Relentless (14 page)

Maxwell and Garrett sat at the conference table and jumped into the business at hand. “I need you to work your magic and get me some information on Bishop Jones's tax returns. If his hands are messy dealing with the church's money, I'll bet he's just as dirty with his personal finances.”

Garrett frowned. “Sure you want to go there?”

“Without a doubt; I don't want to miss anything that will speak to the bishop's true character.” Maxwell slapped his hand down hard onto his thigh.

“Not a problem, I'll get right on it. Give me a few days, and I'll get back to you.”

Maxwell pulled a white envelope from his desk with Garrett's name written across the front. He handed the letter-sized envelope to Garrett. “I appreciate your hard work and your discretion. You've never let me down,” he told Garrett patting him on the back.

“It's not always easy work, but it pays well.” Garrett chuckled, tucking the envelope inside jacket pocket. “I'll give you a call next week.”

He watched Garrett depart. Maxwell knew that somehow the information he'd asked for would soon be in his hands. He sat down to finish the legal draft that had been started earlier. After rereading the last page of the document, he began writing. Maxwell couldn't help but to dwell on his history with Bishop Jones and Sonya's statement. She was right; the case was personal. He wrote Bishop Ellis Jones's name, pressing down with so much force the pencil lead broke. He pressed on the top of the pencil with his thumb, demanding it produce new lead. He began writing again sensing the end was near. Maxwell stared at the words while memories tried holding him captive.

The sharp pitch of his ringing cell phone caused Maxwell's body to jerk as it broke the heavy shackles. He grabbed up the phone silencing the ringer as he read the name across his screen. It was Christine. He wondered why she was calling. His work was pleading for progress. He could let the call go to voicemail, but his heart said maybe she needed something for his nephew. Maybe his father had gotten worse? There were many questions dancing around. He was torn about what to do. Family was a liability requiring too much risky emotional collateral, but he decided this was a call he had to take.

“Maxwell here,” he said, intentionally not sounding enthusiastic or familiar with her call.

“Well, miracles never cease. You answered the phone.”

Maxwell ignored her sarcasm while the corners of his mouth turned up. “What's up?”

“Actually, things are pretty good. Dad is feeling better, and you know their fiftieth wedding anniversary is in two weeks. I'm giving them a surprise party.” Christine waited for a bit before continuing. “I'd like for you to come. It would mean so much to them if you were there. Please say yes.” More waiting ensued. Finally she added, “It's been much too long since our family has been in the same room together. The party is Saturday, the twenty-fourth, at five o'clock. Please say you'll come.”

Maxwell folded in his bottom lip and gritted his teeth. “Christine, no, I can't make it. I'm under a tight deadline and there is no getting past it. I can't make any commitments. I might even be out of town that week.”

“No is such an easy word for you to say when it comes to your family. You are the most stubborn person I know. Actually, I take that back. You and Dad are the two most stubborn. Sometimes I think you deserve one another. You're so much like him and it drives me crazy. Ahh, I just want to scream at the two of you. For heaven's sake, when are you going to let the past go?”

“What makes you think that it's me?” Maxwell closed his eyelids and let her ranting continue. There wasn't anything else he wanted to say.

“Because, I know it's you and him too. You're mad at him for what he did a long time ago. He's mad at how you're acting now. This is silly. Mom and I are caught in the middle. Come on. Who's going to step up and be the man in this situation? We have to work this out as a family, before it's too late. So, stop being a butt, Maxwell. Put your pride aside and do something.”

“Me, do something? You're the one with the answers. You act like I'm the bad guy and that this is my doing.”

“I didn't blame you, but you certainly have a share.”

“Christine, look, I don't have time for this. I have more important issues.”

“Maxwell, when are you going to stop pretending that you don't think about our parents? You act like you are totally removed from your family. That can't be how you truly feel.” There was no point in answering. He just let her talk. “I know that you've been paying Dad's medical bills. Mom and Dad know it too. It's okay for you to care about us and for you to love our parents. You don't have to pretend to be so coldhearted when I know you're not.”

Maxwell sat straight up in his chair, reached for the pencil and legal pad. “Hey, I've got to get back to work. I'll send a nice gift to your house before the party. How is Tyree?”

Tension echoed loudly on the phone briefly before Christine answered him. “He's good. He's growing up, getting bigger every day. You're missing out on that, too.” Another few moments of hush haunted the phone line. “You know Tyree was really disappointed when you didn't make it to his birthday party.”

Maxwell refused to open that emotional door and ignored her statement. “Did he like the new PlayStation and his games?”

“Of course, he did; way too much, actually. I had to restrict his playing time with a schedule. All he wants to do is play that game. Seriously, Maxwell please try to come to the anniversary party. You can't shut us out forever.”

“I'll make sure the gift gets to you before the party. I've got to go. Say hello to Tyree for me.” He made a quick escape from the call by not waiting to hear her say good-bye. He pressed the end button on his cell phone and dived back into his document. Maxwell looked at the last few words he had written, ripped the entire sheet of paper from his legal pad, balled it up with both hands, and tossed it into the trashcan by his desk. Just as he regrouped and began typing directly into his laptop, Sonya buzzed the intercom on his desk. “Yes, Sonya.”

“I almost forgot. I need to come in and clean up the broken cup on your floor. Is now a good time?”

“Sure,” he answered. Maxwell looked across the room at the broken pieces of the cup and wondered if the other areas of his life would ever come together. He wasn't ready for a wife, kids, family vacations, or a dog. He pulled his glance away from the broken pieces and shook his head, tossing the foreign notions out of his mind. If he was to reconcile with his former family or begin a new one, it would be somewhere far down the road and over the rainbow. There was no room for anything in his scope right now except the case he was determined to win.

Cars whisked by as Jill stayed close to the building and as far from the street as she could. She didn't want to take a chance on anyone seeing her go into the church at ten-thirty at night. Images raced around, zooming, with no sign of slowing. What did the bishop want with her this late? He'd already told her what he didn't want and it had been fine with her. If only Minister Simmons had tried to help her in a different way, perhaps her circumstances would be better now. When she came to the church six months ago, he'd found out that she was struggling with chronic back pain. Her steps slowed as she drew closer to the rear door of the church. Standing there, Jill reflected on how she'd gotten to her spot of darkness. She had already stood in disgust and wasn't interested in staying in that predicament any longer. Just as her hand was about to touch the handle, something said,
run, run, get out of here.
It wasn't too late, not yet. She hadn't crossed the line. There was a chance to walk away. She was turning to leave, maybe not running but definitely in a brisk walk. The door opened, stunning her for a second.

“Ms. Smith, right on time,” Bishop Jones said standing in the doorway in a dark blue suit and striped tie. She froze wanting to leave but her legs wouldn't budge. They were heavy as logs, just like her heart.

Something about this second meeting with the senior pastor didn't feel right, even if she was on the pain meds and muscle relaxers. Her body might have been somewhat relaxed but not enough to feel comfortable doing wrong in the church. God was watching. She eagerly wanted to meet and get out of there as fast as possible.

“I see you got my message. Thanks for meeting with me again,” he said standing to the side so she could enter the building. “I hope this isn't too late for you.”

Not too late to bolt and save herself,
she thought.

“Come on in and join me in my office.” She hesitated. Bishop must have picked up on her discomfort because he said, “I'm not going to bite you, for goodness' sake.”

“Then why am I here?” she asked setting only one foot inside the church. She was afraid of Minister Simmons, cringed near the bishop, but was absolutely terrified of God's wrath if she kept defiling the church. “Nope, Bishop, I'm not coming in there.”

“Well, we can't very well stand here and talk, now can we?”

“Yes, I can,” she boldly conveyed to him.

“Come on in, please,” he offered extending his hand.

She didn't reciprocate. “Nope, right here works for me.”

“Okay, then that's the way it is,” he said leaning against the door to keep it propped open. “We'll talk here if this is what you want.”

Her speeding thoughts slowed as the anxiety that had overtaken her minutes ago began subsiding. “I can only stay a few minutes anyway.” Her children were staying with a neighbor she didn't totally trust. In a pinch, like this one, her children could stay but only for a brief period.

“I understand; I'll ask a few questions, and you can be on your way.” Jill nodded determined to watch the time. “After we met last week, I couldn't help but to think about our discussion. How exactly did you get into this situation, you know, with the medication?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Besides getting you another doctor, maybe I can help if I understand the root of your problem.”

Bugs were buzzing around the light hanging overhead. Some were flying in the open door, and some were nipping at her skin. Yet, she wasn't bothered enough to go inside. “Do you really want to know?”

“Yes, I do,” he said crossing his arms still leaning against the door. “You can trust me.”

She knew too well what that meant. Words she'd heard over and over: once from her father, then her children's father, and now the church father. “It's something that just happened.”

Bishop shook his head in disagreement. “That's not true and you know it. Tell me your story and let me help you.”

Her guard almost came down in that quick second where it seemed like someone cared. She was certain he didn't but the only way for her to get home as quickly as possible was to answer the bishop's questions and get out of there. “When I came to this church, Minister Simmons led one of the counseling sessions. I told him about my chronic back pain. I was hoping to be healed because the doctor wouldn't give me any more pills for my back.”

“And, did you get healed?”

“No,” she said not really expecting to get healed anymore. “Instead of begging the doctor to help me, I confessed to Minister Simmons that I'd been buying undercover drugs.”

Bishop looked startled but not a lot. “What did Simmons say when you told him?”

“Nothing that night, but about a month later he offered me a lump sum of cash in exchange for introducing him to the person selling me my medication. He said he had a friend who could help us make a lot of money by supplying him with much more meds than we'd ever seen.”

“I see.”

She felt drenched with guilt and judgment. “I needed the money.” There was no way Bishop Jones could possibly feel her pain. He had a fancy car, nice clothes, and probably a mansion on the Main Line. He couldn't relate to her as a single mother unable to work but still having to feed two growing boys.

“I understand. You have a family and needed the money.”

“Honestly, money was the least of it for me.”

“What other reason could there be?” he asked. “Do you mind if I pull up a chair?” She didn't mind, so he did and set it directly in front of the door to keep it open.

“I was promised a monthly supply of my pain meds in return for my services,” she said as the shame dragged her gaze to the filthy ground. In the beginning that's all he gave me, my meds and cash. A few months ago, Minister Simmons added other requirements.” It was clear to see that the bishop appeared uneasy addressing the subject, but Minister Simmons was his problem, not hers.

“Why did you go to him?”

She hunched her shoulders and then said, “Because, I was desperate, and he helped me. I resisted his advances for weeks, as long as I could.” Depression hounded Jill standing on the church's doorway but her reality came forward. She was a mother and providing for her crew allowed her to nudge away some of the guilt. “I'm ashamed,” she said as her voice cracked.

“I'm sure you did what you felt you had to do.”

“I did.”

“You do know there are other ways, better ways, to have your needs met.”

“How?”

“By trusting in God.”

“I've tried that and trusting people in the church, too. It hasn't worked for me so far.”

“I'm sorry your past experiences have made you skeptical. I'm not making excuses for anyone, please understand me. But, the church is made up of men and women who mostly want to please God and serve the people. They're not perfect. When a person in leadership falls short, they have to step down, and let God work on their flesh. What happened to you was the result of a minister's weakness to sin. I'm sorry, but trust me; it is being addressed and always will be in this church.”

“After what I've been through, I can't trust anyone.”

“You're wrong. You absolutely can trust God, and you can trust me.” Bishop pushed a white envelope into Jill's hand.

She turned the sealed envelope over, examining both sides of it then asked, “What's this?”

“It's the contact number for a physician who will help you manage your pain just like I promised. Just call and make an appointment. You'll never see a bill.”

Jill glanced back and forth between the envelope and the bishop twice. “Why? What is this going to cost me?”

“Nothing, I told you. The church will take care of the doctor's bill and the prescriptions.”

“I heard you say that. But every gift ain't free,” Jill protested placing her hand on her hip.

“Ms. Smith, you don't have to do anything but let the church help you. God loves you and wants to meet your needs.”

“Bishop, I don't really have time for a sermon,” Jill interrupted as she took two steps backward. “I have to get home to my children. My crazy neighbor is keeping them for me, and she can't last more than an hour. I'd better go,” She said hesitantly, feeling like she needed his approval to leave but was unwilling to wait for it. She dashed from the doorway as fast as her legs could go. She'd breathe once the road got closer and the church farther away.

Bishop Jones was left with a heavy heart weighed down by his concern for Jill and the ugly situation Simmons had brought to the church's doorstep. Yet, he could empathize with Simmons. That was him many years ago. There was a time when an opportunity to make quick cash for the church drove him, especially when he didn't have to follow any rules of right and wrong. Those days were long gone and far behind him. He'd grown in God and his Christian character was stronger.

He looked out into the dark after Jill left knowing she could not run away from her problem. The bishop knew he couldn't run away from his problems either. He was accountable to God to get this mess straightened out with Simmons and the drugs. He had to make the wrong right.