Free Come Sunday Morning by Terry E. Hill

dick—the bigger the better.”
    Sandra laughed into the telephone. “Speaking of dicks,” she said sarcastically, “you should try keeping yours in your pants.”
    Hezekiah slammed the leather car seat with three rapid strikes, and then yelled, “You can’t talk to me that way!”
    â€œHe said I can’t talk to him like that,” Sandra said, mimicking Hezekiah’s baritone indignation. “He’s Hezekiah Cleaveland.”
    Hezekiah could hear Samantha’s familiar laugh in the background. It was the same laugh he had heard when he told a bad joke on the night of their first date. The same laugh that teased him when he fell off the bed the night they made love in their first apartment together.
    Sandra quickly grew impatient. She held the receiver away from her ear as Hezekiah spewed a flurry of accusations.
    â€œHezekiah,” she interjected, “you’re fucking with the wrong person. I’m not impressed or intimidated by your holier-than-thou bullshit. If you don’t watch your step, I will take matters into my own hands and believe me, I have more than enough shit on you to make your life a living hell.”
    Hezekiah stopped mid-insult when he heard the words.
    â€œShit? What are you talking about? You don’t know anything about me. I told you, Sandra, I didn’t touch her. Now stay out of this. Samantha and I will work this out without your interference.”
    â€œI know more than you think, and you’ll find out soon enough. Brace yourself. Things are about to get even worse for you.”
    Sandra hung up the telephone. Within seconds the telephone rang again. “Don’t answer it, Sammy,” she said. “He’s livid and screaming like a madman.”
    Samantha looked at Sandra with a puzzled expression. “What dirt are you talking about?”
    â€œNothing for you to concern yourself about right now, Sammy.”
    Â 
    Samantha stepped dripping from the shower when she heard a knock on her bathroom door.
    â€œAre you all right in there?” Sandra called out.
    â€œI’m fine,” she responded, startled by the intrusion. “I’ll be out in a minute. Wait for me downstairs.”
    When Samantha came downstairs, Sandra greeted her in the living room with a steaming cup of chamomile tea.
    â€œI feel much better now,” Samantha said, sitting on the sofa. “I don’t know if I could have got through this without you. I’m so lucky to have a friend like you.”
    â€œI’m the lucky one, Samantha. You’ve helped me through so much bullshit in my life. This is the least I can do for you. Sammy, can I ask you a question? Why do you stay with him? He ignores you unless the cameras are rolling. He’s never cared about your career, or even acknowledged that you have one apart from him.”
    Samantha was silent for a moment. She laid her head on the back of the sofa. “I’ve asked myself the same question a thousand times,” she finally said. “He used to make me so happy. But the larger the church grew, and the more famous we became, he seemed to change. The only time I think he notices me is when he thinks someone was watching. I honestly don’t believe that he loves me anymore.”
    Samantha took a sip of the tea. “Now it’s your turn. Why do you hate Hezekiah? You’ve never said it to me, but I can tell by the way you look at him sometimes. He has always been so good to you. He got you your first job out of law school. Loaned you money to set up your law practice.”
    Without hesitation Sandra responded, “It’s because of you.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œWait a minute, Samantha. Let me finish.” Sandra set her cup on the table and turned to Samantha.
    â€œIt’s because I see how miserable your life is in his shadow. My heart aches every time I see you smiling dutifully behind him while people heap praise on