Dying Declaration

by Randy Singer

  “Okay,” Denita said, though she still found it hard to believe. “You sure the senator will never know?”

  Catherine blew out an impatient breath. “He trusts me, Denita. How many times have we been through this? Everything about the RU-486 deal is buried; it’s just you, me—” she hesitated, her point not lost on Denita—“and Charles.”

  “Then it’s over,” Denita promised. “I know Charles. And despite his many shortcomings, the guy is a man of his word.”

  “Good,” Catherine said. “Because I still intend to start Georgetown Law School in the fall.”

  It was, Denita knew, a tacit reference to their deal. And the silence on the phone indicated that Catherine was waiting for some confirmation.

  “Georgetown Law School,” Denita said. “I’ll bet their graduates make great judicial law clerks.”

  “Yeah,” Catherine quickly responded. “But I hear those jobs are hard to come by.”

  Denita chuckled because it seemed like the proper thing to do.

  Then Catherine added, almost as an afterthought, “What do you think really turned him around on this?”

  Denita smiled and looked down at the pile of bills in front of her. She flipped through the top few, pulling out the one monthly bill for a service she had just canceled. The Westside Florist Shop. It had been expensive to pay them each of the past three months to deliver flowers and plant a few roses in the cemetery. But it had saved her the trip. And she wouldn’t have to worry about it any more. In many respects, it had been the best money she had ever spent.

  “It was the flowers,” Denita said, her smile widening. “Definitely the flowers.”

  The Oakley sunglasses were probably overkill, Charles decided. He was about two blocks from his “pulpit,” the corner of Atlantic Avenue and Virginia Beach Boulevard, wheeling his beloved green trash can down the sidewalk. He would be in his element soon, holding forth for the tourists, and he didn’t want to be recognized as a lawyer. The media blitz following court on Monday had made him a minicelebrity, his face splashed all over local television. He therefore decided, as a precaution, to don the sunglasses so he could preach in anonymity, rising or falling with the merits of his argument, not the status of his fame.

  He realized several blocks ago that there was no fame. Tourists and locals walked by as they always did, either ignoring him or looking at him like he was crazy. He would have ditched the Oakleys, but the sun was still low in the sky, and they did add an extra layer of cool.

  It was the height of tourist season, and the hip-hop band was gettin’ down. A large and bemused crowd stood gawking at the whirlwind of spinning, jumping, and angry lyrics that the band had unleashed. Charles smiled his electric white smile and strained against his load.

  It was good to be home.

  He hadn’t been out here in what—two weeks? He started to feel the energy, the adrenaline that flowed when he was on a mission to save some souls. And this time, to make disciples. He promised himself that the next time God dropped a convert in his lap, Charles would do whatever it took to disciple that person. But still, after the events of the last few weeks, he also couldn’t shake this gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach, a constant reminder that he was very much alone.

  He had reconciled himself to the fact that it was really over with Denita. They had been divorced for years. She now had an engagement ring. There was no turning the clock back on that relationship. At least they had parted this time on good terms, even tender terms, something that he hadn’t experienced with Denita in years.

  He would think about her often. And pray for her every night. But that chapter in his life was over.

  He was also trying to reconcile himself to just being friends with the enigmatic Nikki Moreno, but that was considerably harder. He thought about her even more than Denita. He had been out here on the street dozens of times, had seen dozens of lives changed, but the one lingering memory was that special night two weeks ago, that night of magic with Nikki Moreno. He would never forget the sidewalk chalk, her vulnerable sharing about her past, their walk on the beach. Even as he approached the spot where he had apologized that night, his mind brought her into sharp relief. The haunting brown eyes, the beautiful olive skin, that spirited laughter. The alluring sound of her high-energy voice.

  “Mind if I tag along, handsome?”

  Charles whirled around, nearly dropping the trash can, half-expecting there would be nobody there.

  But it really was Nikki! More beautiful than he even remembered. He tried to play it cool but failed miserably . . . and broke into a huge smile.

  “Nikki!” he exclaimed.

  She spread her arms, as if to say “the one and only” and smiled her mischievous smile. “Need some company?”

  Without thinking, Charles stepped forward and gave her a fierce hug, then caught himself and took a step back. “You bet,” he said. “Could always use another heckler.”

  “Maybe you can find one,” Nikki said. “But tonight, I’m coming to listen.”

  Charles paused for a beat, stunned and excited. Then he began nodding, as if he expected this all along. “C’mon,” he said, “let’s go do church.”

  He turned and started wheeling the trash can again, this time with Nikki by his side.

  “So what’re you preaching about tonight, handsome?”

  Handsome. He loved it when she called him that. “I think I’ll probably just tell a little story about two thieves on a cross.” He glanced sideways at Nikki, his eyes shielded by the shades. He tried to hide his excitement, but the electricity was coursing through his veins. This could be her night. I sure wouldn’t mind discipling this one.

  “I think you’ll probably like it,” he said.

  Buster was coming at him with a knife, the gold tooth gleaming. As Buster raised his knife to strike, he broke into heinous laughter, and the gold-toothed grin became the dastardly smile of the deputy commonwealth’s attorney. “Answer the question!” Crawford screamed. “Answer the question!”

  Thomas sat straight up, his wide eyes taking stock of the room. It was not his jail cell but Tiger’s room. Thomas was sitting next to Tiger’s bed, the light in the room was still on, but the kids were sleeping soundly. How long had he slept? One hour? Two?

  Thomas stood to leave the room but first bent over to kiss the kids. Stinky had her arm thrown over Tiger’s neck. Tiger’s arm was dangling off the bed and toward the floor where Thomas had been sleeping. He kissed them both on the cheek. They were angels. When they were sleeping.

  Thomas walked groggily out to the living room and thought again about the words that Charles had spoken after the first day of trial. Faith, hope, and most importantly . . . love. He found Theresa, still awake, curled up on a corner of the sofa and reading. He sat down next to her, and she leaned against his chest.

  “How long I been sleeping?” he asked, yawning.

  “Couple hours.”

  He tilted his head sideways and looked at the woman. “What’re you still doing up?”

  “I was hoping you’d come back out.” Theresa paused, searching for the right words. “I’ve got something to tell ya.”

  “Okay,” Thomas said. He drew her closer, sensing her emotional struggle.

  “I didn’t want to tell you this with all this stuff going on,” Theresa said softly. “And I didn’t know what I’d do if you didn’t get out of jail . . .” She stopped midsentence, choking back tears. Thomas just held her, waiting for the emotions to pass.

  He felt her take a deep breath. And then she said, “Thomas, I’m pregnant.”

  Thomas squeezed her closer, then kissed the top of her head. “How long?” he asked.

  “Two months.”

  “Praise God,” Thomas said. He paused. “Better get you to a doctor. Get checked out.”

  “Thanks,” she whispered.

  He looked down at this wonderful woman in his arms.

  They had both been deeply wounded by the loss of Joshie, and it showed
. Time, Thomas thought, and the promise of a new child will help us heal. Today had been particularly hectic, and Theresa was looking tired. Her black hair was unwashed and stringy. Her eyes were red and puffy, partly from thinking of Joshie, partly from joy for the child within her. The tears were beginning to flow. Her skin was blotched with red marks where she had clawed at her neck, anxiously waiting for an opportunity to share this news with her husband.

  To someone who didn’t know her, she might not look so great. But she was carrying his baby, and she was the world’s best mother and wife. Others could think what they wanted, see what they wanted. But he knew the truth. He could see more than skin-deep. And to him, she was the most gorgeous creature God had ever created. No doubt about it.

  To him, she simply looked beautiful.