Page 131 of Restless
“Thank you, Sister Frey.” Sister…hersaid.
Roxy searched her memory but came up blank. She’d have to look at her program to find the woman’s name.
“Water is the breath of life,” Sister MC—wrongly—said. “Revelations 14:7 says, ‘Worship him who made the heavens, the earth, the sea, and all the springs of water’.”
Pursing her mouth, Roxy straightened and opened her program, waiting for her turn. Maybe then she could sneak back to the hotel.
“I’ve personally never met this next Woman of Christ, but I know her pastor, Reverend Arceneaux, and he tells me she’s a firecracker with a bright future ahead of her.”
Okay, so change in the line-up. She’d moved up five spots in the program.
“It’s always a pleasure to meet ayoungperson possessed with the Lord and all His goodness,” Sister MC began.
Must she expound oneveryfucking thing? Goddamn.
Gritting her teeth, Roxy glanced at the ceiling, relieved not to see it collapsing for her blasphemy.
“And, you know…”
Fuck her. Sister MC droned on for another two fucking minutes. Truly, at eighteen, Roxy hadn’t accomplished enough to warrant such a long fucking introduction.
“Sister Roxanne Doucette will give us greetings from Great Redeemer. Sister Doucette?”
Standing, Roxy smoothed her hands over her yellow skirt and walked down the side aisle. At the podium, the wide brim of her hat blocked out the glaring spotlights. Hopefully, it also hid her wince. Her feet hurt so fucking bad.
If she’d been allowed on the stage, the brightness would’ve been worse, even with her hat.
“Thank you, Sister,” Roxy said, calling herself a dumb bitch for not looking at the program for the woman’s name. “First giving my obedience to God, the Great Head of my life, Reverend Banks and Light of the World, my pastor, Deramey Arceneaux, ministers on the roster, and invited guests. It’s my distinct pleasure to be here tonight, bearing greeting and goodwill from Great Redeemer Baptist Church, located in New Orleans, Louisiana.”
She turned halfway and met Reverend Banks’ gaze. It was bright and fervent.Insane.
Ignoring the chill sliding into her, she continued. “Reverend Banks, Psalms 20, verses one through nine says,May the LORD answer you when you are in distress; may the name of the God of Jacob protect you. May He send you help from the sanctuary and grant you support from Zion. May He remember all your sacrifices and accept your burnt offerings. May He give you the desire of your heart and make all your plans succeed. May we shout for joy over your victory and lift up our banners in the name of our God. May the LORD grant all your requests. Now this I know: The LORD gives victory to his anointed. He answers him from His heavenly sanctuary with the victorious power of His right hand.God bless you, pastor. Thank you.”
Glad for her wide hat brim that shielded her eyesandher expression, Roxy smiled and stepped away from the podium, all eyes on her. Unease swept into her and a heavy weight descended into her being, like a demon brushed her.
Halfway back to her pew, Sister MC called, “Sister Doucette?”
As Roxy froze, the lights in the nosebleed section flickered on. All around her, the church brightened.
“Our Healing Ceremony is taking place. Reverend Arceneaux shared your recent illness and volunteered you,” Sister MC said with sympathy.
Her recentwhat? Roxy hadn’t been ill a day in her fucking life. She came from extraordinarily strong stock.
“Please give Brother Caldwell your hat,” Sister MC instructed.
Not that Roxy had a choice. Brother Caldwell removed her hat without warning. Anger rose in her and she lifted her gaze. A man with startingly green eyes and shiny black hair smirked at her. Self-preservation killed her retort. If she detected madness in Reverend Banks, Brother Caldwell seemed soulless.
He inspected every inch of her face, lingering on her mouth and touching on her hair. She’d almost worn her Bantu knots underneath her hat. At the last minute, she’d taken them down and swept her hair into a bun because she’d been undecided if she’d go to a restaurant with some of her friends after the service.
Grabbing her elbow, he ushered her toward the line of ministers.
“Where’s my hat?” she asked, low. “My momma paid fifty dollars for it and she’d have my fucking…er…uh…” She gulped. “Sorry, Brother Caldwell. Momma…I can’t lose the hat.”
He snickered. “After tonight, fifty fucking dollars will be chump change, slut.” He walked away.
She gasped.
“Sister Doucette,” the minister said, drawing her attention, unaware at how off-kilter she was by Brother Caldwell’s comments. “How are you, my child?”
