Unexpected Son

Home > Other > Unexpected Son > Page 20
Unexpected Son Page 20

by Marisa Carroll


  “I was thinking that I should wake you,” he said after a moment. “Take you home.”

  It was the way he said the word, home, the way he let her hear the longing in his voice, that made her heart flutter in her breast, gave her hope.

  “It could be home, Michael. For both of us.”

  “You still believe that after what happened tonight?” He turned away from the window. Now his face was hidden in shadow. “The way they came after me tonight? Your friends, your neighbors?”

  “They’re worried and frustrated. Scared to death that their jobs are gone, their futures, their families’ security. They lashed out at you because you’re a stranger and they need someone to blame.”

  He was beside her now. He sat down on the bed, his thigh against hers. “Are you defending them?”

  Sarah reached out and touched his face. She couldn’t stop herself from wanting to be near him, to hold him and be held by him. “No,” she said. “I’m not defending them. I’m only telling you I understand them.” She closed her eyes as a fundamental truth took root and blossomed inside her. “I’m one of them.”

  “And I’m not, Sarah,” he said in a rough whisper. He bracketed her face with his hands. “I have no roots here. I have no place.”

  “You could.” She was desperate now. She could think logically, know she’d made the right decision not to marry him when she was alone, when he wasn’t beside her, when she didn’t have to look into the emptiness behind his eyes. But when they were together she could only feel, and ache for what couldn’t be, and try to change it, to make it right somehow for both of them.

  Michael took her by the shoulders, searched her face. “God, Sarah. You’re so damn sure of yourself.” He smiled, a faint upward curve of his lips, a darker, more-somber version of Jeff Baron’s killer smile. But Michael was devastating to her heart.

  “I try to look for the best in people, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Faith. That’s what Alyssa called it.” His words were thoughtful, rough with suppressed emotion. He looked down into her face, his eyes searching for proof of something she sometimes found hard to put into words.

  “I have faith in God.”

  “And in yourself. And in your fellow man.”

  “Yes,” she said. “All of those things.”

  “Do you think some of that faith can rub off on me?”

  Sarah’s heart jumped into her throat. Was he going to stay? Was that what he was trying to tell her?

  “Michael?”

  He tightened his grip. “I want—”

  There was a squeal of brakes in the parking lot, the sound of a car door slamming, then the sound of breaking glass.

  “Michael? What’s going on?”

  “Damn it. My truck.”

  He stood up so quickly that Sarah lost her balance and fell sideways just as a brick slammed through the window, shattering the glass and slamming into the wall two feet above her head. It fell to the pillow with an ominous thud. Before she could pick herself up, Michael was back, hauling her into his arms.

  “My God, Sarah! Are you all right? Are you hurt?” He held her so tightly she couldn’t answer, could barely breathe. She wiggled to be free of his iron grip. The sound of squealing tires was almost drowned out by the rush of blood pounding in her ears.

  “Michael, stop. I can’t breathe. I’m fine,” she managed to croak. “I’m fine. What happened?”

  “Someone must have pitched a brick through the window of my truck. I don’t know if the second one was meant to go through this window, but it sure as hell did.” He turned his head toward the gaping hole through which cold air and snow now swirled into the room.

  “You’re bleeding.” Sarah stared in horror at the blood on his cheek.

  Michael lifted his hand to his face, which had been cut by flying glass. “It’s nothing. Just a scratch. Call the cops. I’m going to see if it’s too late to get a look at that truck.”

  * * *

  IT WAS TOO LATE. The truck was long gone by the time Michael ran outside to the street. So two hours later, as Sarah stood at her living-room window, watching the dark bulk of the police cruiser Brick Bauer had set to guard her home, she still had no idea which of her friends or neighbors, or even parishioners, had wished to do Michael harm.

  Had it been one of the men who had confronted them at the motel? Or was it someone else at a bar or the supermarket who had heard about Will Benson’s statement? Someone angry and frustrated enough by the fire at the F and M to take it out on the only man among them who was a stranger, an outsider?

  She had told Michael she was one of them, part of the community. Now she wasn’t so sure. But it was too late to speak of her doubts. Michael was gone and nothing she could say or do had changed his mind. He had waited patiently for the police to arrive—first a deputy then Brick Bauer himself, looking sleepy but alert. He had given them his statement and then requested that a deputy be assigned to watch over Sarah until Brick was certain she wouldn’t be the target of any further attacks. That was when she felt the first crack in her heart.

  The second came when he refused any medical treatment for the cut on his cheek because Jeff Baron was on duty at Tyler General. The third and, she suspected, ultimately fatal blow came as he swept the glass from the seat of his truck, repaired the broken window with cardboard and duct tape and loaded every earthly possession he owned under the tarp in the back.

  “Michael, Brick will find who did this. They’ll be punished for it,” she had pleaded. “You don’t have to go.”

  “That brick could have killed you.”

  “It was an accident. I’m sure they only meant to damage your truck.” It was the only defense she could muster and it wasn’t a very good one.

  “It doesn’t matter. By daylight I’ll be long gone from here.”

  “Michael!” She didn’t dare cry. She had promised herself she wouldn’t, but she had come so close, so close to making him believe in Tyler, in her, in himself, and now all her hopes and dreams were gone, shattered like the window glass. “Where will you go?”

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. I’m going, Sarah. That’s all there is to it.” He yanked so hard on the rope holding down the tarp that it broke in his hand. He turned toward her, but made no attempt to touch her. The look on his face kept her from going to him. “I told you I wouldn’t leave without telling you.”

  “You’re going now? Tonight?” It was too soon. She needed time to get used to the idea, time to get used to the pain.

  He nodded. “I can’t fool myself any longer. There’s no place for me here. There’s no place for us.” This time he did touch her, a finger to her cheek, a fleeting caress over in a heartbeat. “Goodbye, Sarah. Let Brick Bauer keep you safe. God knows, I did a damn poor job of it.”

  “I can take care of myself.” She wouldn’t cry. If she started crying now she would never, ever stop.

  “Sure you can.” He opened the door of the truck. “Sarah?”

  “Yes?”

  “When you get a chance, say a prayer for me.”

  But she couldn’t pray. All she could think of was that once more she was alone, and this time she was afraid she could never be whole again.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  SOMEHOW, SARAH GOT through the next few days. On the third night the squad car parked on the street outside her house she called Brick Bauer at home and asked that it be sent away. Michael was gone. She was safe. She didn’t need a bodyguard, and when she refused to hear any more discussion on the matter, he agreed to do as she asked. The insurance investigator, Lee Neilsen, went about his business. Bulldozers and backhoes came to knock down the damaged walls of the F and M and bury the debris in a huge hole behind the plant. No clue as to who had vandalized Michael’s truck and the motel window was found. No o
ne came forward to claim responsibility. Perhaps it was better that way.

  Saturday dawned cold and clear, the day of the TylerTots bazaar. Christmas was ten days away. Angela was hoping for a big turnout of browsers with long lists of last-minute gifts to buy. Glenna McRoberts brought several children to the festivities with her and videotaped them wandering among the displays, the little girls oohing and aahing over the dolls and stuffed animals. The boys were less interested until they found the baked-goods table and got to sample the cookies and candies. Annie and Belle Baron were among the group, and Sarah felt a quick, familiar jab of pain that she hadn’t seen either Jeff or Cece in church or socially since Michael Kenton’s identity had become known.

  Michael. Thinking of him brought a new, sharp wave of pain washing over her heart and into her soul. She couldn’t think about him. Wouldn’t think about him. Not today. Not when everyone would be watching her, gauging her actions and her behavior with a critical eye. For Sarah the bazaar was a trial by fire. Since Michael had gone she’d rarely ventured out of the house except to make her usual visits to Worthington House and Tyler General. She couldn’t eat, she couldn’t sleep and it took all her strength and energy to keep up a pretense of any kind of holiday cheer.

  Thankfully, she was so busy that she was able to forget her troubles for most of the day. By three o’clock in the afternoon the crowd had begun to thin out, and Sarah was counting receipts from the morning’s sales in the kitchen when the president of the church board, Leon Hansen, a distant cousin of Britt Marshack’s first husband, walked into the room. Sarah looked up from her seat at a small table at the back of the kitchen and smiled, hiding her dismay.

  “Hello, Leon.”

  “Good afternoon, Reverend Sarah.” Leon was a small, fat man, nearly bald, with an impressive belly hanging over the waistband of his slacks. He was a hog farmer from out near Willow Lake, conservative and rigid in his thinking, but a good man, honest as the day was long. He had never approved of the ordination of women and never missed an opportunity to say so. He’d been a thorn in Sarah’s side for as long as she had been at Tyler Fellowship, but although they didn’t see eye-to-eye on many things, in all fairness, he had never stood in the way of her ministering to her flock.

  “Have you come to buy something for Mary for Christmas?” Sarah asked, although she doubted that was why he was here. Mary was Leon’s wife, a kind woman, whose influence on her husband went a long way to soften his sharp edges.

  “No, Sarah. I’ve come to talk to you. I tried to call you on the telephone several times but your machine always picked up. I don’t like leaving messages on machines. I like to talk to people face-to-face.”

  Sarah secured the stack of five-dollar bills she’d been counting with a paper clip. She wished she were standing. She was at a distinct disadvantage, seated at a table with nothing more impressive than a kitchen sink at her back and the smells of noodle soup and German potato salad still heavy in the air. She laid the money in a metal box and shut the lid. She folded her hands in front of her. “I’m here now, Leon. What is it you want to talk to me about?”

  Leon looked around. They were the only ones in the kitchen for the moment. “I think we should discuss this in your office.”

  Sarah felt a flutter of anxiety start deep in her stomach and begin to work its way up into her throat. Her hunch had been right. She took a moment to make sure her voice was steady and wouldn’t betray her anxiety. “Whatever you have to say, Leon, you can say here.”

  He looked around once more. Through the open doorway Sarah saw Myra Allen sorting through an assortment of wooden Christmas ornaments, her eyes frequently darting in their direction, her head tilted, as though she might be able to overhear what they were saying if she only concentrated hard enough.

  Leon saw her, too. His lips thinned and he shifted position so that his back was to the door. “There’s been talk, Sarah. Talk about you and that Kenton fellow. The one who left town the other night.”

  “What kind of talk?” Her heart sank.

  “That you were spending way too much time with him.”

  “He’s gone, Leon,” she said wearily. “And may I remind you, my private life is my own.”

  Leon wasn’t moved. “It’s not seemly,” he said. “Getting him off the hook for the Ingallses’ fire by saying you spent the night with him.”

  “We were together when the fire started,” Sarah said carefully. “I told the truth. That was all.”

  “I accept that. We haven’t always gotten along, but I’ve never known you to tell a lie.”

  “Thank you.”

  He nodded but stuck to his guns. “But it was two-thirty in the morning. People get ideas of their own about what goes on at that time of night. Do you deny you were in his room at the Green Woods Motel the night he left town?”

  “No,” Sarah said. “I was with him.”

  “It’s not a good example for a Christian woman to set for the youngsters.”

  “I have done nothing to be ashamed of.” All she had done was fall in love—a wonderful thing, a desirable thing unless the man you loved was so badly scarred by life that he ran from commitment.

  “That may be. But there have been complaints. You’ll have to explain yourself to the entire board. There’s a meeting planned for tomorrow. After services. The bishop is sending a man down from the district office to sit in on it.”

  “What’s going on in here?” Nellie Phillips came limping into the kitchen, supported by a strong cane in one hand and a sturdy grandchild on the other side. “Leon Hansen, what are you doing here? I’ve never seen you at a bazaar before unless we were serving food. And lunch was cleaned up and over with an hour ago. Are you bullying Reverend Sarah, here?”

  Sarah stood up, bringing her almost eye-to-eye with Leon. He puffed out his cheeks. Nellie Phillips was not a woman to be trifled with. “I’m conducting church business with the Reverend, Nellie,” he said, attempting to mollify the old lady.

  Nellie would have none of it. “Church business, my eye. You’re out to get Reverend Sarah sent down from her pulpit. Well, I won’t stand for it. Those rumors about her and that Kenton fellow are not true.”

  Sarah smiled, despite the dread in her heart. “Thank you, Nellie. I appreciate your support.”

  Nellie limped closer to Sarah, and Leon took the opportunity to make his getaway, saying, “We’ll discuss this matter tomorrow. After services.”

  “I’ll be there,” Nellie informed him. “Don’t you think I won’t.” She glared at him until he retrieved his coat from the entryway and disappeared up the stairs. She turned back to Sarah with a militant gleam in her eyes. “We’re behind you, Sarah. Me and mine. Don’t you worry.”

  “I’m not worried. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Of course you haven’t.”

  “Am I interrupting?” Alyssa Wocheck asked from the doorway. She was dressed in wool slacks and a simple silk blouse. She looked calm and collected, unless you looked deep into her eyes. Alyssa was a troubled woman. The signs showed through the veneer, if you knew what to look for.

  “No, of course not.”

  “C’mon, Grandma,” the Phillips youngster urged. “I want to buy some of the fudge I saw at the baked-goods table.”

  Nellie snorted. “Humph. In my day you wouldn’t call that fudge. Made out of a box, that stuff, with a little water and not single drop of real cream.”

  “Grandma.” It was almost a whine.

  “All right, all right. I’ll be sitting in the first pew tomorrow morning, Reverend Sarah, come fire or flood.” She reached over and patted Sarah’s hand. “Merry Christmas, Alyssa,” she said, making her slow, painful way out into the crowded playroom.

  “Merry Christmas, Nellie.” Alyssa waited for a moment until she and Sarah were alone. “Are you okay?”

  “I�
��m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine.”

  “I’m tired, that’s all.” Sarah tilted her head to look past Alyssa’s shoulder. “Did Cece come with you?”

  “No, I’m afraid not. Jeff is still upset. It’s...awkward for her.”

  “It shouldn’t be, now that Michael is gone.”

  “He’ll be back, Sarah.”

  She looked down at her hands. “No. He won’t be back.”

  “I’m sorry, Sarah. I know how hard this is for you.”

  “You saw Myron Hansen, I take it.”

  “Yes, I saw him. He’s the president of your church council, isn’t he?”

  “Yes. Evidently, there have been complaints about my behavior. There’s to be a meeting after services tomorrow. The bishop is sending a representative from the district office.”

  “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “No. I only fell in love.” She lifted her eyes to Alyssa’s. “But perhaps Michael was right. I’m not sure I belong here anymore, either. Maybe it’s time I leave Tyler, too.”

  * * *

  IT WAS QUIET among the deserted campsites of the small Kentucky state park. Cold, but not the same kind of bone-numbing, teeth-rattling cold he’d experienced in Tyler. There was no snow this far south, but a thick layer of frost covered the ground and trees each morning, when he left his primitive cabin to eat breakfast at a diner out by the main road, and there was ice along the shoreline of the lake.

  Michael was beginning to know the park well. For three days he’d walked through a thick carpet of fallen leaves, uphill and down, following first one trail and then another, never stopping to admire the stark beauty of the winter woodlands, the high thin arc of clouds across the sky or the haunting chorus of geese calls as they settled onto the placid waters of the lake at sundown. He walked to bring on exhaustion so that he could sleep at night and keep his thoughts at bay, at least through the long, cold hours before dawn. He stayed away from the lamplit cabin until late at night to avoid that homecoming. It only made him think of Tyler and Sarah and all he had left behind.

 

‹ Prev