His gaze roved over Harvey, wide-eyed at first, but then relaxing. “This is a pantry for single mothers. Hardworking members of this church made these donations. Explain yourself.”
“I—” The words lodged in his throat. He dredged up the image of what this man saw in him. Hair overlong, face stubbled. Ill-fitting clothes. Sandals with his toes hanging over the edge. Bulging bag across his shoulder full of stolen charity. He inhaled and released the air, and with it came a lie so smooth he stunned himself. “I didn’t know what else to do. My sister just had a baby. Her boyfriend left her, and I . . . I . . . The baby needs food. And then when the door was unlocked . . .” He lifted the bag from his shoulder, holding it out as an offering. “Please. I’ll leave this here. You’ll never see me again. Just don’t . . . She needs me . . .”
But the man had already grabbed a phone from the dock on the wall. He ran his hand through his dark hair, taking it from tidy to disheveled in seconds. Harvey’s eyes darted to the open door behind him. How far could he get with Ivy before the police caught up? A lightning bolt raced from his brain to his feet. His breath caught.
“Hey, Miri. I’m sorry. I know I told you I’d be home earlier and it’s—” He flicked a glance at the gold watch on his wrist.
The pastor’s weary tone rooted Harvey in place.
“Oh, wow, later than I thought. Well, I know I said—”
The man’s head dropped forward, and he massaged the bridge of his nose.
“Okay, I’ll make it up to you, I promise. You know how it is, trying to adjust—”
Silence stretched to the corners of the room. Harvey’s pulse throbbed in his ears.
“Yes, dear. Anyway, I called to tell you I’ve had a delay. There’s been a . . . uh . . . a man came to get help. I’ll try to hurry your way. I love—”
The man held the phone in front of his face, wincing when the disconnecting beep cut off his sentiment.
Harvey took two steps back.
“Wait.”
Ragged breaths heaved Harvey’s shoulders.
“Don’t go. I really do want to help.”
Harvey stared at the ground. “She needs me. She doesn’t have anyone else.”
The man tapped his index finger against his lips. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about landscaping or maintenance work, would you? I happen to have a position open here at the church.” A crooked smile softened the man’s face.
“A job?” Harvey started shaking. From relief? Or was it because every chirp and squeak in the night might be Ivy about to wail? Or an opossum in the woods? His pulse upticked again. Surely an opossum wouldn’t bother a baby though.
“The pay isn’t great, but it’ll give you something steady. The church has an assistance program for single mothers too, if your sister is interested.”
“Oh.” Harvey shook his head. There should be blue lights flashing outside the door by now. Instead, this man was offering him a job. The thief asked to be the groundskeeper. At a church.
The pastor’s shoulders slumped a fraction. “So it’s a no, then?”
“No, sir. I’ll take it. I just didn’t expect . . .”
“I’m Pastor Thomas Lashley, by the way.” He stepped forward, hand out.
Harvey stared at the outstretched hand a beat, then remembered what was expected. He clasped the man’s perfectly manicured hand but kept his eyes lowered while the pastor pumped his arm. “Harvey, sir. Harvey James.”
The pastor stilled the handshake. “Say, you look familiar. Have we—”
Harvey slipped his grease-stained palm away, slick with sweat, and shoved it into his pocket. “Uh, no, sir. I don’t think so.” He backed toward the door, eyes trained on the concrete floor. As he stepped across the threshold, pushing the creaking door wide, Ivy cried out.
“Harvey?”
Dread twisted in his gut. He’d been so close.
“Can you be here at nine?”
Harvey released a shuddered breath. “I’ll be here.”
“Oil that old door first thing, if you don’t mind. It’s been driving me crazy.”
“Yes, sir.”
Harvey closed the door behind him. Through the glass, he watched the pastor trudge back up the stairs like he had lead in his shoes. Harvey let out another long, rattled sigh and then raced to the chokeberry bushes.
Miriam Lashley sat cross-legged in the middle of the second-floor room. Empty. And so was the room. She swallowed, ashamed of the way she’d spoken to Thomas.
But when he called, he’d caught her sitting in the middle of this room again—the room he’d begged her to fill with an office, a hobby, a library, anything but the useless space it was. Guilt and shame, pain and sorrow—emotions that lingered and wouldn’t leave her—twisted her inside until her words came out harsh and cold, exposing the emptiness she couldn’t seem to shake. But no words could explain that though the space appeared vacant, it was already full. Full of disappointment for what should have been.
Miriam stood and smoothed the red curls that had gone frizzy in the Tennessee humidity away from her face. Even her hair missed life in California. Walking to the open door, she turned and her gaze lingered on the braided rug in the center of the hardwood floor. Thom had called half an hour ago. He’d be home any minute. She turned away and closed the door behind her.
Each hundred-year-old step creaked underfoot as she made her way downstairs to the kitchen. She popped his plate in the microwave and stared at her modern decor out of sync with the beadboard backsplash.
Miriam released a weary sigh. Why did she worry so much about cooking his meal to perfection, knowing he’d linger at the church late into the night while his food congealed on the plate? She wiped a smudge from her mother’s recipe box—filled with step-by-step instructions and dependable outcomes.
“Miri.” Thomas’s smooth voice broke through the silence.
She spun around, heart skittering in her chest.
A sad smile stretched one side of his face. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She flicked a glance over him. “You look like you’ve been mugged.”
His eyes widened. He smoothed the hair standing wild on his head, then removed the loosened tie and draped it over the dining room chair.
It was no wonder the church grew at such a rapid rate back in California. When he was put together, he fit the part. Voice, warm and soothing. Handsome. Young but not too young—appealing to the upper-middle-class businessmen and their pretty wives who were building companies and growing families. He spoke with a conviction that even made Miriam believe they’d be all right the first time he’d said it. But they weren’t. She tore her gaze away and went for the dinner waiting in the microwave.
He sat with his elbows propped on the table, face resting in his hands. “Whew. It’s been a day, Miri.”
Full of sitting in rocking chairs with the elderly? She bit her lip and slid the steaming plate in front of him. Truthfully, she hadn’t a clue of what pastoring the small-town church entailed. Hadn’t been in the frame of mind to care anything about this new life her husband had chosen for them.
She lifted her gaze from the congregant-donated farm table—the only item in the old house that looked like it belonged. When they’d opened their moving van on arrival, it was immediately apparent the massive glass-top table hadn’t survived their tire blowing out two miles from their exit. She still couldn’t shake the image of the man who came out of nowhere to help Thomas in the pouring rain.