Dayciaa “Shae” Smith
1068 Darren Cir E Cordova, TN 38018
901-483-1908
Word Count: 60,000 words
Contemporary Christian Fiction
Joy and Payne
By
Shae Smith
Smith/Joy and Payne (2020)/1
Chapter 1
“Good Morning. Today is Thursday, March twelfth, 2020, and I am Joy Lancaster, reporting to you from Atlanta’s Channel Nine News, with your Live at Five Broadcast.
“The spread of the novel Coronavirus, supposedly originating in Wuhan, China, has become a grave concern among medical experts and health officials across the country and around the world. Specifically throughout Georgia, over the last ten days, the following occurrences have made headlines: On March second, the Governor announced the first verified COVID-19 cases in the state; within seven days, the case numbers more than quadrupled; three days ago, on March ninth, Fulton County closed all of its schools and offices due to a teacher contracting the virus; just two days ago, there was another marked rise in cases and the World Health Organization declared COVID-19 a pandemic; yesterday, the NBA suspended its season on account of a player testing positive for the virus, President Trump restricted travel to Europe, and Savannah’s St. Patrick’s Day Festival and Parade were officially cancelled. As the Coronavirus continues to proliferate, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and the
World Health Organization strongly urge and encourage all citizens to abide by the
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precautionary measures and safety regulations recommended.”
#
I sat in my office at the news station, reading more research I had collected pertaining to COVID-19, and listening to “Blessings on Blessings,” by Anthony Brown & group therAPY via my earbuds, trying to keep myself alert and focused. Earlier that morning, after I’d come off the air, my devotional topic was “Behold Abundant Blessings” based upon the Scripture reference Deuteronomy 28:2-“And all these blessings shall come upon you and overtake you, if you obey the voice of the Lord your God.” This reflection had placed the upbeat Gospel tune on my mind. While I was certainly no perfect, sinless person, I endeavored to heed the voice of God and yield to the Holy Spirit in every area of my life. And I could see the Divine Hand of God covering me, guarding me, guiding me and protecting me consistently. At forty-four years old, I had great health, love and support from family and friends, a comfortable home, contentment in my career, and most importantly, a thriving relationship with my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Yes, life had dealt me some devastating blows during my forty-four years on earth, but all-in-all, I couldn’t complain. God’s Grace and mercy brought me through.
I followed up my morning worship song playlist with “Your Grace and Mercy” by The Mississippi Mass Choir, one of my mother’s all-time favorites, and “Great is Your Mercy” by Donnie McClurkin. As I softly sang along, I silently rattled off a list of activities ahead for my day once I left work at noon: meet my cousin Colleen and my Spelman College-based Godsister crew at The Cheesecake Factory for our monthly mid-day group gathering; grocery shop for the next two weeks; go with Mom to the Fox Theatre to see a stage play. By evening, I knew I’d be worn out, especially considering typical traffic congestion in the ATL.
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While lamenting the long drawn-out, inevitable commutes in my mind, someone faintly knocked on my partially opened door.
“Come on in,” I called.
Terrell Tompkins walked into my office, smiling at me. Terrell, our Production Manager, was a Christian man and a classically handsome young brother, ten years my junior. About a year ago, he had asked if I would accompany him to our co-worker’s engagement party. Turning him down was perhaps the most difficult decline of my life. I didn’t judge other women if they were okay with it, but it wouldn’t work for me. Maybe had he only been three or four years younger, but a whole decade? When I was getting advanced from elementary to junior high school, he was just being born. Talk about cradle-robbing. Ew.
He flashed me that irresistible, flawless grin accented by bright, brown eyes. “Good Morning, Miss Joy…again.” He chuckled.
I smiled back, lowering the volume on my iPhone. “Hi, Terrell. How can I help you?”
“I’ve come to deliver a message that Banks wants the whole staff to meet him in the conference room at precisely ten-thirty.”
I glanced at my phone clock. “That’s in ten minutes. Sure isn’t a lot of notice.”
“I believe he has a surprise in store.”
“Thanks for making a personal trip to tell me.
“You realize you could have called or texted.”
“No problem at all. It gave me a good reason to see your beautiful face.”
I smiled again. “Terrell, you’re too sweet.” And much too young. “I’ll see you in just a few minutes, I guess.”
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“Yes, ma’am.” He walked out, still grinning.
“I wonder what this could be about,” I muttered to myself. Better check myself over well, I decided, heading to my built-in office restroom. As the second-highest tenured female staff member, last year I’d been upgraded to that particular prized office. My professional move served as a satisfactory reminder that being seasoned in age sometimes had its perks, praise God!
I took a tinkle, washed and dried my hands thoroughly, and stared at myself in the mirror. There I was, Joy Imani Lancaster, 5’4”, caramel-brown complexioned with umber-colored eyes. That day, my natural hair was concealed underneath Bobbi-Boss™ Brazilian Deep-Twist Crochet Braids. I wore a dark-grey pencil skirt suit set designed by Carlie Cushnie. I fluffed out my locs, applied a tad more lip gloss and a touch more mascara to both sets of lashes. Maybe a famous person had dropped by. We did live in Atlanta, after all.
I knelt down to pray briefly about the purpose of this meeting. I didn’t expect anything negative, but I wanted my heart properly prepared. Terrell was always positive-minded, which I really appreciated about him, but most likely, he didn’t know the reason for the meeting, either. 2020 had already started out rather rocky for me: in January, Kobe Bryant had died in an eerie plane crash, and I’d watched him play pro-basketball for nearly two decades from the time he was drafted until his retirement from the LA Lakers in 2016; but that paled in comparison to just the month before, in February, when my maternal grandmother, Pauline--my last living grandparent--died at age ninety-five following a four-month battle with double pneumonia. And now, in came Corona. So, I wanted to be optimistic, but I was combating anxiety and emotional unrest. “Lord, please help me to be overcome with Your peace as You promised in John 16:33.
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May whatever it is awaiting in this meeting be delightful for your Glory. In Your Son Jesus Christ’s Name, I pray. Amen.”
I walked out of my office into quietness as I passed by the entry-level employees’ cubicles, recalling my earlier days as a twenty-something staff reporter in the late 1990s and early 2000s. I rode the elevator up to the next floor where the conference room was located. I rounded the corner and almost felt like I’d been duped into a pre-April Fool’s Day joke, it was so stealthily silent. When I pushed open the door, the lights flipped on, and about twenty people jumped up and shouted, “Surprise!”
I squealed excitedly, cupping my hand over my mouth and feeling my heartbeat race.
“Congratulations, Joy!” Staff members came rushing up to me to give me hugs and pats on the back.
I stood there, stunned and stupefied. “You guys, thank you. Thank you so much.” I looked around at everyone. “But, I don’t…I don’t understand why…”
Carl Banks stepped forward, shocked. “You don’t remember?”
I shook my head, embarrassed.
“Tell her, Terrell.”
Terrell, who’d been standing by my side since I’d walked in the door, was all too thrilled to reveal. “On this very day, twenty years ago, you started your internship right here at this news station!
"I did my research." He winked at me charmingly.
I thought back to March twelfth, 2000. Yep, that was right. “Wow,” I breathed. I couldn’t believe that much time had passed. “I’m at a loss for words. All of you are amazing,
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and I’m so grateful and humbled. This is such a blessing.
“Banks, Terrell, I don’t know how I could ever thank you sufficiently.”
“Well, we did have a little help in making it all come together.” Banks nodded toward the door. “Look behind you.”
I wheeled around quickly and hollered deliriously at the sight of the sixty-nine-year-old, six-foot-five man standing before me.
“Marxie!” I threw my arms around his neck like a seven-year-old girl who was reunited with her daddy after an extended business trip.
He hugged me back just as tightly. “Oh, my darling Joy, I am so happy for you and so proud of you. You are most deserving of this recognition.”
Victor Marx, endearingly known to me and a select group of other people as “Marxie,” was my cohort’s head mentor when I first came on board at News Channel Nine. Marxie was a legendary leader because he led with vision, and he connected personally with every single one of the nineteen interns who had arrived with me: from our family members to our favorite foods to our future goals and dreams. But what was most meaningful to me about Marxie was the father figure role he voluntarily assumed in my life. My own father died was I was five, due to a bizarre motorcycle racing fatality. My uncles--my dad’s brothers--lived in other states, and my mother had no brothers. So, Marxie was like my uncle and surrogate dad wrapped into one. Along with my first job, he’d given me sound dating advice--he and his lovely wife, Vanessa, had been married forty-seven years--and the best birthday gifts every year since I was
twenty-five. Marxie had retired as Head of News Channel Nine in January—with a celebration five times the size of the one I was getting—and Banks had been promoted in his place.
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“It’s so great that you’re here. I haven’t seen you since January.”
He stood back and eyed me mysteriously. “You must have known something big was happening. You’re all primped up like you’re about to meet a celebrity.”
“Seeing you is better than seeing a celebrity.” I gave him another bear hug. “Thank you.”
"Joy, we have a presentation for you," Banks said. “Dr. Dillard, will you please come forward?”
Dr. Dillard was the Senior Most Executive at the station since Marxie had retired. I really liked her spirit. She was calm, pleasant and incredibly patient with everyone.
“Joy, we’d like to present this plaque to you for your two decades of service at News Channel Nine.” She held the plaque out a few inches from her face and peered at the writing through her reading glasses. It reads: ’In heartfelt recognition and sincere appreciation of Ms. Joy Lancaster, for her twenty years of dedicated and committed service to News Channel Nine-Signed by Victor Marx and Carl Banks- March Twelfth, 2020.” She handed the plaque to me. “Congratulations.”
I hugged Dr. Dillard. “Thank you so much. It’s such an honor to have you here.”
“Would you like to say a few words to everyone?” Banks prompted.
I cleared my throat. “Yes, I would. “When I first began my career journey at News Channel Nine, I was very young and timid, Marxie will tell you. Initially, I took constructive
criticism negatively, as if it were an attack on my character, because I was highly sensitive and self-conscious. But Marxie pulled me aside one day and told me to not take the comments personally but professionally. He told me he only wanted me to improve in the profession
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because he saw all my growth potential, and he said he was praying for me to be strong and stick it out through the hard days. I now think about that advice as it relates to my maturity in my faith over the years: because of the discipline and pruning by the Lord, I can stand here today and say I’m much stronger and wiser, not only as a news anchor, but above all, as a woman of God. And I look around at all of you—some of you were mere toddlers when I started here—but I can truly say I see the Spirit of the Lord moving in this workplace. I’ve made lifelong friends and I’ve learned something valuable from every one of you, just by being in your presence. Thank you for your kindness and generosity.”
There was a round of applause and cheers.
“All right, let’s get this party started before Joy’s workday ends,” Banks announced.
I heard my most-loved Gospel tunes reverberating through the speakers. Anywhere else, someone would have probably filed a complaint about Gospel music playing, but not here. That’s how I knew I was incredibly blessed, and the Lord put me exactly where I needed to be.
#
“Joy, that was wonderful of them to give you a surprise celebration for your twentieth,” my cousin Colleen commented, as I passed my phone around so she, Brenda and Lana could see photos from the party.
“It sure was.” In addition to the plaque, I’d received a few other great gifts: Marxie had
gotten me an engraved gold Guess watch, Dr. Dillard had bought me a brand new sterling silver nameplate, and Terrell had given me a scarf pin with my first initial “J” accented by my birthstone, the Ruby.
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“This is a cute pic of you and Marxie,” Lana noted, as she and Brenda left-scrolled. “Umm…Terrell looks like he just struck gold standing next to you.”
“He is such a sweetheart. I wish I knew a suitably nice younger woman to introduce to him.”
“He doesn’t want a suitably nice younger woman,” Brenda challenged. “He wants you.”
We all laughed. We’d been chit-chatting in the guest lounge area of the Perimeter Mall Cheesecake Factory for over thirty minutes, waiting for our table to be called, and we’d probably be waiting another half-hour before we were actually seated. Colleen, Lana and Brenda all basically worked nine-to-five, so they usually took the afternoon off when we had these outings. The place was packed, but it wasn’t nearly as crowded as it would be at dinner time.
“I don’t know about you guys,” Lana said, handing my phone back to me, “but this Pandemic business is pretty scary to me.”
“Me too,” Brenda said.
“I’ve been praying, and it is quite disturbing. No one but God can stop it from going further than it has already,” I said.
“Amen,” Colleen chimed.
“I hope they can identify its origin and how it spreads,” Lana said. “If we can isolate this particular strain before it multiplies anymore, that’s the key to controlling the virus right now.” She worked as a radiographer in one of the nearby hospital clinics.
“Now, that’s something worth praying,” I said, matter-of-factly.
Finally, at 12:45, we were seated at our table and mulling over our menus.
“What’s everybody’s plans for the weekend?” I asked casually.
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“Barry and I are celebrating our fifteenth wedding anniversary,” Brenda announced giddily, clapping her hands with glee. “My parents are keeping the kids for us.” Brenda and Barry had middle-school aged children—a son and a daughter.
“Amen. Congratulations!”
“How awesome! Didn’t you say a few months ago that you two going on a tour of Greece?” Colleen asked.
Brenda’s grin flopped to a frown. “We were, until the Pandemic caused it to be postponed because Trump instituted the travel ban to Europe.”
“I’m so sorry,” I sympathized.
Brenda shrugged, aiming to look on the bright side. “We are disappointed, but Greece isn’t going anywhere. We’ll see it next year in 2021.”
“You guys could go to a quaint little bed-and-breakfast in Savannah,” Lana suggested.
“If they don’t shut down too, due to Corona,” Colleen quipped. “’Excuse me, Bren’,” she quickly countered. “I don’t mean to be cynical.”
“No, you’ve got a point. Now’s the time when you can’t have too many backups.” Lana cleared her throat with a little smirk. "I have a date Saturday night." She sipped her
drink slowly.
“Good for you! How did you meet him?” I asked. “Online. We’ve been talking for a few weeks, actually, I just decided not to bring him up
right away.”
“Swell. What site did you meet him? Maybe I need to check it out,” Colleen mused.
“Hold that thought, Colleen. Let me first see if this dude is legit.”
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“I know that’s right. I’ll be snuggled up in bed with a good book, watching a bunch of hunks on Hulu I can’t have.
“I hope and pray all this virus foolishness is cleared up by my milestone birthday.” Colleen was a few years older than the rest of us, and she would be turning fifty in October.
“So true.” I felt my phone vibrate in my purse, and I knew I needed to check it in case it was an emergency about my mom. She resided in a Senior Living Facility, but she was a stroke survivor with several other health issues, and, as a result, I was always on high alert.
“Joy, aren’t you taking Aunt Doris to the play at Fox Theatre tonight?” Colleen asked me.
I stared at the phone number coming up on the Caller ID and my face grew grim.
“Are you okay?”
I declined the call and returned my attention to the group. “Sorry, what were you saying?”
“You spaced out on us for a minute there.”
“I received a strange phone call.”
“What made it strange?” Lana inquired.
“It looked…a lot like Elijah’s number, if I’m remembering correctly.”
Colleen winced. “Elijah? Your ex-?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Surely, you’re mistaken,” Brenda interjected. “It probably reminded you of his number
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because it’s similar. Don’t think anymore about it. The person most likely misdialed.”
I nodded, not completely convinced. “Mm-hmm.”
Colleen studied me protectively, in that pseudo older sister way only she could. “That call really threw you, didn’t it?”
I shook myself back to the present. “I’m fine,” I assured. “I’m looking forward to a relaxing weekend at home and going to church on Sunday.”
#
My mother Doris and I sat in the atrium of the Fox Theatre that night for the Broadway production of Ain’t Misbehavin’, one of the all-time, most popular musical stage plays. Upon leaving The Cheesecake Factory at nearly three p.m., I had decided I was too tired to go grocery shopping for myself before needing to pick up my mother at five p.m. Besides, it wouldn’t have been enough time, anyway. I relished the opportunity to take my mother on outings, because she was primarily homebound due to her restricted mobility and other physical impediments like fibromyalgia, neuropathy and occasional gastrointestinal complications. Yet, she was only sixty-five years old, and prior to her stroke five years ago, she was one of the most active people I knew. Mom had always taken good care of herself in terms of her diet and other lifestyle choices—she didn’t smoke, drink or indulge in any other risky behaviors—nevertheless, the weight of emotional baggage had encumbered her psychosomatically: distress over the tragic, sudden death of my dad; worry and weariness from her thirty-year career as a schoolteacher; fear
and anxiety over the trajectory of my dating relationships. Mom was a genuine God-fearing woman, but she struggled to activate First Peter 5:7 in her life--to cast all her cares upon Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior. Instead, she’d tried to carry them until she’d buckled under the
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load. An avalanche of concurrent ailments was the result. I’d ordered her an essential oils aromatherapy set that past Christmas and a couple of devotionals for depression and anxiety in the hopes it would brighten her mood and her mindset.
“That pants suit fits you perfectly,” Mom commented.
I smiled. “Thank you.” I’d changed into a black pants suit fashioned by Rihanna that Mom had bought me for Christmas. It was easier to wear pants when out with Mom due to the ways I had to stretch and bend to help her into the car or catch her if she got wobbly on her walker.
“You’re not as talkative tonight.”
I shrugged. “I’m pondering.”
“What about?”
I heard my phone vibrate twice in my purse. In all honesty, I didn’t have to check it since Mom was right there in front of me and I knew she was safe, but curiosity got the best of me.
I pulled my phone out of my purse and saw two text message alerts. Upon checking them, they read:
TEXT: Hey.
TEXT: How are you? Can we talk?
My heart was beating so fast, I could barely focus to type a response:
ME: Who is this?
“Joy? Dear, what is it?”
“Huh? Nothing, Mom.” I turned my attention back to her. “I’m thinking about life and all this craziness with the Pandemic.”
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Mom’s brow wrinkled. Miraculously, through all of her severe medical infirmities, she never once lost her mental faculties, and, in some ways, they were even more keen than before. “Who’s texting you?”
I shook my head honestly. “I don’t know. I just asked them who they are.”
“If they don’t say who they are, you need to block them—tonight.”
“Yes, ma’am. “Can we talk about something else, please?”
“Sure.”
“I want to tell you about the progress with the mentoring agency.” Colleen and I had been co-mentoring middle school and high school girls for about ten years--I’d always been passionate about youth outreach and Colleen was a social worker and youth minister at her church--when just over three years ago, the Lord had given us the vision to start a city-wide mentoring program called “S.W.E.L.L.”-Sisters Who are Exemplary Leaders for the Lord.” Life’s unpredictable trials had gotten in the way, and we’d allowed it to delay the commencement of our Program but now 2020 was here, and Colleen and I were determined to get it up and running with wisdom, direction and provision from God.
“Great. You know I love to hear about how that’s going.”
“This week, our non-profit agency status finally got approved, so now we can actively start seeking mentors, community benefactors and donation funding.”
“I want to be the first to donate. I’m so proud of you and Colleen. Praise God!”
“Thanks, Mama. I had every intention of kicking it off a couple of years ago. I just couldn’t get myself together to do it.”
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“You had some rough days around that time. But He brought you through, it’s all behind you, and we’re looking ahead to S.W.E.L.L.”
“Right.”
The lights dimmed, and the show began.
#
It was past nine o’clock when I finally got home, totally exhausted. I kicked off my shoes in the hall closet and picked out a grape-flavored frozen fruit cup from the freezer. Then I settled down on my red velvet couch, feeling myself about to doze. I put a spoonful of mushy slush in my mouth for a quick jolt.
“Alexa,” I called out to the Echo, “play ‘Alright,’ by Cece Winans.
“’Alright,’ by Cece Winans, on Amazon Music,” Alexa recited.
When the song started to play, I remembered what Mom said about blocking the odd phone number. I pulled out my phone to do so, and the mysterious caller rang me again.
“Alexa, stop!” I called out. I took a deep breath and waited two more rings before answering. “Hello.”
There was silence on the other end.
“Hello?” I moved to press “End” on my keypad.
“Hey, baby, it’s me. It’s Elijah.” the caller finally spoke. “I’m so glad you answered.”
I froze as if time stood still for me, and my heart plummeted to my stomach. Deep down,
I’d known it was him when he’d first called while I was sitting in the restaurant. A non-reply for an identity request was the second confirmation. Mom had reminded me to block the number
when I’d dropped her off at home. But I’d stalled, because I wanted triple confirmation that my
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suspicion was correct. Now I had it.
“I figured it was you.”
“I had trouble catching you earlier. How have you been?”
“Very well,” I answered quite quickly. “I’m incredibly blessed; I can’t complain. And yourself?”
“I’m makin’ it. I miss you so much, though. I think about you every day.”
“Elijah, you need to be telling this to your wife, not me!” I carped.
“I got divorced last year.”
I blinked dumbfoundedly. “Really?”
“Yeah, last May. Almost a year ago now.”
“I--I don’t know what to say.”
“I want to see you so I can explain everything. And I want to get caught up on what’s been happening with you. Can we meet tomorrow after I get off work?”
I shook my head. “This is a little too much, too fast. Why don’t you give me a call when you get off work tomorrow? I’ll answer.”
“I need to see you face-to-face. A phone call won’t cut it with something this serious. Please.”
I hesitated. Instead of asking God what I should do, I sought my own rationalization. “I can meet you at Starbucks on Piedmont Road.” I heard him bellow a sigh of relief. “That sounds
great. Six o’clock, okay?”
“Yes, but I can’t stay long. Thirty minutes at the most.”
He dismissed my time constraint warning. “Thank you, baby. I’ll see you tomorrow
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night. Sleep well.” He blew a kiss into the phone. “Good night.”
I hung up slowly, regretting that I hadn’t consulted God or a spiritual confidante about this meeting, and knowing I was in for a long, restless night.