Song of Solomon (17 page)

Shaylynn could relate more than he probably realized. She'd felt the same way when Emmett was killed. She'd contemplated jumping off bridges, slamming her car into brick walls, drinking poisonous homemade concoctions—anything to put a stop to the torture of living without Emmett. Her only reason for having even the slightest desire to go on was the son that was growing in her stomach. If she killed herself, she'd kill him too; and she just couldn't do it.

“Death sucks.” Shaylynn thought the words were confined in her head, but it was clear from Neil's reaction that they were vocalized. Since she'd started, Shaylynn figured that she might as well continue. “I don't know if being prepared would make it any easier, but I know that not being prepared is an awful, gut-wrenching feeling.”

“You weren't prepared for your husband's death?”

Shaylynn shook her head. She'd never spoken openly to anyone about this before, but for some reason, the time just seemed right. “I remember night after night, asking the Lord why. Emmett was a wonderful man who loved God and adored his family, including his parents, who, in my opinion, weren't all that loveable. Emmett just had a good heart. I still find it hard to believe that he was actually their biological child. They were all about money, and because they had it, they didn't feel the need to treat people as equals. They were always rubbing people the wrong way, but Emmett, on the contrary, was a people person.”

“What exactly did Emmett do for a living?”

“He was an undercover policeman turned politician.”

“Wow. That's a switch.”

Shaylynn giggled. “I know.”

“What type of politician was he?”

“Mayor.” Shaylynn noticed that Neil didn't look too surprised by her response, but she continued. “You wouldn't have heard of him, though. He didn't get the chance to become a household name, although I don't doubt for a moment that he would have. Emmett had just been voted in when he was killed.”

“He was involved in an accident of some type?”

Shaylynn drank a sip of her water while at the same time shaking her head slowly from side to side. When she put her glass down, she looked away, scanning the patrons around the popular restaurant, hoping their images would replace the one that was forming in her mind: the image of the day that she had to identify the body.

Shaylynn turned back to Neil and tried to smile, but her lips quivered instead. “It was no accident. One shot was enough to kill him. Emmett was murdered.”

“I'm so sorry,” Neil whispered, placing his hand on top of hers and holding it there briefly before removing it. “It's up to you, Shay. We can talk about this some more if you want, or we don't have to talk about it at all.”

Shaylynn picked up her napkin and dabbed at the water that had pooled around her eyes. She couldn't believe she'd opened up like that. It was a first, and it felt surprisingly good to release some of her anguish. But she needed to fill her head with more pleasant thoughts. Shaking her head no in response, she placed the napkin back on the table. “Why does Ms. Eloise call you Sol?” Now was as good a time as any to ask.

“Solomon,” Neil revealed. “That's my middle name, and a few of my family members call me Sol for short. Ms. Ella Mae calls me that all the time, but she's about the only one who does it religiously. It's interchangeable with everybody else. Outside of my family, I'm Neil. I was named Neil in honor of one of my dad's brothers, and most people that called me Sol did it so that there would be no confusion. My best friend's dad—my
pastor's
dad—used to call me Solomon on occasion. He was the only non-relative that did it.”

Absentmindedly, Shaylynn said, “I think it fits you better.”

Neil looked at her in a manner that only he could. A look that made her like him one minute and dislike him the next. “You can call me that if you want. If that's the name you like—”

“I didn't say I liked it; I said it fits you better.”

Conceding quicker than she would've guessed, Neil sat back in his seat and shook his head in slow motion. Shaylynn knew that he didn't know what to think of her, and she didn't blame him. When she was around him, she didn't know what to think of herself. When the couple who sat beside them suddenly began gathering their belongings, Shaylynn looked at her watch. She hadn't realized that it had gotten so late.

“I guess I should be getting ready to go. It's almost one o'clock in the morning, and I told your sister that she could take Chase to church with her tomorrow, but it'll probably be best if I get up early and go get him. I'm sure her hands will be full enough with her two kids.”

Neil leaned forward in his chair. He opened his mouth to speak, but then seemed to rethink whether he should speak at all. After another moment, his lips parted again. “Let him stay,” he said. “The children's ministry at KBCC is wonderful, and he'll love being a part of it.”

Nibbling one side of her bottom lip as she considered it, Shaylynn said, “I'd just hate to have them have to bring him home. And what if you all get out of church before I do? I'd really feel badly if they brought him to my house and I wasn't even there.”

“Why don't you come to KBCC tomorrow and worship with us?”

His suggestion pulled Shaylynn's eyes from the table and locked them on him. She couldn't do that. That would mean missing service at her church. Neil must have sensed her quandary.

“It's only one Sunday, Shay. What do you say?”

The services at the church that she had been visiting for the last three consecutive Sundays were more enjoyable than those of the other churches she'd sampled since moving to Atlanta, but no membership commitment had yet been made. Truth be told, Shaylynn was getting her fill of being a chronic visitor and wanted to find a spiritual home for Chase and her. She had all but made up her mind to settle on Community Worship Temple and even thought that tomorrow would be a good time to do it. The female pastor there reminded her of Prophetess Wanda Woods, the woman who led her to Christ, but she didn't want to join without Chase being with her. Shaylynn supposed that waiting one more Sunday wouldn't hurt. She'd visit with Neil tomorrow and wait for the following Sunday to add her name to the roll at Community Worship Temple.

Neil appeared visibly shocked when Shaylynn accepted his invitation. Shocked and relieved. He thanked her twice, and then, without warning, cupped her left hand between both of his and kissed the back of it. Shaylynn was too unprepared to pull her hand away, and when his lips touched her skin, she could feel goose bumps racing to see which ones could appear on her arm the fastest.

“Would you like to dance?” Neil looked directly at her as he asked the unexpected question.

Shaylynn released a nervous laugh. “I haven't danced in years. Not in front of anybody anyway. I don't think—”

“Nor have I.” Upon his revelation, Neil stood and reached for her to follow.

With him standing over her, it felt like she didn't have a choice. Looking around, Shaylynn saw a handful of other couples dancing in the spaces closest to their tables. The area where she and Neil sat was dark, and even if she made a wrong step, the likelihood of anyone seeing her was slim to none. Without placing her hand in his outstretched one, she slid her chair backward and stood. When Shaylynn faced Neil, she suddenly became aware of how close they'd have to be in order to dance to the slow ballad the vocalist was singing. The lyrics of the song were beautiful, but when Neil slid his arm around her waist and pulled her in to him, Shaylynn suddenly became oblivious to everything else, including the sounds from the stage.

It felt like an involuntary authorization, but whatever the case, Shaylynn allowed Neil to take the lead, and she glided with him. Her cheek rested on his chest, and his arms tightened around her, forming a gentle but firm hold. Every time Shaylynn inhaled, she took in a manly fragrance that was potent to her nostrils. She could smell him forever and not tire of his scent.

“Thank you for sharing my birthday with me.”

It was only when she heard the words Neil whispered in her ear that Shaylynn escaped from oblivion and noticed that new music was playing in the background. She tuned in to the song, but as soon as she did, her eyes overflowed, causing tears to soak into the fabric of Neil's shirt. Her sudden emotional outburst startled Neil, and he stepped away and looked down at her, using his hands to force her chin upward so that she faced him.

“What's the matter?”

Her sobs increased, and Shaylynn could not control them enough to reply. She heard Neil's question, but the words from the soloist on stage rang louder in her ears:

Shaylynn knew that there was no way Neil could understand the profundity of the words that were originally written and recorded by Brian McKnight that the man at the mic now sang, but she was glad that he didn't press the issue. When she didn't answer his concern, Neil simply pulled her back into his arms and allowed her to weep freely as they swayed to the music.

Neil sped down I-285, frequently glancing through his side and rearview mirrors, praying that no speed traps would catch him. He had thirteen minutes to make it to Kingdom Builders Christian Center and avoid the guilt of being late for two consecutive Sundays. Being tardy for church was a personal vexation for Neil. In fact, not arriving on time for any appointment served as an annoyance. He didn't like the stigma that many black people attached to themselves, making it seem as though skin color was the deciding factor on whether a person would arrive, or an event would, start on time. Each time Neil heard the term “C. P. time,” meaning colored people's time, he was offended.

Most Sundays, it only took him a few minutes to get dressed, but today he'd gone through five changes of outfits before finally settling on the charcoal suit with the burgundy pinstripes. Neil coordinated the suit with a burgundy button-front shirt and a paisley print tie that matched the ensemble with perfection.

That was the word that described the level that Neil felt his bar had to be raised to today. Dressing up was a way of life for him. He did it at work on a daily basis because it made him feel professional and respected. And Ernest and Eloise Taylor had taught him from childhood that dressing up on Sunday mornings was a way of giving God the best. Neil still clearly recalled the day that he and his siblings finally mustered up the nerve to ask if they could dress like the other kids and wear their comfortable, casual clothing to church. Their dad was shaking his head before they could even finish getting their words out.

“Absolutely not,” Ernest had said in no uncertain terms. “It's true that clothes don't make a Christian, but I just believe that you ought to give God the best you got. Y'all get to dress like little savages all week long. The least you can do is dress like you're somebody when you go to the Lord's house. When you go to the hospital, you don't want no doctor operating on you dressed in jeans and sneakers. When you walk in the police station to file a report, you don't expect to see the cop wearing no cotton shorts and sandals. Wherever you go, you expect the people there to look like they belong there, and the same goes for church. When we go to the Lord's house, we ought to look like we're going to the Lord's house. It would be different if y'all didn't have no better clothes, but you do; so get up them stairs and put 'em on before I take off my belt.”

Neil unconsciously smiled at the memory as he turned into the parking lot of KBCC and navigated into the nearest available space. He wasn't the only one rushing to beat the call to worship. There were several others who were rushing up the walkway to make it through the doors too. Looking at his watch, Neil saw that he still had four minutes to spare. He popped a mint in his mouth and grabbed his Bible from the seat beside him, and then exited his vehicle to join the throng that was pressing toward the entrance.

As he made the walk to the deacons' corner, Neil saw that he had made it in time to claim an open seat clear on the other end of the pew from where Deacon Burgess sat, but he chose to occupy the space directly by the man. He could tell from the blank stare Homer Burgess gave him that the old man wasn't himself today. It still baffled Neil that someone who went in and out of sensibility as often and as quickly as Deacon Burgess did could qualify for a driver's license. Neil delivered a friendly pat to the man's knee, and the deacon responded with a slight smile and a nod of his head.

From his prime seat location, Neil had a very clear view of the audience, and when the praise and worship team took the pulpit and the crowd stood in applause to welcome them, Neil gave the faces a quick inspection. He wondered if Shaylynn was among them, hoping that the emotional ending to their time together last night hadn't changed her mind. Although Neil remained somewhat confused about her tears, his gut feeling told him that it had something to do with Emmett.

It had been nearing four o'clock this morning when Neil finally drifted to sleep after leaving Sambuca. He'd tossed and turned for hours after getting into bed, battling with the question of what had caused Shaylynn's eyes to overflow. Their conversation had been flowing so well up until that moment. He'd gotten her to reveal to him all that he really already knew from his online web search; but knowing that she had grown comfortable enough with him to talk about Emmett's death had been reassuring. The evening was on a huge uphill swing after the shaky start they had when Neil discovered that Shaylynn had been at Sambuca sitting at a separate table.

It felt amazing to hold her so close in his arms and to dance the night away with her clinging to him, but when reality hit, Neil had to face the truth. Shaylynn wasn't crying because she was blissful from being in his presence, and she wasn't holding to him with such fervor because she desired to be close to him. The common denominator to all of her actions was Emmett, a man who had been buried beneath the earth for seven years, yet still gripped the heart of the one woman Neil knew he was falling for.

Shaylynn had nothing but good memories of Emmett, and at times as they spoke, to Neil, the dead man seemed larger than life. Neil's time with Shaylynn last night made his forty-fifth birthday his favorite of them all, and Neil was certain that there were moments when he could feel that his attraction to her wasn't one-sided. But to know that his one rival was a man who wasn't even alive to make a major blunder that might create an opening in Shaylynn's heart for another to enter, was beyond frustrating. She still wore Emmett's ring, she still carried his name, and she still loved him. And Neil felt powerless to do anything about it.

Praise and worship was good, but not as spirited as it had been the Sunday before. Or maybe it was. Perhaps Neil had just been too preoccupied with other thoughts during the devotional service to appreciate it in its full worth. He took his seat along with everyone else when the microphone was turned over to CJ to deliver the day's message.

“Let every heart say amen,” the pastor instructed, drawing echoes of responses.

Neil responded too, but he did so while giving the crowd one last once-over. In his limited viewing, he saw no signs of Shaylynn.
Maybe it's for the best
, he pacified himself.

“Deacon Taylor, I know you don't want to do this, but I have to ask,” CJ said, bringing up Neil's eyes and locking them onto his.

“Let him sing. Let him sing to the glory of God!”

Neil's eyes shot back out toward the crowd. He'd know Ella Mae's voice anywhere, and he immediately knew that she was the one who'd made this morning's request. Whether his mother had requested it or not, Neil had sung last Sunday and had no intentions of making this a habit. His mother knew better than anyone else that he didn't want to do this, and he was both shocked and disappointed that she would put him on the spot. Narrowing his eyes at CJ, Neil hoped the pastor got his silent message:
I told you last Sunday night not to do this again!

Just as if he'd heard the words, CJ shrugged his shoulders and gave a verbal reply that reverberated through the speaker system. “It's not me, brother. Your voice has been requested.”

“Go'n up there and sing, boy!”

Neil felt a knee nudge him, and he looked at Deacon Burgess and saw awareness in his eyes. Just like that, he was back among the living. The deacon wagged a shaky but stern finger at him.

“What did I tell you 'bout your singing? God wants to use you to heal, to deliver, and to save. I'm gonna say it just like Dr. Loather would say, God rest his soul. Sang, Solomon . . . sang!”

Amidst the deafening calls and applause, Neil rose from his chair like spreading molasses. He wasn't prepared for this, and had no inkling of what to sing, but there was no way he could deny a request that had been publicized before the entire congregation. And he definitely couldn't defy Deacon Burgess. Not when he shook his ninety-year-old finger at him like that and topped it off by quoting Dr. Loather. It almost came across as menacing.

The rowdy crowd quieted when Neil accepted the mic, but that was sooner than Neil wanted them to. He needed more time to think, but none was extended. Lowering his eyes, Neil looked into the awaiting microphone, and then bowed his head, praying for a song that he could sing quickly and retire to his seat. But the one that kept coming to mind was one he hadn't sung since before Dwayne passed away. Every time he would attempt to shoo the song from his thoughts, it would force its way back in, like it was begging him, ordering him to sing it.

Neil's heart felt heavy. He didn't want to sing this one. It was his brother's favorite, and he'd never sung it without Dwayne. But God was demanding it, so he freed a lung full of air from lips that were only slighted parted. Opening his eyes, Neil looked into the waiting congregation and said, “Okay, you all are gonna have to help me with this one. It's an old one, and I haven't sung it in quite a while, but I think pretty much everybody knows it. I'm gonna take this one back home to Mississippi, where Frank Williams and the hometown mass choir recorded it and made it famous.”

 

“Sing it, sing it!” someone from the rear cried out.

Starting a cappella and in a low voice, Neil sang, “Your grace and mercy brought me through. . . . I'm living this moment because of you. . . .”

Immediately, the audience rose to its feet and joined in. As if the song needed no accompaniment, the musicians sat still, not pressing a key, plucking a string, or playing a beat until the chorus came around for the second time.

Neil wasn't quite certain why everybody else seemed to get happy only seconds after he began singing, but his own joy mounted because as impossible as he knew it was, coming from somewhere in the sky, Neil could hear Dwayne's voice harmonizing with his.

In a row where she sat near the middle of the church, tears flowed from Shaylynn's eyes, and Chase leaned his head against her arm and stroked her back as if he understood. An usher who was walking the aisles tending to worshippers handed Shaylynn a handful of Kleenex and moved on to assist others. Shaylynn buried her face in the tissues and wept. She tried to never cry in front of her son, but something about this song made her emotions too strong to control. Maybe it was the lyrics that so accurately put into words her sentiments to God. Shaylynn knew that it was only by the mercy of God that she had been able to survive the worst of times that followed her husband's death. She knew that it was only by His grace that she'd been introduced to Jesus Christ and was able to rise from the neglect, poverty, and abandonment that had plagued her for most of her life. Neil had prefaced it as an old song, but it was one that Shaylynn had never heard before. And she couldn't imagine that the choir who made it famous had sung it with any more authority or conviction than did the handsome, raspy-voiced gentleman who insisted on calling her Shay.