When Sunday Comes Again (6 page)

Read When Sunday Comes Again Online

Authors: Terry E. Hill

Tags: #Fiction, #African American, #General, #Urban

BOOK: When Sunday Comes Again
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And destroy he did. The eventual divorce settlement David won left Scarlett's first husband almost destitute. David was merciless and, by some standards, unscrupulous in winning her the million-dollar home in Brentwood, a vacation home on Lake Tahoe, full custody of the child he thought was his, alimony and child support so high that it forced her ex-husband to rent a studio in the less than affluent Leimert Park section of the city.
“It's about trust, Scarlett. It's about you not trusting me enough to tell me the truth about Natalie. It's about Hezekiah not taking responsibility for his daughter. If I had known, I would have made him pay.”
“I know you would have. And that's another reason I never told you. I've never wanted anything from Hezekiah or Samantha. I saw how you destroyed my first husband, and I didn't want you to do that to Hezekiah.”
“Why not? If Natalie is his child, he had a legal and moral responsibility to care for her,” David said with a mix of lawyerly wisdom and wounded rage.
“I know what you're capable of, David. This would have consumed you. It would have been less about you looking out for Natalie's well-being and more about you wanting to destroy someone you felt had hurt me.”
“Is that so wrong?” he asked, walking closer to her. His voice became calm as he cupped her bare shoulders with each hand. “I love you, and I love Natalie. I would do anything to protect you.”
“That's just it, David. I didn't need you to protect me from . . .” Her voice trailed off as she held back tears.
There was no need for Scarlett to complete the sentence. The veil of sorrow that shrouded her face confirmed for David what he already believed.
“It's because you were . . .” David removed his hands from her moist shoulders and stepped back. “Because you
are
still in love with him.”
Scarlett avoided his glare. “That's not true, David.”
“Throughout our entire marriage you've been in love with Hezekiah.”
“No, David,” she pleaded.
“That's why you never left New Testament Cathedral.”
“Don't do this, David.”
“You wanted to be near Hezekiah Cleaveland.”
Scarlett's knees went limp, causing her to wilt onto the edge of the bathtub. “David, please stop. It isn't true,” she pleaded. “I love you.”
“You don't love me. How could you?” David stood menacingly above her.
“Everything you've done since you met me has been to keep you close to Hezekiah. Pressuring me to join New Testament Cathedral, you accepting the appointment to the board of trustees, insisting that Hezekiah officiate at our wedding. Were you still sleeping with him? How could I have been so stupid? It's always been about Hezekiah Cleaveland.”
“It's not true, David,” Scarlett cried. “I swear to you, none of that is true.”
Chapter 5
The morning traffic had given way to cautious older drivers on their way to the local market or the post office, and the odd public bus making another round of the city. Danny stood alone in the window of his small apartment looking over Adams Boulevard.
In the distance he could see four homeless men sitting in a bus shelter. From their animated hand jesters, he assumed they had already drunk their morning's ration of alcohol and were making plans to get more. Danny recognized each of the men, as they had occupied various spots around his neighborhood for the last six months. He had never offered food or pocket change to the group of regulars for fear that if he did, they would discover where he lived and return for additional kindness. The apartment was his only refuge, and he refused to share it with the needy people he encountered on a daily basis in his job as a homeless outreach worker in downtown Los Angeles.
Danny's bohemian taste was reflected in the eclectic mix of flea market and garage sale finds that filled every room. His toes curled on the worn threads of an Asian rug he had found left on a curb in front of a home in Santa Monica. He took another sip from a steaming cup of tea pressed to his lips.
The endless parade of Joan Rivers jewelry, clothes for the plus-size woman, and revolutionary new cleaning products that promised to permanently rid his home of life's residue had kept his mind from lingering too long on the memory of Hezekiah. Danny hadn't slept the night before. His room glowed from the television, which was tuned to the Home Shopping Network.
Danny had spent his late teens and much of his twenties searching for the one person who would be willing to look into his eyes and, without reservation, tell him truly what he saw. Was there a hideous monster lurking behind his liquid brown eyes, waiting for just the right moment to pounce and devour his prey, or was an angel there only to serve and guard the weak and frail? Until Hezekiah there had been no one.
Hezekiah had shown him, through his gentle touch and tender kiss, that he was neither a monster nor an angel, neither good nor evil. He had shown Danny that he was more than a cliché, and too beautiful to label, that his love and his hate were one and the same, and that his fear and courage were of the same substance.
Among the jumble of his fears, the thought of forgetting all that Hezekiah had taught him about life, love, and about himself often emerged as the one whose weight seemed most unbearable. What if he forgot how to love?
The telephone in Danny's apartment rang intermittently the entire night. Each time the caller ID flashed the name Kay Braisden. Danny and Kay had been friends since college, before she had abruptly ended all communications when Danny revealed he was in a relationship with Rev. Hezekiah Cleaveland.
They were the same age and over the years had often celebrated their birthdays together. She was a devout Christian, the pretty, prim, and proper daughter of a pastor. Kay took great pride in the fact that she had graduated with honors with a master's degree in social work from one of the most prestigious Bible institutes in California and that she had read the Bible from cover to cover before she was twenty years old. Danny, on the other hand, was the soulful poet who preferred staying home to read or write on a Saturday night over sweating with the young, toned, and beautiful at the hottest new bar in town.
Danny stared at the glowing name on the telephone as it rang for the last time. The beep was followed by, “Danny, it's Kay again. If you're there, please pick up the phone.” Then there was a moment of silence, but she did not disconnect. “Danny, I don't know what else I can say to—”
Danny's hand, of its own volition, reached for the telephone. “Hello, Kay.”
“Danny, is that you?”
“Yes.”
Kay began to cry. “Why haven't you returned my calls? No, don't answer that. I know why. I behaved like an idiot when you told me about Hezekiah.”
“Yes, you did,” Danny agreed flatly.
There was an awkward chuckle between her sobs. “I deserved that. Honey, I am so sorry. I've missed you so much the last few months. And then when I heard about . . .” Kay stopped mid-sentence. “How are you holding up through all this? When I saw it on the news, I almost fainted. All I could think about was the pain you must have been in.”
“I wish I had died along with him,” Danny said softly. “You weren't there for me. No one has been here for me. You were the only person I ever told about Hezekiah. You really disappointed me, Kay, and I don't know if I can forgive you.”
“I deserve that, Danny. I feel horrible that I haven't been there for you. But I'm here now if you need me.”
Danny was silent. He did need her now more than he had ever needed anyone. He needed someone to know the depth of his pain and loss. He needed someone who could remind him of the person he was before he met Hezekiah, because he had forgotten. He couldn't recall what his face looked like when he smiled. He didn't remember what his laugh sounded like or what his life was before the cloud of grief had descended and enveloped his entire world.
Kay interrupted the silence. “Are you still there, Danny?”
Danny began to cry. Kay was the first person to hear Danny's sorrow since Hezekiah's death. He had isolated himself and didn't allow anyone close enough to hear him cry. At work he behaved as if everyone else's problems were much greater than his own. No one knew of his loss. No one knew of his pain.
“It's okay, Danny. Let it out. I'm here for you, baby. I'm here,” Kay said through her own tears.
Their combined sobs served as words for the next five minutes. Danny curled into a tight ball on his couch and cried with the phone clutched to his ear. His chest heaved as he gasped for air between deep wails. He needed someone to hear him cry, to acknowledge his pain, and to recognize his sorrow. Until that moment his loss didn't seem real. It was as if he were suspended in a dream.
“If a man cries alone, does he make a sound?” he had written in his journal one evening, while lamenting alone.
He does not,
the scribe continued.
In the absence of sound, pain runs deeper.
When there is no shoulder to cry on,
the chill of sorrow is colder.
The weight of grief more unbearable.
If no one is there to share your loss.
The pain must live with you and you alone.
As their weeping gradually faded into sputtering breaths, Kay spoke. “Danny, I don't want you to be there alone. I'm coming home on the earliest flight I can get tomorrow.”
“That's not necessary, Kay. I'll be all right.”
“I know you'll be all right. That's not the point. We need our friends with us at times like this, and I am your friend.”
Danny needed her desperately, but he continued, “You're busy, Kay. My mother is only ten minutes away. I can call her if I need to.”
“Does your mother know about Hezekiah?”
Danny paused before answering. “No.”
“Do you plan on telling her?” Kay asked in the tone of a woman who knew.
“No. She would never understand. I know my mother loves me, but I couldn't risk her abandoning me the way you—”
“I didn't abandon you, Danny.”
“Bullshit, Kay,” Danny said bitterly. “You didn't call me for months. You made me feel like our friendship all these years was a lie. That there were rules and limits you never bothered to tell me about. I don't want to take that chance with my mother.”
“Your mother loves you so much, Danny. I don't think there's anything you could do or say that would change that.”
“I'm not sure if that's true. She has her own preconceived idea of who I am. Anything that deviates from that and she's not interested.” Danny sighed into the receiver. “Look at what happened when I thought you would never leave me. Our friendship was the one thing I thought I could count on, no matter what. But I was wrong.”
“I deserve every horrible thing you have to say to me. There is no excuse for the way I reacted. All I can say is, I hope you can forgive me. You mean the world to me, and it hurts me to see you suffer alone like this.”
Danny wanted to withhold his forgiveness, but it was impossible. He needed Kay in his life. “Our friendship is very important to me too.”
“Does that mean you forgive me?”
Danny could hear a slight smile in her voice. He paused, not to decide if he could forgive Kay but rather to keep her in suspense for a moment longer. “Of course I forgive you,” he finally responded. “Now, how soon can you get here?”
Kay laughed while wiping her tear-streaked cheek. “I'll be on the earliest flight I can get tomorrow.”
 
 
White noise from sprays of water from a fountain in the middle of the cavernous glass room muffled the frenzied clamor of tourism. Gideon Truman sat in the lobby of the Bonaventure Hotel, intently studying his glowing BlackBerry. Faces from all corners of the world whizzed by, toting rolling suitcases, children, and cameras. Giddy bodies glided up and down the walls of the hotel in glass elevators along the perimeter of the lobby. Every surface glittered from natural and unnatural light. Concrete pillars dotted with pinpoint lights jutted from the marble floor up through the atrium's thirty-five stories to the rooftop revolving cocktail lounge and supported spiraling ramps that led guests upward through the lobby's core.
A hoard of plump Muslim women covered from head to foot in black burkas billowed behind an equally numbered group of their spouses in short cargo pants, overpriced tennis shoes, and brightly colored floral short-sleeve shirts. A gang of their collective offspring, in full summer gear, sounded like a gaggle of geese as their sandals slapped the marble floor while they darted playfully between the two groups of parents.
A steady stream of overly dressed couples paraded through the sliding glass doors of the main entrance. The men in gray and black suits with collars cinched at their Adam's apples and strangled by tightly knotted neckties escorted wives dressed in their cocktail party and Sunday-best outfits. One after another they made beelines to the main desk and inquired of the smiling attendants in blue blazers, “Where's the banquet room for the McDougal wedding reception?” Each time the attendants smiled as if it were the first time they had been asked that question all day, and pointed toward a row of double doors in the rear of the lobby. As the doors opened and the couples were pulled one by one into the wedding party vortex, the sound of Etta James's “At Last” could be heard, and it lingered until the doors closed again.
A tall, pale German man wearing white, yellow, and red plaid khaki shorts, leather sandals, white socks, and a Mickey Mouse cap complete with trademark stiff black ears, with his similarly dressed wife and three small blond children at his heels, stopped in his tracks when he saw Gideon, through an elaborate arrangement of tropical flowers, sitting alone in an overstuffed gray chair in the center of the room. His wife bumped into him, and the three little children collided into her.
Spoils of a day of foraging through the gift shops and concession stands at Disneyland hung from their bodies. Stuffed animals with price tags still connected were clutched under armpits. German-made shirts had been replaced by new white T-shirts with Minnie, Mickey, Donald Duck, and Tinker Bell emblazoned on each chest, and bulging gift bags filled with plastic trinkets that would remind them for years to come of their day at “The Happiest Place On Earth” dangled from the family's ten hands.
“That's Gideon Truman,” the man said, pointing in Gideon's direction.
“Wo ist Gideon Truman?” the wife questioned in German with an irritated scowl. It had been a long day.
“Right there. See the black man der sitzt da drüben.” he said in a mix of English and German and pointed again. As if responding to the wand of a conductor, the family looked in unison in Gideon's direction.
The wife squealed, “It is him,” using her impeccable English for the first time that day. “He is so handsome. I want to take a picture with him. Quick. Get the camera from the backpack.”
The portly woman quickly unloaded equal portions of her amusement park loot into the already full arms of each of the children, adjusted her bra under her Minnie Mouse T-shirt, and made an attempt at a dignified scoot toward the reporter.
“Excuse me. I am sorry to bother you, but are you not Gideon Truman, the reporter?”
Gideon looked up as if he had been expecting her to approach him. “Yes, I am not Gideon Truman,” he said, flashing a dazzling smile.
The woman looked puzzled. “I do not understand. Are you or are you not Gideon Truman?”
Gideon's smile broadened. “I'm sorry. It was just a joke. Yes, I'm Gideon Truman.”
The happy tourist clapped her hands loudly in delight and shouted to her husband, “It is him. Come. Come.” Then she returned her admiring gaze to Gideon. “We are from Germany, but we have cable TV and watch you frequently. I am a big fan. May I please take a picture with you? Just one, please. It would make me very happy.”

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