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sure that Natasia is not in that hotel.” Before he could say a word, she added, “That’s not open for discussion.” Only then did she smile. And take his hand leading him into their bedroom.

EIGHT
    H OSEA STOOD AT THE OPEN door for a moment. Natasia’s head was bent low, her eyes focused on whatever she was reading. Every inch of her desk was covered with pads, folders, binders.
    The ends of his lips turned upward. This was the Natasia he remembered, the woman he’d loved. They’d worked together, played together. Lived together, loved together. It was the last thought that kept him standing there. It was the memories of their bedroom romps as the midday sun burned through the windows of their fifteenth-floor Lake Shore Drive apartment that kept him staring.
    “Hey, you.”
    Her voice tugged him away from Chicago. Brought him crashing back to New York. He hadn’t noticed that she had looked up and was now staring at him.
    He cleared his throat and his thoughts; strolled into her office. He sat, and she rose from her chair. Leaned across her desk toward him. His eyes strayed from her face, her lips. Moved to take in the curves of her body that weren’t hidden beneath her lavender dress. He inhaled and memories of her rushed back.
    Her chuckle was deep and low as if she knew his thoughts. She tossed her hair over her shoulders and sauntered around to where he sat. Perching herself on the edge of the desk, she crossed her legs and both of them watched her hemline rise.
    “Was there anything you wanted?” she asked.
    “No.” He forced his eyes back to her face. “I mean, yes. We’re going to lunch, right?”
    “Oh, sweetie,” she started, making Hosea raise his eyebrows. She chuckled. Held up her hands. “Sorry. Old habit.” She started again, “Hosea…I was going to call you. I’m still inundated with these files.”
    “No problem.” He stood, turned toward the door. “We can do lunch…whenever.”
    “Oh, no you don’t.” She grabbed his hand. “You’re not getting away that easily. Let’s do dinner.”
    He shook his head, and then noticed she was still holding his hand. He pulled away.
    She said, “Dinner would be much better because I’m in the middle of all of this and I don’t want to stop.”
    “Keep going. We’ll do lunch tomorrow.”
    “That won’t work.” She grabbed her desk calendar. “I’m meeting with Steve tomorrow.” She pouted. “Getting together with you is not all pleasure. I have so many questions.”
    “They’re lots of people here who can help.”
    “But I trust you.” When he added nothing more, she sighed. “All right. I’ll just pick up after lunch. It’ll be harder. I was on a roll—”
    He held up his hand. “Okay, we’ll do an early dinner.”
    “Thanks, sweetie.” This time there was no apology for that term of endearment.
    He said, “I’ll make reservations. How’s six?”
    “Eight would be good. Nine would be better.”
    “I’ll make reservations for seven.” Even though Jasmine was used to these last-minute dinner meetings, he added, “I need to get home.”
    “Okay.”
    Hosea stepped into the hallway and with his hands stuffed deep into his pockets, he rushed into his office. Wondered about this dinner. Thought about all he’d been remembering. Decided that this was all about nothing—just a recollection of history.
    He reached for the telephone, but then pulled back. He needed a moment. A little time before he called his wife to tell her that he wouldn’t be home for dinner.

    The flood gates opened and Hosea was submerged beneath the memories…
    “Minister Bush.”
    Hosea turned around and his heart bumped harder against his chest.
    “Hello.” The woman held out her hand. “I’m Natasia Redding. I just wanted to add my welcome to all that you’ve received.” She smiled, her hand still dangling in the air. When Hosea finally grasped her hand, she said, “Welcome to Crystal Lake Cathedral.”
    It took Hosea a moment to