Tears Fall at Night-The Blessed One Box Set (Praise Him Anyhow and Blessed and Highly Favored Series) (15 page)

Mark laughed. “How generous you are
Mrs. Milner
, but it’s going to take much more than Daddy’s annual allowance to help my client retain his standard of living.”

Glaring across the table at Drake again, Dee Dee said, “Did you tell him all my business?”

“The bottom line is this,” Mark began. “My client gave up his career to move to LA and become your houseboy.”

“I never told him he couldn’t work.” Dee Dee declared.

“Oh really? Is that why you got him fired from the last two jobs he acquired since moving to LA?” Mark asked.

Dee Dee harrumphed. “That’s a lie. Drake didn’t like any of those jobs. He wanted to travel with me. I did him a favor by calling his employers. If anything, he should be thanking me, rather than trying to extort more money.” She stood up and extended her manicured index finger in Drake's direction. “You’re getting out of my house today. Do you hear me? Your freeloading days are over.” She turned and stormed out of her attorney’s office, jumped in her red Ferrari 575M Maranello and sped off. She had no time to waste. Dee Dee intended to put Drake out of her ten-million-dollar Bel Air mansion that day. She lived thirty minutes away from her lawyer’s office. Nonetheless, in less than twenty minutes, she was punching in the access code to her gated home. She parked her car in front of the house and ran inside.

Dee Dee stood in the foyer for a moment with her back against the door. She detested the stale white walls, the white marble floor and the circular staircase. It was all too calm and drab for her taste. She still didn’t understand why she had purchased this house. Maybe she had been on some kind of calm-and-drab kick the year she married Drake, but she was way over it now.

She went upstairs to Drake’s room and gathered a handful of his shoes and clothes. She opened his bedroom window and threw his stuff out onto the well-manicured lawn. On her third trip to the window, she saw her assistant coming up the walkway.

As Dee Dee threw Drake's underclothes on the lawn, Marcia waved some envelopes in the air, and without acknowledging the clothes on the lawn said, “I have your mail.”

“Just leave it on the table in the foyer. I’m busy right now.”

Marcia pulled one of the envelopes out of the stack and said, “This one is from your father.”

Dee Dee was tempted to continue with her work, but her daddy was a peculiar kind a man. You never knew when he might just add an extra check to one of his letters. And she could use some extra money right now. God only knew how much it was going to cost her to get rid of Drake, since he was telling everyone it was her fault he didn’t have a job.

She went downstairs and took the letter from Marcia, opened it, and as she read it, her world fell apart.
Daddy’s changing his will
? Was her father disinheriting her because of her four failed marriages? Could the old man
really give away her birthright just because
she didn’t measure up to his high standards? Dee Dee didn’t really know if this was bad news for her or not, but she knew one thing for
sure. There was no way that she could go to the Bahamas without Drake. Not when her share of six-hundred million dollars
was at stake.

Chapter Two

Isaiah Morrison felt as if he had just been blessed with a great and wondrous gift that he wouldn’t be able to claim as his own. He’d have to leave the gift in its pretty wrapping and give it to a better man. Most of his life, he had dreamed of the day he would pastor his own church. He’d loved God and followed His commandments since he was a child. After college, Isaiah had attended seminary and had been working in the ministry in one aspect or another ever since. He had been a part of the Restoration Church of Christ for twelve years. He’d become an employee of the ministry five years ago as the associate minister over the outreach programs. Isaiah had enjoyed every minute of his assignments, because his work was not just a job, but a calling from God.

Pastor McDaniel stood by the bay window in his handsomely decorated office. His eyes danced across the lawn, the walkway and the cross that stood in the middle of the yard as a reminder of Christ’s sacrifice. “I came to this church over thirty years ago,” Pastor McDaniel began. “We had about fifteen faithful members back then. I didn’t know anything about building funds or increasing membership.” Still looking through his window, he pointed to the small building adjacent to the magnificent edifice they now stood in. “All I knew was that God had given me that small church building, and I was supposed to make disciples of the members within it.”

Pastor McDaniel turned away from the window and sat down behind his desk, facing Isaiah he said, “We now have three thousand members, a radio program and an outreach ministry.” He let out a long sigh, then added, “As the Bible says, I’ve fought a good fight, and I have finished my race. Now it’s time for some young blood to take over and take our church to the next level.”

Isaiah laughed. “I’d hardly call you 'old blood,' Pastor.”

“I’m seventy-nine years old. My best days are behind me, Isaiah. I don’t have a problem admitting that.”

“My dad is eighty-three, and he still gets around like a man half his age. He still travels for missions at least three times a year.”

Pastor McDaniel shook his head in disagreement. “Your father and I may go out and do the work of the Lord as it needs to be done, but I guarantee you he has aches and pains in places you haven’t even conceived of yet.” Pastor McDaniel waved his hand in the air as if dismissing any further argument, then said, “It’s
time that I leave the work of this ministry
in more capable hands than mine. I’d like to just sit in the pew and fill up on the word. So I’m asking, Son, will you accept my offer and take over as senior pastor of Restoration Church of Christ?”

Isaiah wanted to stand up, shake Pastor McDaniel’s hand and accept the call that was so obviously from the Lord. But he had a problem. His beautiful wife, Tanya, didn’t want to be the first lady of this church or any other for that matter.

Tanya was still trying to become the next Tyra Banks. She thought that any moment her big break was going to come. The same big break she’d missed in her teens and in her twenties was now going to overtake her in her thirties. Isaiah hadn’t seen much happening with Tanya’s modeling career outside the occasional print ad or runway job. But Isaiah would not step on her dreams. Instead, he'd encouraged her by paying for portfolios and modeling classes. He did whatever she needed him to do. So, he didn’t understand why Tanya couldn’t stand by him with something he knew the Lord wanted him to do. “I need to speak with my wife before I can give you a definite answer, sir.”

Pastor McDaniel stood up, walked around his desk and patted Isaiah on the back. “That’s fine, Son. You go home and talk with your wife about this. But, this is the Lord’s will, Isaiah. So I don’t see how Tanya can argue with Him.”

Isaiah smiled and stood up. “We’ll see, Pastor. We’ll see.”

They walked outside the church, and Isaiah and Pastor McDaniel stood in the parking lot looking at the backside of the church building. “It’s a glorious thing, isn’t it Isaiah?

“What’s glorious, sir?”

“Serving the Lord, knowing that you are in His will.”

Isaiah smiled from deep within his soul as he responded, “Yes, sir. That is truly a glorious thing.”

He walked away from his pastor then, afraid that if he lingered too long, he might cry from the pain of wanting something so badly and not being sure he would be able to have it. After all, he was a family man, and he had to consider his wife’s and daughter’s feelings. He got behind the wheel of his Lexus with an excited but heavy heart. He put the key in the ignition, and his cell phone rang. Isaiah looked at the caller display on his phone and saw that it was Tanya. He pressed the talk button and put the phone to his ear. “Hey Honey, what’s going on?”

“We just got a letter from your father,” Tanya said, her voice bursting with excitement.

Isaiah wished she would sound that excited when he told her his news, but he knew for a fact that her tone would be very different. “Did you open it?”

“It was addressed to both of us, so I opened it immediately.” She was absolutely giddy as she said, “Your father has invited us to the Bahamas for a vacation, and get this—he’s going to be discussing some changes to his will. Do you think he might be dying or something?”

What type of question was that? His father wasn’t dying. Then Isaiah thought of how Pastor McDaniel told him that his dad had aches and pains in places that he couldn’t even conceive of. It was at that moment that it sunk in—the man who had taught him to love Jesus was
really
eighty-three years old. Isaiah didn’t care if his father left him ten trillion dollars. He wanted to beg God for fifty more years with Joel Morrison.

“Isaiah, did you hear me? Do you think your father is ill?”

“No, no. Not at all. My father has been in perfect health for more than forty years. He probably just wants to tell us about some changes that will affect us sometime in the future.”

“Oh,” Tanya responded with a lot less joy.

“I can’t wait to see my father.” Isaiah tried to return a bit of the enthusiasm to the conversation. “When did he schedule the vacation?”

“The end of this month,” Tanya responded, and then said, “Look, I’ll talk to you later. I need to go shopping.”

“Wait,” Isaiah said, wanting to tell his wife his good news.

“What is it, Isaiah? I really need to go.”
What put her in a bad mood
? “Nothing… Never mind. I can talk to you later.”

***

Shawn Morrison was rolling down the streets of New Orleans in his Range Rover blasting
Stunting Like My Daddy
by Lil Wayne. Shawn really did feel like his wealthy father. Not only did he have enough bling on his neck and fingers to feed a starving family for three to five years, he had just come back from negotiations for his new contract with the New Orleans Saints. Thanks to his new title as the Touchdown King, his new contract wasn’t just fat, it was obese. He was officially a big baller and shot-caller--no longer in need of his daddy’s charity.

He pulled into the Mercedes dealership,
Stunting Like My Daddy, Stunting Like My Daddy
. He parked his Range Rover and jumped out. Opening the double doors of the dealership, his bulky six-foot-three-inch
, 260-pound
frame filled the entryway. He had his arms outstretched as if the Messiah had just arrived; all hail the king.

“Harry,” Shawn
yelled through the
dealership.

Shawn
was twenty-seven, with more money than brains, so Harry came running right away. “Oh, hello, Mr. Morrison. How are you today?”

“Paid,” Shawn said with an arrogant tilt of his head. He stood as if he were posing for a picture. “So, I came to see if you want to get paid also. Is my car in yet?”

Harry smiled. “It came in this morning. We have it in the back, waiting on you. Follow me.”

“Why is it in the back?” Shawn asked. “A car like that should be out front, being shown off.”

Harry quickly responded, “We didn’t want anyone else to see it before you, Mr. Morrison.” They opened the back door and walked outside.

The pure black, SLR Mercedes Benz with light brown, nappa leather interior was parked and waiting for Shawn, just as Harry had said. Shawn walked around the street-legal, race car, grinning from ear to ear.

Harry said, “Now, I know this car goes fast like a race car, but we like to caution our drivers against speeding on common roads. You’re not the only one on the road after all.”

“Don’t preach to me, man. I got enough of that growing up with my parents,” Shawn said, as he opened the car door and sat down in nappa luxury. The key was in the ignition. Shawn turned on the car and rolled down the window. He threw Harry the keys to his Range Rover and said, “Drive that home for me.”

Harry plastered a smile on his face and said, “Yes sir, Mr. Morrison.”

Shawn turned on the radio and raised the volume until the music shook the car. He sped out of the lot as if he were an emergency vehicle responding to a 911 call. Five minutes away from the dealership, he was pulled over by the police.

The burly police officer angrily approached the car. “Do you know how fast you were going?” he yelled in Shawn’s face.

Shawn smiled coyly as he told the officer, “Just mimicking my speed on the turf.”

The officer looked at the offending driver, and then broke out in a grin himself. “Shawn Morrison? Is that you?”

“The one and only.”

“Boy, do you know you were driving 160 miles per hour? You could get arrested for driving like that.”

Shawn looked at the police officer’s badge then asked, “Now Carter, who is going to win the game for us on Sunday if I’m in jail?”

“You better be glad that I’ve got money on the game this Sunday.” Carter laughed and then shook his head. “I should put you in our lockup just so you won’t kill yourself before the game.”

Shawn raised his hands in mock surrender. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll slow it down.”
“That’s all I wanted to hear. I’ll see you on Sunday,” Carter told Shawn as he walked away.

Shawn pulled off without even so much as a ticket. His cell rang. It was his girl Lilly. He’d given her the key to his house and let her move in with him last week. He pushed talk. “Hey baby, what’s up?”

Lilly yelled, “I knew I couldn’t trust you. I should have never moved in here with you.”

Shawn took the phone away from his ear and stared at it for a second. He put it back to his ear and asked, “What’s wrong with you? Why are you trippin’?”

“I just opened your mail, Shawn, and I am not happy at all.”

“Girl, don’t you know it’s a federal offense to open other people’s mail?”

“Call the postmaster, Shawn. I don’t care. I’m packing my bags and getting out of here.”