She stowed the letter and straightened. “Of course.”
He closed the door behind him and sat in the chair opposite her desk. He sighed. “I have some unfortunate news. I’ve been putting this off, trying everything I can to fix it.” He rubbed the space between his eyebrows. “A few days ago, we lost one of our major donors to the school.”
Ivy pressed her fingertips over her mouth to mask her trembling bottom lip.
“Unfortunately, we’re having to make some cuts. I can’t tell you how much this pains me to tell you this, but we don’t have the budget for two counselors next year, and Marilyn has seniority. Please understand this is no reflection on your abilities.”
She attempted to inhale a solid breath, but she’d forgotten how in the midst of piecing together his words. “Yes, sir. I understand.”
Ivy folded her hands in her lap, fighting for professionalism, stuffing down what she really wanted to do. To yell and cry, to rip things from the shelves.
Principal Watkins stood. “Again, I’m so sorry to be the bearer of such bad news. Truly, I wish you all the best. And if something changes, you’re the first person I’ll call. I wanted to give you as much heads-up as possible so that you can secure a new position before next school year. I’ll write any recommendation letter you need.” He offered her a sympathetic smile. “You’re a wonderful young lady and you’ve been such a fantastic part of our team.”
She nodded her thanks, her words wedged and jumbled in her mind. He graciously exited the room. Ivy propped her elbows on her desk and buried her face in her hands, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes. She would not cry. Could not. If she started, she might not ever stop.
She lifted her head at the faint squeak of her office door.
Cheryl crossed the room and wrapped her in a hug.
Ivy took a slow breath. “You heard?”
She nodded against the top of Ivy’s head.
“Was it him? Did he do this?”
Cheryl sat back on her heels, crouched by Ivy’s desk. “You didn’t hear it from me. I’m not supposed to know these details in the first place, but I saw a fax come through from a certain law office.”
So Seth wasn’t bluffing. He really had made her job at the school happen—and with the stroke of a pen, he’d ended it.
CHAPTER
NINE
SEPTEMBER 9, 1994
The churchyard was still and quiet. Harvey swallowed, struggling against the lump of dread in his throat. That pastor had been willing to give him a chance, and he was late for his first day.
A breath lodged in his ribs as he took the first step on the tall stack of stairs leading to the arched front door—its vibrant red paint peeled, revealing hints of brown beneath.
Sleeping Ivy expelled a whisper-soft sigh, steeling his resolve. He mounted the stairs and pulled the handle on the towering doors.
Harvey’s sandaled feet echoed on the floor of the foyer. He inhaled the faint scent of wood polish and old carpet. Soon his footsteps became muffled by the red runner that lined the center aisle of the sanctuary.
The ceiling, vaulted with intricate trim work draped in cobwebs, was high enough he didn’t feel caged. The tall stained-glass windows every few feet spilled colored light across the length of the building. It made sense why people came here in search of peace.
He ran his hand over the corner of the back pew, the finish worn away in that place as if every congregant had touched the same spot coming and going.
Someone cleared their throat and snuffed into a tissue, the sound echoing in the empty expanse. The pastor sat in the front row, facing the pulpit. Harvey took halting steps forward, touching the corner of each of the twenty pews on his right, as if the repetition would anchor him to the place.
His employment was likely ending before it ever started. If the job was still his, he faced the next impossible task—hiding a sleeping baby bound to his middle.
The pastor straightened and turned in his seat. “Harvey. You’re here. I didn’t hear you come in. I was lost in prayer or thought. Maybe somewhere in between.” With a sheepish expression on his face, he swiped quickly at his cheek and stood.
Harvey’s heart thumped. He’d wake the baby with the racket going on inside of him.
Pastor Thomas checked his gold watch as Harvey approached.
“I’m sorry, sir. I walked the floor with my sister’s baby all night. I didn’t mean to oversleep.” He winced. Coming to church was making a liar out of him.
“Harvey, you’re five minutes early.”
“Oh.” He wanted to melt into a puddle on the floor, all the dread dissolving in a moment. He willed his knees to solidify.
The pastor lowered his head as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you own a watch?”
Harvey swallowed. Humiliation sure had a bitter taste. “I . . . I did, but . . .”
Thomas unhinged the clasp at his wrist and wiggled his arm until the watch slipped into his palm. He stretched the watch toward Harvey. “Here. It’s yours.”
Harvey stepped back and stared at his shoes with his chest heaving. “No, sir. No, that’s not—”
“Take it. I don’t need it. I have a box full of them at home.”
Harvey froze.
Thomas stepped forward, took Harvey by the forearm, and pressed the watch in his palm. Harvey closed his fingers around the weighty timepiece—the smooth sweep of the second hand kept time of the awkward silence.
Stepping back, Thomas cleared his throat. “For today, I guess walk around the grounds and get your bearings. You’ll know what needs to be done better than I would. Just stop by my office before you leave today, okay?” He nodded a dismissal and headed for the door to the left of the platform.
Taking measured steps out of the church, Harvey fought to get oxygen through the band squeezing his chest. When the outside air hit his face, he wrapped his arms around the baby snuggled to his middle and fled for the side of the church—the hidden side lined by the woods. Backing against the building, his knees wobbled beneath him. In one hand he clenched the watch, in the other he gripped his hair.
What did that pastor possibly think he could get out of Harvey? Giving him a job without checking him out first. The high-end watch. Harvey heaved shuddering breaths.
Ivy squeaked. He slid to the ground to sit and laid his cheek on her head.
Pearl Howard scuffed into the kitchen in her pink bunny slippers to refill her coffee cup. Today’s choice was the yellow one with pansies—the cup she always chose when she woke with the impression it was going to be a good day.
Catching her reflection in the window, she retied her bright Chinese kimono, then patted her brittle blue-gray hair. She kissed her fingertips and pressed them onto the silver-framed photograph of her son resting in her kitchen windowsill, so handsome in his military uniform. And then she did the same to the picture of her husband who stood in front of the church in his classic navy suit and red tie.
She peered out the window at the black sedan in the parking lot. Was the young pastor from California already at the church? Bless his heart.
Her husband, the shepherd of that flock for forty years, was a tough act to follow, especially in this tight-knit community. Pastor Thomas had a good heart, but he was trying too hard.