Faithful (31 page)

Phyllis's gaze fell on a couple side by side in club chairs, lost in conversation. She felt like crying.

Rod shifted away from her briefly and sighed. That this wasn't easy for him was small consolation.

“Phyllis, you awaken things in me,” he said suddenly. “Things I can't allow myself to feel.” He stared at his shoes and glanced back at her. “I care for you. And because I care, I know we can't go to my room to watch a movie. We shouldn't call or e-mail either. I want what's best for your marriage.”

She cut her eyes away.
She
wanted what was best for her marriage, too, but what had that mattered all these years?

Long seconds erected a gulf between them. Phyllis took a deep breath and put on the best face she could. “Guess it's good-bye, then, Rod.”

She walked away before he could respond and cried for nearly an hour. Her whole world had come crashing down, the last glimmer snuffed out. She missed Rod already, just the thought of him and the friendship she'd hoped they could have. He was her one refuge—and now that was gone too. Why did he have to end things that way? She'd only suggested a movie, not a romp in the sack. He didn't have to push her away for good, as if they'd had some illicit affair. But then . . .

If her thoughts had had their way, perhaps it would have been an affair . . . and those thoughts suddenly scared her.
Oh, God
. Her heart beat a panic rhythm. Did she really imagine herself in a passionate embrace with Rod?

How did she
get
here? Why was she curled up on a strange hotel bed? As if awakening from a dream, she looked around herself. Fresh tears spilled when she saw her baggage. She'd actually driven four and a half hours to see another man. If Rod hadn't held firm in that lobby, she'd be in his room right now. Maybe in his bed.

She wished she could check out of the hotel and blink herself back home. She needed to be there to get her head and heart right— this room was only accusing her. But she was too tired to drive home, so she took the next best escape—the shower. She stood under the water almost afraid to pray—it had been so long. But a verse emblazoned itself in her heart.

“Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.”

Sobs gathered again in her chest. How could God speak that to her? How could He offer her rest after the days and weeks she'd ignored Him? After the desires she'd had of sleeping with Rod?

She went to her knees, the water cascading her face, skimming her shower cap, likely seeping into her hair, but she didn't care.

Father, I come before You heavy with shame
. She took a breath and let it stutter out.
How often I've prayed for You to change Hayes's heart, and my own heart is impure. Please forgive me, Lord
. Her shoulders bowed with grief.
Lord, I've been unfaithful. I haven't honored You and I haven't honored my marriage. Change my heart, oh God. Renew my love for Hayes. Renew my love for You
.

Phyllis shifted and sat with her head lowered, arms around her knees, the warm water pummeling her shoulders, remembering the words Jessica Handy had spoken last Sunday:
“I pledge to be true.”
She had stood when it became apparent that the whole church would, though it wasn't in her heart. But after tonight, that had changed.

Whether Hayes came to know the Lord or not, whether he continued to be hostile toward her faith or not, she would stay committed to him mind, body, and spirit. Because in the end, it wasn't about her marriage to Hayes so much as her marriage to Christ. She needed to be faithful to
Him
. She needed to be true.

Twenty-four

D
ANA HADN'T LAUGHED
this much in weeks. It was Tuesday, and she was supposed to be here helping Stephanie at their first mentor meeting, but she was the one being helped, feeling like her old self. Laughter really was good medicine.

The two women had already covered the spiritual ground Dana had planned. They'd met early at The Bread Company at the St. Louis Galleria, after Dana's kids had gotten off to school. Dana and Scott prayed together in their quiet time this morning—a new habit they'd started—asking God to touch Stephanie's heart. And He had. Not that Stephanie had made a dramatic about-face, but she'd come with her Bible, though Dana had forgotten to tell her, and she seemed to be sincerely listening. She asked thoughtful questions and even took notes.

But somehow near the end, as Dana talked about living by the power of the Holy Spirit, the discussion fell apart.

Stephanie pointed and said, “Let's talk about that right there. I want to know how to make love by the power of the Holy Spirit, 'cause the thrill is gone already.”

Dana had looked concerned. “After three weeks, Stephanie?”

Stephanie smirked, head cocked.

“Okay, it's been longer than that, but how could the thrill be gone so soon?”

“Girl, maybe it's payback, God telling me, ‘See, you shouldn't have been dipping and dabbling beforehand, then it could've been fresh and new.' Or maybe it's because before, I was eager for him to be my husband, and now that he is, the anticipation's gone. But I'm really thinking it's because Lindell started trippin'.”

“What did he do?” Dana had finished the last of her orange juice, intrigued.

Stephanie rolled her eyes up as if she still couldn't believe it. “The night of the wedding.” She stopped for effect. “My man calls himself being sexy and busts out with some briefs under his tuxedo—he normally wears boxers—and, Dana, I don't mean any harm, but his flab rolled over the top of the briefs.”

Dana kept a serious expression, trying her best to contain herself. “Okay.”

“It was not sexy, Dana. Then . . .” Stephanie looked off in the distance, shaking her head. “Mr. Sexy Man decides he's going to dance for me. Dana, you know Lindell can't dance. You saw him at the reception, right?”

Dana's insides were bubbling. “No, we had left.”

“Okay.” Stephanie shifted in her seat. “Let me see how I can explain this. His rhythm is a little off. You know how folk think all black people can dance?” Stephanie gave her the eye. “All black people can't dance. So here he is in the hotel suite, making this grand entrance into the bedroom—in the briefs with the flab—doing some kind of gyration thing—”

Dana tried hard not to laugh, but it started in her belly, rose, and forced its way out.

“—with a serious look on his face like he was really trying to concentrate and do his thing. I'm sorry, but it was so
not
a turn-on.”

Dana was bent over now, trying to collect herself, but the dam had broken and she couldn't stop.

“And on top of all of that, Dana, I kid you not . . .” Stephanie held her same even expression. “I found out he had gotten a whole set of these briefs—from who knows where—all different colors, some with sayings we don't need to get into. And he had the nerve to get this increased sex drive after the wedding, so I've been treated to this same performance every night.” She sat back and folded her hands. “Every night.”

People at nearby tables were casting an eye in their direction.

Dana held forth her hand. “Stop. Just stop, Stephanie.” She had to be turning beet red.

“Can I say one more thing?”

“No!”

Stephanie leaned in anyway. “After I leave here, I'm putting an end to this madness. I'm going right to the department store”—she pointed out the door—“and I'm buying him some more boxers. I'll tell him these are special, picked just for him, and he can dance to his heart's content to ‘When a Man Loves a Woman.'”

“‘When a Man Loves a Woman?'” Dana was getting control of herself, but not totally. “That's a slow song. I was picturing him doing some upbeat dance.”

Stephanie raised a brow. “He was. Didn't I tell you his rhythm was off?”

Stephanie got Dana, who was still chuckling, to go with her to Dillard's, where she found some boxers she liked right away. When she'd made the purchase, Dana was hit with an idea that made her pause.

“Hey, Steph,” she said, “let's stop in women's lingerie.”

“Ooh, gonna get a little something for Scott?”

Dana giggled. “I think Lindell just inspired me.”

D
ANA COULDN'T WAIT
for Mark and Mackenzie to go to bed. She had enjoyed the family time they'd had after dinner playing foosball, but now that they'd bathed, done their evening routines with Scott and Dana, and settled under the covers, her anticipation was growing.

Scott was down in the office, and Dana waited until she was sure the kids were asleep before retrieving her shopping bag from a corner of the bedroom closet. Opening it, she pulled out the beautiful black silk nightgown just to look at it, then tucked it back in the bag while she took a shower, luxuriating in the body gel that made her feel special.

She couldn't believe she was doing this, and not just because of her hesitancy since the affair. Even before the affair, it had been a long time since she'd made a big deal of their intimate moments. She knew it was God giving her the desire and even the strength to put all else aside and feel that oneness with her husband again.

Dressed in her nightgown, Dana lit votive candles around the room, picked up her cell, and dialed the home phone.

“Dana?”

“Hey, babe. Busy?”

Scott paused. “I'm doing a little work . . .” He sounded puzzled. “Did you need something?”

“Mm-hmm. You.”

Another pause. “You need me? To come up there?”

“Mm-hmm.” Dana ended the call.

Seconds later Scott was trying the door.

“One second,” Dana called.

She pressed the Play button on the remote. As smooth jazz filtered through the room, she opened the door.

She took Scott's hand and led him inside, to the middle of the floor, into a slow sway to the music.

His arms tightened around her, and he whispered in her ear, “Baby, I can't believe this.” He leaned back to meet her gaze. “Are you sure?”

She pressed her face against his chest. “Very.”

They swayed, unhurried, enjoying the closeness, the feel of their bodies against one another. Tears started in Dana's eyes. She had thought this moment would be painful and forced, a pure act of faith on her part, but it was nothing of the kind. Her desire was growing with every passing minute.

Scott looked into her eyes again, long seconds it seemed, and brought his lips to hers. He took his time, touching her lips lightly, caressing her face with his hand. “I love you,” he said. “I love you so much.”

Dana lost herself in the kiss as her tears fell. She'd never needed Scott more than this very moment. As she led him to their bed, an image darted through her mind, a vague one of Scott and Heather, but before it could register, it was gone. Her mind filled with the two of them alone, a joyful filling that encouraged her all the more to take back what had been stolen, territory that should have been hers alone, territory she'd been forced to yield out of pain. When they came together, she felt the pleasure, the renewal, the healing power of stepping back in, into her rightful place.

Heaven, she was certain, was rejoicing.

Twenty-five

C
YD WAS TRYING
to be as patient as she could.

“Try that again, Jonathan.” She sat back to show a relaxed demeanor and stared across the room at her student. “Remember, the
thing
by which or with which an action is performed takes a noun in the dative case without a preposition, but if there's an
agent
by which an action is performed, it takes
hupo
with the genitive.” She smiled faintly. She'd only said it five times. “And the verb was supposed to be in passive voice, not middle voice.”

“Oh.” Jonathan looked down at his notes. “I don't think I totally understand all the distinctions yet between passive and middle voice.”

He flipped his notes and studied them as Cyd decided, once again, that high school English was totally inadequate. These were among the best and brightest in the nation, yet Cyd spent more days than she could count not advancing her students in Greek grammar but shoring up the English.

The class of twelve undergraduates waited. They were seated at tables that formed a U-shape with Cyd at the top left corner so she could rise if need be and write on the board. She never tired of her Greek 101 class, but she did tire of lack of preparation on the part of the students, and she tired of the result: wasted time. A couple of students whispered with one another, one swigged a bottle of water, and one's head was starting to bob every few seconds. She motioned to the guy next to the head-bobber, and he poked his neighbor with a pencil, startling him awake.

“Okay, I've got it.” Jonathan looked up.

“Jonathan, have you been doing the homework exercises?”