One Prayer Away
Authors: Kendra Norman-Bellamy
One Prayer
          Away
          Away
    Kendra
    Norman-Bellamy
M
OODY
P
UBLISHERS
CHICAGO
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© 2006 by
K
ENDRA
N
ORMAN
-B
ELLAMY
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
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Cover Design: Carlton Bruett Design
Cover Image: Getty Images
Interior Design: Ragont Design
Editors: Suzette Dinwiddie and Cheryl Dunlop
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ISBN: 0-8024-6886-1
ISBN-13: 978-0-8024-6886-4
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
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Norman-Bellamy, Kendra.
One prayer away / Kendra Norman-Bellamy.
     p. cm.
ISBN-13: 978-0-8024-6886-4
ISBN-10: 0-8024-6886-1
1. AlcoholismâFiction. I. Title.
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PS3614.O765O54 2006
813'.6âdc22
2006021088
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1Â 3Â 5Â 7Â 9Â 10Â 8Â 6Â 4Â 2
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Printed in the United States of America
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“I thank my God upon every remembrance of you.”
(Philippians 1:3)
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Jimmy L. Holmes,
for being an eternal inspiration.
Tonja Holmes,
for always celebrating every accomplishment I made.
Clinton & Willie Mae Bellamy,
for loving me like a daughter.
Valeria Bellamy,
for being my friend long before you were my sister-in-law.
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Each of you is proof that while death takes away life,
it does not take away love.
I will love each of you always.
One
I
t had been a long morning at the office, and the incomplete files he'd left on his desk promised to make it an even longer afternoon. Mitchell Andrews was happy for the much-needed break that brought him and his business partner, Christopher Jackson, to their favorite eatery.
The air in Bob's Steak & Chop House was thick with the combined smells of soups, steaks, and potatoes. As he unconsciously closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, Mitchell was almost certain that he caught a whiff of the fried calamari that the couple at the table nearest them shared as an appetizer. Or maybe it was all just a figment of his imagination conjured by the rumble in his stomach. He'd missed breakfast this morning, something his grandmother would have scolded him for if she were still alive. Hearing footsteps approaching and assuming it was their waitress finally delivering their ordered meals, Mitchell opened his eyes.
“Virtue!” Gasping, Mitchell stood suddenly from his chair, causing it to hit the uncarpeted floor with such force
that the resounding thud made him the center of attention.
She was a slightly older but more beautiful copy of the woman he had fallen in love with years before. It was a decade ago that Mitchell had first seen eyes like hers, hair like hers, and teeth like hers. On that mid-August day of their initial meeting, she had unknowingly teased him with her eyelashes, and she owned a smile that qualified her orthodontist for a medal of excellence. It was a direct contrast to the look of horror she now directed toward the man whose outburst had startled her. Apparently having come in to enjoy a quiet afternoon of dining alone, she took several steps backward and pulled her purse close to her body as if fearful that in a restaurant full of dining patrons, Mitchell would dare to rob her.
“Mitch, man, what's wrong with you?” Chris stood and grabbed Mitchell's arm before turning to the woman who was still paralyzed with fear. “I'm sorry, ma'am.” It was all Chris could say in his friend's defense. “I'm sorry.”
Whatever plans the woman had for lunch were immediately changed. With Mitchell unable to take his eyes away in spite of Chris's tugging, she backed away and rushed to exit the front door. The bizarre mayhem had ended, but the eyes from neighboring tables repeatedly glanced in the men's direction long after Mitchell managed to lower himself back into the chair that Chris had brought to an upright position.
“Man, what was that?” Chris whispered, trying to mask his embarrassment behind sips of water. “You got the whole restaurant thinking you're on crack or something.”
Taking a quick look around, Mitchell realized that his partner was only mildly overstating the facts. Every table that he saw seemed to have at least one occupant who looked in his direction as though he needed an exorcist. Closing his eyes, Mitchell took slow, deep breaths like he was taught to do during his tenure at the Betty Ford Center in California. His days of alcoholism had ended nearly
three years ago, but his heart hadn't raced at this pace since his first week there when he had found himself in actual tears, begging and literally fighting for a taste of vodka.
“Let's go,” Mitchell said, his voice steady but pleading. The stares that were coming from all directions were burning into his skin.
“We haven't even gotten our meals yet, man. Didn't you just say a few minutes ago that you were starving? What's wrong with you?” Chris had gotten no answer to that question the first time he had asked.
It would be a three-mile trek back to the office, and Dallas's unusually low November temperatures would make it seem twice as long, but he'd take his chances. Standing, Mitchell grabbed his wool coat from the empty chair beside him and stood to slip his arms in the sleeves.
“What are you doing?” Utter confusion could be seen on Chris's face as he spoke. “Where are you going?”
“Back to the office.” Mitchell held out his hand to stop Chris from rising from his seat. “The walk will be good for me. I need to clear my head. See you later.”
TwoF
riday morning Mitchell stood at the window of his office, staring out at nothing in particular. Not able to go back to sleep after awaking before the sun had even come up, he'd gotten up and ultimately arrived at work two hours earlier than normal. The snapshot in his mind of seeing Virtue three weeks ago hadn't yet faded and showed no indication that it would any time soon. Mitchell's daytime hours had been spent wrestling with renewed guilt, and his nighttime dreams were haunted by the memories that had been responsible for riddling him with the unforgettable shame of it all. Forgiveness . . . that's what Chris had assured Mitchell that God had granted him three years ago when he responded to the altar call at his new church home. But Chris didn't know about Virtue, and all of a sudden, ever since Mitchell had seen her fear and panic, he didn't feel that the sins that involved her had been included in the forgiveness package. He felt as though the monster that had taken up residence in him all those years ago had returned with the intention to own him in a whole new way.
Back then, in the days that birthed the madness, Detroit, Michigan, had been Mitchell's home. With the blessings of his lifetime guardians, he'd relocated there permanently after acquiring his associate degree in business administration from Lewis College of Business, where he had majored in accounting. On the weekends, he had begun spending much of his time nearly two hundred miles away in Kollen Hall at Hope College in Holland, Michigan, wooing one of the school's few black female dance majors.
Grandma Kate, the only mother Mitchell had ever known, had wanted him to pursue higher education at a school closer to their Dallas home, but she had eventually conceded. After their youngest daughter died in childbirth, Isaac and Kate Andrews had taken custody of their then-infant grandson and raised Mitchell as their own. Her oldest son, Kent, lived in Detroit. He'd promised to keep an eye on Mitchell during college and make sure that he had everything he needed.
It was in late November after Thanksgiving when Isaac Andrews made the trip to Detroit at his grandson's request to help Mitchell and Virtue move from what had been a bachelor pad into a new two-bedroom apartment that would more easily accommodate his new bride and the family they were already making plans for. It had been a wonderful four-day bonding period that Mitchell would never forget. It was the week that the Detroit Lions played the visiting Dallas Cowboys, and Grandpa Isaac earned bragging rights when Dallas easily walked away with the win. Mitchell and his uncle Kent thought they'd never hear the last of his elation.