Pastor Needs a Boo (47 page)

He looked up at Tatiana, pleading with his eyes for her to do what she needed to do to save his life. Tears streamed down Todd's cheeks as he realized that Tatiana was going to stand there and watch him die.

Eight million dollars. That's all he was worth to this woman—a measly eight million dollars. Pity. Tatiana didn't know he had just signed a contract that would make his earnings leap to eight and a half million dollars a year.

Tatiana could not believe her good fortune. Todd was dying, and she didn't have to do a thing. Eight million dollars. All she had to do was play the grieving widow and wait to collect her money. Then she could do whatever she wanted to do—hopefully with Luther Howard by her side.

Todd knew Tatiana wanted him dead. But as weary as he was, Todd wasn't ready to leave this earth today. He prayed in his heart—lips not moving, eyes closed, and body still—praying only what the Lord could hear.

“Father, I want to live. Don't take me home just yet. If it is in accordance to Your will for my life, let me survive this heart attack. Let me live, Lord, Amen.”

At that moment, Todd felt a peace he'd never felt in his life. He felt like he was light enough to float on a fluffy white cloud. There was no pain—physical or otherwise. He was overtaken by a strong urge to take in a deep breath, breathe it out, and then go into that peaceful place that surpassed anything his brilliant mind was capable of understanding.

Tatiana watched her husband go through the phases of relinquishing life that she'd seen several times while working in a few hospice settings. She was so happy Todd was dead that it took everything in her to refrain from dancing around the man's body. Two stingy tears rolled down each cheek—more from relief than anything else.

Tatiana dabbed at her face, kicked Todd's foot, and left. She would come back later and “discover” her dead husband. It was a good thing their house was secluded. That way a nosey neighbor couldn't come forth and start talking about “seeing Mrs. Townsend at such and such a time.”

Todd waited until he heard the car start, the garage door go up and then back down, and then another minute to make sure Tatiana didn't return and kill him for real. He was very weak but managed to get that phone out of his pocket. He dialed Denzelle Flowers's number. Because at this point, it was the only number he could remember, and Denzelle was the only person he knew he could call. Then Todd prayed that God would keep him alive and get him to the hospital.

 

Chapter Thirty-eight

“I will turn this in to the register of deeds,” Obadiah told Denzelle, as soon as he and Lena finished signing the witness spots on the official marriage license. He folded the license, put it in an envelope, and stuck it in his breast pocket.

“Happy?” Denzelle said to his new bride and wife.

“Yes,” Marsha said, trying not to let the small sigh of relief escape. She knew Denzelle was going to do all of the proper legal stuff—it just felt better to have it all behind her.

Marsha smoothed the skirt of her dress. It wasn't what she would have selected when planning a wedding in her mind. But it worked for this morning. She wore her favorite sky blue, silk shirtwaist dress that had a wide skirt, a matching belt, short sleeves, and pearl buttons all the way down the front. She had a doubled-up rope of pearls around her neck and teardrop pearl earrings in her ears.

She was wearing a pair of crimson red pumps with a built-in platform. It was one of those pairs of shoes her good friend Ramon at Sebastian-Fleur continued to hide away for her until the price dropped down to barely nothing. Everybody had commented on those shoes this morning. And Denzelle had made a point of asking her to let him see the shoes on her feet when she walked out of the shower. They almost didn't make it to their own official wedding ceremony after Marsha put on those shoes.

Keisha had done her hair, and laced a strand of pearls around her head, like a very fancy headband. She carried crimson roses, which were her favorite. The roses took care of the something new for her bridal attire. The something borrowed was a pearl bracelet Veronica had loaned her.

“Mom,” Marcus said. “You are beautiful.”

“Thank you, Baby,” Marsha told him, and stood on tiptoe to kiss her son. He had been so wonderful with the way things worked out. She was a blessed woman—two handsome men in her life who loved her with all of their hearts.

“Yes, you are very beautiful,” Denzelle said, hardly able to contain his joy. Marsha gazed in Denzelle's eyes, both of them blushing at the memories of this morning.

“You're not so bad yourself,” she told her husband.

Denzelle was sharp in his favorite black three-piece suit that had crimson chalk stripes in it. He was wearing a white shirt and a deep red silk tie with black stripes, a deep red silk pocket handkerchief, and his favorite black gators, with the dark red leather piping around the front of the shoe.

Marsha smiled. Her man was a good-looking brother and sexy as can be. All she could think was, “God is good all the time, and all the time, God is good.” That phrase was never so applicable as it was right now.

“Now that all of the real business is over,” Lena said, “don't you have something you want and need to say to your new hubby, Marsha?”

Marsha turned to Lena and tried to shake her head without drawing attention to them. Lena tilted her head at Marsha as if to say, “Do it!” Marsha mouthed, “No.” Lena said, “If you don't tell him, I will.”

Denzelle looked down at Marsha, eyebrow raised. Marsha stared up at Denzelle, and then, without warning, popped him on the back of his head. She said, “What in the hell took you so long?”

“Huh?” Denzelle asked, rubbing his head.

“You heard me,” she pressed. “What took you so long to come into my life? Do you know what all I had to go through, waiting on you to show up? What took you so long?”

Denzelle would never fully understand women. He thought the matter with Marsha was “going through” over waiting for the right man had been settled. He looked to Obie for some help. All Obie did was shrug, as if to say, “The hell if I know what this is about.”

Lena said, “Let me help you with this, Denzelle. Marsha always said that whenever her true husband showed up, she was going to slap him and ask, ‘What took you so long?'”

Then Denzelle laughed. He got it. He absolutely got it. Waiting on him to get it and then do right by Marsha had taken a long time—too long perhaps. He would have slapped himself, too, if he had to endure what Marsha experienced before they came together and married. It was a wonder she didn't get one of his guns and pistol-whip his behind.

Denzelle took Marsha's tiny hand in his, kissed it, and said, “Honey, there is no excuse for what took me so long to use the sense God gave me. But I am so glad I didn't waste another minute being stupid. And I'm sorry it took this long for me to get from there to here, to you.”

Marsha smiled.

“I only have one question, though,” Denzelle asked.

“And that is?” Marsha queried.

“No matter how long it took me, was it worth the wait?”

She blushed and said, “Without a doubt.”

Obadiah's cell buzzed. He looked at it and read the text message quickly.

“That is Bishop Simmons. He needs us at the Board of Bishops meeting after all. So we need to hop on over to the Raleigh Hilton. The meeting to decide on new policies for who can run for bishop starts in an hour.”

“Marcus,” Denzelle said, and grabbed his car keys off his desk.

“Yep, Pops,” Marcus said.

“Get my car.”

“Right away,” Marcus answered, barely able to contain his pleasure over driving Denzelle's smooth-riding car.

“They are really putting forth a policy that if a pastor is divorced, and his or her ex-spouse is still living, they cannot run for bishop if they remarry?” Veronica asked.

“Yeah,” Denzelle said. “And it gets worse. Let's say a pastor is divorced, runs for bishop, wins, and then remarries while holding office. He or she will have to relinquish that Episcopal seat immediately.”

“I thought Bishops Simmons and Tate had dealt with that, Obie,” Lena said.

“They did, Baby. But our enemies made sure Bishop Jefferson would be at this meeting.”

“That man who is married to the Patra lady?” Marsha asked.

“Yep,” Obadiah said. “She is Bishop Jefferson's fourth, fifth, or sixth wife. Bishop Sonny Washington and Reverend Marcel Brown have dropped some serious cash on old boy to testify about the perils of divorced pastors and bishops.”

“You know that mess is about them trying to stop Denzelle from running for bishop,” Marsha said.

“That is exactly what it is about,” Obadiah told her. “You are on your way to becoming a first-rate first lady, First Lady Flowers.”

Denzelle beamed at the thought of Marsha Metcalf Flowers being the first lady of New Jerusalem Gospel United Church. New Jerusalem had not had a first lady in all of the years he'd served as the senior pastor, and they were long overdue for one.

Marcus pulled up in Denzelle's black Audi. He hopped out and said, “You want me to drive you all over there?”

“Yeah, Son, we do,” Denzelle answered. “This is going to be a rough meeting, and Obie and I need to talk and get prepared.”

“Then I'll drive Marsha and me to the meeting,” Lena said.

Marsha suddenly felt a heavy weight on her heart. What if the policy passed, and Denzelle couldn't run for bishop because of her?

“Don't go there, Honey,” Denzelle said, almost as if he'd heard her thoughts. “This is in God's hands. If He wants me to become a bishop, I will. If He doesn't, I won't. I don't need to be a bishop. I was only called to run the race.

“Marsha. My desire is to serve like God has called me to serve. And since you have been in my life, Honey—my heart has been restored once again. Because more than anything, Beautiful, this pastor needed himself a boo.”

Marsha bit her lip to hold back the tears. Denzelle had just quoted from her favorite song, written by one of her favorite gospel artists, Jonathan Nelson. “My Heart Has Been Restored” was beautiful. Maurette Brown Clark put a hurting on it when she sang it on her CD,
The Dream
.

Lena grabbed Marsha's arm and said, “Let's go. This meeting is going to be so full of dirt and grime we are going to need a shower when it's all over.”

“Then we need to pray, Lena. Denzelle is a bad boy. But he needs more protection than that gun he doesn't think I know is stuck down in his back, up under that fancy suit coat jacket. My husband told me that he never goes to a big church meeting without at least one piece of heat on him. Said it was some crazy folk at those meetings. And sometimes, the only thing that stops them is a modern-day version of Jesus using that whip in the Temple.”

Lena started laughing. “Girl, your man ain't lying about that. He better roll up in there packing Jesus and just plain packin'.”

Marsha said, “We'll pray on the way to the car. I'm sure the Lord will understand if we are doing a ‘pray by.'”

She put her hand on Lena's shoulder and said, “Father, in the Name of Jesus, we come before You and ask You to go before us into that conference room and make a way for our husbands. Put a Blood Covering of Protection over Denzelle and Obadiah, Lord. Put a lamplight to their feet and give them the words You want them to speak. Anoint them with the Holy Ghost, and give them the wisdom and discernment that can only come from Heaven. Bless them with Your peace. And give them the victory that You ordained for this meeting. Thank You, Father. In Jesus Name we pray, Amen.”

“Amen,” Lena said, while opening her car door and hopping in. She started up the engine, and they peeled off.

“I need to get myself one of these,” Marsha said, admiring the smooth power of Lena's Lexus.

“Nahh, you like smaller cars, Girl. I was looking at that new Cadillac SRX Crossover and thought about you when I saw one in royal Zeta Blue.”

Marsha smiled. A royal blue Cadillac SRX was the kind of car she'd love to have.

They hit Highway 40 heading east to Raleigh. Lena was rolling, edging the car over the eighty miles per hour line, right in the high traffic area near Southpoint Mall. She looked around to make sure no cops were around. Last thing she needed was a speeding ticket. Obadiah was always getting on Lena about driving fast.

They hit the Wade Ave exit in record time. Lena raced down that stretch, hopped on the beltway, and rolled right through the yellow light at the Wake Forest Road exit in Raleigh. She turned into the hotel entrance and searched for the closest parking space. The lot was full of cars and church vans.

“Are they planning on having a service with this meeting?” Marsha asked, pointing in the direction of the choir walking toward the hotel entrance with their robes hanging over their arms.

“Obie hadn't said anything about it. But this meeting was called by Sonny Washington and Bishop O. Ray Caruthers Jr. So you know they were not trying to get Obie's or Denzelle's input when they planned it. That would be too much like right, since they are the highest-ranking pastors in the Triangle.”

“Well, that is the choir from Sonny Washington's home church. They are the only ones in our conference with those Glodean Benson–pink choir robes,” Marsha said.

Lena found a space right next to Denzelle's car. They hopped out and raced inside. The meeting was to start in twenty minutes, and they wanted to be there before mess starting flying off the fan. They found the marquee with information about the meeting's location and rushed down a corridor. This room was big and pretentious even for big and pretentious preachers.

Lena saw Obadiah talking to Bishop Theophilus Simmons. He was standing with his oldest daughter, Reverend Dr. Sharon Simmons-Harris, who was a full professor at Duke University's divinity school. She waved at Sharon, who could almost outpreach her father—and that was saying something, because Bishop could preach.