by Diane Moody
“Be quiet. I’m listening to the music.”
“Are you now?” he teased, the bridge of the song filling the space between them.
“You know you wanna sing, Annie. “C’mon, sing with me.”
Much to her own surprise, she did. Her voice, like so many times before, found its place alongside his in perfect harmony.
He finished with a flourish, the last guitar note hung in the air. She smiled shyly at him before turning her head and gazing back at the fire.
“That gave me goose bumps,” he whispered. He laid the guitar across the coffee table. “But then you always did give me goose bumps.”
The embers hissed as if on cue. Michael grew silent. She could feel his eyes following her. She prayed he couldn’t read her thoughts as they drifted back in time, the images traipsing through her mind like an old home movie.
“We had it so good together, Annie,” he said quietly.
She nodded ever so slightly, hearing his sustained deep sigh.
“I was such a fool to leave you. You were everything to me. We were soul-mates, you and I. Nothing was ever complete unless it included you.”
Out of her periphery, she could see him turn to face her. “Remember that ancient little house we shared?”
She nodded again.
“Would you believe that little house was more of a home than any other place I’ve ever lived? I have a three million dollar estate outside of Houston. Most impersonal place I’ve ever lived. Why? Because there’s not a trace of love in it. It’s just brick and marble and paint and a lot of very expensive furniture. But our little house back in Stillwater—remember how tiny it was? We were so cramped living there. But we didn’t care.”
She smiled, lost in the memory. “I remember. The closet was so small I made you keep all your clothes in that makeshift dresser we picked up at the flea market. Ugliest piece of furniture ever made.”
He laughed. “It was dog ugly, wasn’t it? But I remember how you fixed up that whole house. Real cozy and comfortable. It was such a dump when we found it, but you transformed it into . . . a home. Remember how our friends loved to hang out there? There was always someone extra sleeping on the sofa or sharing a meal with us. They all loved being there with us.”
She laughed, her elbow nudging his foot. “Michael, they hung around because they liked to sponge off us. Free food and a place to stay.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. No wonder we never had any money. We fed the entire baseball team most of the time as I recall. They loved your lasagna.”
She smiled. “I never make it now that I don’t think of those guys. But you know something?” she mused. “I didn’t really mind. They were like family to us.”
Michael leaned his head back. “Do you remember the time we had that big party after we won the conference playoffs? I think it was our junior year. All the guys and their girlfriends, all crammed into our house? Remember when we woke up the next morning and Lance Palmer was sprawled across the foot of our bed, sound asleep and snoring like a jackhammer—”
“—drooling all over our comforter! I was so mad at him!”
Michael laughed until the pain in his side protested. Which made Annie laugh, which made him laugh even harder until he winced with intense pain. She watched him until he finally caught his breath and turned to face her again. Their eyes met for a moment that seemed to stand still. Embarrassed by the intimacy of their shared memory, she looked away.
“Annie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He paused, pulling up the quilts over his shoulders. He laid his head back once more and shut his eyes. “Maybe it’s because I’m living such a nightmare now. I watched my perfect life just vaporize before my eyes. It’s gone. All of it. Gone.” He continued, his voice husky. “All of a sudden, I find myself fighting for my life.”
He opened his eyes, turning to her with unmasked honesty. “And I’m scared. I have nothing left. Do you realize that? Nothing. My marriage—what there was of it—is over. My company is gone, my career is ruined. And unless a miracle comes along pretty soon, I’m a dead man.”
Annie studied his face, captivated by the fear she found there. In all their years together, never had she ever seen Michael Dean afraid. Not once.
“Look, maybe I’m just asking for a little kindness,” he pleaded. “A few moments to forget the nightmare and remember a better time. Is that so much to ask?”
Hearing the steady rhythm of his breathing, Annie felt suddenly tired, her mind weary from the swirl of thoughts and feelings and uncertainty. Still shivering, she dug down deeper into the blankets and rested her head against the back of the sofa. Despite her fatigue, an unwelcome struggle raged inside her. Somewhere, a fleeting wave of urgency beckoned. Was it caution?
Be careful. Be on your guard.
Another swarm of thoughts countered an attack. He just needs a friend. He’s right, you know. It’s not so much to ask, is it? Just let go of all those problems you’ve been worried and obsessed about. He’s just an old friend who needs you . . . he needs you . . .
Slowly, she reached out her hand toward his. She felt him wrap his hand around hers, gently taking it back under the covers to stay warm against his leg. He squeezed her hand, the strength of his grasp so familiar, sending a soothing warmth through her. She let her head fall to the side so she could watch him, the ticking of the clock matching the beating of her heart.
He exhaled, his eyes closing again. “There has to be a reason, Annie,” he whispered. “After all these years, we found each other. It can’t be chance. Can’t be.” He sighed again before the restful pattern of his breathing resumed.
She gave in to the tugging lure of sleep as well, even as her thoughts battled on.
What am I doing . . . oh God, what am I doing?
CHAPTER 30
Seminole, Florida
From his study at home, David called his secretary’s cell number. After a brief conversation, he changed the subject. “Listen, Sally, I’m heading into the office in few minutes. I’ve got to do some work or else lose my mind. And I’ll be at the mid-week service tonight. I’m not sure what I’ll preach on, but I’ll manage somehow. I’ll be in before anyone else this morning, but let’s keep that between you and me at this point, all right? No appointments.”
“Whatever you say.”
“Thanks. Anything else I should know?”
Silence.
“Sally? What is it?”
“Something’s up, David. The deacons have called a special business meeting, and I’m pretty sure Chet’s behind it.”
David groaned aloud. “I’m not surprised. But let’s just take it one thing at a time, okay? See you in a little while, Sally.”
Pete Nardozzi eased his cruiser into a parking place marked PJ’s CUSTOMERS ONLY. At eight in the morning, the popular donut shop was packed. As the jangling bell announced his arrival, he found his way to the far end of the counter near the archaic Frigidaire.
“Good-morning-how-you?” PJ’s usual greeting drifted from behind the counter where the proprietor boxed up two dozen glazed donuts for a UPS driver.
“Morning, PJ,” Nardozzi answered. “How’s the day treating you, my friend?” He took a seat on one of the counter stools.
PJ snapped straight up at the sound of the officer’s voice, shooting him a wrinkled, bewildered expression. His mouth fell open.
Startled, Pete set his hat on the counter then laughed. “PJ, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s gotten into you?”
“Uhhhhhh . . . Nothing wrong with me, Pete! No sir! No problem here!” he protested, busying himself with the truck driver’s order. “Now I lose count. Let’s see, that’s sixteen, seventeen, eighteen—okay, now, I got it. That’s twenty-four glazed for the UPS guys. Okay! See? I even give you guys a couple extra! See? Here—have a couple cinnamon rolls for the road, okay?”
The driver laughed and paid for the order then hustled out the door.
“Bye-bye-nice-d
ay!” PJ’s traditional farewell followed the man in brown out the door. He quickly began wiping down the counter opposite from Pete, then rushed around refilling coffee mugs. The bell on the front door rang again and the ritual repeated itself. “Good-morning-how-you?”
Pete waited. Normally, the donut maker scurried right over to serve Pete’s usual cup of coffee and two buttermilk donuts. Not the case today. He rested his elbows on the counter, watching the curious owner dart around like a nervous mouse. He noticed the morning paper scattered on the counter and reached for the front page. In a box below the fold he noticed a short header: Pastor’s Wife Still Missing.
“Don’t they ever give up?” he mumbled to himself, scanning the brief story. As he continued to read the paper held in front of him, he sensed a presence. Slowly peeking over the newsprint, PJ’s weathered face flashed from curiosity to feigned innocence.
Pete refolded the paper. “Okay, PJ. What’s going on? For fourteen years I’ve come by here at least once a week and you always, always serve me my regular order without having to ask. You know exactly what I want. This morning I walk in and not only have you failed to bring me my food, you’re ignoring me.”
“What?” PJ protested. “I don’t ignore you! I serve you like everybody else that comes in here!” He rushed to fill a cup of hot coffee and grab two buttermilk donuts. “See? I got your donuts. I got your coffee. I don’t ignore you!”
Pete stared back at him. “Uh huh.” The old man’s eyes shifted mischievously. “PJ, could it be you know something you ought to be telling me?”
“Who me? Nobody ever tells me a thing. No sir. I just make the donuts, that’s all I do. Always the last person on this earth to know anything! That’s right, Officer Pete. Hey, you want a cinnamon roll?”
Pete laughed, raising his hands. “No, thank you, my friend. Sometimes I think this town would be downright boring without you, do you know that?” He continued to chuckle, making a mental note to keep an eye on the donut shop for the next couple of days. “It’s like our buddy William Shakespeare used to say—‘methinks thou dost protest too much.’”
PJ’s brow knotted. Absently wiping the counter, he answered, “Well, okay. Yeah, oh sure, I know him. He’s one of my regulars.”
Pete donned his hat and put three bills on the counter. PJ shoved it back at him. “You know I don’t let police pay for donuts! Put that away.”
“Goodbye, PJ. Have a good day, and if you think of anything you might want to tell me, don’t hesitate to call.”
The Texas Panhandle
The adrenaline of his mission was the only motivation keeping Max going. Miles melted into more miles. The hours flew as cities and small towns disappeared in his rear-view mirror. State lines multiplied as he blazed toward his destination. With only an occasional stop for an hour’s rest here and there, he inched ever closer to the Colorado state line.
Beyond exhaustion, his concern turned to weather. The reports on the radio sounded ominous. A Floridian driving on roads covered with ice and snow? Mounting concern gnawed at his empty stomach with each passing mile. Fortunately, the road crews had done their jobs well in clearing the main highways and roads. Much to his amazement, the old Volkswagen bus had performed fairly well for such a grueling trip.
He made his calls home right on schedule. His dad seemed more relieved with each call and his grandmother’s oath of continuous prayers kept him going. He uttered his own prayer that neither of them tuned in to the Weather Channel.
He flipped on the wipers, attempting to clear the dirty windshield, uneasy with the sleet bouncing against the glass. “Come on, old hippie van, just get me there,” he coaxed as he wiped down the foggy glass inside the windshield.
Then more quietly, he corrected himself. “Lord, just get me there. Please?”
Seminole, Florida
David showered and headed for church. He slipped in through the private back entrance to his office. He needed to spend some time on his knees before talking to anyone.
Half an hour later, he heard a quiet knock on his door. Sally Hampton peeked around the corner. “Welcome back, boss. How’s it going?”
David stretched his arms over his head. “Okay, I guess. It’s good to be occupied with all this,” his hand sweeping over the sea of papers. “Keeps my mind busy.”
“Good. How about some coffee? I’ll make us a fresh pot.”
“Sounds great, Sally. You can catch me up on everything I’ve missed.”
Returning minutes later with two steaming mugs, she began. “I’m sure you know, the church family is heartsick about everything that has happened to your family. I’ve fielded hundreds of calls for you. Most are very sympathetic, all promising to pray for you and the family.”
David took a careful sip, then leaned back in his chair.
“And I’ve refused comment to the media as you requested.”
“Thank you.”
“Your mother-in-law made an appearance yesterday,” she said with a hint of a smile.
“Darlene?”
“There’s only one, thank goodness!”
“What was that all about?”
“She flew through here in all her glory. Ranting and raving and demanding to see you—the usual.” Sally laughed, rolling her eyes.
“Any fall-out?”
“I don’t think so. Fortunately, most of the office and staff were out for lunch at the time. Besides, everyone here knows all about Darlene. They recognize her for who she is.”
“Attila the Hun?”
Sally laughed again. “Now, I didn’t say that.”
“She’s unbelievable, isn’t she? Aside from my mother-in-law, anything else I need to know about?”
Sally looked at the open door then back to David. “Only Chet,” she whispered.
“Aha. Good ol’ devil’s advocate incarnate.”
Sally kept her voice low. “Apparently he and Geneva hosted a ‘prayer meeting’ of sorts at their home the other night. The guest list was the usual who’s-who among his adoring fan club. I have no idea what took place, but I have a bad feeling about all of it, David. He’s up to something. I’m pretty sure he’s behind the special business meeting called by the deacons.”
“When has Chet not been up to something is the better question. I think it’s time Chet and I went face to face on all this. Maybe I’ve been a fool to keep dodging him. He’s given my kids a lot of grief, and I’m not going to put up with it any more.
“In fact, why don’t you see if you can set up an appointment for Chet and me? And just so we do this the right way, let’s have Justin and one of the other deacons sit in on this meeting. Safety in numbers, right?”
“Sure. I’ll get right on it.” She jotted herself a note, then stared at the pencil he was tapping against his coffee mug.
He stopped. “Sorry.”
“Still no word from Annie?”
He drained the coffee and plunked down the mug on his desk. “No, nothing. Hopefully Max will have some news for us shortly. Otherwise, all we can do is wait. God is teaching me whole new dimensions of the meaning of that word.”
She stood to leave. “How about more coffee?”
“No thanks. I’m wired enough as it is.”
Sally headed for the door. “I’ll have the cleaners drop off your suit of armor.”
“What?”
“Chet Harrison,” she mouthed over her shoulder.
CHAPTER 31
Weber Creek, Colorado
“We’re back here by the fire,” Mary Jean Williamson called out at the sound of the bell over the front door. She got up to greet her customers, surprised to see two unfamiliar faces. “Oh goodness, pardon me—I didn’t expect any visitors in this kind of weather. Come on in, boys!”
The two men entered the quaint country store stomping snow off their shoes and rubbing their hands together.
“That’s some kind of storm out there, ma’am!”
“Oh, we like to make a show of it this time of year, a
ll right. You boys come back here by the fire and warm up. Can I get you a cup of coffee? I’ve kept it warm on the Coleman.”
The two men headed for the back of the store. “Why, don’t mind if we do at that. That’s real kind of you, ma’am.”
“Where you boys from?”
Her guests warmed their hands by the fire. She looked up just in time to see them make eye contact with each other before one of them answered. “Oh, we’re pretty far from home. We’re from down south.”
She handed them each a mug of coffee. “South of here?”
The other one piped in this time. “Yeah, kinda far from here. We was just passing through when this storm stopped us.”
His friend continued. “The roads are awful. Almost bought the farm a few miles back. Couple of near misses. Never seen anything like it before. So we figured we ought to find us some place to stop for a while and wait it out.”
Mary Jean gestured for the two men to have a seat in the rockers. “That’s not a bad idea. I guess you heard the road just west of here is closed, so you wouldn’t have gotten far anyway. Logging truck took the curve too fast and lost its whole load. Oh, it’s a real pickle out there. Even knocked our power out. And now our phone lines are down. Glory be, what a mess.”
For reasons she couldn’t guess, the silence felt uncomfortable. “Yes, well, how can I help you gentlemen?”
“We was wondering if there was any place around here we could get a room for the night since it looks like we may be stuck here awhile.”
The other man grimaced and cleared his throat. “What Gus here means is we need a place to ride out this storm. Any place you might be able to recommend?”
“Just down the street and around the corner is the Weber Creek Inn. Real nice place. I’m sure the Carters will be happy to help you out as best they can, all things considered.”
“MJ, who are you talking to?” Bob’s voice drifted from the back room.
“Just a couple of stranded travelers who stopped by for a bit. That’s my husband, Bob. Now, is there anything else I can help you with? Anything from the store here you need?”
