Like Sheep Gone Astray (3 page)

“How much longer is this going to last?” she mumbled, checking her watch again. When she finally heard footsteps approaching, she closed her eyes, hoping that Anthony would think she was tired and not stop to talk to anyone else as they pulled away from the parking lot. She sat there for a moment with her eyes closed, listening to each approaching step on the gravel lot, waiting for the driver's-side door to open. When the footsteps stopped and the door did not budge, she slowly peeked open one eye to discover Sister Kellye Porter's face smiling at her through the passenger window.

“Sister Murdock,” the sixty-something-year-old wife of the assistant pastor chirped through the glass, “roll down this window so I can talk to you, honey.”

The trill of Sister Porter's voice matched the pleasantness on her face. Terri groaned inside but put on her best smile while holding down the power-window button.

“How have you been, dear?” Sister Porter still smiled, a slight gap in her teeth showing through her broad grin. Her round face seemed to bounce with every word she said, causing the gray-streaked, tight curls cluttering her head to spring with every syllable.

“I've been just blessed,” Terri said in a singsong voice to match Sister Porter's. The older lady's head still nodded, her smile still widening. “How is Minister Porter feeling these days?” Terri asked politely.

“Oh, our God is working, child. Bernard will be out of that sickbed and back to the work of the Lord any day now, praise Him. Satan will not keep my husband down.” Sister Porter was still nodding, still smiling.

“Mmmmm.” Terri joined in the nod, looking away, looking for Anthony.

“Honey, I'm not going to hold you long,” Sister Porter sweetly chirped. “I've been thinking about you, that's all. I still want you to come over my house some time. I'll call you with my address. Maybe one day we can get together for lunch or bake some cookies and talk, you know, ministers' wives' talk and such.”

“That's an idea.” Terri smiled.
Anthony, where are you?
she yelled in her mind.

“You remind me so much of myself in my twenties.” Sister Porter grinned. Terri managed to stifle a laugh. What on earth could they possibly have in common, she wondered as she quickly studied Sister Porter's plump frame from head to toe. Her red polyester suit screamed against the black-and-gold-striped ruffled blouse and black-and-white-checked pumps she wore. She smelled of Jean Nate and decorative soap.

“Yes, dear, we've got to get together one day while you're still free,” Sister Porter continued. “Once you start having babies, it will be a different story,” she said with a wink.

This time Terri could not hide her groan. She was sick of people asking her when she was going to “give that nice preacher” a baby.

“Aw, honey, I don't mean to upset you. Children are a gift from the Lord, and in His time, they will come.” Sister Porter patted Terri's shoulder.

There was an uncomfortable break in the conversation. Terri twiddled her thumbs for a few moments while Sister Porter, still smiling, sighed a couple of times.

“Amen,” Terri exhaled, for lack of anything better to say. Mercifully, Anthony was finally coming to the car. His shoulders slumped as he kicked at the gravel.

“Well, I'll be giving you a call soon, dear heart.” Sister Porter was leaving. “Have a blessed evening.”

“You do the same, and give my regards to Minister Porter.”

As soon as Sister Porter's back was turned, Terri dropped her smile. “Bake some cookies?” she muttered. “Who do I look like, Betty Crocker?”

“Did you say something?” Anthony plopped into the driver's seat. He barely looked up at his wife.

“Nothing. Let's go home.” Terri pressed a silver-painted fingernail on the power-window button. She collapsed back in her seat as the window whisked up with a thud.

It was only mid-September, but a biting draft was already finding its way up Anthony's coat sleeves and pant legs as he sat quietly behind the steering wheel. He usually enjoyed the drive home from church, especially in the fall when he purposely took the back roads littered with red, gold, and yellow leaves falling from the unending rows of trees.

But today the winding roads reminded him too much of every dizzying curve and zigzag his life seemed to be taking. The smell of burning leaves suffocated his nostrils as he turned back onto the beltway, joining the frenzy of motorists whizzing by familiar green-and-white traffic signs.

“Oh look, they've almost finished that Stonymill light rail extension,” Terri said, pointing to a passing construction site. “I don't see why there was such a big fuss about building it.”

Anthony swallowed hard but said nothing.

“I heard Shaw Enterprises has an extensive marketing campaign going on for that new station,” Terri stated matter-of-factly. “Imagine all the profits they're raking in from that contract,” she added, glancing at her husband.

Anthony was absorbed in his own thoughts, only half listening. Terri changed the subject. She began discussing her plans for the coming week, which included an important meeting with a client the next day. If the deal proved successful she would become a partner in the interior design firm for which she worked.

Anthony caught a word here and there of her one-way conversation, but his thoughts began focusing on his morning message. He wondered if anyone had noticed his awkwardness. The sermon rolled through his mind like a videotape.

He remembered feeling like he could not continue—
should not
continue. But he had. And in the midst of the crowd of greeters who praised him after service, he had not been able to give Pastor Green the letter.

The letter!
Where was it? He panicked. Terri had grabbed his Bible and notes from him in her usual attempt to rush him out of the church. He could see his Bible now, peeking out of her large leather tote bag.
What if the letter falls out? Is it still hidden in the pages?
Anthony loosened his already limp necktie as he rounded a swerving exit. Terri could not see that letter under any circumstances. Not yet, anyway.

“You're not even listening to me, are you?” Terri suddenly interrupted his thoughts.

“Of course I am, baby. I'm sure the Hendricks Group will love the hanging-gardens theme for their new restaurant venture.” Anthony tried to keep his voice light and airy.

“The Hendricks Group? I was talking about my meeting tomorrow with Reginald Savant!” Terri snarled. “This is the most important account I've had in my career and you're not even paying attention! If I can secure the design plans for this hotel deal, do you know what that will mean for us? For
me?
”

“Baby, I—”

“Don't
baby
me,” Terri hurled, pushing his offered hand aside. “
Somebody
in this marriage needs to be taking their career seriously! Am I wrong?”

Anthony searched for words, surprised that she was giving him a chance to respond. ' Her arms were crossed, her eyes glued on his profile, waiting. But as had become the custom over the past few months, nothing but a sigh spoke for him.
What's wrong with me?
It seemed like six lifetimes and not six months ago when he was applauded for his quick speech in important business meetings and deals. He'd had an answer for everyone and everything back then. But these days he could barely look his wife in the eyes.

“Well?” The window was rapidly closing.

Anthony concentrated on the road before him, thankful that the traffic lights were becoming fewer and the houses more spaced out. They would be on their street soon.

“Do you really think God is going to tell a man to leave a great job?” Terri was just starting. “Seriously, it's one thing to feel the need to preach, but does that mean sacrificing everything you ever worked for? You were a commanding businessman, a wonderful black-man success story! You were an ebony king with power! And what are you now? It makes more sense to me that God would want you to be a mover and a shaker in this world and not an old broke country preacher!” Her hands were clutched together so tightly that her knuckles were white.

“Terri! You just don't understand!” Anthony felt the steam leaving him before he even got started. “God does want me to be a mover and a shaker, but not in the way you think.” He hoped Terri hadn't caught the question mark in his voice as they rounded a sharp corner. He thought again about the letter and fell silent.

Terri glared at Anthony and threw up her hands. “You're hopeless. You have lost your mind. What am I supposed to do while you try out this preaching thing? Did you ever even think about me?” she demanded, her eyes narrow slits. “You only think about yourself!”

“Terri, baby, this isn't about me or you. This is about what God wants.” Anthony did his best to sound confident, but his own concerns nagged his conscience.

They were pulling into their driveway. Anthony stared at the massive pillars along the porch of their home, the two-car garage, and the elaborate marble fountain that Terri had insisted on when she'd picked out the house in a real-estate brochure six months before. She had wanted their residence to resemble a contemporary Mediterranean palace. At the time he had been excited to entertain business partners and clients in the extravagant and ornate estate. Now he just simply wanted a house to come home to.

He sat a moment in the car as Terri slammed her door shut and listened as her high heels punched the landscaped walkway. When she disappeared through the front door, he lowered his head into his hands and rubbed his temples.
I've got to get my Bible out of her bag before she does,
he reminded himself.
I can't take any chances.

“Sunday dinner just ain't what it used to be.” Anthony looked down at his frozen dinner entree. For a quick second, he envisioned his Great-Aunt Rosa sitting in one of her high-backed cherrywood chairs, laughing in that loud, husky voice of hers, then gulping down her famous stewed tomatoes.

He could picture his mother and older cousin Patrice-with-the-big-out-of-date-afro seated next to her, arguing over whose turn it was to check on the children, making sure they weren't tearing up the basement or the backyard. And then there was Harold, Anthony's stepfather, the only father he ever really knew, sitting in that burgundy armchair smoking his cigarettes, much to Aunt Rosa's disapproval. “Addin' another flame to your destiny, I see,” she would say to him.

Anthony smiled at the memories of Sundays past while sitting alone in his study, chewing reluctantly on a tasteless turkey breast. Terri had just left to meet her longtime friend Cherisse for dinner, as had become her custom for the past several weeks. Although he was not particularly fond of Cherisse, he welcomed the couple of hours he would have to himself.

“Just fifteen minutes of normalcy, Lord. That's all I'm asking for,” Anthony mumbled between bites of rubbery peas.
What a prayer,
he laughed to himself.

But then another thought sobered him as he eyed a ragged folder sticking out of the papers on his desk.
How long is this going to last?
he wondered. The large black letters printed on the tab of the folder jabbed his conscience like a steak knife. He shook his head in shame, wanting to be rid of the burden, wondering how he'd even gotten through the sermon earlier that day. He thought about Terri and the words she'd said after morning service.

“An old broke country preacher,” he mumbled. “Preacher,” he repeated quietly, catching a glimpse of himself in a large mirror across the room.

Following their spat in the car, the tension between the two had only gripped them more tightly when they arrived home. Terri had gone straight to her private sitting area to make several phone calls to her friends. Anthony was sure that he heard his name more than once in her whispered conversations.

But he was by himself now. Anthony was determined to let go of the gnawing frustration he felt. He was especially relieved to see that Terri had left her tote bag with his Bible still inside in her sitting room. He decided to finish eating before retrieving the letter.
I've got to get that letter to Pastor Green as soon as possible,
he reminded himself, his eyes falling on the ragged folder again.

When he finished clearing his plate he headed to his planned destination, stopping only once to water some dying plants sitting near the deck. He walked quickly through the hallways, haunted by his echoing footsteps on the golden beige ceramic floor.

When he reached the french doors sealing off Terri's sitting room, he paused for a second. Terri regarded this area as her own personal sanctuary. He had only been in there twice, both times to help Terri move some furniture. He opened the doors, almost expecting an alarm to go off, laughing at himself when none did.

Nearly everything in the room was a shade of orange, from the heavy damask curtains to the oversized leather lounger and the sculptured floor lamp with furry-looking fringes dangling from its shade. Abstract artwork and a collection of ceramic tigers decorated the peach-painted walls and tables. The tamest item in the room was an oblong animal-print rug lying in the middle of the floor.

He picked up a jewel-encrusted picture frame sitting on an end table and studied the lone figure smiling back at him. It was a portrait of Terri, taken shortly after they began dating five years ago, given to him from her as an engagement gift a year later.

“I'm going to make your life so rich,” she'd murmured in his ear as she handed him the photograph encased in the two-hundred-fifty-dollar onyx-and-silver frame. Aunt Rosa must have heard her words because she'd been quick with a remark about a man being rich whose treasure was the Lord.

“And it wouldn't do a woman bad to be rich in Him also,” she said, smacking her lips on some smoked salmon at their engagement party. Anthony recalled how her comment had frozen the entire room for a second. He had not missed the quiet nods and concerned faces that surrounded her words. He had not missed them, but he chose to ignore them. They did not know Terri like he did, he had assured himself. A woman of intelligence, self-motivated, who was eager to attend Sunday morning service with him during those pre-marriage days, he was sure she had the makings of an excellent wife.