Authors: Kendra Norman-Bellamy

When Solomon Sings (4 page)

BOOK: When Solomon Sings

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Thumping sounds coming from upstairs indicated that Chase was making his normal valiant, but poor, attempt to tidy his room. Shaylynn would go behind him and tweak it later. She didn't expect him to be an expert. At his age, she just needed him to give it his best effort. She didn't want him growing up to be ill-equipped to take care of himself. One of Emmett's flaws was his inability to do anything deemed “woman's work.” His mother had done everything for him in their well-to-do home. Even after he was an adult and had moved from under his parents' roof, housekeeping was a woman's job. A hired maid came by Emmett's home twice a week to tidy it for him, and Melinda Ford would insist that her son bring his dirty laundry to her to wash on a weekly basis. Even his meals came compliments of his mom. Emmett could name all of the US presidents in order of their servitude, fill in the names of the fifty states on a blank map, convert centimeters to feet, and decimeters to yards, but he couldn't properly iron a shirt even if his life depended upon it. Shaylynn leaned back on the cushions of her loveseat and chuckled. Thoughts of Emmett almost always made her smile.

She set her design book to the side as her telephone rang. Her smile widened when she looked at the caller ID. “Hello?”

“Hey, suga.”

She liked it when Neil called her Shay, but she
loved
it when he called her sugaâmostly because she didn't personally know anyone else who referred to their love interest as such. Where she came from, sugar was something that was added in cake mix. She knew a lot of honeys, dears, babies, and sweethearts, and since moving to the South, she'd even met her share of muffins, pumpkin pies, and cupcakes, but as far as Shaylynn was concerned, sugar or
suga
was hers alone. There was just something especially endearing about the manner in which Neil said it.

As for her, she didn't need to find a nickname for him. “Hi, Solomon.” She'd developed a habit of labeling him by his middle name even before their relationship turned serious. Shaylynn began doing it because to her, he just looked more like a Solomon than a Neil, but the fact that he seemed to relish it made it stick.

“I love that smile,” he cooed.

“What smile?” Shaylynn looked up like she expected to see him inside her house, peeking down at her from the same spot on the staircase where her son once stood.

“The one I hear in your voice. I hope it's for me.”

Shaylynn took in a breath, and then released it. The sound of Neil's voice always moved her, but over the phone his mellow, raspy tone sounded especially appealing. She imagined him wearing one of those Nike running outfits that made him look so enticing. Neil sounded calm and relaxed, so he was probably sitting in his recliner, or maybe resting in his bed. No ... not the bed. She shook the thought from her brain like the devil himself had put it there. Envisioning Neil in bed wasn't something that she needed to be doing.

“Well, is it?” A twinge of concern had crept into his voice.

“Is it what?” Shaylynn used her fingers to rake her long braids over her shoulder. What was he talking about? She couldn't believe she'd drifted.

“The smile,” Neil said, bringing her up to speed. “Is it for me?”

Shaylynn searched her general area. She almost always kept a bottle of water nearby as she worked, but of all days, not today. Her tongue felt pasty when she used it to try to moisten her parched lips. “Of course it is.” She felt justified with her response. Hers had started out as a smile that developed from memories of Emmett, but Neil certainly didn't need to know that. And anyway ... the smile expanded when she saw Neil's name on the caller ID. So technically, it was for him. Right?

“Good.” He sounded satisfied with her confirmation. “I know when we spoke last night you mentioned that you needed to catch up on some work today, but I was wondering if you were at a place where you could break for a couple of hours.” Shaylynn was already shaking her head in a negative reply, but unable to see it, Neil continued. “I'm over at Ms. Ella Mae's house, and she's about to start cooking dinner. She asked me to invite you and Chase. What do you say?” After a pause, he added in that sexy voice of his, “I'd love to see you.”

Shaylynn felt the onset of goose bumps. Seeing Neil would make her day too, and his mother, the woman he lovingly called Ms. Ella Mae, was one of the best cooks she'd ever met, but Shaylynn's reality was that she couldn't afford to spend time away from work. “I'm sorry, but I don't think I can do that,” she replied with regret. “I have too much on my plate, and I'm so far behind. From the looks of it, I'll probably be spending at least a part of tomorrow working on this project as well.”

“Wow. That busy, huh?”

Shaylynn could hear the disappointment in Neil's voice. Inside of fifteen minutes, she'd managed to burst the bubbles of both the men dearest to her heart. “Yeah. I'm sorry, Solomon; believe me, I am. But I just can't chance not having these samples together by Monday.”

“No need to apologize,” Neil said. “I understand.” After a brief silence, he added, “So with all this work you have to do, what are you and Chase gonna eat for dinner?”

Shaylynn hadn't even given dinner a thought. It was four o'clock now and she hadn't even begun to prepare anything. “Don't worry about us; we'll eat.” She tried to sound confident, but it was apparent that Neil wasn't fully convinced.

“Well, listen. Let me at least come and get Chase. Ms. Ella Mae hasn't seen him in a couple of weeks, so I know it would make her day. Plus if you're that bogged down with work, I'm sure getting him out of the house will help you be able to better concentrate and give the project your full attention. Maybe the two of us can toss the football around for a while until Ms. Ella Mae finishes dinner. Then he can eat over here so you don't have to break from your work unless you absolutely want to. You eat like a bird, so you'll probably just throw a sandwich or something together. Chase is a man. He needs more.”

Shaylynn laughed. “A man? Really?” Then she thought about her son's earlier remark about Willow Smith. “Well, maybe you're right. That would be great. I'm sure he'd like to play outside, and then eat a full meal.” She didn't want to tell Neil that Chase had actually asked for him earlier. Neil would be offended that she hadn't called him. “Are you sure you don't mind?” She hoped he didn't somehow feel obligated.

“Not at all. Why would I mind?”

“I don't know.” Shaylynn shrugged. “I mean, it's Saturday, and there are a whole lot of more important things that you might need to get done on your off days.”

“More important?” Despite her effort not to offend Neil, he sounded offended anyway. Shaylynn heard the wind of his sigh as it blew into the telephone, and then he said, “Just get him ready, Shay. I'll be there in about half an hour. And if you think you're gonna have to pull a late-nighter with this project, it's okay if you want to pack an overnight bag for Chase. He can crash at my house tonight. It'll be fun. We'll all be at the same church in the morning anyway.”

Allowing Chase to spend the night with Neil was something she'd never done. It was a nice gesture on his part, but Shaylynn didn't know if they were ready for that yet. Something like that could have dire consequences if things between her and Neil didn't work out. “Thank you. He'll be ready by the time you get here.” Shaylynn decided to leave it at that. The overnight bag would never get packed, but she didn't want to insult Neil any more than she already had. He'd discover her decision when he arrived to pick up her son.

THREE

Pastor Charles Loather Jr. sat behind the desk of his office with his eyes closed. If he sat like that long enough, he knew he'd fall asleep. It had been an extraordinary Sunday morning worship service that had left him feeling spiritually charged, but physically drained. Although they were still a few minutes away from the benediction, CJ had excused himself from the pulpit just after praying over those who had come to give their hearts to the Lord and/or pledge their membership to Kingdom Builders Christian Center, a church of which he'd served as pastor for the past five yearsâever since the death of its founder and CJ's beloved father, Dr. Charles Loather Sr. Between his delivering today's message and the energy he spent while laying hands on the twelve people who had gathered for prayer and church discipleship, CJ had worked up quite a sweat. He had made the early departure so that he could change into dry clothes and have a few moments to wind down before the counseling session that had been scheduled for this afternoon.

“Here's your cranberry juice, sweetie.”

CJ's eyelids lifted at the sound of the voice that came from behind him. From the side of his eye, he watched one hand place the pastor's official monogrammed flute on the desk in front of him, and then felt that hand join the other in a firm but gentle caress of his shoulders. CJ closed his eyes again. Theresa always knew just where the tension would gather. His only response was a pleasurable groan.

“I'm so good at this, aren't I?” It was rhetorical. She knew the answer.

“You're the best. I don't know what I'd do without you.”

Theresa lowered her face and brushed her lips against his ear. Then at a level barely above a whisper, she said, “And don't you forget it, Pastor Loather.”

Chills engulfed CJ. She was just messing with him now, and this was not the time or the place for her to tease him. He took special pleasure in hearing Theresa call him by his ecclesiastical title, and she knew it. All things considered, the sound of it probably shouldn't awaken his sensual side, but it did. They would be celebrating their sixth anniversary in less than five months. CJ was forty, and Theresa was thirty-two at the time that they exchanged wedding vows. It was a first marriage for both. By most standards, they'd gotten married late in life, but CJ was more than glad that he'd listened to his late parents and waited for the right one. They told him that if he waited for God to allow him to find his soul mate, he'd have no regrets, and they were right. Resa, as he called her, had been everything he'd ever prayed for in a life mate: smart, sophisticated, saved, and sexy.

He reached over his shoulder and grabbed her right hand. “Come here, woman.” CJ navigated her to the side of him, slid his rolling executive chair away from his desk, and then gently pulled her down until her perfectly round behind rested in his lap. His hand briefly caressed her knee, and then traveled to her stomach, where it lingered. Lately, it was his favorite place to touch her. Not only had Theresa been everything he'd ever needed, now she was giving him everything he'd ever wanted: a family.

Pregnancy had little or nothing to do with her full bottom. CJ had described Theresa as a woman with baby-making hips long before they made the baby. They were three months away from being introduced to their firstborn. Now forty-six and thirty-eight, they were getting a late start at parenthood too, but as far as CJ was concerned, the timing was perfect. They had agreed not to find out the gender of the baby until Theresa gave birth, but CJ had a feeling that he already knew who was growing in his wife's womb. “How's Daddy's namesake?” He pressed his lips against the side of Theresa's protruding belly and delivered a lingering kiss that didn't end until she stroked his head and spoke.

“Are you gonna be disappointed if we have a daughter?”

CJ looked up at her. He couldn't believe what he'd heard. “Of course not. Why would you ask me that?” He kissed her stomach again. “I just want to be the father of a healthy, happy baby; you know that.”

Theresa nodded in agreement, but when she spoke, she didn't exactly sound persuaded. “But you're always calling him ... or
her
... your namesake. What if we don't have a Charles Loather III? What if he's a she and can't carry on the name you're so proud of?”

She was right. He was indeed proud of his name. Not so much because it was his name, but because it was his father's name, and there was no one CJ admired more than his dad. Dr. Charles Loather Sr. had passed away less than a year after officiating the ceremony that legally bonded CJ and Theresa. It made CJ a bit sad that his child would never know his ... or
her
paternal grandparents. “The name doesn't have to be Charles in order to be my namesake.” A grin crossed CJ's lips despite the sadness that threatened to creep in at the thought of his deceased parents. “There are a lot of girl names that could do the trick. Charlie, Charlene, Charma, Charlotteâ”

“You've been thinking about this thing, haven't you?” Theresa's new tone indicated that he had lessened her previous concern.

“Wait.” CJ held up a finger. “I'm not done yet. Charlese, Charlissa, Charo, Charâ”

“Okay ... stop,” Theresa interrupted. “Charo is out; I can tell you that right now. The world already has one of those, and she's quite enough. And Charlie ... well, when it's given to a female it always comes with an old-fashioned middle name like Mae, and that's just not gonna happen, preacher man. No daughter of mine is gonna be named Charlie Mae.”

CJ laughed. “You'd better not let Ms. Ella Mae hear you say her middle name is old-fashioned. Besides, it sounds a whole lot better than some of the four- and five-syllable names we find attached to our children these days. Would you rather your daughter's name be Charlie Mae or Charlie MaeQuaneesha?”

Theresa broke into a loud laugh. With his hand still on her stomach, CJ could feel the baby make a sudden movement. He couldn't help but wonder if her vigorous outburst had disturbed their child's sleep. When Theresa finally calmed enough to answer his question, she said, “Neither. I wouldn't choose anything tongue-tying, but I don't want old-fashioned either.” She freed herself from his lap and walked around his desk so that she stood in front of it, facing him. CJ knew it was only a matter of time before she started pacing the floor like she always did when she got worked up about any topic, and he prepared himself to enjoy the sight of it. “CJ, I don't want our child to have a name that ages him or her one way or the other. I want to give our baby a strong, timeless name like both of us have. You find newborns named Charles and Theresa, and you find senior citizens with the same names. They aren't trendy or generational names. They cross age lines, and they also cross ethnic lines, which is also important to me.”

CJ strongly agreed with that last part, and his firm nod said so. They had been having conversations like this one ever since they found out Theresa was expecting, and CJ never tired of them. When they discussed anything, whether it was as carnal as baby names or as spiritual as scriptures, he enjoyed the manner in which he and his wife were able to communicate. They were both analytical thinkers, which meant deliberations like this one could go on for days, but somehow they were almost always able to hash out any topic without their discussions getting heated, even when they disagreed.

“Neither of our names gives away our race.” As soon as she completed that sentence, Theresa began pacing, and CJ's eyes followed. “As much as we'd like to believe that racism is dead in the twenty-first century, we know that it's not,” she continued. “People just find less obvious ways to practice it. Any executive who wants to indiscreetly avoid calling in a qualified black woman for a job interview will toss aside all the resumes with names like Shaniqua and LaQuisha. Even the ones with less flamboyant names like Ebony, Imani, and Essence will get skipped, because although they're pretty names, everyone knows that they are overwhelmingly more likely to be tagged onto a female of African American descent. And not only that but ...” Her voice trailed for a moment, and then she said, “CJ, are you listening to me?”

He raised his eyes to meet hers. “Yeah, baby, I'm listening.”

“No, you aren't. You were doing it again, weren't you?”

“Doing what? I really was listening to you, Resa.” CJ laughed, knowing full well what she was accusing him of.

“My lips are up here, CJ.” She pointed at her mouth. “If you were listening to me, you'd be looking up here. You're not listening, you're watching my behind shake when I walk.”

CJ leaned back in his chair and laughed harder. “I don't have to do either/or, baby. I'm not deaf; I don't need to look at your lips in order to know what you're saying. I heard every word you said
while
I was watching your butt jiggle.” He laughed some more.

“I don't
jiggle
, for your information.” Theresa folded her arms and tried to give him a stern look, but CJ could tell that she was flattered. “I'll have the last laugh. You've only got three more months to enjoy your insanity.”

“Yeah, like I wasn't looking before you got yourself knocked up.”

The smile she'd been trying to withhold spilled onto her face despite her efforts. Placing her palms on the top of his desk, she leaned in and said, “First of all,
Pastor
Loather,
I wasn't the one who knocked me up. Secondly, yes, you were looking before I put on these additional twenty pounds, but now you're gawking.”

Slowly bringing himself to a standing position, CJ matched her stance, which put his face only inches from his wife's. His eyes scaled the details of her face, and he could see her tense as his eyes locked into hers. CJ knew she had read both his eyes and his body language. He knew that he really didn't need to verbalize anything, but he did it anyway. “You keep calling me that,
First Lady,
and I just might forget where I am.”

Theresa lifted her hands and gently tugged at his clergy collar until it slipped from its place. “You've got a meeting,” she whispered, placing the soft, pliable piece on the desk between them without ever taking her eyes off his.

CJ licked his lips. Theresa had always had a healthy appetite for him, but this pregnancy thing had made her ravenous. CJ could easily get used to this. Maybe they'd have two or three more kids before it was over. Proving that he was up to the challenge, he reached forward, removed her eyeglasses, and placed them on the desk beside his collar. “I could forget the meeting too.”

“Oh, really ...
Pastor Loather?”

This wasn't funny anymore. CJ's heartbeat was set on hypersonic, and the temperature in his office was on a steady incline. “Don't test me, woman.”

With a smoldering look that matched his, Theresa replied, “Too late. The test has already been administered. The question is ... will you pass or fail?”

“Baby, I don't fail anything.” CJ had barely finished the sentence before he attacked her lips with his. Her responding groan was so pronounced that he wondered, for a moment, if he was hurting her. His concerns were short-lived and immediately dissolved when he felt Theresa's fingernails rake through his short, coarse hair as she pressed her lips even harder into his.

“Oh, c'mon! This is the house of God. Have you no shame?” They parted immediately at the sound of the booming voice that came from the area of CJ's office door. CJ tried to catch his breath and regain his composure at the sight of the arrival of his appointment. “I'm gonna report this to the pastor,” Neil added. And then with an animated thoughtful look, he concluded with, “Oh, that's right. You
are
the pastor.”

“You always did have bad timing,” Theresa told him as she stood up straight and brushed away a loose strand of hair from her face. She gave CJ a brief, apologetic look, and then turned to face their intruder. “Don't you know how to knock?”

“Well, pardon me.” Neil walked inside and closed the door behind him. “I've never had to knock prior to entering the pastor's office before. Not when I have an appointment. But now that I know he might be in here getting it on, I'll try to be more mindful.”

CJ was embarrassed by his own actions. Sure, Theresa was his wife, but still. What if it had been someone other than his best friend who walked in on them? It would have been hard to explain this to one of the other lay members. “Nobody was
getting it on
, Neil,” CJ said through a sigh.

“Not yet, maybe. But if I had arrived about two minutes later, I would have wanted to gouge out my own eyes.”

“We weren't going to do anything. I wouldn't do that on church property.” CJ hoped he was telling the truth, but the fire that still raged in his body's field said differently. “I don't think kissing is out of order. It's not like Resa is my personal secretary or something. She's my wife, and I think God is okay with me kissing my wife on church property.”

“Kissing her lips is one thing. Eating her face is another.”

“We were just discussing baby names,” Theresa claimed.

BOOK: When Solomon Sings

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