The Runaway Pastor's Wife

by Diane Moody

  “Jeremy, you stop dat spinning. You makin’ me dizzy,” the old man scolded, trying to sound stern, but they weren’t fooled.

  “Hi PJ. Wassup?”

  “I’ll wassup you,” he teased, grabbing pastries from the display shelf. “Now—here we go,” he announced, his sing-song cadence spawning the usual giggles as he delivered their standard order. “A chocolate sprinkle for Miss Jessica and a chocolate éclair for Mr. Jeremy. Now—what can I get da pretty grandmama?” he asked, hands planted firmly on his hips.

  “PJ, I’d love a hot cup of coffee if it’s fresh,” she smiled, always amused by the comical eighty-year-old. PJ was like family to the McGregors. They had history.

  “For you, I make it fresh! Five minutes—give me five minutes!” Off he dashed to brew a pot.

  “Gran, can we do something special for Daddy since he’ll be home tonight?” Jessie asked, her mouth already lined with sprinkles and chocolate icing. “I’ve been thinking. It seems like he could use a little happy about now. Don’t you think?”

  Caroline pushed a blonde curl off her granddaughter’s forehead. “Honey, I think that would be lovely. What did you have in mind?”

  “I know! We could make him chocolate chip cookies! He loves those,” Jeremy said, poking his finger into the éclair. Nibbling at the sides, he exposed the luscious creamy filling, obviously savoring every lick.

  While the rain trailed rivulets down the storefront window, the plans continued over coffee and pastries until at last the threesome slid off their stools and headed for the door.

  “Thanks for the treats, PJ,” Caroline said, herding the kids into their raincoats. “And the coffee was wonderful—as it always is.”

  Before their old friend could reply, Jeremy interrupted again. “Hey, Gran, I know what would really make Dad happy—let’s get him some of his favorite ice cream—Death by Chocolate!”

  “Bye PJ!” Jessica waved as they headed to the door.

  “Bye-bye-nice-day!”

  Following her grandchildren, Caroline said good-bye to the old man as she held the door. Already wiping down the counter, he mumbled, “‘Death by Chocolate’? What kind of kook names his ice cream Death by Chocolate?”

  Caroline chuckled as the bell over the door jingled as if punctuating his question.

  Just after 6:30, David McGregor turned into his shaded driveway at home. He pulled around to the back of the house, spotting his mother’s car parked under the basketball hoop. The two-car garage was open, beckoning him like a familiar welcome sign to the home and family he loved. It was usually long after dark when he made this final trek home, and the house was always locked up for the night by then. He hoped the kids didn’t have too much homework. It was his first evening off in weeks.

  Pulling into his side of the garage he noticed his wife’s van conspicuously absent. Wouldn’t you know it? I finally have a night home and Annie’s out. Must be a committee meeting or something. Go figure. Oh Annie, I really need you tonight.

  “Daddy!”

  His quiet thoughts were quickly overwhelmed by two rambunctious kids bursting through the door from the kitchen.

  “Daddy, we helped Gran fix dinner and we made chocolate chi—”

  “Jessie! It was supposed to be a surprise!” Jeremy scolded. “You’re such a blabbermouth!” Brother and sister both leaped into their father’s waiting arms as he dropped his briefcase and knelt beside his car. “Hi Jess! Hey there, slugger! Boy, is it good to see you guys. Can you believe it? A whole night at home all to ourselves! Where’s Mom? Did she have a meeting?”

  “Who knows, Dad,” Jeremy answered. “She’s been gone all afternoon. She had Gran pick us up ’cause she didn’t know when she’d be back.”

  “How about Max? Is he home?”

  “He’s upstairs in his room. He just got home a few minutes ago. If you ask me, he’s spending way too much time with that girlfriend of his, Dad.”

  David scratched his head, his expression exaggerated. “Funny thing—I don’t remember asking you, but thanks for the information, Jeremy.” He faked a punch to his son’s stomach then grabbed him in a bear hug.

  “Daaaaa-d!” shrieked Jeremy as he fought his father’s tickling hands.

  Jessie’s eyes widened with delight. “Daddy, guess what? Gran took us to PJ’s after school and I got sprinkles.”

  “You did? Now since when has my little angel liked sprinkles?” David asked as he hoisted up his daughter to ride on his back.

  “Daddy! You know I always get sprinkles on my donuts.”

  “Oh, that’s right—I just forgot. And I bet your big brother here got a chocolate éclair, am I right?” said father to daughter over his shoulder, their foreheads touching.

  She cupped her free hand over his ear and whispered, “Yes, he always gets éclairs. Dull, dull, dull, don’t you think?”

  “Now, Jess, on that I must disagree. Jeremy is lots of things but dull is not one of them. Hey, did Gran cook dinner? What’s that I smell?” he said, sniffing the air like an animated coon dog. “What’s she got cooking in there?” His eyebrows danced up and down, immediately mimicked by his daughter.

  As David, Jessie and Jeremy plowed through the kitchen door, Caroline lifted a steaming dish from the oven. “Well, I suppose I could lie and tell you I’ve been cooking all day long, but it’s a little hard to lie to my own son. Especially since he’s a man of the cloth. And especially in front of his own children.”

  “What’s a man of the cloth?” Jessie asked.

  “A man who sells tablecloths door to door.”

  “Daaa—d,” Jeremy rolled his eyes. “That’s okay. We didn’t really want to know anyway.”

  “It’s just an odd little name for a minister,” Caroline answered, shaking her head at the antics of her grown son. “And no, I have no idea how such an expression came to be.”

  “Hi, Mom,” David smiled then kissed his mother on the cheek with a lingering hug. Looking into his mother’s face was like looking in a mirror, David thought. They shared the same broad McGregor smile. A tinge of melancholy swept over him. Annie used to laugh when she described his lopsided grin as “deliciously mischievous.” He hadn’t heard her laughter in a long time. He pushed the thought away, studying his mother’s kind face again. The shape of her eyes and her smile was identical to his, only the noses differed. David had the nose of all the McGregor men—“prominent,” they liked to call it. His hair, once sandy blond, was now heavily peppered with the same white hair that adorned his mother’s head.

  Too many years in the ministry. He’d earned each and every one of those gray hairs.

  Caroline stepped back and took a good look at her son as she slung the dish towel over her shoulder. “Mighty long hug for an old lady like me, David. Are you all right? You look exhausted.”

  “Oh, I’m fine, Mom. Really. Just never seems to be enough hours in the day to get it all done. That’s all. Annie’s going to be late tonight?”

  Caroline finished setting the table. “Apparently so. She called this morning and asked if I could pick up the kids and come over until you got home. She didn’t say how late she’d be. But she left dinner ready to put in the oven, so I expect she knew she’d be pretty late.”

  He felt his mother’s eyes on him, no doubt surveying the weariness that seemed to constantly engulf him these days.

  “David, go upstairs and get comfortable. Wash up and relax for a few minutes. Come on down when you’re ready and we’ll eat then. No rush.”

  “Mom, I’m forty-one years old,” he laughed, “and you’re still telling me what to do.”

  “You’re right. Guilty as charged. A man never outgrows his need for his mother. Now just do what I tell you or dinner will get cold.”

  “Some things never change,” he moaned for her benefit. He dragged himself up the stairs. Reaching the landing, he looked into Max’s room, noticing his oldest son working at the computer on his desk.

  “Hey, sport—how’s it going?” he as
ked, knocking gently on the open door.

  “Wait. Give me a sec. Let’s see. You look like my father. You sound like my father, but hey,” Max paused, glancing at his bedside alarm clock, “it’s way too early for my dad to be home. So exactly who are you?”

  “Very funny. Fact is, I actually have the entire evening home, thank you very much. I’m tempted to lock the doors so no one can leave. I want you guys all to myself tonight,” David yawned as he sprawled across Max’s bed. “Just wish your mother was home.”

  “I know. I’m kinda surprised she’s not home yet. She’s always home for dinner. Must have gotten delayed or something.

  “So how’s school going?” David asked, his eyelids heavy as his head sunk into Max’s pillow.

  “I got an A plus on my physics exam today. Not bad, eh?”

  David sat up to give his son a high five. “That’s great! Physics is brutal. You must have inherited your mother’s knack for academic genius. I’m impressed! Good for you, Max.”

  “Yeah, well, you wouldn’t believe how hard I studied for it. Totally out of character for me.”

  Smiling, David stood up and tousled his son’s dark hair. “Totally just like you. I’m really proud of you.”

  “Is it time to eat yet? I’m starving.”

  “Pretty soon. I’m going to take a couple minutes to clean up and get comfortable.” David was halfway to the master bedroom, already kicking off his shoes. He tossed his briefcase on the chair and sat down on the side of the bed. Pulling off his golf shirt, he fell back across the white comforter.

  Don’t shut your eyes or you’ll be snoring with your next breath. He knew without question he could sleep for a month if given the chance. I’ve got to start running again. Get back in shape. I’m not 101 . . . yet.

  Turning his head slightly to his left, he noticed an ivory envelope leaning against the pillow sham. He smiled lazily. A note from Annie. It’s been a long time. He reached for the envelope and was surprised to find no trace of her familiar cologne.

  “Daddy, will you play some Go Fish with me before dinner?” Jessie yelled up the stairs.

  “I’ll be down in a minute, pumpkin,” David answered through a yawn as he opened the letter. His thoughts drifted back to other notes Annie had left him over the years.

  Surprise!

  The kids are spending the night at your parents’ house,

  We have 7:00 reservations at Giovanni’s,

  and I have you all to myself

  for the next 24 glorious hours!

  But his favorite had been the note he found tucked inside his briefcase one Friday morning several years ago. The poetry was corny, but the message was unforgettable.

  Roses are red,

  Violets are blue,

  The Love Boat sails at seven,

  AND I’M KIDNAPPING YOU!!!

  Within moments, Annie had suddenly appeared, whisking him off on a cruise for seven of the most wonderful days and nights of his life. He could almost feel the sea breeze against his face as he began to read.

  DearDavid,

  It’s not like me to leave this note for you instead of explaining myself face to face. We were once able to talk about everything, good or bad. It was one of the first things that attracted me to you—your ability to be real and open and honest, straightforward. But I can’t face you this time. Not that you could spare the time to listen anyway.

  I have to get away for a while. I’m on the verge of losing my mind and don’t know what else to do. I’ve been hanging on by one tiny, single thread, and now the thread has unraveled.

  By the time you read this I’ll be on a plane. I will not tell you where I’m going because I don’t want you coming after me. I’ve made all the necessary arrangements, and there is no reason for you to worry. I will call you when I’m ready to talk. Just pray for me.

  I know Caroline will be anxious to help out with the kids, and it will be good for her to stay busy. The anniversary of your father’s death is coming up, if you recall. She needs to be close to you and the kids right now.

  I have no idea how long I’ll be gone. I need time to sort everything out. There’s a malignancy of bitterness and jealousy and even hatred toward the church that is devouring me. I blame the church, I blame you, and I blame God for taking you away from me and the kids, and I don’t know what to do with all that. The guilt of that realization alone has almost destroyed me.

  I don’t even know who you are anymore. The man I married disappeared and I can’t find him anywhere. As heartless as it may sound, I believe Caroline and I have much in common—we’re both widows.

  I can’t live like this anymore, David. I can’t and I won’t.

  I will leave it entirely up to you as what to tell Max, Jessie, Jeremy, Caroline, or anyone else.

  I still love you, David McGregor. I just can’t be with you right now.

  Annie

  CHAPTER 3

  Houston, Texas

  “Come on . . . come on . . . come to papa, baby . . . all right!”

  As the dimpled ball plunked into the cup on the eighteenth green, the tall, muscular golfer raised his arms in triumphant victory. “Yesss! Yes, yes, yesss!” His boisterous celebration echoed across the clear Texas sky as he strutted like a peacock, his putter held high like the scepter of a crowned king.

  “Ah, get outta here, Dean! You call that skill?” his buddy teased. “You always were the luckiest son of a—”

  “Now, now, Jimmy—don’t go playing the bad sport on me. You know raw talent when you see it. And I’ll wager, my man, that you’ve never witnessed finer golf anywhere than what you’ve witnessed here today, pro tour notwithstanding. Am I right?” Michael laughed, wrapping his free arm around his friend with a hearty grasp.

  Jimmy Peterson shook his head in disbelief as he pulled off his leather glove. Stuffing it into his pocket, he continued the banter. “Yeah, you don’t play so bad for an old man. In fact, you move pretty well for someone on the geriatric tour.”

  Michael cupped his hands over his heart, grimacing playfully through his broad smile. “Now you’re getting personal. I’m deeply, deeply hurt. That’s exactly what I’m talking about—you are the epitome of a sore loser. You better pull yourself together or the bouncer of this elite country club may have to kick your sorry butt out of here!”

  “Are you kidding? This club pays me just to play here. I’m a draw for them,” Jimmy answered with a swagger. “They figure celebrities like me will bring in membership by the droves. You play your cards right and they might even let you join one of these days.”

  Michael steered their cart to the clubhouse entrance then braked and slid out from behind the wheel. “Oh Jimmy, my man, you really are a pro, you know that? One hundred percent, Class A professional bull! As you recall I’m on the board of this prestigious club. Don’t make me keep reminding you about that, son,” he teased. “C’mon. Lunch is on me.”

  They made their way into the casual grill that overlooked the plush greens of the golf course at this exclusive Houston country club. Membership here was strictly a matter of having the right name, the right credentials, and of course, an adequate bank account. Both Michael and Jimmy had the name recognition to play these fairways any time.

  A first round draft pick out of college, Michael played first base for the Houston Astros for a long and successful career before retiring to pursue other interests. When reality convinced him his pro ball days were nearing an end, he chose to go out in style while he still had the chance.

  Early in his career with the Astros, Michael met and married Amelia Thomas, the socialite daughter of Elliot Thomas, United States congressman and Texas billionaire. The Thomas family had roots dating back to the earliest settlers of this rugged land and was known throughout the country.

  Michael met Amelia at this same country club thirteen years ago. It was the off season and he had just finished eighteen holes of golf. The weather had been unusually windy and wet; not a particularly great day for go
lf. Stopping by the bar for something to warm him, he noticed the beautiful blonde with long, gorgeous legs sitting at the bar. Never one to pass up a chance for some major league flirting, Michael made the usual small talk and had her laughing in record time. Her smile dazzled him, and he was struck by her obvious class. This was no Texas barfly.

  His hunch was confirmed when the distinguished congressman appeared shortly, putting his hand gently on her shoulder. “Ready, dear?”

  Amelia patted his hand. “Sure, Daddy. I was just visiting with—I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

  “Where are my manners?” he apologized, tilting his head slightly in embarrassment. “My name is Michael Dean,” he said, holding his hand out to her. “And you must be—well, of course you are Amelia Thomas.” Turning to her father, he continued, “Congressman, it’s an honor to meet you as well.” He grasped Thomas’s hand firmly, smiling warmly at father and daughter.

  The expected recognition finally hit the statesman. “Of course! Michael Dean! I should have recognized you immediately. You play first base for our Astros!”

  “Yes, sir, I sure do.” Michael beamed.

  The congressman continued, “Fine season last year, son. You made us proud. It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Dean.”

  Michael pulled his hand free. “Uh, yes sir, thank you sir, but the honor’s all mine. I wouldn’t want to seem forward, but if you could give me a few minutes to clean up, I’d be honored to buy you and your daughter a drink if you have the time?” Michael looked deeply into Amelia’s soft green eyes shining beneath long, thick lashes.

  Amelia stood up, “Well, Mr. Dean—”

  “Michael. Please call me Michael.”

  Her smile widened at his familiarity. “Very well, Michael. We thank you for the offer and perhaps we’ll meet again and take you up on it then. Unfortunately, Daddy and I have a dinner engagement with some rather important constituents. Otherwise, we’d be pleased to have a drink with you. Wouldn’t we, Daddy?”