The Devil Made Me Do It (13 page)

Briggs ended the call with Monica and began talking to himself as he tore through his desk. “Man, sometimes . . . Lord, give me a clean heart.” He exhaled and answered his ringing phone.

“Briggs, it's Esther. How are you?” she stammered.

To Briggs's ears, she sounded nervous. “Hey, it's going. How are things checking out with the zoning commission?”

“No news to tell you just yet, but I'm looking into things. All of this is just too suspicious. Sooner or later the dirt will come out. In the meantime, we're going to have to call an emergency meeting of Love Zion's board members.”

“I'll have Naomi schedule it. And I'll keep praying on it; in the meantime, you keep me posted on whatever you need me to do.” Briggs needed a segue to the conversation he really wanted to have with Esther.

“Okay, sounds like a plan. So, I guess I'll see you later?”

Briggs knew this was his chance. “I do have something else to talk to you about.”

“Church business?”

Briggs coughed up his nerve. “No, it's a personal matter.”

“Oh?” Esther sounded puzzled.

Briggs hesitated before he spoke. “I'd like to do it in person, if you don't mind.”

Esther stammered again. “What's going on?” Her voice escalated. “I thought you said everything was okay. I know, you know, to let church gossip pass you by. Don't let people saying we're in a relationship get to you. Ignore them, it will die down, and in the interim, no one is really hurt. It's not like you're engaged or have a wife.”

Briggs's time table just moved up. “Esther, we need to talk today. Can you swing by here? No, better yet, let me meet you.”

“Okay, now you're scaring me. What's going on?” Esther sounded rattled.

Briggs's voice was determined. “We'll talk when I see you.”

“I'm on my way home. Come by my house. The address is 16555 Edinborough Road. So, I'll see you in a few?”

“Yes, I'll be there shortly,” Briggs said.

 

 

A short while later, Briggs hung his head as he waited for Esther to answer the door. Letting people get to know him without his father or his trophy wife seemed like an innocent plan. He thought of it as a man needing to test his waters and learn who he was for himself. Now, it seemed underhanded and sinister in nature. He honestly never meant to mislead anyone, especially Esther, someone whom he admired and thought of as a real friend. He wished he could either turn back the hands of time or put this off another week, day, or hour.

The door opened. He was out of time. There she stood, and his heart lurched, but he rejected the feeling. Entering her home he noticed the beautiful décor and how well it all came together. Her home reflected her character . . . warm and inviting.

On the eastern side of Esther's home, there was cackling of merriment and imps danced in glee as they looked through her kitchen window. A taller shadow dominated the grassy area.

A large, curled claw shoved the small, scaly, pimpled hunchback imp standing before him.

“You dare to stand in front of me, Imp One? Get behind me quickly and you might live. I want to see this unfold,” The Leader demanded.

“My apologies, O Great One,” the imp said and slithered swiftly behind his leader. “I move, O Titled One. This is so exciting. It is all coming together.”

“Stop drooling, stupid peasant. You are such a troll,” The Leader said. “This is my plan, my victory. You have done nothing but cause mishaps and missteps. I should make you leave.”

“Oh no, please. Finally, something is going your way. Let me celebrate with you. Let me be your cheerleader. I can do it. I can, I can!”

“By all that is evil, shut up! I had to request Confusion and Chaos because of your impotence. Do you think I need you fawning over me?”

The Leader leaned down and blew a fetid fire over the imp's body. Every place it touched, ash followed, until the imp simply faded into dust.... Not even a shimmer of memory left behind.

With his large head tilted skyward, The Leader let out an eerie screech of triumph. He then reclined on his tail in ecstasy.

“Now, I can watch this in Technicolor uninterrupted. Bring on the pain . . .”

 

 

Esther motioned Briggs over to sit down on the large, overstuffed couch. She called over her shoulder as she went into her kitchen, “It's warm out, so I made us some lemonade.”

“That sounds good,” Briggs replied, feeling dryness in his throat that had nothing to do with thirst.

Esther entered with two frosted goblets on a tray, with a small plate of Mother's Reed sliced pound cake she had defrosted yesterday from her freezer.

“Girl, I should have come over to visit you sooner. You know how to treat a guest,” Briggs said, trying to lighten the mood.

Esther snorted. “A guest who's being mysterious. No more suspense. Talk to me.”

Briggs gestured to her sofa. “Please . . . sit down.” Defiantly, Esther crossed her arms. “I'm not so sure I need to sit down. Maybe I want this news standing.”

“Esther,” Briggs said exasperated.

“Okay, okay, don't get all huffy.” She plopped down and folded her arms.

Briggs hesitated, becoming fascinated with his hands.

“Well . . .” Esther watched Briggs stall.

An anxious Briggs stumbled through his explanation. “You know that I consider you a friend, and that sometimes when we talk, it feels like the years have faded away.” He paused because Esther looked terrified. “Esther?”

“Yes?”

“Are you okay?” Briggs asked, his face flooding with compassion. He needed to get this out. He was scaring her.

She stiffened even more. “Yes, go on.”

His hands opened in supplication. “I wouldn't hurt you for the world, not in any way, and I never meant to mislead you . . .”

Briggs noticed Esther's body language shift to rigid. He was trying to tell her; it was just stuck in his throat.

Esther reached out and slapped his arm in aggravation. “I'm going to hurt you, man. Just say it.”

He blurted, “I'm married.”

“What?” In disbelief, she looked around, stretched up on her tiptoes, and peeked over his shoulder.

Baffled, Briggs's eyebrows rose and his eyes darted to see where Esther was looking. “Esther?”

Eyes narrowed into pinpoint lasers, she shook her fist in his face. “Oh no, my saved, sanctified, man of God. I'm looking for
Candid Camera,
funniest home videos, or something 'cause I know I'm being punked.”

Briggs slowly swung his head in the negative, swiped his brow with his sleeve, and tried to get through his “shoulda told it long ago” confession. “Yes, I have a wife. Her name is Monica.”

Esther slumped into a chair. He could tell this was not the news she expected. “Wife?” she repeated, then swallowed. “Not punked? You're for real?”

Briggs babbled. “She was coming; then she got delayed; then she was sick, and . . . She is coming soon though, for a visit.”

Esther stared into space. Briggs didn't know what she was thinking. But, by the look on her face, it wasn't good.

She tried to speak, but instead stood. Her lips tightened, and her hands curled into balls. She was in shock as she shook her hands loose and pointed her finger at Briggs. Her voice stilted, she released her pain. “I once hurt you. Your only crime was you loved me. I was an angry and confused young lady. My mind had twisted our relationship into part of the reason for Sheri's suicide. I felt I wasn't there for her. You took up my time. You needed to share the blame and the punishment.”

Briggs listened and frowned. “Esther, that was long ago—”

Esther sliced her hand in the air for Briggs to be quiet. “Now, we meet again. And there are tingles and secret smiles.” Esther saw Briggs clench his hands in guilt. “And . . . You're married. Briggs, I feel lied to, but you never said you were free. I'm disappointed, but you never made me any promises. And I am humiliated that this makes the rumor and our association so much worse.”

Briggs felt her shame. “Esther, I promise it was not my intention to mislead you or to cause you pain. This is not in retaliation for our past. I admit we still have chemistry, but I wouldn't have acted on it.” Briggs's heart seesawed. He could only hope he wouldn't have acted. That his relationship with God would allow him to be the man he claimed to be.

Esther's breathing was erratic. “Briggs, I think you need to go. I'm meeting a friend, and I don't want to be late. I'm sorry about the rumors, but as long as we stay away from each other, they'll fade away.”

“Esther, I don't care about the rumors. I'm here because we're friends, and the omission of my marriage was not meant to be malicious. I'm married to Monica, who is a well-known model. I'm the son of a world renown televangelist. This is my first ministry assignment away from my father's shadow. And, for a short while, away from my wife's notoriety. For once, I wanted people to see and get to know me. But she didn't come after a week, then two weeks, and we're now in the fourth week of my arrival, and I'm
still
alone.”

Esther stood in stunned disbelief. “You married swimsuit cover,
Sport Illustrated, Vogue, Glamour,
the ‘Monica'?”

“Yes.” Briggs wanted to share how all that fame never helped them make a home. But there was enough confusion.

Esther waved her hand toward the front door to dismiss him. “I'd really like you to go, Briggs. From what you told me weeks ago, you're carrying a lot of issues from being a preacher's kid. Always expected to be perfect, never allowed to make mistakes, held up for others to emulate. I saw it in college when you were frantic about pleasing your father. I saw similar behavior in Sheri. Please pray about this and talk to someone who can help. I know you'll lead our church well, but Romans 11:29 states, for the gifts and calling of God are without repentance. You don't want to miss God.”

Briggs's head snapped back as though Esther had delivered a Mike Tyson blow. “This is why I don't talk about my feelings to people. You get judged. I don't need your judgment, Esther. Just your forgiveness if I hurt you.” Briggs stepped away. “I'll leave since you are meeting someone.”

Esther remained quiet. She walked with Briggs to the door, opened, and then closed it without speaking.

Dejected, Briggs sat in his car quiet and miserable. It was the second time Esther had asked him to leave her house. He thought older meant wiser.

He was wrong.

Esther hugged the pillow from her living-room couch. She was trying to conjure up the rest and warmth she usually felt there. Instead, she wanted to throw something. She really didn't have anywhere to go or any friends to meet. She only had acquaintances. She felt convicted, she had lied to Briggs. Her childhood friendships taught her it was painful when people moved on. The last time she let people in, it almost destroyed her spirit.

On edge, she grabbed her car keys. She might not have anyone to meet, but she needed to get out of the house. She decided to take a ride around Belle Island Park to dispel her hurt and ease her conscience. Forgiving Briggs was also on the menu; she still had to work with the man.

She entered her attached garage through her kitchen, her mind in overdrive concerning Briggs and his shocking announcement.

“Lord, I'm going to lose my mind at this rate,” she complained, as she clicked the remote door opener and backed out of her garage.

Bam!!!

Startled, Esther looked in her rearview mirror as she slammed on her brakes. She couldn't imagine what she might have hit. “Briggs?” she jumped out and spotted Briggs still in his car. “What in the world?”

He ignored her outburst. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Esther inspected the back end of her car. She noticed a small dent in her bumper.

“Please add this apology to all the others I've said to you today. I am sorry, but you really should look behind you when you're pulling out.” Briggs looked at the front end of his rental and squinted at the damage.

Esther glared at him as though he was from outer space. “Are you
serious?
Why were you still sitting in my driveway?”

“Praying.”

“Oh.” The wind seeped out of Esther's sails. She had been so disturbed by Briggs's revelation that she didn't even think to pray.

To cover her discomfiture, Esther spouted, “I need your insurance information, and we should call and report this accident to the police.”

He pulled out his information. “Yes, that's the right thing to do. Maybe we can go back inside and wait for them to show up?”

“Well, okay, but then I have to go. Someone is waiting for me,” Esther frowned at her continued lie.
For sure the gates of hell are opening.

“Going to meet your mother?”

“No.” Esther pulled out her cell and reported the accident as she and Briggs went back into her house. “Briggs, the police are on their way.”

“Your sister?” Briggs glowered, fixated on her face.

“Pardon?” Distracted, Esther dug in her purse for her insurance card.

“Going to visit . . . are you meeting your sister?” he asked annoyed.

“No,” Esther said sweetly.

Briggs sighed heavily, muttered, and watched as Esther dialed another phone number.

Seeing his discomfort, something naughty made her needle him more. “Hi, change of plans. I'll be a little delayed. I had a small fender bender,” Esther spoke into her office voice mail. “No, no, I'm okay. I'll just be a little later. Okay, bye.”

Briggs moved closer, straining to hear who was on the other line. Esther, sensing his motives, countered his moves every time he approached her. Aggravated, he sat down.

Curiosity rode Esther until she became short-tempered. She growled, “So, how long have you been married?”

He froze. “So we're just going to dive right in,” he murmured under his breath.

She shrugged. “Yes, so please answer.”

“We've been married a little over five years and you have really good hearing,” Briggs said frustrated.

In silence, they locked eyes; then the silence spiraled into something else. Uncomfortable, Briggs and Esther broke eye contact, speaking over each other. “Maybe we should wait outside.... Let's get some air.”

Uneasy, they chuckled, looking everywhere, but at each other. They moved outside, hoping the police had arrived.

Briggs ended the awkward silence. “It was never my intention to mislead anyone,” he rubbed his hand absently over his chin. “I apologize. My prayer revealed you were right, and I should not have been offended. The actions of a boy shouldn't still reflect in the behavior of the man. Now that I know, it's an area I'll work on.”

“That's good, Briggs,” Esther whispered as she smoothed her hands down her curvy hips. She blinked but spoke her acceptance of his married state. “You have a beautiful wife. I'm sure we'll love her as our first lady.”

Briggs made an offhanded remark. “At thirty-three, I know what I didn't know at twenty-five. I've learned the measuring stick that will have her in your arms for a night is a lot different than the one that would have her there for life.” He realized his disclosure and clamped his lips shut.

Esther was heavyhearted with the realization that nothing was simple.

A car door slammed, and a police officer approached them with his ticket book in hand. “So how'd it happen, folks? Someone pulling in or out?” the officer inquired.

“Out,” they chorused.

The officer shook his head. “There was a time when people handled their domestic squabbles in private. Since when does a husband and wife settle a little fender bender with outsiders? You look like a lovely couple. Why don't you just pay for the car repairs and call it a day? My parents always said don't let the sun go down on your wrath. Maybe you should just kiss and make up,” he advised as he walked around the cars and surveyed the damage.

Briggs immediately interjected. “We're not married.”

The police officer looked at the wedding band Briggs made sure was on his finger today and repulsion dawned on his face.

Esther followed the officer's line of vision and stared at the wedding ring on his finger. “Was that always there?”

“No,” Briggs said, “I—”

“So you're one of those, huh?” the officer sneered.

“What?” Briggs exclaimed, “You really are jumping to conclusions. I'm a man of—”

“Whatever. Let's get down to business. Please pull out your driver's licenses and proof of insurance . . .”

 

 

“Oh, I liked that, Leader. You have such a delicate stroke when you paint people into unbearable corners,” the minion lisped.

The Leader looked at his latest imp, a small insipid reptile, and wondered for the millionth time, why he couldn't have full-fledged demons like some of the other legion leaders. Yet, he knew he was up to the task and could even whip this sorry bunch into shape.

“Yeee . . . sss,” The Leader hissed. “I thought the police officer with his sanctimonious ways was a real nice touch. New Christians can be so judgmental. You know that he just accepted salvation a week ago. He's on my radar. He had a little problem in the past with adultery. Like I said before, humans are so contrary. What they hate, they do.”

“You are so wonderful, so mighty, so—”

“Cease your groveling, insect! You tire me.”

“He tires, he tires,” his minions chorused as they slivered into the shadows on the walls.

Knowing he had other assignments, The Leader looked down into his book of words spoken carelessly by others. He loved to use these murmurings to kill the life of their dreams and provoke new attacks against them.

“Let's see, there were 8,112 ‘you make me sick' phrases spoken on Tuesday in the city of Detroit alone,” he exclaimed in glee as he sent down coughs, nervous ticks, headaches, and his personal favorite, STDs.

The power of peoples' words was undeniable. When would they learn? He hoped never. Words caused disruptions and negative disruptions ushered in distractions. It was his experience that some people let any little thing keep them from receiving the goodness that “He” had for them. Small distractions were the best. They kept man from “Him” (he hated saying “His” name—it always caused him to convulse). When man stayed away from “Him” too long, they usually ended up coming back to his master. He had found that distractions were his friend. Soon, those who had moved away were back living next door to him. As his tail swayed happily back and forth, he swooned, and sang a little ditty he heard through a miniature human's open window. “Just another day in the neighborhood . . .”