Come Sunday Morning by Terry E. Hill

Author:Terry E. Hill [Hill, Terry E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Gay, African American, General, Urban
ISBN: 9781601622457
Google: HVyVT021DukC
Amazon: 1601622457
Barnesnoble: 1601622457
Goodreads: 10158039
Publisher: Urban Soul
Published: 2011-01-25T05:00:00+00:00

Samantha drove her car into the parking lot of the church. She retrieved her purse from the seat and walked briskly through the corridors toward Catherine’s office.

Catherine Birdsong was sitting behind her desk. She wore a green skirt and a white ruffled blouse with a floral scarf around her neck. She looked like a woman who wrestled daily in front of her mirror to find a look befitting her station in life as chief operations officer to a prominent church.

A large, curved desk surrounded Catherine. The walls were covered with plaques that the church and pastor had received over the years. A fax machine and copier sat in the corner, and Catherine’s desk held a computer, telephone, and pad.

“Good morning, Mrs. Cleaveland,” she said to Samantha, who was standing in her doorway. “Pastor Cleaveland hasn’t arrived yet. He called earlier and said he would be late.”

“I’m not here to see Hezekiah. I’m here to see you.”

Catherine saw the familiar hint of anger in Samantha’s eyes. She adjusted her chair in preparation to stand. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Yes.” Her voice began to escalate. “You can tell me why you’ve been covering for Hezekiah when I call and he’s not here. Why you’ve never mentioned to me that he’s been unable to account for his whereabouts lately, and why do you think it’s in your job description to interfere in my marriage?”

Catherine’s eyes widened. Her knees shook as she braced herself on the desk and stood. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about. I—”

Samantha cut her off. “Don’t lie to me. You know exactly what I’m talking about. You are not to decide what information I should and should not have about my husband or this church. I knew this wasn’t going to work out when I first met you. I knew you wouldn’t fit in here.”

Catherine could not speak. She found her throat was contracting as she tried to sputter out her defense. “I…I never…”

“Don’t bother. I don’t want to hear anything you have to say. It’s over. You’re fired. I want you out of here by the end of the day, and you better leave every stapler, paper clip, and pen, or I’ll have the police at your door to get them back.”

Samantha clutched the purse under her arm and stormed out of the office.

Catherine sat down as the telephone rang. It was impossible for her to contain her tears. She felt as though breath had been snatched from her lungs by an incubus that had descended from the steeple of the church. The ringing of her unanswered telephone echoed through the empty halls of the building.

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