A Love So Deep (6 page)

I
t
was after seven p.m. when Charlie finally dropped Graham off. There was no sign of life, and it was then that Graham remembered that the girls and their families as well as Sister Mary Ross were supposed to come by for dinner. Shame consumed Graham like the devil controlling a tormented soul. He had wanted to spend time with his girls, if only to make up for time he had mistreated them.

Graham noticed the note sticking from the door. In his haste to retrieve it, his shoe stubbed the side of a paper sack that was obviously left by Mary Ross. Graham lifted the sack from the porch, and shame rolled up over him once again.

The note was signed by Deborah stating that she and Elizabeth had come by to sit and comfort their father; however, he must have found comfort elsewhere. They were sorry they had missed him, but they would get in touch with him later in the week. Deborah acknowledged that Sister Ross had come by and left him a care package and how grateful she and Elizabeth were for all that Sister Ross had done in the wake of their mother’s death. It was signed,
Love, Deborah
.

As much as he would have liked to been in the company of his daughters and their families, Graham was glad he was alone. He needed some time to reflect on the past twenty-four hours and the past two months. Graham walked to his room and took off his suit—hanging it neatly for the next time.

Snapshots of Rita Long hung about his eyelids. Visions of her chocolaty smooth satin skin danced circles around Graham. She probably didn’t notice him, but he recalled every curve in her body, the shade of her lipstick, the color of her nail polish, the length of her eyelashes, the size of her breasts, and the shape of her lips when she sang “If This World Were Mine”—and he reached out to hold her, if only for one night.

“Amanda, Amanda, baby, don’t be mad at me,” Graham said aloud. “I was only looking…but she was very pretty. I felt guilty looking at her, you know—knowing that you are the only love for me, but I couldn’t help but think that somehow Ms. Rita Long could share some of my love, too.

“I think you’d like her, ‘Manda. She reminds me of you, although I’ve only seen her one time and have never spoken to her. Remember how enamored I was of you after seeing you for only half a second with those nut-brown legs and your pretty black hair turned up in a flip that bounced to the music?

“Forgive me, ‘Manda. I’ve got to see her again. Nothing serious. Maybe some small talk, a walk in the park, a ride to the beach or out to dinner. I hope you don’t mind. I love you, wherever you are. And for the record, it felt good being back in church. It really felt good.”

Yes, it was a fairly good day, and as Graham prepared for bed, Rita Long flashed before him again. He didn’t know why he couldn’t get her off his mind, but there was something about that woman. Maybe she reminded him of Amanda, but there would never be another ‘Manda as long as he lived.

With that Graham fell asleep, lost in his world—a world that existed without Amanda this night.

A
manda
went to dialysis several times a week before she died. Deborah and Elizabeth had jobs and families to attend to, so the chore was left to Graham. Going to the dialysis clinic with Amanda had become a ritual that forced him into early retirement. Now without Amanda to cuddle, retirement left Graham empty and lonely.

As Graham began to contemplate the rest of his life, thoughts of Rita Long surfaced again. He tried to shake the images that tried to engulf him, but something in the way she moved and caressed a song until there was no more life to it made Graham shiver.
It wouldn’t hurt to go down to The Water Hole and hear her sing again
, Graham thought,
a little music to soothe the soul.

Just as Graham reached for his coat to embark upon his new journey, there was a soft knock at the door. Graham wasn’t expecting anyone, but he moved toward the door to see who his unsolicited guest was.

“Well, hello, Sister Ross. You’re out early this afternoon.”

“Hello, Deacon Peters. Just wanted to see if you got the food I left for you yesterday and if you might need something else.”

“I’m doing just fine, Sister Ross. And yes, I received the food.” Graham had other things on his mind and a visit with Sister Mary Ross was not it. Rita Long was waiting for him at the lounge, but Graham forced his anxiety about seeing her again to the background.

Sister Mary wore a straight, pastel-yellow shirtdress with a matching belt. She wore a pair of low, yellow sling-back shoes that held her shapely legs covered in mahogany-colored pantyhose. A white sweater made of acrylic was draped across Sister Mary’s shoulders with the arms tied in the front like a makeshift collar.

“Well, Deacon, do you mind if I sit a spell? I had to walk two blocks from the bus stop, and I’m all out of breath. I could use a cold glass of water,” Mary said, coughing for added effect.

“Please come in,” Graham said, minding his manners but not offering Mary a seat. It was clear that Mary had other ideas on her brain and leaving wasn’t one of them. He didn’t want to be rude because she had been so good to him, but another day and another time would suit him fine.

Mary looked around the family room and made herself comfortable in the beige overstuffed loveseat that faced the fireplace. The mantle was filled with memories of the Peters’ household.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve been to your house, Deacon Peters. Amanda and I weren’t as close as I’d like to have been. This room is so warm and cozy. I could be right comfortable here.” Graham rolled his eyes. “Do you ever light your fireplace, Deacon?” Mary asked as he handed her the glass of water.

“Very seldom. Look…Sister Mary, I was on my way out. I’ve got to take care of some business. I really don’t mean to rush, but…”

“That’s all right, Deacon Peters. Maybe you can drop me off at my place. It’s about fifteen minutes by car.”

“I guess that won’t be a problem.” The longer she stayed, the longer Sister Mary would cut into his “Gotta See Rita Again” time.

“Well, thank you for the water. I can come by tomorrow; I’m cooking a big pot of chitlins and neckbones. It’ll give you something different. You need somebody to watch after you.”

“You’ve done enough already,” Graham admonished. “There’s no need to bring me anything else. Deborah and Elizabeth are stopping by later in the week to take me to dinner.”

“Well, all right. Ahh, Deacon Peters…may I call you Graham?”

Graham stared at Mary trying to read into what she was saying.

“Graham,” Mary plowed on without waiting for a reply, “you’re a nice man. I know that it’s been only two good months since Sister Amanda passed, but do you think we can…maybe…ahh…go out to a movie or dinner sometime?”

Graham was surprised at Mary’s boldness where he thought there was none. She had totally caught him off guard. Sister Mary wasn’t bad to look at and she did have that fine behind that made the hair on his chest stick out, but Graham’s mind was traveling elsewhere, and Sister Mary Ross hadn’t even been part of the equation.

Graham didn’t want to hurt Sister Mary’s feelings, but he saw no other recourse at the moment. A few days ago, life was empty and bleak, and now life was shouting out promises beyond his wildest dreams. But there would be no harm in going out to eat with Mary—he’d meet her somewhere and have a quick bite—nothing like a real date. “We’ll see, Sister Mary…”

“You can call me Mary.”

“Okay, Mary. We’ll see.”

The drive to Mary’s house was quiet and without incident. Mary eyed Graham from the corner of her eye, secretly taking in his form as he lazily drove the black Buick Regal with its white leather interior.

Mary wondered what business Graham had to take care of that demanded he leave his house in an abrupt manner that screamed emergency. The fragrance from the cologne that drenched his body was certainly much too sensual for an afternoon of taking care of business. He looked so striking in his off-white Polo sleeveless vest worn on top of a beige shirt and khaki slacks. A white golf cap sat on top of his head and completed the look that made Mary want to reach out and grab Graham and plant the juiciest kiss upon his lips.

Mary had dreamed off and on for the past ten years what it would be like to make love to Graham, Deacon Peters, despite the fact he was happily married to Amanda. Mary secretly held on to the hope that one day she’d have Graham, and she was not about to let the opportunity slip through her hands. She was a patient woman. Why, she had waited a lifetime! She could have married several times, but the prize she wanted was five feet eleven and already married. Her fire and desire rose like yeast bread every time she saw Deacon Peters. Her heart ached when she looked upon what didn’t belong to her. Mary would wait as long as it took. Graham might not be interested now, but in time, he would be hers.

“If you need to go take care of your business first, I don’t mind,” Mary said, planting the first seed. “I could go along for the ride—it’ll do me good to take a break from that house of mine.”

“I’m sorry, Mary, maybe next time. I have some personal business to attend to and it may be awhile. But maybe we can get a bite to eat one evening, if your schedule permits.”

“My calendar is open seven days a week, except for the hours of eight to one on Sundays. My God is first and foremost in my life and His time is sacred, but the rest is yours.”

A small chuckle seeped from Graham’s lips. He was tickled by Mary’s outward display of affection for him, but her dwelling was the end of the line. “I’ll call you in a few days,” Graham said, pulling to the curb in front of Mary’s house. “In a few days.”

S
ister
Mary Ross was harder to shake than lint balls on an old pair of pants. Graham felt a sudden sadness for Mary. It wasn’t that she was unattractive or a bad cook. The truth was Graham’s mind had been trapped by the subtle melodies of Rita Long.

The Water Hole lay in sight. One more stop sign before he’d be able to lay eyes on the scrumptious Rita.

The parking lot was sparse due to the earliness of the hour. The afternoon crowd was mainly made up of regulars.

Graham rushed from his car into the dimness of The Water Hole, not wanting another minute to lapse in his quest to fulfill his dream—just being in the presence of this woman who had taken liberties with his mind. A few solo acts sat at the bar, engaging the bartender in useless chatter. Graham gazed slowly around the room, not wanting to miss a spot, then to the stage with no sign of Rita. It never dawned on Graham that Rita and company wouldn’t be performing until later that evening.

Graham sat dejected, angry with himself for operating blindly because his hormones were working overtime. He needed to get hold of himself and stop acting like a depraved old man in heat.

Graham was thankful there was no one he recognized, because he didn’t feel like talking. He raised his hand, extending his index finger, hoping to catch the eye of the bartender. When he approached, Graham leaned slightly forward. “Let me have a shot of Johnny Walker,” he whispered, a little tension in his voice.

“C’ming up,” the bartender responded.

Graham nursed his drink dry. After forty-five minutes of wasted time and a dream unrealized, he decided to leave. Graham slithered off the chair and crossed the still densely populated room looking for the men’s room. Although Graham’s eyes were adjusted to the dimly lit interior of the lounge, he somehow had not gauged the collision course he found himself on.

Graham bumped head-on into a tall, thin dark-skinned woman as he had looked every which way except for straight ahead, hoping to get a glimpse of the fabulous songstress.

“Excuse me, Miss,” an embarrassed Graham said, reaching out to steady the slightly shaken shapely woman, her face obscured because of the lighting. “I’m terribly sorry.”

“It’s okay,” said the soft, seductive voice, tapping Graham’s hand in reassurance.

The door to the men’s room flew open, casting a fragment of light that briefly illuminated the face of the seductive voice. Graham’s knees began to knock together as if a sudden artic chill had entered the room. She stood directly in front of him, albeit a tad bit shaken. Now he looked like a fool even though his chance encounter was too good to be true—totally unexpected. Graham vowed not to let this be a missed opportunity.

“Ms. Long…I’m truly embarrassed,” Graham stuttered. “I heard you sing yesterday, and I’ve been mesmerized ever since. In fact, I came this afternoon hoping to hear you sing.”

“That’s nice of you to say…”

“Graham, Graham Peters.”

Rita shook Graham’s extended hand. “I appreciate you coming by, but I don’t perform until this evening.”

“I’ll definitely be back. I’ve not heard such good jazz in a longggg time.”

“Look, my band and I are getting ready to rehearse. Why don’t you stay awhile and give me a nod on my selections?”

“Oh, yes,” Graham said, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice. “I’ll be there in a minute. Again, I apologize for my clumsiness.”

“I’m fine. It’s not every day I get to meet a fan
this way
.”

“The pleasure is all mine.”

They both smiled, and Graham walked into the men’s room with an enormous grin on his face.