The Pastor's Husband
Page 5
CHAPTER 9
FELICIA
Something startles me and wakes me from my sleep. I open my eyes and for a moment I am disoriented and forget where I am. Then my eyes focus and I remember. Luxury villa. Puerto Rico. With Lance. It’s our three month anniversary present.
I glance to my right and notice what woke me up. Lance has gotten out of the bed and is texting or something on his phone. There’s a smile on his face, though, so it must be good to him, whatever he’s doing.
“What are you smiling about over there? I’m over here.” I purr softly, stretching my body sexily under the sheets.
Lance looks at me and his smile fades for a second. Then it returns. It’s a different smile though—a lusty one.
“A video of my son playing with a remote-control car,” he says.
“Aww, cute. I want to see.”
Lance locks his phone. I watch him put the code in. Then he walks over to the bed. He is completely naked and the sight of his sculpted body makes me lose all sense.
“Or . . . we could do something else,” he says as he slides under the sheets and cozies up to me.
“Where does Jasmine think you are?”
There is a long pause before he says anything.
“We said we weren’t going to talk about my wife, Felicia.”
“This isn’t really about her. I’m just curious.”
“I told her I was at a business meeting in Miami.”
“Miami?”
“Why do you care about what I said to her? You should just care about the fact that I’m here.”
“I am happy that we’re here together.”
“Good. No more conversation about my family then. It’s all about us right now.”
But it’s never all about us. His irritated tone when I bring up his family proves that much. Even when he’s with me, he’s always on his phone, chatting with his wife (I think) and his kid.
When we started this, he acted like we were going to be together for real. My suddenly blessing was going to unfold before my eyes. Now he’s backpedaling. He’s becoming an average man with an above-average capacity for playing games.
“You aren’t really leaving her, are you?”
“I never said that I was.”
This is the truth. He’s told me lots of things. You’re the best I’ve ever had. You make me forget all my problems. We sure would make some pretty babies. But he’s never said that he was leaving his wife. Not once.
I don’t know how I let myself get here again—to a place where I am the side chick hidden in the shadows. I thought when Nya Hampstead prayed over me, I was going to have something different happen with my life.
“You know I have love for you, right? I wouldn’t be here with you, putting my marriage on the line, if I didn’t care. This isn’t just sex for me.”
“It isn’t just sex for me either.”
I know what it is for me, but someone saying they “have love” for you isn’t the same as them saying “I love you.” I don’t even know what “I have love for you” means.
I flip the sheet back and slide out of the bed.
“Where are you going?”
“To the bathroom. I’ll be back.”
Once inside the bathroom, I sit on the side of the huge Jacuzzi tub. Big fat tears roll down my cheeks quicker than I can wipe them. My body shakes as I try to sob silently.
There’s a soft knock on the door.
“Yes?”
“Are you crying?”
“N-no.”
Long silence outside the door. I hope he just goes back to bed. I don’t want to talk to him anymore.
“I mean it when I say this isn’t just sex, Felicia. I wish we had met at a different time in my life. If I’d met you years ago, Jasmine wouldn’t be my wife—you would. Can we just enjoy what we have?”
I don’t reply. What we have is nothing. What we have is what I’ve always had. A man who wants to walk all over me, use me, and throw me away. This doesn’t look like anybody’s blessing at all. It looks like a curse.
“You coming out?” Lance asks.
“In a minute.”
I turn the water on in the sink, just in time to muffle the sound of me vomiting.
CHAPTER 10
NYA
Lady Sandy has invited me over for coffee, and I’m sitting in my car outside their home deciding on whether or not I want to go in. Since the tour is over, I was thinking of just cutting ties altogether. I don’t think I want to be a part of their inner circle. But I think I owe her this fellowship. She just cut our ministry a check for half a million dollars. How can I say no to coffee?
I walk up to the door and Lady Sandy answers it. She’s dressed down, like I’ve never seen her before. Wearing a track suit and furry slippers. I feel myself relax. Maybe this will be a different kind of meeting.
“How are you feeling, Nya? Glad to be back home and not traveling for a while?”
“I am.”
Lady Sandy leads me to her kitchen table where she has coffee set up along with some kind of cake. We sit.
“How did you really feel about the tour now that it’s all over?”
I wonder if I should be honest about this. Should I tell her how I really feel about the seed offerings, the bedazzled T-shirts, and everything else?
“Lady Sandy . . .”
“Call me Sandy. I know my daughter thinks I’m not down-to-earth, but I am. So many people call me Lady Sandy that I decided to stop correcting them.”
“Well, I don’t know what to think about the tour. Those women gave so much, and some of them looked like the money would be better spent elsewhere. I don’t want people to think that if they sow into my ministry that somehow they’re going to magically reap a blessing down the road. That’s not what Greg and I are about.”
“I didn’t think you cared for what we do. I was actually excited that you accepted my invitation to the Women’s Empowerment conference. I didn’t think you’d come.”
“Really?”
She nods as she pours each of us a cup of coffee. “Do you take cream and sugar?”
“Yes, I do. Why did you think I would say no?”
“Bishop Bowens and I follow your ministry. You all bring something different to the body of Christ . . . something needed.”
“But . . .”
“Listen, some of us in ministry have done our congregations a disservice. They’ve heard the seed-sowing messages for so long that it’s a habit for them. You preach a good word, they sow a seed. They want to see you rich and in fine things. It means their blessing is on the way.”
“They only believe that because that’s what they’ve been taught.”
Sandy sighs and nods her head. “I don’t want to lose what we’ve built . . . We’re not going to lose what we’ve built, but we believe that it is our responsibility to slowly turn the hearts of the people back to the Creator and not the blessing.”
“I’m confused. We do a Suddenly Blessing tour because you want people to not focus on blessings?”
“We did the tour so that they can meet you, Nya. Thousands of people will be tuning in to you and your husband’s Internet broadcast.”
“We don’t have an Internet broadcast.”
“You do now. Bishop Bowens and I have already started working with Streaming Jesus on your behalf. We will assist with the expense of it.”
“It’s just . . . I don’t understand.”
“We chose you two, Nya. I would never say this in front of my husband, but supporting your church is something like penance for some of the things we’ve done.”
“Wow.”
“I feel confident that you and your husband are going to take that money and do kingdom business with it.”
I don’t even know how to respond to any of this. It is a good thing that Lady Sandy is acknowledging that some of the things she and Bishop Bowens have done were not good for their church, but will they ever admit it to anyone else?
“We
’re going to get a new building with the money. Thank you for the opportunity.”
“Now you know this conversation doesn’t leave the kitchen, right?”
I chuckle. “Of course.”
“My husband would frown upon such talk, but you are a woman who sees things. I always want to be completely transparent with you.”
“And I appreciate you saying this to me. It really helps.”
Lady Sandy claps her hands and makes a little chirping noise. I suppose that means she’s happy.
“I have one more thing to ask of you,” she says.
“Okay. Ask away.”
“My daughter practically adores you. If you could nudge her in the right direction, I would appreciate it.”
“I think she already has a great example in you, Lady Sandy. I don’t know what else I can teach her.”
“It’s sweet of you to say that, but I am a first lady. I’m not an evangelist. I was never called to that. But I think my daughter wants to preach . . . and prophesy. Her ministry may be the future of our church.”
“I am here for her anytime, Lady Sandy.”
She makes the chirping sound again. “You have such a heart of gratitude, Nya. I hope you never lose that.”
“Why would I?”
“Honey,” Lady Sandy says with a smirk, “you are about to be a star. Just make sure you remember how you got your start.”
Lady Sandy starts humming as she places goodies on a plate and sets them in front of me. She says all the right words. Exactly what I want, and what Greg would want, to hear, but there’s an undercurrent of something else. I’m not sure what the something else is, but it worries me. It makes my spirit sensors stand on high alert.
I think this is a situation that embodies what the old mothers have told the young people in church since the days of dirt floors and fans in the ceiling. Watch and pray. I will be doing a good deal of both.
CHAPTER 11
FELICIA
I always thought I would be happy the first time I got pregnant. I thought I would be in love with the father and he would love me back. That’s the perfect way. The God way. The blessed way.
But this is not that.
I was afraid of how Lance would react to the news, so I invited him to my office like it’s a business meeting. He doesn’t want anyone here to know about our affair, so he will hesitate before making a scene. At least I hope he will.
He sits in the chair in front of my desk, looking as fine as ever, making me wish that he was mine. I wonder if our baby will look like him. Will he have that same ebony skin and silky hair? If he’s a boy, will he be tall and play basketball, or will he take after me?
“You know I think it’s time for us to have another getaway,” Lance says. “How does St. Thomas sound to you?”
St. Thomas would sound great if we were planning to get married on the beach, then have our honeymoon before anyone could know I’m carrying our child. I know that’s a fantasy because Lance hasn’t made any moves to leave his wife.
“Lance, I have something to tell you.”
“Are you okay, Felicia? Your hands are shaking. What’s the matter?”
I look down at my hands and they are trembling uncontrollably. I sit in my leather chair and place my hands on the desk in front of me to steady them.
“Yes, I’m fine. I . . . I’m pregnant, Lance. That’s what I need to tell you. Are you happy about it?”
Lance frowns. The opposite reaction of what I wanted.
“I thought you said you were on birth control.”
“I was . . . am . . . was. Obviously, it didn’t work. I didn’t mean for this to happen. You do know that, right?”
“I guess. But how do I know you didn’t stop taking your pills?” Lance asks.
I feel my heart rate quicken and my breaths become shallow. “You know what, Lance. Just leave. I don’t need you at all.”
“You don’t need a child support check from me?” Lance asks. “Cut the games. You know you want that.”
“I don’t want just a check from you, Lance.”
“What is it that you want, then? Oh, right. You want me to leave my wife and son.”
“Yes, I do.”
“And if that doesn’t happen?”
“You tell me what happens next,” I say. “Because I don’t have a clue how any of this works.”
Lance rubs his hand over his face with frustration. He pulls out his phone, scrolls through his text messages, and sighs.
“My son is playing pee-wee basketball now. He’s good. Probably got my talent.”
I stare at Lance and carefully hold my tongue. I don’t care at all about his son’s extracurricular activities. I know it sounds bad and not really like Christ, but I don’t care about his son at all. I only care about the baby I’m carrying.
Finally, Lance puts his phone in his pocket and looks up at me.
“Well, we have to come up with a strategy,” he says.
He stands to his feet and paces back and forth in my office with his hands shoved in his pockets. He looks worried.
At least he said we. Because this is definitely not just my problem.
“What kind of strategy?”
“I’ve been thinking about us—how we were in Puerto Rico, and how perfect it was.”
I swallow hard and try not to get my hopes up. God knows I’m teetering back and forth between insanity and hope right now.
“It was perfect to you?”
He stops pacing and walks over to my desk. He takes both my hands in his and pulls them to his face. He kisses my wrists and palms, and I feel myself overcome with emotion.
“I don’t think I knew how deeply you felt about me, until we were together this last time. And it made me realize how deeply I feel about you.”
“So you aren’t upset about the baby?”
He shakes his head. “No, of course not. This is my seed!”
I feel the smile form on my lips. I doubted God and the prophecy. And maybe this isn’t how God wanted us to get together, because adultery isn’t in His will. But it must be His will for us to be together. Otherwise this pregnancy would be the end of us.
“So why do we need a strategy?”
“Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but lately wives have been suing the mistress.”
Mistress. I don’t like that word being used in reference to me.
“Don’t call me that.”
“I’m sorry. Wives are suing girlfriends and winning. We don’t want that.”
“No, we don’t. So you need to make it so that I’m not your girlfriend.”
“And that’s what we need to strategize about. But right now we just need to focus on the baby.”
I allow him to embrace me in his strong arms. This is what I’ve been waiting for this whole time. I thought he would panic and feel trapped. But he is here. He’s going to be here for me and this baby.
“I don’t want your wife to be hurt.”
This is true. She’s not done anything to me. It’s not her fault that she’s in the way of God’s plan. We’re just two big cats in the jungle, hungering for the same meal.
“Neither do I. It’s up to us to make sure that she isn’t.”
“But how?”
“Let me think about it. I don’t want you stressing right now. It’s not good for the baby.”
“Okay. I have a doctor’s appointment this week, but you probably can’t come to that.”
Lance’s eyebrows dip as if he’s considering every option. Of course I want him at every doctor’s appointment. Every ultrasound, every blood test, all of it. I know this is pretty much out of the question, but I just don’t want to be doing the pregnancy thing alone.
“You know, there is a doctor that some of the other players have used when their girls got in similar circumstances. His name is Doctor Tomlinson and he’s very discreet. If you want to get your care from him, then I can go with you.”
“You can? You’ll go with me?”
“You think it’s a boy?”
“I only make boys,” Lance says. “This is a future NBA player you’re carrying.”
In this moment, I feel so much love for Lance. This is all coming together in such a special way that it can’t be from anybody but God. I pray that my future NBA star is born wrapped up in all this love we’re feeling right now.
I don’t want to ruin the moment by bringing up the one thing that has me filled with doubt, but the fact that Lance is still married is a threat to our happiness. It’s a threat to our blessing. But Lance told me he had a strategy, he told me he’d handle it, and I have faith that he’s going to fix it. Without faith it’s impossible to please God, so I’m going to put my faith in God and in the man that he sent me.
Amen and amen.
CHAPTER 12
NYA
Today, I’m not the superstar evangelist on the rise. Not the prophetic wonder touring the nation, speaking a word over the masses. Today, I’m a regular pastor checking on one of her members.
I check the small piece of paper with the address scribbled down, to verify I’m at the right door. I sure don’t want to be knocking at the wrong apartment in this neighborhood. The best word to describe the apartment complex is filthy. There’s a layer of dirt everywhere and flies are buzzing furiously around little piles of trash and dog poop. Even the children playing with water guns in the small patch of grass in front look dirty, like they’ve been outside all day.
Since I do have the correct apartment, I knock on the door and wait. The new member-intake unit at our church told me that they hadn’t heard from Melody since we prayed for her that day in church. They had tried to follow up, but were blocked by the girl’s mother. They gave up after a few times, and then I went on tour and got extremely busy.
I don’t care how many thousands Lady Sandy promises we’ll reach over the Internet and television. Not today. Today, I want to reach one.
Just as I lift my hand to knock a second time, the door swings open. It’s Melody’s mother. She’s got a different color hair weave from when they visited the church. This one is dark purple. It kind of matches her lips, which have been stained that color probably from the Newports she smokes. There’s an unlit one dangling from her lips right now.