“I’m not dead yet, you know.”
His grin was sheepish. “Yeah, I know, but when I was learning to drive, you told me not to take life for granted. Some things ought to be said when there’s the opportunity. I love you, Samuel. You were more of a grandfather to me than my own grandfather.”
Samuel was too full of emotion to speak. Timothy had healed the ache in his heart for the son who’d been killed in Vietnam. Standing in the open doorway, Samuel felt the gentle nudging of the Holy Spirit. Over seventy years of walking with the Lord, he had learned not to resist Him. “Wait a minute, Son. I have something for you.” He limped to the secretary, opened a drawer, and leafed through the papers till he found what he was looking for. Pulling down the desktop, he wrote a brief note and signed his name. He slipped it into an envelope. He picked up the keys in the desk organizer and came back to Timothy, who was still standing at the open door. “A little something to help you on your way.” He held out the keys to the DeSoto.
“You’re kidding!”
“I’d never kid about that baby. Believe me.” He handed over the envelope. “That’s the title, signed over to you. All you have to do is stop by the DMV and she’s all yours.”
“I can’t take your car, Samuel. I know how much you love it.”
“I don’t love it, Timothy. I’ve enjoyed it. I love you. Besides, I ask you—what am I going to do with a car I can no longer drive?” He pointed down the corridor. “Go out that door, down the back stairs, and outside to the garage. She’s all yours with one stipulation: that you remember there are no strings attached. If she doesn’t suit you, sell her and use the money for college.”
Timothy stood undecided. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything. Just go and have your first spin with her. Call me in a few weeks and tell me how she runs.”
Timothy hugged him and headed down the corridor. Samuel watched him swing the DeSoto keys around his finger. Tim paused at the door. Grinning, he waved. “Thanks, Samuel!”
Samuel raised his hand and resisted the urge to call out driving advice. The door banged behind Timothy.
Samuel closed his apartment door. He’d given away most of what was in his home before he moved into Vine Hill, but he hadn’t been able to give up his car. Over the past few months, he’d gone down to the garage and spent a couple of hours each week polishing and checking everything over. He’d even gotten into the driver’s seat and started the engine just to make sure she was in good running order, all the while wondering why he bothered.
“Now I know, Lord.” Chuckling, he eased into his recliner and pushed back.
There is an appointed time for everything. And there is a time for every event under heaven.
Smiling, Samuel savored the pleasure of shedding another trapping of this life. He could almost see Timothy driving down Highway 99 to the intersection with Interstate 5, window open, arm resting on the door.
Oh, it feels good, Lord, real good to give a young man wheels.
Especially knowing it would be God who did the driving.
Paul struggled with mixed feelings about his son. He was proud of him, and felt curiously bereft. He hadn’t expected Timothy to make it through high school, let alone excel and have good enough grades to be considered by UCLA. Timothy was already planning ahead, looking into his options. Had Tim listened to him at all? Then again, why should he? Paul hardly knew his son anymore. He’d talked with him on the phone every week or two, but the conversations were brief and stilted. It wasn’t his fault or Timothy’s that they couldn’t seem to talk. Their personalities didn’t mesh. Eunice had been the bridge, but lately she had a guardrail up.
Had she heard rumors? Paul had been careful to time Sheila’s appointments when there weren’t people in the church. Neither one of them wanted to end their marriages, even though those marriages weren’t what they should be. And both of them had a lot to lose if rumors started. She was a parishioner, and she needed comfort. She needed to know at least one other man in the world saw her as a desirable woman, and she made him feel more of a man than Eunice ever did.
But he’d been worrying lately. Sheila was taking risks he didn’t like. A kiss on his cheek as she headed out of church, a telephone call at home, a note on his desk. Timothy had given him an eagle-eyed stare this morning when Sheila talked to him. His son had paid no attention to the teenage girls whispering and watching him. If Timothy said anything to Eunice about Sheila, Paul would just tell the truth. He was counseling her. Eunice would believe him. She always did. Even if Eunice questioned him, he would ask what sort of pastor he’d be if he refused help to the wife of one of the church’s major donors?
He needed to call his pharmacist and get some more pills. His stomach was killing him again. He didn’t like the way Sheila had taken to playing little games with him. He knew it was just another sign of her low self-es-teem. Rob didn’t show her any attention, so she sought his. He would call her and talk with her about it again. Rob was away again. Maybe he’d go up and see her at her house. They wouldn’t have to worry about anyone seeing them there or overhearing their conversation.
Eunice’s car was already parked in the garage. She and Timothy had gone for hamburgers at Charlie’s Diner, but he’d made an excuse. He didn’t want to sit across the table from Timothy and have a staring contest, and worse, have to answer any questions Eunice might bring up. Even if he was suspicious, Tim wouldn’t say anything about Sheila. Why risk hurting his mother?
Paul remembered being in Tim’s position once, and was glad he hadn’t said anything. Shrugging out of his coat, he went through the kitchen. Maybe he should’ve called Sheila before leaving the church.
Guilt gripped him, anger following. Why should he feel guilty? It was part of a pastor’s duty to counsel people. It wasn’t as though he were arranging meetings with Sheila or making clandestine arrangements for a private getaway. If he were doing that, he’d be making reservations at some out of the way bed-and-breakfast. Maybe at that nice place in Mariposa. Some-place where no one would know them. They could have dinner together, a nice walk, a long talk, and . . .
He halted his thoughts. All he’d done was comfort a lonely woman whose husband was too stupid to know what he was missing. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar. Edgy and irritated, he almost ran into Eunice on her way out of their bedroom.
“Oh, sorry.” She laughed and looped her purse over her shoulder.
“Where are you going?”
“Shopping.” She stepped around him.
He followed her into the hallway. “It’s Sunday night.”
“I know, but you said we’re out of coffee and you need more shaving cream. I’ve got a list of things.”
“Where’s Timothy?”
“He took a walk. He said he’d be back in plenty of time to catch his bus.”
“How long do you think you’ll be gone?”
“An hour at the most.”
An hour would be perfect. He could talk to Sheila without any worries.
She frowned. “I can wait until tomorrow, if you’d like.” She slipped her purse from her shoulder. “Maybe I should wait. It is kind of late.”
“No. Go ahead. I’ve got plenty to do.”
Paul waited until he heard the garage door open and close. He drew aside the bedroom drapes just enough to watch Eunice head down the hill for Centerville. He looked at the telephone on the bedside table. Somehow it didn’t feel right to make the call in the master bedroom. He tossed his jacket over the chair and went down the corridor to his home office. Closing the door, he locked it and sat at his desk. He would talk to Sheila about her behavior this morning. He wondered how long Rob would be gone. Sheila always needed him more when Rob was away.
Paul didn’t have to look up her number.
Stephen saw a silver Lexus pull up in front. It was barely nine in the morning and his client wasn’t due until eleven.
Kathryn got out of the car.
“Oh, Lord, help!” He put his pencil on the drawing board. He didn’t wait for her to knock. “Hi.”
“Hi.” Her tone was curt. She barely glanced at him as she walked into his office. She’d let her blonde hair grow out again, and was wearing it soft and loose around her shoulders. He’d told her in their courtship days that he liked her hair long. Maybe that was why she cut it after a few years. She only took two inches off the first time. By the end of their marriage, she’d cropped it short and used gel. It had galled him. As she well knew.
She was still in good shape. Probably worked out at some gym every other day. Probably had a personal trainer, too. Catching the drift of his thoughts, Stephen halted them. She hadn’t even opened her mouth other than to say hi, and here he was tearing her down in his mind, looking for faults and failures, looking for weaknesses. God knew he had plenty of all three.
“Why on earth did you buy this building, Stephen? Why didn’t you renovate or remodel something in Sacramento? Or Roseville? Why Rockville?”
She wasn’t going to make things easy. “It appealed to me.” He wasn’t about to go into how the Lord had led him here, or that he was conducting a Bible study in his basement. She wasn’t ready to listen, and she was on a roll.
“How much money have you dumped into this building? I’ve never known you to be foolish with investments. This is a dead-end town with dead-end people. Most of the houses I saw don’t even have foundations. And that trailer park! What an eyesore with all those Mexicans loitering in front.”
“Day laborers. Most of them get picked up before nine.” Two were attending his Wednesday evening Bible study. Nice guys, lonely, families south of the border.
“No one in their right mind would want to live in Rockville if they had the money to live anywhere else. Even Centerville is better than this. I don’t think Brittany should be living here.”
Stephen blinked. After four years, Kathryn suddenly had an opinion on where their daughter should live? He opened his mouth to tell her Brittany had lived in worse places than Rockville, or anything she could imagine, but caught himself in time. Keep your head, Decker. Don’t jump back on the merry-go-round.
Kathryn looked toward the stairs at the back. “Brittany must’ve seen me drive up. Would you make her come down?”
“She left early.”
She lifted her head, but he couldn’t see her eyes through her sunglasses. “Did you tell her I was coming over?”
“I didn’t know you were coming, Kathryn. I haven’t heard from you in ages.” He was careful to keep his tone neutral, but he could see her trying to read something more into it.
“I didn’t know when I was going to be able to get over here. Okay?”
He ignored the sarcasm. “Brit usually leaves in the morning and comes back mid-afternoon. It wasn’t personal.”
“Where does she go?”
“I don’t know.”
“And you don’t ask?”
“I made some promises to Brit when I invited her to stay here, Kathryn. One of them was that I wouldn’t pry into her personal affairs if she didn’t want to tell me about them. I wasn’t exactly actively involved in her life before she showed up here.” Brittany left early every morning, never volunteering any information about where she was going or what she planned to do. He was thankful she came back, even more thankful when she wasn’t drunk or high. Sure, he wondered where she went all day. Sure, he wanted to ask her. But he held his silence and waited. He didn’t want to do to Brittany what Kathryn used to do to him: put her through the third degree every time she walked in the front door. He had the feeling Brittany had already been down that much-traveled road to nowhere.
Kathryn walked to his drawing board and looked at his drawings. Stephen squelched the urge to step over and roll them up. Kathryn sighed heavily. “It probably wouldn’t take much to send Brittany on the run again.” She gave a short, bleak laugh. “The sight of my car out front might do it.”
He reined in the urge to ask Kathryn why, but he wanted to tear down walls, not build them. Right now, his ex-wife was walking her battlements and making sure her cannons were loaded. She studied his conceptual drawings for an office building. Buying time?
“Why don’t I make us a pot of coffee?”
She glanced up, surprised. “Coffee?”
“I could use a break. I’ve been at those drawings since seven.”
“They’re good.”
He hadn’t expected a compliment and stood dumbfounded.
“Where’s the site?”
“Northeast of the ARCO Arena.” He headed for the stairs. “Come on up. Look around.” She followed.
As he took coffee and filters out of the cabinet, Kathryn took in her surroundings. He looked her over. She was thinner, paler, and less kempt than he’d ever seen her. Even when they were heading for divorce, she’d been meticulous about her appearance. Now her designer jeans were loose, her salon tan faded. She still had long, red-lacquered nails. She took off her sunglasses, folded them, and tucked them into her jacket pocket. The skin beneath her bloodshot hazel eyes was puffy. Whatever makeup she’d applied didn’t disguise her age or the shadows of late nights, booze, and disillusionment.
Stephen knew the signs of a hangover. He’d suffered from them often enough in the past. “Have you eaten, Kat?”
“No.” She turned her back to him, and stared out the window, arms crossed.
“Neither have I. What do you say I fix some eggs?”
She glanced over her shoulder, one brow raised. “You cook now?”
He let her mockery slide. “Nothing fancy.” Brittany told him once that Kathryn was taking gourmet-cooking classes so that she could put on fancy dinner parties to impress Jeff and his rich friends. “I can manage an omelet. What do you say?”
“This I’ve got to see.” She took Brittany’s chair and watched while he prepared the eggs and grated cheese. He knew she was trying to irritate him. He poured the whipped eggs into a hot pan, sprinkled grated cheese, put the lid on, and lowered the heat. While the omelet cooked, he set the table for two. She smirked. “Wonders never cease.”
“You’d better hold off with the compliments until you’ve tasted the food.” He saw the start of a smile, but she squelched it. He poured her a cup of steaming coffee. “Sorry, I don’t have cream. Would you like a little milk instead?”
Her gaze was questioning, wary. “Black is fine.”
He divided the omelet and served her portion first. He took the seat across from her and said a quick silent prayer of thanks for the food, topping it off with a plea for presence of mind and patience. Kathryn didn’t have to do or say anything to get his hackles up.
“Why are you being so nice to me, Stephen? Are you going to ask for custody again?”
Was she serious? “Brittany just turned twenty-one, Kat. She’s a little old for custody.”
Kathryn blinked, a shadow flickering across her face. “Oh. I guess so.” She looked ready to cry. She turned her head away and swallowed. She was fighting tears. How much drinking had she been doing over the past few years? “So much time . . . ” She shook her head and faced him again. Her eyes hardened in challenge. “What’re you staring at?”
“Sorry.”
“You still haven’t told me why you’re being so nice.”
How much of what she had become was his fault? “I thought it was about time we stopped trying to find ways to hurt each other.”
She looked pointedly at the omelet and then at him, her expression wry. “Is this a twist on the Trojan horse?”
Chuckling, he reached over the table, took a forkful of her omelet, and ate it. “Not enough salt. Absolutely no arsenic.”
A smile did come this time. Brief, halfhearted, sardonic—but still a smile. She took a tentative bite. “Not bad, either.”
They ate in silence. He took the empty plates and set them in the sink to wash later. “More coffee?”
“Please.” He poured and then set the coffeepot on a ho
t plate between them. She held her cup between her hands. “I thought you’d gloat.”
“Over what?”
She gave him a droll look. “Over Jeff leaving me. Over another failed marriage.”
“I find no pleasure in your unhappiness, Kat.” He knew some things needed to be cleared up. “I did at one time. Not anymore.”
“What brought the change of heart?”
“I accepted Christ as my Savior in rehab. And I’ve been learning to give Him lordship over my life ever since. Without Him, I wouldn’t make it through a day without a drink.”
“You used to say I drove you to drink.”
“I was looking for someone to blame.”
“So, you walked into a church and everything’s all better. Is that it?”
“I’m not talking about a building. I’m talking about a relationship.”
“Must be nice to have personal rapport with God Himself.”
She was pushing hard. So had he, just before surrendering. “I needed Jesus in my life. It was as simple as that. I didn’t have the strength to say no to alcohol.”
“I remember that all too well.”
He resisted the urge to catalog her sins. “There’s a saying in rehab: ‘I can’t. God can. I turn my will over to God.’ I’ve been doing that on a daily basis ever since. And—by the grace of God—I’ve stayed sober.”
She looked at him, really looked this time. Her eyes clouded. “Is it hard?”
“Some days are harder than others.”
She stood and went to the window again. Crossing her arms, she stared out. “I used to blame you for everything. I blamed you when I was unhappy. I blamed you when our marriage started to fall apart. I blamed you when I got pregnant and couldn’t work anymore. I blamed you when I couldn’t make the child-support checks stretch enough to live the way I wanted to live.” She raised her head. “And then I met Jeff and thought everything was going to be wonderful.” Her shoulders shook. “And it wasn’t. So I blamed Brittany.”