Castles in the Sand (13 page)

Her office was scarcely larger than a closet with one slit of a window. She’d moved into it after giving up her duties as Sunday school director. There was no need for her former big office. Occasional meetings with congregants to plan social events like weddings and funerals did not require much space. Tucked away at the end of the hall also made the office an ideal hideaway for Pugsy, who was allowed nowhere else in the building.

She hung up her coat, put out food and water for the dog, powdered her nose, reapplied eye shadow and lipstick. Procrastinating? Enough spare time to greet Drake before the rehearsal began was almost gone.

She went back down the hall to his door, rapped twice, and opened it.

He looked up, phone pressed to his ear. Brows met above his nose, and eyes squinted nearly shut.

She smiled and waved.

He held up a hand and spread his fingers. Five minutes.

Susan backed out and shut the door.

“Susan!”

She turned to see Gwyn in the lobby and went out to meet her. As always whenever she happened to meet Gwyn there, she remembered how they had first met that night many years ago. Gwyn had lain just outside the door, a bloody heap. How the woman managed to even walk over that same spot week after week confounded Susan.

Gwyn grabbed her in a hug. “Am I glad to see you! I know now what your unspoken prayer request was!”

Every muscle in Susan’s body constricted.

Gwyn released her and whispered, “It’s the Hathaways, isn’t it? I mean, dear God! Five hundred invitations! Fourteen attendants! Not counting the flower girl and ring bearer! Catered buffet right here! Two weeks before Easter! No wonder you had to get away.”

Gwyn would not have known such details unless she’d somehow become involved. Susan found her voice. “What happened?”

“No worries. Melinda called Drake on Wednesday.” She referred to the bride’s mother. “He called Tess. She called me. It was a technical issue with the florist. I handled it. Every single petal contracted for will arrive tomorrow morning on schedule.”

“Whew. Thank you, Gwyn.”

“You are so welcome. I was delighted to find a literal way to be there for you.” She smiled. “I thought I could at least give you some moral support at the rehearsal tonight. But I confess, I wouldn’t blame you for not showing up. Yikes. Then they’d be looking to me. How do you handle this stress?”

She shrugged. “Weddings don’t happen every month.”

“Do you feel more rested now?”

She stretched the corners of her mouth upward. “I’m just fine.”
No longer hovering on the edge of a nervous breakdown. At least I think not
. “I appreciate you coming. Would you mind making sure all the lights are on in the sanctuary? And maybe see if Melinda is around yet? I’ll be right there. I have to talk to Drake for a minute.”

“Of course.” She flashed her dazzling smile. “Welcome back.”

As Gwyn headed the other direction, Susan reentered the main office and sat down to wait.

She noticed a tightness in her chest now accompanied the stomach pain.

The story of Queen Esther approaching the quarters of King Ahasuerus without an invitation took on a brand-new meaning. Not that Drake had the power to sentence the uninvited to death…It was nothing like that. The comparison was silly.

But the pain didn’t go away.

“I’ve missed you, Susan.” Drake hugged her briefly in his doorway. He wasn’t into public displays of affection. For him that meant anywhere in the church, even if the entire building was unoccupied. “How was traffic?” He crossed his office and went around the desk.

“Not bad.” She wanted a hug, a proper one in strong arms that promised safety. “Rush hour added a little travel time.”

“Naturally. It’s after three o’clock.” He arranged his desktop, shuffling papers, moving pens. Avoiding eye contact. “We almost had a fiasco with the Hathaways.”

“Gwyn just told me. She said it’s all taken care of.”

“Mmm. I thought Tess could handle it.”

“Gwyn is a little better at this sort of thing.”

“This sort of trivial thing, you mean.” The nuance in his voice came through loud and clear. Something about Gwyn bothered him. Not that he’d ever confessed that outright, but he always seemed disinterested in talking with or about her.

Come to think of it, he wasn’t all that keen on any of the Martha Mavens. Except for maybe Tess, the one with an official title, director of women’s ministries.

Susan said, “I suppose it is a trivial thing. Compared to Tess’ teaching of original Greek scriptures, weddings are insignificant.”

He slid shut a desk drawer and looked up. “We’d better go.”

The tightness in her chest had spread, constraining leg muscles and rooting her to the floor. “Drake, we need to talk.”

“You should have thought of that before choosing to stay at the beach until you knew the freeway would inevitably be gridlocked.”

“I’m—”

Drake screens every jot and tittle of what you do
.

Natalie’s admonition shot through her mind. It garbled the “sorry” on the tip of her tongue and shifted her thinking.

Drake was pouting. Drake pouted a lot.

She apologized a lot. She explained her decisions, usually before they were made, looking to him to screen every jot and tittle.

Enough was enough. She unclasped her hands and straightened her shoulders and pushed her voice up a notch to chimp level. “I’m going to check on the bride.”

Susan found Melinda Hathaway in the ladies’ washroom. Her daughter Bree was in a stall, behind its closed door, being loudly, obviously sick.

“Susan!” Melinda cried.

They exchanged a quick hug.

Susan said, “Gwyn told me the bride is not feeling well.” At the sound of gagging, she winced. “Don’t worry. This happens often. Nerves and all.”

Melinda’s smile fell short of spreading joy to her face. She was about Susan’s age and resembled the majority of women at Holy Cross, healthy, wealthy, attractive, chicly casual, tan, blond-streaked hair. Her daughter was a clone. Bree and Kenzie, though in the same class, had never been friends.

“Oh!” Bree groaned the other side of the door. “I hate barfing!”

Susan could see beneath the stall door that the girl was sitting on the floor.

“Mom, I think maybe I’m done—Oh! Nope!”

Melinda scrunched up her face and folded her arms over her stomach.

Susan smiled in sympathy.

A long moment later, all was quiet. Bree unlatched the door. “I don’t know why they call it morning sickness.” The door swung open. “It’s after five o’clock—Susan!”

The surprised gaze passed itself around from one woman to another. It circled another time. Bree’s pale face turned pink. Melinda’s bronzed tone went yellow.

Morning sickness.

Bree was pregnant.

Just like Kenzie.

Drake did not perform wedding ceremonies to expectant couples. After counseling he might consider marrying them in a small private affair in the chapel.

Melinda and Bree knew that. His stance was no secret to the congregation.

Drake would cancel the Hathaway wedding in a heartbeat. Or would he? Their tithe alone covered his generous salary.

No, Drake was not a hypocrite. He would stick to his guns.

And turn away another young woman who probably needed something besides her pastor’s disapproval.

Susan grabbed a handful of paper towels from the pile on the vanity and dampened them under the faucet. With the first genuine smile she’d felt in a very long time, she patted the young girl’s distraught face.

“Crackers help. Maybe you could slide one of those cellophane packets under your garter tomorrow?”

Late Friday night, Pepper snuggled against Mick’s arm. He held the book. They were on page 104.

She said, “There’s no other explanation. Someone must be praying for Susan. It’s a totally dramatic, overnight change.”

“Talk about totally dramatic. You could have knocked me down with a feather when I heard you’d gone to see her again. I’d say your attitude toward her was dramatically changed. Maybe someone’s praying for you too?”

No doubt he referred to himself. “Thanks.”

He glanced her way with a wink.

Where would she be without her husband? Most days she took his prayers for granted. His love was always there, as obvious and permanent as stars in a desert night sky.

Poor Susan! What a nightmare marriage! To run every thought past a husband’s scrutiny!

Mick turned the page. “What’s up?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re making that mumbo jumbo sound in your throat. It’s a dead giveaway you’re up to something.”

“Not necessarily.”

He grunted.

“Well, under other circumstances I’d invite the woman here for dinner.”

“Under other circumstances you wouldn’t know her to invite her to dinner.”

“Yeah, I would. Her daughter’s in the band. We’ve gotten together with other families through Aidan’s group.”

“Pep. The Starrs have never shown up for a concert except the one in their own church. They weren’t even at the airport when the kids left for Europe. I’d say they’re not interested.”

It was all true. Poor Kenzie! She didn’t stand a chance.

Mick laid the book on his lap. “The throat thing again. Invite her to dinner if you want. I don’t mind. Aidan might, but he doesn’t have to come.”

Pepper slid down until she was flat on her back, her head on the pillow. “That’s not it.”

“What is it?” He leaned over her and put a little finger at her temple, catching the tear rolling toward her hairline. “Hmm?”

“I’m beginning to understand your mother.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Yeah.”

He smiled. “Is that so bad?”

“If it means I feel displaced and not in tune with my son and preoccupied with how to fix relationships so that said son will have an easier time of it, then yes, that is so bad.”

“You’ll get over it.” He kissed her forehead. “All things are possible with God.”

Matthew again. Or was it her Lord’s words?

“They were getting married today anyway.” Melinda Hathaway dabbed the corners of her eyes with a lacy handkerchief.

Susan reached over and squeezed her hand. They sat on a loveseat in a corner of a large comfortable room used by brides and their attendants as a dressing room. It was Saturday, the wedding day. Bree and her party of seven bridesmaids giggled and talked nonstop, too occupied to notice the teary-eyed, whispering women in the corner.

Melinda said, “She knows it was wrong.”

“Jesus forgives.”

Melinda nodded. “She knows that too.”

Susan smiled.

“Thank you for not telling Drake.”

Her smile wobbled. If he ever found out, would he forgive her?

Jesus forgives
.

She probably should have told him. As pastor he had a right to know. A truly submissive wife would have told him.

Or would she?

There were so many things to tell him. Bree Hathaway’s pregnancy ranked last in priority, way below other things. Things like the meeting with Pepper Carlucci and Susan’s unremitting heartache over separation from Kenzie.

After the rehearsal dinner the previous night, she and Drake arrived home exhausted. Still, she wanted to talk, to begin to describe her days away, but he had dozed off before she brushed her teeth. He mumbled goodnight and turned to hug the opposite edge of the king-size bed. She followed suit.

After a long time, Susan fell asleep basking in the memory of a warm fire on her face, Pugsy snoring in her lap, rain pattering against the window, and a worn book in her hand.

Drake left early that morning for a breakfast meeting, to be followed by other pastoral duties. They would meet up that afternoon for the wedding. Susan had spent her hours alone in a chair in the living room with a cup of tea and wondered yet again if she was losing her mind.

Listen to your heart, Suze
. Her sister-in-law’s advice struck again. Evidently the more Drake moved from her consciousness, the more the gospel according to Natalie moved in.

The morning passed before Susan budged from that chair. She had listened to her heart and made a very short list of desires. She desired not to lose her mind. She desired not to hover anywhere near nervous breakdown territory. What she did desire, truly and beyond a shadow of a doubt desired, was to reconcile with her daughter.