The Choir Director (29 page)

I jumped up from my seat and threw my hands in the air. “No, I haven’t! What makes you think I’m stealing? This is preposterous! I don’t have to stay here and listen to this!”

Maxwell slammed his hand on his desk.

“Look, Simone, save it, okay? The numbers don’t lie. And neither does the paper trail.” He turned to the accountant and nodded. “Go ahead, Sherman. Show her what you’ve got.”

I turned to Sherman with weak knees, and he handed me a folder.

“We know you’ve been stealing,” he said with conviction. “I know that’s a strong allegation to make, but one that doesn’t go without merit. Trust me. I’d never make that type of accusation without proof to back it up.”

I flipped through the ledger. Sherman was good, better than I could have ever expected. He’d caught me dead to rights. Usually I could talk my way out of anything, but not this time. Not only was I frozen numb, but so was my tongue.

Maxwell spoke up again. “Now, I’d like to introduce you to a
good friend of mine, Detective Sergeant Hart from the One Hundred Thirteenth Precinct.”

My heart jumped into my throat. Everything in me wanted to split and catch the first flight to Mexico, but there was no running, not now, not with a policeman in front of me. So instead, I tried to play it cool.

“I didn’t steal anything. I’m offended that you would accuse me, Deacon Frye. You’ve known me since I was a little girl.”

“Look, cut the crap,” Detective Sergeant Hart snapped. “We have enough proof to send you off for the next twenty years. I can slap the cuffs on you right now if you don’t start cooperating.”

I felt like a cornered rat. I was too pretty to go to jail.

“You’ve taken a lot of money,” Deacon Frye said in a somber voice, his expression full of disgust.

That’s when I broke down crying. I was caught red-handed. I’d really fucked up now. “I’m going to pay it all back,” I blubbered. “I didn’t steal it. I was just borrowing the money. I always had plans on putting it back.”

Deacon Frye asked, “Before or after you got caught?”

“I was having problems making ends meet at the dealership, but things are looking up now. I swear I’ll pay back every dime.”

“Oh, we know you will,” Deacon Frye insisted. “But paying back the church isn’t the only thing you’re going to do if you wanna stay out of a jail cell.”

I didn’t know exactly what he meant, but I wasn’t in any position to negotiate. “Tell me what it is and I’ll do it. I just don’t want to go to jail.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of the 2011 Eastern Regional Gospel Choir Championship is …” The announcer hesitated in that dramatic, after-the-commercial-break-type pause, as if he was purposely trying to torture me. Still, I had no doubt he was going to be calling out the name of First Jamaica Ministries. None of the judges had responded to the other choirs the way they had when we finished our last song. I mean, once we hit that last note, holding it like our lives depended on it, the audience and the judges’ table erupted in cheers. One judge caught herself standing up and then abruptly sat down. Another quickly wiped away an escaping tear. I almost felt sorry for the other choir directors because they didn’t have a chance. I’m not saying that this year’s competitors weren’t good, because they were, but we were just a whole lot better. I just needed that damn announcer to make it official.

“First Jamaica Ministries of Queens, New York!”

All I heard was the word
First
before I jumped up in the air, pumping my fists, signifying to everyone in Boston’s TD Garden that First Jamaica Ministries had won the Eastern Regional Gospel Choir Championship, and even more importantly that I, Aaron Mackie, had led them to that victory. I swear I think it was the happiest moment of my life.

I have to admit that I really didn’t think we had what it took to be a winning choir when I first started at the church and there were only ten people in the choir. The group I met the first time I walked into the choir rehearsal room was nothing in comparison to what we were today. We were now a bona fide choir of forty-
three, with at least two kick-ass soloists in every section, and when we finished singing, you knew you’d seen a show.

Now with the audience cheering wildly, I was basking in their praise. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt this good.

Actually, I’d been feeling this good ever since I rid myself of all that stressful weight I’d been carrying around that went by the name of Simone Wilcox. She was one hell of a good piece of ass but definitely not one to get involved in a relationship with—if that was what you could call what we’d had. At least that was what she called it. I’d messed with women three times as long as I’d kicked it with her and never once had to deal with half the drama she dragged me through. She had a lot of baggage, though she would deny it in a heartbeat. I had way too much going on—and too much going for me right now—to deal with that.

“You really pulled it off, Aaron. We’re going to nationals! We’re going to nationals!” one of my choir members screamed. We cheered, hollered, jumped up and down, and some of us even cried. It was so overwhelming, because this meant that we were now qualified for the National Gospel Choir Championship and its brand-new first prize: a recording contract with Sony Records.

Backstage after the hoopla had died down, I felt someone approach me and slip her hand into mine.

“I’m very proud of you, Mr. Mackie. Very proud. You did the impossible.”

When I turned around and saw Tia’s smiling face, I felt my heart jump in a way that surprised me. I realized that this was the only place I wanted to be right now and that I was looking into the eyes of the only woman I wanted to share it with.

She gave my hand a squeeze, and I swear she meant it to send me a message. Wow! Where were these feelings coming from all of a sudden?

Turning toward her and grabbing her other hand, I said, “No, Tia,
we
did it. You have been here for me since day one. I would have never gotten as far as I have with this choir had it not been for you. You sacrificed your time for me while at the same time being pulled in a million other directions with everything else you have going. No woman, no person, has ever given up so much for me. Thank you, Tia. Thank you.”

She lowered her head modestly. “Aaron, please. I can’t take credit for this. I was just doing what—”

“What you were called to do.” I finished her sentence. “Tia, you did this because you wanted to. You didn’t have to. Since when is babysitting a grown man a calling?” I joked, though I was half serious.

She laughed. “Well, you’re right about that, because you did need some babysitting. Between Porsche, Simone, and—”

My vibrating cell phone put a halt to our conversation. I hated to do it, but I had to release her hands in order to check the call. I sighed when I pulled out my cell phone and looked down at the caller ID.

“It’s her again, isn’t it?” Tia asked, then mumbled under her breath, “Speak of the devil.”

“Yeah, it’s her.”

Simone wasn’t even here and she was messing up the mood. She had been blowing up my phone all day, as if she didn’t know I was taking care of some very important business. She didn’t care about anything that I had going on. Like always, she was trying to make everything about her.

“Just turn your phone off. She’ll take the hint when your phone sends her butt straight to voice mail.” Tia rolled her eyes.

“That ain’t the only place I want to send her.”

Thankfully, Tia laughed. My comment had pulled her out of the attitude she was developing. I’d never noticed how cute, how contagious her laughter was. It wasn’t a cover-up for something lurking beneath. It was real, genuine, and strangely enough, my feelings for her were becoming just as real.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked when she noticed me staring at her.

“I … I don’t know. I just …” I don’t know what got into me, but I lowered my head and planted my lips against Tia’s. I was absolutely amazed when she kissed me back.

When the kiss ended, I looked down at her and asked, “Did we just, um …”

She placed her finger on my lips. “Yeah, we did. Now do it again before I change my mind.”

Other than our choir’s recent popularity and winning streak, things hadn’t been so good the past few weeks at our church—and thus, in my life. According to T. K., bankruptcy was all but a certainty for First Jamaica Ministries, along with the fire sale of our half-built senior housing complex and possibly the school. Fortunately, the bankruptcy would protect us from losing the church, but we were still poised to lose millions.

What I couldn’t understand was why no one seemed to know where the money went, including Simone, the woman I’d helped get elected as chairwoman of the board of trustees. I hated to admit it, but maybe James was right when he called her incompetent, because from the conversation I had with her, she didn’t seem to have a clue. The next time we went to visit James, I’d have to tell him I was starting to see his side of things.

My mind was so preoccupied with the church’s financial troubles that I could only imagine how much worse it must be for my husband. I was sure he needed some stress relief even more than I did right about now, and I couldn’t wait for him to get home. Typically I’d join him when he traveled to see the choir compete, but with everything going on at the church, we thought it best if one of us stayed close to home.

Until T. K. returned, I was glad for the distraction of an evening out. I’d received an e-mail that the deacons’ board was meeting at Kabuki, one of my favorite sushi restaurants over in Forest Hills. I barely ever got offers from them to attend their meetings, so I e-mailed back my acceptance right away.

I walked into Kabuki and was greeted by a very pretty Asian
woman and an Asian man. They were both smiling and bowing like I was the Queen of England coming to visit their restaurant.

“You must be Monique,” the woman said, bowing again. I was more than a little freaked out. I visited the restaurant about once or twice a month, but how the heck did she know my name? “You are the first to arrive. Please follow me.”

First to arrive?
I thought, glancing at my watch. I was ten minutes late.
These Negroes are really on CP time.

She guided me to one of those private rooms where you have to take your shoes off and sit on pillows. A woman wearing a beautiful kimono came in carrying a tray of steaming towels.

“Am I early?” I asked the woman, thinking that I might have gotten the time wrong.

“No, you’re on time,” she replied. “The rest of your party will be right with you.”

She walked away and closed the bamboo doors behind her, only to return a few minutes later with another tray containing a small gift box. When I saw it, I almost fainted.

“This is for you,” she said, placing the tray in front of me.

“Who gave this to you?”

She gave me a coy smile and shook her head. “I cannot tell you. It would ruin the big surprise. Open your present.”

I wanted to snatch her by her skinny little neck and choke the answer out of her, but I held back. It looked like I was finally going to meet my secret admirer.

With trepidation, I opened the box and found a stunning diamond brooch. Since it wasn’t Aaron leaving the gifts, I assumed there was still the possibility that T. K. had been playing games with me for the past few months. Appraising the gift, I smiled. If it was my husband, he sure had gone all out this time.

“So, I see you got my gift.” A familiar voice interrupted my contemplation. “Do you like it?”

I looked up, surprised to see Deacon Maxwell Frye.

“Okay, where’s T. K.?” I asked, prepared to laugh at the practical joke he and my husband were playing on me. “You know this isn’t funny, right, Maxwell?”

“I’m not laughing.” He gestured to the diamonds in my hand. “Do you like it?”

The smile vanished from my face.
Oh, shit! This man is serious
.

“What?” I looked down at the marvelous piece of jewelry and dropped it, because all of a sudden it all made sense. “It was you, wasn’t it? It was you all along sending me these gifts.”

Maxwell shrugged. “Who else would it be? It’s not like your husband even attempts to shower you with such fine gifts.”

I wasn’t going to allow him to talk about T. K. that way. “What my husband can or cannot afford is not your business. We do just fine.” I picked up the package and extended it toward Maxwell. “Here, take this shit back.”

Instead of taking it, he started pacing back and forth. “Why are you acting like I’m the one who’s wrong? Truth is, I think you owe me some answers.”

“Answers for what?” As far as I was concerned, this entire situation came out of left field, and Maxwell had lost his mind.

“How could you marry one of my best friends?” He shook his head. “I just don’t get it.”

I was struggling to understand this whole bizarre scenario, and then it hit me: Maxwell was still pining for me after all these years! My relationship with him seemed like a lifetime ago. We had dated for two years, though no one at the church knew it because he insisted we be discreet. Then he left the country without so much as a kiss good-bye, and I assumed that I must not have meant that much to him in the first place. I’d never even bothered to tell T. K. about it.

When Maxwell had come back to the country, he seemed genuinely happy for me and T. K. Now I was starting to think that had all been an act. It was definitely time to get the hell out of Kabuki and far away from Maxwell. I laid my palms on the table and eased myself to my feet. After his earlier dig at T. K., I couldn’t resist shooting a little dagger in Maxwell’s heart.

“It’s simple. I fell in love with T. K. It wasn’t like you put a ring on my finger, Maxwell.”

He went on as if he hadn’t even heard me. “But we were in love.” Typical Maxwell. He always heard only what he wanted to, whether or not it was the truth.

“Love? Is that what it was? You don’t leave someone you love and go to Iraq for five years without saying a word.”