by H.H. Fowler
****
Tayah turned left off Nebraska Avenue onto Fowler to make the seven-minute drive to Embassy Suites where she would join two hundred folks in a breakfast bash, celebrating the legacy of Martin Luther King Jr. As she maneuvered in and out of the flowing traffic with one hand on the steering wheel, her other hand subconsciously rubbed the front of her neck. She wondered why that area felt so sore, but soon made the connection and was sadden by the reality that her husband had nearly strangled her to death, and if her father hadn't rung that doorbell, she wasn't certain she'd still be alive this morning. Her eyes began to water as she thought about the man Phillip had turned out to be. She never imagined that he would ever put his hands on her. To say she was disappointed was an understatement.
Oh Lord, give me the strength to love my husband, in spite of his shortcomings. And help me to give him that respect, even though I don't think he deserves it. Please, let Your…
Her prayer came to an abrupt end when she and other motorists stopped their cars at a pedestrian crossing to let Dominic and Sanchez jog across to the other side. Thank God they hadn't seen her, because they would have caught her drooling in lust. She couldn't tear her eyes away from Dominic's body, which was scantily clad in a black tank top and a pair of NFL-looking tights. Every muscle in his butt and thighs bulged as his feet struck the asphalt at a steady pace. The honking horns behind her jolted her to her senses, which also caused Dominic and Sanchez to look behind them to see what the noise was all about. Tayah stomped her foot on the gas pedal and drove out of view, hoping they hadn't spotted her.
As she burned rubber down Fowler Avenue, her BlackBerry rang, causing her heart to beat even faster. Maybe they had seen her, she panicked. Dominic could pick out her car in a crowded parking lot without breaking a sweat. What if it was him calling? She snatched up her phone and stared at the screen, relieved that she would not have to suffer such an unholy embarrassment.
“Hello, Ian. What's going on?”
“Please tell me that you're almost here.”
“Yes, I'm turning into the parking lot as we speak,” she told him. “Is there a problem?”
“Nothing that you can't fix. We need you to do the opening prayer. Marcus is a no show.”
After all of that lusting she'd done a couple seconds ago, Tayah didn't feel worthy to approach the throne of grace. But she knew as one of the main event coordinators, she couldn't let the committee down. They depended heavily on her loyalty, so she simply said, “Oh sure, Ian. That's no problem. I'll see you on the inside.”
