The Sunday Only Christian (17 page)

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Authors: E. N. Joy

BOOK: The Sunday Only Christian
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“Ah, first it will be a Friday, then a Wednesday Bible Study, then a Sunday or two. The next thing you know, I'll be an usher,” Lynox joked on.
Deborah play punched him once again. “And what would be so wrong with that? I know I wouldn't mind following an usher like you anywhere—including hell,” Deborah joked. “You know I'm just joking on that one.”
Lynox turned and grabbed Deborah by the shoulders. “I know you're joking. But just so you know, I'd follow you to heaven, because I know that's where you're going.”
“Oh yeah, and how can you be so sure about that?”
“Because where else do angels go?” He planted a kiss on Deborah's forehead and she thought she would die. Lynox pulled away from her and turned his attention back to the smorgasbord of food choices. “So, have you decided what you'll have?”
“You,” slipped out of Deborah's mouth before she could catch it.
Lynox laughed. “Oooh you bad, bad girl you.” He shook his head. “But seriously, I think I'm going to have a good old-fashioned burger and fries from that joint right there.”
Deborah looked toward where Lynox was pointing. “It's been a long time since I've had a nice greasy burger. I think I'll have the same.”
“Great, then could you order for me?” Lynox asked Deborah as he began examining his hands. “I just shook a million hands. I need to go wash mine.”
“No problem,” Deborah agreed.
Lynox pulled out a twenty dollar bill and handed it to Deborah. He then headed toward the restroom to go wash his hands.
Deborah placed the food order. Once the order was up, she found a table for her and Lynox and sat down. She whipped out a bottle of hand sanitizer, put some on her hands, prayed over her food, and then took a bite of her burger. “Ummmm,” she couldn't resist saying out loud. The burger was delicious. She took another bite, then closed her eyes as she melted in the taste. When she opened her eyes, Lynox was standing there with a distraught look on his face.
“What? What's the matter?” Deborah asked with a mouthful of burger.
“I'll bet you a million dollars you'll never guess who I just saw,” Lynox said, slowly sitting down at the table.
Deborah thought for a minute, and that's when she remembered that she'd too seen someone who had given her that same reaction. So right then and there, something told Deborah that if she opened her mouth and guessed, she'd be a million dollars richer.
Chapter Thirty-one
“I saw Helen,” Lynox informed Deborah as he stood over her, still looking a little stunned. “She didn't see me though. She was coming out of the women's restroom as I was going into the men's. And guess what?”
Deborah braced herself for what Lynox might say next. Perhaps it would be, “And guess what? She was with a kid. She told me it was your kid.” In those few seconds, all Deborah could think was why had she just never come right out and told him about having a child? Now, exactly what she didn't want to happen was about to happen. He was going to tell her how he'd found out about her child before she had a chance to tell him. Deborah couldn't let that happen. The clock was ticking, but she was bound and determined to beat Lynox to the punch.
“She was with a kid, I know,” Deborah started, then opened her mouth to say the words, “My kid.” But that never happened. Lynox interrupted her before she could.
“Yep—a kid. Ain't that something? She's got a kid,” he said with a look of disdain as he sat down in front of his food. “Now you definitely don't have to worry about me ever hooking back up with her again.” Lynox laughed, but then looked at Deborah to find the most serious look on her face. He grabbed her hands. “Oh, baby, you know I was just kidding. There was never a chance for me and that girl anyway. But her having a kid just drills in my point that much further.” He took a bite of his food. “No readymade family for me.”
Deborah was now looking at him with disdain. “You know you shouldn't talk with your mouth full.” Deborah stood up abruptly. “You know, depending on what you have to say, I suggest that sometimes you not talk at all.”
All Lynox's talk that made it seem like single women with kids were like the plague was taking its toll on Deborah. She was one of those women. How could she even think twice about wanting to be with a man who felt that way about women with children? Sure, just like one of the saints in the singles ministry had pointed out, he deserved to have his opinion and it was his choice whether he wanted to date a woman with kids. But did he have to keep drilling in his point and making it seem like the women should be locked up and the key thrown away?
“Whoa, relax.” Lynox held his hands up in defense. “I'm sorry. I don't even know why I mentioned her.” Lynox took another bite of his food. “Although I can't imagine what type of dude would knock up that nut job. Bet he's sorry.” Lynox chuckled.
“I don't even know why I'm putting myself through this,” Deborah exclaimed. “Not for a man who talks with his mouth full. Disgusting!” Deborah snatched up her purse and ran off in hysterics.
Poor Lynox sat there dazed and confused with fries in hand all set to shovel in more food to his already full mouth. “Hey, sorry,” he apologized, food spewing from his full mouth as he talked. “I didn't know that was one of your pet peeves.” He stood, taking one more bite of his delicious burger. “I promise not to talk with my mouth full again.” He trailed Deborah, laughing at the irony of him making a promise not to talk with a mouth full of food again while having a mouth full of food.
Deborah stopped in her tracks. “You think this is funny? You think I'm a joke, Lynox?”
Lynox was surprised to see tears rolling down Deborah's face. He swallowed his food in hunks without fully chewing, just to get it down so he could talk to Deborah—without a mouth full of food. “I'm sorry, baby.” He put his arms around a weeping Deborah. “Obviously there's something more going on with you.” He looked around at all the attention they were attracting. This time it wasn't a crowd of raving fans. It was a crowd of busybodies trying to figure out what was going on. “Come on, let's go outside and walk around. Give you a chance to clear your head.”
An emotional Deborah took Lynox up on his offer. As they made their way outside, she felt like a fool. She couldn't turn off the waterworks. She felt awful. Not just because she was lying to Lynox, but what kind of mother denies having a child just because the man she's interested in doesn't want to date a woman with kids? And she called herself a Christian? Surely her actions weren't pleasing to Christ. After all, Christ had been denied by Peter—thrice. She thought she had Peter beat when it came to the amount of times she'd denied her son.
Once outside the mall, Lynox led Deborah to a bench. It just so happened to be the same bench the two had sat on when they'd parted years ago. Deborah saw this sign as an omen. No way would she tell him about her son right there on that bench. If she did, there was a likely chance of a repeat. This time, him walking out of her life. She couldn't do it. She couldn't take that chance. She wanted Lynox. She'd wanted him for a long time, and now she had him. She'd wanted a son, a replacement for the one she'd aborted so many years ago, and now she had him. Would it have been too much to ask God to let her keep them both? But in a matter of days, Deborah would question whether God would even allow her to keep one.
Chapter Thirty-two
“Pastor, I can't thank you enough for approving the Single Shoe event for the singles ministry,” Deborah said through her cell phone. “I know some people might think it's kind of out there. But I'm glad I was able to convince you that it's fun and harmless. It's something different, new, and it's something we have never done before at New Day.”
Deborah was excited about the event she was planning for the singles ministry. It was given the name Single Shoe, because the women were scheduled to arrive at the affair a half hour before the men. Once they arrived they were to take off one shoe and place it in a pile in the middle of the room and then go be seated. When all the men arrived, they would randomly pick a shoe from the pile, find out who the owner of the shoe was, and go sit next to her and get to know her. Initially when setting up the event, Deborah's only dilemma was the fact that the number of male members in the group heavily outweighed the number of female members. So Deborah opened up the event to other single males of the church. Just enough men RSVPed so that almost every woman in attendance could be paired up with a guy.
“Yes, I think it's quite unique myself,” Pastor Margie replied.
“Then perhaps you might consider attending, Pastor,” Deborah hinted.
“Oh, no. Now you're starting to sound like your predecessor.” Once upon a time Mother Doreen had been adamant in her attempts to get their single pastor to join the ministry. It was all to no avail though. “By the way, how is Mother Doreen doing?”
Deborah felt embarrassed that she didn't know the answer to that question. Mother Doreen had been like a second mother to Deborah and the godmother of her son, yet she'd neglected to check in on her and see how she was doing. “She's doing fine,” she told her pastor. She hoped she was doing fine anyway. She made a mental note to call Mother Doreen once she got off the phone with her pastor.
“That's good to hear. I'm sure she's making a wonderful first lady. I say one Sunday some of us New Day saints should plan on dropping in on her at her church in Kentucky to show her our support.”
“Ohhh, a road trip to Kentucky? Now that will be nice. Mother Doreen will be so surprised.”
“I'm sure she will.” Pastor Margie smiled through the phone. “Well, I have to get back to my notes for Bible Study. I was recording some things with one of my cell phone features when you called me. I hope it saved.”
“Oh, me too, Pastor, and I'm sorry I interrupted you.”
“No problem. God bless you, woman of God, and have a wonderful week.”
“Will do, Pastor. Bye-bye.” Deborah was going to end the call and then immediately call Mother Doreen just to confirm that she was doing fine. She'd hate for her to be down with a cold or something and here she done told Pastor the woman was fine. Before she could go forth with her plan she noticed her son, with a pen in hand, surrounded by a stack of papers that were scattered everywhere.
Deborah raced over to him. “Nooooooo!” she yelled. “Not the manuscript I was editing!” As she got closer she realized that the entire time she'd been on the phone with her pastor, her son had been marking all over the manuscript she'd been paid to edit. He was merely mimicking what he'd seen her do on numerous occasions.
As luck would have it—as bad luck would have it—the author who had sent her the manuscript had failed to put page numbers within the manuscript, so it was essential that the papers didn't get out of sequence. Now how in the world was Deborah going to be able to put the manuscript in order?
Instinctively, she yanked her son up and began yelling, screaming, and cursing. “Do you know what you've done? Why can't you just sit your simple self down somewhere? Why you always messing with stuff, you little . . .” On and on she went as her son began to roar out in tears.
“Do you think I care if you cry? You ain't worried about all the work I have to do now, so why should I worry about you?” Deborah was on fire as she gathered the papers. She'd stop every now and then and point her finger right in her son's face and scold him a good one. “This is my work. This is what keeps a roof over your head, clothes on your back, and food in your stomach,” she ranted as if the child understood. But she couldn't have cared less whether the boy understood. She was just frustrated.
For all the thirty minutes it took for Deborah to gather up the papers and try, to no avail, to put the stack back in order, she ranted on and on. Her son roared the entire time. “That was just stupid. How could you do so something so stupid? Stupid! Stupid! Just plain stupid!”
“I sorry, Mommy,” her son cried, wiping his eyes. “I sorry.”
“Oh, you don't have to tell me how sorry you are,” Deborah raged, as she continued to fiddle with the paper. “You had a sorry daddy, so what else could I have expected?” Frustrated and angry to no end, Deborah just burst out crying. “I can't believe you did this. Now what am I supposed to do?”
“I sorry,” her son said again. His voice was so sweet—so innocent. He rubbed his tiny eyes, trying to get that wet stuff to stop coming out of them, but the tears just kept flowing. It was like he couldn't control them, no more than his mommy could control the words that came flying out of her mouth.
Deborah looked over at her fragile son. She exhaled. “No, I'm the one who's sorry, sorry I even decided to have kids. I mean, what was I thinking? How did I think for one minute things would have been different with Elton? I was sorry and stupid to think I could actually get the fairytale—the happily ever after. I ain't even mad at myself for getting that abortion back in the day. In hindsight, heck, it was the right thing to do. Probably should have gotten an abortion the second time too.” She let out a harrumph. “Guess God's showing me, huh?”
Deborah let out one last expletive before throwing the mangled stack of papers in the air and walking away. She dragged her drained, tired, and depressed body to her bed, where she'd find it nearly impossible to find the strength to peel herself up off of it again.
“What's happening to me, God?” Deborah cried out, feeling regretful and remorseful for the way she'd just behaved—for the way she'd just behaved to and in front of her son. “This isn't me. It's not me. I don't know who that person is acting like that, but it's not me,” Deborah cried. “I need you to help me, God. I need you to bring me through this thing, God. No playing around and no test. As you can see, I fail the tests and I'm tired of taking them over and over and over. I need an instantaneous breakthrough, God. Please,” Deborah cried.
Eventually Deborah's bladder forced her out of the bed. It sickened her that she had even contemplated just lying there and peeing on herself. She was just that weak physically, mentally, and spiritually. Life was truly taking its toll on her. From the outside looking in, Deborah didn't appear to have a bad life at all—not one that would cause her such anxiety and breakdowns. But what people couldn't see was the torment, the war, going on in her mind. It was a battle she felt defenseless to fight.
“Jesus,” she said before pulling herself up and going to the bathroom. And she knew it had to have been Jesus who carried her there. That's just how weak and lifeless she was. She felt dead.
Since she was up, she decided to go check on her son. Despair and darkness had consumed her over the last couple of hours, so much so that she allowed her son to fend for himself in the house. In her right mind, she knew allowing a toddler free rein of the house wasn't smart. But Deborah was far from being in her right mind.
As she went back to the room where she'd last seen him, she found it empty. She called out his name but got no answer. She proceeded to go from room to room, calling out his name. No matter how many times she called out his name, there was no response.
“Baby, where are you?” Panic began to set in. “What was I thinking?” Deborah said out loud. “What was I thinking not keeping an eye on him?” This time she hit herself upside the head, frustrated and angry with herself.
As crazy thoughts filled her head of what could have possibly happened to her son while she entertained herself at a pity party, she became even madder at herself.
How could I get so caught up in myself and just not care that I let him fend for himself? Stupid! Stupid! Stupid.
With each insult, she knocked herself upside the head again.
“Baby, where are you?” She headed for the front door to see if it was still locked. The entire trek to the door she envisioned her son somehow wandering outside and into the street, and a speeding car taking his life. Those thoughts vanished once she realized the door was still closed and locked. Next she peeked inside the kitchen and called out his name. Nothing.
Deborah went back to her bedroom and checked underneath her bed. Maybe he'd crawled up under there and was hiding or something. When she didn't find him under her bed, she checked her bathroom. She checked closets. She checked inside the washer and dryer. Heck, she checked inside drawers. She couldn't find him anywhere.
The frantic mother realized she hadn't checked the back door. In order to get to the back door Deborah had to walk through the kitchen. She entered the kitchen where the long counter was the first thing that greeted her. She walked around the counter heading to the back door. That's when out of the right corner of her eye she saw something lying in front of the refrigerator. She instantly stopped in her tracks and turned toward the appliance.
There lay her son, lying on his back, surrounded by cookie crumbs, with a half-eaten cookie in his hand. He was sound asleep as his little chest heaved up and down. Hunger had obviously gotten the best of him while he waited for his mother to pull herself out of her funk.
“Oh, God, thank you!” Filled with relief, Deborah ran over to her son and dropped to the floor next him. His little chest went up and down as he made a little snoring sound. Then he made little exhaling sounds like he'd had a long, hard day but was now at peace in a deep sleep. His little round cheeks had dried-up tearstains on them.
“I'm so sorry, son,” Deborah whispered as she sprawled out next to her son and lay next to him. “So sorry.” She kissed him on his forehead. “I hate myself for this. I hate myself for who I am and what I'm putting you through.” Tears dripped out of Deborah's eyes and onto the floor. “I just wish I was dead. I don't want to go through this. I don't want to put my son through this. I'm better off dead.” She looked at her son and before closing her eyes said, “He's better off dead with a mother like me . . . We're both better off dead.”

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