My Soul Then Sings

by Michelle Lindo-Rice

Genres: African American Christian; African American Women's Fiction

Synopsis

Book Two of the Song of the Heart series Is there a sin not worth confessing? Ryan Oakes is keeping a huge secret, one that threatens his relationships with both his wife and son. As a new convert, his conscience prods him to tell the truth, but Ryan decides to employ every trick in the book to keep from confessing. When his marriage begins to suffer, he is forced to come clean--but at what cost?Patricia Oakes is troubled by her husband's unusual interest in Karlie Knightly. She is reminded that the only time Ryan cheated on her was with Tiffany, Karlie's mother. While she grapples with her fears, she can't help but be flattered by Timothy Newhouse, a fellow surgeon on an especially difficult case. Will she seek solace in another man's arms? Karlie Knightly's boyfriend, Jamaal Weathers, is pressuring her to have sex, and Karlie isn't trying to displease God. On top of that, brutal reviews on her debut song cite her as too sweet and inexperienced. Luckily, her best friend, Brian Oakes, has the perfect suggestion to help her find her edge. Against everyone's advice, Karlie and Brian begin an adventure, which draws them closer. Will she uphold the commitment she made to God? Brian Oakes is enjoying college life and in particular, college girls. When Karlie discovers his deepest secret, he realizes he feels more for her than just a friend. Will Brian reform his ways and grab his chance at true love?

Release date: September 1, 2015

Publisher: Urban Christian

Print pages: 288

Sample

Five years.

For five whole years Ryan Oakes had kept a secret, but he knew it was confession time.

“Today,” he said, gripping the steering wheel, “I’m telling Patti the truth, today.”

Ryan pulled his cream-colored Lincoln Navigator in the driveway of his five thousand square foot Brick Georgian Colonial home in Garden City, Long Island. He put the car into park but kept the motor running.

Ryan tapped the wheel. He had been saved for all of six months now, and someone had forgotten to tell him that salvation came with a Conscience—with a capital C—that prodded him to fess up and tell his wife and son what he had done.

The car sat idle as he vacillated. No, he could not do it. The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that there were some lies that should remain in the past. God had forgiven him and tossed all of his sins in the sea of forgetfulness. He would hold on to that.

Ryan sighed. He was forgiven, but if only he could forget. He leaned back into the leather seat and hit the back of his head several times against the padded headrest before closing his eyes. Determined, he shook his head and groaned, “No no no,” but that did not erase the guilt gnawing at him. There was no other option. He had to tell the truth. He knew it.

Patricia “Patti” Oakes opened the front door and poked her head out. Ryan’s eyes raked her five-ten slender frame, olive skin, and flowing auburn curls. One look at her sultry smile and pouty mouth and Ryan switched gears. Anxious, he undid the locks and crooked his finger.

She ambled toward him with a seductive sway of her hips. Patricia was a neurosurgeon, which meant she was a heady combination of smart and sexy.

Ryan hid a small smile. He knew what she was thinking, and he liked that idea. He waited for Patricia to open the passenger door and watched as she swung her long legs to hoist herself into the vehicle. As soon as she was settled, he placed his hand on her left leg and inched upward. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered. “As I sat in business meetings all day, I only had one thought. Coming home to see your face.”

“I’ve missed you too.” Her skirt hiked higher. “I didn’t expect to be in surgery all night, and by the time I came in this morning, you’d already left.”

He heard her plaintive voice and knew what she needed. Ryan reached for the seat adjustment and slid his seat backward. In a swift move, he lifted Patricia like a rag doll and positioned her so she straddled his lap. He drew her close to him and sniffed. She smelled like lavender. “I can’t wait,” he said, while his lips and hands proved his point.

“I figured as much,” Patricia groaned.

He was going to have her here and now. Ryan shifted the car in drive and curved his head around her body so that he could see. Then he pressed the garage door opener and pulled into the huge space. He did not care about being discreet, but if Brian, their only son, pulled up and saw them in such a compromising position, he would have their heads.

Ryan and Patricia loved each other almost to the point of obsession. Their consuming passion had made them oblivious to all, including Brian. For most of his formative years, Brian had felt ignored and unloved, which had led to his acting out, truancy, and aberrant behaviors. Ryan and Patricia had not known how Brian felt, and if they had not met Tiffany Knightly before she passed, they would have lost their son.

Tiffany had taken Brian under her wing as a surrogate mother. She fed him and encouraged Brian to quit smoking, get his act together, and improve his grades. Thirsty for love, Brian had clung to her and flourished under her attention.

It was because of Tiffany—and later her daughter, Karlie—their son was now in college and on the right path toward becoming a contributor to society. Brian, Karlie, and her boyfriend, Jamaal, attended New York University.

“I can’t wait, honey,” Patricia moaned. As soon as the garage door closed, she undressed.

Ryan eyed the tempting display and smiled. He was all too willing to comply. After almost twenty-five years together, Ryan still found her desirable and insatiable, and he loved that about her.

“Me, either, honey,” he whispered. He kissed her with passion before tearing his lips away. “Patti, we’re behaving like teenagers when we have a king-sized, four-poster bed inside the house.”

“I don’t need a bed,” she pouted. “I just need you.”

Patricia made a valid point. Throwing caution to the wind, Ryan made love to his wife. Afterward, when they exited the vehicle, they did not make it past the living room. Ravenous, Ryan and Patricia clawed each other with unbridled passion. He knocked over one of the $300 Murray Feiss lamps from an end table. Both ignored it.

Fortunately for them, Brian had not decided to pay them a visit that day. As they lay on the carpet in each other’s arms, Ryan cradled his wife’s head and played with the tendrils of her hair. Her skin glistened from the effects of their passion. Again, his conscience pricked him.

Tell her.

“No, I can’t.” He uttered the words in a low tone of voice, but Patricia heard him. She turned her body toward him and kissed him on the neck. “Can’t what?”

I can’t tell you the truth. Ryan rubbed his nose in her hair. Mmm. He smelled apricots. “I can’t have you again, though I want to.” It wasn’t a complete lie. He wanted Patricia all the time.

“Oh, Ryan, I love you,” she sighed. “How did I luck out with such a good man?” She took his face in her hands and kissed him gently on the lips. “I hear women at work gripe about their husbands, boyfriends, and baby daddies, and I consider myself blessed that I don’t have any worries like that. You’re a rare breed of man, Ryan Oakes, and I love you always.”

Ryan gulped, and his conscience gave him a swift kick in the gut. He closed his eyes because he knew that he did not deserve that trusting look on her face. Not anymore. But, he could not bear to see Patricia’s trust turn into disgust. What was he going to do?

Nothing.

“Wake up, sleepyhead.” Patricia poked him in the chest.

“Lord, help me,” Ryan prayed. He pried his eyes open.

His wife misunderstood and chuckled. “Yes, He’s going to have to help you because of what I’ve got planned . . .”

Ryan felt her body shift and knew what she intended to do. Tomorrow. He would tell her tomorrow. Never mind that he said that yesterday—and the day before that. He would keep his word this time. Tomorrow would be the day.

“What do they mean my sound is too sweet?”

Karlie Knightly swept her shoulder-length curls out of her face. She crisscrossed her long legs on her king-sized bed in the Marlton Hotel.

Karlie had wanted to rent an apartment, but her adopted father, Neil Jameson, convinced her to live in the hotel. That way she would not have to cook or worry about housekeeping with her coursework load. She had stepped into the luxurious building resplendent with rich burgundy undertones and had fallen in love. Though the rooms were small, she loved the crown moldings, brass fixtures, and the private marble bathroom. The onsite restaurant and café added to its appeal.

She clutched a printout from a quack blogger who was gathering clout. Her debut song, “How Great Thou Art,” had released to not-so-stellar reviews. According to this twit wannabe reporter, Karlie’s voice was nothing like her “dearly departed mother’s.”

In fact, Brenda Northeimer called her sound “too sweet, saccharine, and filled with fake sentiment to grasp the raw emotion needed for a song like that.”

Try losing your mother and see how you would feel.

Karlie grabbed several tissues from her nightstand and blew her nose. She knew she could not sing like her mother did. She was not trying to. She was her own person. Karlie crumpled the paper and tossed it against the wall. It landed on the herringbone wood floor with a thud.

Karlie strolled in her bathroom to throw out the soiled tissues and wash her face. She looked in the mirror at her almond-shaped face, so much like her mother’s except Karlie had honey-colored eyes and slightly fuller lips.

Brenda Northheimer did not know what it was like to be left alone because cancer had reared its head and torn her life to pieces. Five years had passed, but that did not stop Karlie from wetting her pillow at night for a mother who she would never see again.

Neil and his wife, Myra had taken her into their home and hearts. Their daughter, Addison, Addie for short, whom she adored, was the sister she never had. But Karlie missed her mother. Tiffany Knightly was irreplaceable.

Karlie’s cell phone buzzed. She jumped to retrieve it from her computer desk, hoping that it was her boyfriend, Jamaal Weathers. She had texted him earlier, but he still had classes, and then had step rehearsal after that.

It was not Jamaal. It was Brian.

Ugh, why didn’t Brian ever give her advanced notice? He just popped in whenever the mood struck. Karlie wiped her face. Since she lived on the second floor, she knew he would be at her door any minute. She scrambled to make her bed and picked up the crumpled paper. She was about to throw it into the trash can when she heard the knock.

Holding the paper in her left hand behind her back, Karlie opened the door. “Hey, Brian.”

“Hey, yourself, Sweet Cheeks.” He squeezed her cheeks and entered her small space.

Trying to be discreet, Karlie tossed the paper into the trash can, but Brian zeroed in on her action.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“It’s nothing,” Karlie replied, shooing her hand and moving away from the can.

Brian squinted his eyes. He was not buying her act. He bent his six-foot-five frame and pinned his light brown eyes on her face. “Your eyes are puffy. Have you been crying?”

“No.” She shook her head.

Brian studied her before walking over to the trash can. He reached in and picked it up.

Karlie lunged toward him to get the paper out of his hands. “What’re you doing? You can’t just come in here and rummage through my trash!”

Brian held his arm above her head.

Karlie jumped to get the paper. “Brian, give it to me. You’re so juvenile.”

He swayed it out of her reach. “Considering it’s the only thing in the garbage, I wouldn’t say that was rummaging. In fact, I was only searching for a piece of paper to stick my gum in.”

“You’re such a liar, Brian Oakes,” Karlie said. “You don’t have any gum in your mouth. You’re being nosy as usual, and this is a severe breach of my privacy.”

“Whatever.” Brian unrolled the paper.

Mortified, Karlie tromped over to her bed and plopped down, not the least bit comforted by the plush Duvet covers.

Brian’s head moved from left to right as he read the contents of the article. With a frown, he walked over to sit in the chair by her computer desk.

She saw his brow furrow and his lips curl and knew that he had gotten to that part.

“Who writes this trash and gets away with it?” In a fit of rage, Brian shredded the paper and hurled it back into the trashcan. “I hope you don’t believe any of that filth written solely to gather a following of people who have nothing better to do with their time.”

Karlie’s eyes widened. Brian was so articulate. He had an artful way of manipulating words. He would make a great journalist, or was it attorney? He had changed his major four times already.

He jumped to his feet and in two strides sat next to her on her bed. With a gentle touch, he placed one large hand under her chin. “Karlie, I hope you didn’t let that get to you. Fat Brenda is just doing her job. She’s stuck doing that because she’ll never have your figure, your finesse, and your future.”

“Great alliteration,” Karlie said with a smile. She shrugged. “She wasn’t the only critic though—and she’s not fat. Other reviewers said I had no right singing ‘How Great Thou Art.’ They said I hadn’t been through anything. I have a silver spoon in my mouth. Blah . . . blah. . . blah . . .”

“Let them talk,” Brian said. “Karlie, they don’t know you. They’ve forgotten your pain of losing your mother. Because they don’t know better, they feel your being stinking rich is the solution to all your problems.”

Karlie winced. It was true that she didn’t have to struggle financially, but it didn’t mean that she didn’t have struggles. When Winona Franks had approached her about launching her singing career, Karlie had fought tooth and nail. Winona had been her mother’s friend and longtime manager. Winona was a business whiz and under her guidance, Tiffany had made more money than she knew how to spend. Winona was ready to take Karlie under her wing.

Karlie agreed to do the well-known song as a trial to get her feet wet. Never had she imagined how much the rejection would hurt. Never had she realized how much she wanted it. She wanted to sing.

“Come on.” Brian stood. “Grab a jacket. Let’s go get you some ice cream.”

“I don’t know if I feel up for ice cream. Why don’t we just go downstairs to the Espresso Bar or even Margaux?” She especially loved Margaux’s alcove. The floral hangings gave the place cozy warmth.

Besides, she had another reason why she wanted to stay close. Karlie didn’t want to miss Jamaal if he decided to check in on her.

“Why? Is Jamaal coming over?” He raised his eyebrows.

Brian could be so astute at times it was scary. Karlie gave him a playful slap. “Shut up. It’s not what you think. Get your mind out of the gutter, Brian. We’re saved. You know that.”

He looked heavenward. “Yes, I know. But you guys have been dating since you were fifteen. That’s a long, long time for a couple to be abstinent.”

“And your point is?” Karlie arched her eyebrow.

She and Jamaal vowed to remain celibate until marriage. It was difficult, but they knew they could do it—with God’s help.

“You mean to say Jamaal hasn’t tried anything in all these years? And you’d better not lie to me because I’ll know.”

Karlie squirmed, not wanting to stretch the truth but not wanting to confess either. Instead, she attacked. With her nose in the air, she said, “Not every man behaves like a Neanderthal like some people.”

“Ouch.” Brian grinned and stepped back. He held up his hand. “Take it easy, young one. I meant no harm.”

“Don’t call me young one. You’re only two years older than me. Twenty-three is not old.”

“Yes, but I’ve been through a lot.”

That was true. Brian had grown up with two parents who made him feel as if he did not matter. As a result, he had been a juvenile bordering on delinquent until Karlie’s mother had rescued him from himself.

Karlie touched his arm and gave him a squeeze. “Yes, Brian, but you’ve turned your life around.”

He looked at her with a penetrating gaze.

For the first time in their six-year friendship, Karlie felt awkward. This strange tension had been happening between them of late, and she could not explain it. Not that she was trying too hard to figure it out.

She drew a deep breath and grabbed her sweater from the back of the chair. Maybe going out would not be such a bad idea. “I’ve changed my mind. Let’s go to Yooglers. I’ll text Jamaal and tell him where to meet us.”

Yooglers Frozen Yogurt was located on 791 Broadway and was a quick seven-minute walk.

He smiled. “Yooglers sounds good.”

Karlie noted Brian’s pearly whites and felt a small shift. What was happening here? How come she never noticed that Brian had such a beautiful smile before? In fact, he was fine. Super fine.

Confused by her sudden thoughts, Karlie distracted herself by putting on her sweater. They exited her building on Eighth Street and walked toward Broadway and made a left.

She shoved her hands into the pockets of her jean jacket. The March air felt nippy. Spring was taking its time arriving this year. She and Brian made small talk but concentrated on navigating their way through the busy streets of Manhattan. It was a few minutes shy of nine p.m. when they arrived.

Brian held the door open, and Karlie breathed in the smell of cookies, candies, chocolate, and syrups, not to mention yogurt. She rubbed her hands together in anticipation.

“What are you having this time?” Brian asked.

Every time Karlie went to Yooglers she tried a new flavor. So far, she had had seven of their forty-six different flavors, ranging from Cappuccino to Snickerdoodle.

“I think I’m getting the Fudge Brownie Batter this time,” she said, wrinkling her nose. Glancing around the orange and green establishment, she was glad there were only a few customers.

Brian headed toward the huge cow on the wall, near the entrance to the play area.

“Don’t even think about touching those balls. They were meant for six-year-olds not a six-footer.”

He executed a U-turn and grabbed a container. Brian chose the French Toast yogurt before trailing after her to get toppings. He piled his cup high with brownie bites, crushed chocolate mints, cheesecake bites, and marshmallow sauce.

Karlie stuck to just the yogurt. They strolled to the counter to weigh their yogurt and paid for their treat before finding a table.

Brian scooped a large spoonful of his concoction and popped it into his mouth. After he licked the spoon, he said, “As much as I hate to admit it, Karlie, I think Brenda what’s-her-name has a point.”

Karlie plopped her half-eaten yogurt on the table and glared at him. With careful enunciation, she asked, “What do you mean ‘she has a point’?”

“Whoa. Hear me out.” Brian held both hands up. “What I mean is that your voice is beautiful, but it lacks an edge—it lacks the haunting tone of someone who has experienced some things.”

“You’re contradicting yourself,” Karlie replied. “What about all that talk back at my place, when you said . . .” She looked around and lowered her voice. “What about when you said that losing my mother is tough and all that.”

“Yes, but you’re the quintessential poster girl.” Brian took another scoop of his treat. He pushed Karlie’s yogurt back toward her.

After a couple seconds, she dug in. “What’s wrong with being a good girl, Brian?”

“Nothing, but it’s boring,” he said. “No one cares about the good girl. You’re a yawn. You’ve got to get some edge. Do something crazy—out of this world—you know, let more people notice you. Get to know you. You’ve got to get out of your mother’s shadow. You can’t be Tiffany Knightly’s daughter. You’ve got to be you—Karlie. Who is she anyway?”

Karlie’s mouth popped open. She did not know how to answer. She was still searching for her identity. “I’m—I’m me.”

Brian yawned for effect. His point hit home.

Karlie used her spoon to flick a dollop of frozen yogurt toward his left cheek.

He laughed, swiped at it with his thumb, and tasted it. “You need to do some crazy stuff and post it to YouTube. You know like Miley Cyrus twerking all over the place.”

Twerking was the name of the dance move where young ladies jiggled their rear ends in a sensual, suggestive manner.

Karlie splayed her hands. “You can forget about that. I’m not twerking or doing all that crazy nonsense. I’m a church girl, and I like it.” She folded her arms in stubborn protest.

“I didn’t mean for you to shake your booty and post for the world to see—although, I would like to see that.” Brian grinned.

Karlie wasn’t amused.

He hoped to redeem himself. “Karlie, all I am asking is when are you going to stop being and start living?”

Karlie knew her eyes were wide. “I am living.” She slid her chair away from the table.

Brian leaned over. “You need to try things—mudding, parasailing, snorkeling—you know, atypical adventures for a black woman.”

“That sounds crazy. I’m not trying to kill myself. You should know me better to even suggest that.”

“I do know you better, which is why I’m suggesting you step out of your comfort zone. You won’t be killing yourself. You’d be living. And stop looking at me as if I have horns on my head.”

Karlie propped her elbows on the table and rested her head in her hands. “I’m looking at you that way because your idea is borderline certifiable. How do you propose I do all these adventures? I’m in school, or did you forget that pertinent fact?”

Brian finished his yogurt. He reached for hers and ate it. “Like the use of the word pertinent, by the way. But, I digress.” He tossed the empty containers into the trash receptacle. “I’ve already thought of that, and I have a quick and easy solution.”

Karlie leaned in to hear his option.

“You need to take a semester off.”

Her mouth hung open. “You must be out of your mind. My dad would hit the roof if I fixed my mouth to tell them that. He’s not like your dad who was cool with you taking a year after high school to backpack through Europe. He has plans—I mean, I have plans for my life.”

“Aha. Your own words betrayed you. You are opera. . .