Read Online When Sunday Comes Again by Terry E. Hill - Free Book Online

security you get when someone cares so deeply for you and would do anything in the world to make you happy.”
    Renee followed another introspective pause with, “Do you remember the last thing you said to him or the last thing he said to you?”
    â€œI love you.”
    Renee smiled and said, “I love you. . . . Isn’t that a good thing? I understand that you’ve been selected to replace Hezekiah as the pastor of New Testament Cathedral.”
    Samantha feigned shock and quickly replied, “I could never replace Hezekiah. No one could replace him. He was a great man. He was my life. He was my soul mate, my rock, and most importantly, he was my friend. Sometimes I’m not sure if I can go on without him, but inevitably, at those lowest moments someone will say to me, ‘Don’t give up, Samantha. We need you,’ or ‘You can do it, Samantha. Do it for Hezekiah.’ And, Renee, when I hear encouragement like that, I just . . . I get energized. They inspire me to work harder, to move a little faster, and to go on with the work my husband and I began together.”
    â€œYou are amazing, girl. Isn’t she amazing?” Renee asked over her shoulder of the audience.
    Their unanimous response was given in thunderous applause.
    â€œSo what’s next for you, Samantha?” Renee asked.
    â€œI’m glad you asked,” replied Samantha with a playful smile. “New Testament Cathedral is going to be bigger and better than ever.”
    The audience responded as if that was just what they wanted to hear.
    â€œWe are about to complete the construction of our new campus and twenty-five-thousand-seat cathedral. The television ministry is expanding now to South Africa, Thailand, and Australia. So we want the world to know New Testament Cathedral is very much alive and growing.”
    Renee stood up and said, “Wow.” Samantha stood with her, and the two women embraced. The audience stood and clapped, as if to solidify the obvious bond between the two women.
    Renee raised Samantha’s hand as if she were a victorious prizefighter and said above the applause, “I said it once and I’ll say it again. You’re an amazing woman.” She then faced the audience, still holding Samantha’s hand in the air, and said, “Pastor Samantha Cleaveland, everyone. Thank you so much for being here with us today and sharing your courageous story. You are an inspiration and a role model to me and to women everywhere.”
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    Samantha’s and Renee’s skin looked radiant, magnified on the sixty-two-inch flat-screen television that hung on the wall in Cynthia Pryce’s den. Cynthia sat with her feet curled under her in one of two overstuffed black leather chairs that had been positioned at viewing distance in front of the television. A pair of Fendi black suede pumps lay strewn on the floor, and the black jacket of the Dolce & Gabbana pantsuit she wore that day had been tossed casually on the back of the chair.
    The curtains were fully drawn and the room was dark except for the piercing glow from the two women on the screen. The room was filled with sleek Scandinavian chairs and a well-cushioned brown leather sofa. The dark stained teak floor offered no assistance in absorbing the crystal clear voices booming from the surround-sound speakers.
    The clarity made it impossible for Cynthia to miss any syllable the two women spoke. Her silky hair shifted with every disapproving tilt of her head. As their words reverberated through the room, when they shared a knowing glance, and when the audience gushed, an invisible knife was driven deeper and deeper into Cynthia’s heart.
    Cynthia pointed the remote as if it were a gun and pressed the trigger when the credits mercifully began to scroll across the screen. The television went black, and Cynthia was left in silence to contemplate the spectacle she had just witnessed.
    Is the American public so