My Soul Then Sings

by Michelle Lindo-Rice

  She pulled up the video camera on her iPod and pressed record. From deep within her soul, Karlie sang the first line: “I am weak but Thou art strong . . .” Ooh, her heart thumped. She’d lived these words. Knew what they meant. “Jesus, keep me from all wrong . . .”

  She thought of Brian, Jamaal, and Ryan’s treachery. Karlie held a sob as the words struck her being, and she poured it out in the next line: “I’ll be satisfied as long as I walk, let me walk close to Thee.”

  A presence surrounded her. The Holy Spirit was paying her a visit.

  Thank you, Jesus.

  She sang, “Just a closer walk with Thee . . . Grant it, Jesus, is my plea . . . Daily walking close to Thee . . . Let it be, dear Lord, let it be . . .”

  Karlie closed her eyes as every word and every note swept her away. She sang the rest of the song knowing she was in God’s presence. She repeated the refrain several times. The song was a personal testament between her and God. He had lifted her so that her song drew her unto Him, her comforter.

  “Let it be, dear Lord, let it be . . .”

  Karlie held the last note until her breath caught. A spirit of rejoicing bubbled up. She lifted her hands and her face toward heaven. “Thank you, Jesus!” She jumped with joy and praised God as she never had before.

  With a shiver, she pressed the stop button. She knew without any doubt that she had sung the best she had ever sung in her entire life. Her hands shook, but Karlie knew she needed to hit replay.

  No, she had a better idea.

  Karlie pressed the video and hit the upload button. She would share her song with everyone. She had to. The screen flashed signaling the video was finished uploading. For one split second, Karlie questioned herself. Then, she hit the publish button and released her pain to the world.

  Karlie knew God had just revealed His plan for her life. Her mother had sung and made the world dance, but Tiffany had died before she could use her talents for His glory. God would complete the work in her. Karlie would sing, and the world would praise God.

  Basking in His revelation, Karlie shouted, “It’s in your hands, Lord! Whatever your will for me, I surrender to you! Use me! Use me for your glory!”

  She heard a whisper.

  You’re ready.

  Karlie clapped her hands and whirled like a schoolgirl in the sun. Yes, she was ready. No more hiding. It was time to sing. Face life head-on. “Hold on, world. I’m ready to face whatever you throw my way. Here I come!”

  She sang “Take me to the King,” “Power in the Name,” “Blessed Assurance,” and then “His Eye Is on the Sparrow.” Finally, her vocal chords pleaded with her to rest. Tired from her tribute to God, Karlie relaxed on the couch. She did not know how long she had been asleep before she felt a hand shaking her out of her slumber.

  “Have you been here the whole time I was gone?” Merle asked.

  Karlie pranced to her feet. “Grandma! I’m singing again!” She clapped her hands with exultation.

  Merle clutched her chest and backed away.

  Karlie frowned. “Are you all right?” She placed a hand on her grandmother’s forehead.

  “You called me Grandma just now,” Merle said, releasing her words in small breaths. “It felt good.”

  Karlie smiled. She caressed Merle’s face. The doctors repaired the damage as best as they could, but Merle’s face would forever be scarred.

  “Let me hear the song,” Merle said. “I want to hear the words that made my baby call me Grandma.”

  “My voice is tired, but I’ll do you one better,” Karlie said. She led her grandmother over to the computer and pulled up the YouTube video.

  Oh my goodness! Her video had 276,000 hits. In what, three hours? That was unreal!

  Karlie’s heart pounded. “Grandma, so many people clicked my video. Look at all the like buttons.” She pressed play.

  Yep, there she was. Singing a cappella. Karlie couldn’t believe that the voice she was hearing belonged to her.

  Merle closed her eyes and swayed her body to the tune. Karlie chewed on her lower lip with extreme nervousness. A couple of times she tried to ask Merle for her opinion, but her grandmother shushed her.

  Merle stood in a trancelike position until Karlie’s final note flowed through the speakers.

  “Grandma?” Karlie asked.

  Merle’s face beamed. “Honestly, that was magical. You have a gift, child. Actually, let me rephrase that. You’re a gift. A gift from God.”

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Brian listened to Karlie’s song for the sixth time. Again, dime-sized goose bumps rose on his arms. Karlie’s voice was majestic. He had no idea she could sing like that. Neither did any of the over 600,000 people who listened to her on YouTube. People raved how her raw vocals had mesmerized them.

  Your voice is transcendent, he texted to Karlie, not expecting a reply. Karlie hadn’t responded to his previous fifty-odd text messages.

  I can’t believe it has 692,000 likes.

  Brian nearly dropped the phone when his cell vibrated. He read the screen. Karlie had sent him a text. She’s back. He quickly pulled up her contact information and pressed the call button.

  While the phone rang in his ear, Brian raced into his closet to grab his sneakers and to pull on some jeans. If Karlie answered, he wasn’t hanging up until he knew where she was hiding. He had staked out Neil’s home. He’d even peeked through Tiffany’s old home but saw no sign of Karlie.

  His call went to voice mail. Brian redialed. This time she answered.

  His breath caught at her voice. Time hadn’t done anything to curb his feelings. “It feels like a lifetime,” he said. “Where are you?”

  “I’m at my grandmother’s.”

  “Merle’s? What are you doing in that madwoman’s house?” Brian should have considered Merle since Karlie had mentioned her, but in his defense, he did not think Karlie would have spent more than a few hours at her house.

  “She’s not mad, and Grandma’s not that bad,” Karlie said.

  Brian actually looked at his screen to make sure he saw Karlie’s face on it.

  “Hello?” he heard through the line.

  “I’m here,” he said. “I just had to make sure I hadn’t gone crazy and that I’m speaking to Karlie Knightly, the daughter of Tiffany Knightly—whom Merle rejected not once, but twice. The first time being when she cruelly chose to believe her rapist husband over her teenage daughter. The second time being when Tiffany was dying of cancer and she refused to open her home to you. Am I speaking to that Karlie?”

  “Yes. I know the history isn’t pretty, but Grandma is sorry for how she treated my mother when she was alive,” Karlie said.

  What had Merle done to brainwash Karlie in such a short time? And what’s with this Grandma business? He needed to get over there. “What’s her address?”

  “This is why I didn’t want to call,” Karlie said. “I don’t want you coming here and acting the fool. I’m grown. I came here of my own free will. It’s where I wanted to be.”

  Brian knew that arguing with Karlie might cause her to retreat into her self-imposed cocoon. “You’re right, and I’m sorry. Please tell me where you are.”

  It took a little prodding, but she finally rattled off her location. Brian jumped into his Range Rover, a twenty-first birthday present from his father. He programmed the address into his GPS and took off.

  Twenty-five minutes later, he swerved to a smooth stop in front of Merle’s home and admired the stucco front. Eyeing the landscaping, he whistled. Karlie had set up her grandmother in style. His mouth popped open at the black Chrysler 500C sitting in the driveway.

  For real? Merle is living large off her dead daughter’s estate.

  Brian bounded out of the vehicle and rushed up the four steps to the entrance of the home. Then he pressed on the doorbell.

  Karlie answered the door, and Brian wrapped her in his arms. He hugged her longer than necessary, resisting the urge to swing her in his arms.

 
; “I missed you,” he said, peering into her eyes.

  She gave him a tender smile that faded.

  Brian understood why she tethered her emotions, but he did not like it. Not one bit. He crossed the threshold curious to see the interior. The shiny wooden floors and vaulted ceilings, along with the 60-inch screen in a mauve-color, coordinated living and dining area.

  “My grandmother went to bed,” Karlie said.

  Brian nodded. That was cool by him. He was not eager to see her. “I texted Neil and my mother to let them know your whereabouts.”

  Her shoulders drooped. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Listen, you have plenty of people worried about you, yet you’re hiding out at Grandma’s,” Brian said. “This isn’t the story of Little Red Riding Hood. It’s real life. Have you forgotten you have a paternity test you need to take? Not need—must. You have to know who you are.”

  Karlie lifted her chin. “I know who I am. I’m me.” She pointed to her chest. “I’m Merle’s granddaughter. That’s all I need to know.”

  “The girl singing on YouTube says otherwise. You’re bursting with pain. You’re trying to hide it under all that praising, but you’re only fooling yourself. Karlie, there was real sorrow in your voice. It moved me in ways I can’t begin to explain. But you’re in denial if you think the song brought you relief. It’s just the beginning of your healing. You’re ready to face the past.”

  Her eyes shifted from his. “What would you know about what praising can do? You don’t even go to church.”

  “Shows what you know,” Brian said. “I’ve been going with your folks.” He wouldn’t add his original motivation had been to see her.

  “You . . . You’re going to church?” Her eyes were popped open wide. Sheesh, you’d think he’d said the sun was blue or something.

  “Yes.” Brian nodded emphatically. “Maybe it’s all that praying you used to do for me. Who knows when God answers prayer.”

  “What was last week’s message?” she asked.

  He put his hands on his hips. “Your father preached about the three Hebrew boys who wouldn’t bow down to Nebuchadnezzar’s image. Now do you believe me?”

  “I wasn’t there to confirm, but, yes, I believe you,” she said.

  “When I’m there, I enjoy the worship service. I feel a high as if nothing is impossible, but when I leave I still have things to deal with. Like not speaking to my father. Like the pain from this psoriasis.” He arched an eyebrow.

  “I know I have things to deal with,” Karlie said. “But don’t sleep on praise. I’ve seen people healed by praise. Jericho’s wall came down on a shout.”

  Brian squinted. “I hate when you get obtuse. God made psychologists. He made ministers because they minister. Get it? You need to seek help, Karlie.”

  The fire went out of her. “Did you come here to kill my buzz?”

  “No, I came here because I want you to know I’m here. You’re ready, and you can face things. Just stop hiding.”

  Her voice quivered. “Today was the first day I was able to be carefree in God. Just rejoice. All the other days . . . I would be fine until bedtime. Then I’m kept awake by the sound of my thoughts. My heart can’t take any more.”

  Karlie slumped onto the couch. Brian joined her, holding her close to him.

  “I don’t know how much I can deal with,” Karlie said. “I came here to find comfort in my real family, and I’ve found it. But . . . It’s hard. For years, I felt the shame of being a product of rape. My stepfather raped my mother, and here I came. It was tough, but I had Jamaal . . .” She gulped and looked at him. “And you.”

  Brian rubbed her back as her shoulders heaved from crying. He hated jarring her and spoiling her good time, but Karlie was finally opening up.

  Brian found a paper towel in the kitchen and handed it to her. As he watched her wipe her pitiful face, his heart shifted.

  “Keep talking, sweetheart,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head. “Let it out.”

  He inhaled at his slip of tongue, but Karlie was too distressed to notice his term of endearment.

  “You know what’s worse than being a child of rape? Having . . .” She sobbed and wiped her nose. “Having a fa. . . fath . . . father rej . . . reject you because he . . . he . . . didn’t wa . . . wa . . .” Her shoulders heaved. “Want me.” She raised ravaged eyes to his. “Why didn’t he want me?”

  Brian shook his head. He wished he knew the answer to that question. He wanted to believe it was more than Ryan’s selfishness. “Hush,” Brian whispered. “I want you. I want you.”

  Brian knew he was out of his element. Karlie needed professional help. Only Ryan could answer the question of her heart. Resentment rose. Brian wasn’t sure his father was capable of honesty.

  Karlie eased onto his lap. Brian comforted her until her tears subsided into small heart-wrenching sniffs. Tears misted his eyes. He tried to fight the anger raging in his system. He hated Ryan Oakes with every fiber of his being. His father needed to have poles hammered into his eyes for causing Karlie such agony. Brian immediately regretted the evil thought, but he swore to make his father pay. He wouldn’t leave this earth until that happened.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Can someone explain this whole religion thing to me because I am mystified? Ryan studied his reflection in his bathroom mirror.

  When he and Patricia had left Pastor Ward’s office, he had been hopeful. After that prayer session, surely things would be better . . . he thought. But Ryan didn’t know what happened to Patricia during the drive home because when he pulled his car behind hers and stepped out, a different woman exited her vehicle.

  She was sullen, uncommunicative, and went to sleep without an explanation. What was the point of praying if she was going to forget everything once they left the pastor’s office?

  Ryan reached for his electric razor, which he kept charged, to shave his cheeks, but he was so distracted he shaved off half his moustache.

  His eyes widened in disbelief. What did he just do? Maybe it isn’t so bad. Ryan leaned into the mirror to look. I haven’t seen my upper lip in years. With a light buzz, he shaved off the other side. When he was done, he examined his work. He looked funny. Ryan’s hand grazed his upper lip. This “new him” was going to take some getting used to. He would see what Patricia thought.

  Ryan entered the room, relieved to see she was still awake.

  Patricia’s eyes zoomed in on Ryan’s face and became bug-eyed. “What did you do?”

  Ryan shifted his eyes from hers. “It was an accident.” Please tell me I look good.

  Patricia tilted her head back and laughed. She laughed and laughed, while he stood there blinking and blinking.

  “I can’t believe you’re laughing at me. It can’t be that bad.”

  She laughed some more before cupping her mouth. “I’m sorry. I think black men must always have facial hair. You remind me of Don Lemon.”

  Ryan froze. He knew she wasn’t comparing him to that CNN reporter. Patricia knew he couldn’t stand him. He stomped into the closet, yanked clothes off the hangers from his otherwise organized closet, and quickly dressed.

  Patricia’s laughter stung. There was a time when she would have cuddled him and told him how she thought he was cute. Instead, she had laughed at him. He knew it might seem petty, but Patricia’s response was big to him. She had always had his back. Always. Now he was a joke. Just like their sham of a marriage. Only he was the only one not laughing.

  He was a grown man. There was no reason his wife’s mirth should rankle him, but it did. He felt self-conscious and naked without the hair on his upper lip.

  Before he slammed the front door behind him, he mumbled, “Lord, I know I put myself in this mess, but if you could hurry up and get me out, I’d really appreciate it.”

  Ryan rubbed his bare upper lip. It will grow back, he assured himself repeatedly as he slipped inside his Navigator. He couldn’t resist another peek. Luckily, his cell phone
rang to distract him.

  “Ryan, this is Frank returning your call. I was caught up in some other business.”

  Frank. Ryan hunched into his seat. “Thanks for calling.”

  “Let’s meet for coffee,” Frank suggested.

  Something deep within beckoned Ryan not to take Frank up on his offer. “I was on my way to my office . . .” He thought of his son. His daughter. His wife. None of them were in his corner. He wasn’t sure what God was doing because He had him on a spiritual seesaw. His stomach churned.

  “If you’ve changed your mind . . .”

  No. Frank’s call might be God’s doing. Ryan needed help with this court case. “I’ll see you in a few minutes,” he said, gripping the steering wheel.

  The two agreed to meet at a Dunkin’ Donuts in twenty minutes. Ryan shifted into drive and arrived in fifteen minutes. Sauntering into the donut joint, he ordered two coffees and a couple of muffins. Then he sat in a booth and waited for Frank.

  Frank strolled in behind a young mother and her twin sons. Ryan watched the pudgy man charm the young lady and smiled. Frank made sure to strike up quick conversations with two other patrons before strolling over to Ryan’s table.

  “Coffee?” Ryan asked.

  Frank gave him a brief nod.

  “I thought you’d look more . . . menacing.”

  The other man laughed and sank his teeth into a muffin. “I get that all the time.” Frank frowned. “Believe me when I tell you, I get the job done.”

  Ryan shuddered on the inside. Frank had transformed from unassuming to sinister in under two seconds. Maybe he should take Pastor Ward’s advice. The walk of a Christian meant faith in God. “Let God fight your battles” was what Pastor Ward sometimes said. But this problem could cost him millions of dollars and his reputation. What was a man without his reputation?

  Before he could change his mind, Ryan wrote Jackson Higgins’s name and phone number on a napkin. “I need him annihilated. I need this case gone.”

  Frank folded the napkin and tucked it into his shirt pocket. “Consider it done. I’ll check in with you in a week.”

  Ryan felt uneasy but gave Frank an uncertain nod.