Love Like Hallelujah (12 page)

It was the first Sunday, and one of the rare occasions when Pastor Derrick and Sister Vivian stood at the church steps and greeted the members as they streamed out of the sanctuary. In the beginning, they’d done this almost every Sunday. But as the membership grew, along with their responsibilities, the ritual had been reduced to once a month, to once every two months, to now, about every quarter. The day was cooperating, clear blue skies, breeze gentle and light. Conversations and laughter could be heard among the colorfully dressed churchgoers, waiting patiently in line to say hello and shake the pastor and first lady’s hand. The mood was jubilant, thanks no doubt to Pastor’s fiery morning message that asked the question: Who’s the most powerful nation? The answer had been inspiring: God’s nation! His foundational scripture had been Genesis 12:2, when God spoke to Abraham and said: “And I will make of thee a great nation, and I will bless thee and make thy name great, and thou shall be a blessing.” All of God’s children basked in the glory of the day, feeling blessed and joyful.

Robin stood patiently. She’d waited for this moment a long time, and while calm on the outside, she was a bundle of nerves inside. She’d plotted thoroughly, planned carefully. This was a golden opportunity that didn’t happen often. And as soon as she’d heard the announcement that the pastor and first lady would be greeting members outside the church, she prepared to make the best of it. Her mind had instantly gone into action, and as she stood in line waiting for her turn to greet the pastor, she was ready.

Her dress could not have been more appropriate, excellent for blending in. The suit was simple, a classic navy blue, double-breasted jacket with straight skirt that hit midcalf. Her heels were low, and as if fate were on her side, she’d found a medium-brimmed straw hat the same color as the suit, with light meshing over the eyes. Perfect.

I wonder if he’ll remember me
. Robin had gained almost forty pounds since she’d last seen Derrick and her then-black hair was now a reddish blond.

Memories of a distant past swirled through her head, of another church, in another town. Dreams and laughter shared in a small Baptist edifice that would fit well inside KCCC’s parking lot. It had been far too long since she’d hugged Derrick, touched him. She wanted to throw her arms around him and declare her love. She wanted to push Vivian out of the way and take her rightful place by his side.

Yes, she and Derrick belonged together. The more she’d thought about it the past week, the more she knew it was true. Maybe this could be more than a fling.
Relax, stay calm, don’t mess this up!
These words played in her head. There were now only five people in front of her. Her heartbeat quickened with each step. Was it warmer all of a sudden? Or was it the heat between her and Derrick? She resisted a strong urge to fan herself. Four people. She diverted her attention by looking at but not really reading the program.
Will he recognize me? Will he see the love in my eyes?
Three people.

Robin scoped Vivian from the corner of her eye. She’d hardly changed a bit—still gorgeous—but Robin wouldn’t dare admit that.
Her dress is rather frumpy
. Actually, it was a perfectly fitting floral-printed Dior, with a wide leather belt and matching shoes. Vivian was letting her hair grow out, and it swung softly below her shoulders, sleeked back away from her face. Her makeup was simple as was her single piece of jewelry: the stunning pink diamond ring Derrick had given her on their tenth wedding anniversary. For all of her frumpiness, Robin didn’t miss that touch of class.
She doesn’t deserve it! But no, don’t think of that
…. Two people.

Please don’t let them hear my heart
. It was racing. She stuffed the program in her purse, pulled out what she’d prepared for Derrick. God, she hoped the sun hadn’t oiled up her skin. It was too late to pull out a compact.
It’s okay, you just checked your makeup before you came outside, remember?
Yes, she remembered.

One person…

She took a deep breath. It was like a dream. Derrick Montgomery, close enough to reach out and touch.

“Bless you, sister.” Derrick smiled and reached out his hand.

“Oh, Pastor Montgomery,” Robin said, staring deep into his eyes. “I so enjoyed that sermon today. Thank you.” She grabbed his hand and shook it, placing her other hand on top and pressing something into his palm.

Derrick noticed something vaguely familiar about the woman. But he saw so many people every Sunday, familiarity was not unusual. The woman clung to his hand. “Well, bless the Lord, sister, that’s where the Word comes from. What is your name?”

Robin thought quickly. “Brown,” she said, reverting to her mother’s maiden name.
Robin
may have been a red flag, and with her incessant phone calling,
Reynolds
was definitely one. “Ms. Brown.” That was general enough.

Vivian, who’d been speaking to the person in front of her, turned on that note. “Welcome, Ms. Brown,” she said genuinely. “We’re so glad you joined us today.”

Robin’s smile could have come from the Wax Museum. “It’s”—Robin resisted the urge to jerk her hand back—“it’s good to be here.”
Good to be standing next to my man!

Vivian was unaware of the storm swirling around her. “And may I say you look wonderful in that outfit. I love the hat.”

Robin simply nodded. She couldn’t see past the haze of green that temporarily blocked Vivian from view. She thought she mumbled something or nodded her head or grunted; seconds later she couldn’t remember. It had all happened so fast. Just a touch, a touch of his hand is all she got! And then it was over. It was time for him to greet the next person in the still-long line.

You’ve got him now but not for long
, she thought, smiling about the note she’d folded inside a twenty-dollar bill.
My waiting days are over. Derrick will be mine.

Derrick looked briefly as the woman in blue elegantly descended the stairs. He smiled at her “Pentecostal handshake,” a long-held tradition of pressing a blessing into the preacher’s hand. He pocketed the money, looked at Vivian, and smiled again. Then he turned back to the next member and continued the ritual that went on for more than an hour.

Finally, he and Vivian left the crowd and stepped inside his cool suite of offices. Vivian immediately took off her heels. “My goodness, I thought the line would never end.”

“It didn’t end,” Associate Minister Allen Anderson responded with a chuckle. “We did.”

“More like my feet did,” Vivian said, rubbing her toes as she perched on the loveseat.

“Don’t complain, baby,” Derrick enjoined, taking off his suit jacket and joining Vivian on the loveseat. “I remember the day we would have finished that line in fifteen minutes.”

“More like ten,” Vivian replied with a smile.

“More like five,” Derrick countered, taking Vivian’s foot in his lap and rubbing it. “What’s for dinner, babe? I’m starved.”

“I have no idea. I turned the reins and our household over to Mother Moseley. She and some other sisters left after the early morning service and headed to the house. Something fattening, I’m sure, but we’ll both be surprised. Speaking of which,” Vivian said, rising from the couch and putting on her shoes, “I probably should head over there, make sure they don’t need any help. You coming?”

“Go ahead,” Derrick replied. “I need to speak with my ministers about the service tonight.”

He gave Viv a peck on the lips and she was out the door before he sat down at his desk. “Allen, would you gather the men?” The faster Derrick began the meeting, the faster he could go home and attend to more urgent matters. Like his appetite.

Derrick sat back waiting for the men to arrive. Remembering the “handshake,” he reached in his pocket. Andrew Jackson’s profile told him he’d been handed a twenty-dollar bill. He was about to place the money back in his pocket when he felt it again, felt that it was thicker than a single bill. He unfolded the bill and saw the note inside.
Oh, so that’s what this is
. He debated on whether or not to even read the note. There were so many different ways women tried to come at him. And she had stared at him rather intently. Still, she hadn’t acted flirtatious, but genuinely touched by the day’s message. Maybe it was a prayer request. Or maybe it was a question about the Word, or the ministry. Curiosity won out. He unfolded the paper and leaned back in his chair.

Robin? Pilgrims’ Rest? It took Derrick a minute to remember the young woman who’d helped him immensely when he first took over the little church in Lithonia. She’d encouraged him during bouts of self-doubt regarding his ability to lead a congregation who for the most part were at least a decade older than him. He’d shared his fears with her, and she’d shared her confidence in his abilities to do the job. Derrick remembered she’d been willing to share more than encouragement. They’d flirted, but nothing serious, not even a kiss.

Why didn’t she say who she was this afternoon?
Shrugging, Derrick dismissed the question. It didn’t matter. He decided it would be good to talk to Robin, to find out what she’d been up to all these years. After all, she was probably married with a few children, in town on vacation. He hadn’t paid much attention, but she hadn’t seemed to be with anyone in line. He shrugged again, and wrote a note for Angela to set up a meeting. The note said she’d only be in town a few days. Lunch for an old friend was the least he could do.

Vivian entered her house to the combined smells of frying chicken, frying steak, baking rolls, and some sweet dessert scent blending in underneath it all. A song from
The Best of the Winans
CD blasted from the stereo in the living room, and voices bobbed and weaved for attention in the verbal sparring match going on in the kitchen.

“I tell you that BeBe Winans wrote that song ‘Stand.’ I heard him sing it on
Oprah
.” The KCCC church matron put her hands on her hips for added clout.

“I don’t care if he sung it on the moon,” Mother Moseley countered. “Donnie McClurkin wrote that song.”

“Well, BeBe sings it better. Can’t nobody sing like a Winans.”

“Except a McClurkin,” Mother Moseley rose up to defend her favorite male singer. “That Donnie can croon the Lord’s praises to me anytime. And anywhere,” she added with a sparkle in her eye. “Hey, First Lady, you’re finally here!”

“And just in time, I see,” Vivian said, hugging Mother Moseley and the others in the kitchen. “Is there anything you didn’t fry in here?”

“Oh, we thought of you,” Cynthia answered. She and Vivian had become good friends during her year as a Ladies First member. “I think there are some sliced tomatoes in the fridge.”

“Oh, nice,” Vivian answered, playfully batting at Cynthia and picking up the woman’s one-year-old son. “Your mother thinks she’s a comedian,” she cooed at a wide-eyed Judah. “Your mother thinks she’s got jokes.” She put the boy down and turned and looked around her. “You guys are cooking up a feast! And it smells delicious.”

Mother Moseley provided the report. “We got fried chicken,” she began, counting down on her fingers, “on account of it’s Sunday and we Black folk.”

“And at a preacher’s house,” Mary interrupted.

“That’s right,” Mother Moseley agreed. “If it’s Sunday and you’re Black, at a preacher’s house, ya gotta serve fried chicken.” Everyone laughed. They all knew it wasn’t true, but they also knew no one in their right mind turned down a perfectly seasoned crisp wing, thigh, or drumstick, no matter what day it was.

“So, we’ve got the chicken,” Mother continued, “greens, green beans, mashed potatoes, swimmin’ in real butter,” she added, throwing a sideways glance at Vivian. Vivian just licked her lips.

“And,” Mother went on, “we got mac and cheese, some candied yams, and a big pound cake with chocolate icing—from scratch. Ain’t no boxes in here; real cooks are up in this house.”

Vivian shook her head as she hugged Mother Moseley again. In many ways, she felt as close to her as she did her own mother. She felt blessed to have her around. “You’ve outdone yourself,” she said genuinely. “And even though I gained five pounds just from you quoting the menu, I’m gonna roll up these designer sleeves and throw down y’all.”

High fives went around on that note. Everybody had to let their health-conscious hair down once in a while.

“I probably shouldn’t go over to Miss Smith’s house again,” King mused out loud. “The thoughts running through my mind after I saw Tootie the last time, well, they won’t preach on Sunday morning.” As hard as he’d tried, the name Janeé wouldn’t stick. Tootie had always been, well, Tootie.

Tootie had initiated the thoughts with a single glance, a pointed stare at his crotch. King’s manhood had raised its interested head immediately. The low-cut top and tight pants she’d been wearing hadn’t helped matters. Not where staying away from her was concerned, at any rate. He told Derrick this as well.

“You’re doing the right thing,” Derrick encouraged his friend. “You did your part. It looks like Miss Smith is finally out of the woods. Let your deacon handle things from here on out.”

“Maybe dinner wouldn’t hurt,” King continued. He wanted to see more of Tootie, and as a married man, much more than he should.

“No, King, not dinner, not even lunch.” Derrick spoke firmly, even as he had his own news to share. They hadn’t talked about it but they didn’t have to. King and Tootie should not hang out. “And speaking of lunch,” he said in ironic similarity, “guess who I’m inviting over next week?”

“Who?”

“Robin, an old friend and former member from my early days at Pilgrims’ Rest.” Derrick chuckled. “This must be the season for old friend reunions.”

King’s ears perked up. An old friend? King could count on one hand the names of females with whom Derrick had been seriously involved. The name Robin was not among them. “Who’s Robin?”