The Sibling

by Diane Moody

  “Okay. I just thought I’d ask.” Aubrey tucked her leg beneath her and turned toward him. “Peyton, did something happen today? You looked so sad when I opened the door just now.”

  He braced his hands on the wide arms of the Adirondack and took a deep breath. “Yes. And I debated about coming over. I realize we just met a few days ago, but I really need someone to talk to. And please don’t take offense, but the fact that you’re an outsider is part of the reason I came.”

  “No offense taken,” she said with a smile.

  “You know that call I took when we were talking at the shop this morning?”

  “Yes, it was the sheriff, right?”

  “Right. Jeff Carter. Who happens to be a good friend of mine and a member of my church. But he called me to come to the station so he could tell me …” He stopped and looked directly at her. “Wait—first things first. I have to ask if you’ll promise to keep this conversation strictly between us.”

  “Oh? Well, sure. I mean, who would I tell?”

  “Your mother. Can you promise not to tell her about this?”

  “Yes, of course. But you’re starting to scare me a little. What is it? What did Jeff want to talk to you about?”

  “He said a witness came forward who swears she saw me coming out of the church Saturday night about the time Harley would have been killed.”

  “What? Well, even if you did, you’re the pastor. I’m sure you’re in and out of there at all different times of day and night, right?”

  “Yes, but not last Saturday night. I had stopped by earlier that morning but wasn’t there the rest of the day.”

  “Then the witness is lying. Who is it?”

  He told her everything. About Ida Rose’s long history battling the church and her many fabrications. About the awkward position this created between him and Jeff. About his meeting with Sterling LaFayette. Then he told her about his twin brother Tristan, his troubled past, and the possibility he’d come to town with vengeance on his mind.

  “But no one in this town would ever believe you’d kill someone. I’m sure it’s troubling—”

  “That’s putting it mildly.”

  “—but in the end, it’s an absurd accusation. It will all work out.” She patted his hand as it rested on the arm of his chair. “You’ll see.”

  “I want to believe that, but I’m so angry that Tristan would do something like this. This didn’t just happen—he had to have planned it. And it ticks me off to think he used his time in prison to plot something to get even with me.”

  “But you don’t know that it was him. You can’t know for sure.”

  “I know, but it’s the kind of thing Tristan would do. But what I can’t figure out is why Harley? There’s no way he could have known who Harley was. It makes no sense.”

  “Then maybe you need to give him the benefit of the doubt?”

  He nodded, his eyes roaming the front yard. “You’re probably right. But he’s so smart. Street smart, I mean. And way smarter than I’ll ever be in that regard. But he uses that brilliant mind God gave him to twist and manipulate things. Always scouting out an angle or a way to con someone. Such a waste.”

  “That had to be hard, growing up with an identical twin so completely different from you.”

  He leaned his head against the high back of the chair. “It was.”

  They sat in silence, watching as a bluebird with bits of straw in its beak disappeared into one of the birdhouses her father had built. They watched Macy straighten, her snout sniffing the air as a squirrel skittered up the oak tree a few yards away.

  “Hey, I have a confession to make.”

  “That sounds serious.”

  “No,” he said, an easy smile finally relaxing the lines of his face. “The thing is, that ledger business from the shop—to ask if you’d talked to your mom about it—was just an excuse to come over. I mean, I would’ve asked eventually, but that wasn’t the reason I came.”

  “Then why did you come?”

  She studied the blue of his eyes, a watercolor shade of sapphire that glowed with sincerity, as though he could see clear through to her soul. His was a kind face, expressive in a way that drew her in whenever their eyes met. Perfect for a pastor’s face, she surmised.

  But just now there was something more. He seemed more vulnerable. More open. And maybe a little scared.

  “I know it doesn’t make much sense,” he continued, “but I came because I wanted to see you again. Actually, I think I needed to see you again. I have a whole town full of friends, but you’re the one I wanted to see. The one I wanted to talk to.”

  Her heart stuttered a beat, something that hadn’t happened in such a long, long time. She welcomed the warmth as it beat again, when a moment later, he lifted her hand and kissed the back of it.

  A curious thought made her smile.

  “What?” he asked, a crooked smile slanting his lips.

  She smiled, glancing at their hands. “I was just wondering if this is your usual approach to visiting members of your flock.”

  He laughed out loud, feathered lines fanning out from the edges of his eyes while a broad smile deepened his dimples.

  “No, I have way too many deacons breathing down my neck for that sort of reputation. I’m afraid the honor is all yours.”

  She chuckled. “Good to know.”

  “And just for the record, this is a first. I have never kissed the hand of one of my church members. No, wait. I take that back. I kissed Miss Birdie’s hand just last month on her ninety-third birthday.”

  “Should I be concerned?”

  “No. Sweet lady, but not my type.”

  “And what is your type, Pastor Gellar?”

  He studied her eyes for a moment. “A good question, Miss Evans, but one I’m not quite ready to answer.”

  “Fair enough,” she answered, meaning it.

  Chapter 11

  When Aubrey had roused her mother, Faye seemed pleased to hear the pastor was there for supper.

  It would have been rude not to invite him. Or so Aubrey had told herself, not wanting him to leave after their conversation on the porch. It hadn’t taken much persuasion as Peyton readily accepted. When she assured him Macy was welcome to come inside, it was settled. The well-behaved retriever disappeared beneath the kitchen table, curling up at Peyton’s feet.

  “Aubrey, I had no idea you could cook like this,” her mother said, patting her untamed curls as she took a seat at the table. “I doubt folks up in New York eat like this. Homemade chicken noodle soup, cornbread, and a fresh green salad? Much too down-home for all those sophisticated New Yorkers.”

  “Maybe,” Aubrey answered, “but all that takeout food gets tiresome after a while. I’ve deliberately started cooking more in the last year or so.”

  “It looks delicious,” Peyton said, accepting the bowl Aubrey handed him before she took her seat.

  “Pastor, would you pray for us this evening,” Faye asked as the three of them joined hands.

  “I’d be honored, Faye.”

  They bowed their heads as he began.

  “Father, thank you for Your presence here with us. I thank You for the hands that prepared this meal, and the kindness of Faye and Aubrey inviting me here this evening. Please continue to comfort them for the one whose chair sits empty here at this table. How grateful we are for the memories he left behind. For all Your blessings, we thank You, Lord. In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.”

  “Amen.”

  “Goodness, that was a sweet prayer,” Faye said, passing him a basket of cornbread squares. “Your prayers were the first thing I noticed about you when you came as our pastor. Poor Dr. McKetchan prayed the same prayers every Sunday. Word for word, as if by rote. I suppose that’s why yours were such a welcome relief.”

  “Thank you, Faye, but I’m sure his heart was in the right place.”

  “Aubrey, honey, this soup is delicious. Not sure I ever tasted better. You’ll have to give me your recipe.”

/>   “It’s yours, Mom. I added a little more seasoning, but it’s the same one you always made when I was growing up.”

  “Is it?” She glanced up at Aubrey, then quickly smiled at Peyton. “Well, then, that must be why it’s so good.”

  They shared a laugh and chatted through the rest of the meal. When Faye brought up Harley’s death, Peyton carefully sidestepped her questions and attempted to change the subject.

  “Aubrey seemed so surprised when I told her Jed used to play poker a couple of times a month with Harley. She had no idea.”

  “Oh?” he said, turning his attention to Aubrey.

  “I just never knew Dad to—”

  “And just before I fell asleep earlier, I remembered one time when he said Harley got upset because he’d lost all evening. Mind you, they didn’t play with money, Pastor. Just nickels and dimes, I’m sure. But Jed was so shocked at Harley’s behavior. Said it wasn’t like Harley to lose his temper and use such language.”

  “Do you remember when that was, Mom?” Aubrey asked.

  “Not that long ago. Maybe five or six months? Or maybe only three? I don’t really know.”

  Aubrey met Peyton’s eyes; their communication silent.

  “Probably about the time he got into all that gambling,” Faye continued. “I heard all the gossip after he disappeared. Folks would come into the shop and want to chat about it. I remember being so surprised to hear he was mixed up in such a thing. Only goes to show you never know about folks. And Jed … well, he wouldn’t engage in those conversations. But I know he was disappointed nonetheless.”

  “In Harley?” Aubrey asked.

  “Yes, but so was I.”

  Later, Peyton thanked them for dinner and said he needed to return home. Faye fussed over him as she said goodnight, then insisted on cleaning the dishes so Aubrey could see him and Macy to the door.

  “Macy, it’s been nice getting to know you,” Aubrey said, running her hand along the dog’s back. “You’re welcome to stop by anytime, okay?”

  “There’ll be no living with her now,” Peyton said, opening the door. “Especially since you introduced her to cornbread. Which, I have to say, was amazing. Never tasted cornbread like that before. What’s your secret?”

  She followed him and Macy out onto the front porch. “Sorry, but some secrets aren’t meant to be shared.”

  “Why is that?”

  She leaned over to give the dog’s chin a hearty scratch. “Just a girl thing. Right, Macy?”

  When she stood again, Peyton closed the gap between them, his hand reaching down for hers as a weary half-smile graced his face. He started to say something … then didn’t.

  She waited, uncertain as he hesitated. Then slowly, gently, he leaned closer, his cheek touching hers. Butterflies flitted through her chest as her fingers curled in his. He pulled back, his kind eyes searching hers. Another moment of hesitation. Then, he simply closed his eyes and tenderly kissed her lips.

  As no one had ever kissed her before.

  She wasn’t ready for it to end when he said goodnight and turned to go, but that was probably best.

  It occurred to her as she watched them go that his was a kiss she could get used to. With a smile, she turned and made her way back inside.

  Chapter 12

  Tuesday morning arrived early on a brisk northern breeze. A chill blew through Peyton when he opened his back porch door for Macy to go out, so he grabbed his old fleece jacket and put it on before stepping outside. Coffee and Bible in hand, he took his seat on the old rocker and settled in for his morning visit with the Lord. He started every day this way, a routine he never even had to think about. A habit as normal as the sun rising in the east and the autumn leaves changing color.

  But this morning he struggled. He spent the first hour reading his Bible and praying, but the words only skimmed the surface of his angst. He searched for wisdom and understanding of the strange and troublesome turn of events surrounding Harley’s death. And with a troubling thread of reluctance, he prayed once more for God to help him forgive the brother who’d never caused him anything but pain.

  That, he found the most difficult of all.

  Somewhere in the midst of his wandering prayers, he remembered the kiss he’d shared with Aubrey last night. The closeness he’d felt to her in that moment; the only bright spot in an otherwise miserable Monday. They’d arrived so unexpected, these feelings that seemed to emerge out of thin air, surprising him beyond words. He thanked God for the curious circumstances that brought them together in the first place and the attraction he felt toward her, though he certainly hadn’t known her long. More than just the physical nearness they’d shared, he felt drawn to her in ways he couldn’t quite explain. Such an easy companionship that blossomed when he least expected it.

  At such a time as this.

  Then again, God knew how all of this would unfold. None of it surprised the Almighty.

  He picked up his cell phone, debating whether or not to call her. It was still early, and she might still be asleep. And face it, he didn’t have a legitimate reason to call. He tapped the phone against his knee, wondering if it was too soon to call just to hear her voice.

  Maybe. Then again, surely a text message couldn’t hurt. Right?

  He started a message. Good morning, Aubrey. How are you?

  Delete, delete, delete.

  He tried again. Hi Aubrey. I hope you slept well.

  Delete, delete, delete.

  And again. You were on my mind this morning, and I wondered if you’d like to meet me for breakfast—

  The cell phone rang in his hand, startling him. He didn’t recognize the local number but answered anyway. “Hi, this is Peyton.”

  “Oh Peyton, thank God you … I’m … I can’t—”

  “Kathleen?” Hysteria ripped her words apart, but he recognized her voice. “Kathleen, where are you?”

  “I’m, I’m at home … I just got back in town late last night, and Jeff came over, and oh God, he told me … about Harley—”

  “Kathleen, stay where you are. I’m on my way.”

  He whistled for Macy to come in, quickly tossed a scoop of dog food in her bowl, and dashed out the garage door. Five minutes later, he pulled into Kathleen’s driveway, then hustled up the steps and knocked on the door.

  Kathleen threw it open, her face crumbling as he opened his arms to hug her.

  “I’m so sorry, Kathleen.”

  She wept as he held her, crying out her brother’s name over and over. He prayed silently for the right words to say. When she’d exhausted her tears, she stepped back, wiping both eyes with a wrinkled handkerchief as she struggled to speak.

  “I just can’t … Peyton, I can’t understand … why? Why wouldn’t he … listen to me?”

  “I don’t know, Kathleen,” he said, guiding her toward the living room. “Harley was one of a kind. He was like no one else I’ve ever known, but one thing we both know about him. He had a mind of his own, and one that wasn’t often open to the advice of others. I’m sure no one knows that better than you.”

  She took a seat in an easy chair, still wiping her eyes. Wadded tissues covered the small table beside her. “I’m so sorry for you to see me like this. I’m a mess. My house is a mess—”

  “None of which matters right now. Have you had coffee this morning?”

  “No, not yet. It was after midnight by the time Jeff and Cameron left last night. I hate to admit it, Peyton, but I had a lot to drink after they left.”

  “Don’t worry about it. You stay where you are, and I’ll make us some coffee.”

  He found a Keurig on the granite kitchen counter with a basket of pods beside it and set the first cup to brew. He tried to organize his thoughts, knowing he must guard what he said. The mere fact that Kathleen had called him indicated that Jeff had made no mention of him as a person of interest. For that he was grateful. But he was here as Kathleen’s pastor and friend. Nothing more. He must guard that fine line between pastora
l compassion and personal questions about Harley’s murder.

  A few minutes later, he handed Kathleen a mug of coffee, holding another for himself.

  “Thank you, Peyton.”

  “You’re welcome.” He took a seat on the sofa adjacent to her. “We can talk if you’d like, or we can just sit in silence. Whatever you prefer.”

  “No, I need your help.” She leaned back, her fingers wrapped around the mug of coffee resting on her lap. “I need you to help me make sense of this.”

  “Then why don’t you tell me what Jeff said. I’m sure he told you about our Sunday service.”

  She nodded, closing her eyes. “I keep picturing the scene in my mind. I heard the words Jeff used. The scene as he described it.” She placed a hand over her heart as a tear slipped from her eye. “But it just hurts too much.”

  “I know.”

  She opened her eyes again. “You were there. You saw him? In the water?”

  “Yes.”

  She shuddered as another moment of silence passed between them. Then came the questions. He answered as best he could.

  “Jeff told me they can’t yet be sure that he was killed there in the baptistry,” she said. “Since there was no water in Harley’s lungs, he said it’s possible he may have been killed elsewhere, then moved to the baptistry once it was filled.”

  Peyton guarded his reaction. “I suppose that’s a possibility.”

  “But you know how big Harley was. Must have taken at least a couple of strong guys to carry him into the church and down those steps.”

  “I suppose so.”

  But the longer they talked, Kathleen’s grief gradually heated to a slow-simmering anger. “I knew it would come to this one day. Harley has fought his demons since he was just a boy. Our parents were amused by him, thought he was so clever and entertaining. At some point, I think they gave up trying to discipline him, which aggravated me to no end. They spoiled him rotten.

  “But I loved him, Peyton. I’m not sure why, because he caused me nothing but grief for as long as I can remember. That may not make sense to you—”

  “Actually, it does. The same could be said for my own brother. Nothing but heartache.”