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was Harold, Anthony's stepfather, the only father he ever really knew, sitting in that burgundy armchair smoking his cigarettes, much to Aunt Rosa's disapproval. “Addin' another flame to your destiny, I see,” she would say to him.
    Anthony smiled at the memories of Sundays past while sitting alone in his study, chewing reluctantly on a tasteless turkey breast. Terri had just left to meet her longtime friend Cherisse for dinner, as had become her custom for the past several weeks. Although he was not particularly fond of Cherisse, he welcomed the couple of hours he would have to himself.
    “Just fifteen minutes of normalcy, Lord. That's all I'm asking for,” Anthony mumbled between bites of rubbery peas.
What a prayer,
he laughed to himself.
    But then another thought sobered him as he eyed a ragged folder sticking out of the papers on his desk.
How long is this going to last?
he wondered. The large black letters printed on the tab of the folder jabbed his conscience like a steak knife. He shook his head in shame, wanting to be rid of the burden, wondering how he'd even gotten through the sermon earlier that day. He thought about Terri and the words she'd said after morning service.
    “An old broke country preacher,” he mumbled. “Preacher,” he repeated quietly, catching a glimpse of himself in a large mirror across the room.
    Following their spat in the car, the tension between the two had only gripped them more tightly when they arrived home. Terri had gone straight to her private sitting area to make several phone calls to her friends. Anthony was sure that he heard his name more than once in her whispered conversations.
    But he was by himself now. Anthony was determined to let go of the gnawing frustration he felt. He was especially relieved to see that Terri had left her tote bag with his Bible still inside in her sitting room. He decided to finish eating before retrieving the letter.
I've got to get that letter to Pastor Green as soon as possible,
he reminded himself, his eyes falling on the ragged folder again.
    When he finished clearing his plate he headed to his planned destination, stopping only once to water some dying plants sitting near the deck. He walked quickly through the hallways, haunted by his echoing footsteps on the golden beige ceramic floor.
    When he reached the french doors sealing off Terri's sitting room, he paused for a second. Terri regarded this area as her own personal sanctuary. He had only been in there twice, both times to help Terri move some furniture. He opened the doors, almost expecting an alarm to go off, laughing at himself when none did.
    Nearly everything in the room was a shade of orange, from the heavy damask curtains to the oversized leather lounger and the sculptured floor lamp with furry-looking fringes dangling from its shade. Abstract artwork and a collection of ceramic tigers decorated the peach-painted walls and tables. The tamest item in the room was an oblong animal-print rug lying in the middle of the floor.
    He picked up a jewel-encrusted picture frame sitting on an end table and studied the lone figure smiling back at him. It was a portrait of Terri, taken shortly after they began dating five years ago, given to him from her as an engagement gift a year later.
    “I'm going to make your life so rich,” she'd murmured in his ear as she handed him the photograph encased in the two-hundred-fifty-dollar onyx-and-silver frame. Aunt Rosa must have heard her words because she'd been quick with a remark about a man being rich whose treasure was the Lord.
    “And it wouldn't do a woman bad to be rich in Him also,” she said, smacking her lips on some smoked salmon at their engagement party. Anthony recalled how her comment had frozen the entire room for a second. He had not missed the quiet nods and concerned faces that surrounded her words. He had not missed them, but he chose to ignore them. They did not know Terri like he did, he had assured himself. A woman of