The Runaway Pastor's Wife

by Diane Moody

  “There’s an understatement.”

  He smiled, squeezing her hand. “I had to tell you. Especially now. I know it isn’t easy for you, but I feel like a ton of bricks has been lifted off me. I’m sorry if it’s caused you pain. Again.”

  “What a strange twist to an already peculiar story. I never dreamed. It never even crossed my mind. Not once. And to think you’re a father. Now there’s a scary thought.”

  “No, I can’t say I’m a father. I fathered a child, but there’s a big difference. Someone else has been his father. Thank God.”

  “You said there’s a picture of him in the other room. Where did you see it?”

  “In that room where I was staying. It was his Little League picture from a long time ago. There’s a bunch of framed photographs on the top of the dresser. I think there’s even one of you, if I’m not mistaken.”

  She wrapped a quilt around her and stood up.

  “Annie?”

  “What?”

  “Are you sure you’re okay about all this now?”

  “I’m okay about all this now, Michael. Shocked down to my socks maybe, but yeah, I’m okay. It’ll take some getting used to, though. I’m just curious to see this mysterious little love-child,” she trailed off heading into the bedroom.

  Moments later, she returned. “There’s a bunch of pictures in there, but the only one of a little boy is just this one of—”

  “Of who?”

  Nothing.

  “But . . .”

  “But what?” He twisted around to get a look at her. “Annie, what’s the matter?”

  Her lips were moving but nothing came out.

  “Come over here. I can’t hear a word you’re saying. What’s wrong with you?”

  “But this is . . . Max.” Her knees felt weak.

  He took the framed photograph from her hands. “Yeah, that’s him. But how did you know his name?”

  She dropped into the chair like a rag doll.

  “No. No, I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

  “Annie, how could you possibly know his name if Christine never told you about him?”

  She shook her head. “No. There’s got to be some mistake. Give me that!” She snatched the picture out of his hand. “This is NOT your son,” she whispered angrily, jabbing her finger at the beaming young face in the picture. His image blurred, her voice gone. “Because this—this is my son.”

  He stared back at her. “That’s impossible! That’s the same kid she’s been sending me pictures of for years! Why would she send me pictures of your kid? Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Annie was lost in a web, her mind and heart tangled in tightening knots. She fought the rising volcano inside her as she searched for an explanation. No. It’s impossible.

  She spoke deliberately, slowly, as if to a child. “Michael, you said Christine gave your son up for adoption. When was that?”

  “Well, let’s see. She had the baby in March—”

  “March?” she echoed, her heart sinking.

  “Yeah, March. And then she called me sometime that fall. It was in the playoffs for the division . . . so I think it was in October. Sometime in October.”

  She forced herself to go on. “And did she tell you when they found a home for the baby?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

  “What?”

  Methodically this time. “Did she tell you when they found a home for the baby!”

  “Well, I didn’t hear about it until later. She knew I was busy with the playoffs—”

  “I DON’T CARE ABOUT YOUR STUPID PLAYOFFS!”

  “Geez, Annie! Calm down! I’m trying to remember!”

  “Just tell me! When did Christine give up her baby?” A sob escaped.

  He stared at her with eyes wide open. He began to nod as it came back to him. “It was at Christmas. I remember now because of the holidays. She was really sad about it. She said it was the hardest thing she ever had to do. But she was also glad because she was able to give someone a really amazing Christmas gift.” He looked back at her. “Some Christmas gift, eh?” He chuckled.

  Annie dropped her face into her hands and began to cry. “Oh God, please no.”

  Michael reached over to touch her shoulder. She pushed his hand away. “No! Just leave me alone.”

  “No, I won’t leave you alone! I want some answers too. What makes you think Max could possibly be your son?”

  “He is my son, you jerk! Don’t you think I know my own son when I see him?” she cried, jabbing at the picture again. “He’s my son!”

  She rocked back and forth, tears streaming down her face. “God gave him to David and me when he was just eight months old. An attorney came to us at church. He said he couldn’t reveal any information except that a young mother had requested that we consider adopting a little boy. He said she wanted a good and loving home for her child, and that she specifically asked for us. We assumed it was someone in the community who knew David was a pastor. Maybe even the estranged daughter of a church member. Something like that.”

  Her words slurred as the memories rushed by. “We were still newlyweds. We hadn’t even thought about starting a family yet, but . . . after we prayed about it, we knew we were supposed to give this little guy a home.” She caressed the picture, wishing she could feel the warmth of his skin through her fingers, smell the scent of his hair.

  “On December 20th, they brought him to us. They placed Max in our arms and it was love at first sight.” She wiped her nose and eyes, a sad smile not quite reaching her eyes. “I can’t believe this.”

  “Why? Tell me! Why would Christine do this?” he yelled. “Why not just give the baby away to some stranger and be done with him? Was this some kind of bad joke? Some kind of sick revenge on the two of us? And I thought I was a jerk! This is unforgivable!” He tried to stand up but fell back in pain.

  Annie didn’t rush to his aid this time. “She did it out of love, Michael.”

  “But why? There are thousands of couples out there desperate to adopt a baby. Why did she have to pick you?”

  “Because she knew me. She knew how much I loved kids. And she knew she would never have to worry about her son. She trusted us to take care of him and to love him.”

  The distinct sound of a car door thudded outside. They looked at each other.

  “Michael, they must have cleared the roads! That means—”

  He grabbed her arm. “Annie! Shhh!” he croaked. “Be quiet. We don’t know who’s out there. It could be Elliot’s men!”

  “What should we do?”

  He was already tossing the quilts aside. “Get me off this sofa and over there, behind the kitchen counter. We have to stay out of sight!”

  CHAPTER 39

  Eagle’s Nest

  Michael sat on the cold kitchen floor, his back leaning against the cabinet doors, his chest heaving with anxiety.

  “What should I do?” Annie whispered, fear etched on her face.

  He cocked his head, listening for clues of who might be outside the cabin.

  “Wait—” Annie stretched up to peek over the counter. “I think it’s Doc.”

  Michael grabbed her elbow pulling her back down. “Get down! If it’s Doc, we’ll know soon enough. If it’s not him, I don’t want you getting your head blown off.”

  Hearing a muffled voice outside, she gasped. “Michael, did you hear that?”

  He held up a finger, cautioning her to be silent.

  “Mom! It’s Max! Open up!”

  The pounding on the door jolted her upright. Michael’s stunned expression matched her own. “Max?” she mouthed.

  Before Michael could stop her, she flew to the door. “Max! Oh Max! I’m here! Hold on!” she cried, her fingers recklessly unbolting the locks.

  “Mom!”

  She threw open the door and into his arms. “Oh Max! What are you—how did you—oh, sweetheart!” She hugged him, crying his name over and over.

  “Mom! It’s okay—I found you! We were so scare
d and I couldn’t stand not knowing where you were and Dad was so upset and—”

  Annie pulled back from their embrace and shot an anxious look over his shoulder. “Dad’s here? He came with you?” She flinched at the tremor in her voice.

  “Dad? No, he didn’t come.” He searched her eyes. “Mom? Why did you—”

  She saw Doc Wilkins emerge from his Bronco at the foot of the porch steps. He stood with his hand on the open door, staring up at Annie. Seconds ticked by as they silently communicated. Finally, he shut the door. “Annie, I suppose we should have called before we came up, but Max here was in a big hurry to find you. I—well, I apologize.”

  She understood his meaning. “It’s okay, Doc.” Her eyes lingered only a moment more, then back at her son. She buried her head in his shoulder, hugging him again. “I’m just so surprised, Max! How did you know where to find me?”

  “It’s a long story. Can we come in? It’s pretty cold out here.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, of course! Come in.”

  Doc ascended the stairs, one hand grasping the handrail, his medical bag in the other. “Don’t mind if I do,” he mumbled.

  They shuffled inside, drawn to the hearth where a fire was on its last embers. “Doc told me about your ankle. Here, let me help you.” Max held her arm as she limped along. “He said it was a pretty bad sprain.”

  “It’s much better,” she assured him, reaching for a log as they neared the hearth. Let me get this fire going again. The power has been out so long and this has been our only source of heat but—”

  “I’ll check the breakers in just a minute,” Doc offered. “The power came back on in town several hours ago.”

  “Our?” Max asked, his hand still on her arm.

  “Our what, honey?”

  “You said ‘our’ only source of heat.”

  She stopped, at a loss for words. “Did I say ‘our’?” She turned to set the log on the embers. “Max, would you hand me a couple more logs?”

  He walked to the end of the hearth and gathered several logs. He turned, his eyes grazing the furniture pulled close to the hearth. A pillow and lots of quilts spread out on the sofa. Another pillow, another pile of quilts laying haphazardly on the chair and ottoman. A scattering of mugs and plates on the coffee table.

  Annie’s heart hammered against her chest as she watched his mind working the puzzle.

  Oh God, help me.

  Max piled the logs in the fireplace and took the poker from his mother’s hand. He stabbed at the glowing embers, stirring them to flames that licked the waiting logs. Finally, he turned to face her. “Mom?” he asked quietly. “What’s going on?”

  Annie looked across the room to Doc for help. Her eyes roamed the kitchen where she assumed Michael was still hidden behind the bank of cabinets. Doc nodded ever so slightly acknowledging the silent communication, then walked toward the kitchen.

  “Max, there’s so much I need to tell you,” she began. “But before I say anything else, I want you to promise me you’ll listen. Let me explain everything before you jump to any conclusions. Do I have your word?”

  “Mom?” The frightened plea in his voice unsettled her.

  She took a deep breath and wrung her hands. “Max, I came here to have some time to myself. I’m sure Dad told you. But a couple days after I got here, someone else showed up. I had no idea, of course . . . I mean, he just happened to come up here. The cabin belongs to Christine, an old friend of mine from college. And it turns out that another friend . . . well, actually a mutual friend, I suppose . . . he shows up here too, and he’s in some kind of trouble and he was hurt and . . . well, I couldn’t turn him away, could I?”

  “Him?” Max searched her face.

  A moan from the kitchen interrupted them. Annie watched as Doc lifted Michael from the floor, keenly aware that her son watched as well.

  “If you’ll excuse us, I need to attend to my patient.” Max stared at Michael as Doc helped him out of the room.

  Max pivoted. “Mom? What’s going on here? Who is that?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you, honey. I came up here to be alone, but it didn’t turn out that way.”

  “Who’s that guy?”

  “His name is Michael Dean. He had no idea I was here, of course. He expected Christine to be here. He came here because he had nowhere else to go. He’d been shot and he was being followed and he—Max, I found him outside on the driveway. He had passed out in the snow. I didn’t even know who it was until I was able to pull him inside here. And then . . .”

  She started to pace, her words tripping over themselves in rapid succession. “Honey, I was so shocked! I couldn’t believe it! I hadn’t seen Michael in years, you see. And you can imagine my surprise—I thought he was dying! So, I called Doc Wilkins and he came up and he operated on Michael. Doc saved his life, Max.”

  He hung on her every word, despite the uneasiness she saw on his face. “Go on.”

  “Well, that’s really all there is to tell. Except that the power went out and the phones went down and . . . well, he’s in some very serious trouble, honey. Someone is trying to kill him. I know it must sound crazy. It’s all very complicated.”

  He looked away.

  “Max, I know it’s an awkward situation. Believe me, I know. I’ve never been in such a strange mess in all my life.”

  “How did you know him in the first place?”

  “Well, that’s a long story, sweetheart.”

  “I came all the way up here to find you. Don’t you think you should tell me?”

  His tone tightened the knot in her stomach. “Michael and I go way back. We were in college together. That’s how we both knew Christine.”

  “But he wasn’t like a boyfriend or anything, was he?”

  She rubbed her hands together. “Um, yes. Yes, he was. But honey, that was a long, long time ago.”

  His eyes bore through her. She couldn’t bear the questions reflected in them. “Max, I told you not to jump to conclusions, and I meant it. There is nothing going on here beyond what I just explained to you.”

  He rolled his neck, both sides, then sat down on the hearth, planting his elbows on his knees. “I’m just so tired. I don’t know what to think.”

  Suddenly, the overhead lights came on accompanied by a series of beeps from the microwave and the security system. Doc appeared at the utility room door. “Now that’s more like it. Annie, how about making us all a pot of coffee?”

  She clapped her hands together. “Good idea. Max, would you like some coffee? Are you hungry? Can I get you something to eat?”

  “Coffee sounds good.” He didn’t bother looking at her.

  She stood, reaching out to brush the bangs off his forehead. He flinched at her touch. A lump lodged in her throat. She pressed her lips together and headed for the kitchen.

  “There really is so much I want to tell you, but first I want to hear about home. Is Dad okay?”

  Max stretched out his legs, arching his back. “I suppose so. He’s been really upset about you leaving and all.” He stood up again, turning his back to her to stare into the fire. “I couldn’t stand seeing him suffer like that. And Nana made a big scene and got her picture in the paper.”

  “Whatever for?” she asked, holding the empty carafe.

  “You know Nana—it doesn’t take much. She got all hot and bothered that no one knew where you were and went to the newspaper about it. Made it sound like you’d been kidnapped or something.”

  She set the carafe in the sink. “Oh Max. Please tell me you’re joking.”

  “Front page. Big story. Big picture.”

  “Oh no. Poor David. How did he—”

  “It was bad, Mom.” He tossed a quick look at her over his shoulder. “I don’t really want to talk about it right now.”

  An involuntary groan escaped her lips. She pushed the carafe under the faucet, filling it with frigid, clear water. She made the coffee, going through the motions on autopilot, then slowly walke
d over to the hearth and sat down.

  “Max, I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I never meant to hurt anybody. I just needed a chance to think. Everything was closing in on me and—” Max sat down beside her and put his arm around her. She leaned into him, inhaling her son’s musky scent. “I’m so sorry, honey.”

  “Mom, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

  “Annie?”

  Mother and son looked up. Michael stood in the doorway from the hall, leaning heavily on Doc.

  Oh Lord, give me strength.

  “Uh . . . Max, this is the unexpected house guest I was telling you about.” She cringed at the high pitch of her voice.

  No one said anything. Doc proceeded to help his patient move to the sofa across from them, seating him there. “I think I’ll go check on that coffee.”

  Michael lifted his head and looked into the distrusting eyes of her son. Annie watched as he took in everything—the eyes, the hair, the slant of her son’s nose. She watched his eyes trace the line of Max’s jaw, identical to his own. And she watched as Michael struggled to swallow his emotion.

  “What are you looking at?” Max challenged.

  Michael shifted his eyes to Annie. “Did you tell him?”

  She pressed her eyes shut, furious he would ask at a moment like this. “No, Michael. Not now,” she whispered.

  “Tell me what?” Max narrowed his eyes at Michael. “Don’t treat me like I’m a child. I want to know what’s going on here. Did she tell me what?”

  Michael cleared his throat. “Max, we haven’t been introduced yet. My name is Michael Dean.”

  “Yeah, so? I know who you are. Mom just told me.”

  “She did?” Michael’s surprise crossed his face. “Oh, you mean about us being friends from way back when.”

  “That’s exactly what she told me.”

  Michael started to say something then closed his mouth. He raised his eyebrows at Annie. “What else did you tell him?”