No Easy Catch (Carmen Sisters)

by Pat Simmons

  Until he decided to go public about his drug use, Rahn maintained that what he had done in the past should stay in the past—it was forgiven and forgotten. Do you agree or disagree with this viewpoint?

  Was Shae right to choose her career over her relationship with Rahn?

  What was the most memorable scene in the story for you? Why?

  Do you have a Mother Stillwell figure in your church? Has her presence had a positive or negative impact on your faith?

  Who is your favorite celebrity couple? Why?

  What Scripture from the story seemed to resonate with you the most?

  Shari and Garrett’s story is the second in the Carmen Sisters series. What do you think Garrett could he have done that would be worse than Rahn’s scandal?

  A Preview of Book Two in The Carmen Sisters

  Coming Spring 2015

  1

  Sharmaine “Shari” Carmen’s smartphone chimed as she climbed out of her black Cadillac SUV. She fumbled with her purse and briefcase before pinching the device between her ear and shoulder without checking the caller ID. “Hello?”

  “I need you.” The raspy voice sounded desperate.

  Lifting an eyebrow, Shari adjusted the items in her arms, then squinted at the screen of her phone to see who was calling. John Whitman. Her lips curled up in a mischievous smile. “Does your wife know?” she whispered huskily as she strolled up the pathway to her childhood home, where she lived with her widowed mother.

  “Who do you think put me up to this?” he snapped.

  Shaking her head, Shari burst out laughing as she inserted the key in the front door. John—the band leader at her church—and his wife, Rita, were known pranksters. The only thing more notorious than their antics was their campaign of matchmaking schemes directed at members of the band and choir at Jesus Is The Way Church. The pair seemed to have a gift, not necessarily from God, to sense a potential couple’s compatibility.

  And don’t think church folks didn’t keep score. The Whitmans’ record was better than that of Mother Ernestine Stillwell, an elderly woman known for her “hope chest” prophecies. So far this year, the Whitmans were leading her by five couples to Mother Stillwell’s one. The senior citizen maintained that her last three fiascos had been false starts.

  “You Whitmans have no shame,” Shari said. “Whatever it is, my first and final answer is no.”

  “Hear me out, Sharmaine…”

  She was surprised John didn’t attach attorney to her given name. His request was probably a doozie. “It’s a favor for a close friend, a new church member, a band member…” he empathized.

  “Hmm.” She entered her second-floor bedroom. Although Shari could afford a nice piece of real estate in Mt. Airy, she liked her mother’s company. Plus, her other three siblings, all sisters, had moved away—two of them to different states. But Shari loved the historic feel of Philadelphia, the cultural events the city had to offer, and her church.

  Shari’s older sister, Stacy, a teacher, lived across town with her husband, Ted. Shae, Shari’s younger sister, was a TV reporter in Nebraska; and her baby sister, Sabrece, aka “Brecee,” was in Houston to compete her pediatrics residency.

  Shari would probably remain a home girl, just like Stacy. Staying in Philly allowed her to keep tabs on her mother. Kicking off her four-inch heels, Shari wiggled her toes as she flopped on the bed.

  “Brother Garrett Nash is in a bind.”

  Now, that name gave her pause. Shari recalled the formal introduction of the three new band members—all male—at the last practice she’d attended. She doubted any of the brothers had given her a second glance. There were too many single sisters skilled at getting a man’s attention within seconds of meeting him and then staying on a prayer chain to keep it. “Why bother?” was her motto.

  However, Brother Garrett Nash’s dark complexion and handsome features could rival Djimon Hounsou, the West-African actor. One glance, and he could make any lady smile—even one with cataracts.

  “So, what does that have to do with me?” Somewhat curious, Shari took the bait.

  As he launched into a long-winded explanation, she stared in the mirror, scrutinizing her dull black hair screaming for a shampoo. As soon as she got off the phone, she planned to tend to it. It was Friday, and she was tired after a long week spent defending clients with colorful criminal portfolios in court.

  “Garrett asked if some band members wouldn’t mind traveling to Boston for his grandparents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary party,” John explained. “Apparently, something went down, and now he’s in a bind to find a musical talent for the program. He’s covering the transportation costs, so there’s no expense on our part. Please.”

  Shari wasn’t opposed to the travel aspect. The five-hour road trip would be a piece of cake. Her church’s gospel choir and band participated in competitions all the time, and the music department also accompanied the pastor to preaching events. Almost any invitation was accepted, as long as the group could make it back to their home church in time for Sunday services.

  Her lips were forming an o for “Okay” when he dropped the bombshell.

  “I need you to play ‘Thank You’ for the ceremony,” John stated, then rushed on. “Terrell was going to play his sax, but he’s down with the flu. Rod could manage it on his guitar, but, as you know, the horn rules on that song.”

  John had wasted a call. He knew she wasn’t going to do it.

  Shari felt no shame in turning him down. “Sorry, no can do.”

  The last time she had played the timeless Walter Hawkins tune had been at her father’s funeral. Now, twelve years later, just the mention of that song quickened bittersweet memories.

  Shari’s mother always remarked how much she reminded her of her father, Saul Carmen. Out of the four daughters, Shari liked to think of herself as a bona fide Daddy’s girl. She even shared his same rich, dark skin. It was actually because of her skin, which was the color of God’s earth, that she’d needed her father to wipe away many of her tears and remind her how beautiful she was, even though she didn’t think so.

  All the Carmen girls were noted for their long hair, which came courtesy of their African and Italian heritages. Their mother always called hair “a woman’s glory.” Stacy, Shae, and Brecee were fair like their mother. They could have passed the brown paper bag test in order to be accepted into certain social clubs or sororities.

  Her first cousins, Victor and Dino, shared her darker hue and seemed to understand her complex. Both had taken it upon themselves to become better protectors and bodyguards than the fiercest of any big brother.

  “Please, Sharmaine. I need you,” John continued pleading. “Garrett is a perfectionist. The horns kill that song, and you’re the only one who can pull it off. I asked everyone else I could think of, but now I’m desperate. Face your fear. Jesus can help you overcome…”

  Which fear? She had more than a few. Although Shari exuded confidence inside the courtroom, when the suit and heels came off, she easily faded into the background—the woodwork, really.

  Without a social calendar, Shari filled her life with family, work, and church. She overindulged in the latter two areas. She gladly accepted a heavy client load and had more than a few commitments to various auxiliary groups, including her church’s prison ministry with its monthly visits. That explained her absence from Saturday band rehearsals for two weeks straight. But her first love was music, and as a child, she’d learned from her cousins to command the sax. She loved to play, and the band leader knew that.

  John must have taken her slight hesitation as a cue to forge ahead. “The attire is black…”

  Yes! She grinned, glad that she had nothing suitable to wear. “I just dropped off an armload of clothes at the cleaners yesterday, and they won’t be ready until Monday.” Hopefully, she had grabbed every black garment in her closet.

  “That’s no excuse,” said John’s wife, Rita, taking over the conversation. “Pick your poison: I can go shoppi
ng with you or for you. Sis, you really are one of the best on alto sax. Let’s pray that God will give you a cheerful heart toward that song for this festive occasion.”

  Shari gnawed on her lip. Wasn’t that what every saint of God wanted—to be delivered from spiritual bondage?

  “Do it for Brother Garrett, and God will bless you.”

  When would God bless her in other areas of her life? She was twenty-nine, with no relief in sight from her singleness. Even Mother Stillwell—the church busybody whose greatest pleasure was tracking down sisters and proclaiming they were next in line for a husband—wobbled in a different direction when she saw Shari coming. It didn’t matter. The older woman didn’t even have a fifty-fifty accuracy rate anyway.

  When Shari had heard enough of John’s whining and Rita’s pleading, she caved in. “All right, all right. I guess I’d better find something to wear for this cross-country trip you’ve suckered me into.”

  “Yes!” the Whitmans exclaimed in unison.

  “The bus leaves the church at nine in the morning,” John added.

  “Thank You, Jesus,” Rita said. “We love you, Shari!”

  With the call over, Shari exhaled, then chuckled at the Whitmans’ flair for persuasion. “How did I let them break me down like that?” Inside her walk-in closet, she started a scavenger hunt for a dark skirt.

  A knock on her door interrupted her task. “Hey, sweetie. I don’t know if you’re hungry or not, but I made pot roast…” Her mother’s voice grew louder as she peeked inside Shari’s bedroom. “What are you doing?”

  A former Miss America beauty contestant in her heyday, Annette Carmen was the only woman Shari knew who could cook and clean, then step out the door at a moment’s notice looking youthful and refreshed. But what Shari really admired was her mother’s calm demeanor, which few people could rattle. That was a quality she wished she had inherited.

  “I’ve been duped by the choir couple.” Shari threw her hands up and came out of her closet. It appeared that all her black clothes were indeed at the cleaners.

  Releasing a melodious strain of laughter, her mother came further into the room and folded her arms. She happened to be a fan of the Whitmans. “For what event? When and where is it?”

  Shari gave her the details, then confessed, “My heart really isn’t into going.”

  “Why?” Her mother positioned herself on the bed and cuddled a throw pillow.

  Shari recapped her conversation with John and Rita. “Mother, I buried that song with Daddy.”

  Her mother shook her head. “Your father wouldn’t have wanted that. We thank the Lord for him every day. Play the song to God’s glory. The memories you have will never fade. Plus, you need to get out more. You’re young.”

  Shari used to keep track of the number of times she heard that saying. When she was a child, her parents had nicknamed her “house kid” because of her preference to curl up in a corner chair and devour a book while her three sisters went outside and played with the neighborhood children.

  “Okay, let’s take a deep, cleansing breath. Oxygen is good for your heart and brain.” Her mother stood and exercised what she was preaching. She resembled a yoga instructor as her eyelids drifted closed. Seconds later, her eyes popped open wide. “Now, what’s priority?”

  “I have to wear black, and all my conservative clothes are at the cleaners.”

  Her mother never failed to remind her to be consistent with her dress in and out of church because God was omnipresent. But that’s where Shari rebelled. Church was church, business was business, and outside of both, feeling flirtatious in her clothes was her personal fantasy, as long as they weren’t revealing or suggestive.

  Sitting back on the bed, Annette squinted at the closet from her spot atop the overstuffed white down comforter. “I see a black skirt in the back on the right-hand side…hmm. It may be a little short, but I’m sure it’s respectable.”

  Who said eyesight diminishes with age? Shari mused. After a search and rescue, Shari tugged the skirt off the hanger. A few minutes into the negotiation, Shari manipulated the sleek fabric over her hips, then braved a glance in the full-length mirror. “Yep. I see where the five pounds settled from Aunt Camille’s earthquake cake, your pecan pie, the cheesesteak from lunch…”

  Her mother sighed and rested her hands on her hips. “Ah, to be so generously endowed.”

  “It isn’t always a blessing.”

  “Tell that to a skinny woman,” she stated. “What else?”

  “I need to change my oil,” Shari said.

  “I thought you took care of that last week.”

  “I meant my hair.”

  They laughed. “Problem solved. I’ll wash and set it with plenty of curls so there’ll be less fuss when you get there. Next?”

  Four hours later, with all the tasks complete, Shari drifted off to sleep after praying, “Lord, let me be a blessing to Brother Garrett’s family.”

  ***

  Garrett Nash’s homecoming was bittersweet. If it wasn’t for his grandparents’ monumental celebration, he wouldn’t be there. Musically, everything had been in order for the event when he’d left Boston. Personally, his life had been in disarray.

  He had been settling into his new life in Philly when he’d gotten the news that the band he had hired to play at the party had backed out. Thank God for old college roommates like John Whitman, who’d stepped up and offered the services of the music department at Jesus Is The Way Church. The band members would arrive the next day, and John had assured him that the musician who could blow “Thank You, Lord” was flawless on the sax. Garrett prayed so, because when it came to music, his family members were perfectionists. At this late date, however, he would take whatever he could get to save face.

  Garrett sighed as he glanced out the window of his bedroom in his childhood home in Roxbury, Massachusetts. It seemed like yesterday that his maternal grandfather, Moses Miller, had called that infamous family meeting. Whenever trouble stirred, the family elders called for a fast. The old adage “The family that prays together, stays together,” was the bond that made the Miller clan a team.

  “Did you get an answer from God?” his grandfather asked, his weary eyes reflecting the same heaviness Garrett felt in his heart.

  “Yes, sir.” Garrett’s voice shook as he made eye contact with his grandparents, his parents, and his two sisters. They had just concluded a two-day fast with a family prayer. God had spoken through a family member in tongues, with Garrett receiving the interpretation. “I can’t stay.”

  His baby sister, Zion, initiated the protest, wailing like a toddler. No one would have guessed that she was a twenty-five-year-old college graduate.

  Tai, the eldest sibling at thirty-two, was outraged. “It doesn’t make sense. Why does my brother have to leave? His fiancée got herself pregnant.”

  “Granddaughter, my spirit bears witness, and God’s decision is final,” their grandfather stated.

  Their grandmother, Queen—a classy, garrulous grand diva who was appropriately named—seemed to age in seconds. Sniffing, she held her peace as she linked her arthritic fingers with her husband’s.

  “This pregnancy is not only an embarrassment to our family but a humiliation before God. There’s no excuse for any sin, and sexual immorality…” Moses shook his head.

  Garrett listened as his grandfather spoke of the Miller name and what was expected of each descendant, male or female. Garrett had never imagined being basically banished from his hometown.

  Now thirty, he had been born, reared, and educated in Boston, completing his undergraduate studies at Boston University. Everything had been going smoothly, until, through no fault of his own, a night of passion—one that never should’ve happened—had altered his life forever.

  “Married or unmarried, that child will have Miller in its blood, and we take care of our own,” his grandfather explained unnecessarily. “All the years I’ve talked to you and your cousin Landon—my only grandsons—about wa
lking upright before God and not touching a woman unless she’s your wife. I’m so disappointed. Your ex was bewitching from the start, but God can forgive instantly, as each of us is a work in progress. Look at this as a blessing in disguise.”

  Zion snorted. “A blessing, Grandpa? I see it as Ivette dolled up in a church disguise.”

  Their mother, Phoebe, frowned and shook her head. She was long-suffering toward her children until they stepped out of place.

  “Before the night is over, we need to revisit Genesis thirty-seven and the story of Joseph and how his brothers sold him into slavery in Egypt,” Grandpa concluded.

  One thing the Miller men didn’t do was shed tears, but the river had flowed in the room that night months ago. It was probably for the best. The fault didn’t lie with Ivette alone. Regardless of his sister’s outburst, Ivette hadn’t gotten pregnant by herself.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Pat Simmons is a self-proclaimed genealogy sleuth. She is passionate about researching her ancestors, then casting them in starring roles in her novels, in hopes of tracking down distant relatives who happen to pick up her books. She has been a genealogy enthusiast since her great-grandmother died at the young age of ninety-seven in 1988.

  Pat describes receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost as an amazing, unforgettable, life-altering experience. She believes God is the Author who advances the stories she writes.

  Pat has a B.S. in mass communications from Emerson College in Boston, Massachusetts. She has worked in various positions in radio, television, and print media for more than twenty years. Currently, she oversees the media publicity for the annual RT Booklovers Conventions.

  She is the multi-published author of several single titles and eBook novellas, including the #1 Amazon best seller in God’s Word, A Christian Christmas. Her awards include Talk to Me, ranked #14 of Top Books in 2008 that Changed Lives by Black Pearls Magazine. She is a two-time recipient of the Romance Slam Jam Emma Rodgers Award for Best Inspirational Romance for Still Guilty (2010) and Crowning Glory (2011). Her best-selling novels include Guilty of Love and the Jamieson Legacy series: Guilty by Association, The Guilt Trip, and Free from Guilt. The Acquittal (2013) kicked off her new Guilty Parties series. Given the success of the Jamieson men stories, Pat is elated to introduce the Carmen women in No Easy Catch, book one in her latest series, The Carmen Sisters, published by Whitaker House.