The Eleventh Commandment (10 page)

“ I
know you love La Jolla, but, man, do I miss you being in the ministry full time.” After a grueling three-hour meeting about the church's expansion, Derrick and Cy sat in Kingdom Citizens Christian Center's private dining room, enjoying a lunch that had been prepared by one of the kitchen staff. “Your consulting on this project is invaluable, but I miss you having my back on Sundays.”

Last year, Cy had resigned as an associate minister at KCCC, a position that Derrick had talked him into in the first place. “Honestly, Dee, I've been too busy to miss much of anything, but I know Hope wants us to try and start attending service on a more regular basis. If she had her way, we'd be here every Sunday. Jack wants us to move our membership to his church, but while Hope and Millicent have reached a level of civility, she could never be my baby's first lady.”

Derrick chuckled. When it came to some of Millicent's and Hope's past drama, he'd had a front row seat. “I'll never forget the first time you brought Hope to church.”

“Oh, Lord. Don't remind me.”

“I haven't thought of that incident in a long time. When Millicent appeared at the back of the church in that dress? It was all I could do to keep my jaw from dropping to the floor.”

“Imagine how I felt. First time I'd invited Hope to California, still in the early stages of our relationship. I wanted the Lord to come right then, to save me from Hope's anger and to save Millicent from herself!” Cy shook his head at the memory of Millicent walking down the aisle during a packed Sunday morning service, in full wedding regalia, demanding a stunned Cy Taylor join her at the altar.

“Husband, come to me!” Derrick mimicked the words that Millicent had somberly intoned on that fateful day.

“Aw, man. The cool way Hope handled that situation and her total belief in what I'd told her was further confirmation that she was the one.” After a pause, he continued. “You know, it's funny that you should mention that fiasco. It's making me think twice about another woman.”

Derrick leaned back in his chair. “Talk to me.”

Cy recounted the surprise e-mail he received from Trisha and his plans to meet her next week. “After all of these years, I'm curious to see her,” he finished. “Hope doesn't object to my meeting her as long as I limit any physical contact to a church hug.”

“Smart woman. But even with your wife's approval, for lack of a better word, do you think this is a good idea? She could turn out to be another stalker.”

“No, not Trisha. She's got too much pride for that.” The room became silent for a few moments, as the men ate their food and marinated in their thoughts.

Derrick finally reached for his napkin, leaning against the chair as he wiped remnants of perfectly fried chicken from his mouth. “If you don't have other plans, you and Hope are welcome to join us for Sunday brunch tomorrow.”

“I'll talk to her and let you know. I'm just glad to see that you're still looking good and doing well. It's almost like the tumor never happened.”

“God gets all the glory,” Derrick responded. “And I'll forever be indebted to Keith Black.”

“Absolutely. That man is definitely operating in his gift; his skill as a surgeon is something you can't get from education alone. I went online to find his book and—Oh, wait a minute.” Cy reached for his vibrating cell phone. He looked at the number, then shifted his eyes to Derrick as he answered the call and put it on speakerphone. “Trisha!”

“Hello, Cy.”

“I'm having lunch with my pastor. What's going on?”

“Your pastor? Wow, you have changed. I never would have pictured you as a churchgoing man.”

“I know, huh. Considering all of those times you used to try and drag me to church. A lot can change in fifteen years.”

“Who is your pastor?”

“Derrick Montgomery, senior pastor of—”

“Kingdom Citizens Christian Center.”

“Oh, you've heard of him?”

“I'm a PK, Cy, remember? Derrick Montgomery is a big name in the Christian world. Of course I've heard of him.”

At her mention of being a preacher's kid, Cy asked, “How is your father?”

“He's had some health issues but overall, he's fine. Look, right now I only have a few minutes to talk. I just called to see if you were still coming to New York next week.”

“Yes. I'll be there on Wednesday.”

“Will we get a chance to meet?”

“Yes. I talked it over with my wife and told her that I'd like to see you, get caught up on each other's lives. I'll give you a call once I land and know for sure what evening I'll be free.”

“I look forward to it, Cy. It's been a long time.”

“That it has. I'll call you next week.”

“Okay. See you soon, Cyclone.”

“Goodbye . . . Trisha.”

Cy ended the call, not missing the skeptical look that Derrick was casting in his direction. “Cyclone?”

“That's what they called me back in college.”

“I don't know, man. I'm not too comfortable with the vibe I'm getting.”

“Look, we'll meet for dinner in a very public place, say our good-byes, and go on our merry ways. What can happen?”

“When it comes to the dynamics between a man and a woman. . . anything is possible.”

“Duly noted, Pastor.”

“I hope so. You and Hope make a great team; in a way y'all remind me of myself and Viv. Don't head to that meeting without donning the full armor.”

Cy nodded, understanding the meaning of Derrick's comment. “Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil.”

“For we wrestle not against flesh and blood,” Derrick continued. “But against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against wickedness in high places.”

“But isn't this the same passage where it talks about standing?”

“That's right. Having done all to stand, then stand therefore, having your loins girt about with truth, and having on the breastplate of righteousness.” Derrick gave Cy a long look. “I'd pay
particular
attention to the girding of your loins.”

Cy laughed. “No need to worry about that, Dee. The wife is taking care of home.”

Derrick nodded, seemingly satisfied. But he still made a mental note to put Cy and Hope on his private prayer list. He wanted to do whatever he could to protect Cy from the adversary's marriage-destroying shenanigans. It wasn't that he didn't trust Cy Taylor; Derrick just knew that the devil was always busy and that next week . . . her name might be Trisha.

I
t was another Fourth of July at the Montgomery residence. Poolside was crowded and the atmosphere festive. Along with Frieda, Stacy, Hope, their spouses and children, several members from KCCC were also on hand as well as members of both Derrick's and Vivian's extended family. The catering company had provided all of the holiday favorites: baked beans, coleslaw, potato salad, and everything barbecued that one could imagine. The children played in a makeshift wonderland complete with a bounce house, sandlot, and swings. People clumped in various groups: around the food, the pool, and under two tents that had been erected in the backyard. Before the day was over, more than seventy-five people would have crossed the megaminister's threshold at one point or another. In the words of Ice Cube, it was shaping up to be a good day.

Under one of those tents, Derrick stood to the side talking with Tony. “It's good to see you, man. I miss you and Stacy in the congregation.”

“We miss you too.”

“How are things going at the Church of New Hope?” CNH was the fast-growing church in Arizona, led by the young and charismatic pastor, Jeremiah Dunn.

“Okay, I guess. I haven't been there much lately.”

“That doesn't sound like you. I know you love the Lord and attended Noel's church faithfully before joining your wife at KCCC.”

It was true. When he wasn't playing on any given Sunday, Tony Johnson could be found within the pews of Noel Jones's church and later, after meeting Stacy, at KCCC. His countenance hardened as he responded. “Right now, my thoughts are on one thing and one thing only. And that's getting picked up. As a husband, father, and the provider for my family, nothing else is more important than that.”

This information did not surprise Derrick. During Sunday's brunch two days ago, Cy had told Derrick that his wife was worried about Tony, and wanted Derrick to speak with him. But Derrick's face was as unreadable as a star poker player. His body language remained casual as well as he asked, “What are you doing about that?”

Tony told him about the planned walk-on with the Sea Lions. “I know I've still got a few years left in me,” he finished. “All I need is a chance.”

“I hope you get it, man. But just remember . . . football is what you do, not who you are.”

Tony frowned. “Have you been talking to Stacy?”

Derrick could almost feel anger and tension palpitating from Tony's body. But he stayed as cool as the watermelon salad that chilled in the patio fridge. “No, I have not had a conversation with your wife. Should I?”

Tony was immediately defensive. “Just what are you asking me, Pastor?”

“I've been reading people a long time, Tony. It's a gift, really, one that has been honed through more than twenty years in ministry: counseling, ministering, supporting the flock. You're hurting, and you're worried. Now, the average person wouldn't recognize it. But I do. And while I've never played professional sports, I've counseled my share of athletes who were coming to the end of their careers. I am aware of the myriad of emotions that come up when faced with retiring from something that they love. It's not easy, man. Heck, I watched my own son go through depression when his injury temporarily kept him off the court. Even though the doctors assured him that he'd play basketball again, the mere thought that that might not happen was not an easy one for him to deal with. So I'm not trying to get in your business, brothah. I just want you to know that I'm here for you, that's all.”

Tony held up a hand for a fist pound. Derrick obliged him. “Thanks, Pastor. Everything you said was right. Sorry for snapping.”

Derrick noted the set of Tony's jaw; the coldness in his eyes that didn't match the warmth of his voice and knew that before him stood a very troubled man. Another name to be added to his prayer list. “Apology accepted.”

“I might take you up on the counseling one of these days and before we leave, I definitely want you to pray with me. If I don't get on with the Sea Lions next week, I'm more than likely out for the season.”

 

Across from the tent where Tony, Derrick, and several others chatted, Vivian, Hope, and Stacy sat sipping sparkling juices and munching on watermelon salad.

“This is so refreshing,” Hope said, after finishing a bite of what for her was a first-time treat. “I never would have paired watermelon with onions, and the mint adds a burst of flavor.”

“Yes, a church member turned me on to this caterer and I really like them. Of course, I had to soothe the feathers of the church mothers who wanted to cook the meal, but everyone deserves time off, to spend with their family and friends. That and gift cards put a smile back on their faces.” As they continued eating, Vivian noticed that Stacy's eyes kept traveling to where Derrick and Tony stood. “You've been quiet, Stacy. Everything all right?”

“Yes,” she responded. After another second of staring, she pulled her attention back to the women around her. “I'm just glad that Tony is talking to Pastor.”

Vivian felt there was a huge back story to that sentence, but she decided not to press. If and when Stacy decided to open up to her, she'd be there to listen. In the meantime, she made a mental note to add the couple to her and Derrick's prayer list. This thought brought about another—the conversation she'd had with Hope before the Taylors had come to LA. On Sunday, there'd been no time for a private chat, but now was perfect. “Hope, there's something I need to do in the house. Can you help me?” She turned to Stacy. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all. In fact, I think I'll try Frieda again and see if I can reach her.”

Vivian nodded. “We'll be right back.”

Once inside the spacious Beverly Hills home, Vivian led Hope into her office and closed the door. “That was a ruse so that Stacy wouldn't feel left out; I actually want to discuss what was on your mind the other day when we talked on the phone. Here, let's sit on the love seat.”

“Okay,” Hope began with a sigh after they were both seated. “Here's the situation.” She told Vivian about her concerns regarding Cy's plans to meet Trisha, and underscored the confidence she had in her husband remaining faithful.

Vivian listened mostly, only asking a couple questions as Hope shared this interesting marital turn of events. Afterward, she sat silently a moment, listening for Spirit. “I believe you're doing the right thing in not protesting his meeting her,” she said at last. “As you've shared, he's been very forthcoming, even letting you read the e-mails. Cy is a stand-up man, and I think that you can trust him. This Trisha woman? I'm not so sure. When will he be visiting her?”

“Next week.”

Vivian nodded. “Then keep the lines of communication very open with your husband, and watch and pray.” She looked at Hope, picked up a bit of discomfort in her friend's spirit, enough for her to say again, “Watch and pray.”

In another part of Los Angeles, View Park to be exact, one person was watching and another was praying. Frieda Moore-Livingston, who usually had a two-date rule with the Lord—Christmas and Easter—now found herself in an awkward state of communication.
Please don't let her ask about—

“Frieda, is this a birthmark?” Alice Livingston held her squirming grandson firmly on her lap as she investigated the heart-shaped mark on the toddler's foot. “Funny that I've never noticed it before.”

Interestingly enough, it was Frieda's nanny, Cordella, who'd brought the mark to Frieda's attention when little Gabe was around six months old. Then, it was a barely discernible mark just below the ankle, near the outside of the child's right heel. At the time she'd shrugged it off, thinking that it was possibly a fall-induced bruise or mosquito bite. As time passed, the mark had not gone away but had gotten darker, especially in the summertime. By the time Gabe was one year old, the heart-shaped mark was more defined, but still too light to draw much attention, even while the child was being bathed. While Gabriel's mother doted on her grandchild, she'd rarely kept him overnight. Most times, she'd pick him up or Frieda would drop him off, already bathed, dressed, and ready to be spoiled by Alice and her husband, Gabe's grandfather, Mark. Most often they'd take him shopping, followed by time at the beach, park, or occasionally a playdate to get to know his cousins by Gabriel's sister, whom Frieda couldn't stand. The feeling was mutual, which was yet another reason why Frieda questioned whether this holiday gathering with the Livingstons would be treat or torture. At any rate, after a day with the grands he'd return home fat, happy, and ready for bed. Cordella would bathe him and Gabriel's parents would see him next time. Because the retired Livingstons had spent most of June with friends who'd relocated to Jamaica, they hadn't seen Gabe since summer began, and in the meantime the birthmark had darkened even more. Today, against Frieda's better judgment, she'd allowed Alice to change him into the swim trunks she'd purchased so that he could could be taken into the wading area they'd added to their in-ground pool. Big mistake.

Realizing that Alice was still waiting for an answer, she took a sip of champagne and said, “I think that mark is from him scraping against a shrub in the backyard.”

Alice eyed Frieda for a long moment before returning her attention to Gabe. “Hmm, I don't think so.” She rubbed her manicured fingers against the mark. “This looks permanent.”

Fortunately for Frieda, Gabe had had enough of the examination. He squirmed and puckered up for an all-out cry, causing Alice to let him down so that he could join his cousin, a five-year-old stunner with two thick braids, blemish-free skin, and a ready smile who was already wading in the water.

“Hey, Frieda,” Everett said from the patio door. Gabriel's sister's husband and her brother-in-law, he was the one member of the family that Frieda genuinely liked. “The concert is getting ready to start.”

“Thanks, Everett.” Frieda had asked him to let her know when the televised concert starring her good friend's baby daddy came on the air. Darius and Company at Central Park was definitely success on another level. For now she could take her mind off the innocently asked yet loaded question that her mother-in-law had posed. Until recently, she'd been sure that she knew who Gabe's real father was. But the man she'd thought might be Gabe's father, and the one she was almost sure had a similar birthmark . . .were not the same man.