by I Beacham
His caring, reassuring touch was having an effect on her at last. She relaxed and allowed a grin to break through her current miserable outlook.
“Have you ever tried giving a Sunday sermon with no roof, with an organist who hits the wrong keys, and the sound of munching coming from what rafters are left?”
“See it as a challenge,” Neil said. “Teach the termites to sing in tune. With luck they’ll drown out the sound of the organist.”
She gave him a playful arm punch.
“You’re supposed to be empathetic and show understanding.”
“That’s actually the real reason for my visit, Sam. Sunday…as soon as you’re finished here, get yourself over to my place for lunch.”
Sam could only think of her workload and started to decline, but Neil interrupted.
“This is not an offer you can refuse. Miriam has requested your presence. If you don’t come, my life will be misery. You know what she’s like.”
They looked at each with understanding. Miriam, Neil’s wife, was a larger-than-life character with a huge heart and warm sense of humor. But she was not a woman to be messed with.
“What time?” Sam asked.
“About one.”
*
Brandon Finch, head of production, stood in his office and stared at Joey. His face was a mixture of anger and disappointment.
“Fuck it, Joey. That was crap.” Everything about his Barney Rubble stature oozed frustration.
“I froze.”
“Again.” Finch eyeballed her as he popped a small mint into his mouth. A look of disgust crossed his grizzled face. Joey didn’t know if it was for her or the mint. He was a bear since he’d given up smoking.
She’d let him down in the live televised political show last night. It had been billed as an unmissable debate between the sharpest of minds on the role of the U.S. in the rapidly escalating problems in the Middle East and the rise of insurgents. Key opposition politicians, former advisors to Republican and Democratic secretaries of state, senior policy and program advisers, and a number of senior fellows at the Center for American Progress had all taken part. Joey’s role had been to chair the debate. She’d make a complete mess of it, and the broadcast company had been overwhelmed by complaints.
“That was a live broadcast. I can’t have that,” Finch snapped.
“It’s just a bad day. I’m sorry.” Joey’s apology was wet, and Finch knew it.
“Like before, eh, when you froze on national television while interviewing Senator Braddock? At least you eventually managed to ask him the most inane questions.”
That time the public had been forgiving, the TV station less so. The previous night had been Joey’s last chance to redeem herself and shine again.
“Not good enough. You were the ideal person as moderator. Public sympathy was with you and the respect of those debating. But fuck, I could have employed a sixteen-year-old studying political science and they would have done a better job.” Finch shook his head and walked to the huge window that looked down over the city.
“When I took you on, I told you I’d never hired anyone so in tune with the public mood, so able to communicate with them. You reached out well. Shit, you were in their living rooms, sitting on their sofas.”
“Past tense?”
“Whatever you had, you haven’t got it now.” Finch turned to face her and hesitated. “Look, what happened to you out there in Balshir was beyond hell, and I can’t begin to imagine how you’re coping with it, but—”
“You’re firing me,” Joey said.
“No. But I do want you to fuck off and go find your mojo again. When you do, come back, and we’ll start over.”
“And if I can’t?”
“Adios, Joey. I’m not in this business as a charity. We make lots of money selling news. You know that. If you can’t bring the bucks in, I don’t need you.”
“This isn’t right.”
“I’d have to agree with you, but that’s life. I hired you to do a job which you now don’t seem able to do.” He spat the mint into his hand and threw it, along with the box it had come from, into the trash can. “Come on. This can’t be entirely unexpected…not after last night.”
Joey said nothing. She wasn’t the same since her rescue by pro-Syrian forces fifteen months ago. Physically, she was fine, but mentally? Now she panicked every time she stood in front of a camera. She was on a downhill escalator and didn’t know how to get off. Counseling wasn’t helping.
“Okay.” Finch reached into the trash can and retrieved the box of mints. He hesitated and then popped another mint into his mouth. He looked at her and the hardness on his face gave way to an uncustomary softness. “I’m not totally without heart. It’s rare, but…” He moved back to his desk and leaned on it. “You’ve got family in England, right?”
The conversational move puzzled Joey. Where was this going?
“My mother’s sister…my aunt. She lives in Worcestershire.”
“I’ve got a contact in Birmingham…guy runs Stallion Films Production for the BBC. I’ve asked him if he wants a screwed up news correspondent on his team for a while.” Finch shrugged. “He said yeah.”
“Doing what?” It was difficult to keep the annoyance out of her voice when everything was falling around her.
“You’d be acting as consultant. They produce a lot of geopolitical documentaries.”
For the first time, he looked at her with affection. “Go out there, Joey. Stay with your aunt…whatever. Study the English for a while. That’ll take your mind off things and keep you busy. They’re so far up their own asses they can’t even flip eggs right, but I hear the natives are friendly.”
“Do I have any say in this?”
“You do not. There are a lot of wolves out there baying for your blood right now. This’ll keep them away…give you time.”
Finch was protecting her.
“When do I leave?” she asked.
“Last night. Three seconds after the debate ended.”
Chapter Three
Sam was dog-tired but didn’t go straight to bed. It was that type of tired where she wouldn’t sleep anyway. Instead she ran herself a glass of water from the kitchen sink and just stood there. She studied herself in the little mirror her housekeeper kept on the windowsill. It made Sam smile. Gloria was in her seventies and a conundrum, a riddle to be solved.
She’d been widowed twelve years ago when her husband had died of alcohol poisoning at a beer festival. She had answered the job advert for housekeeper to earn extra cash. The job didn’t pay well, but Gloria stayed. Gloria didn’t have a religious bone in her body and thought all church stuff was humbug. Yet she worked at the vicarage.
Four years ago when Sam came to this parish and asked the outgoing vicar about Gloria, he had simply held her hands in his and said, “God will reward you in heaven.”
Sam never knew what mood Gloria would be in from hour to hour, but she worked like a Trojan and kept the small vicarage spick-and-span. She’d also started cooking for Sam on occasion, a requirement not in her terms of reference. Sam often felt she was being mothered. Gloria wasn’t one to hesitate to chastise her for anything from leaving toothpaste on the porcelain sink to eating proper food at correct meal times. It seemed that they liked each other.
Sam stared at herself in the mirror. She was tired and it showed. Damn, she was at that age where everything was starting to show. She spotted a couple of gray hairs prodding out like beacons in her hair, and there was a mass of laughter lines, crow’s feet, at the corners of her eyes. When had they appeared? But at least it was evidence that she could laugh. Her sense of humor had always been her greatest ally and something her parishioners seemed to like. She could even make Gloria laugh—sometimes. Not an easy task.
Sunday lunch with Neil, Miriam, and their four teenage offspring had been delightful. Her plans to return home late afternoon to work had been foiled. Lunch morphed into cozy drinks in the garden, and then an invite to sta
y for supper. Before she knew it, the day was over, and the time late.
But even the wonderful day did nothing to remove the emptiness she felt inside. Sam was feeling increasingly hopeless and trapped.
She’d heard the call of God early in her years and answered it. For that, she was a woman who had spent her life alone. Perhaps her busy work, dedication, or youthful energy had buffered and protected her from that fact, but lately the safety nets had weakened. For several years, a need grew in her. She wanted something more—for her. She wanted personal fulfillment beyond religion.
What had triggered that new calling?
The letter.
It was more of a note, handwritten and by someone struggling to hold a pen.
The letter had arrived one morning, its words scrawled and uneven.
And it had been unexpected.
Louise had written it.
She was asking to see Sam, but not as a parishioner seeking the comfort of religion before dying of incurable cancer. This was the call of a lover—a past lover.
Louise was the woman Sam had walked away from all those years ago when she finally made the choice between love and faith.
They had ended badly.
Louise had not taken Sam’s choice well. She had told her to leave and never darken her doorstep again. Sam had tried many times to repair the damage but always failed.
This was the first time Louise had asked for her, and Sam had not hesitated in going to the hospice where she was in the last throes of life. The nurses told her she didn’t have long.
“I didn’t think you’d come,” Louise had said.
“Why would you think that?” Sam answered with warmth as she sat beside the bed where Louise lay.
“I was awful to you that last time. I shouldn’t have been.”
Sam shook her head and smiled. “You had plenty to be upset about…and you were angry.”
“You don’t hate me then?”
“I could never hate you.” She looked into Louise’s eyes, once so full of spirit, but now dull. Everything Louise did was an effort—breathing, staying awake, talking.
“Thank you for coming. I wanted to see you again before…”
Sam reached out and held her hand.
“Are you in much pain?”
“Not really. Sometimes. The staff are good. For the most, they keep the pain away.”
Sam felt Louise grip her hand tighter.
“Have you been happy?” Sam prayed she would say yes.
“I have. It’s been a good life. Just wish it could be longer, but that’s not to be. I’ve had a good run and met some wonderful people.” Louise stopped as she labored for air. “But I’ve never loved as I loved you. I was so angry when you chose the church over me. The only woman I’ve ever loved, and I lose her to someone I can’t even see…God. You can’t compete with that.” Her laugh was weak. It turned into a groan.
“Should I get someone?” Sam hated seeing her like this.
“No, it passes.”
Louise couldn’t speak after that, and Sam placed their conversation on hold. She stayed seated by her, hand in hand until Louise was able to talk again.
“Don’t let it pass you by,” Louise said.
“What?”
“Life and love, Sam.” She gasped for air. “You must live life. God is fine, but make sure you leave a little in your heart for love.” Louise looked at her with such softness. “I think God would be okay with that.”
Sam was thinking how to reply when two nurses entered. They asked her to leave for a short while.
When she returned to the bedside, Louise was less responsive. Her breathing was more labored, and a nurse told Sam it wouldn’t be long now. Louise never spoke again, but her eyes never left Sam’s face.
“Would you like me to say a prayer?” Sam whispered.
A small shake of the head indicated no, but Louise moved her hand into Sam’s.
Sam held it between both of hers and, as she stayed there waiting for the inevitable, she remembered the past and of how much she’d loved Louise. The decision to choose the church over Louise had not been easy. Sam pressed the hand to her lips and kissed it. She only left when the hand loosened its grip on hers, and she knew Louise was gone.
Sam wasn’t the same after her death.
She went through the motions, did everything she always did. Outwardly, she remained the same upbeat vicar that made the parishioners laugh. But inside she was different. She closed down, and in the times when she wasn’t administering to everyone else’s problems and issues, she sat at home and stared at the walls.
Louise’s words had hit home.
Sam loved God. She felt his power in all she did. There would not be a day in her life when she would doubt him. Her life was full…really full at the moment. She was respected by churchgoers, those she dealt with, and by the church. She’d been made a canon, an honorary title bestowed for faithful and valuable service to the church. There was no bigger accolade unless you sought the highest of position…bishop, and beyond. She never had. She liked the root contact with the masses.
But for all the room God occupied in her heart, there was a void. It was an empty space that was growing, and her vocation no longer filled it. Now she felt her calling was pulling her in the wrong direction.
“Leave a little space for life…and love.” Louise’s words echoed.
Sam placed the empty glass in the sink.
“Living life isn’t that easy, Louise.”
Chapter Four
Sam glanced at her watch and then pulled at her shirt. She was wearing a new black one along with a whiter than white clerical collar. The shirt was too tight and chafing at her neck. Wearing a cassock wasn’t helping. The long robe was something she only wore for formal worship or ceremonial occasions. But the journalist from the radio station had said she wanted photos for the online magazine, and this forced Sam to put a little extra effort into her ecclesiastical attire.
She looked at her watch again. Damn, where was that reporter? Carrie Marlow had already canceled their first appointment a few days ago. The station had called at the last minute and given no reason. Now she was over an hour late for this one.
Normally, Sam wasn’t a clock watcher, but she’d almost finished everything she wanted to do at the church before the wedding ceremony tomorrow. Her plan was to drop in at the local hospital on her way home to see a member of the congregation who wasn’t doing so well. Apart from the interview, Sam was only hanging on until Elsa turned up with the flowers. Once she knew they were sorted, she could leave. She’d give Carrie another half an hour.
In the meantime, she studied the chancel area in the church which was now camouflaged to hide renovations. Bob had gone to huge lengths to conceal everything so tomorrow’s matrimonial big day would not be spoilt. He was a rough diamond, and she was growing very fond of him. Despite his less than pitch-perfect sense of humor, he really was trying to make everything as painless as possible. Her volunteer helpers were doing the same. She watched them bouncing around the church like demented lemmings as they prepared it and laid out hymn books in the pews. She might not have much of a roof, but everything inside was beginning to look fantastic.
The sun was shining as Joey quick marched toward the huge arched porch and doorway into St. Mary’s church. She was already regretting volunteering to help out her mom’s sister, Auntie Elsa, a member of the church’s congregation, and who she was now staying with. Joey had quickly discovered that Elsa had a gift. She could throw flowers together and create stunning feasts for the eyes which was why Joey was delivering a van load of flower arrangements for a wedding the next day. Elsa had taken a fall and Joey had wanted to help out, but it was the drive that was daunting.
She could have been here five minutes ago but for a chain of stupid “roundabouts” that left her figuring which way to go around them. The only rotary she knew was in DuPont Circle in DC, and she loathed that too. And why did the Brits have to drive on the wro
ng side of the road when most of Europe had gotten it right?
As she walked into the church, an austere looking woman who was attentively laying a crisp white cloth on a table looked at her over half-moon glasses balanced partway down a thin nose.
“Hi. I’m looking for Reverend Savage,” Joey said.
“You’re late,” the woman said as she pointed out the vicar who stood at the far end of the aisle.
Joey didn’t hover and made her way toward the dark, menacing shape farther down. The vicar had her back to her and appeared like a demonic apparition who was studying floor to ceiling thick plastic sheeting that was protecting the church from the restorations that were going on behind. As she drew closer, the vicar turned and Joey caught the sweep of shoulder-length auburn hair.
“I was expecting you earlier,” the vicar said.
The statement took Joey back. Hell, these Brits were impatient. She’d driven here straightaway on Auntie Elsa’s request.
“I came as soon as I could.”
The vicar’s eyes widened. “You’re American. I didn’t know.”
They were also quick, Joey thought with sarcasm.
“You’re a woman. I didn’t know that either. I was expecting a man,” Joey said.
The vicar looked taken aback but then shrugged.
“Well, no matter, you’re here now and in one bit. I was getting a little worried that something might have happened to you.”
“No. I’m all in one bit.” Joey wasn’t warming to her.
“It’s just I’m on a bit of a tight schedule today, and I’ve got a lot to be getting on with.”
“So have I,” Joey said.
“You could have let me know you’d been delayed.”
“I’m not, and I’m doing you the favor.”
The Reverend Savage went to say something but thought better of it. Instead she nodded.
“I suppose you are. Where’s your stuff?”
