Remember Who You Are

Ch 16-17

Chapter Sixteen


Wesley heard Susie enter her office.


Tapping his cell phone; he saw that it was seven a.m. He had been up all night and in his office since about six. Wesley listened as Copland played on his laptop as he ate a vegan omelet sandwich on gluten free bread he had purchased from the sandwich shop next door. An experiment he would never repeat. Wesley had spent his time familiarizing himself with the monthly attendance records, the financial statements, and making plans for future projects. Rising from his chair and moving to his door to greet Susie, Wesley heard a man’s voice. Assuming it was Matthew and fondly anticipating a grass-free hug, he was surprised when he realized it was not Matthew.


Opening the door, Wesley entered Susie’s office. Susie was already at the coffee pot making a batch of coffee, and her eldest son, Casey, stood leaning against the door jamb.


“Good morning.” Susie jumped a little upon hearing Wesley’s greeting and said, “Oh! Good morning Wesley. You are here early.”


Wesley chuckled. “For some reason, I had trouble sleeping. Good morning Casey.”


“Morning Wes. Congratulations. Yesterday was brilliant. Inspired even.” Susie’s son, Casey was the exact opposite of her other son Matthew.


A large man, Casey was older than Wesley was but, in many ways, he acted younger. There was the pink spiked hair and the multiple piercings for beginners. Plus, Casey was a computer geek and a musician. And Casey had never married.


Wesley yawned. “Thanks.”


“Someone should have slept another hour or two, methinks,” said Casey with a giggle.


Casey’s giggle, coming from a man his size, always surprised Wesley. It was an endearing trait.


“Another? I would take an hour or two myself. Bad night last night.”


Casey and Susie spoke simultaneously. “You first, Mom.”


“No, you go first. Mine is more important.”


“Fine. I will go first.” Turning from his mom to Wesley, he said, “You have a minute? We need to talk.”


“Sure,” said Wesley and motioned Casey into his office.


Susie emphatically cleared her throat.


“Yes ma’am?” Wesley asked as Casey cowardly hurried into Wesley’s office.


Susie looked steadily at Wesley for a moment as if to remind him that being charming did not always work. “You have a meeting at eight. It’s important.”


“That sounds ominous.”


Susie relaxed. Her natural good humor returning as her frustrations with her eldest son evaporated. “It’s not. But it is serious.”


“Care to elaborate?”


She contemplated the question, or her answer, for a moment. “No. I will let them explain.” She smiled innocently.


Wesley took a moment and just looked at Susie as if to remind her that being charming does not always work. Wesley shook his head and laughed. Turning, he entered his office and closed the door.


“She’s a mess,” he offered as he sat on the opposite end of the sofa from Casey. The two men, facing one another, were as far apart as they could get and still share the sofa.


“She does not want me to broach this. At least, not yet anyway,”


“You obviously decided differently. Better hurry. I don’t think she will let me be late for the eight o’clock meeting.”


“It’s not that big a deal.”


“You know what it is?”


“Sure.”


“Susie tell you?”


Casey shook his head. “I heard names mentioned and since I have been a member of this church my entire life – I know what that means.”


Wesley shook his head and laughed. “Secrets. Now it does sound ominous. Well. You gonna tell?”


“You’re kidding right? Do you know what that little woman would do?”


They both laughed.


“Fair enough. So, what can I do for you?”


“You need a choir director.”


“And a choir. You want the job? I’m not sure about the pay…”


Casey held up his hand to interrupt Wesley. “I know a guy. He will do it for free. But there is a catch.”


Wesley chuckled. “Always is. Let me have it.”


“He comes with a band. My band. I am offering you our band as the church band.” Casey talked faster and faster like he was selling Wesley a used car. “we will play every Sunday. There are three of us. Scott on keyboards. Me on bass and Barry on drums. We get to use the sanctuary to practice – twice a week – and we get to store our equipment here.”


Wesley was exhausted from hearing Casey’s spiel. I hate Christian rock, he thought. And I don’t think the church is ready for it. But my choices are limited. Every week without music will feel like failure and be seen as a defeat by the congregation. Eventually, people would leave. Wesley's thought processes only took a few seconds. “Deal. But we go slowly with the music choices. We have to bring this crowd along carefully.”


“You won't regret it. Scott is fantastic on the organ and piano too; so we can start out doing very traditional renditions. It'll be great, you'll see.”


I hope so, thought Wesley.


At that moment, Susie opened the door, lightly tapping as she did. “Wesley, your eight o'clock meeting is here, you” she pointed at Casey, “need to leave.” All four men, Wesley, Casey, and the two newcomers, chuckled as Susie stood, arms akimbo, until her fully chastened son slinked past her and out of the office.


“Reverend Aames, meet Tom Beckett and Timothy Richards. Gentlemen, this is Wesley Aames, our new pastor. Reverend Aames, Tom is our attorney and Tim is our accountant. Both are members of the church,” Susie changed her voice, and glared at both men, “but they rarely come to church.” Suddenly Susie stopped sounding like a disappointed mother, smiled, and said, “But we love them anyway.” Both men blushed and fidgeted as Susie left Wesley's office and closed the door.


“Have a seat gentlemen,” Wesley, secretly enjoying the newcomers discomfort, motioned to the black leather sofa as he sat in the matching easy chair. “Mr. Beckett, I must say, you took good for your age” Wesley said. Timothy Richards' eyes widened slightly while Tom Beckett just laughed. “Most people don't get it. My dad loved history.”


“Well, I hope you haven't let it go to your head.” Wesley emphasized the word “head.”


Tom Beckett laughed. “Ah, ‘punishment,’ first thing in the morning.” He stressed “pun.” Timothy Richards looked confused. Tom Beckett nodded in Timothy Richard's direction. “Accountants, if there are no numbers in it, then they don't get the joke.”


“There was a joke?” asked Timothy Richards.


Wesley and Tom Beckett laughed. “Susie said this was serious but not ominous. What can I do for you gentlemen?” Wesley sized up the two men. Both men were clean shaven and dressed conservatively in dark suits and muted ties. Tom Beckett was older, perhaps in his sixties and Wesley had noticed, moved with a decided limp. Even now, he sat at a tilt - as if one side of his body was shorter than the other. Wesley, momentarily thought of Simon. Timothy Richards was younger and looked sickly. Pale, blotchy skin, an aggressively receding hairline, and eyes that were too close together made the much older Tom Beckett seem more vital and healthier. “Would you rather have the story then the facts, or just the facts?” asked Tom Beckett.


“Hmm. I like a good story.”


“You start Timmy.”


Timmy, thought Wesley. Reminding the younger man that he is the younger man.


“I represent Richards, Richards, and Beckett Accounting Solutions.”


Wesley looked at Tom Beckett.


“Timmy is my son-in-law. My son joined his father’s company out of college.”


“Ah,” said Wesley. But, he thought, you wanted your son to join your law firm and Timmy is not good enough for your daughter.


Timothy Richards continued. “We handle all the accounting needs for the church. About forty years ago Paul Young joined the church and used the contacts here to help grow his insurance business.”


Wesley nodded. That happens in every church, thought Wesley.


“There was a policy written for Thelma Jenkins that named the church as beneficiary.”


The cobwebs cluttering Wesley’s sleep-deprived mind immediately cleared, and he sat a little straighter in his chair. “How much?”


“Thirty thousand dollars,” said Timothy Richards.


“Thirty thousand? Are you serious? Does Simon know?” Wesley’s mind raced. Mixed thoughts of revulsion and delight warred for prominence.


“Of course. He has a similar policy.” Timothy Richards paused for a second. “Most of the older members do.”


“Including me,” said Tom Beckett.


“And the church is the beneficiary?” asked Wesley in disbelief, his head darting from man to man.


“My understanding is that Paul Young sold these policies as a way for these people to leave a legacy to the church. They pay their premiums and when they die, the church gets the, uh, legacy.”


Wesley sat quietly for a moment, stunned. The practice felt dirty. True, it was good news for the church treasury, but, somehow, it felt like thirty pieces of silver.


“What if someone stopped paying their premiums?” asked Wesley. It was the only question he could muster.


“Ah,” Timothy Richards shook his forefinger. “Mr. Young had a brilliant idea. He made the church the owner of the policy. So, if the insured discontinued payment, the church, as owner of the policy, could continue making payments and there was nothing the insured could do about it.”


“Which brings us to a couple of other points,” said Tom Beckett.


“First guys, I don’t like this. This feels dirty. I don’t like profiting off of death this way. What do I have to do to end this?”


“You can’t.”


“Why not?” Wesley could feel his blood pressure rising.


“You are an employee of the church. To end this, the finance committee would have to make a recommendation to the administrative council who would then vote on it, and if it passed, they would pass on a recommendation to the,” he paused for effect, “Board of Trustees.” Tom Beckett sat back expectantly.


Wesley sighed. “The Board of Trustees.” The people who tried to fire me. “Never mind then.” All three men chuckled.


“Besides, the church needs the money. If it hadn’t been for this money the church would have gone broke years ago,” added the accountant.


Wesley bowed his head and massaged his forehead. “You’re giving me a headache.”


“It gets worse,” said Tom Beckett.


“Worse?”


“Well, normally, I would have just emailed Chuck Loftin. But Susie said she thought you would have problems with this and she recommended this meeting,” continued Tom Beckett.


That explains her attitude this morning with Casey, thought Wesley. “She was right. So, what’s the rest of the story. Thelma is the only death….”


Timothy Richards was shaking his head. “Rosa Lee. Here’s where it gets murky.”


“Here’s where it gets fun. I will take over here Timmy,” said Tom Beckett. “Rosa Lee had the same policy that Thelma had but for only twenty-five thousand. She stopped paying premiums years ago, but the church picked up the difference. We should receive a check in six to eight weeks.” Tom Beckett stopped and took a deep breath. “I joined the church as a young attorney and as a service to the church, and a way,” he smiled, “to build up my business; I offered free last will and testaments to church members. I still do it. Once a year, on a Saturday, we invite everyone in to review, update, or create a will. All free of charge.”


Rosa Lee, thought Wesley.


“I have Rosa Lee’s will. I am the executor of her will. She had her daughter…,” his voice tailed off as he struggled for a name.


“Jamie Lee,” offered Wesley in a pained whisper, feeling badly for a child he never met.


“Right. Rosa Lee had Jamie Lee as her beneficiary for everything. But the church was secondary. Since Jamie Lee died first, everything goes to the church. Everything.”


“What does that mean? Everything?” asked Wesley, puzzled.


“Well, I have to ensure her bills are paid. But as of now, the church owns her house and a hair-styling salon.” He paused. “And we need a manager for it.”


 


Chapter Seventeen


Wesley’s first run since being shot was slow and painful. The slow part was due to the lack of exercise over the past couple of weeks. Wesley was a little stiff, and he knew he would be a couple of weeks before he was back in shape. Knowing that Asheville would be too cold in the winter to run, he wondered how he would address his fitness in the coming months.


The painful part was listening to John Tutweiler chat, moan, and complain over every step of this short run. Tut’s presence had been a welcome surprise when he called Wesley Monday afternoon and suggested they run together. With high school starting today, Wesley doubted Thad would be playing basketball; running with Tut would help Wesley stay informed concerning Tut’s job situation and his lack of sleep. According to Tut, neither had improved. The baby was due at the end of the month and Tut had not made any significant progress towards meeting his sale’s quota. Money was running out and Tut was becoming desperate. He rarely slept more than two hours. And his feet hurt from running. And he didn’t have the wind he used to when he was in college. And Asheville smelled funny.


Only half listening to Tut’s whining, Wesley smiled when he remembered talking to Cameron last night on the phone. She was excited about her senior year and Wesley was excited about being a part of her life again. First thing this morning, he texted her, wishing her a good first day of school. She had not responded to his early morning text. Nagging Wesley was also the visit he received yesterday, when he had been confronted with the “bounty” the church received upon the death of a member, and the revelation that the church was the new owner of Rosa Lee’s hairstyling salon. This was enough to destroy Wes’s good mood and make Tut’s whining even more annoying. Wesley tried to mentally plan his busy day. Today was the first day the biddies would be by for lunch and quilting, then Doc and Wesley were combining visits to see Simon and Mamie. His first class at UNC-Asheville was tonight. He would have a short break before lunch with the biddies and a couple of hours to review his lecture for class.


Wesley signaled to Tut to cross the street. Wes planned to return to the church. He estimated that they were halfway through a three-mile run. He felt good about three miles after his layoff but he did not think he could take Tut’s whining for a five-mile run. Wesley hoped that, as Tut became more accustomed to running, the complaining would subside. Abruptly, Tut stopped running and started walking. Clasping his hands on top of his head and gasping for air, Tut was clearly laboring for air. Wesley chuckled and walked besides Tut. Only slightly winded, Wesley looked at this friend and said, “Wimp.”


Tut looked at Wesley askance and started to respond. Thinking better of it, he shook his head and concentrated on breathing. Finally, he had to stop walking, and bent at the waist to rest and catch his breath.


“Better not have a damn heart attack on me.”


“I’m,” Tut was gasping for air. “Telling.”


“Simon and I still have to have a conversation about our make out session and breath mints. I be damned if I give your ugly self mouth to mouth.”


“Shut up,” Tut was laughing and gasping at the same time. The combination led to a coughing fit that only made Wesley laugh harder.


“Come on. Man up. I thought you were a soldier. Sure you weren’t in the Air Force?”


“Shut. The. Hell. Up.” Gasped Tut.


“I’m telling,” mocked Wesley. Both men succumbed to laughter with Tut adding another round of coughing to the mix.


*****


“I wish I could help with your problems. Meditation would help but you are determined to ignore my expert advice. You don’t want drugs and I don’t blame you. But if you don’t get more sleep something bad will happen. You will start hallucinating or you will have a car accident. Something.”


“That’s one reason I suggested joining you on your runs. I hope that the exercise may result in more sleep. Plus, it is good that have something in my life I can control. You know? Something I can accomplish. Something I can do right.”


Wesley detected something in Tut’s words and tone that was dark and dangerous. “What do you mean?” Wesley hoped his friend would confide in him.


“You ever feel like a total failure?”


Story of my life, thought Wesley. “You kidding? I almost got fired after three weeks on the job,” replied Wesley.


“Yeah. Well, there is that.” After a short pause, Tut said, “Wes, I have a baby due. My paychecks do not cover our expenses. At the end of this year, I will lose my job, and that means my health insurance, if I do not make some sales.” He paused again, Wes knew that showing this weakness, this vulnerability, was hard for his friend. “I see it in my wife’s eyes every time we are together. Disappointment. She thinks I am a failure.” As they talked, the two men slowed. Walking side by side, the both looked at the ground as they walked – eyes never meeting.


“I can’t help with your health insurance, but” Wesley hesitated here. Pride can be a wonderful attribute, driving people to greater achievements; but pride can also hamper success and lead to self-destruction. “I have a little money saved. I can float you a loan that might help a little until things get better.” Wesley waited expectantly, not sure how Tut would respond to his offer.


“Thanks Wesley, but I couldn’t.” The two men walked in an uneasy silence.


Wesley knew that by trying to help, he had crossed a line and had offended his friend. Suddenly, another idea hit him. “Tut, I know of a part-time job. It doesn’t pay much but it would allow you to continue your regular job and provide a little additional income.”


“Wes, I can’t take charity. But I appreciate it.”


“Trust me, you will be doing me a huge favor.”


“What’s the job?”


“You ever been in a hair-styling salon?”