Read Online Love Like Hallelujah by Lutishia Lovely - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lutishia Lovely
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After a hearty breakfast, Cy, Simeon, and the fellas had enjoyed a game of basketball. Hope and the women spent their morning being treated to a full body massage, manicure/pedicure, and an in-home hair stylist. The limo picked them up promptly at three. Hope, exquisite and serene, now sat in the boat’s largest bedroom, waiting for the moment she became Cy’s wife.
Cy and his cousin, Simeon, relaxed quietly at a table, enjoying the view of sparkling water and sailboats. Wisps of conversation floated around them from the thirty or so guests who mingled on the luxury yacht Cy had chartered. It would be their last moments with Cy as a single man.
“Well, cuz, the water isn’t too deep here; still time to make the great escape.”
Cy raised up a bit as if gauging his chances for a successful jump; then he smiled. “Even with a gun to my head, there’s no way I’d leave. I’ve never been surer about any move I’ve ever made than I am now.”
“You’re a lucky man.”
“I’m blessed, Simeon. Nobody but God put Hope and me together.”
“Humph. You’re talking about her behind her back and she ain’t even yours yet.” Hope’s dad, Earl, punched Cy’s arm playfully as he sat down. The three men could have graced the cover of Elegant Man, if there were such a magazine. Cy’s tux fit flawlessly and Simeon’s blue Kenneth Cole suit was equally stunning. Mr. Jones was dignity personified in a charcoal gray double-breasted suit, with a silk blue shirt and complementing necktie. In fact, everyone on the boat looked quite refined.
Mr. Pheneas Taylor, Cy’s father, joined them at the table. An older, distinguishably handsome version of Cy, Mr. Taylor still turned the heads of women half his age. “Well, now that the important people are ready and on the scene,” he said, pointing to himself, “the festivities can begin.”
Earl’s eyebrows rose at that comment. “Careful now, you’re gonna be like that slave who showed up in the field with a tuxedo on, after a visit to the doctor’s office.”
“How you figure?” Pheneas asked with mock indignation.
“Well, when the other slaves asked him why he was in the field wearing a tuxedo, he told ’em,” Earl continued in an exaggerated southern accent, “‘since the doctor say’s I’se impotent, I’se might as well look impotent.’”
The men tried not to, but laughed anyway. Earl Jones was a character, one anybody would be hard-pressed not to like.
It was time. The guests lined the stern of the boat, leaving the middle empty. Three of the Musical Messengers, a guitarist, saxophonist, and keyboard player with drum machine, kept a low profile on the side. Soft sounds of smooth jazz emanated from their corner. Pastors Brook and Montgomery stood waiting with appropriate seriousness. King had chosen to wear a white pastor’s robe, complete with scarf bearing a solid black cross and fringe at each end. Derrick had on a stellar black tux.
Mr. Jones waited in the back, talking quietly with Hope, whom her mother had finally summoned.
After the parents and guests had been seated, an imperceptible nod from Mrs. Jones signaled all was ready.
Pastor Derrick began. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are here to celebrate another love affair that God has designed. Let our hearts be filled with love as we surround this couple, here and now, at the beginning of the rest of their lives.” With this, he and Pastor King moved to the side as Cy’s classmate stepped up to sing “The Lord’s Prayer” in a rich baritone.
Hope stood just outside the door, near the rear of the ship. She couldn’t see anyone, but heard the wondrous melody float like waves across the boat, now anchored in the middle of the ocean, halfway between the marina and Catalina Island. She closed her eyes and leaned against her father, whose eyes were misty. He was losing his only daughter, albeit to a fine young man.
After the solo, Frieda and Simeon took their places. Cy came next. The
Cy and his cousin, Simeon, relaxed quietly at a table, enjoying the view of sparkling water and sailboats. Wisps of conversation floated around them from the thirty or so guests who mingled on the luxury yacht Cy had chartered. It would be their last moments with Cy as a single man.
“Well, cuz, the water isn’t too deep here; still time to make the great escape.”
Cy raised up a bit as if gauging his chances for a successful jump; then he smiled. “Even with a gun to my head, there’s no way I’d leave. I’ve never been surer about any move I’ve ever made than I am now.”
“You’re a lucky man.”
“I’m blessed, Simeon. Nobody but God put Hope and me together.”
“Humph. You’re talking about her behind her back and she ain’t even yours yet.” Hope’s dad, Earl, punched Cy’s arm playfully as he sat down. The three men could have graced the cover of Elegant Man, if there were such a magazine. Cy’s tux fit flawlessly and Simeon’s blue Kenneth Cole suit was equally stunning. Mr. Jones was dignity personified in a charcoal gray double-breasted suit, with a silk blue shirt and complementing necktie. In fact, everyone on the boat looked quite refined.
Mr. Pheneas Taylor, Cy’s father, joined them at the table. An older, distinguishably handsome version of Cy, Mr. Taylor still turned the heads of women half his age. “Well, now that the important people are ready and on the scene,” he said, pointing to himself, “the festivities can begin.”
Earl’s eyebrows rose at that comment. “Careful now, you’re gonna be like that slave who showed up in the field with a tuxedo on, after a visit to the doctor’s office.”
“How you figure?” Pheneas asked with mock indignation.
“Well, when the other slaves asked him why he was in the field wearing a tuxedo, he told ’em,” Earl continued in an exaggerated southern accent, “‘since the doctor say’s I’se impotent, I’se might as well look impotent.’”
The men tried not to, but laughed anyway. Earl Jones was a character, one anybody would be hard-pressed not to like.
It was time. The guests lined the stern of the boat, leaving the middle empty. Three of the Musical Messengers, a guitarist, saxophonist, and keyboard player with drum machine, kept a low profile on the side. Soft sounds of smooth jazz emanated from their corner. Pastors Brook and Montgomery stood waiting with appropriate seriousness. King had chosen to wear a white pastor’s robe, complete with scarf bearing a solid black cross and fringe at each end. Derrick had on a stellar black tux.
Mr. Jones waited in the back, talking quietly with Hope, whom her mother had finally summoned.
After the parents and guests had been seated, an imperceptible nod from Mrs. Jones signaled all was ready.
Pastor Derrick began. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are here to celebrate another love affair that God has designed. Let our hearts be filled with love as we surround this couple, here and now, at the beginning of the rest of their lives.” With this, he and Pastor King moved to the side as Cy’s classmate stepped up to sing “The Lord’s Prayer” in a rich baritone.
Hope stood just outside the door, near the rear of the ship. She couldn’t see anyone, but heard the wondrous melody float like waves across the boat, now anchored in the middle of the ocean, halfway between the marina and Catalina Island. She closed her eyes and leaned against her father, whose eyes were misty. He was losing his only daughter, albeit to a fine young man.
After the solo, Frieda and Simeon took their places. Cy came next. The
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