The Fall of the Prodigal (14 page)

I'm going nuts.
Verona paced her apartment. She was seeing Michael everywhere. It was her living space but she could not be in a room without having a flashback of his being there.

She opened the freezer and eyed the container of ice cream.
Nope, not doing it.
With a bang, Verona closed the door. She returned to thinking about Michael. She had waited too long to tell him about Lauren.

She groaned. Michael was with Lauren now.

Verona stomped into her bedroom, the only place Michael had not been, and plunked onto her bed. She was dressed in her nightclothes. It was the day after Thanksgiving. Six long days had passed and not a word. Before that, every day Michael called or texted almost on the hour. She pulled out her phone from her pajama pants.

It's charged
. She tested the volume. It was turned up.

She threw the phone on the pillow and turned on the television. Verona hated how she was driving herself stir crazy but her insides were all mushy, bumbling, and confusing. She had called. She had texted. But no response.

In a weak moment, Verona dialed Keith but he wasn't of any use. He'd only said they would meet the Monday after Thanksgiving to continue their work on the case.

Normally, she would have stormed Michael's penthouse but she was afraid. Afraid to see him and Lauren all googly-eyed and lovey-dovey while she was in torment. She swung her arms in the air and shouted, “I hate love!”

Verona sniffed. She needed a shower, pronto.

She stripped and entered her walk-in shower. Welcoming the force of the heated water beating on her skin, Verona decompressed. It was not long before the tears came. The longer the water flowed, the more she cried.

Spent, Verona hunched over in the shower stall. She had not cried like this since her parents' betrayal. She squelched those thoughts. She was not about to take that trip.

Verona stepped out of the stall and wrapped herself in a huge robe. An engraved robe Michael had bought her during their business trip to Florida. He had been searching out property for his resort and she complained the towels in the hotel room felt like sandpaper.
Ugh!

She donned her pink silk pajamas and dived under her sheets. Within seconds, she was toasty warm. Like an addict, Verona checked her phone. No message. She resisted the urge to squeeze her fists and kick her feet. Tantrums were for girls not grown women. “You know what, I'm done with that jerk. Michael Ward can go sit down somewhere with his oversized ego and his bald head.” Well, she liked his bald head, his smile, his body . . .

Whatever!
She was through. No more mooning over a man who did not even care enough to return her calls. Here she was home on a Friday night when she could have been out at the club meeting some hot guy with a hot car and a hot place. Wait, she should rephrase. She sounded too much like a teenager. She could be at a ritzy spa wrapped up with a successful businessman who had surprised her with a trip to Milan or Brazil.

Caught up in her dream, Verona snuggled deeper under the covers. With a yawn, she vowed,
come morning, Michael will be out of my system.

Sunlight came and found herself dressed and on her way to Keith's church. As she put the finishing touches on her makeup and dabbed her lips with lip gloss, Verona told herself she was going to hear the Word. It had nothing to do with Michael.

She made it in time for praise and worship. Verona lifted her hands and clapped along with the rest of the congregation. Some of the songs came back to her and she didn't need to use the overhead, which tracked the words. If Michael invaded her thoughts, she sang him out.

Her soprano caught the attention of a few people in the pews. They started egging her on: “Sing it, sister,” “All right now,” and “Give God your praise,” which made her sing even louder. Verona had forgotten how much joy singing had been. It had also been a part of one of the saddest times in her life, but she would not dwell on that. She kept on singing as they transitioned into a worship song.

With her eyes on the screen, Verona sang along to
“I give myself away.”
The words pierced her heart and she looked up toward heaven as she talked to God through song. The lyrics seemed written for her. She closed her eyes allowing them to sink into her being. Verona didn't care about the tears streaming down her cheeks, wetting her silk blouse. She needed to give herself away to God. She'd been gone too long. Someone pushed a tissue in her hand. She nodded but she kept her eyes closed. She stayed like that until she heard Keith's voice.

Verona wiped her face and slinked into her seat, feeling a little self-conscious, but she was not sorry.

“We all know the story of Esther very well,” Keith began.

Several heads nodded in agreement. While familiar with Esther's story, Verona needed a refresher course.

Verona scanned Keith's black suit, burgundy shirt, and coordinated tie. Keith Ward was well put together. Though she had promised herself not to, Verona roamed the aisles in search of Michael. She spotted him in the third row with a notebook on his lap and pen in hand. Dressed in a charcoal gray suit with a yellow shirt, he looked good.
Real good.

It took some effort, but Verona brought her mind back to Keith's words.

“The book of Esther is the only book in the Bible that doesn't actually mention the name of God. However, Esther represents a type of Christ. She was willing to sacrifice herself for her people. She risked her life to save theirs.”

Verona's spine straightened. She liked the sound of a woman willing to take matters into her own hands.

Keith continued. “There are times when we need someone to stand in the gap for us. Helpless, the Jews needed someone to stand up for them and Esther became that person. My question today is, are you willing to stand in the gap for someone?”

She looked around, amazed at the hands that shot up. She could not resist the unladylike snort.
Yeah, right. Easier said than done.
Memories of her parents rose. She had not seen them in thirteen years. Not since they had turned their backs on her when she needed them most. Bitterness filled her being. She swallowed in an attempt to still the past. But, it would not be held back.

“I see all those hands, and I'm impressed.” Keith moved away from the podium and ventured close to the edge of the stage. “I wonder how many hands would stay up if I were to put you to the test right now. The Apostle Peter was confident in his ability. He swore to Jesus he would stand by Him. But when it came down to it, Peter faltered and denied he even knew Christ. He was more concerned with what people thought than with what Jesus would do.”

Verona stifled her chuckle when she noticed the slight bending of the elbows. A few lowered their heads in shame.
Preach!
she screamed on the inside, knowing from experience the truth he spoke.
If only the good Pastor and First Lady Stachs were here to hear this Word.
Verona scrunched her nose. She hadn't thought about them in ages. Why were they now invading her thoughts?

 

 

Oh, she was going to pretend not to see him. Michael touched his chin. He supposed he deserved it after ignoring her calls all week. He studied Verona from under hooded lashes, taking in the frilly white shirt tucked into her thin pencil skirt, revealing a tiny waist.
Those red pumps should be filed under “too hot for church.”

Keith had made an altar call and Verona had taken the trek with about twenty others to the altar. Michael, however, had remained rooted in his seat. His bottom burned as he fought the pull to follow them, drop on his knees, and confess all.

He adjusted his tie. He was not ready for the public display. He would speak to God another time. Besides, he needed to stay under God's radar for the moment, he thought, remembering the directions he had given Frank.

Once the benediction was pronounced, Michael jumped to his feet, intent on finding Verona. He saw her making her way toward the rear and pressed forward. “Verona!” he finally called out to snag her attention.

Her barely restrained curls swung across her face as she whipped around to see who had called her name. When Verona's eyes met his, Michael registered her stiff spine and the renewed determination to exit the building. Michael spurred into action.

She was by her car when he caught up to her. He grasped her arm. “Why didn't you answer me?”

Verona tucked her chin and gave him the evil eye. “Why do you think?”

“All right, Tiger. No need to snap off at me.”

“All week I wait to hear from you and you shrug me off without a word. I drop the news of Lauren being alive and suddenly I'm persona non grata.” She pummeled him with her bag before slinking against her car.

Michael eyed her poked-out lips. His Tiger was in a funk. Well, she wasn't his Tiger, per se. Crooking a finger under her chin, Michael moved into her personal space. “Verona, this week wasn't about you. It was about me reconnecting with family. I spent these past few days getting reacquainted with my brother and Gina.” The tears spiking her lashes caught him off guard.

Verona voice trembled. “Oh, I thought you were with Lauren, or something. I didn't know what to think.”

Michael noticed the lot had cleared out considerably. He needed to move this conversation elsewhere. “Feel like driving me home?” he asked. “I came to church with Keith and Gina this morning. I'll leave my car at their house and take a cab over to get it at some point.” Michael was unconcerned about his ride. He had several vehicles at his disposal. Right now, he wanted to mend fences with Verona. Her quick nod of the head was all the encouragement he needed.

Michael had not even tightened his seat belt before she sped off. His body hit the door. Grabbing the dashboard, he said, “Take it easy; we're not in the jungle running away from predators.”

Verona did not respond but he noticed she decelerated.
Thank God.
He sent Keith a quick text letting him know he had left with Verona and would retrieve his car later. Within minutes, Verona was on the highway zipping through cars, a testament of her agitation. Once she entered the strip leading to the Triborough Bridge, Michael broke his silence. “Pull over!”

Her hands gripped the steering wheel and she faced him. Then she accelerated. Michael commanded, “Verona, pull over here. Right now!”

“Did you forget we're on a bridge? Are you crazy? I'm not pulling over.”

“Do it! Do it, now!”

With skill and deft maneuvering, she complied. Michael exited the car and flung open the driver side. Heedless to the traffic zooming by, he pulled her out of the car.

“I wasn't driving reckless,” Verona said, while he dragged her to the rail. Her head bobbed as she matched his longer strides with her ridiculously high heels. Michael did not care.

“You do realize we're on a bridge and it's almost December?” She shivered and rubbed her hands. “I left my gloves in the car.”

Michael was not bothered by the cold. He pointed across the bridge to the other side. “There. Look right there.” He glanced at Verona. She was looking at him as if he were a madman. He drew in a deep breath. “I almost lost my life right there at that spot, years ago. I wanted you to see it. I could've died, but God spared me. For some reason unknown to me at times, He thinks I'm worth living.”

Her body went limp and her mouth hung open. “I . . . I had no idea.”

“I was in a coma for a few days. I don't know maybe God was trying to knock some sense into me,” he joked. His joke fell flat.

Verona had tears in her eyes. She appeared to grapple with some emotion before reaching over to hug him tight. As her body molded to his, he felt . . . loved. His heart stopped for a second.

He had no idea how long they maintained that position but Michael had to break contact. He was feeling things he was not ready to feel. Suddenly, he recalled they were illegally pulled over on a windy bridge. They had to leave. Or, maybe, he needed the escape.

Verona's teeth chattered so Michael held Verona close to him to share body heat. Together, they walked toward her car and went inside. Once it was safe, she eased on to the highway. He had not expected her to be shaken. He certainly had not expected his heart to trip at her hug.

Michael tugged his chin, missing his goatee. He thought he wanted Lauren, but he couldn't help but wonder, was Verona the one? Confused, he shook his head. No, Lauren was. His thoughts swung between the two women like a pendulum. Michael acknowledged he did not have a clue.

Once Verona swooped to the curb in front of his building, Michael exited the SUV, gave her a little wave, and departed. She did not seem to be in the mood for conversation either. He entered his penthouse suite and dropped his body onto the couch to think.

When Lauren was around, he was positive. She was the mother of his children and they had history. But, so did he and Verona. Verona was . . . He smiled. Verona. As unique as her name.

A new thought interrupted his musings. A much more pressing matter. For the first time, he questioned his actions, especially with Keith preaching on depending on God. He dug for his cell phone and called Frank.

“Voicemail. Oh, no.” Michael hunched over. It might be too late. He had been quite ruthless about what he wanted done. He tried again. Still no answer. This time he left a message: “Frank, if you get this message, give me a call.” Not wanting to say too much, he said, “I want to make a U-turn,” knowing Frank would know what that meant, if he heard the message. Within him he felt he was too late. He repeated, “Frank, a U-turn.”