One Prayer Away (30 page)

Stumbling across the hallway and into his bathroom, Chris splashed several handfuls of cold water on his face, trying to wash away the images that were still very vivid in his mind. With his eyes blinded by water, Chris used his hands to feel for the towel rack. Finding it, he buried his face in the cotton and held it there until the water had soaked into the thickness of the fabric. Chris was still shaking when he walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water to hydrate his dry throat.

For ten minutes Chris just stood in the kitchen, listening to the quiet of his house that was interrupted only by the sound of his heavy breathing. He now knew that it was all a dream, but Chris touched his face once more just to be sure that there were no signs of blood. With the cup of
water still in his hand, he managed to get his weak knees to carry him to the living room where he sat on the sofa and stared into the darkness.

He couldn't go back to bed. Not tonight. So Chris sat in the chair, refusing to allow his eyes to close for fear of what he might see.

Twenty-Five

E
arly Friday morning, Beverly was awakened by the smell of breakfast and the sounds of Christmas.
O Holy Night
was one of her favorite Christmas carols, and it sounded beautiful as it played from a radio somewhere inside the house. Beverly climbed out of the bed that she'd slept in for the past two nights and slipped on her robe before walking out into the hallway. Mitchell's bedroom door was open, but she saw no sign of him inside. To know that he felt well enough to be up and about so early in the morning was comforting. Beverly had to head back to Houston today, and knowing he was returning to his normal self made her feel better about leaving him alone.

Virtue had called her on her cell phone last night. She said she was calling to see how Beverly was doing, but Beverly knew that it was really Mitchell that she was concerned about. She had played along, though, telling Virtue how she'd spent her day. Beverly made sure to add that Mitchell's bruises were slowly healing. Although Virtue hadn't said so, Beverly knew that the report gave her some
relief. Both she and Virtue had been upset when Beverly got the details of the fight between Chris and Mitchell. Beverly had tried to get Virtue to come with her to Dallas, but she wouldn't hear of it. She had forgiven Mitchell, but she wasn't about to give him any hints that she wanted any kind of relationship with him. Beverly chuckled when she thought about it, because she knew that deep down inside, Virtue did.

“Mitchell?” she called as she walked down the hallway into the kitchen.

On the stove was a covered pot of grits that bubbled from the heat of the low flame beneath it. Opening the oven, Beverly saw one pan that was filled with sausage links and another that held what looked like a casserole made of eggs. The whole kitchen smelled good enough to eat, and her stomach rumbled, indicating that it was ready whenever she was.

“Mitchell?” she called again, with still no reply.

Beverly stepped into the living room and looked around. Yesterday she'd called a carpet-cleaning company and had them come by and give the cushions of Mitchell's sofa a good cleaning, as well as cleaning the carpet that covered the floor of his hallway. It seemed like a simple task, but it had taken them two hours to rid the house of the dangerous particles of glass and the smell of vodka.

“Mitchell?”

The music now sounded like it was coming from outside, but when Beverly looked out of the living room windows, she saw nothing. Opening a door that she'd thought belonged to a closet, Beverly was surprised to find a set of stairs. The music was coming from below. She walked down the steps and into a spacious den that she hadn't known existed until now. The room, covered in hardwood floors, looked large enough to be a second home. One end of the space was set up like a living room. There was leather furniture, a coffee table, and a large entertainment
center that consisted of a wide-screen television and a stereo system. In the middle of the floor, there was a Ping-Pong table, a sit-up bench, and a set of free weights. But it was what was on the far end of the basement that captured her attention the most.

Beverly stood in amazement while she watched Mitchell play with the skill of an expert pianist. Every few moments, his eyes would close and his upper body would sway as though he could feel every note that his fingers demanded from the instrument. She wanted to move closer, to get a better view of his mastery, but Beverly was afraid that if he knew she was there, he would stop. When the song came to an end, Beverly broke into an applause that tested the acoustics in the large room. Wincing from the sudden loud noise, Mitchell turned around and broke into a grin. Standing from the piano stool, he took a playful bow.

“You're looking better this morning,” Beverly remarked.

“I feel better too. I had a great nurse.”

Beverly beamed at his compliment. “You're just full of surprises, aren't you?” she said. “That food up there smells like it was prepared by Emeril, and now you're in here playing like Little Richard. Where did all of this talent come from?” Beverly asked as she approached.

“I'm glad my grandfather wasn't around to hear your comparison.” Mitchell laughed. “I guess I got all of my talent from my grandmother,” he explained as he ran his fingers across the finish of the baby grand. “I picked it up from watching her, both cooking and piano playing. I can't remember the last time I played before today, though. It's been awhile.”

“Well, I sure couldn't tell by listening to you,” Beverly said. “May I?”

Mitchell stepped aside. “Do you play?”

Smiling, Beverly answered by sitting on the vacated stool, tightening the belt of her robe around her, and placing her fingers on the waiting keys. She looked up at
Mitchell as she began playing and saw an impressed grin on his face.

“I like that song,” Mitchell remarked.

“Do you sing?”

Mitchell laughed. “Only to the dead . . . or maybe to those who are terminally ill and looking for something that will speed along the process.”

Beverly laughed too. “You're so full of surprises; I just thought I'd ask. Where do you know this song from?”

“I have the CD,” Mitchell said. “I bought it when it first came out and played it to death for the first few weeks that I had it. I haven't heard it in over a year.”

“Well, that ain't my testimony,” Beverly said with a laugh. “I've heard it so much over the last couple of weeks that it's etched in my brain. If I didn't truly love it, I'd hate it by now.”

“They're playing it a lot on the Houston stations this year?”

Beverly stopped her music and turned to face Mitchell. “No. Virtue is dancing to it at our Christmas banquet tomorrow night. She's been playing the CD around the house while she's been choreographing her steps.”

Beverly took note of Mitchell's change of demeanor. “I haven't seen her dance in ages,” he said, filling the empty space on the stool next to her. “It used to give me chills to watch her dance. She would get standing ovations at her school performances quite often.”

“She still gets standing ovations,” Beverly said.

The two of them sat in silence. Beverly had left the door leading to the stairwell open. The alluring smell of the food was bouncing off the walls of the den about as loudly as the earlier music had.

“Be honest with me, Beverly,” Mitchell said, pulling her mind away from the kitchen. “What do you feel are the chances that Virtue will forgive me and at least consider giving me another chance?”

“Do you really want my honesty, Mitchell?”

He hesitated but nodded his answer.

“Virtue has already forgiven you,” Beverly told him. “She told me she had, so that part of your concern can be dismissed. Will she give you another chance? I honestly don't know. But with that same honesty, I will tell you again as I told you before when we met at the hotel—I believe that she still loves you.”

“She still hasn't denied it?”

“Not to me she hasn't,” Beverly said. “I think that every adverse emotion that Virtue has ever had toward you stemmed from love. I think she was so hurt by you because she loved you. Mitchell, nothing is more heartbreaking than having the person you love be the same person who caused you pain. I think she was angry because she loved you. Nobody really wants to love somebody who has hurt them so badly. She couldn't rid herself of the love, so she became angry at both you and herself. I even think she feared you because she loved you. Can you imagine how frightening it is to love somebody so much that even though they have put your head in stitches, you still have thoughts of them and dream about them? I think memories of you have tortured Virtue for years. Not because she's hated you, but because she's never stopped loving you.”

Mitchell closed his eyes and sighed. “How do you know so much, Beverly?”

“Because I've lived, and I know what it's like to be hurt. I never told you this, but I'm divorced too. My husband never raised a hand to hit me, 'cause if he had, he knew I would have cut it off at the wrist.”

Mitchell grimaced at the thought of her threat.

“But what I found out is that there are a lot worse things than being hit. I think I would have preferred that Lester hit me than for him to have been unfaithful. It was something about him leaving me for another woman that cut all the way to the center of my heart. I think infidelity
is the worst kind of deception, and then when you find out that it wasn't just a mistake caused by a moment of weakness, but a full-fledged relationship, that just makes it worse.”

“Do you still love him?”

Beverly let out a short laugh and then folded her arms in front of her. “I wish I could answer with an emphatic no, but I honestly think there's something about true love that just never completely goes away. Even if you want it to go away, it stays, if only to remind you of just how powerful it is. I don't love Lester in the same manner that I did for all those years that we were married, but I have to admit that there will probably always be a place in my heart for him.”

Mitchell tossed her a grin. “I wonder if he's sitting somewhere just like me, trying to figure out a way to win you back.”

“I doubt it,” Beverly said. “Last I heard, he was sitting somewhere planning out his wedding. He's getting married tomorrow.”

The smile that Mitchell displayed earlier faded quickly. “I'm sorry, Beverly.”

“Don't be,” she said as she tapped him on the knee. “At this point, I wouldn't take him back whether he was getting married or not. He's got his day coming for all the wrong he did. God promised that what we sow, we have to reap.”

Mitchell stared off into the distance. “You know, when I was lying up there in the living room on my sofa, unable to move for all those hours after Chris attacked me, I started thinking that maybe God had finally decided to give me my due punishment for what I did to Virtue. I mean, Chris is a strong dude, but so am I. I should have been able to fight him back, but each blow I took basically paralyzed me.”

“Everybody loses a fight in their lifetime, Mitchell.”

“Oh, don't get me wrong,” Mitchell quickly said. “I've lost more than a few fights in my lifetime, but any other time it happened, you'd best believe I went down like a man, and my opponent
looked
like he'd been beat up whether he won or not. Monday morning, I went down like a wimp wearing a tutu. I didn't even get in a small punch. I dragged myself home, barely avoiding a black eye and broken ribs. My body felt like I'd been in a car wreck with me riding on the hood at the time of impact. If anything was black or broken on Chris, it was his knuckles from all that Mitch bashing.”

Beverly laughed.

“I was rescued by a grandmother in her
sixties
, Beverly,” Mitchell continued. “It don't get no more humiliating than that. Now, tell me God wasn't sitting up in heaven going, ‘Now how 'bout that. I bet you won't hit Virtue no more.'”