Divine Intervention (6 page)

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Authors: Lutishia Lovely

BOOK: Divine Intervention
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But it wasn’t Kelvin Petersen.
It was Derrick Montgomery, sprawled out on the sanctuary floor. And he was not moving.
9
Ball Of Confusion
“S
omebody call nine-one-one!”
The soft murmur that began after Princess’s outcry quickly built to a low-grade roar. Necks craned, bodies leaned forward, and people stood to try and see what was going on at the front of the church. But Mount Zion’s well-trained security team was already on it. They formed a tight circle around the felled pastor, disallowing would-be gawkers the chance to pull out their phones and shoot a YouTube moment. The media director instructed the camera crew to point all cameras away from the mayhem, and upon seeing his son otherwise occupied, Reverend Doctor O quickly stepped up to the microphone that King had recently abandoned.
“Saints of God, we’re in the house of the Lord,” he said, in a tone that immediately caused the talking to lessen but not totally cease. “And one of our brothers is in trouble. If you are a child of God who knows how to call upon the name of Jesus, I beseech you to pray right now. Pray to a just and merciful God. Saints, you don’t need to know what happened or who it is. God sits high and looks low. He sees all, and knows all!”
Some old habits died hard and others didn’t die at all, and within the span of thirty seconds the atmosphere had gone from wedding to panic to a Sunday-go-to-meeting church service.
“Amen, Pastor!” Elsie Wanthers, one of Mount Zion’s oldest members—heck, one of the county’s oldest citizens—stood and waved her bright pink handkerchief. “Have mercy, Lord!” she cried, before turning toward the pew to get on her eighty-something-year-old knees.
Not to be outdone, her good friend of more than fifty years jumped up next. “We serve a mighty God,” Margie Stokes screeched. But few people heard. Her tinny high-pitched voice was no match for either Sister Wanthers’ robust announcement or Reverend Doctor Obadiah’s rich baritone, which filled the building, telling the guests-turned-parishioners what time it was.
“‘Sweet hour of prayer! Sweet hour of prayer! That calls me from a world of care. . . .’”
The Musical Messengers fell right into line, forgoing their signature jazzy sound and playing straight-up gospel.
“ ‘And bids me at my Father’s throne, make all my wants and wishes known.’”
Those who knew the song chimed in (which was a small number considering the hymn was penned around 1810). Those who didn’t know the words either hummed . . . or prayed.
“ ‘In seasons of distress and grief, my soul has often found relief, And oft escaped the tempter’s snare, by thy return, sweet hour of prayer!’ ”
Darius stepped to the microphone with tears in his eyes. Having been raised by a religious grandmother who had him in church five days a week, he not only knew the song’s first stanza, but all the others as well. The melodic, emotion-laden sound of his voice caused hands to raise and tears to fall.
“ ‘Sweet hour of prayer! Sweet hour of prayer! Thy wings shall my petition bear. To Him whose truth and faithfulness, engage the waiting soul to bless.’ ”
Paramedics rushed in. The Spirit of the Lord was so thick in the building that some did not even notice them.
“ ‘And since He bids me seek His face . . .”
The EMTs hurriedly checked Derrick before loading him onto the gurney.
“Believe His word, and trust His grace . . .”
Security created a moving human shield as the gurney was wheeled through the private side door.
“I’ll cast on Him my every care, and wait for Thee, sweet hour of prayer.”
Erin had rounded up most of the bridesmaids and groomsmen but a few of them followed Rafael and Princess through the private side door. Michael, Joni, Sarah, and Rafael’s best friend, Greg, looked bewildered and concerned as they watched the senior pastor of Kingdom Citizens Christian Center, arguably the most popular mega-church on the country’s West Coast, being wheeled out of the building and into an ambulance. Vivian scrambled into the back as well, oblivious to her now snagged designer suit and scruffed up Jimmy Choos. King turned to his assistant, Joseph, who hurried away to take care of business, and then rushed into his office. Upon seeing Princess’s fear-filled face, and for the first time since seeing his best friend on the floor, he remembered that a wedding was being conducted. He walked over to where the group stood in various poses of disarray.
“Daddy, what happened?” Princess rushed into her father’s arms. “Is Uncle Derrick going to be okay?”
“I don’t know, baby,” King said, forcing the raspiness of emotion from his voice. “Your mama and I are headed to the hospital now.”
“Where are they taking him?”
King shook his head. “We’re finding that out now. I’ll tell you more as soon as I know it, baby, but right now . . . I’ve got to go.”
Rafael, who’d been standing next to Princess, reached out and grabbed King’s arm as he passed. “But, Pastor . . . what about our wedding?” He knew it sounded insensitive, but as bad as Derrick’s situation was, Rafael had other priorities right now. He felt Princess’s incredulous eyes on him, but he kept his eyes trained on King, waiting for an answer. At this exact moment, Joseph came up to King and whispered in his ear.
“I’m sorry, son, but I’ve got to go.” King turned and started walking with Joseph to the outside door. He looked over his shoulder and said to Princess, “They’re taking him to Shawnee Mission.” Then he, Tai, and a couple of associate ministers headed out the door.
Princess started for the room where she’d gotten ready.
Rafael stopped her. “Baby, where are you going?”
Princess jerked out of his grasp. “Where do you think, Rafael. To the hospital!”
She started away again, and again, Rafael grabbed her arm. “Princess, this is our wedding day! Does that suddenly not mean anything to you?”
Princess’s brow creased. “My uncle just got rushed to the hospital and my dad, the man who was marrying us, is on his way there. Does that mean anything to you?”
Greg stepped up to calm his friend. “Man, I’m sorry this happened, but there’s nothing we can do right now. Maybe after they make sure the pastor is all right, y’all can go ahead and get married tonight.”
This reasonable statement snapped Rafael out of his unreasonable state. He took a deep breath and visibly calmed. “I’m sorry, baby,” he said, taking Princess in his arms. “I didn’t mean to sound insensitive.”
Well, you did.
“But I’ve waited so long to make you my wife that I just . . . I’m just...” At a loss for words, Rafael rested his forehead against that of the woman he loved. “I love you, Princess.”
Princess felt bad that her focus was elsewhere, that her priorities were different than the man earlier described as her beloved. But she couldn’t do anything about that right now. Now, she had to get to her uncle.
“I have to change,” she said, pulling away from Rafael and heading down the hall. “And get to the hospital as soon as I can.”
Joni and Sarah ran into the room with Princess. Erin entered just seconds behind them and she and Sarah began working on the thirty pearl-styled buttons on the back of the wedding gown. Joni found her purse. Her hands trembled as she reached for her phone and sent a quick text. She didn’t know Pastor Montgomery all that well, but Joni’s husband was best friends with his son. She couldn’t even imagine how Brandon would feel if he found out that Derrick had died.
In less than ten minutes, Princess was out of her wedding dress and putting on the summer dress she’d worn to the church. Sarah and Joni had also changed into their street clothes. “Where’s my purse?” Princess asked.
“I’ve got it,” Sarah answered. “Let’s go.”
They headed for the door.
“Wait,” Joni said, stopping midstride. “We all came together in the limo. How are we going to get to the hospital?”
A knock interrupted the conversation. Princess opened the door.
“You ready?” Rafael had changed from his tux to a pair of jeans. Greg stood next to him.
“Yes, but we don’t know how we’ll get there. Should we take the limo?”
“Of course.” Rafael reached for her hand and led her down the hallway. “I’ve got you, baby. Come on.”
10
Pray
M
ama Max thanked the church member who’d given her a ride home, and then hurried up the sidewalk to her front door. She was still reeling from what had happened before her very eyes: a strong, fine, healthy looking man keeling over, appearing for all the world as if he was dead. “Lord have mercy,” she said, fumbling in her oversized bag for the keys to her home. She found them, but in the rush to get the key in the lock, dropped the keys and then her purse. Contents spilled out everywhere. “Jesus!”
Next door, Henry was exiting his house and walking toward his Toyota Camry parked in the driveway. When he saw his neighbor in an apparent panic, he bypassed his automobile and crossed the yard. “Maxie, you okay?” He reached the porch, took the steps two at a time, and began helping Mama Max gather her things.
Maxie looked up as he kneeled down. “Oh . . . hi, Henry.”
“Is everything all right?”
Having retrieved all of her items, Mama Max attempted to stand. Henry helped her up. “I’ve been better, to tell you the truth.”
“You just came from the wedding, right?”
Mama Max nodded, placing her key inside the lock and giving it a quick turn. She walked into her home and threw her purse on the table.
Henry followed her inside. “Well, for what is generally thought of as a celebratory occasion, you sure don’t seem too happy.”
“Princess didn’t get married, Henry.” Mama Max continued into the living room and, after retrieving the cordless phone, took a seat on the couch. “Something happened to one of the pastors who was attending, a close family friend. He passed out right in the middle of the ceremony. They rushed him to the hospital in an ambulance.”
“Oh, Lord, Maxie. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Me too.” Mama Max began dialing a number, and then looked up at Henry. “I don’t mean to be rude, neighbor, but I need to make some phone calls right now.”
“Oh, sure, of course,” Henry said, backing away before turning and heading to the door. “I sure am sorry to hear about your friend. Let me know of any way I can help.”
“You can pray,” Mama Max answered without hesitation.
Henry’s pause was almost imperceptible before he responded, “All right.”
The door had barely closed before Mama Max completed dialing the number. “Nettie,” she said once her call had been answered. Located in Palestine, Texas, Nettie Thicke Johnson was a mighty prayer warrior and one of Mama Max’s closest friends. “We need to circle the prayer wagons, sister. The devil is trying to steal one of our own.”
 
The waiting room at Shawnee Mission Medical Center was filled with folk from the almost-wedding. King stood in one corner, along with his father, Obadiah; his assistant, Joseph; his son, Michael; Cy Taylor and Nate Thicke. Concerned friends surrounded Princess and Rafael in another corner, with Joni providing a play-by-play to her husband, Brandon, by cell. Mount Zion’s prayer circle lined the chairs along one wall. They included the two oldest mothers of the church, Elsie Wanthers and Margie Stokes (or Sistah Alrighty and Sistah Almighty as they were referred to in the inner circle), along with a few deacons, trustees, and—truth be told—a couple lookie-loos who couldn’t wait to telephone, telegraph, telegram, or tell-a-fellow-church-member the latest scoop. Down the hall, just a short distance from the waiting room, was a seldom used office. The doctor had graciously allowed Vivian to wait in there, with an anxious-yet-trying-to-becalm Tai sitting right by her side.
“It’s going to be all right, sis,” Tai said, rubbing her hand across Vivian’s tight neck and shoulders. “We know that with God, all things are possible. He never fails.”
Vivian said nothing, just continued to rock back and forth, whispering a barely audible prayer in tongues.
“Was there any indication that something was wrong?” Tai queried, after a time. “Has he been sick, tired, complaining of headaches . . . anything?”
Vivian rocked a few more times before rising from her chair and pacing the office. “I’ve been asking myself that since he collapsed. I went over the last few weeks, months even, in my head. He’s been so busy, Tai,” she continued, reclaiming her seat next to Tai. “Back and forth to South Africa, revivals everywhere. And there’s been so much stress with the expansion.... I guess it was just too much. I should have seen it,” she declared, again rising and pacing. “I’m his wife! I should have sensed that something was wrong!”
Tai walked over to where Vivian leaned heavily against the wall. “Don’t do this to yourself, Viv. Sometimes these things just happen. There’s nothing you could have known, and nothing you could have done. The only thing we can do now is pray and have faith in God’s healing powers. Do you believe?”
“I want to,” Vivian whispered. “But he looked so pale, Tai. My cocoa brown baby had a gray sheen on his skin.” Fresh tears cascaded down Vivian’s face and although the room was quite warm, she shuddered against the power of her thoughts. “I kept talking to him, telling him,
begging
him to wake up. My God! If something happens to him, Tai, I don’t know what I’ll do.”
Back inside the waiting room, Rafael sat next to Princess. Her head was on his shoulder as he mindlessly ran a soothing hand through her now tousled, errant curls. His mind was racing a mile a minute, a plethora of thoughts vying for space. He was still trying to process what had just happened. Why instead of eating grapes and sipping champagne in the junior suite of Kansas City’s downtown Hotel Phillips, he was comforting his would-be wife in an anesthetic-feeling and smelling hospital waiting room. Why after waiting for what felt like half his life, the woman by his side
still
wasn’t Mrs. Rafael Stevens. He felt bad for Pastor Montgomery, he really did. Hopefully the prolific and charismatic man of God would be just fine.
But dammit! This was my day! This was my moment with the woman I love!
Suddenly, Rafael eased Princess’s head off his shoulders and stood.
“Where are you going?” Princess asked, noting the determined glint in Rafael’s eyes.
“Not far, baby. I just need to take care of something.” He paused, as if wanting to say something, and then changed his mind. “I’ll be right back.”
 
A little over twelve hundred miles away, just outside Phoenix, Arizona, Kelvin Petersen sat brooding in his ten-thousand-square-foot mansion. Like the question of where one was when JFK got shot, or the Twin Towers had fallen, or Michael Jackson had died, Kelvin was bookmarking where he was when the love of his life got married and his world collapsed—sitting in a darkened theater room, with a muted ESPN channel serving as the only light . . . trying to get as fucked up as necessary to take away the pain. He was normally a Bud man, but in the spirit of trying to break one habit today, he’d simply traded it for another and even now precariously poured himself another shot, spilling some of the two-hundred-dollar a bottle liquid on his calfskin sofa in this process. “Damn, man, you make a sloppy drunk,” he said to the empty room. He picked up the remote and flipped to ESPN2. When his phone rang, he didn’t answer it. Within seconds, his text message indicator beeped and then immediately his phone rang again.
“Damn, can’t you see when a brothah don’t want to be bothered?” No doubt it was one of his WIR—women in rotation. Truth be told, he was ready to dump the whole present lot of ten or so and start a new cycle. Sleep with a woman more than a couple times and she started looking for bills to be paid, floor tickets for the next game, or some Benjamins in her wallet. The real fools would even hint at babies, bling, rings, and things. But when it came to Suns star Kelvin Petersen, those babes obviously got things twisted. After finally getting his baby-who-was-not-his-baby’s-mama out of his life, Kelvin swore he’d never get caught up again.
Unless it was Princess. If given the chance, I could have gotten caught up with her.
Kelvin’s phone rang again. This time he sighed, flung back what remained of the Johnnie Walker shot, and reached for his cell. Seeing that the call came from one of his best friends did nothing to lighten his mood.
“Whatever you’re selling I ain’t buying, a’ight?” he said without hostility but with a cadence that sounded like it was spoken in slow motion.
“Kelvin, man, are you all right?”
“In a few hours, I’ll let you know. Other than that, Brandon, I’m just chillin’ . . . wanting to be alone with my thoughts, so if you don’t mind, I’m going to end this situation. I mean, conversation.” Kelvin started laughing at his mistake-turned-joke.
“Kelvin, pull yourself together, man. I’m calling about your father. It’s serious.”
Brandon’s words were like a pitcher of ice cubes dumped on Kelvin’s face. His head momentarily cleared. He sat up. The room began to spin. He plopped back against the couch. “You’re talking about Derrick, right?”
Brandon understood the question. He was one of the few in Kelvin’s circle who’d met both his stepfather, Hans Petersen, and his biological. “Yeah, man, Derrick Montgomery. Joni called me and said that in the middle of the wedding ceremony your dad passed out and was rushed to the hospital . . . by ambulance.”
This revelation brought Kelvin to his feet. “Damn!”
Why’d I have to pour that last shot?
“What’s wrong with him, Brandon?”
“They don’t know. Joni and everybody are at the hospital now, waiting to speak with the doctor... hoping that he’ll bring them good news.”
“But he’s going to be all right—right?”
“Joni said he hasn’t come to yet, so they don’t know.”
“Which hospital is he in?” When Brandon told him, he said, “Okay, man, thanks for the info. Let me get off this phone and make some things happen.”
“You’re going there, right?”
“It’s my father, dog. Of course I am.”
“You want me to come with?”
Kelvin pondered the question as he walked from the theater room to his master suite. “Naw, just chill for right now. I’m going to call my boy and have him hook me up on a charter. Once I get there and see what’s up, I’ll give you a call.”
“Okay, dog,” Brandon said. “Keep your head up. Keep thinking the positive and everything will work out the way it should.”
Kelvin barely responded before ending the call and dialing his agent. “Hey, man,” he said as soon as the call was answered. “I need you to get me on a charter flight to Kansas City.”
“When?”
“Five minutes ago. I’m going to have my driver drop me off at the airport.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, what’s in Kansas City?”
“My father. He’s in the hospital and no one knows what’s going on or whether or not he’ll make it. I’ve got to get there, man. As soon as possible.”

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