Song of Praise Page 10

  “What’s that?” RaShawn asked.

  “That you don’t fire any more preachers.”

  The End…

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  Books in the Praise Him Anyhow series

  Tears Fall at Night (Book 1 - Praise Him Anyhow Series)

  Joy Comes in the Morning (Book 2 - Praise Him Anyhow Series)

  A Forever Kind of Love (Book 3 - Praise Him Anyhow Series)

  Ramsey’s Praise (Book 4 - Praise Him Anyhow Series)

  Escape to Love (Book 5 - Praise Him Anyhow Series)

  Praise for Christmas (Book 6- Praise Him Anyhow Series)

  His Love Walk (Book 7 - Praise Him Anyhow Series)

  Could This Be Love (Book 8 - Praise Him Anyhow Series)

  Song of Praise (Book 9 - Praise Him Anyhow Series)

  Excerpt of...

  Tears Fall at Night

  Book 1 in the

  Praise Him Anyhow Series

  by

  Vanessa Miller

  1

  “I’m leaving you,” Judge Nelson Marshall said, as he walked into the kitchen and stood next to the stainless steel prep table.

  Taking a sweet potato soufflé out of her brand new Viking, dual-baking oven, Carmella was bobbing her head to Yolanda Adams’s, "I Got the Victory", so she didn’t hear Nelson walk into the kitchen.

  He turned the music down and said, “Did you hear me, Carmella? I’m leaving.”

  Carmella put the soufflé on her prep table and turned toward Nelson. He was frowning, and she’d never known him to frown when she baked his favorite soufflé. Then she saw the suitcase in his hand and understood. Nelson hated to travel. His idea of the perfect vacation was staying home and renting movies for an entire week, but recently he had been attending one convention after another. And last week, he’d been in Chicago with her as she had to attend her brother’s funeral.

  Carmella was thankful that Nelson had taken vacation to attend the funeral with her, because she really didn’t think she would have made it through that week without him. She and her younger brother had always been close, but after losing both their parents by the time they were in their thirties, the bond between them had become even stronger. Now she was trying to make sense of a world where forty-six-year-old men died of heart attacks.

  Nelson had been fidgety the entire time they were in Chicago. She knew he hated being away from home, so she cut their trip short by a day. He hadn’t told her he had another trip planned. “Not another one of those boring political conventions?”

  He shook his head.

  Nelson had almost lost his last bid for criminal court judge. Since then he had been obsessed with networking with government officials in hopes of getting appointed to a federal bench and bypassing elections altogether.

  “Sit down, Carmella, we need to talk.”

  Carmella sat down on one of the stools in front of the kitchen island.

  Nelson sat down next to Carmella. He lowered his head.

  “Nelson, what’s wrong?”

  He didn’t respond. But he had the same look on his face that he’d had the night they’d received the call about his grandmother’s death.

  “Please say something, honey. You’re scaring me,” Carmella said.

  He lifted his head and attempted to look into his wife’s eyes, but quickly turned away as he said, “This doesn’t work for me anymore.”

  Confused, Carmella asked, “What’s not working?”

  “This marriage, Carmella. It’s not what I want anymore.”

  “I don’t understand, Nelson.” She turned away from him and looked around her expansive kitchen. It had been redesigned a couple of years ago to ensure that she had everything she needed to throw the most lavish dinner parties that Raleigh, NC had ever seen. Nelson had told her that if he were ever going to get an appointment to a federal bench, he would need to network and throw fundraising campaigns for the senators and congressmen of North Carolina.

  So she’d exchanged her kitchen table for a prep table, and installed the walk-in cooler to keep her salads and desserts at just the right temperature for serving. The Viking stove with its six burners and dual oven—one side convection and the other with an infrared broiler—had been her most expensive purchase. But the oven had been worth it. The infrared broiler helped her food to taste like restaurant-quality broiled food, and the convection side of the oven did amazing things with her pastries. She’d turned her home into a showplace in order to impress the guests who attended their legendary dinner parties. She had done everything Nelson had asked her to do, so Carmella couldn’t understand why she was now in her kitchen listening to her husband say that he didn’t want this anymore. “We’ve been happy, right?”

  Nelson shook his head. “I haven’t been happy with our marriage for a long time now.”

  “Then why didn’t you say something? We could have gone to counseling or talked with Pastor Mitchell.”

  Nelson stood up. “It’s too late for that. I’ve already filed for a divorce. All you need to do is sign the papers when you receive them, and then we can both move on with our lives.”

  Tears welled in Carmella’s eyes as she realized that while she had been living in this house and sleeping in the same bed with Nelson, he had been seeing a divorce lawyer behind her back. “What about the kids, Nelson? What am I supposed to tell them?”

  “Our children are grown, Carmella. You can’t hide behind them anymore.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Carmella stood up, anger flashing in her eyes. “Dontae is only seventeen years old. He’s still in high school and needs both his parents to help him make his transition into adulthood.”

  “I’m not leaving Dontae. He can come live with me if he wants.”

  “Oh, so now you want to take my son away from me, too? What’s gotten into you, Nelson? When did you become so cruel?"

  “I’m not trying to take Dontae away from you. I just know that raising a son can be difficult for a woman to do alone. So, I’m offering to take him with me.”

  “That’s generous of you,” Carmella said snidely. Then a thought struck her, and she asked, “Are you seeing someone? Is that it? Is this some midlife crisis that you’re going through?”

  “This is not about anyone else, Carmella. It’s about the fact that we just don’t work anymore.”

  Tears were flowing down her honey-colored cheeks. “But I still love you. I don’t want a divorce.”

  “I don’t have time to argue with you. Just sign the papers and let’s get this over with.”

  She put her hands on her small hips and did the sista-sista neck roll, as her bob-styled hair swished from one side to the other. “We haven’t argued in years. I have just gone with the flow and done whatever you wanted me to do. But on the day my husband packs his bags and asks me for a divorce, I think we should at least argue about that, don’t you?”

  He pointed at her and sneered as if her very presence offended him. “See, this is exactly why I waited so long to tell you. I knew you were going to act irrational.”

  “Irrational! Are you kidding me?” Carmella wanted to pull her hair out. The man standing in front of her was not her husband. He must have fallen, bumped his head and lost his fool mind. “What are we going to tell Joy and Dontae? I mean…you’re not giving me anything to go on. We’ve been married twenty-five years and all of a sudden you just want out?”

  “Like I said before, Joy and Dontae will be fine.” He picked up his suitcase again and said, “I’m done discussing this. I’ll be back to get the rest of my clothes. You should receive the divorce papers in a day or two. Just sign them and put them on the kitchen table.” He headed toward the front door.

  Following behind him, Carmella began screaming, “I’m
not signing any divorce papers, so don’t waste your time sending them here. And when you get off of whatever drug you’re on, you’ll be grateful that I didn’t sign.”

  After opening the front door, Nelson turned to face his wife. With anger in his eyes, he said, “You better sign those papers or you’ll regret it.” He then stepped out of the house and slammed the door.

  Carmella opened the door and ran after her husband. “Why are you doing this, Nelson? How am I supposed to pay the house note or our other bills if you leave me like this?”

  “Get back in the house. You’re making a scene.”

  “You spring this divorce on me without a second thought about my feelings, but you have the nerve to worry about the neighbors overhearing us?” Carmella shook her head in disgust. “I knew you were selfish, Nelson. But I never thought you were heartless.”

  He opened his car door and got in. “You’re not going to make me feel guilty about this, Carmella. It’s over between us. I want a divorce.”

  As Nelson backed out of the driveway, Carmella put her hands on her hips and shouted, “Well, you’re not getting one!”

  She stood barefoot, hands on hips, as Nelson turned what had seemed like an ordinary day into something awful and hideous. He backed out of the driveway—and out of her life—if what he said was to be believed. Carmella had been caught off guard…taken by surprise by this whole thing. Nelson had always been a family-values, family-first kind of man. He loved his children, and she’d thought he loved her as well. The family had attended church together and loved the Lord. But in the last year, Nelson had found one reason after another for not attending Sunday services.

  “Are you okay?”

  Carmella had been in a daze, watching Nelson drive out of her life; so she hadn’t noticed that Cynthia Drake, their elderly next-door neighbor was outside doing her weekly gardening. Carmella wiped the tears from her face and turned toward the older woman.

  “Is there anything I can do?” Cynthia asked, as she took off her gardening gloves.

  “W-what just happened?” Carmella asked with confusion in her eyes.

  “Come on,” Cynthia said. She grabbed hold of Carmella’s arm. “Let me get you back in the house.”

  “Why is everybody so obsessed with this house? It’s empty, nobody in it but me. What am I supposed to do here alone?”

  Cynthia guided Carmella back into the house and sat her down on the couch. “I’m going to get you something to drink.” She disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a glass of iced tea and a can of Sunkist orange soda. “I didn’t know which one you might want.”

  Carmella reached for the soda. “The iced tea is Nelson’s. I don’t drink it.”

  Cynthia sat down next to Carmella. She put her hand on Carmella’s shoulder. “Do you want to talk?”

  “Talk about what?” Carmella opened the Sunkist and took a sip. “I don’t even know what’s going on. I mean… I thought we were happy. I had no idea that Nelson wanted a divorce, but evidently, he’s been planning this for a while.”

  “You need to get a divorce lawyer,” Cynthia said.

  “I don’t want a divorce. I don’t know what has gotten into Nelson, but he’ll be back.”

  “You and Nelson have been married a long time, so I hope you’re right. It would be a shame for him to throw away his marriage after all these years.”

  Carmella put the Sunkist down, put her head in her hands and started crying. This was too much for her. Nelson was the father of her children. He was supposed to love her for the rest of her life. They had stood before God and vowed to be there for each other, through the good and the bad, until death. How could he do this to her?

  “Here, hon. Dry your face.” Cynthia handed Carmella some tissue. “Do you have any family members that I could call to have them come sit with you for a while?”

  “My parents have been dead for years and my only brother died last week,” she said miserably.

  “Oh hon, I’m so sorry to hear that.”

  Carmella lifted her hands and then let them flap back into her lap. “I just don’t understand. I thought we were happy.”

  Sitting down next to Carmella, Cynthia said, “I’ve been married three times, and honey, trust me when I tell you that you’ll probably never understand. Men don’t need a reason for the things they do.”

  They sat talking for a while, and Carmella was comforted by the wise old woman who had taken time out from her gardening to sit with her in her time of need. When Cynthia was ready to leave, Carmella felt as if she should do something for the kindly old woman. She ran to the kitchen and came back with the sweet potato soufflé that she had lovingly fixed for her husband. She handed it to Cynthia, and said, “Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t helped me back into the house.”

  “Oh, sweetie, it was no problem. You don’t have to give me anything.”

  “I want to. I made this sweet potato soufflé for my husband. But since he doesn’t want it, it would bring me great joy knowing that another family enjoyed it.”

  “Well, then I’ll take it.”

  After Carmella walked Cynthia out, she went to the upstairs bathroom. She lit her bathroom candles, turned on the hot water and then poured some peach scented bubble bath in the water. She got into the tub, hoping to soak her weary bones until the ache in her heart drifted away. The warm water normally soothed her and took her mind off the things that didn’t get done that day or the things that didn’t turn out just the way she'd planned. Carmella enjoyed the swept-away feeling she experienced when surrounded by bubbles and her vanilla-scented candles. But tonight, all she felt was dread. She wondered if anyone would care if she drifted off to sleep, slid down all the way into the water and drowned like Whitney Houston had done.

  The thought was tempting, because Carmella didn’t know if she wanted to live without her husband. Tears rolled down her face as she realized that as much as she didn’t want to live without Nelson, he was already living without her.

  To finish the story, order your copy of...

  Tears Fall at Night

  Feels like Heaven (Sample chapter)

  By Vanessa Miller

  Publisher

  Whitaker House

  New Kensington, PA

  Prologue

  Attorney Solomon Harris put on his Dolce & Gabbana shades and stepped outside the courthouse with Dwight Blackshear, fitness instructor to the stars. The media was waiting to pounce. No one had expected Dwight to walk out of the courthouse a free man—not when he’d been accused of murdering a Hollywood legend in her own home. But Solomon had been convinced of his client’s innocence from the very beginning and had fought a good fight in order to secure his acquittal. “Be cool as the reporters approach,” Solomon whispered in his client’s ear as the media circus surrounded them. “Don’t say anything. Let me do the talking.”

  “Mr. Blackshear, how do you feel after getting away with murder?” one reporter asked, holding a microphone in Dwight’s face.

  “No comment,” Solomon said, pushing the mic aside.

  “Did the jury get it right?” another journalist asked.

  “What’s your next move, Dwight? Do you think anyone will ever let you into their home again to train them?”

  On and on, the questions kept coming. But Solomon was feeling pretty good about his chances of getting inside the waiting car without his client opening his big mouth and ruining any chances of rebuilding a career in the City of Angels. But then came the question that Dwight’s ego couldn’t let slide—the question that would send months of Solomon’s hard work up in smoke.

  “What happened, Dwight? Did Victoria Price want to trade you in for a younger instructor?”

  Dwight grabbed the reporter by the throat as he declared, “I’m the best at what I do. I’m fifty-three and in the best shape of my life. No one could ever replace me.”

  Solomon pried Dwight’s hands off the reporter and rushed him to the car. The instan
t the doors closed and his driver sped away from the courthouse, Solomon laid into Dwight. “You want to tell me what that was all about?”

  Dwight shrugged. “He insulted me. I’m no washed-up has-been. I helped build this town.”

  “Those reporters and their viewers believe that Victoria Price helped build this town, with all of the movies she stared in. And none of them will appreciate the man accused with her murder being acquitted and, on the same day, trying to strangle someone before making it past the courthouse steps.”

  “I don’t care what they think,” Dwight groused. “Victoria deserved everything she got. That hag went around telling everyone who’d listen that I was responsible for her ten-pound weight gain.”

  Solomon leaned back in his seat, and as his eyes swept across Dwight, he realized for the first time that he was staring at a killer. When Dwight had first come to his office, he’d told Solomon that he would swear on a stack of Bibles, if necessary, to convince the jury that he hadn’t strangled Victoria Price. He’d told Solomon that he adored Victoria and that she had been one of the first people to hire him as a personal trainer. But now that he had been acquitted, Dwight didn’t have a problem expressing his true feelings about the late actress.

  “Instead of training actors, you should have been one yourself,” Solomon told him. “You really had me fooled, and that’s not easy to do.”

  “I came to this town to become an actor, but fitness ended up being my ticket to stardom,” Dwight said. “That’s why I couldn’t let Victoria ruin my reputation. You understand, don’t you?”

  Oh, he understood alright. He had been duped by a sociopath. Dwight couldn’t make himself care about another human being other than himself if he wanted to, but he sure could pretend to care. Solomon had always prided himself on his ability to read people—to know when he was being lied to—but he’d missed this one.