Not Guilty of Love

by Pat Simmons

  Malcolm was amused. So the little woman liked taking the lead. He grinned. Come Monday, he planned to ask Mr. Winfield to remove him from the engagement contract. There came a time in a man's life where he had to decide whether to take the bait. Malcolm had his mouth wide open.

  "Lisa, you do realize if we don't stop where this relationship is going, it won't be business." He waited for her response.

  "I would welcome the development of a personal relationship over a business one. Next question."

  The woman's confidence was exhilarating, but he refused to be put in another situation like the one with Hallison. He had to ask upfront, "Do you go to church? Lunching at the Abbey doesn't count."

  She released a haughty snicker. "Only when I have to on C.M.E."

  "What does that mean?"

  "You know Christmas, Mother's Day, and Easter, plus weddings, funerals—only because it's good for my business. Why?"

  "Oh, I'm curious. I wanted to know whether we were on the same page." Yes. Lisa could be a woman after my heart.

  "We are, so let's turn it," Lisa stated.

  Chapter Seven

  Hallison sucked in her breath when Samuel Smith walked into her office. Her Friday, four o'clock, appointment was multi-lingual, double-degreed, and fine. Hallison almost suffocated, forgetting to breathe. The tiredness, hunger, and crankiness she felt earlier evaporated when the door opened.

  The deep-chocolate brother was larger than life. Hallison stood to greet him. She masked her appreciation in order to maintain her professionalism and to remind the applicant that the power of his future employment was in her hands.

  "Hi, Samuel. Please, have a seat."

  "Thank you. Please call me Sam." His baritone voice almost put Hallison into a trance as he did what she instructed. Samuel set his briefcase next to the chair, then reclined slightly. Crossing his ankle over a knee and folding his hands, he gave Hallison his full attention. He wore his confidence on his sleeve. She couldn't determine if he felt he already had the job, or if that was his normal demeanor.

  Reclaiming her chair, Hallison sat straight as she fumbled with Samuel's folder. "Your credentials are impressive." He nodded in affirmation as she continued reading his accolades. "You were recently laid off after the InBev takeover of Anheuser-Busch.

  "That is correct." His strong voice rumbled from his throat.

  She asked him the tough questions about conflict resolution, employee morale, and productivity. Samuel gave the right answers. She made notes on his resume and listened intently for any flaws in his story. When he relaxed, they chatted about his preferred sport of rabbit hunting and sailing on the Lake of the Ozarks, located a few hours from St. Louis. Hallison enjoyed the repartee.

  Thirty minutes later, she noted the time and closed his file. "Samuel, thank you for applying for the software support specialist position. Do you have any questions?"

  Samuel's presence reminded Hallison that she was indeed an available single woman; a Christian woman. She wondered about Samuel's commitment to Christ, but of course, she wouldn't dare introduce that subject in an interview without compromising the fairness-in-hiring laws. That still didn't keep Samuel's mustache-trimmed lip from flirting with her every time he talked about the recognition awards he had received on the job.

  "Yes. You mentioned medical, vision, and dental benefits. Does that include partners of employees? That's the deciding factor if I will entertain an offer. The insurance premiums at Jerome's job are too costly."

  Hallison had to keep her jaw from becoming unhinged to maintain a professional demeanor. "The bank does offer benefits to qualified partners of eligible employees. The premiums are reasonable." She wanted to hand him a gospel tract. Instead, she stood and reached across her desk. "Samuel, as of this moment, you're the most qualified for the position, but I have three more interviews on Monday. I'll be in touch."

  "Thank you." Samuel stood and accepted Hallison's firm handshake before retrieving his briefcase. He gave her one final grin before leaving, adding a slight switch to his hips.

  When her door shut, Hallison yelled to her empty office, "Jesus!" Not only did Samuel need a job with great benefits, he needed salvation, which was the best benefit.

  Cheney inhaled and slowly exhaled as she stared up at her parents' stately Westmoreland Place mansion. After stopping at a wrought-iron security gate, she was allowed to proceed, once an elderly guard, Mr. Yates, cleared her. The two-story, narrow watch tower, built before the fifty-plus custom-built homes were completed, was meant to deter unwanted gawkers.

  Leaving work early, Cheney had arranged for late pick up for Kami after pre-school in hopes of having an uninterrupted conversation with her father. She parked in one of five spaces in the semi-circle driveway. The pampered lawn and flower beds failed to grab her usual admiration. She had moved back to St. Louis a couple of years ago from Raleigh, North Carolina. Cheney's visits to the three-story, fifteen-room house she had once called home were fewer than she had hoped. The term "strained relationship" wasn't the half of it. The Reynoldses could develop grudges, maintain them, and then take them to the grave. Her so-called secret abortion started the process.

  Her mother, whose walk with God was short lived, didn't offer Cheney a new key to the house, and Cheney didn't ask for one. Mattie, the longtime housekeeper, snuck Cheney a key anyway. Hoping to forego an unwarranted argument with her mother, Cheney slipped the key into the lock.

  It was a drastic measure, but Cheney had called every morning since Roland was released from the hospital, wanting answers to her unspoken questions. Gayle Reynolds had immediately dismissed any mention that her upstanding and beloved husband was a criminal. Her mother had warned Cheney if she so much as implied that Roland was responsible for any of the mess caused by her deranged neighbor, she would be removed from the premises.

  She dodged a confrontation by ducking into the living room like a prowler. The quick motion made her dizzy until she composed herself. Finally, she crossed the foyer to a large, paneled room used to entertain a gathering of up to seventy guests. She pushed open the door, and Roland looked up from reading a hardcover book. Through an unbuttoned shirt, his bandages were visible.

  Initially, Roland's response was surprise, then caution. "Hello, daughter." He mustered a carefree smile as Cheney walked into the room; her shoes sunk into the carpet. When she bent to kiss his steel gray, permanently curled hair, he patted her stomach as if he were performing a medical examination. No words were exchanged as he nodded his satisfaction before she sat near his recliner.

  They held stares until Cheney looked away. Clearing her throat, she squinted. "Who are you?" She opted to forego inquiring about his health.

  "I'm your father who loves you, and a man who made a terrible mistake."

  "Mistakes aren't allowed in the Reynolds family, or at least that's what you've drilled into our heads." Cheney didn't want to be hateful, bitter, or disgusted, but she was engaged in a flesh and spirit battle. She prayed she wouldn't say anything she would have to repent for later. "You've killed a man, and I killed my baby. I guess we're even," she said, snarling through clenched teeth.

  Finding a temporary distraction outside the double patio doors, Roland was slow to respond. The fifty-two-year-old gynecologist was known for his intimidating, opinionated remarks. Roland and Gayle had recently celebrated thirty years of marriage. They earned the respect of the children: twins, Cheney and Rainey, and Janae, the eldest, but when their instructions were ignored, punishments were swift and their memories long, in contrast to their tender love that always lingered beyond the discipline. "Were you ever going to say anything? Does Momma know?"

  "I never told your mother." The strong man she knew seemed to shrink under her chastisement. "I never planned to, but that didn't mean the memories didn't slap me across my face from time to time. When I saw the peace God had given you after so many years, I craved it, too, but to embrace that tranquility, I knew I had to unload some dark things in my past.
I was on my way to Mrs. Beacon's house when I stopped at Wabash Park to rehearse my confession one last time." Roland sighed. "I didn't expect her to be there with a loaded gun in her purse." He rubbed his head. "I can understand you being angry."

  "Angry?" Cheney gripped the chair in restraint. "How about shocked, betrayed, and disappointed? Did I mention how guilty I felt when I heard that you were the person who stole something so precious from a woman who gave me laughter when I felt like crying? How could you, Daddy?"

  "How could I? You were the pregnant, unwed mother-to-be," he defended. "You could've tainted our family's good name. My grandfather, father, and I strived to maintain a blemish-free reputation within the medical community."

  Cheney wanted to throw up, and it had nothing to do with her condition. Her dad's hypocrisy made her stomach knot and heave.

  "Then you used your upstanding reputation to violate my rights to privacy. As a patient, my medical records were supposed to be confidential. I was an independent adult, and student, who had earned a scholarship to Duke University. I was handling the situation the best way I knew how at the time."

  Clearly shaken by his daughter's outburst, Roland lifted a finger to point, but Cheney cut him off.

  "You're an imposter! Were you pretending to come to Christ? Daddy, I love you and desperately wanted to restore your faith in me. Ha! What a wasted effort on my part."

  "Cheney, is that you in there? Don't you dare upset your father. I'll be in there in a minute, Roland dear," Gayle yelled from somewhere in the house. Cheney could set her watch. Her mother would be by her husband's side soon.

  God took advantage of the interruption and whispered, Forgive as I have forgiven you.

  She silently defended her actions. You've got to be kiddin', God. This is different. He's been living on Wall Street while I rented space on Torment Alley.

  "Mrs. Beacon had every right to retaliate for the wrong I caused her, but I'm asking for your forgiveness, baby," he pleaded. "I had made up my mind to come clean. It just so happened to be the same night of your first shower. I was trying to catch Mrs. Beacon and ask for her forgiveness ... well, you know what happened after that."

  "Why aren't you in jail?" Lord, I'm trying not to be mean. I'm trying to hold my tongue, but my hormones won't let me.

  "My attorney assured me I could continue practicing medicine while the police re-open the investigation."

  The baby moved and stretched Cheney's stomach muscle at the same time she stood. Roland smiled tenderly. She frowned. Holding the weight of her stomach, she stilled her movement to ward off a sudden bout of dizziness. "It looks like it's you who has to restore my faith in you, and next time, please leave my husband out of this. We don't keep secrets from each other, and you should've never asked him to hold his tongue." Grabbing her purse, she gave an emotionless wave. She walked out of the front door without bothering to find her mother and speak.

  Once inside her Altima, Cheney started the car, clicked her seat belt, and checked the rearview mirrors. As she shifted the gears, the Lord spoke, Have you forgotten about your own prayers for Me to forgive you of your sins, yet you deny forgiveness to another?

  Sighing, she stared out the car window. She didn't track the amount of time. Ashamed and teary-eyed, Cheney bowed her head. How many times after the abortion had she sought forgiveness? How many? How long did she walk with the guilt?

  If she ignored the reprimand and left, she could repent later, but her hand turned off the engine. Removing her seat belt, she retraced her steps to the house. She would at least speak to her condescending mother this time. Unlocking the door, she returned to the entertainment room where her daddy was slumped in the chair, worry lines etching his forehead.

  "Daddy, I'm sorry."

  He turned around and offered a weak smile. "Me, too, Cheney. Me, too."

  Chapter Eight

  “Hali, I'm not seeing how my trials are making me stronger," Cheney complained over the phone as she put away the leftovers from dinner. "I don't know if I can do this. I thought everything would be so much easier with Christ, but I wasn't prepared for the unsolved mystery of the century. Daddy killed Grandma BB's husband, then Grandma BB tried to kill him." She paused. "I really don't feel up to forgiving."

  "But you do have a reason. Eternity," Hallison encouraged as she scanned her closet, searching for an outfit for church. "Cheney, this is my second, and last, go-round walking with God. As bad as it is, it's not worth straying away from the Lord for one minute."

  Cheney sighed heavily into the receiver. "I don't know if I'm going to make it through this."

  Pushing aside purses and hats on her shelf, she grabbed one of three shoeboxes she purchased at the private showing with her hairdresser, Alexis. Satisfied with her choice of champagne-colored leather sling backs, Hallison laid them on her bed and sat down.

  "C'mon, Cheney. We've got to have each other's back on this, remember?" Hallison tried to quote a scripture, but she couldn't get the words right. "Hold on, let me grab my Bible."

  She stood and walked into the living room and picked it up. Unzipping the cover, she flipped through the pages until she found Ecclesiastes 4:9-10. "Okay, here's the scripture I'm thinking of: Two are better than one; because they have a good reward for their labour. For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow: but woe to him that is alone when he falls; for he hath not another to help him up. We're a team—"

  "Cheney, Kami's ready to say her prayers," Parke shouted in the background. "Tell Hali goodnight and goodbye."

  Hallison chuckled and shook her head. "Now, how does that man know you're talking to me?"

  "He says he knows your ring," Cheney whispered, sniffling. "One thing I thank God for is a friend who allows me to vent, yet loves me anyway."

  "That's not one-sided, sister. I was literally willing to burn in hell just to hold on to Malcolm... well, not willing to burn, but willing to ignore hell even existed to be with Malcolm. It seems like I worried you about him forever. I may not talk about him that much now, but he'll always occupy a part of my heart that I hope God will never ask me to give up." Hallison sighed. "Anyway, like I said, you always listened and never told me to shut up."

  Hallison's reason didn't make sense except to Parke, Cheney, and Hallison's mother, who knew that God doesn't always reveal His plan up front. She still shivered recalling the glimpse God set before her in church, burning in hell, over and over. Heaven and hell were real, and she was scared. The Lord had let Hallison know she had sugar-coated disobedience long enough.

  "Hey, I was close." They laughed until Cheney cleared her throat. "Love ya." She covered the mouthpiece and yelled, "I'm coming" to Parke.

  "Love you, too." Hallison hung up, smiling. Cheney was one of the best things that had come out of her relationship with Malcolm.

  The smell and sights of spring drifted in the air before the calendar made the official announcement. Hallison dressed lighter in a short-sleeved, pastel-print dress that flared at the knees. Malcolm's eyes had always appreciated her molded legs, and he freely gave compliments, so short skirts had dominated her closet. Since she returned to Christ, she had become shy about showing off her God-given assets, but not today, although it wasn't thigh-length short.

  Winking at her reflection in the mirror, Hallison slipped into a pair of new shoes. She grabbed her purse, a coordinating linen jacket, and her Bible. Within minutes, she was driving to service.

  Hallison walked into Faith Miracle Church as the praise and worship team led the congregation in a rendition of gospel artist, Marvin Sapp's "Never Would Have Made It." Her presence interrupted a conversation between two men, including Brother Thomas who Parke had complained about a week earlier. Hallison had to agree with Parke. Brother Thomas looked to be nearing fifty, more than fifteen years her senior. She waved a salutation and kept walking.

  After kneeling in prayer, she stood and raised her hands to join in the praise. Long after the song ended, the chorus continued to circulate in her m
ind. When small fingers poked at her legs, Hallison looked down and identified the culprit. Kami gave her a toothy grin. "Hi, Auntee," she whispered loudly and lifted her foot to show off her lilac, patent leather Mary Janes. "I got new shoes."

  Evidently, Hallison wasn't the only one who went on a shopping spree. Hallison smiled and nodded, tugging on Kami's ponytail. Cheney entered the pew followed by Parke. The women exchanged air kisses. Parke winked at Hallison. While he knelt to pray, Cheney bowed her head. Kami got on her knees and covered her face, but kept one eye on Hallison, saying, "God bless me. Amen," loud enough for those nearby to chuckle.

  Pastor Scott walked to the podium and addressed the members. "Whew, we got off to a good start this morning. We've talked to God. Now let's hear what the Lord has to say." After echoes of amen, he opened his Bible. "Let's turn to Matthew 18:12: How think ye? if a man have an hundred sheep, and one of them be gone astray, doth he not leave the ninety and nine, and goes into the mountains, and seeks that which is gone astray? And if so be that he find it, verily I say unto you, he rejoices more of that sheep, than of the ninety and nine which went not astray. Even so it is not the will of your Father which is in heaven, that one of these little ones should perish. God has a watchful eye," the pastor preached. "While we're looking one way, He's looking both ways. What's lost to you is not to God. There is no hiding place, no peek-a-boo. God's arms are so long, they can go around curves..."

  Tears sprang to Hallison's eyes whenever she read or heard that passage. "Lord, thank you for not allowing me to get away."

  Cheney reached over and clutched one of Hallison's hands, holding it until Pastor Scott finished his sermon and closed his Bible.

  "Now, this is the part of the service where God allows you to make a choice: stay in the pasture or go off on your own. If you're tired of running away, tell God about your sins and repent. Take it a step further and walk down this aisle to be baptized in the name that signifies power, deliverance, and forgiveness—Jesus. We have a change of clothing waiting for you, and since you'll be a clean vessel, God wants to pour His Holy Ghost into you." Pastor Scott stretched out his hands. "Won't you come?"