New York.”

  “Where she lives, right?” Cy nodded. “And if I remember correctly, your next trip there is scheduled for shortly after the Fourth of July.”

  “The following week.”

  Hope took a couple more bites. “Are you going to meet with her?”

  “It depends on whether or not you have a problem with that.”

  Hope finished the food that was on her plate and downed the juice in her glass. “I guess a brief meeting in a public place, with no physical contact, for old time’s sake, would be okay.”

  “Dang, baby. I can’t hug a person I haven’t seen for years?”

  Hope thought for a moment. “I guess a very brief church hug would be okay.”

  Cy smiled. He knew what kind of hug Hope was talking about—where the upper bodies touched but the lower half was at least a foot apart.

  “I wouldn’t want to come off as a possessive, jealous female who doesn’t trust her man.”

  “I appreciate that, baby. Like I said, I’m curious about what she could want after all these years.”

  “Well,” Hope said dryly as she reached for his plate, then got up from the table and walked over to the sink, “with all the effort she’s put into finding you, I’m sure that she’ll tell you.”

  The rest of their conversation was aborted as Rosie brought down the twins, who enjoyed the French toast and sausage as much as their parents. Afterward, Cy left for LA and Hope spent a couple hours with the children before Rosie’s Spanish lessons and time at the park. After Yvette arrived and put Hope through a rigorous workout, Hope watched an episode of Conversations with Carla, a popular television talk show hosted by Sanctity of Sisterhood member and former first lady Carla Chapman. Then she placed phone calls to both her parents. Pat, who was still glowing following her return to Oklahoma after a long weekend in La Jolla, and Earl, who much to his daughter’s surprise and delight was touting the benefits of less meat and more leafy greens, a diet encouraged by his current wife. Just after she’d conferred with Rosie about the dinner preparations, she got a call from Vivian.

  “Hello, Hope. I don’t have much time, but I wanted to call and see if you’d had a chance to study the theme of the upcoming summit, and the scriptures I’d mentioned.”

  “Sure have. I Am. Who knew those two small words could mean so much? I researched some of the foundation scriptures and will look at the rest of them when we return from LA. I also have an idea for a praise dance, using a song by Rickie Byars called “In the Land of I Am.”

  Vivian instantly loved the idea, surprised that she herself hadn’t thought of it. Hope had been involved in praise dancing from her youth and when she relocated to Los Angeles, had added this component to KCCC’s worship arts. “Hmm, haven’t heard it,” she replied.

  “One of Cy’s associates turned him on to her work some time ago. She’s Reverend Michael Beckwith’s wife.”

  “Why does that name sound familiar?”

  “He’s the founder and pastor at Agape.”

  “Of course—the one who was in The Secret.”

  “Yes. His wife is a force to be reckoned with in her own right: minister, author, and amazing recording artist. They wrote this song together.”

  “I love the idea of a praise dance, Hope, and I’d like to hear it.”

  “It’s on my iPod. I’ll make sure and bring it when we come over.”

  “So you and Cy are coming for sure? That’s excellent.”

  “Yes, we’ll be there.”

  “Telling me about Rickie’s song reminds me of another song that came out years ago. It was on a CD produced by a ministry here in LA, Bam Crawford. The song is called “I Am the I Am.” Do you know it?”

  “No, I don’t think I’ve ever heard that.”

  “We’ll also give that one a listen when you come to town. I can’t wait to see you.”

  “I need, I mean, want to see you too.”

  “Okay, Hope. What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Something that I’d rather discuss in person. I could use your counsel.”

  “In that case, let’s carve out some time when you and I can chat.”

  “Sounds good. I miss being at KCCC every Sunday, Lady Viv. I’m looking forward to seeing you guys.”

  “And I look forward to seeing you as well.”

  After ending the call, Hope poured herself a glass of sparkling water and went out to the patio . . . her favorite place. She looked out over the Pacific Ocean, the beauty that surrounded a life that had exceeded her expectations. As she thought on the I Am, she counted many things that she was: happy, fulfilled, and madly in love bei
ng among them. And whatever it was that Trisha had on her mind, Hope didn’t plan on giving up any of the things for which she was thankful.

  16

  Bump the B. S.

  “Frieda!” Stacy walked into the private dining room of a Beverly Hills hotel, feeling more joy than she’d imagined she would at seeing an old friend. They met and hugged. “It’s been too long, girl. How are you?”

  “Girl, we need to order drinks before I answer that question,” Frieda quipped, sitting down and taking in Stacy’s picture-perfect outfit but telltale face. A tale that wasn’t picture perfect. “When did you guys get here?”

  “Flew in last night.” Stacy sat down. “So what’s going on, girl?”

  “We might as well wait for Hope so we don’t have to repeat the same stories twice.”

  “I’m surprised that I beat her, especially since I know they drove up from La Jolla last night, too. She’s usually the timely one.”

  “That was before she had two crumb snatchers to lug around. Speaking of, how is your Junior?”

  “Growing up too fast.” Stacy picked up the menu. “How is your Junior?”

  “Three going on thirteen. He loves preschool and is already reading.”

  “The kids these days come in on another level. DJ was reading by that time, too.”

  “It’s crazy how fast they learn . . . computers, video games. But life moves way faster than when we grew up. Kids these days have to be on top of their game.” Frieda took a sip of her cocktail. “What are you drinking?”

  “I’ll have what you’re having.”

  Stacy had just received her banana split martini when Hope came through the double doors. “It’s my girls!” Both Frieda and Stacy stood so that they could all get in good hugs. Hope sat down on one of the remaining empty seats. “Sorry I’m late. Had to get Rosie and the kids settled in the condo.”

  “Where’s Cy?”

  “Went over to Kingdom Citizens Christian Center to meet with Pastor Derrick.” Hope squeezed both of her friend’s forearms. “It’s been way too long since we’ve done this, all three of us together.”