Flee From Evil (7 page)

Vince uncrossed his arms.

“I awganize. Later, I show ‘ou.”

Vince started to turn.

“Den ‘ou tell me what nex.”

“Okay Amit.”

Vince wasn’t sure what to think, but figured he’d let the guy go, and see what happened. What harm could he do? He glanced to the heavens. “God, I’m giving this over to You.”

Entering his office, Vince took in the faint scent of Cass’s cologne still lingering in the air. Or was that his imagination? Her presence dogged him everywhere he went since that day she showed up in church. The chair in front of his desk seemed to vibrate from her energy.

He’d had this crazy fantasy that he’d explain his actions, beg forgiveness, and she’d accept it. He shook his head at the uselessness of the thought. She could never forgive him. He wouldn’t if he were her.

Vince sat at his desk, fired off a few emails, polished this week’s sermon, and glanced at his watch. An hour had passed, and Amit hadn’t come looking for him. How long did it take the man to organize a closet? He’d better check on him.

When he’d entered the supply room, the place looked sparse. Nothing tossed here or there, but placed by the way each item was to be used. It even smelled better.

Vince ran a finger along a shelf and rubbed it with his thumb. No dust. The floor didn’t even have that gritty crunch it usually had when he walked inside.

But where was the man? Had he disappeared from whence he came?

Yolanda appeared at the door. “Who’s—? What happened in here?”

“We finally got someone from The Home. He organized.”

Her gaze ran the length of the space. “That must be the guy singin’ in the ladies’ room.”

“His name is Amit.”

“Well he can come to my house any day.” Her eyebrows see-sawed. “Just don’t let him join the choir.” Yolanda pivoted and headed toward the office.

Vince stood outside the ladies’ room door propped open with a wringing bucket, and listened to the boisterous voice echo from the tile in song. “Anyone in there?”

“Juss me, Passa Vince.”

Vince entered and followed the singing to the far corner stall where shiny black shoes peeked out on the floor through the opened door. Amit, on hands and knees, scrubbed the base of the toilet with a small brush.

Vince stood over him, hands on hips.

Amit peeked back then stopped as if caught. “Oh! Uh-oh. I fawgot to tell ‘ou.” He pointed to the crevices where blackened grout had been replaced by clean surfaces. “Verwy bad. I stawt here.”

Vince just watched.

“Lazy men aw soon poor. Hawd workaws get wich.”

“Yes, that’s true.” Vince couldn’t remember the terms of payment he’d promised The Home.

“Goss Word.”

Vince smiled.

Amit wiggled his fingers for Vince to leave. “Hard work means posperwity. Oney a fool idles away hiss time.”

“Okay, Amit. I’ll get back to work then.”

Chapter Six

Vince didn’t like that twinkle in Billy Lewis’s eye when he looked up from the counter in the office of his auto-repair garage.

The fu-man-chu bent up. “What brings you here, today, Vince?” There was a definite lilt in his voice, as if he’d expected the visit.

“Oil change.” Vince didn’t look to see the incredulity likely stretched across his best friend’s face.

Billy checked his watch. “It hasn’t been a year yet.”

“You told me to bring it every three months or three-thousand miles.”

Billy tapped at the keyboard in front of him. “I’ve been telling you that for ten years now, and you still go six, at least. What gives?”

Obviously, Billy already knew. Vince just couldn’t say the words, so instead he dropped his attention to the grime-covered floor. “You ever clean this place?”

Billy strolled around the counter and laid a beefy forearm across Vince’s shoulder. “Come on, Vince. Fess up.”

Vince chewed his lip. “Look, I finally make it in for regular car maintenance and you give me grief.”

“Fine, let’s get your car on the rack. Give me the keys, and I’ll have it ready for you in a half hour.”

Vince slapped the fob into the man’s hand, and Billy drove the Elantra into the shop. “I got it from here. Have a seat in the waiting room.”

Vince didn’t move from the concrete floor of the bay as Billy stepped out of the car. Billy shook his head. “It’s the woman isn’t it?”

“What woman?”

Billy squinted. “Just cuz I don’t got your high-priced education doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”

Vince glared back. “Enough with the ‘dumb-redneck-pride’ junk and help me out, here.”

Here it comes. “What do ya mean ‘dumb red-neck pride?’” Billy looked about to pounce.

“That’s where you get all offended ’cause I insulted your intelligence, then puffed up because you know you have more common sense than the book-learnin’ dude.”

“I don’t do that.”

“You do it all the time, Billy.”

“Do not.”

“Come on, Billy. Can’t you see I’m having a hard time?”

Billy’s head shook. “That’s what I’ve been saying. You’re the one denying it.”

“Fine. You’re smarter than I am. Okay?”

Billy’s chest lifted. “Nah. Just got more common sense.”

Vince sagged his shoulders.

“Sorry, man.” Billy rolled his hands in a move-along gesture. “Empty up. You obviously need something.”

“I’m not sure I can put words to it.” Vince leaned against a greasy work table, only to get his tan Dockers smudged.

“How about the full-on truth.”

“You can’t say anything to Kat.”

Billy stilled and stared. Vince almost snapped his fingers in front of the man’s eyes to see if he was still awake.

Finally he spoke. “Do you seriously believe you can keep anything from that woman? She’s like an x-ray machine on steroids. Don’t even try to hide information from her. Once she sniffs blood, she hones in for the kill. You know how she hates secrets. Even her own.” He grimaced. “Not to mention mine.”

“That’s because she thinks everyone is as non-judgmental as she is.” Vince sighed. “Which is why I need to talk to
you
. I’ll shield myself from her later.”

Billy grimaced. “Good luck.” The facial hair bent. “So tell me ‘bout the red-head.”

“Auburn.”

“Fine. Auuuuuburn,” he elaborated in a stuffy accent.

Vince rubbed his goatee.

Billy pulled a rag from his back pocket and handed it to Vince. “Got grease on your face.”

Great. “I knew her from the country club.” He wiped at his cheek.

Billy pointed to the other side of his face. “Figured that. She had a sort of uppity air.”

Vince shook his head. “That’s only ’cause she hates me. She was a waitress there.”

“Wow, Vince. I didn’t think it was possible for a female to hate you.”

“Oh, it’s possible. She’s the president of the ‘Hate Vince’ Fan club.”

“What’d’ya do to her.”

“She’s the one I told you about before.”

Billy whistled. “Oooooh. That one.”

“Yeah.”

Billy took back the rag from Vince and wiped his fingers as if removing Vince’s stain from them. “Sorry to hear that, man.”

“I don’t know what to do about it. She’s Greta Hessing’s daughter.”

“Well, maybe she won’t come back to church, and you won’t have to do anything.”

Vince rolled a stray bolt on the floor with the toe of his loafer. “Except that I sort of hired her to develop the special needs program.” He winced.

Billy had that staring look again, complete with open mouth.

This time Vince did snap his fingers. “Billy?”

“You what?”

“I hired her to coordinate the special needs program.” Vince’s voice came out like a little-boy confession.

“Why, on God’s green earth, would you do such a thing.”

“Your wife made me.”

“You’re blaming this on Kat?”

Vince waved his hands in the air. “We were at the shop. Kat found out she needed a job and had the right experience. She sort of cornered me. Gave me those eyes she does when you know she won’t let something go.”

Billy expelled a burst of air. “Yeah, I know that look. Sorry, man. So what are you going to do?”

“Well, I finagled it so she could work from home. She came to me with a plan that wouldn’t require us getting together much.”

“Glad I wasn’t a fly on
that
wall.”

“Tell me about it. I barely breathed.”

“So she’s really going to be the coordinator?”

“Yep.” The word came from the side of his mouth.

“What were we saying about common sense?”

Vince glared.

Billy slapped a palm on Vince’s shoulder. “I’m prayin’ for you pastor.” He shook his weary head. “Yer gonna need it.”

~*~

Vince grasped the hand of the last congregant in the line after service. He blew an exhausted sigh and headed toward the offices. Lately, his job seemed more wearying than ever. The same faces came in and out of the doors. No new souls saved. No additional lives recovered. No cries of joy in heaven for the newly found. What a let down from his first two years. Pastor John believed his sermons had increased the membership one-hundred percent, which prompted the building of additional space in the sanctuary.

Amit stood in front of him as if to block his steps. He looked awful dapper in his suit and tie. Vince hadn’t expected the man to come to services when he started working on the janitorial staff. He just wanted to provide a job to someone from The Home. It was part of his plan to help those with special needs.

“For de revelation awaits un appointed time; it speaks of de end and will not pwoove false.” Amit’s eyelids fluttered. “Dough it lingers, wait fo’ it; it will certainwy come and will not deway.”

Vince smiled at the man, then realized he’d quoted from Habakkuk rather than his usual Proverbs. Had he finally moved onto another book?

As if to answer the question Vince hadn’t voiced, Amit said, “Wet your eyes wook stwait ahead, fix your gaze duwectly before ou—Pwovers 4:25.”

“Yes, Amit. You’re learning those well.” Vince was amazed at how he could memorize so much scripture word-for-word. It was kind of funny how the simple man had mostly chosen Proverbs to quote—the book of wisdom. He probably didn’t even know what the words meant. Still, Vince wished his parishioners took as much time to learn scripture as Amit did.

Amit tugged at the lapels of his crisply ironed navy suit jacket displaying a proud smile, and walked away.

Fix your gaze directly before you.
The words fluttered in Vince’s mind for some reason.
Wait for the appointed time.
A shiver rippled through him. He shook his head and walked on through the hallway.

Is this all there is, Lord?
His heart cried out. Was his usefulness waning? Would he only preach to the choir now? He wanted to do more. He’d spent years at his old haunt, The Dock Bar and Grill, hoping to recover an old friend from his former lawless life. But though they tolerated him—and his profession—it came more in the form of teasing than it did movement toward any real faith of their own. Vince knew these things took time, but somehow—today—it felt meaningless. Like it wasn’t enough.

His thoughts ran to Cass again, and her lack of presence in the pews. Her mom was there with Cass’s kids, which only made the pew seem more empty. The hole in his chest grew wider, knowing she’d never forgive him. There was nothing he could do to cleanse what he’d done to her. He’d betrayed her in the worst possible way. Led her to believe in him—in them—only for her to discover it hadn’t been real. Or at least that’s what he’d tried to tell himself back then. It had only been a game. One that had left him less in control of his feelings than before it had started. What he’d done to her that night was unforgivable.

Vince’s steps shuffled along the carpeted floor, his hands stuffed in his pockets. A couple volunteers from classrooms greeted him on their way out. He smiled, nodded and whispered goodbyes, but his heart lay in his shoes.

“Pastor Vince.”

He began to hate the sound of his name and title as people called to him, wanting him to lead them here, guide them there. Pray for them. Heal them. Didn’t they know he was just a man? Didn’t they know he needed guiding, prayer, and healing too?

“Pastor Vince.” Greta Hessing’s voice. Cass’s mom.

He turned. Mrs. Hessing dragged Cass’s son along as the teen girl followed closely behind. Mrs. Hessing stopped short and tilted her head. “Are you okay?”

He forced a smile all the way through his eyes. A skill his father had taught him. “’Course I am. What’s up?” He needed to be strong for his congregation so they would know God was working in his life.

“I just wanted to introduce my grandkids to you.” She wrapped an arm around the dark-haired teen. “This is Sophie.” And patted the blond boy’s head. “This is Tibo.”