When Sunday Comes Again by Terry E. Hill Page A

spring pastels. Everyone stood to their feet and applauded when they heard Samantha’s name.
    Renee raised her voice over the applause and swung her arms in a sweeping motion. “Please help me welcome Pastor, Reverend Dr. Samantha Cleaveland.”
    The claps became louder and were accompanied by hoots of approval and gasps of admiration when Samantha walked onto the platform from behind a series of backlit blue panels and screens.
    â€œSo, you’re so . . . gosh,” the host said enthusiastically. “You’re such an amazing woman. For those of you who don’t know—I can’t imagine who that would be—Samantha . . . I can call her Samantha because we’re friends.” The comment was greeted with laughs from the audience and a broad smile and a touch of Renee’s hand by Samantha.
    Renee continued in a more somber tone. “Anyway, there has been no modern-day tragedy since the King and Kennedy assassinations, at least not one that I can think of, that has moved the country like your story, Samantha. For those in our audience who don’t know this, Samantha’s husband, the Reverend Dr. Hezekiah T. Cleaveland, was brutally assassinated. I don’t know any other way to put it, but he was assassinated in front of you and the entire congregation of New Testament Cathedral in Los Angeles. I mean you literally held him in your arms as he was dying.”
    The cameras panned the audience. Women clutched their chests and dabbed tears from their eyes. A closeup of a woman shaking her head, with her hand covering her mouth, filled the screen for a brief moment. The camera cut back to the two beautiful women sitting in modern, comfortable chairs covered in butterscotch-toned leather.
    Samantha wore a simply cut black two-piece suit and a white blouse with an oversize collar that revealed only enough cleavage to remind everyone that she was a voluptuous woman. Renee wore an apple red knit dress with a round neckline that dipped slightly to the left, similarly revealing enough flesh to remind viewers that she, too, was a desirable woman.
    The women faced each other at a slight angle. Their perfect legs crossed at the knee, with one spiked heel of their handmade Italian shoes planted in the carpet, causing the tip to point graciously toward the audience.
    â€œI know everyone would like to know.... I know I would. What was going through your mind at that moment?” the host asked unapologetically. “When you first heard the gunshots? I can only imagine how terrifying that must have been for you.”
    Samantha’s expression, on cue, faded from that of a radiant television personality to grieving widow within seconds. “Renee, let me first tell you how much your support has meant to me through this very difficult time,” she said sincerely.
    Renee reached out, held her hand, and said, “That’s what friends are for. I know you would have done the same for me.”
    The audience responded with loud yet respectful applause.
    â€œSo tell us, Samantha, what was going through you mind that day?”
    â€œRenee, much of it is still a blur. It was a beautiful Sunday morning. Hezekiah and I were always our most happiest on Sundays. I was with him in his office before the service started, and like I always did, I straightened his tie, kissed him, and told him how much I loved him before he went out to the pulpit. I took my seat on the front row, and I remember thinking how lucky I was to be married to such a wonderful man—”
    Renee interrupted, “Did you sense anything was wrong or that something bad was about to happen?”
    â€œI had no idea. Everything seemed perfect. Hezekiah was about halfway through his sermon when I heard the first shot. I thought one of the overhead lights had burst.” Samantha put the tip of her freshly manicured finger to her lips and paused before she continued. “Then I saw him lean forward and put his