The Favorite Son Page 3

  After several minutes of this, Trina was breathless, but Blaine was full of energy. She placed one hand on his chest and softly pressed, pushing him away.

  “Do you want …” Trina started and stopped.

  “Do I want what?”

  “Do you, um, want to come inside? My grandmother is asleep by now, and I have the whole first floor to myself.”

  Blaine wanted to shout his victory, but he maintained his composure. “Only if you want me to, baby.”

  “Baby … I do.”

  Blaine hesitated at her repeating his term of endearment. Had he gone too far with that? Did the stars in her eyes mean she’d forgotten that she was only a good friend? Well, he hadn’t lied, at least, and it was too late now for him to change his mind. He was at the point of no return.

  “Trina,” Blaine said as they got out of the car. “Don’t tell anyone about us, okay? My father wouldn’t be happy about it, you know. It might not be good for the ministry.”

  Trina smiled, “As long as you don’t tell anyone, silly, my lips are sealed.”

  “I got you.”

  Blaine wrapped his arm around Trina’s waist as they stumbled into the house. He felt just a little bit bad because Trina maybe thought this meant more than what it did, but it would all work out for the good, though. Blaine would give Trina a great evening. He’d say all the right things and push all the right buttons, and at some point he’d move on to a new conquest without breaking any promises. Because he’d never made any.

  CHAPTER 3

  Three loud and rapid knocks on Camden’s front door drew his attention away from his computer screen. He was working on a new song and burning the midnight oil doing so. He’d started over more times than he cared to count, and still, Camden felt something was missing. So the knocks on the door annoyed Camden more than anything, especially since he knew that only one person would show up at his door this late, rattling it on the hinges with his heavy pounding.

  Camden pulled his robe on over his pajamas and almost got to the door before the knocks began again. At the end of the second knock and right before the third landed, Camden swung the door open and allowed his father to march through. Camden felt his annoyance grow a little bit closer to anger. It was too late for a surprise visit.

  “I haven’t interrupted anything, have I?” Pastor Wilson asked with a chuckle. “You don’t have Dawn stashed away in a bedroom, do you?”

  Camden didn’t laugh at the joke. Not because he couldn’t share a laugh with his father, but simply because it wasn’t funny. Dawn was a virgin and was going to stay that way until they walked down the aisle if Camden had anything to do with it. He’d had his slip-ups over the years, but he wasn’t going to take Dawn down that path.

  “It’s late, Dad.”

  “It’s not that late. You’re in your twenties. When I was your age, I wouldn’t even be indoors at this time of night. You should live a little.”

  “Live a little,” Camden repeated.

  “Yes. And you ought to marry that girl. She’s nice and thick, just like your mother was before we got married.”

  Camden could smell the bourbon on his father’s breath. That scent always made him sick to his stomach. He’d been smelling it since he was a little boy and it always had the same effect.

  “You want some coffee?” Camden asked.

  Since his father would hopefully be heading home after he left Camden’s apartment, Camden would rather he be more sober. His mother would appreciate it.

  “No, no. Stephen is waiting for me in the car. I won’t be staying long.”

  It irritated Camden that Stephen had ferried his father over to his apartment. Stephen was Pastor Wilson’s armor bearer, his right hand man. Sometimes Camden felt like Stephen was more a son to his father than he was. He wondered if Stephen was the one who fixed his father’s drinks too. There was always a bottle of bourbon in his office at the church and one in his father’s Benz, open bottle laws be damned.

  “Okay, Dad.”

  “Are you going to ask me why I’m here?”

  Camden shook his head and sat on his couch while Pastor Wilson remained standing. “You’re going to tell me, I’m sure.”

  “What were you thinking choosing that song for worship tonight?” Pastor Wilson asked after clearing his throat and clasping his hands in front of him—his lecturing pose.

  “I felt led by the Holy Spirit,” Camden said.

  “That’s some bull, son. You felt led by your own ambitions. You saw Royce in the audience and thought you’d let him get a taste of some of that Dallas flavor.”

  Camden didn’t respond. It was pointless anyway. Camden knew this was the beginning of one of his father’s signature bourbon-fueled rants. There was no point objecting.

  “I have to say, I was a little bit proud of you. You’re usually too scared to pull off something like that. Blaine probably put you up to it.”

  Camden’s nostrils flared. He hated how his father always found a way to make Blaine’s rebellious attitude seem like a strength and Camden’s obedience seem like a weakness.

  “It’s my song. I decided,” Camden said.

  Pastor Wilson laughed. “Thank you for being honest. That show you put on tonight had less to do with the Holy Spirit than your mother’s choreographed shout.”

  Pastor Wilson turned his back to Camden and put both hands behind his head as if pondering what to say next. Camden had seen this same performance so many times that he could anticipate the next move. The best (or worst, depending on who was on the receiving end) was yet to come.

  “Graceway Worship Center is my church. Everything that happens in my church gets approved by me. I paid the cost to be the boss. Hear me?”

  “Yes, sir,” Camden mumbled.

  Pastor Wilson picked up one of the books from Camden’s coffee table. He’d given them to Camden as gifts. Effective ministry books. Books about growing churches. Books about being a great pastor.

  “If you ever opened one of these books instead of using them as decorations, maybe you’d understand where I’m coming from. I let your mother get you those piano lessons. I should’ve had you at my side. You think I want to run this church my entire life? But who do I have coming behind me?”

  Camden’s eye twitched. This speech wasn’t authentic. Camden had never expressed a desire to preach, and other than buying a book from time to time, Pastor Wilson hadn’t encouraged it.

  “You have Blaine.”

  Pastor Wilson narrowed his eyes at his son. “You’re right. I do have Blaine. He needs some work, but I tell you one thing. He’s loyal to this ministry. I know Blaine has my back.”

  Camden wanted to reply, “And I don’t?” But he was afraid of the answer. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know his father’s true feelings.

  “From here on out, song selections are to be submitted to me at least forty-eight hours before service.”

  “What if the Holy Spirit dictates otherwise?”

  Pastor Wilson stared at Camden with his head tilted and a look of incredulity on his face. “I said the music gets approved in advance. Do you understand?”

  Camden swallowed hard. “I understand.”

  Pastor Wilson continued his tirade. “Whosoever thinks they’re gonna come up in my church calling shots and making decisions has got it wrong. Whose church is it?”

  Camden hated when his father asked this question. As a child, he’d gotten beaten with his father’s leather belt for giving the wrong response. At the age of twelve, Camden knew that the church was supposed to belong to God. But not Graceway Worship Center. That church belonged to Pastor B. C. Wilson.

  “It’s your church, Dad.”

  “Don’t you forget it.”

  Pastor Wilson walked to the door and grabbed the doorknob. Then he put a finger in the air and turned back to Camden.

  “I’m not sure why Royce was so impressed with that song. You’ve written better ones, in my opinion.”

  Camden didn’t know
how to reply. Was that a compliment? An insult? He couldn’t decide. Pastor Wilson didn’t wait for an answer, though; he walked through the door and left the apartment.

  In a burst of anger, Camden knocked all of the books on his coffee table onto the floor. His gift, his calling, his ministry wasn’t enough for Pastor B. C. Wilson, not unless it benefitted him. And his church.

  CHAPTER 4

  It was the Sunday morning after revival, and there was still an energy in the church that Camden felt he could reach out and touch. He liked to think that So G.I.F.T.E.D had something to do with that. He knew they did.

  On his way to the choir room, Camden popped into his mother’s office. Lady Wilson, as she liked to be called by the congregation (Lady Rita to her friends), was wearing a royal blue and white suit that matched the blue and white china collection that adorned every free space in her office. The china was a way of paying homage to her sorority Zeta Phi Beta, as was her extensive collection of blue and white clothing.

  “Good morning, Cam. You look exactly like your father this morning. Well, you do every day.”

  His mother’s bright smile could always melt Camden’s heart. He could never be angry around his mother, or sad, for that matter. She doted on both her sons, but Camden believed that he was her favorite.

  “I might look like him, but Blaine is his real twin,” Camden said as he stepped inside the office and closed the door.

  Lady Rita laughed. “You’re right. He reminded me so much of y’all daddy when he was singing that song the other night. Remember when your daddy used to sing before he preached? That’s what made him so fine.”

  Camden scrunched his nose. “Mama, you fell in love with Dad when he was singing worship music? Somehow that just seems wrong.”

  “Humph. How do you think you got Dawn? And look at all the women chasing Blaine. One of them is gonna catch him when he least expects it.”

  “He’s not hearing any of that caught stuff, Mama. He said he is never getting married.”

  “Oh, trust me. He will. But not before you and Dawn walk down the aisle.”

  Camden closed his eyes and smiled. He’d walked right into that trap. His mother already loved Dawn like a daughter and wondered why Camden kept dragging his feet.

  “Okay, Mom. I hear you.”

  “All right, keep it up and that girl is gonna find someone else. I swear you Wilson men think you’re God’s gift to women.”

  “Dawn ain’t going nowhere.”

  Lady Rita shook her head. “Just like your father. Are you all singing this morning?”

  “No, it’s the regular praise team, I think.”

  There was a light knock on the office door. Lady Rita said, “Come in.”

  Delores walked into the office. “Praise the Lord, Lady Wilson. I was just trying to find Camden, and it looks like I have. Pastor Wilson wants to see you and Blaine. Blaine’s already in his office.”

  “Okay.” Camden gave his mother a tight hug before leaving the office. “Thank you, Sister Delores.”

  Delores was on Camden’s heels as he left his mother’s office. The two women weren’t friends, and they typically didn’t exchange small talk or church gossip, but Camden wished she would’ve stayed behind. He hated that she was always a fly on the wall when his father wanted to speak with him inside the church. Delores knew more about church business than their mother.

  When Camden walked into the office, Pastor Wilson leaned on the edge of his desk, seemingly in a good mood. He and Blaine were laughing about something. Apparently it was an inside joke, because the laughing stopped when they noticed Camden and Delores’s arrival.

  “Morning, Camden. Have a seat. Delores, thank you for finding him. Can you excuse us?”

  Delores looked somewhat shocked as she turned on one heel and rushed out of Pastor Wilson’s office. She wasn’t used to being dismissed. Camden could hear her thighs swish together as she marched away. Her too-tight pencil skirt kept her from making any long strides, but it sure made for a good view—for a man who enjoyed big, round behinds. Camden averted his eyes but noticed that neither his father nor Blaine looked away. They both enjoyed the show.

  Once they were alone, Pastor Wilson clapped his hands. “Effective today, So G.I.F.T.E.D is the official praise and worship team of this church.”

  “Sarah’s not going to like that,” Blaine said. “I don’t know if I feel like dealing with her today.”

  “Maybe you didn’t understand me,” Pastor Wilson said. “Sarah and the current praise team are being replaced. Camden is going to be the new Minister of Music, since he doesn’t like to preach. Blaine, you will lead the songs every Sunday.”

  Camden’s jaw dropped. After his father’s meltdown the other night, this was completely unexpected. And as much as he’d wanted the position, he didn’t want it at Sarah’s expense. She’d taught him quite a bit over the years. They were friends. This didn’t feel right.

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got a job lined up for Sarah. A friend of mine is planting a church in Austin, and he needs a musician. The pay is good. Not quite what we’re paying here, but she’ll be fine.”

  “Does she know? You said effective today. What about the choir? You saying Brother Kelvin is gonna report to me? How’s that gonna work?”

  Camden didn’t mean to sound like he was panicking, but he was. Brother Kelvin, the choir director, had been with his father since the beginning. He was an incredible choir director, and there was no way he was going to respect Camden’s leadership. He’d watched Camden grow up.

  “She’s been told, and the rest of the praise team has been informed of the changes. They’ll be singing with the choir today, and I’m going to give Sarah a wonderful send-off during service.”

  “And everyone is okay with it?” Camden asked.

  “They’ll do what I say, because this is my church,” Pastor Wilson said. “And you’re going to act like the man I raised you to be. This church is your legacy, Camden. Yours and Blaine’s. Don’t act like you didn’t know. They know. They’ve only been holding your spots.”

  Blaine rose to his feet. “Well, what are we going to sing this morning, Minister of Music? I need to go warm up.”

  “Let’s do ‘What Can I Do’ by Tye Tribbett.”

  Blaine smiled. “Oh yeah. Me, Dawn, and Amber have a sweet three-part harmony in the middle of that song. That’s what’s up.”

  “Tell them I’ll be there in a minute, okay?”

  Blaine nodded and gave Camden a fist pound. He started singing as he left Pastor Wilson’s office.

  “What is it?” Pastor Wilson asked Camden. There was annoyance in his tone.

  Camden cleared his throat. “Dad, I was just wondering if you can pray over me. I know you made the decision and everything, but I just want … I want to feel like I have God’s blessing in this, if that makes sense.”

  Pastor Wilson took a deep breath. “If that’s what you need.”

  Pastor Wilson walked around to the other side of his desk and took out a bottle of anointed oil that had been prayed over by a group of pastors and bishops. It was Pastor Wilson’s custom to pray for each one of his new ministry staff and to put a small amount of oil on their heads to symbolize the Holy Spirit.

  Camden had no idea why his father was about to release him into ministry at his church without so much as a prayer.

  Before Pastor Wilson prayed he said, “I’m asking you to take this position because I know you can do it. Your brother isn’t ready for the responsibility, but you can handle it. One day, when I retire, you and Blaine are going to run this church. It’s your inheritance.”

  Camden nodded silently. He hated when his father called the church an inheritance. How could someone inherit a thing that belonged to God?

  Pastor Wilson touched Camden’s head with the oil and prayed. “Lord, God, touch Your humble servant, Camden. Open up heaven and pour out a fresh anointing over this, Your son. Order his steps, guide his heart, activate spirit-led destiny. Gr
ant Your favor, oh Lord. Cause him never to stumble. In the matchless and oh-so-holy name of Jesus we pray….”

  “Amen,” Camden whispered.

  As Camden rose to his feet, Pastor Wilson smiled at him. “Did I tell you that the seed offering on Friday night was the biggest one-service offering we’ve had in years? There was a shifting in the atmosphere, and I believe it is because you all followed the leading of the Lord and exalted Him in worship. I didn’t make this decision just because you’re my son. This is destiny unfolding.”

  Camden nodded and stared at his father for a moment. Now he was happy about Camden following the Holy Spirit, but the other night he’d read Camden the riot act. Pastor Wilson’s words and manner of speaking were almost hypnotic. Camden didn’t usually find himself caught up in his father’s speeches— he’d seen too much of the real B. C. Wilson to give him the angelic status that the congregation did.

  Camden’s father had chosen him to lead instead of Blaine, and he wasn’t going to let him down. Nor the congregation. Nor God … in the event that He was also a party to the decision.

  Pastor Wilson dismissed Camden from his office so that he could prepare for service, and Camden went to join the rest of his group in the choir room. On the way, he ran into two of the previous praise team members—a married couple who had been at the church for years. Camden wanted to avert his eyes, but he didn’t. He hadn’t done anything wrong.

  The husband said, “Congratulations, Brother Camden. I’m sure you’re going to magnify His name.”

  “I’m sorry,” Camden said. He hadn’t meant to apologize, it just came out.

  The wife, who was on the verge of tears, said, “Honey, your father is the angel of this house. We’re trusting God with him for a supernatural transfer of wealth.”

  “A what?” Camden asked.

  “He didn’t tell you?” the husband asked. “He spoke with the praise team before he asked us to filter in with the choir. He said that when you were playing and your brother Blaine was singing, he saw it in the spirit, wealth changing hands. From the unrighteous to the righteous.”