Page 67 of At Her Will

“I’m not meaning it in an offensive way.”

“I just want you to understand my feeling on it. I’m not a child, and you holding back on me, because you think you have to protect me like one…that won’t work.”

“It’s not like that.” Her tone cooled. “I told you exploring this can break open things you don’t expect. Me looking out for you on that is no different from you riding the bus back to the club with me. To make sure I’m all right.”

He gazed at her a long moment. When he spoke, he didn’t address the last comment, because he knew that wasn’t the important one. “Teachers protect their students, holding back on them, because they know, at the end of the day, the week, the year… they have to let them go.”

He could tell he’d found the nail and hit it square. When she responded, it sounded like she didn’t much care for the words herself. “Rev, it’s very likely after you explore this, you’ll want different things. To expand your reach, to grow in this lifestyle. That may require moving on to different Dommes. It’sthe difference between a childhood crush and your first real relationship.

“I’m not saying that’s what this is. But while we’re on the topic of teachers, why don’t you take Mavis up on her offer to get you into some adult classes? I know you don’t believe God doesn’t want you to get an education.”

Rev’s expression went to stone, the one Vera had seen in the office with Witford. She was off her game if she’d made such an idiotic mistake. Normally she was the one Ros called into a meeting to be diplomatic, to smooth things out. She’d gotten defensive. Rev wasn’t the only one who’d needed space.

“I done told you why, and it was honest. And it hasn’t changed.” He leaned in, their eyes close. “When you been hurt bad, you avoid being cut again. Just natural, going that way, and I hate that you been hurt like that. But courage don’t exist without fear, do it? I think you’re a courageous woman, Veracity Morgan. I sure hope you can spare some of it toward me, because I ain’t no crush. You teaching me things, but I also know things.”

He pulled the cord, and she saw they were back at the club. He rose and offered her a hand. Silently, she gave it to him, and he took her down the bus steps. The stop was a rock’s throw from the club’s well-lit parking lot, and there was security circling, so he kept his hand on the door and foot on the step, letting the driver know he wasn’t leaving.

Rev leaned forward and brushed his mouth over hers. His big hand gripped the lapel of her jacket, and then he got back on the bus.

As the doors closed and the bus rolled away, he’d found their seat again, and was watching her through the glass. She didn’t raise a hand and neither did he.

She’d pissed him off, and he’d pissed her off. But was he wrong, in what he’d said about her? She had to consider it, even as she needed to make it clear she damn well would look out for his headspace and physical well-being when he was under her command.

She wondered what she would text him when she checked on him later tonight.

It took a couple hours to work it out, and even then she found herself hesitating. But in the end, she sent it.

I want you, Rev. In ways that aren’t smooth and familiar to me, so I took a wrong turn tonight. I’m sorry. If the road gets bumpy…well, I want to say I’ll make sure you’re wearing a seatbelt and get us through. Not because I think you’re a child who can’t protect himself. But because I want you to take that ride with me and make it a journey worth sharing. Respond to me tonight, so I’ll know you’re all right.

The answer, when it came, made her smile and feel the sting of tears.

I wanted to take a drive with you the first time I saw you, Mistress. You check on my seat belt and I’ll check on yours. Think we both gonna need it.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Let’s start with this passage,” Witford said, marking the page. “Then I can expound on it some and you come in at this point, do a song with the choir that ties it back into the last part of the scripture. Beverly has some ideas for that.”

Rev, who’d stopped his task to come stand by the pulpit with him, gave the page a close scrutiny, lips moving as he digested the important parts of what was there. “You could do that verse from Matthew we talked about. It would drive the point home even better.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Witford made the notation. “Might have to shorten the music program, though. Don’t want the women in the congregation taking me to task for overcooking the Sunday pot roasts. You cut it close the other day, with Mrs. Jones and her cancer.”

“God might have thought that more important than your invitation to those dinners.” Rev gave him an amused look. “You miss a few, you might lose a couple pounds.”

Witford snorted, but ran a hand over his abdomen to confirm it was trim. “Don’t be teasing me, boy. A man of God should look like he takes care of the temple.”

“Long as he ain’t so busy maintaining it, he forget what it for. What it serves.”

“Now you’re sounding like Teena Joy.” Witford pointed to the nave. “What do you call dusting the pews?”

Rev glanced down at the can of wood polish and rag he was carrying. “I like to think about the people who sit here, absorb the feelings they left behind, what they came in with, what they left with.”

“I’m surprised you have the time. You’ve been busy.”

Rev’s attempt at their normal banter vanished. “Don’t go down that road again, Witford. I still not right with what you did.”

Witford marked the page and closed the Bible. “Then let’s talk it out, man to man. It doesn’t bother you that she doesn’t share our faith?” He gestured at the silver cross on Rev’s neck. “The one Teena Joy taught you?”

“Veracity don’t share my religion. That a whole different thing. It not our way, but it a different way. Like two paths that lead to the same waterfall. She tell me, in her faith, they say ‘And it harms none, do as you will.’ In ours, we say ‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.’ Both of them mean to love one another.”

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