Not a Sparrow Falls

by Linda Nichols

  “You’re wondering why I’m here,” Bob finally said, giving him an unexpectedly direct gaze.

  Alasdair gave a slight shrug. “I assume it has something to do with the other matter.” The other matter. How delicate, how euphemistic. There he went again, tucking something unpleasant away in the dark. How much energy he expended just finding names for things. Ways to talk about things without really talking about them. “The fact that my congregation wants me replaced,” he corrected. “The matter of Gerald Whiteman’s job offer.”

  Bob nodded. “Exactly.” He popped open his briefcase, and Alasdair had an uncomfortable flashback to the meeting with the Big Three. Nothing good had ever come out of a briefcase in his experience. He doubted if this would be the exception.

  Bob set a piece of paper onto the small coffee table as if he were playing a hand of cards. Declaration of Bankruptcy, the first one said.

  “What is this?” He felt a jolt of anger seeing Lorna’s name under the heading.

  “This, my friend, is your life.”

  Not my life, my sister’s, he started to say, but before he could get the words out a second piece of paper joined the first. It was a police report. Alasdair picked it up. November 30. Juvenile shoplift. Bag and Save Grocery.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “The manager made me a copy of his report. He was happy to do it.”

  “What are you doing? Who do you think you are?”

  “I’m a man with a job to do,” Bob said, his face untroubled. “Shall I stop? Or shall I go on?”

  Alasdair clenched his fist and wanted it to make contact with Bob’s sharp nose.

  “Because if you’d like me to stop, all you have to do is sign this.” Another flourish. A piece of heavy cream stationery. Alasdair read the first sentence. His resignation, complete with the date and a signature line at the bottom.

  “I’ll do no such thing.”

  Bob held up a hand. “Don’t ever say never.” He laid down another sheet. Anna’s accident report.

  Alasdair picked it up. He had that strange sensation again, as if he were an observer to the scene instead of a participant. He read it—for the first time. The details were all there. The ones he knew but never talked about. Single motor vehicle accident. Location: George Washington Memorial Parkway. Time: 1:32 p.m. Road condition: Wet. The responding officer wrote that after divers recovered the victim, CPR was performed by paramedics, but the victim was pronounced dead on arrival at Mt. Vernon Hospital. Estimated speed on impact: 65 miles per hour. No skid marks noted. Witnesses said the vehicle accelerated prior to leaving the roadway and entering the water.

  He laid the paper on his knee. “You are despicable.”

  “I’m thinking the Post might want to run a feature. Especially when you throw in this.” He slapped the last batch of papers down.

  Alasdair picked it up. It was an arrest warrant for someone named Mary Bridget Washburn. For manufacture and distribution of a controlled substance. Drug dealing, he translated.

  “I have no idea who this person is.” But even as he said it, he thought, with a lurch of his heart, that perhaps he did.

  “You poor, naïve fellow,” Bob said. He slapped down a color copy of an expired Virginia driver’s license.

  Alasdair took a ragged breath in and out. So. That was her secret.

  There had been hints. Yes. He looked back and saw the things he’d been determined not to see. The vagueness about her family and home, how she always took the bus, paid in cash, but mostly the sadness and the guilt. He had known there was something buried. He just hadn’t known what, and he hadn’t known where. And he’d been quite satisfied to leave it that way, he realized.

  “I’m seeing the headlines now,” Bob went on. “ ‘Prominent Minister Harbors Felon.’ Maybe a few hints of a relationship. The rest of the article will fill in the details of your life. Your history. Your sordid little family secrets. Maybe they’re not quite as juicy as Jim Bakker’s and Jimmy Swaggart’s, but they’ll do on a slow news day. You know, it even occurred to me that you knew about this. Maybe she was supplying you. You’ve been awfully calm during all this trouble. Have you had a little help? And I’ll bet anything she was supplying Samantha, even back when she was working at the Bag and Save. The store manager thinks so. He thinks they’ve been—what did he say?—in cahoots for a while. He made the statement for the record. How about this headline: ‘Pastor Hires Daughter’s Pusher.’ The ultimate in convenience. She can get her fix without ever leaving the house.”

  Alasdair set the arrest warrant back on the table. “What do you want?” he asked.

  “I want your resignation in my hand,” Bob Henry answered without hesitation. “I’ll fax it to Whiteman, and he’ll fax back an offer of employment with the denomination. We’ve come up with a plum job for you.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  Bob Henry shrugged. “Whatever you decide, I’ll go from here to the Post. The religion editor’s quite a great guy. We had a talk yesterday, and he’s saving room in tomorrow’s edition for a feature on you. Written by me.” Bob leaned back in his chair, and a little smile played on his lips. “Did you know it’s always been my dream to be a reporter, Alasdair? I took journalism, you know, after I left the seminary. The problem is,” he continued, “to get any kind of real job, you have to show you’ve got that reporter’s instinct—that intuition that sniffs out the story and the fortitude to follow it wherever it leads. You take someone with writing experience—like me—and combine it with a dynamite story, then, who knows, the doors might just open. Anyway,” Bob said, “I’ve got two pieces written, and I don’t much care which one I turn in. I can see advantages either way. If you sign the resignation, I’ll give the Post the one about your new job at denomination headquarters and the sidebar about the pressures of ministry, then go back to Richmond with Gerry singing my praises. If you don’t sign, I’ll turn in the other story. You won’t like it as well. It’s up to you, though,” Bob Henry said, looking as if he couldn’t care less what Alasdair chose.

  He could take the job, Alasdair realized. He could make all of this go away. A heavy weariness came with the realization. There would be more secrets then. More secrets and more people knowing them. More strings hooked onto him that could be yanked at a moment’s notice. More reason to lie awake at night wondering who might guess the truth.

  “Sign it, Alasdair. Otherwise,” Bob said, giving his head a little jerky shake, “I’ll have to strip you bare and parade you through the streets.”

  Stripped bare. That’s exactly what had happened. Bob Henry had ripped aside the curtain, and he would follow through with his threats. Alasdair had no doubt of that. Everyone would see the great and powerful wizard was nothing more than a man. Once he lost his reputation, he would have nothing left to lose.

  That would be almost peaceful, he realized. Yes. You would have almost perfect peace when there was nothing left to protect. What more could they do to you then?

  There would be others caught in the fallout, he reminded himself. Lorna, and Samantha, and yet even as he recognized that fact, he knew what they would tell him to do.

  “I’m not signing anything,” he said.

  “I’ll tell,” Bob threatened, and Alasdair actually smiled. It reminded him of a child’s taunt.

  “You do whatever you want,” he said, and as the words left his mouth, he felt the first rush of freedom.

  ****

  The heavy feeling hit Bridie before she even opened her eyes. She pulled the covers up, wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep and not wake up again. In this morning’s gray light her fantasies of happy endings seemed hopelessly childish. She gave a bitter little smile as she thought of the times she had almost poured out the truth to Alasdair over coffee and dessert. A fine mess that would have been. If he was ready to cut her loose because of Anna’s diaries, what would he do if he knew the truth? What had she been thinking?

  She rolled over and looked at the c
lock. It was time to get up if she was to perform her last duties for him and the children. She would go to the parsonage, get Samantha off to school, and spend these last two days with the children. And after that she would be unemployed again. She remembered that day, not so long ago, when she had made a wager with God. A job by the end of the day or she would go back to dealing.

  She didn’t bother to make a wager this time. She felt somehow that her fate had been decided long ago, maybe before she even existed. So this is how it happens, she realized as she showered and dressed, as she gathered up the few things she wanted to take with her and shoved them into her backpack. This is how a person ends up a loser. A bad break here, a poor choice there. Pile up a few months of those, a few years, and there you were. Out of luck, out of ideas, ready to do whatever it took to get by.

  She counted out what was left of her money and put most of it into an envelope with a note for Carmen and left it on her dresser.

  She walked quietly into the living room and peeked out the window. Newlee’s patrol car was parked out front, but they weren’t up yet. She looked around the little apartment one more time and the words she’d written to Carmen didn’t seem enough now. She reached her hand into the pocket of her jacket to get the key to the apartment and came out with a slip of paper as well. The mysterious telephone number. After last night’s drama she’d forgotten all about it. She went to the phone. One more time she dialed the number.

  “Hello.”

  “This is Bridie Collins.” Her pulse was loud in her ears. She swallowed, and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. “You’ve been trying to get ahold of me.”

  “Just a minute,” the woman said. There was a rustling sound, and Bridie thought she heard a baby whimper. A door closed. “Yeah,” the woman said. “I live with Eric. In Charlottesville.”

  Her stomach clenched. “Why are you calling me?”

  “Somebody came looking for you, and Eric gave you up.”

  “Who was it?” Bridie asked, her voice calm, her insides a twisting mess.

  “Tall, thin dude. Weird, whacked out on speed. He kept chewing his lip and picking at himself.”

  “What did Eric give him?”

  “Everything he had. If I found you, he will, too.”

  “Thank you,” Bridie said.

  “We’re even now,” the woman answered and then hung up.

  Bridie’s hands shook as she replaced the telephone and turned on the computer. She almost screamed with impatience as she waited for it to boot up, then clicked on the heart for her favorite place and was immediately routed to the Virginia Department of Corrections Inmate Locator. She punched in the familiar name one last time: Porter, Jonah.

  When the screen appeared, she stared, too frightened to move. Her breath came in shallow little gasps. Porter, Jonah. Status: Released. She leaned forward, reading it over and over, trying to think of what she should do. She clicked on the picture. There he was. The same angular face, the same raw features. His striking eyes were blank, vacant, like the soul inside had been gradually eaten away. He was out. And he knew where she was.

  She had to leave. That much was clear now. She shouldn’t even go to Alasdair’s. She could be leading Jonah to them, and that could only be trouble. She paused, chewing her lip.

  “Hey.”

  She jumped.

  Carmen was standing in the doorway staring at her, giving her a strange look. “What’s going on?”

  Bridie didn’t answer. She went back to the computer and turned it off. When she turned toward Carmen, her roommate was still staring at her. “What’s up?” Carmen asked again, her voice a little more pointed.

  “Nothing.” She answered too quickly.

  “What’s with that?”

  “What?”

  “That.” Carmen gestured toward Bridie’s backpack and gave her another intent stare. “And what’s up with you? You’re acting like you did that night we ate the espresso beans.”

  “Nothing’s up with me,” Bridie lied, trying to make her voice sound as natural as possible. “The backpack’s because I’m spending the night at the parsonage. Alasdair’s going on a trip.”

  Carmen stared at her, not smiling or nodding. “You sure you don’t want to tell me?”

  This wasn’t good old live-and-let-live Carmen.

  “Nothing to tell. I’ve got to go.”

  Carmen nodded, but she didn’t pad off to the kitchen to make coffee as she usually did.

  Bridie opened the apartment door, determined to get away before Newlee came out and started asking questions. She peered into the gray morning, but she couldn’t do too much reconnaissance, or Carmen would get suspicious and wake up Newlee, and then she might as well just raise her hands and give herself up without a fuss. No one was around that she could see. She stepped out and closed the door behind her, but instead of going out the front she looped around the back of the building. It was raining, a light foggy mist. She cut through the alley and took the long way around the block, running to catch the bus one stop north of her usual.

  She climbed on board and slid down in the seat, nothing moving but her eyes as she scanned Alexandria’s sidewalks, slick but already full of people. He wasn’t there. She didn’t see him, at least.

  Her breathing finally slowed, though her heart was still galloping. The bus passed the parsonage and the church. She stayed on, but halfway to the next stop her heart got the better of her good sense. She had to say good-bye. Otherwise Samantha would think she’d just up and left. She pulled the cord and got off, looking around to make sure no one was following before she doubled back.

  ****

  Jonah rose up just in time to see Mary come out of the bushes by the apartment house. It took him a second to start the car, which was just as well, since he didn’t want to spook her. He followed a good ways back, and when she got on the bus, a big SUV got in front of him and blocked his view for a while. He was frantic trying to stay far enough back so she wouldn’t spot him if she was looking, but close enough for him to spot her.

  He made do as best he could, and finally she got off. He pulled over and turned around, then cruised back as slow as he could, and it was his lucky day, because just when he thought he’d lost her, there she was, stepping through a black wrought-iron gate.

  He went on around the block and pulled into the alley behind the church parking lot where nobody would pay him any mind, got out of the car, and walked through the graveyard. He could see all the spirits. They were holding hands, playing frog in the meadow. He could hear them chanting, see them holding hands and moving around in a circle. Frog in the meadow, can’t get him out, take a little stick, and stir him about. “We’ll help you find her,” they sang out. “We’ll help you get back what she took from you.”

  He nodded, sat down on the marble bench, and waited until they told him what to do.

  Thirty-Five

  Bridie let herself in the back door of the house, then stood with her back against it, trying to catch her breath.

  Gradually the sounds of normalcy dampened her panic, at least a little. Water was running. A pair of tennis shoes, probably Samantha’s, were thumping against the sides of the dryer in irregular rhythm. She smelled coffee scorching on the burner and the citrus-soapy smell of dishwashing detergent. She stepped out of the kitchen into the hallway. From here she could hear Cam and Bonnie jabbering from the living room and the background noise of the television. They were watching the Christmas video again. Would probably still be watching it on the Fourth of July. Her pulse slowed. She set down her backpack and purse and took off her jacket.

  She went to the front window and peered around the curtain. No one was out there. No one at all.

  “You’re here.” Samantha’s voice startled her.

  She nodded but decided to get the truth out right away. “I can’t stay.”

  Samantha’s face sobered.

  “Where’s your father?”

  “He’s upstairs with some guy.”


  Bridie nodded, her emotions bobbing between grief and relief.

  “Why do you have to leave? Dad’ll get over it. I’m sure he will.”

  Bridie shook her head. “It’s not that.”

  “What is it, then?”

  She took a breath. Let it out. “I’ve done some bad things.”

  “What kind of things?”

  Bridie agonized. “I’d rather not say. I don’t have time to explain, and it would take some explaining.”

  Samantha considered that, then gave her head a little shake. “So you’re leaving.”

  Bridie shrugged. “Sort of. I mean, it’s complicated.”

  “It doesn’t sound that complicated to me,” Samantha said, folding her arms. “It sounds to me like you’re doing what you said last night I wasn’t supposed to do.”

  Bridie stared.

  “Running away.” You moron, her tone said. Bridie couldn’t help but smile.

  “Sometimes it’s not that simple, Samantha.”

  Samantha shrugged, obviously not buying it. “Whatever.”

  Bridie shook her head. There was nothing she could say. Any details she shared would just increase Samantha’s disappointment. “Are Cam and Bonnie in the living room?”

  Samantha nodded without answering. Bridie went around her and into the living room.

  “Hi,” they greeted her.

  She couldn’t even answer them. She gave them each a hug and a kiss, then found Samantha in the kitchen.

  “I’ve got to go,” Bridie repeated. Her throat tightened and hurt.

  At first she thought Samantha would stay just like that, arms crossed, face glowering, but at the last minute she flung herself at Bridie and hugged her. “Come back if you can,” she pleaded, and Bridie couldn’t even bear to look at her as she opened the back door and left.

  ****

  Carmen couldn’t get the face out of her mind. She walked around the little apartment and smoked and tried to think of what to do, but nothing would stick to her brain except that dead-looking face and those cold, creepy eyes. For the hundredth time she thought about waking up Newlee, but like always, something stopped her. Once Newlee got into it, there would be no hiding anything anymore, and she was pretty sure this was about things Bridie would just as soon keep to herself. You could go to the grave with your secrets, she reminded herself, and that thought rattled her so much she didn’t even notice Newlee appear in the doorway.