Sacrifices of Joy by Leslie J. Sherrod Page A

he would contact me again. Irrational bad feelings about him or not, I needed to get myself together emotionally and physically to deal with it all.
    And spiritually, a small voice inside of me said.
    I exhaled as I got off the elevator and headed back to the suite.
    â€œFather, I don’t know what I’m feeling right now, or why, but please help. Help us all, Lord Jesus.”
    It was the first prayer I’d prayed out loud in a long, long time.
    I hoped it was enough.

Chapter 9
    I entered the suite and was startled to find the lights dimmed and Luther playing. Spicy vanilla filled my nostrils and lit candles of all shapes and sizes filled the entry room. I walked into the dining room and saw that the table had been set with dinner for two: tossed salad, buttered rolls, and chicken cordon bleu. Bubbly liquid-filled champagne flutes were at both settings, and a chocolate quesadilla adorned with real flower petals and fresh strawberries and raspberries served as an ornate centerpiece.
    â€œI wondered how long it would take for you to come back here. I’m surprised you didn’t call me.”
    Laz.
    He was leaning against the wall by the dining room’s buffet table, wearing only a sleeveless white tank, brown khakis, and leather bedroom slippers. His fedora hat twirled playfully around his fingers.
    Oh, no! Does this man think . . . ?
    â€œCalm down, Sienna.” Laz chuckled and walked toward the table. “It’s just dinner. Nothing more. I’ve done nothing but respect your very high standards, avoid your barbed wires, and backed off of your brick walls, even though we’re in a supposed relationship.”
    Something about the way he said “supposed” unnerved me, but I said nothing and instead sat down in the chair he pulled out for me.
    Luther Vandross melted into Brian McKnight. My feelings were getting more complicated by the second.
    â€œYou . . . fixed all this?” I inhaled slowly. The smell of herbs and butter, cheese and chocolate, vanilla and cologne swirled around in my nose, an uneasy complement to the mix of emotions that whirled inside of me.
    â€œNo, of course not. No time.” Laz sniffed his drink. “I picked all this up from a restaurant down the street. I did set the table, though. I hope that suffices for the lady.” He smiled at me and his pearly whites looked devilish in the glow of candlelight.
    â€œIt’s nice. Thank you.” I prayed a silent blessing for the food, took a bite, and looked away.
    â€œSo you’re still not relaxed?” Laz asked between munches. “I got you the best room available, sent you to the spa, gave you a four-star dinner, and you still look like you are about to crack and collapse. What is it, Sienna?”
    â€œI’m fine, Laz.” I took a sip of the bubbly and almost choked. The Baptist roots of my upbringing kept me from being completely comfortable with drinking, though on occasion I tried to look like I could handle it. At the moment, a part of me wanted to find the whole bottle and chug it down, choking, tears, and all. “How was your day?” I wanted to change the subject. “I’m sure you’ve had your share of excitement.”
    â€œYes, I have, but we’ll get to that in a moment. First, please tell me how you’re doing. I can’t imagine how you’re feeling being that close to a terrorist attack. You missed it by what, thirty, forty minutes? Is that what’s eating at you?”
    I hesitated, but then put my fork down and decided to put it all on the table. “I met a man at the airport yesterday morning who gave me the heebie-jeebies. He was on his way to Chicago too, like the man they’re holding, Jamal Abdul.”
    Laz stuffed a large bite of salad into his mouth and then used a cloth napkin to wipe a trail of vinaigrette dressing off his lips.
    He looked bored.
    â€œSo you’re worried that the man may have been hurt in the