by Marta Perry
Well, it would have to wait until after the wedding, like so many other things that were on her mind. She slid out of the car and pulled a couple of boxes out of the back seat. She’d go in through the door that opened into the hallway between the sanctuary and the Fellowship Hall building, so she could take the boxes directly to the kitchen.
Once inside the door she paused, readjusting the precariously stacked boxes. Maybe she ought to leave one here and come back for it. As she bent to set it on the floor, she heard the sound of voices coming from the sanctuary.
The sanctuary door that stood ajar was the one she’d gone through that first night with Brendan, when they’d found Stacy weeping in the pew. That memory must account for the sense of uneasiness that gripped her now.
She tried to shake it off. There were probably dozens of people who had perfectly good reasons for being in the sanctuary. Still, she’d understood no one was using the space until the wedding tomorrow. That was why she and Stacy had decorated yesterday.
It was probably nothing, but still, she couldn’t walk away without checking. She stacked the boxes against the wall and opened the sanctuary door.
She couldn’t move, couldn’t even speak, for fully thirty seconds. The decorations—all those ribbons and flowers she and Stacy had put up so carefully—every one had been ripped from its place. Five boys who should be tossing a basketball in the gym with Brendan were instead throwing the wedding decorations at each other.
While she watched, Rick Romero scooped up an armload of ribbons and pranced down the aisle.
“I’m getting married,” he shouted. “Get a load of this.”
The sound broke the shock that had held her motionless. “What do you think you’re doing?” Fury sent her stalking toward them, fury so strong it felt as if her feet didn’t need to touch the ground.
Several of the boys backed up, faces sobering at the sight of her. Rick stood his ground, but he dropped the ribbons.
“We’re not doing nothing,” he muttered.
“Pick those up off the floor this instant.” She stabbed a finger toward the ribbons. “Do you have any idea how much that stuff costs?”
“We were just playing around.” Face sulky, he bent to pick up the ribbon. “You don’t need to get so mad about it. We didn’t hurt anything.”
“Didn’t hurt anything,” she repeated, disbelieving. “Get real, Rick. You’re not stupid. You know perfectly well those decorations were for the wedding tomorrow.”
Her gaze roved the other faces. She glared at one she recognized from her last session with the kids.
“And you, Jack. You’re supposed to be helping with the reception. Is this your idea of proving you ought to be hired for a job?”
Jack stared at his toes. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean to do anything—we just found the door open. We got to fooling around.”
“Your fooling around has ruined hours of work.” She planted her fists on her hips. “You think saying ‘sorry’ is going to make that all right?”
“I guess not.”
“You’ve got that right.” She didn’t know whether she wanted to hit someone or burst into tears. “You—”
“What’s going on in here?” The voice came from behind her. She turned to see two figures framed in the doorway.
One was Brendan, looking as horrified as she probably had when she’d walked in. The other was the last person she wanted to see right now.
Harvey Gray.
Gray was the first one to move. He stalked into the sanctuary like a bird of prey looking for something to eat. Or someone.
He came to a halt at the end of the center aisle and stood glaring down it. His gaze traveled from the dismantled decorations to Claire’s face to the teenagers who huddled closer together, as if for protection.
Rick dropped the bouquet of ribbons on the floor again. Claire winced.
“I don’t need to ask the question, do I?” His voice dripped sarcasm. “It’s obvious what happened. These juvenile delinquents of the pastor’s have wrecked the preparations for the wedding.”
She opened her mouth and then closed it again. There really wasn’t any proper response to that. They’d done exactly what he said, and she was afraid they’d wrecked more than the wedding decorations.
Gray turned slowly to face Brendan. “I’ve warned you about this, Flanagan. Now these people are not only in our gymnasium. They’re in our sanctuary.” He didn’t raise his voice, but it came close to quivering with indignation. “Our sanctuary,” he repeated.
“We didn’t—” Rick began.
It said a lot for the power of Gray’s personality that he silenced Rick with a single look. Then he turned back to Brendan.
“End your relationship with these people now. That may be enough to save your pastorate for another year. May,” he repeated.
He hadn’t raised his voice. People like Harvey Gray didn’t need to do that. When you wielded the power he did, a softly spoken warning was enough.
He strode back the aisle, brushing past the boys as if they weren’t even there. The door at the rear of the sanctuary slammed shut behind him.
Silence. Claire couldn’t think of a single thing to say that would make this any better. Brendan’s pastorate here was probably at an end. And she’d be lucky if she came away from this without any permanent repercussions for her career, as well.
As for the kids— She felt a renewed flare of anger. They’d walk away from this without a scratch, of course. What did they care?
“Of all the stupid tricks I’ve ever seen!” Brendan started toward Rick. Shock reverberated through Claire at the expression on Brendan’s face.
Fury—stark, black fury.
She’d never seen him look that way. His fists were doubled, his eyes so dark they looked almost black. Something inside her quailed involuntarily.
The kids seemed to feel it, too. They backed up, as if his anger would sweep them clear out of the sanctuary.
He grabbed Rick by the front of his jacket. “Do you realize what you’ve done? Do you?”
“Brendan.”
She forced his name out through lips that had gone numb with shock. She’d said once that she’d never seen him angry. She couldn’t say that anymore.
The kids looked as horrified as she probably did. For an instant she wanted to turn around, run out of the sanctuary, block the image of his face from her mind.
But she couldn’t. She touched his arm, and it was hard as steel beneath her hand. “Don’t. Brendan, don’t. That doesn’t do any good.”
For a moment longer his fist twisted in Rick’s shirt. Then he let go so suddenly, that the boy stumbled back.
Brendan turned a sick, stricken face toward her. His lips moved, as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t.
Then he turned and ran out of the sanctuary.
Chapter Fourteen
For a long moment after Brendan’s departure, stunned silence filled the sanctuary. Claire took a shaky breath. Clearly the teenagers were just as shocked as she was over his display of temper.
But it wasn’t the anger he’d shown that held her heart in an icy grip. When he’d turned to her, Brendan had looked lost. Totally, completely lost.
Rick shuffled his feet. “Sorry,” he muttered.
She had a feeling that was the first completely honest thing he’d said to her.
“I know.” She let the words linger for a moment. All the anger she’d felt at them was gone, dissipated in the force of Brendan’s emotions. She had to go to him.
But first she had to try and salvage something with these kids.
“I know you’re sorry.” She kept her voice dispassionate. “Unfortunately, that doesn’t solve the problem, does it?”
A couple of head shakes encouraged her that they were at least paying attention.
“The Rev went out on a limb for you, and you let him down. Now he could lose his job.” She gestured toward the clutter. “Two people who are important to him are supp
osed to get married here tomorrow morning. You messed that up, too.”
She waited. She hadn’t reached them by being angry. Maybe they’d respond to the simple truth.
“We didn’t mean anything.” Defensiveness colored Rick’s words.
“What you meant or didn’t mean doesn’t change anything. The wedding is still messed up. The Rev may still lose his job.”
She expected him to flare up in anger or stamp out. He didn’t.
“Well, come on.” He turned to the other boys. “You heard. We got to fix all this up the way it was.”
Galvanized, they began picking up ribbons. She almost felt like laughing at their expressions. Would have, if the situation hadn’t been so serious.
Brendan.
“I’ll come back and see how you’re getting along in a few minutes.”
Several boys nodded, their gazes evading hers. Well, if they were embarrassed at what they’d done, so much the better. She hurried toward the door. Maybe that would make them think twice the next time.
Now for Brendan. She walked quickly down the hall, her whole being straining toward him. But her steps slowed as she neared his office. What could she say to him? He was the one trained to offer advice, not she.
Unfortunately, she was the one who’d seen that uncharacteristic display of anger. And the lost, tortured look that followed it.
She took a deep breath. Please.
She wasn’t sure who she was asking, or what. She pushed open the door.
Brendan slumped over his desk, head in his hands, his brown hair tousled. He looked up at the sound of her entry, but every line of his body evinced despair.
Carefully, carefully. She had to be even more cautious with Brendan than she’d been with the boys.
“Are you all right?” She approached the desk, longing to reach out and smooth his hair back from his forehead, wanting to say she’d make everything all right.
He shook his head. “I lost control with them. I promised to help them, but I lost control.”
“So you lost your temper.” She made an effort to keep her voice even. She would not betray just how shocked she’d been when he’d grabbed Rick. “Believe me, they deserved it, the ungrateful little monsters.”
He stared at her, his eyes dark with emotion. “You don’t understand. I lost control.”
She leaned against the desk. “Well, so did I. I was chewing them out when you came in.”
“It’s not the same.” His voice was heavy with a despair she didn’t understand.
“Maybe not. My anger didn’t seem to impress them. It looks as if yours did.” She managed a smile. “You should see them right now. They’re trying to put the decorations back up again, and a fine job they’re making of it.”
Her attempt at humor did nothing to dispel the darkness in his face. He seemed to be unreachable.
She leaned over, caught his wrist and shook it. “Brendan, snap out of it. You lost your temper with them. It’s no big deal.”
“Yes.” His eyes finally focused on hers, and her heart winced at the pain she saw there. “It is a big deal. For me, it’s a very big deal.”
“Why?” Her fingers tightened as if she’d force the truth out of him. “Tell me what’s going on with you, Brendan. Why is losing your temper such a terrible thing?”
For a moment she thought he wouldn’t answer. His lips tightened, as if to keep the words in.
“Because.” He seemed to choke on the word. “Because it proves I’m just like my father.”
She could only stare at him as his words registered. “Your father.”
“If you hadn’t stopped me, I’d have hurt that boy.”
“No.” His raw pain flicked at her heart. “You wouldn’t have.”
“Yes.” He shoved his chair back and surged out of it. He turned away from her and paced the few steps to the bookcase. “I would have. I’d have used my fists. Just like my father did.”
She saw the truth then. He didn’t need to tell her, because she could imagine the whole story.
But he did need to tell her, for his own sake.
“Brendan.” She approached him, longing to touch him but not daring to. “Talk to me. Tell me. Your father was an abuser.”
She could only be surprised that she hadn’t guessed it before from the way he’d reacted.
“He used his fists to settle things.” He planted one hand on the bookshelf and leaned his head against his outstretched arm. Every line of his body shouted despair.
“He abused you.”
He shook his head. “Not much. Not me. He and my mother—they fought all the time. And every time they fought, it ended the same way. He struck out at her.”
“I’m sorry.” Her voice was hushed with pain. “Brendan, I’m so sorry.”
He raised his head, staring at the books as if he saw something else—something dark and terrible.
“My mother never told anyone. She made me promise never to tell, either.”
Don’t tell. They were the words that let the abuser go on abusing. “It wasn’t fair to put that burden on you.”
He didn’t acknowledge that she’d spoken. “The day they died they were fighting. I was in the back seat of the car. All I could think was that I hated both of them for the constant arguing.”
For an instant he sounded like the boy he’d been then. She could see him so clearly, trapped in the car with the two people he needed to love most in the world.
“They let you down.” She felt her way cautiously. “They let each other down, too.”
She wasn’t sure he even heard what she said. He was lost back in that other time and place.
“I could see it coming. My dad could never keep up with my mother with words. He turned toward her. His face was so angry. He swung at her. His hand—he must have jerked the wheel when he swung. He lost control of the car. We hit the abutment head-on.”
She knew the rest of that story. Both of his parents had been killed. That was how he’d come to live with Joe and Siobhan.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He straightened, rubbing his face with his hand. He took a breath, and his chest heaved with the effort.
“I never told anyone.” He swallowed. “They asked me, afterward, if I knew what caused the car to go out of control. I said I didn’t remember. But I did. I do.”
She put her hand carefully on his arm. His muscles were painfully taut.
“It was a long time ago. It wasn’t your fault.”
“I kept thinking, if only I’d found some way to stop them before they started fighting—” His voice broke.
“Oh, Brendan. You can’t blame yourself.”
“They were fighting about me. Some stupid thing my father wanted me to do and my mother didn’t. And I hated them both for using me as an excuse to fight.”
“You were a child. You weren’t responsible for what they did.” She thought her heart would break with his pain.
He shook his head. “I know that. Intellectually, I know that. Inside it’s a different story.”
She saw what drove him then. “That’s why you’ve tried so hard to help Ted. You can’t let the boy go the way your father did.”
He didn’t deny it. “I couldn’t help my father. Maybe I can help Ted.”
“Maybe you can.”
She took a shaky breath. They’d come a long way from the kids tearing down a few decorations. Her grip on his arm tightened.
“Brendan, I understand why it bothers you, but you still don’t need to beat yourself up over losing your temper with the kids.”
He shifted, turning so that he could look into her face. His was still dark with pain.
“You don’t understand at all. You don’t get it, do you? I can’t get angry, because I have that same black rage my father did.”
“You don’t know—”
“Yes, I do. I feel it inside me, waiting to cut loose.” His face twisted. “That’s why I can’t get angry, because if I let the anger ta
ke over, I’ll lose control entirely. I’ll be just like he was.”
“No.” She could only shake her head, appalled. “You wouldn’t. You could never be like that.”
“You don’t know.”
“I do know.” She wanted to shake him. “Look at me, Brendan. I’m still here. I’m not running away from you, and of all the people in the world I certainly have reason to if you’re the monster you’re imagining.”
The truth of her words surprised her. Even with her history, she wasn’t running. She seemed to know, better than Brendan did himself, that he could never hurt anyone.
“I could be.”
“No, you couldn’t.” Despair gripped her. How could she reach him? “You’re willing to offer second chances to every person you meet. How is it you can’t give the same opportunity to yourself? Why can’t you turn this over to that God you claim cares about everyone?”
“I’ve tried. Don’t you know I’d try?” It was a cry from his heart. “I’ve asked Him over and over to take my temper away. He doesn’t answer.”
He took a long, shaky breath and shook his head, as if that final revelation made him aware of how much he’d told her. He took a careful step away from her, and her hand dropped from his arm.
“Brendan—”
“Don’t.” He held up his hand, stopping anything she might try to say. “I can’t talk about this anymore, Claire. Please, just forget what I said. This is my battle to deal with, not yours.”
Not yours. He might as well have said he didn’t want or need her, because that was what he meant.
She took a step back, recognizing the insurmountable barrier between them for what it was. It wasn’t her background or his family history that stood between them, or his faith and her lack of it.
It was Brendan himself. He believed in that darkness inside him. She had no power that could counter that.
Half an hour later, Claire had managed to wash away all traces of tears from her face. Okay. She reached for the door into the sanctuary. She’d better see what kind of a mess she still had to deal with.
