The Devil Made Me Do It (15 page)

“Me,” a sniveling voice whimpered.

Swoosh! The fire singed the ground where the imp had once stood. For the third time that year he had been killed, only to end up back in the furnace. The ground floor of hell was everyone's worse nightmare. It was the hottest, therefore, nicknamed the furnace. Every time he returned there, it was harder to work his way back up and out. He was getting tired of the climb and cursed The Leader.

“Cretins!”

“We're so bad, so bad, so bad,” the imps said in mindless chatter.

“Leave!” The Leader blasted.

The dark shadows scattered across the wall, sounding like a thousand mice, then silence.

Briggs's phone call with his father left him humbled. He had the lesson now. His choices made choices for him. His choice to omit the truth led to the rumors, and his now confusing relationship with Esther. Truth was now at point, and he needed to make a change. Briggs picked up his phone.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he said with determined gusto.

“I assume you know you're talking to your wife?”

“Yeah, babe . . . and I'm missing you, lady. I tried to call you last night,” he crooned while placing his feet up on the ottoman.

“Sorry, my cell died, and I lost its charger. Did you need anything?”

Briggs continued his sweet-talk campaign. “First, disregard, my voice mail. I was venting out of loneliness. Second, I just wanted to hear your voice and tell you how happy I am about having you here for the weekend. I plan to get us a suite at the Renaissance Center.”

“Oh, nice. Anything special I should pack?”

“Well, you know I like you best in nothing at all . . .”

“Now, Pastor Stokes, I do believe y'all gon' make me blush,” Monica said in an exaggerated Southern drawl.

Briggs sat forward mimicking her drawl. “Well, you do make my heart skip a beat, Ms. Monica.” Briggs then added in a seductive whisper, “Especially when you're a bad girl.”

Monica's voice was teary. “You have my eyes watering, Briggs, I will not cry. It has been so long since you and I talked like this. I forgot that once this was a natural thing for us, this intimacy.”

Briggs spoke his thoughts out loud. “I remember when all we did was talk, flirt, and make love. Where did those days go?” The phone was filled with awkward silence. “Monica, we can get this right. This move will allow us a new beginning. Please text me your flight number and time of arrival.” Briggs's voice held resolve.

“Okay.” Monica hesitated, “and, Briggs?”

“Yes?”

She made a kissing sound through the phone. “Pleasant dreams.”

Briggs planned to woo his wife back into his empty arms. He angled his head at the mirror, a specter of Esther floated past, and he closed his eyes against the sadness that reigned where joy should have. He had made his choice.

 

 

Two days later, planes lifted off, and people bustled by rushing to their destinations. Monica sat in the airport restaurant with Randall. Airports were always busy on Fridays, so they role-played business acquaintances waiting on their flight. She sipped her drink and observed his brooding facial expression through her extended lashes.

“Please stop,” Monica snapped.

Randall forgot their roles and took her hand. His earnest gaze into her eyes exposed his agony. “I've never been in sync with any other person like I am with you. Come back to me,” he pleaded.

Monica marveled when tears formed in the corners of his eyes. Her eyes glistened in symbiotic response; they were connected. Briggs was far away, Randall was here and now. “I can't do this,” Monica whispered with droplets of tears spilling down her cheek.

“No—don't say that. I'm sorry I spoke out of turn. We can work anything out. Go see your husband,” Randall said in a rush, his cheeks ruddy from panic.

Monica lost her composure and grabbed Randall's arm. “No, I can't go. Briggs is so far away, and I'm not talking about miles. I don't want to leave, and I'm selfish enough not to.”

Randall covered her hand, then pulled out his phone. “Here, call him . . . now.”

“No. He's expecting me, and if I call, he'll just needle me until I get on the plane. It's better for him to think I missed my flight.” She pushed the phone away.

Randall rubbed his cheek. “I never want to feel like I've felt since you told me you were leaving.” His chest expanded with news. “Monica, I'm asking my wife for a divorce.”

“Hallelujah!” Monica shouted as she bolted from her seat and ran around the table to Randall. She grabbed him by the face and kissed him full on the lips. No more hiding.

Randall stood before her with the most lopsided wide grin on his face that she had ever seen. “Can we go home now?” he asked.

“Yes, darling, we can go home. Together,” Monica said.

She took a step toward the outward ramp and stumbled. Startled, she glanced up, and hanging from the ceiling a sign read “CAUTION—PLEASE WATCH YOUR STEP.” She read the large bold words and shivered as though something horrible awaited her. She shook off the ominous feeling and strutted out of the airport with Randall striding behind her. They were golden people. What could possibly go wrong?

Briggs sat at home in an empty house. Monica hadn't been on the plane, and she wasn't answering his fifty attempts to reach her. This was classic Monica. He knew in his heart she was fine; it was his marriage that was in trouble. He was glad he didn't spring for the suite.

The Gregorys had overnight plans elsewhere and had gladly given them the house. Briggs passed the dining room, a beautiful table setting gleamed against lights turned down low, and candles illuminated a soft glow against the silken walls. In all the time he had lived here, the Gregorys had never used the room.

He continued into the kitchen where a sumptuous spread was laid out before him. Apple and almond-crusted tenderloin, asparagus with cream sauce, garlic new red potatoes, and black-eyed peas with shrimp salad. The dessert was his favorite, chocolate turtle cheesecake. A note card was propped up for him to read. The food was still warm and there was a greeting for Monica.

Bless her heart,
Briggs thought, thinking of Mrs. Gregory.

The message light was lit on the home phone. He checked and found Monica was the third message on the list.

“Briggs? This is Monica. I don't feel so well. I was at the terminal, and I felt faint. My head feels clammy, and my hands are sweaty. I don't want to meet people for the first time ill. Please send my apologies. I'm going home, and then to bed. I'm shutting my phone off until this awful migraine passes. Please send my suitcases back. I just felt too bad to pull them off. Bye, sweetie . . . ooh . . . .”
Beep
.

Briggs looked at the phone as though it had offended him. “
And the Academy Award goes to . . .”
Who did Monica think she was kidding—migraines, clammy hands, night sweats?

Briggs was angrier than he could remember. This was the woman he had pledged his life to love, and as of late, it had been a struggle, but he had remained faithful to her. And
this
was his reward? Why was he fighting this? Choices? She had just made hers.

Briggs punched in Esther's number. “Hey, what are you doing?”

A groggy Esther growled, “Sleeping.”

“At eight o'clock?”

“Yeah, I had a little accident yesterday, and I'm still recuperating.”

Briggs was concerned. “Why didn't you call? What happened?”

“Calm down, I fell on my knee, and it's a little swollen. I'm fine, just a little sore.”

“I'm coming over. What can I bring you?” Briggs said on a mission.

“Nothing, I don't feel like getting up and pulling myself together so you stay home, okay?” Esther's breath heavy with exertion.

“Have you eaten?” Briggs ignored her plea.

“Briggs . . .” Esther whined.

“Have you eaten?”

“You're stubborn. No, I haven't eaten, but I will. Please let me get back to sleep. Bye, Briggs,” Esther said with authority.

Briggs begin packing food from the stove into plastic containers. “All right, Esther, see you.”

 

 

In a darkened room, Esther scooted to the end of her bed and pulled herself up. She couldn't believe the number of times she was being disturbed today. First Briggs called, and now someone was ringing her doorbell. She slipped into her robe and hobbled to the front door. Through her peephole she couldn't believe who stood on the other side. Heart racing, she opened the door wide enough to peek out.

“Lawton! What are you doing here?” Esther smoothed her hand over her tousled hair and pulled her robe closer. She was no sleeping beauty, it was Friday, and her ratty underwear whispered Tuesday. She couldn't feel more dumpy.

“I'm checking on you,” he said. “May I come in?”

“Well, uh . . . I'm not really feeling up to company.” Esther patted her hair and rubbed at imaginary sleep lines around her face. Roger once told her she woke up with railroad track lines across her face. An unattractive trait.

Lawton quizzically took in her frantic face rubbing. “You good? Does your medication make you itch?” He watched Esther smooth her hands down her robe and shake her head no. He then inched the door open and edged into the room. “Good, glad you're okay. And, I'm not company. You can be obstinate, and I figured that same personality trait would keep you from calling anyone for help. So I came to offer my assistance. Have you eaten?”

“Why is everyone concerned with my eating habits? There is such a thing as pizza delivery.” Esther clutched her robe.

“Why are you strangling your robe? Is it being bad?”

Esther rolled her eyes. “Okay, since it looks like I'm not getting rid of you, I'm going to put some clothes on and run a comb through my hair.” She motioned for Lawton to come all the way inside.

He glided past, moving toward her kitchen. “That's not necessary. I've got a sister, and I learned a long time ago, y'alls rolling out of bed look? It don't meet up with cute until half past makeup and a quarter to your flat iron. So, go lie back down and let this Good Samaritan take care of you.”

“Uh-huh,” Esther ignored him and hobbled to the bathroom to fix herself up.

“You don't have to be Superwoman for me,” Lawton called out to her humming.

Lawton went into Esther's kitchen and rummaged around, making sure she had what he needed. He then ran out to his car, opened the trunk, and leaned in to pull out two grocery bags. As he straightened, a car pulled up, just as a green bell pepper rolled out of his bag. He leaned further into his trunk to retrieve the pepper when a voice echoed and pierced through his grumbling.

“How you doing, brother? Need any help?”

Lawton turned and a polished man of comparable age in a conservative suit stood before him. He slammed his trunk and sized up the stranger. He also had two bags in his hands. Only this brother's bags sent heavenly cooked aromas wafting into the air.

Lawton pointed to his bags. “No, I'm good. But if I wasn't rescuing a damsel in distress, I might need to bum-rush you for whatever smells good in your bags.”

Both men grinned and saw kindred spirits in each other's makeup. They nodded at each other as they continued on their way.

Briggs stopped and looked over at the man to his right, “You following me?” he said jokingly and continued walking.

“Nah, I'm headed straight up this walkway.”

Briggs stopped. “So am I.”

Lawton frowned. “Esther?”

“Yes, Esther,” Briggs nodded.

Lawton dipped his head toward the bags. “That's her dinner?”

“Well, I thought so.”

Lawton looked down at his uncooked dinner, plans of chicken and rice flying out the window. “She know you coming?”

Briggs jiggled his car keys in his hands. “No, she told me specifically not to come.”

“Spirited . . .” Lawton liked what he heard.

“You know that's right.”

Lawton sized up his competition again and couldn't believe God sent him into what looked like a brewing fiasco. “Listen,” he said, “I didn't know I was honing in on anyone's relationship. My mistake.”

Briggs shook his head. “No mistake, man. I'm just a friend and nothing more. Actually, I'm married. So you see, this was just a friendship meal. Nope . . . nothing going on with us. We're just—”

“I got it . . . friends,” Lawton interrupted with a smirk.

Briggs looked sideways at Lawton but held out his hand. “Briggs Stokes, nice to meet a friend of Esther's.”

Lawton shook his hand. “A new friend, but a friend nevertheless. Good to meet you.”

A car horn blew and Briggs looked up and waved at one of Love Zion's members driving up the street. He smiled that he was recognized and turned to continue his conversation.

“Going in?” Briggs asked.

Lawton's face tightened in concentration. “Well, I showed up unannounced, and if, as you say, Esther doesn't want company, I should probably go. Anyway, I don't want to intrude.”

“Nah, I have a feeling you're exactly what she needs right now. As a matter of fact, take this food. Let it be a blessing to both of you this evening.” Briggs handed him the food.

A smile dawned on Lawton's face. “You sure?”

“Positive,” Briggs said with fervor. “Look, why don't we just pretend I was never here and you kids go on with your evening?”

“Thanks, Dad!” Lawton said sarcastically as he got a handle on all four bags.

Briggs gave a sheepish shrug. “Sorry. You know what I mean.”

Lawton's tense lines were smooth, and he nodded pleasantly. “Yeah, and this is really decent of you. Thanks. I won't turn you down. I know how important it is to plant a seed in season. So, I won't block yours.”

“Hey now, a man of the Spirit. Now, I know I need to get out of here and let you and Esther have your evening.” Briggs looked up at Esther's door with a resigned expression. “I think I'll enjoy an evening of prayer.” He stepped backward, got into his car, and drove off.

 

 

Lawton trotted back into the house before the food got any colder. He was placing the food on the table when Esther hobbled into the kitchen and sat. She looked at the food and broke into a wide smile.

“Sir, you definitely know the way to a woman's heart. This looks delicious. Nobody I know makes black-eyed peas with shrimp salad better than the first lady of our church, Sister Gregory. But by the looks of things, somebody is giving her a run for her money.” Esther spooned food onto her plate with gusto.

Lawton hesitated but wanted to be honest. “To tell the truth, I don't know who made the dinner.”

Esther stopped serving herself midspoonful and replaced her spoon in the bowl. “Chile, I can't eat when I don't know who prepared it.”

Lawton grinned and shook his head. “That's not true. You eat at restaurants, don't you?”

“Well, yes, but . . .” Esther frowned. “Hmmph, you got me with basic common sense.”

“See? Anyway, a friend of yours dropped it by, so I'm sure it's safe.”

“Who?” Esther said puzzled.

Lawton observed Esther for her reaction. “An Armani suit-wearing brother said you're friends. Name is Riggs?”

Esther smiled and corrected him. “Briggs?”

“So you do know him, huh?” Lawton relaxed when she showed no signs of anything out of order.

Esther stood and hobbled to serve him a glass of ice tea, and then herself. She sat down with her head bowed to bless the food. When she raised her head she found Lawton staring. “You okay?”

Lawton was lost in thought. “You have a servant's heart,” he said in awe. “That's truly a gift from God. The ability to be humble in service to others.”

Esther blushed, gave a small smile, and kept eating. She glanced over at Lawton. “You're staring.”

He nodded. “You're nice to stare at.”

Esther laid down her fork. “You're making me uncomfortable.”

“Then, I'll stop,” Lawton said and began to eat his food.

“No doubt about it,” Esther proclaimed, “This black-eyed pea salad is the work of Sister Gregory. Um, um, um . . .” she moaned.

Lawton burst out laughing, reached across the table, and startled Esther by taking her hand. “Don't look like a deer in the headlights. I'm just feeling all is right in my world, and I wanted to share a little of that affection with you, okay?”

“Okay,” Esther said with satisfaction and picked up her fork and continued her splendid meal.

“Are there no real men left in the world? What kind of wimps settle their differences with a handshake? His wife stands him up, the one he longs for has found someone else, and he goes home like a gentle soul. Where is his thugged-out anger?” The Leader whined.

His mentor stood four inches over The Leader's height. He lifted his long gargantuan tail over his shoulder and delicately brushed it across his brow. He peered over at The Leader and sighed deeply. “Stop,” he rattled with authority.

“Yes, Most High Leader.”

“I believe you are whining. However, I must be wrong, because leaders do not whine. We are decisive, bold, and strategic. In addition, our attributes include being treacherous, deceitful, and diabolical,” The Most High Leader said with imperial flourish. He then jeered as his tail snapped back in rigid attention. “But we never, ever, ever, whine! Therefore, I didn't hear you sniveling over a little setback!”

“Oh no, I am planning Briggs's ruination as we speak. I spoke without thinking, Most High. Briggs is a done deal. It's just my helpers; they are so incompetent.”

“Then send them down to the furnace and get new help. New souls are promised every day. Be about our master's business. No more excuses.”

“Yeeesss,” hissed The Leader as he turned to leave.

“By the way,” Most High said to The Leader's back.

The Leader stood stock-still and rotated his large head in deliberate increments until he faced Most High. He waited, impatient for his esteemed mentor to expound.

“Never fail me again. Tsk! You are proving to be a big disappointment. I will not mentor a failure.”

The Leader slithered out. He was headed to the war room, to review tried-and-true strategies that worked in the past. At the stone entrance, he placed his claw on the engraved scripted marble. The sizzle of his burnt skin could be heard as the wall moved to reveal tombs that were as old as time. Only those who held the status of leader or higher could access this room. He began at the beginning of the list, starting with the fall of Adam—the ruin of mankind, and moved with craftiness down the rows of ash-crusted volumes. His large clawed finger stopped, and his huge fanged teeth grinned at his luck. He hurried and opened the tomb, relishing the sulfuric dust that rose from its pages. With mischievous glee, he laid the book open and crafted his next move.