Free The Choir Director by Carl Weber

the bishop. His number was already in my mobile phone, so I punched it in.
    He answered on the second ring. “Bishop T. K. Wilson speaking.”
    “Hey, Bishop, this is Aaron Mackie.”
    “Mackie, how you doing? My wife and I were just talking about you. You make it into town all right?”
    “Yeah, I’m here in town, but I can’t get a cab for the life of me. Can you tell me what subway I should take to reach that apartment you got for me in Queens?”
    “You don’t need to take the subway, Mackie. My wife and I just left Columbia Presbyterian Hospital uptown. Give me fifteen minutes and we’ll be there to pick you up.”

Monique
8
    I turned to my husband, taking hold of his hand as we pulled out of the hospital parking lot. We were headed home after visiting James. I snuggled up next to him, resting my head on his shoulder. He’d been gone the past few days on his mission to entice Aaron Mackie to come work for us. Now that he was back, I was hoping for a little attention of my own when we got home. I wasn’t sure about him, but this sister was about due.
    “You okay?” I asked.
    He’d been pretty quiet ever since I left him and James alone to go to the ladies’ room. Whatever they were talking about sure had him preoccupied, because he hadn’t said much since. As a matter of fact, now that I thought about it, he really hadn’t been himself since he picked me up earlier that afternoon to drive us over to the hospital. His little talk with James just seemed to make his mood that much worse.
    When he didn’t respond to my question, I probed further. “You been mighty quiet since you came back. Is everything all right? I thought you’d be happy now that you’ve hired a new choir director.”
    “I am happy about it, sweetheart. I’ve just got a lot on my mind. I’ll be fine.” He never even looked at me as he drove down 125th Street toward the RFK Bridge. I decided to back off, hoping he’d work through whatever was on his mind before we made it back to Queens.
    After a few more minutes of silence, he announced, “I just don’t understand black folks. They always have to do things the hard way.”
    “What are you talking about, T. K.? I want to know what’s going on.”
    “Who said anything was going on?”
    I sat up, turning my head to look directly at his stone-faced profile. “Don’t patronize me, T. K. I’m not some stupid woman who doesn’t notice the things around her. I’ve got ears and eyes, and I can see and hear things with them. You didn’t have James looking at all that paperwork for his health; I know that. Oh, and don’t think I didn’t notice you left a copy of the church bylaws with him.”
    He glanced over at me. “You saw that, huh?”
    “I sure did, and I wanna know what’s going on.”
    “Monique Wilson, always the perceptive one, aren’t you?” He sighed. “All right, I’ll tell you what’s going on.”
    I waited expectantly, but all he did was let out an angry sigh. I finally said, “Come on, T. K., just tell me.”
    “Smitty is what’s going on. I think the man has lost his mind. He’s totally unstable.”
    “Jonathan Smith, Maria Smith’s husband?” He had to be talking about someone else. Jonathan and Maria Smith were our friends. They’d been the first two to support our marriage from the start.
    T. K. cut his eyes at me and said, “Yep. Hard to believe, isn’t it?”
    It sure was, and if it had come from anyone other than my husband, I wouldn’t have believed it. “So, what’s his malfunction?”
    “He’s trying to get the board of trustees to vote down Aaron Mackie’s hiring as choir director.”
    I whipped my head around. “Huh? Why would he do that? Didn’t you explain to him why this is so important to the church?”
    “I explained everything to him before I left for Virginia, and he didn’t have any objections. I was under the impression he was one hundred percent behind me—that is, until I got back today and he and a few of the