She touched the sleeve of his jacket. “I beg your pardon?”
He looked at her hand, wondering if she felt the energy between them, a charge that apparently hadn’t diminished. Then his gaze met hers.
Thornton cleared his throat. It was time to get out of the deep water in which he had no business being. Riptides and under-tows threatened to take him down. And this time, he wouldn’t have youth and inexperience to blame.
“I’d love to, Carys. But I can’t tonight.”
She looked truly disappointed and he felt even more pathetic than he’d been as a shy country boy almost thirty years ago when they’d first met. Though on the outside, he knew he exuded the confident aura of a successful executive, the epitome of a big time preacher, the veneer threatened to peel away in front of Carys.
“Well, maybe I’ll see you at some of the events this weekend.” She made the statement sound like a question.
Thornton wanted to put his arms around her slim waist and never let her go. But the civilized man in him simply nodded. “I’ll look forward to that.”
She cocked her head and regarded him. Considering.
“What?”
“I was just thinking about Chapter Five of your last book.”
She’d read his books? Thornton was stunned. Flattered. Flabbergasted.
Then it dawned on him to just what she referred. Chapter Five of his most recent book was about Christian couples reclaiming the magic that existed in their early relationship.
Thornton cleared his throat again. Then he asked, “What made you think of that?”
She smiled. “Oh, I was thinking of that night we walked together on the waterfront.”
His heart dropped into his gut. She remembered that night?
“I always wondered what might have become of us if I’d made a different decision that evening.”
Thornton opened his mouth, but no words came out.
He tried again. “I…”
“Shh,” she said, putting a slim finger across his lips. “Don’t. It was a long time ago.”
He nodded. In real time, it had been a moment from the distant past. But in his mind’s eye, that moment stood as real as this one….
Near one o’clock in the morning, the night air on campus carried a nip. T.C. left the confines of the dormitory room he shared with two other guys for a walk on the lakefront. They were up laughing, talking and playing a game. T.C. needed quiet to think—to sort out his life and his options. He needed to make a decision soon: grad school or the job. The offer on the table was for a lot of money. And not just for a country boy who felt a need to contribute to the family coffers back home. It was a lot of money period—thirty thousand dollars to start. All he had to do was say yes, sign on the dotted line and pack his bags for Chicago and his first job out of college.
The only problem was the tug on his heart saying Washington, D.C., and seminary. Though the money would help considerably, both his parents told him to go to God for the answer. He’d been doing just that, praying constantly and getting zippo by way of a response on the direction he should take.
As he walked along the shoreline, he came upon one of the benches strategically placed near the lake. A woman sat on one, her hands clutching the rim of the bench, her head bent. Drawing nearer, he heard her crying.
“Excuse me? Can I help you? Is something wrong?”
She looked up, blinked. “Oh. T.C. It’s you.”
“Carys? What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?”
He shrugged out of the sweater he’d donned to ward off the chill and draped it around her bare shoulders. The thin bands of a light tank top were thrown into contrast by her soft dark skin.
T.C. glanced away, ashamed that he’d noticed.
He’d always liked her—had fallen head over heels in love with her truth be told. But all from a distance. Carys Chappelle was light-years out of his league. She was always friendly though, and that was enough.
She inched over, silently inviting him to sit next to her. Like a marble statue in a formal garden he remained rooted to the spot where he stood, not trusting himself to do anything else.
“What’s wrong, Carys?”
“It’s Nate,” she said.
T.C. knew she’d been dating Nate Wade, another one of the college’s old money legacies. Nate’s family owned furniture stores—a lot of them. They probably had as much or more money than the Chappelles. Everyone expected Carys and Nate to announce their engagement at any moment. The merging of those two powerful African-American families would make headlines in the society pages.
“What’s wrong with him?”
“He wants to, you know…” She shrugged. “We’re almost engaged so he says there’s no need to wait.”
For a moment he didn’t know what she meant. Then the lightbulb went on. Oh. That.
He cleared his throat, shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
What was he supposed to tell her?
Now, as he dressed for bed in his hotel room and powered up his laptop to get a little work done, Thornton thought about the boy he’d been then, trying to comfort a woman he cared about.
There in the moonlight with Carys Chappelle, his next course of action had seemed evident, as clear and bright as the near full moon shining down on them.
He’d reached for her hand.
It was late. Almost as late as it had been that one very special night so long ago.
Carys stood at the bank of windows in her suite. Her view from the hotel looked out over a man-made lake that reminded her of the one at Camden College. In her mind’s eye she was seeing that spot on campus where she’d first lost her heart to T.C. Holloway.
Carys smiled. The thought of her fumbling now embarrassed her, but in that distant hazy way that didn’t make her self-conscious.
A moment later though, her smile faded as she pulled the drapes to, closing out the reminiscences.
She’d made him uncomfortable tonight and that hadn’t been her intent. Not at all.
Carys sighed, the sound laced with regret and seasoned with a pinch of remorse. Something about that man always made her lose her perspective, her maturity and apparently her morals as well. Like some brazen hussy, she’d thrown herself at him tonight.
Shame coursed through her.
She realized she was just as bad as her friend Lynn. No, worse. Lynn dearly loved her husband of twenty-two years. Despite the suggestive nature of her talk, Lynn wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize her marriage or someone else’s.
Thornton didn’t seem to have his wife with him at the reception, but the bios of his books clearly said he lived with his family in Richmond, Virginia. They were probably sharing a laugh right now as he regaled her with tales of the poor little rich girl who’d tried to hit on him.
Carys went to the king-size bed in the hotel room. She sat at the foot of the bed and slipped off her shoes, dropping one high-heeled mule while holding the other. Evidently, she hadn’t learned much in the time since graduation. She’d made the same mistake tonight with T.C. that she’d made twenty-five years ago.
Chapter Three
She didn’t see him the next day at breakfast and only briefly spied him from across the room during the class meeting where pledges were turned in. Thornton didn’t return her cheerful wave. Before Carys could make her way over to apologize for her behavior, he’d disappeared with the university chaplain.
It served her right that he was avoiding her. Maybe after the way she’d acted last night he regretted not bringing his wife along to the reunion. Her presence could stave off unwelcome advances.
Members of the twenty-five-year class and other alumni who’d returned for the weekend filled the seats in a small auditorium near the music department. The room barely held two hundred; its primary purpose was a gathering place for musicians waiting to go into the larger theater in the academic building. But during the school year, senior thesis recitals and master classes with visiting professionals served a
s the primary audiences within its walls.
As people chattered all around her, Carys slipped into one of the seats on the left side, not too far back, but not so close that she’d be conspicuous if she decided to leave. Carys didn’t hear the echoes of long-ago concertos and tuned out the voices of classmates who for a few hours this weekend wanted to return to their carefree days of yesteryear.
Despite the comfortable bed at the hotel, she hadn’t slept well. To compensate, she’d worked out in the hotel’s exercise room early in the morning and spent a few minutes in the sauna in an attempt to rejuvenate her body.
According to the program she’d been handed at the door, T.C. would deliver the message. Maybe listening to him preach could get her spirit rejuvenated. She sure needed it.
She had a lot to be thankful for, namely two terrific children and a grandchild she doted on. She had a fine home—two actually: her primary residence, an architectural wonder in an affluent Northern Virginia enclave of doctors, lawyers and high-level Washington, D.C., politicos; and the other, a waterfront retreat on the Outer Banks in North Carolina that earned hefty rental fees when she and the kids weren’t in residence.
Carl had left the homes to the children who immediately after his death signed both pieces of property over to their mother who should have been his heir in the first place.
As the service started, Carys thought about the life she’d spent with Carl. He’d died as he lived—and no one the wiser. It was best that way.
She’d been a good wife to him. She knew because he always told her so, showering her with gifts of privilege, worthy of their station in life. He withheld the one thing she wanted however, and that, Carys knew, was her own fault.
She stared at her hands. She still kept her fingernails fairly short, rounded in a classic style, today’s polish an elegant but understated pearlescent pink. Keeping them short had become habit, like so many other things through the years. Though she would have preferred to try out the long acrylic nails that were so popular with a lot of women, they didn’t fit in with the image Carl wanted projected. But the very large emerald-cut diamond and equally glittering anniversary band on her ring finger did. The rings had been one of his most extravagant gifts, marking their twentieth wedding anniversary. Never mind the fact that Carys would have preferred gemstones or a simple gold band. He’d presented her with what a successful cardiologist’s wife should have on her finger and that was that.
Carys closed her eyes for a moment. Despite her gripes, she’d grown to care for Carl—even if they hadn’t been head over heels in love. Some people would say she had nothing to complain about. They’d shared a good life together.
But now what?
The program progressed and as the names of the deceased were called out, Carys found her eyes moist. When Nate Wade’s name was read off the roll, someone, she didn’t turn around to see who, patted her on the shoulder. Maybe it was her imagination, but she felt the heat of pitying stares before someone coughed and she shifted in her seat.
As the service leader began a communal prayer of remembrance for classmates, friends and fellow alumni who’d passed on to glory, Carys couldn’t help but feel deprived and more than a little sorry for herself. For many, this weekend and place held fond and pleasant memories. But for others, like Carys, it brought home the painful truth of being truly, truly alone.
Back when she’d been young and full of dreams that included fairy tales and happily-ever-after endings, she’d daydreamed about T.C. and what it might be like to grow old with him. In the haze known as youthful fancy, she imagined sitting with him, maybe on a front porch swing watching fireflies chase the tops of wildflowers as the fragrance of magnolias and gardenias on a warm Southern night soothed her into a light doze, cuddled safely and securely in T.C.’s arms.
Of course, in Carys’s real world, people didn’t have front porches. And if they did, they were the result of an architect’s whimsy—they surely weren’t used for anything except decoration. Her mother’s friends always had something catty and clever to say about people who sat on their front porches watching the world go by. The ladies always laughed at the comments, but to young Carys, the words always seemed cruel, as if they were making fun of people who couldn’t do any better financially or defend themselves.
To Carys’s way of thinking, it would be really nice to sit on a front porch swing with T.C. and watch the world go by. But in the world in which she lived as a child and as an adult, outdoor entertaining—and there was a lot of it both then and now—was done poolside at her parents’ or on one of the decks off the Georgian-style executive home that Dr. and Mrs. Carlton Shaw and Family called home.
She couldn’t say what, exactly, triggered the despair. One moment she sat in the small auditorium with her classmates and friends, and in the next she found herself overwhelmed with emotion, conflicting ones, but strong feelings nonetheless about so many things—what she’d done with her life since graduating college, where the time went, lost chances, regrets, and overlaying it all, just how much she missed the comfort of Carl’s presence.
But it was way too late to holler “Do over” and remake her life.
Denise Henderson, who used to be a Resident Adviser in the dorm Carys lived in during her junior year, slipped onto the piano stool behind the service leader, placed her hands on the keyboard and began playing the opening bars of “’Tis So Sweet.”
“Father God, we come to you today with bowed heads and humble hearts.”
Carys’s gaze flew up and to the podium where T.C. stood. Lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t even seen him approach. Today, his suit was a charcoal double-breasted one. It, like the one yesterday, fit as if tailored just for him. He held the sides of the lectern as he prayed.
Standing there, the evidence of his calling showing in his demeanor, T. C. Holloway looked just as good as he did twenty-five years ago when they’d graduated. No, Carys thought, make that better than he looked at that time. He’d been all gangly young man then. She remembered enjoying the way his rich tenor complemented her soprano when they sang in the college’s gospel choir. They could sing in harmony without even making an effort to do so.
Thornton concluded the prayer and segued straight into a hymn. On the piano, Denise didn’t miss a beat. Thornton turned toward Carys and held out a hand as he sang. She well knew the lyrics. They’d sung them together in the college chapel as soloists in the choir.
She smiled, rose from her seat and walked to the front of the auditorium, her voice lifted in song as if the songwriter wrote the hymn especially for the two of them to sing in harmony.
Thornton held her hand and Carys sang with a joy and liberation she hadn’t experienced in a long, long time. When at last, the notes on the piano faded away and applause sounded all around them, Thornton hugged her. Then he held one of her hands high.
“Carys Shaw, everyone,” he said by way of quasi-introduction and acclamation.
Beaming and in a far better mood than when she’d entered the auditorium, Carys returned to her seat.
“The preaching moment is here,” Thornton said. “I promise I won’t keep you as long as I keep my people at New Providence.”
“That’s okay, Brother Holloway,” Joe called out from a seat in the last row. “This is the only church some of these heathens will have all year.”
Good-natured laughter greeted that comment.
Knowing it was probably true, Thornton had taken special care preparing the message and meditating on the Scripture.
“This is a reunion, so I don’t expect you to have your Bibles with you. But if you do, please turn with me to Psalms 106 and rise for the reading of the Lord’s Word.”
He read from the first six verses about God’s mercy enduring forever, despite the sins and iniquities of people who knew better. After everyone was seated, he began to expand on the text.
“The living God we serve is a God of second chances,” Thornton said. “We know that to be true because we’re a
ll still sitting here today, right here in this service dedicated to those who’ve gone on. The Bible cites many occasions where God gave people second chances. Examples of how miracles were worked in the lives of a bunch of people who lived a long time ago. But God’s infinite mercy is with us today. Still. This book,” he said, holding the Bible high, “is relevant to our times.
“Think back for a moment. Flip through that mental photo album to the snapshots of your life while here on campus or maybe at some later point. Did you ever do something stupid? I mean really stupid.”
People in the auditorium laughed and nodded.
“Did you ever do something you full well knew you shouldn’t be doing? And it doesn’t matter if you’re one of those people who never misses a Sunday at church or if you’re a C-M-E saint.” That earned him more chuckles, mainly from those who were Christmas-Mother’s Day-and-Easter churchgoers.
“You probably sent up a prayer or two that went something like this. ‘Lord, if you just get me out of this mess I promise that I will…’ And here’s where we start making deals with God. Can I get a witness?”
Several “Amens” filled the auditorium and a few people raised their hands in testimony.
“You know the kind of deals I’m talking about,” Thornton said. “They go something like, ‘I’ll go to church every Sunday, Lord.’ Or ‘I’ll pay my tithes.’ Or ‘Lord, I’ll give You all of my next paycheck if You just get me out of this bind right now.’ Or ‘If You’ll just get him out of this hospital bed, Lord, I’ll never speak another ill word about this trifling husband You gave me.’”
People in the Camden College reunion classes hooted at that one.
“We try to bargain and negotiate with God as if we had any power at all. But you know what?” Thornton said. “God is a mighty good God. He sees through those deals we try to make—good intentions that never see the light of fulfillment. Everybody here knows where that road paved with good intentions leads.
How Sweet the Sound Page 19
