Cecelia "CeCe" Williams clicked her left mouse button with fervor. She still couldn't believe she had to do one hundred and fifty hours of community service. One hundred and fifty hours! That crazy judge. Why hadn't he just let her pay the fine and be done with it? After all, it was only a few measly parking tickets.
As she finished running the numbers for her client's monthly audit report, CeCe considered how she could repay the esteemed judge for his Solomon-esque wisdom. She ought to send a letter to the mayor. And the governor. Murderers and drug dealers were getting off scot-free. Embezzlers and swindlers did no time. And here she was, getting one hundred and fifty hours of community service for a few measly parking tickets!
How many parking tickets, CeCe? came the voice of conscience she sometimes wished she could silence.
"OK, OK," she muttered aloud. "Maybe it was more than a few."
"Talking to yourself, CeCe? Now I don't know why you're doing that, when the two of us could be lunching in a quiet booth someplace making plans for our next date."
CeCe didn't have to turn around to know the words came from Larry Meadows, God's gift to women-or so he thought. "I'm busy, Larry," she said, her eyes fixed on her computer monitor. The Excel spreadsheet displayed before her held more interest than her unexpected and uninvited guest.
"But you've got to have lunch sometime," Larry said in the exaggerated drawl that he turned on and off at will. "How about having it with me today? We can go to the Ritz."
CeCe turned to look at the tall, lean, brown-skinned guy standing in the doorway of the cubicle that was her home for at least eight hours of each day. He was handsome, she had to admit. Most of the women in the office considered his aristocratic profile and boyish charm a lethal combination. Too bad they only served to remind her of someone she'd much rather forget. "That's not a good idea, Larry."
Larry looked over his shoulder as if to see whether anyone else was around. He turned back to her. "Look, CeCe," he said, his voice tight and minus the drawl now, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his tan slacks. "I've apologized a thousand times for that first date. I just got carried away. I promise you I'm not that kind of guy. I really would like to take you out again."
CeCe actually believed he was sincere. "I'm sorry, Larry, but I don't think so."
"Why not? Do you think you're too good for me?"
CeCe shook her head. A child in a man's body. She bet David, her four-year-old son, was more mature than this thirty-something man. "I don't want to go out with you again. Can't we just leave it at that?"
"Look, I'm not used to begging women to go out with me. I just thought I'd give you a second chance to see what you were missing. I guess you've lost out, though, because I'm not giving you any more chances."
CeCe stared after him as he stalked away. A few years ago, if someone had told her that most men were variations of Eric, she wouldn't have believed them. But she knew the truth now from experience. She seemed to attract two types of men: those who wanted nothing to do with a woman with a child, and those who expected a single mother to be sexually available. The first kind she understood, so she always made it clear up front that she had a son.
The second kind were still a mystery to her. They came in all shapes and sizes, and they had assorted modes of operation. Some, like Larry, went at you on the first date, assuming you were open for anything. Others were more subtle. They were willing to cultivate the relationship a little, but with the expectation that once it was established, sex would become a regular part of it. Even Christian, or so-called Christian, men seemed to have this expectation. She'd quickly grown tired of it and made her celibacy part of the initial conversations. Better they knew that up front, too.
Enough, she chided herself. She didn't need to think about men today. No, she'd made a pact with herself, and she refused to allow men to worry her. She'd been in love once, and once was definitely enough to last a lifetime. Besides, she had more important things on her mind. Like a four-year-old son who was more a little man than a little boy. Like a full-time accounting job that paid part-time wages. Like a part-time job selling real estate that seemed to need full-time hours to be profitable. Like an overzealous judge and a hundred and fifty hours of community service time.
She glanced up at the Mickey Mouse clock on the wall of her cubicle. As always, looking at David's contribution to making her office feel more homey caused a warmth to settle around her heart. She could still remember him standing on her upholstered guest chair, trying valiantly to help her position his gift in just the right spot.
This time, though, she couldn't luxuriate in the good feelings the memory evoked. It was quarter to twelve, and she knew she was going to be late for her noon community service appointment at Genesis House. The drive from her Buckhead office to Genesis House's downtown location would take a minimum of twenty minutes, and finding a legal parking space nearby would take an additional fifteen, if she was lucky. She took a bit of pleasure at the thought of Nathaniel Richardson waiting for her this time, though. It would serve him right for standing her up on Saturday after she'd canceled two promising appointments to show houses. Selling even one of those properties would have put her three thousand dollars closer to paying off the debts that hung over her head like a dark cloud threatening to break into a ferocious thunderstorm at any moment. If she missed another appointment because of Nathaniel Richardson's inability to keep to his schedule, the two of them were going to have serious problems working together.
"CeCe, do you want to go to lunch? We're going to Mick's."
Pushing thoughts of her debts to the back of her mind for the time being, CeCe looked around and saw two members of her work group, Debra and Cathy, standing at the entrance to her cube. "Not today," she told them. "I've got an appointment, but I'll walk out with you." CeCe grabbed her purse and followed her coworkers out of the building.
Twenty-five minutes later, after circling a two-block radius surrounding Genesis House four times, praying all the while for a surface parking space to open, CeCe pulled her blue, four-year-old-but-new-to-her Maxima into the first open space in a parking deck about four blocks away. If Nathaniel Richardson missed this meeting, she decided as she got out of her car, she'd have to go back to Judge Solomon and see what kind of sentence his wisdom would mete out for the guilty Mr. Richardson.
* * *
Thirty-three-year-old Nathaniel "Nate" Richardson stood in front of the paint-splattered windows of his Genesis House office and looked out on downtown Atlanta without really seeing it. He thought about Cecelia Williams, or more specifically, he thought about the Saturday appointment with her that he'd had to cancel. In his eighteen months as director of Genesis House, Saturday had been the first time he'd allowed his personal problems to interfere with his work. And he didn't like it. He didn't like it one bit. He was a man who believed in commitments, and he prided himself on keeping the ones he made.
A humorless chuckle escaped his lips. Here he was, bemoaning a missed interview with a community service volunteer, when his real concern was for another broken commitment. Not that he'd wanted to break that one. No, that choice had been Naomi's, but he'd participated in it just the same.
He thought it ironic that his only appointment this past Saturday had been at three o'clock, the same time as Naomi's wedding. Had it been divine Providence? Had God given him the appointment with Ms. Williams to help keep his mind off the wedding? Well, if he had, then Nate had certainly messed up that plan. The appointment served as a minor distraction, at best. He had thought of nothing but Naomi's wedding-not the one on Saturday, but the one five and a half years ago when she'd married him. The thoughts had become so oppressive that he had started to feel as though the office walls were closing in on him. He'd had no choice but to cancel the meeting with Cecelia so he could get out of here.
He and Naomi had been married only eighteen months when she told him she was leaving him. Not leaving him to return to her family and her home in Richmond, but leaving him to start a new life in Atlanta. Shocked didn't adequately capture his surprise at hearing her words. He'd been happy and had thought she was, too. Evidently she hadn't been, because she'd packed up and moved just as she'd said she would do. Knowing they had no chance for a reconciliation if they lived in separate cities-especially since her city of choice was the home of the guy she was engaged to before she met him-Nate sold his budding Chicago law practice and the home they'd shared and followed her here to Atlanta.
In the four years since his arrival, he'd done nothing but pursue the reconciliation that he believed God wanted for them. Even when Naomi immediately started seeing her ex-fiancé, he didn't lose hope that reconciliation would someday happen for them. He'd talked to Naomi until he'd run out of words. He'd prayed until his prayers became a soulful hum from his heart to God's ears. But by the end of their first year of separation, she'd divorced him anyway.
He still hadn't allowed himself to give up, though. Whatever he and Naomi had lost, he believed God would restore. But his hope had died on Saturday. On Saturday his marriage had finally and irrevocably ended. Naomi had become another man's wife.
The sound of the buzzer on the front door of the outer office alerted Nate to what he suspected was the arrival of Cecelia Williams. He turned away from the windows and went back to his desk, gathering the papers he would need for their meeting. As his family, his friends, his pastor-everybody, it seemed-had told him, he'd done all he could do. It was now time to put off his "sackcloth and ashes" and get on with the life that lay before him. He was blessed with a job that made a difference in people's lives, a loving and supportive church family, and parents and sisters who loved him enough to refrain from saying, "I told you so." He hadn't been able to make right the mistakes of his past-his marriage to Naomi was forever in the failure column of his life-but he could do as his loved ones counseled and accept the forgiveness that God offered him and move forward. Comforted by their advice and now believing he could heed it, he took a deep breath, said a silent prayer, and pulled open the door to the outer office.
"Cecelia Williams?" he called to the conservatively dressed, statuesque woman whose back was to him.
* * *
CeCe turned her attention from the announcement-covered bulletin board that dominated the wall of the outer office and looked up into the clear, brown eyes of the man whose face she'd just seen on one of the flyers tacked on the board, the man who was the director of Genesis House, the man who'd cost her three thousand dollars in lost real estate commissions. She knew it was the same man, even though in the picture he sported a full head of closely cropped hair and now he was as bald as Michael Jordan. It was his eyes. There were an honesty and an innocence in those eyes that attracted her and made her feel safe, while at the same time stirring up a primal need for self-protection. It wasn't a physical need for self-protection, though given his size-broad shoulders, muscular, and about six inches taller than her five-foot-seven-inch frame-such a reaction would not have been surprising. No, it was more a need to protect her emotions, maybe even her heart, which made no sense at all. She pushed those thoughts aside and tried to conjure up the anger she'd felt in response to what she considered his unprofessional behavior on Saturday. That effort failed miserably when his face broke into the biggest, stupidest, kindest smile she'd seen on an adult face in a long time.
His extended his hand. "I'm Nate Richardson, and I want to apologize for missing our meeting on Saturday. Personal problem. I hope I didn't inconvenience you too much."
"No," CeCe said, shaking his offered hand. "Everything worked out. And call me CeCe; everyone does." Way to go, CeCe, she chided herself. You really told him off. She'd wanted to tell him off, but that stupid smile of his reminded her of the one David sometimes wore when he was sitting in the middle of the floor playing with one of his toys-an open, honest smile that came out of a contented and happy heart. How could she stay angry with anybody-man, woman, or child-who wore a smile like that?
"Well, I'm still sorry, CeCe," he said again, placing the file of papers in his hands on the faded green receptionist's desk that looked as though it had seen better days. In fact, all the furniture in the room did. Surprisingly, the eclectic mix of worn furnishings gave the office a lived-in feeling that was both comfortable and full of vitality. "I want you to know right now," he continued, "that we'll count Saturday as a full eight hours worked. It's not your fault I had to leave before you got here. Sound fair?"
CeCe smiled, mentally deducting the eight hours from her required hundred and fifty. "More than fair."
"Good. Now, have you eaten lunch?"
She waved her hand, dismissing his question. "I really wanted to meet with you so I skipped lunch today."
"Well, we can't have that. What say I buy you lunch? I think I owe you one anyway."
"But you don't have to-"
He cut her off with a disarming half grin. "I know I don't have to. I want to. If I don't eat lunch, I get grouchy, and believe me, you don't want to see me grouchy. How about it? We can talk while we eat."
Her lips curved upwards at his playful words and the expression that accompanied them. "When you put it like that, I guess I don't have a choice."
After taking the file from the desk and tucking it under his arm, he opened the door for her. "Come on, then. My stomach is growling."
Laughing, CeCe preceded Nate Richardson out of the building.
Continue...
Excerpted from Awakening Mercy by Angela Benson Copyright © 2000 by Angela Benson
Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.