Come Sunday Morning

by Terry E. Hill

Sandra veered her hunter green Jaguar into the flow of cars on the street and drove toward Cynthia’s penthouse.

  “Lance can take care of himself, Cynthia. This is the biggest story of his career. If he brings down Hezekiah, he’ll be able to work for any major newspaper in the country. He won’t screw this up.”

  “What if he buckled and told Hezekiah that we’re the ones who leaked the story?”

  “Cynthia, you’re getting paranoid. Slow down, honey. Call Lance now, if it’ll make you feel better.” Sandra handed her a cell phone. “I’m sure he’s at his dingy little desk at the Chronicle right now, finishing up the story.”

  Cynthia dialed Lance’s number.

  “Hello, this is Lance Savage,” came the recorded message. “I’m not available to take your call. Please leave a message at the tone and I will contact you as soon as possible.” The familiar beep sent a jolt through Cynthia’s body.

  “Damn it, Lance. This is Cynthia,” she said into the wireless void. “Where are you? Have you interviewed Hezekiah yet? Call me as soon as you get this message.” Cynthia disconnected the line and threw the sleek black telephone onto the seat of the car.

  “Cynthia, you need to relax. We’ve come this far, right? This is no time to panic.” While driving with one hand, Sandra reached into her pocket and handed Cynthia a vial filled with white pills. “Here, honey,” she said, “take one of these. It’ll calm you down.”

  “What are they?” Cynthia asked, reaching for the little brown bottle.

  “It’s Xanax. Just take one, honey. You’ll feel better.”

  Cynthia eagerly consumed the tablet. “I could use a joint right now, too. This is driving me crazy.”

  Sandra looked cautiously in her rearview mirror, then reached into the glove compartment and produced the leafy prescription Cynthia had desired.

  “I shouldn’t be doing this but you look like you could really use this right now,” Sandra said nervously, looking in her rearview mirror and from side to side. The two women passed the joint between them as they drove along Wilshire Boulevard.

  A woman driving beside them recognized Cynthia from the luncheon and waved while waiting at a red light. Cynthia clamped her smiling red lips shut to prevent a stream of smoke from escaping and dutifully waved back. Cynthia burst into a combination of laughter and coughs that filled the car with billowing white smoke after the woman had proceeded to a safe distance ahead.

  “That bitch almost killed me.” She laughed while coughing out more smoke. “I thought I was going to pass out.” Cynthia considered what her next move would be as the Xanax and marijuana mixed in her brain. “I don’t know what we’re going to do if this doesn’t work.”

  “It is going to work, and you’re going to do just what we’ve planned for the last three months,” Sandra said impatiently.

  As Sandra turned the car into the covered carport of her high-rise building, Cynthia tossed the remains of the marijuana cigarette out the window of the rolling vehicle. The women embraced and an attendant rushed to open the car door for Cynthia.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Pryce,” a round-faced man, clad in a red uniform, said as Cynthia extended her leg to the pavement. “Reverend Pryce just arrived only a few minutes ago. He should be in your apartment by now.”

  Cynthia hesitated for a moment and looked to Sandra.

  “Do you want me to come up with you? Are you going to be all right?” Sandra asked.

  “I’m fine now. I’ll call you as soon as I’ve heard from…” Cynthia stopped when she realized the doorman was listening. “I’ll call you.”

  Cynthia walked toward the double glass doors of the luxury building. Two rows of potted palm trees lining the carpeted path bristled from a slight breeze under the massive blue awning. The attendant sped past her to the glass doors and flung them open.

  “Thank you,” she said without looking at the man’s anxious face.

  The foyer sparkled from the afternoon sun. Classical music played as several residents retrieved mail from boxes partially hidden behind another cluster of potted plants. New overstuffed chairs and couches dotted the room. Two elderly ladies sat reading the afternoon newspaper in front of an oversized mahogany framed fireplace. From the lobby’s cathedral ceiling, a massive chandelier glowed from internal and external light.

  Cynthia walked quickly toward the elevator doors, hoping to avoid the inevitable greetings from omnipresent neighbors.

  As she pressed the button, she heard, “Hello, Mrs. Pryce. The reverend went up a few minutes ago. You just missed him.”

  When she turned, she saw Carl, the building security guard. He moved toward her as he spoke.

  “Seems like he’s in a pretty bad mood today. Nearly bit the head off poor Mrs. Nussbaum, in 17D. She was complaining about the homeless guys who have been urinating behind the building. Said she walked up on one of them this morning as he was taking a leak. ‘Nearly scared me to death,’ she told the reverend, and before she could even finish her sentence, Reverend Pryce lit into her like there was no tomorrow.”

  Cynthia listened intently to the account from the overly familiar guard.

  “He said to her, ‘You wouldn’t have seen him taking a piss if you weren’t always lurking around the building. Maybe that’ll teach you to mind your own business.’ I thought she was going to cry after he got through with her.”

  “I’m sure he didn’t mean to offend her,” Cynthia said while pressing the elevator button again, hoping to speed its arrival. “He probably has a lot on his mind today. You know how he gets sometimes.”

  Carl gave her a knowing smile. “I sure do, ma’am. I’ve been on the receiving end of his sharp tongue a few times myself.”

  The elevator doors glided open.

  “I will apologize to Mrs. Nussbaum the next time I see her,” Cynthia said as the doors closed between them.

  She pressed the button, causing the elevator to rise with a jerk.

  The ding of the elevator alert told her it had reached its final destination and could ascend no farther through the artery of the building. As the doors slid open, Cynthia took a deep breath, then another, before stepping into the empty hallway. They shared the top floor with a reclusive tenant, a neighbor whom she had not seen or even heard through the walls in over five years. The double doors to her apartment seemed to throb as she walked toward them. She could hear footsteps from behind the doors when she turned the key.

  “Percy,” she called out, stepping into the empty foyer. “Honey, are you home?”

  The two senior ministers of New Testament Cathedral sat around a large table in the conference room of the church. Hezekiah entered the room with his usual flare. “Good afternoon, Brothers,” he said. “Let’s get this meeting started.”

  Each man had his Bible placed on the table in front of him. Although no one wore black robes, the air still smacked of reverence and piety. Hezekiah sat at the head of the table with Rev. Percy Pryce to his right and Rev. Kenneth Davis to his left.

  After a short prayer Hezekiah began the meeting. “The first thing on the agenda is the funeral for Mabel Smith. It’s scheduled for this Friday and I’m going to be out of town for the weekend. Reverend Pryce, are you available that day?”

  Percy retrieved his BlackBerry from his breast pocket. “Yes, I can officiate.”

  “Good. Next item.”

  Both men at the table shifted slightly in their seats and exchanged curious glances in response to the curt manner in which the pastor conducted the meeting.

  “Someone needs to represent the church at the thirty-fifth anniversary of Mount Zion AME on the twenty-sixth,” Hezekiah continued. “Neither Samantha nor I will be able to attend.”

  Reverend Pryce cleared his throat. “I can do it, Pastor. I’m very close to the pastor at Mount Zion.”

  Hezekiah looked up and said, “Thank you, Percy, but I was hoping Reverend Davis would cover this one.”

  “I can represent us. I had planned on attending, anyway,” said Rev
erend Davis while looking sympathetically at Percy. “You can attend with me, if you’d like, Reverend Pryce.”

  Percy did not respond.

  Hezekiah pressed forward. “I’ll be here this Sunday, but Samantha will be preaching on the following Sunday. I won’t be there, so I expect each of you to be present to support her.”

  The tension in the room grew thicker. The two men could sense Hezekiah was preoccupied. When the last agenda item had been discussed, Hezekiah placed his hands on the table and said, “Gentlemen, I have a question for you. What would the two of you do if I were no longer able to serve as pastor?”

  The room was silent for a chilling moment as the question hung in the air. They all had thought about the possibility from time to time, but no one expected Hezekiah to raise that subject.

  Confusion rushed through the head of Reverend Davis. He could not imagine New Testament Cathedral without Pastor Hezekiah T. Cleaveland.

  Reverend Pryce spoke first. “Pastor, I’m not sure what you mean. Is something wrong?”

  “No, but it is part of your responsibility as senior ministers of this church to think in these terms. I could die at any time and then what would you do? Who would replace me? How would you select him?”

  Reverend Pryce leaned in closer. “Pastor, as you know, the decision of who will serve as pastor in the event of your departure does not fall within the authority of this body. It is the responsibility of the board of trustees to select your replacement, should the need arise.”

  Hezekiah gave him a sharp look. “I know what the bylaws say. I wrote them. But the trustees will look to you for counsel. They’ll want to know what you recommend and you all need to be prepared to answer. Not as individuals but as the team of senior ministers.”

  The two men looked anxiously into each other’s faces, searching for answers that they knew were not there. Then in unison they returned their gaze to Hezekiah, and Kenneth spoke.

  “What would you want to see happen?”

  “The bylaws state that I cannot select my replacement, and I still think that is appropriate. You, meaning the members of the church, should have the right to select who your shepherd will be if I am forced to resign. The only thing I do want and expect from you is that you select someone who shares my vision for this ministry. And if you don’t know what that is by now, you should not be here. I’d expect you to support whoever the new pastor would be in the same manner you have supported me. I also want you to make sure that he respects the heritage and traditions of this ministry and not allow him to make any sweeping changes to everything we’ve built over the years.”

  The clarity and force of Hezekiah’s statements had a paralyzing effect on the ministers.

  “This is your assignment, gentlemen,” Hezekiah continued. “Think carefully on these questions and come to some definite conclusions. You don’t have to share them with me, but make sure you have the answers if the situation should ever arise. I don’t want my church to be left unprepared and end up like all those others, with bitter infighting that always leads to fracturing into smaller pathetic storefront ministries.”

  After a short pause Hezekiah said, “Good day, gentlemen. I’ll see you on Sunday morning.”

  No further words were said. The two men gathered their belongings and left the room in silence. Hezekiah remained at the conference table with his hands clasped in his lap. He was too tired to think anymore and too afraid to cry. The swirl of the wood grain on the conference table occupied his thoughts for the next suspended moments. He then slowly picked up his belongings, turned out the light, and left the room.

  Steel slammed against steel as men in shorts strained to complete their next set. Bodies stretched and treadmills churned from stationary workouts. Hezekiah started his next set of repetitions on the weight machine.

  Hezekiah and Percy had met for their weekly workout. “Thirteen, fourteen, come on, Pastor, you can do it. Fifteen,” Percy counted as he squatted at Hezekiah’s side. “You still got it, old man. I think you should add another ten pounds next time.”

  Hezekiah lay panting on the bench, with his arms spread at his side. “You’re trying to give me a heart attack.”

  He got up from the bench and wiped sweat from his brow. “Okay Rev., let’s see what you got.”

  With that, Percy sat down and began his repetitions with the same weights. He gripped the steel rod above his head and lowered the weights to his chest.

  “Push. Come on, man, push. Give me three more. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen.” Hezekiah helped Percy from the bench.

  “That’s it for me, man,” Percy said between breaths. “I’m going to hit the showers. Are you coming?”

  Hezekiah welcomed the words signaling the end of their workout. Percy led the way to the locker room. It was a large open space with orange lockers. Used towels were scattered on the floor and the doors of empty lockers hung open. The two men dialed the combinations to their locks and sat on a thin wooden bench to remove their shoes.

  “What’s going on with you, Hezekiah?” Percy asked as the two men stood naked under the steaming shower.

  “What do you mean? I’ve never been in better shape.”

  “We’ve worked together for years now. Not only are you my pastor, but you’re also my friend, and I’d like to think you feel the same. I know when something is troubling you. That whole thing about us thinking about your replacement—what’s going on?”

  “I can’t talk about it right now, but I’m not sure if I’ll be able to continue as pastor for much longer.”

  Percy stood naked and shocked before the pastor. “Are you sick?”

  Hezekiah turned his back to Percy and continued to soap his body. He was not prepared to have this conversation. “No, it’s nothing like that. I’m fine. I’ll be honest with you, Percy. I’m struggling with a moral dilemma that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to resolve.”

  “Hezekiah, nothing could be that bad. Maybe you should talk about it with someone. Have you considered seeing a therapist? I know several ministers who are seeing a guy in Anaheim who’s supposed to be excellent.”

  Hezekiah had never considered seeing a therapist, although he had made the recommendation to many members whose problems required more time than he was willing or able to give. “I don’t think he could help me with this,” Hezekiah said with a resolute expression on his face. “Everything is more complicated than you could ever imagine.”

  “No problem you could have on earth is too complicated for God. Let me get you the therapist’s number. Give him a call. Whatever is going on might not be as bad as you think.”

  “Okay, Percy. I’ll call him. But if I should leave, I want you to take over as pastor. You’re a good man and you’re the only person I would trust with New Testament.”

  “Don’t even think in those terms yet, Hezekiah. You know I’m honored, but I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  The two men showered in silence, only the sound of drops echoed through the tiled room.

  11

  Ten Months Earlier

  The year of secrecy had been difficult for Danny. He wanted to tell someone, everyone, about his love for Hezekiah. However, the cost of such a revelation was too high. He had cursed himself on many occasions for loving a man who was a prisoner of public opinion. Why had he allowed himself to love a man whose existence, life, and livelihood depended on receiving daily approval from thousands of nameless, faceless people?

  Hezekiah had warned him of the perils of their union on the day they first exchanged the words “I love you,” exactly two months after they met.

  “Are you sure you know what you’re getting into?” Hezekiah questioned while they lay naked under the covers in Danny’s bed. “I’m a pastor and I can’t change that. It means a lot of sacrifice on both our parts.”

  “I didn’t mean to fall in love with you, Hezekiah,” Danny said as he laid his head on Hezekiah’s chest, “but since I have, I’ll have to live with the consequences.”r />
  “I didn’t know I was going to fall in love with you, either, but I’m glad I did. I just don’t want you to get hurt. I love you too much. If someone, anyone, finds out about us, your life will never be the same. You’ll become a public figure. The media will be brutal. They’ll try to destroy us both, and they’ll probably succeed. I’ve seen it happen to other pastors.”

  “Then why are you willing to take that kind of a risk?”

  Hezekiah answered without pause. He had asked himself the same question on many occasions. “Because I need you. I’ve never loved anyone, or even myself, as much as I love you. No one has ever forced me to look beyond myself and my own needs or my own ego.” He sat up in the bed and placed Danny’s head in his lap and looked earnestly into his deep brown eyes. “You’ve made me realize I’ve never really cared for anyone and didn’t think I had the capacity to. My world has always been about me, and what I desired more than life itself. I wanted power and all that came with it—fame, wealth, and respect. It has consumed my every thought for as long as I can remember. Every word I spoke, and every step I took, was taken only to move me closer to my goals.

  “Well, I’ve done it. I have it all, and when I got it, I began to hate myself more than I had ever hated my worst enemy. All I could see staring back at me in the mirror was a hollow, lonely man who had traded his soul just to be recognized when he walked down the street.

  “I had actually thought about committing suicide on the day I first saw you helping that man downtown. I wanted to punish myself for being a fool, for forcing myself to waste an entire life chasing something that left me vacant and alone. And then I met you.”

  Hezekiah gently placed his hand on Danny’s chest. “I don’t know what happened, but when I first looked in your eyes, I had an overwhelming desire to have you know me deep down inside. I thought you might be able to understand me and maybe even help me understand myself. And you have.”

  The two then lay silently in bed, sharing hidden places in their hearts without words and with gentle, caring hands.