“I’m sorry, Sam, but I can’t stop crying. I can’t help it.”

After a moment Sam burst out into tears. “I was supposed to be at the Barbra Streisand look-alike contest being fabulous and you got me here with you, crying! Aaaaaah! Jesus!!!! Why?!!! Why, Jesus, why?!!!”

Chapter 17

10:35 P.M. EST
THAT SAME EVENING

2 HOURS AND 35 MINUTES INTO THE “E-DAY” AFTERMATH.

It was like a scene from a Black funeral. Sam was weeping, wailing, and rolling on the ground bemoaning, “Take me, Lord!!! Take me!!!” Even in his despair he was dramatic.

After a few minutes of fanning himself with both hands, Sam pulled himself together and suggested that we head back to my apartment. I agreed. We made our way downstairs, headed out of the hotel lobby, and hailed a cab. Reaching my apartment building, we made our way up the stairs and inside, where we flopped on the couch, exhausted from the evening’s emotions.

“Well, girl, you sure know how to throw a Christmas Eve party, that’s all I got to say.”

“I’m sorry I ruined your chance to win the Barbra Streisand contest.”

“Oh please, girl, I win it every year. I barely have room in my apartment for all the trophies. So, don’t worry about me.”

“I made a pretty big fool out of myself.”

“Why? For daring to find love? Montana, no, you did the right thing. Remember, only seekers of love are finders of love. You remember I told you that, don’t you?”

“I remember. But is that really the case? I’ve been a seeker all of my life, and I have yet to be a finder.”

“‘Yet’ is the operative word.”

“Christmas Eve has always been such a magical time of year. I guess this year, I ran out of magic.”

“Christmas Eve isn’t over yet. It’s only ten-thirty. There’s still an hour and a half left. That’s more than enough time for magic to happen. Remember, the glass is half full. Who knows, any second magic could come knocking on your front door.”

Almost immediately there was a knock on the door. Sam and I looked at each other.

“Are you expecting company?”

“Not that I know of.” Walking to the door, Sam looked through the peephole.

“Is it magic?” I playfully asked.

“Yeah, Black magic,” Sam said as he begrudgingly opened the door. “Well, look what the wind blew in. It’s the boyfriend burglar, Man Thief!” Gail stood in the doorway with her hand on her hip.

“Hey, Sam. Is Montana here?”

“Yes, but I’ve been instructed to tell you that she’s not talking to you.”

“Sam, please, okay? I really need to talk to her.”

“Shouldn’t you be in Atlanta tarrying for the Holy Ghost or something?”

“Sam, please. Can I talk to her?”

“Okay, but make it quick.” He backed out of the way, allowing her to come inside.

“Montana?”