Martha chuckled. “You’re a man. It’s not your job.”
“I’m not a chauvinist.” He grinned back. “I can do doughnuts.” His program director looked great, in spite of the fact that it wasn’t yet seven o’clock on Monday morning. Her navy slacks and matching jacket were for their meeting with the pastor in a few hours.
More and more, Martha was a breath of fresh air in a very cloudy life.
He picked up the agenda she’d handed him, along with the box of doughnuts, when she’d come in moments before and taken her seat at the round table in one corner of the studio. A large wall of equipment, analog, digital and MPEG players, computers and screens separated them from the rest of the room.
“I didn’t say you were a chauvinist, I said you were a man. And in my experience, men have a tendency to think that food just appears at opportune moments.”
Her black hair was short like Bonnie’s, but straight. He preferred Bonnie’s wayward curls, but on Martha, straight looked good.
“Some of the best chefs in the world are men,” he told her.
“A cooking show. Of course!” Martha said, scribbling. “We can launch it with some kind of cooking contest, and the winner will be the show’s host, at least for the start-up.”
A pen replacing his doughnut, Keith jotted some quick notes. “An hour-long show,” he suggested, “with factoids thrown in—the best chefs, best restaurants in the world, dining etiquette…”
“And some health tips, too, like giving caloric content or cholesterol levels for the day’s dishes.”
“This is good!” Keith grinned.
“We’re good, partner.” Martha thrust her hand across the table and Keith shook it, held on only long enough to give her fingers a grateful squeeze.
“I’m—”
“Keith?”
He froze. Then yanked his hand back as though he’d done something wrong. Turned.
“Bonnie?”
“Hi, Daddy, it stinks, pee-eew.” He barely registered Katie’s toddler gibbering.
His wife was standing by the wall of equipment, their daughter in her arms, taking in the cozy sight of Martha and him with their hands clasped.
There was absolutely no reason for him to feel guilty.
Or sick.
“What’s wrong?” He stood quickly.
“There’s been another fire.”
Thoughts of his program director, of their meeting and MUTV fled as it dawned on him that Bonnie’s presence meant much more than her witnessing Martha Moore and him alone together.
“At the day care?” he asked, grabbing Katie and sliding his free arm around Bonnie as he led her to the couch along the wall.
“Yeah,” she said. “It’s okay—again, not much damage—but they’re thinking something more serious was intended this time.”
He hated that he felt good having Bonnie come to him with her troubles. Needing him. He didn’t want her that way, wasn’t a man who had to have someone dependent on him to make him feel important.
“Greg’s already been there?”
She nodded.
“We drived fast, Daddy.” Katie was flipping the lobe of his ear back and forth.
“A fire truck’s there now, but the flames had already burned themselves out before I arrived. The fire was started in the Dumpster, but Greg thinks a fuse had been run inside through the dryer duct. The laundry room has some smoke damage.” She was glancing between Keith and Martha, who’d turned to face them but was still in her seat at the table. “He thinks that whoever set the fire intended the flame to travel along the fuse and into the dryer, which would’ve created an explosion.”
“Can I color?” Katie asked.
Keith shook his head, removing his daughter’s fingers from his hair. Katie liked to twist the hair at his collar around her finger, but didn’t stop when the curl got tight and started to pull strands from his scalp.
“Greg thinks there was a fuse?” he asked his wife.
“It only just happened, so he doesn’t really know what’s going on, but there were ashes in the Dumpster. Smoke in the laundry room. Part of a burnt fuse on the ground outside the dryer duct. And no other sign of fire.”
“I don’t like it.”
Katie was yanking the ends of Keith’s tie, trying to wrap them around her neck. He slid a finger between the material and his own neck.
“Greg doesn’t think I need to close Little Spirits. He just wants another half hour to go through the place.”
“Can she have a doughnut?” Martha asked, looking at Bonnie.
Bonnie smiled, though her smile was a little off, and nodded. Katie squirmed down and took off at a run to the table.
“I want to know who’s doing this,” Keith said, tired of feeling impotent.
Bonnie’s intelligent green eyes were shadowed. “I know. Me, too.”
Taking her hands, only vaguely aware of Martha and Katie across the room, Keith tried to put everything he felt and couldn’t say into a look. He wanted to tell Bonnie to go home, to stay away from all the things pulling at her, to be happy.
And not to worry about him and Martha.
Except that home seemed to be one of the things pulling at her. And Martha was someone he needed right now.
KEITH WAS QUIET on the way to the church. Not certain what right she had to interfere, Martha watched the familiar sights go by and said nothing.
Students and other staff had already begun arriving by the time Bonnie left that morning, giving Martha and Keith no opportunity for personal conversation.
Her friend wasn’t doing well, though. That much was obvious, especially to one who’d been through the hell of a forever kind of faith becoming shaky. In her case, the faith hadn’t just been shaken, but broken.
She hoped the same wasn’t in store for Keith.
Sharing this time with him, these problems he was experiencing in his marriage, was painful but also oddly soothing. She was seeing a side of men that, after her years with Todd, she’d considered only a fantasy.
It did her good to see Keith’s compassion. To witness the deep emotion, the love and loyalty he felt for his wife. His patience and ability to forgive.
PASTOR EDWARDS had said he’d meet them in the vestibule. He wasn’t there.
“You’re sure he said ten o’clock?” Glancing at his watch, Keith frowned.
“Positive.”
It had been almost two years since she’d visited the church—since Todd had left her to run away with one of his students—and she didn’t like being there now.
“Maybe we should go check his office,” she said, heading off in the direction she remembered a little too well. She’d come here several times during the initial shock of Todd’s defection.
Back when she still had hope they could salvage their “till death us do part” relationship.
“Something bothering you?” Keith asked, increasing his pace to keep up with her.
She liked him in a tie. It suited him. As did the tapered charcoal dress slacks he was wearing. Bonnie Nielson had to be struggling pretty badly to be messing up with this man.
“Last time I was here was with Todd.”
“Attending church with the kids?” His voice was softer, warmer than it had been since Bonnie left.
“Going to counseling with Pastor Edwards.”
“I didn’t realize you guys went to counseling.”
Tensing inside, trying to ignore the burning pain that still accompanied some of those memories, Martha shrugged. “Just that one time. But it was long enough for Todd to announce that he had no interest in making our relationship work, that he wanted a divorce, that he already had plans to marry Stacy.”
“God!” Keith said. Then, looking around a little sheepishly at their surroundings, he muttered, “Sorry.”
She could always count on Keith to take away the sting. Martha smiled. “No need to apologize to me,” she said.
“I wasn’t.”
“Oh.”
They turned the corner, entering the shorter hall where the church offices were.
“So why did he agree to counseling if he wasn’t willing to try?”
“He said it was so I’d have assistance when he told me it was over.”
Keith snorted. “That was big of him.”
His support was nice. In a healing kind of way.
The pastor’s office door was open a crack, but there was no sound from within.
Knocking, Keith pushed open the door, peering around its edge, Martha right behind him.
“Oh, my God.”
She wasn’t sure who said the words. Or if they both did.
Maybe even three of the four people present uttered the cry. The fourth, Emily Baker—married, slim and beautiful, mother of two Montford students—gasped. And pulled her blouse together over bare breasts.
Her bra, obviously a front-clasp kind and probably wispy with lace, was dangling around her shoulders beneath the back of her blouse.
Keith stopped short. He stood, feet apart, hands on his hips, shoulders straight. “I don’t believe this.”
“I…it’s not…”
Pastor Edwards’s voice faded away.
Because of course it was.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
DISBELIEVING, KEITH STOOD and stared speechlessly at the minister who’d guided this town for more than two decades.
Until he couldn’t stand the sight before him. He turned away.
“We’ll come back later.”
“No! Please!” He heard the pastor’s voice behind him. Keith slowly spun around.
“I…we…” With an intimate glance that saddened Keith, even while he could empathize with the deep caring it conveyed, the minister included the Baker woman in whatever he was about to say. “We’re sorry.”
He straightened, regarded Keith and Martha. “I’m going to ask you to keep this to yourselves.”
“How can we do that?” Keith said incredulously. “You’re supposed to be an example to the entire community!”
Pastor Edwards nodded, chin forward. He wasn’t denying anything, wasn’t making excuses. And while Keith was disappointed beyond measure, he also respected the older man’s attempt to acknowledge what he’d done.
But to ask them to hide it?
Keith shook his head. “You’re also a married man,” he said.
“I know. And…”
“And you’re married, too!” Keith interrupted, pinning the lovely Mrs. Baker with an angry glare.
Keith wondered if Martha was remembering her last meeting in this office with Todd.
“I’m sorry,” Edwards said again, his voice low. “More sorry than I’ll ever be able to make you understand.”
“We both are.” It was the first time since her initial gasp that he’d heard a sound out of the Baker woman. He wished she’d do something with the bra clumped beneath her shirt.
It was hard to find any kind of sympathy, compassion or forgiveness with that evidence hanging there so blatantly.
Pastor Edwards hadn’t just been caught in a surprise kiss, he’d been feeling up one of his parishioners in the office where God’s spirit was supposed to preside.
“How long has this been going on?”
Keith glanced at Martha when he heard the accusation in her voice.
She looked awful. Ashen. Her eyes dull.
Edwards and the other woman shared some intense silent communication and then, when Emily Baker nodded, Edwards said, “Since before Christmas.”
Emily Baker had been in charge of the church’s annual Christmas pageant—a wonderful show this year that had included singing and acting and used elaborate sets and original music, calling on Shelter Valley’s most talented citizens. The program had told the story of a savior in modern times, appearing in a ghetto neighborhood. It had run for two weeks and brought hundreds of people in from Phoenix and the surrounding area.
They had a digital recording of it on file at the studio and planned to show it during the holiday season this year.
“You’re having an affair,” Martha said.
Neither of the accused had an answer to that, which was answer in itself.
“And you want us to look the other way,” Keith burst out, “come to church and pretend that when you talk to us about the commandments and living good Christian lives, it all means something?” He was a little surprised at the vehemence driving him. He’d never been a very religious man.
Unlike Bonnie. And then he remembered…
“My God, man, my own wife came to you for counseling!”
That was when Edwards bowed his head.
“I’m sorry,” the pastor said again, eventually raising his eyes, though his shoulders remained slumped. “I expect to pay for my sins. And will spend the rest of my life atoning for what I’ve done.”
“Then why in hell are you doing it?” Actually Keith didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to continue this conversation for another second. What he wanted was out.
But with fear churning inside him, he stayed there, as though hoping for answers he didn’t think existed. Some understanding that would bring order to the world again.
Was there some outside force that awaited even the best people—his wife, Pastor Edwards—taking control of them against their will? Forcing them to do things so contrary to their character they would never fully recover?
And if the preacher could fall prey to such sins, couldn’t a layman like Keith? Or for that matter, a woman like Martha?
Edwards shrugged, glanced at Emily and then away. “I’ve spent my entire life in the service of others,” he said. “All my decisions have been based on my standing in the eyes of the community—and of God. Even the movies I watch, the books I read, the language I use, have been carefully chosen to reflect my calling.”
Shifting from one foot to the other, Keith shoved his hands in his pockets. If the sacrifice was too much, Edwards should’ve left the ministry….
“Even the choice of who I’d marry was made based on what kind of woman would make a suitable pastor’s wife.”
Martha leaned against a big leather armchair. Keith hoped to hell she was okay.
“And until a few months ago, I’d been satisfied with that, with having a…practical marriage and focusing on the needs of my parishioners. And then I found out what I’d been missing.”
“Your spiritual vows were that dispensable?” Martha demanded, her voice shaking with emotion.
Keith had an urge to pull her against him, to lend her his strength.
“No!” Baker and Edwards said at once.
“Please don’t think we fell into this lightly,” Emily Baker said. Tears flowed down her cheeks, nothing melodramatic, no sobs, just quiet tears that touched a chord of sympathy in Keith.
“Or that there was some point where we actually decided to…to get involved,” she added. “I haven’t been unhappy with my husband all these years. We’ve got two great kids. When I fell in love with Bruce, no one was more shocked than I was. Except maybe him.” She exchanged a sad smile with the pastor.
“We fought this thing from the very beginning.” Pastor Edwards took over the story. “We went through weeks where we wouldn’t even look at each other.”
“And then, after one of those periods, we met accidentally,” Emily continued. “In the storeroom above the garage out back. Seeing him unexpectedly like that…I started to cry.”
“The next thing I knew, I was holding her,” Edwards said.
“And that’s when you decided a clandestine affair was worth the cost?” Martha asked.
“That was only a couple of weeks ago,” Emily told her.
“This is the first time we’ve been together since then,” Edwards insisted. “And I can promise you, it will be the last.”
Studying the woman, the couple, sensing the struggle and pain they were suffering, Keith felt his shoulders ease, his heart begin to soften.
“I asked for your silence only so we could make our re
paration privately,” Edwards said. “My wife is going to be hurt enough by this. I’m begging you to let her at least have the comfort of pride left intact.”
“You’re not going to leave her?” Martha asked.
“Of course not. Emily and I have made a mistake, but God forgives those who are willing to repent and forsake their sins. I’ve lost much in these past weeks, but I have not yet, I hope, lost my life. My wife is a good woman. One with whom I’ve built that life. One for whom I care deeply.”
“I can’t even believe I’m in this situation,” Emily said, shaking her head. “No matter what this looks like, I’m a moral person. There’s no way I could live a clandestine life.” Her gaze met Edwards’s. “Not even for love. I can’t face a lifetime filled with the remorse and recriminations—the self-loathing—of the past few weeks.”
Martha sat on the arm of the chair, listening.
“I’m ashamed to admit that the happiness I’ve discovered with Bruce was too strong to deny, but I can promise you the guilt of these past weeks is stronger.”
“Our only conversations, until today, have been to guard ourselves against this ever happening again,” Edwards said. “Emily is very active in the church and has a right to the spiritual sustenance she gets here. We were confident we had our, er, personal issues beat.”
“I’ve got a couple of teenagers at home,” Emily whispered, a plea in her voice and in her eyes. “Please let us set this right in private.”
Keith glanced over at Martha and when she nodded, turned back to the guilty pair.
“Fine,” he said with a single nod of his head, finally able to take his hands from his pockets. They weren’t itching to strangle someone anymore. Or hit something.
He waited while Martha made arrangements to reschedule the morning’s meeting and then, at last, he was out of there.
The clean fresh air was a relief, but Keith still felt unnerved. He would’ve bet his life that Edwards, a man he’d known since he was a teenager, would not only choose not to commit adultery, regardless of his physical and emotional desires, but that he wasn’t capable of it.
And if he was capable…
Born in the Valley Page 15
