Cherished

by Kim Cash Tate

  Cyd raised a wary eyebrow. “When did you become Ms. Mighty Woman of God?”

  “HEY, LOGAN.” STEPHANIE HAD A TEASING LILT IN HER voice as she called across the table. “Monica’s performing in a few. You gonna dance? That’d be a real treat for the ladies.”

  Logan gave a smile that was calculating. “Remember, Stephanie. Once this weekend is over, I’ll be seeing you week after week at church. Plenty of time to plot my revenge. You started all this.”

  Kelli chuckled. Somehow Logan the bachelor had landed at a table full of women, and they’d been giving him a hard time— naming people who’d be perfect for him or claiming him for themselves. He wasn’t necessarily Kelli’s type, but there was no question he was good-looking. She was dying to ask his ethnicity. Was he part Latino?

  “I’ll cut a rug with him,” said a woman who’d introduced herself as Hattie Cooper, “but I want it to be a slow number.” She looked twice his age, but she’d already told Logan he was a “handsome fella.”

  “I think we should hold an auction,” said the woman beside her. “A Dance with Logan. We could put some charity back in the black.”

  The table roared with laughter.

  “Are you blushing over there?” Cyd asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you blush.”

  Logan looked elsewhere, trying his best to pay them no mind, but his face was the shade of tomatoes.

  “Okay, Logan, we’ll leave you alone,” Miss Hattie said. “But one question first, and I’m serious. What’s with the women at your church? Are they mostly old like me or married? Not a lot of singles?”

  “Miss Hattie,” Stephanie said, “there are at least two hundred single women at our church who’d marry him next Saturday if he asked.”

  Miss Hattie slugged Logan on the arm. “Well, son, why haven’t you picked one?”

  “Whoa! You’ve got some muscle,” Logan said with a laugh. “Miss Hattie, I’m only thirty-one. And to be honest, I’m not really interested in marriage right now. My time is filled with the same thing most everyone else here’s time is filled with—music. I guess you could say that’s what I’m married to.” He smiled. “But maybe one day, way down the road.”

  “All right, young man,” she said, giving him the eye. “But don’t forget to give me your e-mail so I can connect you with my granddaughter.”

  Kelli snickered when she caught Logan peeking at Stephanie, mouthing, All your fault. Seconds later her phone vibrated. She’d thought it funny that so many of them had set their phones on the table, tweeting or updating their Facebook statuses. She brought her phone close to see who was calling.

  Miles. She’d avoided his calls all day while they were traveling and checking in, but she couldn’t delay much longer. She answered as she ducked out of the ballroom. “Hi.”

  “She lives.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s been a busy day.”

  “Been on the job hunt?”

  “Um . . .” Could she call it that? “Yeah. Taking different paths, trying to see which doors will open.”

  Several people had gathered outside the ballroom. Kelli moved farther away so he wouldn’t ask where she was. “How’d your presentation go?”

  “Way better than I expected. You were right. Preparation was key. I studied the material backward and forward and was able to answer all their questions. The team left excited about the kind of software we could develop for mobile access and management. And of course, my immediate supervisor was glad I made him look good.”

  “I had no doubt you’d knock it out of the park. You need to do something special to celebrate.”

  “I would, if you were here. As it is, my ‘celebration’ consists of a fund-raising dinner my parents are hosting for renovations of the children’s museum. And by the way, I can’t wait for them to meet you. I know they’ll love you.”

  “I look forward to meeting them,” she said, though she wondered what they’d think of her. From what she had gleaned, Miles’s people were old money—or at least “older” than anything she’d ever glimpsed—and big into community prestige.

  “I’d better get going,” he said. “What are you doing tonight? Anything special?”

  Kelli saw the lights dim in the ballroom. She hated being secretive, but there was no way she could explain the conference without delving into aspects of her life she’d left untapped thus far with him. Maybe one day. But not right now. “Spending some time with my sisters-in-law. Kind of a girls’ night out.”

  “Have fun,” he said. “I’ll talk to you later this weekend.”

  As Kelli worked her way back to the table, a familiar up-tempo beat fired up. Rita’s voice boomed above the chart-topping song. “She needs no introduction here, does she?”

  “No! Woo!” sounded from the crowd as people rose to their feet. Kelli stood between Cyd and Stephanie, her eyes on the stage.

  “The incomparable, the electric, the young woman who’ll set your heart on fire for God—Monica Styles!”

  The special effects lighting went wild and Monica’s voice filled the air before anyone could see her, moving many in the crowd to their tiptoes. A laser spotlight flashed various spots around the room, then landed on Monica as she took the stage. She had an infectious exuberance, bouncing with her dancers across the stage with lively moves that got the rest of them going.

  Kelli rocked side to side and sang along, shaking her head as Stephanie mimicked Monica’s raise-the-roof dance. Stephanie looked back at Logan and gestured for him to join in, but he stuck with a cool head bop, like Cyd.

  “Hallelujah!” Monica said, the song fading beneath her voice. “Are y’all having a good time?”

  Hoots and calls sounded all around. A concert vibe had replaced the conference vibe in the space of four minutes. Probably wasn’t hard to do in a music-loving crowd.

  “I’m so glad to be here tonight,” Monica declared. “This conference blessed me in ways I couldn’t have imagined, and I know it’ll bless you too. Right now I’m excited to share one of my favorites from the album I’m working on . . . I’m hoping it becomes a favorite of yours too.”

  The music started pumping.

  “And I’ve got a special surprise for you,” she said above the beat. “My good friend is featured on this song. I think you may know him. His first album is still garnering lots of attention, and he’s making a surprise appearance with me here tonight!” She stepped aside and extended her hand. “Show your love for Alien!”

  The crowd roared as loud as it had for Monica. Kelli was clueless. She looked at Stephanie, thinking she would know who he was, but Stephanie shrugged.

  Alien made his entrance onstage, rhyming on top of the music, easing into choreographed moves with Monica. Kelli loved the beat, nodded her head—then froze.

  She took a couple of steps forward. I must be seeing things. That can’t be Brian.

  She’d already had one shock this week where he was concerned. When Cedric told her he’d seen Brian at Living Word, she’d thought he was joking. He had to call Lindell to prove it, which only meant it was true but she still couldn’t believe it. When Cedric said Brian wanted her to call him, she thought Brian had to be joking. The thought made her skin crawl.

  Like seeing him right now.

  Brian, a Christian rapper? He was one of the few kids in high school who knew exactly what he wanted to be, a scientist. She couldn’t count the number of times they’d visited the St. Louis Science Center together—his idea of Saturday fun. How had he ever gotten onto this path?

  “Give Him your all,” he said above the music.

  “Give Him your all,” the crowd answered back.

  “Kelli, you okay?” Cyd touched her shoulder. “You look . . . weird.”

  Kelli kept staring forward, her ears filling with Brian’s vocals.

  “It’s not about you, it’s all about Him . . .”

  He’s got to be kidding.

  “Kelli, what is it?” Cyd asked.

  “That’s Brian Howard
. My old boyfriend.”

  “What?” Cyd turned. “Steph, Kelli knows him. He’s her old boyfriend.”

  Stephanie moved closer. “The one Lindell and Cedric saw at church?”

  Kelli nodded.

  “They didn’t say he was a rapper!”

  Cyd looked at her sister. “Maybe because he wasn’t rapping at church? I’m just guessing. How would they know if Brian didn’t tell them?”

  Applause rang out around them. Brian left the stage, and a slower song began, one Kelli recognized as one of Monica’s popular worship songs. But she couldn’t worship at the moment. She was still frozen in place, frozen inside.

  Cyd and Stephanie gazed alternately between the stage and Kelli. “Why don’t we go, Kelli?” Cyd finally asked.

  Stephanie took her hand and pulled her. “Come on. You and Cyd were so big on sister time. Let’s get a head start right now.” She glanced at the stage. “We’ll get a fresh start tomorrow, and hopefully Mr. Alien will have moved on to another planet.”

  Kelli followed them out, with the sick feeling that she and Brian were on a collision course. She’d run into him sooner or later, whether here or back in St. Louis . . . and she hadn’t the slightest idea how she would handle it.

  seven

  HEATHER LAY IN BED, MIND RACING, OR MAYBE BOUNCING like a pinball, careening from one good thing to the next, or maybe skipping, as in a field of flowers with blue sky, not a cloud in sight, or maybe . . . Maybe her mind was just spinning from too much wine. She shook her head hard to clear it, but it still felt like a jumble—a good jumble. All of her thoughts right now—for once—were good.

  She moved her leg closer to Ace’s to play footsie. He’d drifted off more than a half hour ago, but she wanted him to wake up, keep her company. They’d had a few moments of conversation over dinner in the suite—prime rib, red potatoes, bottle of red wine—but it all seemed to be building to one thing, the bedroom. Now she was wide awake and wanted to really talk, get to know him better, find out more about his background, how he got in the business.

  She turned to look at the clock—11:48—and sighed. First session would start tomorrow morning at eight, and she wanted to be her best self. Better try to get to sleep, just close her eyes and—

  “Journey On” started playing, one of the songs recorded by Ace’s band. She lifted her head to find his phone. It was on the nightstand but stopped after several seconds, then started up again. On the third go-round, he stirred, grabbed it.

  “Yo.” His voice was gravelly, his body unmoved. “Angela? Where are you?” He sat up suddenly. “You’re what?”

  Heather looked at him. Emergency?

  “Listen, just close the door and put the key in the ignition. The alarm should stop.” He paused. “All right. How far away are you? . . . No, no problem.” He sighed. “I said it’s no problem.” He paused. “Love you too.”

  A ton of bricks landed on Heather’s heart. She closed her eyes so she could keep skipping through that field.

  Ace got out of bed. “Heather?”

  Would it matter if he thought she was asleep?

  “Heather!” He reached across the bed and shook her. “Sorry, you have to go.”

  “What?” She squinted. “What do you mean?”

  “My girlfriend’s on her way. She’ll be here in less than an hour.”

  She sat up. “Your girlfriend? If she means that much, why am I here? And why is she coming at midnight, anyway?”

  Ace expelled a long sigh, running his fingers through his spikes. “We’ve been having trust issues.”

  Wonder why.

  “She knows Mallory Knight is here this weekend. We used to date. She said she wanted to surprise me, but I think she’s checking up on me. Ooh, boy”—he rubbed the back of his neck—“if she hadn’t had a problem with the car alarm when she stopped for gas, I wouldn’t have known she was coming till she knocked at the door.”

  Heather was reeling. “Well, what am I supposed to do?”

  “I can give you some money for another room. They’ve probably got some last-minute cancellations. But other than that, I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

  Ten minutes later Heather was pulling her suitcase back down the long hallway. She just wanted to find a good place to cry. And lie down. Her head was still spinning, and she suddenly felt like vomiting.

  She pushed the Down button for the elevator, then the Lobby button, and leaned against the wall, head drooping. When she got off, she wandered over to the registration desk, where a lone man was reading a book.

  “Um, I need a room.” Her voice was so slight she barely recognized it.

  “Ma’am, we’ve been booked for months. There are several conferences in town.”

  “No cancellations?”

  “I’m sorry. None.”

  Heather felt tears of despair rising. “Could you give me some numbers for other hotels around here?”

  He hadn’t moved, his finger poised as a bookmark. “I could, ma’am, but I’m hearing everything’s sold out in the area. It’s just one of those weekends.”

  Heather nodded and turned, staring into the distance. What was she supposed to do? She couldn’t drive the several hours it would take to get home, not feeling like this. Even driving far enough to find a hotel with vacancies seemed too ambitious. She barely had strength to stand, and she felt like—

  She turned back. “Where’s your restroom?”

  He looked up from the page. “Across the lobby, down that hall, ma’am.”

  Hand to her mouth, Heather hustled as fast as she could, pushed open the bathroom door, and entered the first stall, leaving her luggage just outside. The second she leaned her head over the toilet, she vomited, again and again. Sweat beaded her forehead, and she thought she would faint. She sank to the floor, but just as she did, her stomach heaved again and she moved her face over the toilet, emptying whatever was left of the food. She grabbed toilet paper and wiped her mouth, then more to wipe her forehead, shaking all the while. She flushed the toilet and sank against the beige wall.

  Right here was a good place to cry.

  The sobs that had been gathering in her chest spilled out. Why? Why did this happen? How could Ace just put her out like that? He’d invited her. He’d slept with her. She laughed into her sobs. None of that mattered to him. She didn’t matter to him. She never mattered. She was the one who could walk into a room and grab all the attention, the one guys tripped over themselves to get to, the one who never had a problem finding someone to hook up with. But she was never the one who mattered.

  She was the one who got kicked out of men’s beds.

  Heather pulled her knees to her chest, the scene from eight months ago vivid in her mind. She knew she’d entered forbidden territory, sleeping with a married man. But she and Scott had met in the choir, sung duets, had good conversations. He was unlike any man she’d known, a sincere man who actually wanted to live right—and she wanted a man like that, a special man, to want her.

  She knew what she was doing—flirting in a nonflirtatious way, gaining his friendship. She felt special whenever she was with him, and she dared to imagine herself with him, really with him, the one he’d love and adore.

  But the fantasy died the day Dana burst into the room and caught them in bed. Scott made his position clear. He loved and adored his wife. Heather needed to stop calling.

  Now here she was once more, the dispensable one.

  She felt sick again. Not a vomity sick but a cheap and filthy sick. How could she give herself to Ace, to Scott, to others, and receive nothing in return? Nothing but an aching loneliness. And a feeling of worthlessness.

  Who was she, anyway? Just a tramp? She’d heard the whispers. When Scott confessed before the church, he didn’t implicate her by name, but many in the choir suspected . . . and called her names under their breath. And maybe they were right. An empty laugh escaped. Admit it, girl. Of course they were right.

  “You’re beautiful, baby,” her mother always
said. “You’ve got the look men fantasize about. Use it to your advantage.”

  That’s what her mother had done. Heather couldn’t remember a time when her mother didn’t have a man in her life to care for her in some way. She and Heather’s dad had been married four years, but after their divorce Heather watched a parade of men move into and out of her mother’s life. She’d never felt comfortable around those men or with her mother’s lifestyle. No one ever said it outright, but it just seemed wrong, spending the night with different men. Definitely wrong that she’d basically left Heather to raise herself. Her mother was the last person she wanted to emulate . . . and yet . . . A new wave of tears emerged. Wasn’t that exactly who she’d become?

  Her head fell on her knees. Didn’t her mother ever feel used herself? Didn’t she ever feel absolutely empty? Because that’s how Heather felt. She hugged her knees, trembling.

  I can’t live like this. I don’t want to live like this. But what do I do? God, help me.

  The tears flowed harder when she heard her own heart crying out. Who was she to ask for God’s help? Tramp. Adulterer. Served her right, getting kicked out of that room after all she’d done. Why would God care about her?

  God loves you, Heather. Don’t ever forget that. He cares for you.

  Heather lifted her head and looked around. The words were so clear, as was the voice. Logan.

  She’d known she couldn’t stay in the choir after all that happened. When she told Logan she was leaving—not just the choir, but the church too—he asked why, but she’d said she didn’t want to talk about it. She wondered if he suspected, but if he did, he didn’t let on. He simply left her with those words: “God loves you, Heather. Don’t ever forget that. He cares for you.”

  She blew it off at the time. Who didn’t know that? But now, right now, those words loomed like a lifeline, and she wondered if she could grab hold of them. She wondered if they were true. She needed that talk with Logan.

  Heather reached over and pulled the straps of her purse toward her, digging inside for her phone. She scrolled through the contacts. Please be here. It was—Logan’s cell number. He gave it to every choir member and said to use it freely, always stressing that the choir was about more than singing; it was a ministry.