I don’t tell her what I want to say—that some people never get where she’s trying to go. And that even if she gets there, it probably won’t be what she thinks it will be. I’m at what some people would call the top of my game, but my husband is acting funny, I had to fake a prophecy, and I don’t know what else may fall apart.
Instead I say, “You’re going to have exactly what God has for you, Penelope. I hope it’s what you’re dreaming about.”
“It will be. God only gives good gifts.”
Lady Sandy walks into the room and looks at the two of us as if we’ve been caught with a pilfered cookie.
“Penelope, it’s your turn to talk to James,” Lady Sandy says.
Penelope jumps up from the desk. “Okay,” she says and rushes out of the library.
Lady Sandy turns her attention to me. “Do you realize how much of an opportunity it is for you to appear with some of these women? You’ll be able to get your own book deal after this.”
“I realize that. If I do write something else, it’ll be a book with Greg about one-on-one encounters with Christ that happen in the New Testament.”
Lady Sandy laughs out loud. “Nobody will publish that, because nobody wants to read that.”
“Excuse me? People will want to read our testimonies, but not want to experience Jesus?”
“If you are ever going to be successful, you need to learn about the people you are ministering to. Most of them don’t really want Jesus, because they don’t really want to change.”
“Isn’t it our job to give them Jesus anyway?”
Lady Sandy laughs again. “If they want Jesus, they’ll get Him. He’s not hiding.”
I think she’s wrong. I think the people are looking for Jesus. But when they do come looking for Him, we’ve been handing them blessings and prophecies. I wonder what will happen if I flip it. If I start giving them Jesus, will Lady Sandy notice? Will anyone notice the difference?
CHAPTER 27
FELICIA
When I get to my office the day after my failed attempt at terrorizing Dr. Tomlinson and my visit to Lance and Jasmine, Mr. Bailey is waiting outside my door. I smile. I knew this was coming. How could it not be? I don’t think Lance would say anything, because he’s as much in violation of the team policy as I am. But of course, Dr. Tomlinson’s scared self snitched, and now I’m a danger to the team.
“Hello, Felicia. Can we step inside your office and chat for a minute?” Mr. Bailey asks.
“Why do we need to step inside? You can fire me from the hallway, can’t you?”
Mr. Bailey clears his throat. “You might want to hear what I have to say. And I need to say it in private.”
I glance over at Sharon. “Well then, maybe I could use a cup of chai.”
Sharon looks at Mr. Bailey and he nods. She jumps up from her desk and fixes the cup.
I walk into my soon-to-be former office and sit down at my desk for probably the last time. Mr. Bailey sits down in the chair in front of me. I wait for Sharon to come in with my chai, and I nod my thanks. She looks nervous as she rushes out of the office. I wonder if she played a part in this. If so, she’s on my list too.
“So . . .”
“Yes, I’m sure you know part of the reason I’m here,” Mr. Bailey says.
“I’m not quite sure. I think you should go ahead and tell me.”
“I spoke with Dr. Tomlinson last night, Felicia.”
I give him a fake confused look. “Why on earth would you be speaking with my ob-gyn? Did you have any questions about my health questionnaire?”
Mr. Bailey frowns. “I know you threatened him, and I also know why.”
“Oh, so you know he murdered my baby.”
“He stated that you chose to abort your child. If you’re calling it murder, and that’s your choice, you are the one who authorized it.”
I feel my irritation turn into fury. “What is this about? Are you firing me or what?”
“I made you aware of our non-fraternization clause . . .”
“After it was too late.”
“You were provided an employee handbook on your first day.”
“Are you firing me or what?”
Mr. Bailey reaches into his suit jacket pocket and pulls out an envelope. “We’re asking for a resignation, and this should sustain you while you find alternate employment.”
I snatch the envelope, then toss my head back and laugh. “Will you also be giving me a recommendation letter to provide to my future employers?”
“I’m afraid not, but we will not make any negative statements regarding your time with us.”
A security guard appears at the door.
“Oh, so this is how it’s going to be?” I ask. “You’re going to have me walked out by security?”
“After what happened with Dr. Tomlinson, don’t you think that’s a wise choice on my part?”
I laugh some more. This is all incredibly funny. Then I look down at the check. Twenty thousand dollars. That’s how much my baby was worth?
“How much did y’all pay the other girl?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“The other woman that Lance impregnated and then had her child murdered. How much did you pay her?”
“If there were another such woman, I would assume that her settlement would’ve been private.”
“Did you give her more than twenty thousand dollars for her baby’s carcass?”
Mr. Bailey swallows. “Ms. Caldwell . . .”
“Pay me what you owe me or I’m going to the media and the police.”
“Do you think they will believe a stalker?”
“I haven’t stalked anyone.”
“Hmm . . . I have heard otherwise. In fact, there are some police reports that have been filed by Lance and his wife, about a strange woman who has been lurking around their home. The woman hasn’t been identified yet, but it’s only a matter of time.”
“Pay me what you owe me.”
“I don’t owe you anything, Ms. Caldwell. I was authorized to cut the twenty thousand dollar check in lieu of the unemployment you will not be able to seek because of your resignation.”
“I’m not resigning for anything less than a million dollars. Your organization can afford it.”
Mr. Bailey looks at the security guard. Then he waves a hand to dismiss him. “I’ll be out in a moment,” he says.
I smile. “So am I going to become a millionaire today?”
“You’ll be required to sign this confidentiality agreement, and you will not be able to pursue any recourse, media engagements, or publicity against the Atlanta Crows, Lance, or Dr. Tomlinson.” He slides the papers across my desk and hands me a pen.
“I’m not signing this until I read it.”
“I will have someone bring over the check in an hour or so. In the meantime, you can pack up your office.”
“Wire transfer, please. A check can be cancelled.”
“Wire transfer then.”
“You can use the bank account on my direct deposit paperwork. I will vacate the office and sign your little agreement when the funds are transferred.”
Mr. Bailey stands and leaves my office without even a good-bye. How rude.
I pull up my bank account information on my tablet and wait for those funds to hit the account. There’s nothing here I want to pack up. Nothing I want to keep.
One million dollars may not be enough to compensate me for the life of my child, but it’s enough for a new start. As crazy as this situation is, maybe it’s the blessing. Maybe the money is what Pastor Nya’s prophecy was about.
I’ve got to believe that. Because if I don’t, then what do I have left?
CHAPTER 28
NYA
“Greg! Greg!”
I run through the house screaming my husband’s name. Where is he? He’s not in his office or the bedroom. Let me check the man cave.
When I open the door to the finished basement, Greg walks into the kitchen
laughing.
“What is it, Nya?”
“Oh! Where were you?”
“I was in the bathroom. Am I allowed to use the bathroom today?”
I burst into laughter. “Yes, you are allowed to use the bathroom.”
“I thought you changed some rules when you got back from filming your little fancy talk show.”
My laughter continues. “It’s fancy? My talk show is fancy?”
“Yes. You and Penelope Bowens trotting around wearing designer clothes and shoes and hair down to the middle of your back, fixing everybody’s life. Real fancy.”
I’m so glad to hear Greg being in good spirits about the show. Even though he’s teasing me, when I showed him the recordings of the shows, he was proud of how Penelope and I ministered to those women.
“Well, guess what? It’s about to get even more fancy! They love us. We got offered a full season by the network!”
Greg picks me up and spins me around. “You’re gonna be a star, babe.”
“I don’t want to be a star.”
“What if God wants you to be a star?” Greg asks as he places me back on the floor and strokes my hair.
“I think He wants us both to have an international ministry. He showed it to me—remember?”
Greg nods. “I remember. As long as you don’t forget God’s promise to us, I’m going to support you in this.”
“This means so much, honey. I love you.”
“I love you more.”
“You know, they’re offering me a nice check for this. A pretty nice check.”
Greg laughs out loud. “How nice?”
“Nice enough for us to finally upgrade our house. Come on, Greg. We’re not using funds collected by the church.”
“You want an Arlington mansion?”
“I was thinking more like Southlake.”
Greg’s eyes widen. “Oh, that check is real nice!”
“Six figures nice . . .”
“I will think about it. Maybe if I can have my own personal ministry man cave.”
“You can have whatever you want. This is our increase, not mine.”
“Oh, I know what I forgot to tell you. You got a package today,” Greg says. Then he steps out of the kitchen, presumably to bring the package.
When he walks back in, he is carrying a pretty sizable box. He sets it on the kitchen counter and uses a box cutter to open it.
“It’s books,” he says. “You’re a real published author now.”
I grab the book from Greg’s hands and squeal. Here it is, in my hands, the first book I’ve ever participated in writing. Take Us to the King: Women at the Altar is the title, and our stories are accompanied by our pictures.
My cell phone buzzes on the counter, and when I pick it up I see Penelope’s number on the caller ID.
“Hey, girl,” I say when I answer. “Did you get your copies of the book yet? Is this the final version?”
“Hey. It’s not the final. These are the review copies. My mom got hers first and read it already.”
Her somber tone tells me that Lady Sandy must not have reacted well to the news about Penelope’s abortion.
“What did she think of it all?” I ask.
“She accused me of trying to destroy her and my father’s ministry.”
I close my eyes and sigh. I knew that Lady Sandy was going to trip about Penelope’s revelations, but I had no idea how hard she was going to take it.
“Do you want me to talk to her?” I ask. “I can if you think that will help.”
“She won’t listen to you. She doesn’t listen to anyone, not even my father.”
“Why don’t you let me try?”
Penelope gasps for air like she’s been crying for days. “O-okay.”
“Calm down. I’m gonna call her right now.”
I disconnect the call from Penelope and dial Lady Sandy’s number.
“Is everything okay?” Greg asks.
“No, apparently not.”
The phone rings four times before Lady Sandy answers it. “Hello, Nya,” she says.
“Lady Sandy. I got the review copies of the books in the mail. Who should I share them with?”
This is me trying to break the ice before asking Lady Sandy about why she’s persecuting her daughter.
“You shouldn’t share them with anyone,” she says. “I’ve just gotten off the phone with the publisher. These review copies are to be destroyed.”
“But why?”
“Penelope’s testimony needs to be removed. She, like an idiot, decided to share a family secret in her passage. We can’t send these to anyone.”
“I haven’t had the opportunity to read it yet, but don’t you think Penelope has the right to tell her own truth?” I ask.
“She can tell her own truth when she gets her own book deal and pays her own bills. She’s not going to derail my project and make it be all about her.”
“But Lady Sandy . . .”
“Did she ask you to call me? You don’t think I notice how you two always have your heads together? I may not be young like Penelope, or look damn near white like you, so no one is asking me to be on anyone’s television show. But don’t think I can’t make all of this disappear.”
I want to tell her how much I don’t care if it all disappears, but I don’t, for Penelope’s sake.
“Are you going to let her write something else?”
“The ghostwriter will handle it. He will write what I tell him to write for Penelope.”
“I guess that’s that, then.”
“It is. And don’t get any ideas about telling anyone outside our circle about this.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t. That’s your family business.”
“You got that right. I will see you at the book release party. It’s going to be a grand affair. Ministers from all over Dallas are going to be there.”
“I will see you then, Lady Sandy.”
I guess the look of shock is still on my face as I set my phone down on the kitchen counter, because Greg tilts his head to one side and frowns.
“What was that about?”
“Lady Sandy. She’s . . . she’s not the woman I thought she was.”
Greg shakes his head and sighs. “I could’ve told you that. But this is not about her, right? You’re not doing it for her.”
“No. I’m doing this for Jesus.”
I wouldn’t walk away from this book, television show, or the Suddenly Blessing movement now if someone paid me. Because I’m afraid. I’m frightened that she’ll take my fake prophecy and spin it into something even worse and uglier. I have to stay the course until it runs out of steam and a new, hot, and fresh message catches on. It won’t take long.
This is the monster I created. I have to be the one to put it in the cage . . . or worse, put it down for good.
CHAPTER 29
FELICIA
Finally, it’s dark enough. I grab the tools from the seat of my car. Gloves, a can of gasoline, matches. And a crowbar. Time to do a little damage.
I thought about burning their house down, because I don’t care if they live or die. But I decided not to damn my own soul to hell. Why would I do that?
I haven’t done anything wrong. There’s still time for me to get what God has for me. I never would’ve thought that Lance was the one if it hadn’t been for that stupid prophecy. That lie from the pits of hell. That “suddenly” curse that Nya Hampstead put on me. She’s to blame for this, but Lance played his part.
The gas can is too heavy to carry, so I drag it to its destination. The garage that houses Lance’s car collection.
I use the crowbar to break the glass in one of the windows. Then I reach into the window to try and find a door handle or lock. Of course, it wouldn’t be anything like on a TV show or movie, where the door handle is always right inside the window. Right inside this window is nothing but wall.
I can’t get in this way.
I circle the garage, pulling the gas can next to me,
and all I see is more glass windows exactly the same as the first. In frustration, I start breaking them all out. Then I stop. This is noisy, and I definitely want to do more damage than a little bit of broken glass. Is that an alarm I hear?
Then I have an idea. Since I can’t seem to get into the garage, I’ll just pour gasoline in through the windows. I can still start the fire without going inside. The only problem is that I can’t hoist the gas can up to the window. It’s too heavy.
I can, however, soak something with gasoline and toss it into the window. I look around for leaves or foliage. Anything that I can soak with gasoline. But there’s nothing. Apparently, Lance’s idea of landscaping is concrete, asphalt, and marble. I look down at my feet. My sneakers will do. I soak one of them in gasoline and toss it in the window.
Then I do the other shoe, and toss it in another window.
I light one of the matches and carefully drop it to the floor. I think it might not work for a second, and then I start to smell the smoke.
I know I need to do more before the fire alarms start to go off, so I step out of my leggings and tear them into pieces. I soak these along with pieces from my hoodie. After I soak them all, I push them through windows along with more lit matches, being careful not to get any gasoline on my body or cause an explosion.
The fire is taking off good now, but I want to give it just a little bit more fuel. I pull my human-hair lace-front wig off my head, and toss it to the ground. After soaking it in gasoline really well, I take it around to the front of the garage and light it. When I toss it in the window, I drop everything and run.
As I scurry back to my car in my Victoria’s Secret undies, I’m glad I moved fast, because something explodes. The sound of it causes the lights in Lance’s mansion to come on. I speed off in my rental car before anyone sees me, and the fire will take care of any evidence.
I know that Lance will be able to replace every one of those cars. He can bring those back and I can’t bring my child back. But I want him to know that he’s not forgiven. It’s not okay what he’s done, and a million dollars won’t do anything but give me more resources if I should ever choose to reach out and touch him.
But my work here is done. I don’t have a bit more business with Lance, Dr. Tomlinson’s weak, scared behind, or Jasmine’s stupid, low-esteem-having self. They were low-hanging fruit.
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