João (Hidden Desires #3)

The Last One

GISELE

Mary Magdalene’s Garden Cemetery glimmered green and gold under the sun’s gentle rays.

A strong current of AC cooled my heated neck, drying the droplets of perspiration courtesy of the mad dash from my office at the hospital to my car.

It served me right; I over-scheduled myself with a hospital chair board meeting, then a conference call with the recently formed advisory board for the Gifted Athletes Center of Broward, which I was now a member of, straight into my church choir duties.

Even though it wasn’t a hot day, the urgency to get everything done made me glad to wear my church robe over the damp spots on my outfit.

Seldom did our church choir sing during a burial, but this particular child of God had left a sizable donation to the vestry for us to sing graveside, and well, the work of God sometimes called us to collect that money to keep the lights on.

Did people really believe those gestures would give them entrance to the ever after?

Actions always spoke louder than money or words could.

There was no need to be a Christian to get into heaven, no matter how heretic that sounded, but I wasn’t the person in charge of making said decisions.

For a long time, I thought I would be part of the renaissance of our home church, to reform our little congregation to truly be about acts of service and giving our community the support they needed versus keeping up with appearances and the latest church tea.

How wrong I was.

“Well, that was a heavy sigh. Did you arrive? We can continue chatting about the expansion in our next meeting, girl. You’re always doing so much,” said Celia, still on the line for a quick sidebar after our conference call.

“Thanks, Ci, just made it on time, thanks to Leila. I need the minute, though, and y’know I love chatting with you. I’m so glad we’re taking things off Gabriel and Mason’s plates through this advisory council. They’ve done such good work and don’t deserve to be overwhelmed by it all.”

“And you, ma’am, also deserve not to be overwhelmed by all your many responsibilities….so are you really going through with it?” Celia whispered.

“Girl, yes, I just have to gather my courage to take the last step.” My hair brushed against my shoulders as my head moved from side to side, then reached back into my car for my purse.

“Good for you. Life is too short to be somewhere you don’t feel welcome anymore,” Celia chimed in as I reapplied lipstick, ignoring the clenching in my stomach.

“Yes, yes, you’re right.”

“And maybe you could start dating again. I heard that volunteer… What’s his name, Tariq? He is single and ready, and that man’s fine as he?—”

“Not you also trying to set me up! I haven’t met a person after…after everything who has sparked even one ounce of interest for me to leave my spinsterhood. The day I meet that person, I promise I’ll start dating again.”

“But you still want to marry, right?”

The question lingered in the air as I studied the area where the burial would happen.

Some of the family were already gathered there and my fellow choir members were forming on the other side of the departed’s final resting place.

From what Father Weaver told us, this man had very specific requirements for his ceremony.

Maybe they were meant for his family’s comfort. That’s what I chose to believe, anyway.

“Gisele…”

“Sorry, Celia, I’m going to be late if I don’t get going, but to answer your question, yeah. Just at my time, at my pace. With all that’s changing soon in my life…there’ll be time to find that person… to walk the path I want to walk.”

“Girl, not every man for you needs to come from the church; look at me and my wife. I mean, you were so close…”

As if I needed that reminder right now.

“I know. I know, Celia… It’s a strong preference, not a requirement if y’know what I mean.”

“I hear you, but remember, some of the best candidates are the ones you take a risk on.”

I had already taken risks with my previous candidate and ignored where we weren’t compatible, and I had nothing to show for it. No, I gained nothing lingering in the negative. There was no space for that here.

“Thanks, C. I’ll see you this weekend?”

“Okay, okay, I get it. I’m prodding too much. It took me two years to crack your code, so I know when I’m doing the most. See you this weekend!”

“Alright, girly.” I smiled at the dashboard as if she could see me.

Exiting the car, I placed my car key in my slacks pocket, needing only my vestment. I draped it quickly on and powered through the gravel path toward the burial grounds.

Soft grass cushioned my steps as I moved closer to Julio Jo?o Souza’s final resting place.

Intricate gold chairs circled the hole in the ground where a polished top-of-the-line casket sat open, waiting to be put to its proper use.

Flower arrangements of all sizes filled the space with warmth and color in the otherwise chilly afternoon.

An enormous frame boasted the deceased’s final photo in a sharp suit, his intractable gaze sizing up every single person who came to pay their respects.

His obituary online didn’t say much about the man outside of his many work accomplishments in law enforcement and his marriage to the one and only Maya Dorsen.

Of Maya Dorsen, I knew plenty. There wasn’t a moment that you turned on the TV and didn’t find her on a local talk show, cutting a ribbon in front of a new building in town, being honored with her name on a new street, or kissing a baby.

My heart went out to her, losing her beloved husband so early in life.

She was still in her prime in her fifties, her husband older than her but no less attractive.

The two of them struck an impressive figure together whenever they were out in town for events and red carpets.

To be a widow so early… To be an old maid so late…

Oh no, no, no, we’re not going there . Those insidious thoughts had no place on such a solemn day.

“Gisele! Just in time!” A jovial voice boomed over the hushed voices of the guests arriving.

The smell of incense, cloth balls, and altar wine enveloped me, and I sighed.

I would miss these hugs. Hugs are meant to convey joy, appreciation, comfort, and safety.

Very few people could give hugs like the ones Father Weaver could give.

“Hi, Father W, what you up to?” I looked up at the man who played Black Santa for our community every Christmas, needing only more salt in his beard to pull the role off.

“Well, here I’m waiting for Ms. Dorsen to give me the go-ahead. She asked to wait a few more minutes.” He leaned closer and beckoned me, and I complied to hear the private message. “I think she is hoping his children show up.”

“Oh…” My chest tightened at the thought of his sons not coming.

I’d read he had three grown sons whom he was very proud of; how could they not be here?

But then memories of my own father’s funeral rushed me, bringing a prickle to the back of my eyes.

Who knew what Souza had made his life truly about and what effect that had on his children?

I would know. Fatherless too early. Completely evitable.

Most of the people already seated didn’t look like kin to Souza based on his picture, but what did I know?

“Yeah, it seems they were estranged. I shall have to keep that in mind during my short sermon.”

“How come they’re doing everything here?”

“She didn’t want a church ceremony and then this, so she found a way to comply with her husband’s wishes but set both events here in a shorter manner.

I advised her as best as I could.” Father Weaver nodded and I swear, the man was wonderful but sometimes a little too talkative for his own good.

But he meant well…not like other people in our church.

“Oh, well, it’s all very lovely.” I nodded again, studying the faces.

Mostly people were here out of obligation if their facial expressions were any indication.

His wife sat on her own in a chair in the front, eyes cast down with a faraway look on her face.

I waved at my fellow choir members and they reciprocated. “Well, let me go get in place…”

“Alright, child, but before you go, are you alright? You were awfully quiet in that last vestry meeting.”

The last one. At least the last one for me.

“Mmmm,” I demurred.

“Listen…” Father Weaver’s jovial face went serious, and I turned to pay attention.

“Ms. Salazar, she means well. She thinks by having you sing…it’ll mend things.”

I smiled. It was either that or cackle maniacally at the injustice of it all. Me singing wouldn’t mend anything.

“But you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he finished.

“See, Father, you understand that, but many in our congregation…” I sighed.

It was a lost battle. I’d had some version of this conversation over and over for the past three months.

The closer the famed date drew, the more intense everyone got, and I seemed to be the one in the wrong.

I was the bad Christian for not turning the other cheek.

But I had no cheeks to give. “I don’t agree with the idea that in order for me to be a good Christian, I have to be a doormat. ”

There.

“I agree, there is nothing in the Bible that says that. But Jesus did say love your neighbor…”

“Yes, my favorite verse in the Bible, but he didn’t say love thyself less to love your neighbor.”

“Always arguing theology with me. I tell you, you would have loved seminary.”

No, I wouldn’t have. But I did love debating interpretations of the Word.

“Listen, why don’t you stop by next week and we have a chat? I want to make sure you feel welcomed as always.”

Too late for that, and my heart crumbled at the thought.

Maybe this was a good way to say goodbye.

Not only was Mr. Souza going to rest today, wherever he was going, but I was putting to rest a place that had withered in my soul and was no longer my home.

I didn’t have the heart to tell Father Weaver my decision right now, but I was glad for this moment with him.

A reminder that I could find a new place and start over eventually.

But for now, I needed space. And I needed to reassert my sense of self.

Of the self that had taken many losses in the past two years.

But this was the last one.

I didn’t plan to be in any space where I was no longer fully wanted and appreciated.

Never again.