Heavens to Betsy (28 page)

I can’t believe he actually has that on his machine, but I’m sure his parishioners have become accustomed to his—shall we say “distinctive”?—sense of humor.

“Hey, David. It’s Betsy. Give me a call.” Just the right tone. Friendly, casual. No sign of the desperate spinster who flung herself at him two nights ago. “By the way, the betta died.” Why did I say that? “Not that it’s important. Or, I mean not that the information is important. Obviously the fish was important to me.” I’m babbling and I can’t stop. “Anyway, give me a call.”

I hang up as quickly as possible before I can do any more damage. Then I sit back in my desk chair, fold my hands in my lap, and pray.

LaRonda would chastise me for this passive approach to my predicament. I choose not to think of it as passivity but as strategic delay. But I can’t be strategic for too long. I only have until tomorrow to mount my defense.

Angelique reappears fifteen minutes later with a pink message slip in her hand. Ed’s been true to his word and has called a meeting of the personnel committee for 5:00 p.m. tomorrow here at the church. Apparently Edna possesses remarkable recuperative powers. Motivation is everything.

Then, twenty minutes later, when my stomachs starting to protest its lack of a noon feeding, a taller shadow darkens my doorway.

I’m so glad I’m sitting down. I’m even more delighted I was pretending to work on Sunday’s sermon while I waited for him to return my call. I lay down my pen and close the commentary on Romans without actually having read a word of it. Given my current situation, it’s hard to work up much enthusiasm for the pros and cons of circumcision among first-century Christians.

“This is a surprise.” I wish I’d made some attempt this morning to apply makeup to go with the stilettos. And my hair looks more Bozo than Britney.

“Hey, Betz.” He shifts from one foot to the other. “Can I come in?”

I hate this so much, this stupid awkwardness. All I want to do is spill my guts to my best pal. Instead, my stomach is in a tailspin over the surprise appearance of a man who makes me deeply aware I’m first and foremost a woman, not a preacher.

“Of course you can come in.” I don’t mean to bark the words. Great. Now I both look and sound like a terrier. Would it be awful if I excused myself long enough to run to the salon for a shampoo and style?

David slides into the chair so recently vacated by Ed. He swipes his hair out of his eyes (I’m usually the one who reminds him to get it cut) and rests one hand on each of his thighs. It’s a thoroughly masculine pose, and I can’t help it if I melt a little.

“How’ve you been?” he asks.

“Um…fine.” Is this a trick question? Does he really think I’m going to part with that kind of classified information when it revolves around him?

“Look, about Saturday night—”

“What?”

“She said I stole the cash offering.”

David leans forward in his chair. “And Edna’s the real culprit, right?”

“Very astute. You’ve been reading your Agatha Christie again.”

“So the Web cam worked?”

“Yep. Only it’s pretty much my word against hers. Except for…”

“Except for what?”

“Except for Cali.” I rush the words out of my mouth, wishing I could duck for cover under my desk.

David scowls. “What does she have to do with Edna stealing the offering?”

“Cali came to see me yesterday. She’s my corroborating witness.”

“She saw Edna steal the offering?”

“Yep. I need her to come to the personnel meeting tomorrow and tell them what she saw.”

“Will Edna be there?”

“Yes. Better than a lineup.”

David’s gaze suddenly intensifies. “Why was Cali here in the first place?”

I’d hoped to avoid this line of questioning. “Oh, just girl stuff.”

“She wanted to talk to you about me, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Specifically?”

I’m about to do the verbal equivalent of a Bolshoi ballerina pirouetting around the stage. Wonder how fast my words can dance around the truth?

David slouches down in his chair. “I had to, Betz. She was way too young.”

“Apparently she didn’t take it well.” I stifle all the “I-told-you-so’s” fighting to escape my lips.

David rubs his right shoulder. “I wasn’t expecting violence.”

“She hit you?” I don’t know whether to laugh or go after her myself.

“Maybe I deserved it. I shouldn’t have asked her out in the first place.”

“Will you call her for me?” I ask, wishing I had some actual feminine wiles to employ.

“I can’t, Betz. She’ll think I’m trying to get back together with her.” He leans over the desk, picks up my pen, and scribbles a number in the margin of my sermon notes. “You can call her, though.”

“Great.” Which is the exact opposite of what I actually mean, but that seems to be my MO with David these days.

“Betz?”

I look up from contemplating the phone number. His luscious brown eyes are focused on me. Forty-eight hours ago, I would have given anything for that. Again, I like the option of diving for cover under my desk.

“What?”

“We have to talk.”

“No, we don’t. Not really.” I pick up the pen from where he left it and open the commentary. “I prefer to pretend Saturday night never happened.”

“You mean you’re not over it?” I am so Edna-like in this moment that it’s completely frightening. And what I wouldn’t give for a couple of Darvocet to dull the pain right about now.

David pushes himself up out of the chair. He towers over me, clenching the fingers on one hand in frustration. Someone who didn’t know him as well as I do might not catch that telltale sign. “I’m not going to keep banging my head against your walls, Betz. Call me when you’re ready to talk. Real talk. Not this weird denial stuff.”

“David—”

“When you’re ready to talk. I swear you can run away even when you’re sitting still.”

“But—” Okay, now I’m scared. I’ve never heard that tone of finality in his voice before.

“Bye, Betz.”

“Bye,” I whisper in return, but he doesn’t hear me. He’s striding out of my office, and I wonder if it’s the last time I’ll watch him walk away. Because that’s what it feels like.

“Cali? It’s Betsy.”

“Oh. Hello. What do you want?”

It takes me twenty minutes of groveling to convince her to come to the church at five o’clock tomorrow. The only card I can’t play is the one where I promise to help her get David back. But I’m at the point of offering her cash when she finally capitulates.

“Oh, all right. If you promise never to call me again.”

I’d buy David something too, but I don’t think a tube of lip balm is going to set things right between us. Plus, after kissing him Saturday night, I don’t think he needs it. I’d buy Edna some compassion and human decency, but they don’t carry those things at CVS. Unless they have them stashed behind the pharmacy counter.

By the time five o’clock rolls around, I’m a bundle of nerves. The extra latte I picked up at Starbucks was meant to fortify me for the confrontation with the personnel committee. Unfortunately, it has me on a caffeine buzz that could fuel a jet engine.

Again, I have the good sense to arrive at the boardroom early. The committee members file in one by one—Ed, The Judge, Sweet Marjorie, and Gus Winston, who carries an accounting ledger. Edna makes her grand entrance last with the aid of a three-legged cane. Why she should need a cane when her shoulder is injured, I have no
idea. Unless she plans to use it to beat me about the head and shoulders. She must have had her hair done this morning because she’s back-combed to within an inch of her life. Ed’s looking squeamish, Marjorie looks bewildered, and The Judge has clearly been to Florida because his courtroom pallor has been replaced with a nice tan.

Ed clears his throat. “Shall we begin?”

My pulse accelerates. Cali’s not here yet, but I don’t want to say anything because it would tip off Edna.

“Betsy, would you begin with prayer?”

Even though he thinks I’m a probable felon, Ed would rather have me pray in public than do it himself. Pollsters say people fear public speaking more than they fear death. I think people fear praying in public more than both of those things combined.

“Almighty God…” I begin as my mind races. I’m going to have to pray for all I’m worth, because I have to stall until Cali gets here. “From the beginning of the world, you have loved us…”

I proceed to work my way through the entire biblical narrative, point by point. Creation, the flood, the patriarchs, Moses. The others are beginning to get twitchy, but there’s still no sign of Cali. I really hope God doesn’t mind this slight abuse of privilege in the interest of truth and justice.

Finally, when I’ve passed the prophets and the rebuilding of the temple and am contemplating throwing in the Maccabees, I hear a noise in the doorway.

“…and so we thank you for your guidance. Be with us in this meeting. Amen.”

I look up, and Cali’s standing there, thin, waxed, and tan, and clearly unhappy to be darkening the doors of the church.

Ed clears his throat. “This is a closed meeting, Betsy.”

“It’s okay, Ed. I invited her for a reason.” I look at Edna to see if any of this is registering with her, but she’s too busy looking triumphant to perceive Cali as any kind of threat. The Darvocet must have punched some potholes in her memory.