Embrace Me by Lisa Samson Read Free Book Online Page A

Harlan and Charmaine Hopewell, the celebs of Mount Oak, sipped hot drinks and shared a slice of apple cake. With Harlan’s TV ministry thriving on cable systems all across the country and Charmaine singing like an angel at his side, you’d think they could each have had a piece of their own cake.
    Have you heard of her? When Charmaine sings, something starts to glow all around her and inside of you. My father couldn’t stand watching her, but the power she could wield if she wanted to—with her Dove awards and sold-out concerts—he sure appreciated that!
    I did too.
    We’d met a few times before. Nothing more than hellos and how’s-it-going-over-there–at-your-church type stuff, not real conversation. Very friendly. Very cordial. Very in the club. I suspected there was no other way with this pair, highly refreshing at the time, but then, they could afford to be that open and kind. They’d paid their dues years before.
    I walked toward their table.
    â€œDrew!” Charmaine called and then turned to Harlan. “Oh, Harlan, it’s Drew Parrish, from down at Elysian Heights Church. Remember?”
    Harlan wiped his mouth, stood to his feet, and stuck out his hand. “Of course I remember. Well, hey, Drew.”
    Harlan’s toupee is the talk of our town. It just gets bigger and bigger like some sort of reaction in a chemistry class. “Reverend Hopewell, nice to see you. Cold day.”
    â€œSame tomorrow. I always did love a cold Thanksgiving Day.”
    Charmaine nodded. “Over the river and through the woods and all of that.”
    â€œI saw your CD in the music store, Mrs. Hopewell. How’s it doing?”
    â€œPretty good. Why don’t you have a seat with us after you order? In fact, you just sit down and I’ll get you something. What would you like?”
    â€œJust black coffee.”
    Harlan nodded. “Now that’s a real coffee drinker. Good boy.”
    I actually took it with cream at home, but black puts you on top at the coffee shop.
    Charmaine scurried up to the front, her cloud of red hair giving fair warning to anybody in her way. I could have learned a lot from her if I hadn’t been so bowled over by her fame, a fame, I admit, that she herself didn’t give even a thought to.
    Charmaine drank her coffee the way she liked her coffee.

    I set the pen and notebook on the boardwalk, light up a smoke, and close my eyes against the noontime sun. We never came here in the winter, and I don’t know why not. This beats the crowds of summer hands down. Maybe this would be a good place to start over. A beach ministry. Trade power for cool. It could work.
    Rolling up my sleeve, I inspect the slight festering on the circular sores. But I can’t seem to stop the burning. I don’t know, I should probably ask Hermy to find out why I do this. Tell him it’s for research for my writing, that I’m taking a break from my memoir to write a story about a self-mutilator. That seems to be all the rage these days. Only I’m not a teenager. There’s the hook.
    Instead of lowering the glowing cigarette I reach for my pen. Seagulls pull apart a Burger King bag that blew out of the trash can.

    So Charmaine returned with a coffee and set it down. “I got a carry-out cup because you look like you’re headed somewhere, and I don’t want you to think you have to sit here and while away the day with old Harlan and me.”
    â€œThanks. I’m just headed out of town for the holiday.”
    â€œFamily?” Harlan forked up some cake.
    â€œYes.”
    There you go, Father Brian, another lie. The sins are starting to add up, aren’t they? And a willful lie at that. That’s got to be a mortal sin.
    Charmaine settled herself into her chair. Very slim-figured, almost boyish, zinging with energy and power—maybe not the way I’d come to value power but a sort of tough-skinned quality, a rootedness that