The Runaway Pastor's Wife (39 page)

“Make me what?” his father pressed.

Max struggled for the right words. “Dad, I feel
like all I ever do is disappoint you. I’m always causing you grief, one way or
another. And just about the time I think I’m finally making some progress, like
staying out of your hair or not losing my temper, then I go and blow it big
time.”

“Max, you don’t have to prove yourself to me!”

“But—”

“Look, son, I’m the one who needs to be making
the apology here, so just hold on for a minute. The other morning when I—”

“Dad, you don’t—”

“Yes, I do. I was way out of line. That headline
sent me over the edge, but that’s no excuse for taking it out on you. I’m
asking you to forgive me, buddy.”

Max absently fingered the lint in his pocket. “I
do. Forget about it. But it goes both ways. I lost my temper, like I always
seem to do. So I blew it too. And I’m sorry. Forgive me too?”

“Sure thing. But we need to talk about this trip
you’re on.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Why didn’t you talk to me first? If you’ve got
information about your mother, why didn't you tell me? We could have made this
trip together.”

“Dad—” he hesitated. “Dad, I don’t expect you to
understand, but I have to do this alone. I’m being careful, I’m not taking any
chances, but I’ve got to do this my way.”

Max heard a heavy sigh on the other end of the
line. He could imagine his father running his fingers through his hair like he
always did when he was frustrated.

“You aren’t going to believe this, but I think I
do
understand. As your father, I’m not sure
why
I understand, but
I do. I know I’ve got to learn to let go enough to let you be the man God made
you to be. But that’s pretty scary for your old man. I’d be lying if I said
otherwise.”

“Yeah? Well, it’s a little scary on this end
too.” Max laughed.

“Tell me this. How did you track down where your
mother is?”

“Uh, actually I’d rather not say. Just think of
it as . . . a miracle. I figure God must’ve
wanted
me to
know, so let’s just leave it at that.”

“Max . . .” his father chided.

“Dad, really. You’ve just got to trust me. You
have to accept that I know what I’m doing.”

“If that’s the way it has to be, then that’s the
way it has to be. But let’s set some ground rules. I want you to call me twice
a day if for no other reason than to give me peace of mind that you’re safe.
Three or four times would be even better. But at least twice. Is that
acceptable?”

“No problem.”

“And promise me if you get even remotely close
to any
kind of danger, you’ll call immediately and tell me where you
are. That’s non-negotiable.”

“All right, but don’t worry about it. I’ll be
fine. Just pray this vehicle gets me there. It would cost more than it’s worth
just to tow it back home!”

“
What
vehicle? Aren’t you in your Mustang?”

“I gotta get back on the road, Dad.”

“Ma-ax?” he warned.

“I’m glad we talked. Thanks for being so cool
about this. For an old man, you’re okay.”

“Keep in touch, son.”

“Will do. Bye, Dad. I love you.”

“Love you, too, Max.”

CHAPTER 27

Houston
,
Texas

“It’s this phone you gave us, sir. We got off
without the charger and it’s about done.”

Elliot nodded, congratulating himself for
correctly guessing which excuse these idiots would use for not checking in.
“And it didn’t occur to you over the course of the last three days to stop and
buy a charger for it?”

“Well, of course, sir, but we just haven’t been
able to track one down as yet.”

“And you expect me to buy that excuse? Are you a
complete idiot?”

“Well, nossir, but you have to—”

“SHUT UP!” Elliot screamed at the receiver. His
breath came in rapid wheezes as he fought to control his temper.

“Now you listen and you listen good. I should
have known I couldn’t trust you two with so simple a task as following a car.
Fortunately I have other irons in the fire. And since you’ve obviously lost him
again—”

“Oh, nossir!” Gus added. “Who said we lost him?
Me ’n Marcus are—”

“Shut up and try to get it right this time.”

“Yes, sir. Whatever you say, Mr. Thomas. We’ll
find him for you and—”

“Here’s what I want you to do. Our Mr. Dean is
more than likely planning to hide out near a town called Weber Creek.”

“Hey! We saw a sign for Weber Creek!”

“Good. That means you must be close.”

“Uh, well not exactly. I think it was yesterday.
Or maybe the day before?”

Elliot took a deep breath, attempting to calm
himself. “You will check your GPS and you will find Weber Creek. You will get
there before I call again or you will kiss every dime of that reward goodbye.”

“Yes, sir. We’ll be there before you know it,
sir. We won’t goof up again, sir. I promise.”

Elliot pinched the bridge of his nose.
Morons.
Utter and complete morons.
But they were closer to Michael than he was at
this point. He had to rely on them. He had to motivate them to get to Weber
Creek as fast as possible. Against his better judgment, he continued. “And just
for the record, the stakes just went up, gentlemen. You find Mr. Dean by this
time tomorrow and I’ll personally add $10,000. For each of you.”

He could hear Gus’s voice away from the
receiver. “He’s gonna give us $10,000 more each!”

“
Only
if you find him this time! Lose him
again and I’ll have
both
your heads. You find Michael Dean and you take
him captive. We’re going to end this thing.”

Amelia rinsed off her dinner plate and put it in
the dishwasher. Grabbing a bottle of wine, she uncorked it and poured the
Chardonnay into a glass. She sat on a bar stool at the counter, the thoughts
burning through her mind as she tried for the hundredth time to make sense of
her husband’s disappearance.

It didn’t matter what her father said, or anyone
else for that matter. Amelia knew Michael was not coming back. And she knew
without a shadow of a doubt that wherever he was, he was with another woman.

It wasn’t just the wine that warmed her. She
could feel the anger surging through her veins. How many times had she endured
this pain? How many times had he left without a word? For days at a time,
sometimes weeks. How could he care so little for her feelings?

The tears coursed down her face spilling onto
the counter. She poured another glass and cursed his name out loud. She drained
the glass in mere moments and poured another. The alcohol seared through her
body, numbing her mind to the harsh truths.

I’m too good for you, Michael. You’re nothing
without me. You’re only a flea along for the ride. If it wasn’t for Daddy,
you’d be nothing but a washed-up has-been jock.

“Did you hear that, Michael? You’re worthless!
You’re garbage to me and I should have dumped you years ago!” she sobbed. “I
HATE
you! I HATE YOU!”

 She hurled the bottle across the room,
shattering it into a thousand pieces all over the kitchen cabinet and floors.
Startled by the sound of it, she stopped. Amelia wiped her eyes with the back
of her hand, her body still shaking. Smoothing her hair back away from her face,
she took a deep ragged breath.

And then the hurt crashed over her again, this
time a pain more intense than she’d ever known. She screamed his name again.
She threw the near-full glass across the room. The sound of the exploding glass
against tile goaded her on. She grabbed the vase of flowers off the counter,
hurling them into the sink.

On and on it went, the damage extensive. When at
last she found nothing else to throw, she snatched the only bottle that was
left. Bourbon. Michael’s precious bourbon.

She slid down onto the floor and opened the
bottle, guzzling it. It burned but she didn’t care. She didn’t care about
anything. Not anymore.

She didn’t know how long she sat there on the
floor. Her head throbbed. Her throat, raw. Her heart ached despite the effects
of the alcohol.
Oh, how it ached . . .

Broken glass and shards of crystal covered the
tile floor. It was the elegant detail of the cut crystal, now shattered across
the floor that first caught her eye.

She sighed, her resignation complete. Then, slowly,
very slowly, she stretched out her hand, reaching for a jagged piece of glass.

CHAPTER 28

Seminole,
Florida

The ring of the telephone and the chime of the
doorbell had become increasingly annoying over the past few days at the
McGregor home. They couldn’t let the answering machine handle the calls,
fearful they’d miss one of Max or Annie’s calls. They couldn’t take that
chance. For now, they would simply have to live with the continuing barrage of
calls and well-meaning visitors.

With a growing degree of aggravation, David
headed to the entry hall to answer the doorbell once again. Pete Nardozzi stood
on the porch, his uniform cap in his hands.

“Pete, you have no idea how glad I am to see
you! In fact, I was just about to call you. Come on in,” David said, patting
the officer on the back.

“You were?” Pete replied, bewildered. “Now I
really feel like an idiot. I’ve been debating whether to talk to you for a
couple of days now, but I didn’t want to invade your privacy, under the
circumstances.”

David walked his friend into the study. “Don’t
be ridiculous. We’re friends. You could never invade my privacy. Fact is, I
should have called you days ago. I almost did—when I first found out Annie had
left. I was going to make you find her for me. But at the time Mom seemed to
think we needed to give Annie her ‘space’ and not chase after her. Now I’m not
so sure.”

He quietly closed the door. As both men sat
down, Pete began, “Before we continue this conversation, you need to know the
only reason I decided to come see you was after a lot of prayer. I couldn’t get
this whole situation out of my mind. And since I’m obviously in a position to
be of some help, well—here I am.” He smiled sheepishly then looked back down at
his hands. “I’m here to offer my help in any way I can.”

“Thanks, Pete. I appreciate that.”

“So you’ve been in contact with her?”

“At first, yes. She left me a note and she’s
called a couple of times. But she doesn’t want me to know where she is because
she knows I’d be on the next plane. And she’s right. I hate this! The person
who means more to me than my own life is out of my reach and I can’t call her,
I can’t find her . . .”

David bounced out of his chair, moving nowhere
in particular, circling the room. “This one hit me broadside, Pete. Everyday, I
help people work through their problems. I pray with them, I visit them in the
hospital, I offer counseling . . . all kinds
of advice.
I’m there for them at the worst moments of their lives. I agonize with them
over their heartaches, and I cry with them when they face hopeless situations.

“But now it’s my own wife and I can’t—I can’t
‘fix’ this! Sure, I could send you off to track her down. But it’s the last
thing she wants right now. And I don’t know what to do! I’m her husband and she
wants me to stay away!”

He fell back into the chair behind his desk,
embarrassed by his emotional display. The hot tears stinging his eyes surprised
him.

Pete was quiet for several minutes. David felt
comfortable in the silence, grateful that his friend would give him the ample
time and space to blow off some steam. Finally Pete responded. “David, we’ve
been friends a long time. You may be my pastor, but you’re also my friend. And
quite frankly, I don’t think you’ve allowed yourself to just be a friend—
apart
from being a pastor or anything else. So please—don’t be confined by some false
need to be the perfect role model or the perfect pastor. Actually, I consider
it quite an honor that you call me ‘friend.’ Not deacon, not church member, not
any of that. Just friend.”