Read Online Come Sunday Morning by Terry E. Hill - Free Book Online Page A

him. He didn’t recognize the rage nor had he ever encountered such unbridled anger from another human being.
    Samantha picked up a silver dish from a nearby table and flung it at Hezekiah. He ducked, causing the dish to whiz over his head and crash into the wall with a loud metallic clank.
    â€œBreak it off with her now or I’ll tell everyone the truth about the great Hezekiah T. Cleaveland. You’ll end up like all those other redneck ministers crying like idiots on television, begging the world to forgive you because you can’t keep your dick in your pants.”
    Hezekiah stared blankly for moments at the raging woman; then he began to sob again.
    â€œI can’t break it off with her,” he finally said.
    â€œOh my God, is she pregnant?”
    â€œNo,” he said through mounting tears.
    â€œThen why not, you coward?”
    â€œBecause…it’s not a woman.”
    Samantha froze in place. Her heaving chest was the only thing moving on her body. Each breath she took caused her still exposed breast to rise up and down. She looked at him with a puzzled expression and asked through deep, gasping breaths, “What do you mean it’s not a woman?”
    â€œJust what I said. It’s not a woman. It’s a man.”
    Â 
    Hezekiah came downstairs and was greeted by Etta. His eyes, behind dark sunglasses, were red and his face was puffy.
    â€œGood morning, Pastor,” Etta said as she wiped her hands on her apron. “Are you all right? I hope you’re not coming down with that flu that’s going around. Let me feel your head.”
    Hezekiah moved away from her like a frightened child. “I’m all right, Etta. My allergies are acting up again.” He turned his back to her and walked toward the door.
    â€œAren’t you having breakfast this morning? I made your favorite—eggs Benedict, blueberry muffins, and a strong pot of coffee.”
    â€œNot today. I’m running late.” With that, he picked up his keys from the table in the foyer and left the house.
    Â 
    Samantha sat, still moist from the shower, curled on the sofa in the living room. Her silk robe held tight around her waist and legs under her body. Etta looked at the figure of the woman and knew something was seriously wrong. Samantha hadn’t given the pastor her usual litany of directives before he left the house. She quietly withdrew to the safety of her kitchen.
    Under normal circumstances Samantha would also have provided him with a better cover story for his unusual behavior. However, this morning she just sat and continued looking out the window. She no longer had the desire or strength to use her well-honed skills of deception.
    â€œSammy. Open the door, honey. It’s me, Sandra,” Sandra Kelly said, ringing the bell and pounding on the front door.
    Sandra Kelly was one of Samantha’s closest confidantes. They had gone to college together and over the years had remained friends and mutually supportive. Samantha had comforted Sandra through her first and second divorces, a series of abusive boyfriends, and the meteoric rise of her law career. In turn, Sandra had nursed Samantha through Hezekiah’s many affairs and coached her through the political and social labyrinth that was the lot of every powerful pastor’s wife.
    Sandra was one of the most sought-after attorneys in California and represented only high-profile clients who could guarantee her prime-time coverage on CNN, or an interview with Anderson Cooper. They were sisters, but the only common blood they shared was the pain endured at the hands of the men they loved.
    Samantha looked through the beveled-glass window-pane of the double front door to ensure that Sandra was alone, and then hurriedly unlatched the locks.
    Sandra was an attractive woman with a slight masculine air about her. She frequently wore navy blue pant-suits with the lapel of a white silk blouse framing her full and deep