Too Much at Stake (19 page)

"It's me, Forrest," said the voice on the phone.

Reassuringly, Pat added, "Don't worry about the time or the pastor thing. Can I help you with anything? Is your mom all right?"

There was a pause and Pat could almost hear him thinking it had been a mistake to call. But she knew that he had to decide for himself to continue, so she waited.

"Yeah," Forrest sighed. "It's me, and yes, Mom is okay— for now, I guess. Gosh, I forgot you were a preacher, but it makes sense." A little of his natural good humor showed through. "You really are good at talking people into stuff."

Pat laughed with him and settled back, knowing he had decided to talk. "This has been a hard time for you, hasn't it, Forrest?"

"Man, you can't believe how hard," he agreed. "He wasn't always around . he traveled a lot you know. My dad, I mean. We didn't always get along, not even about music. But, he was my dad, you know ." His voice trailed off. "And now we'll never have time. I just keep thinking if I had only told him how great I really thought he was ."

"Your dad did love you, Forrest. Anyone who saw the two of you together saw that." Pat waited, letting the silence fill the space between them.

"Anyway," he said, clearing his throat. "That's why I called. Sort of. I need some advice. Hey, if you're a pastor, does that mean this is confidential, like with priests?"

"It is, but formal confession is the only place I can't ever tell what you say. Is that what this is, Forrest? A confession?" Her heart skipped a beat, hoping that it wasn't. She liked this young musician.

"
What?
Heck, no! I mean, I didn't kill him. Is that what you think? No, I'm calling about my mom. You seem to get along with her, what with you both being quilters and all. And I wondered . could you maybe talk to her? I just don't want you to tell her I called."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "Sure, if you want. Anything specific you have in mind?" Pat asked, remembering the conversation with Linda just twelve hours before. "Actually, I have talked to her. Deb and I met her for coffee this morning."
It seems like such a long time ago,
she thought.

"Oh, so that's where she went." He seemed relieved. "Truth is, I'm scared half out of my mind. She had fights with him, you know. His wandering . never being able to settle down. He just wasn't the kind, I guess." There was a pause. "It was one of the reasons they never married. And sometimes, she would get so hurt and angry."

"Young man, are you worried about whether she ." Pat stopped, grasping for just the right word. "That she got so angry, she might have done something?"

"No, of course not," Forrest answered almost too quickly. "She's just. you know . so easy to pin it on, being the one closest to him and all. Everyone at the Tent knows how mad she can get, but she wouldn't have, see, because in her way, she loved him still."

A great motive for a crime of passion,
Pat thought. "So why call me? You sound worried. And you know what? She sounded worried this morning, too—about you."

"She was? About me?" he answered in wonder. "Just be her friend, is all. Don't let her do or say anything stupid she'll regret."

The age-old question,
Pat thought.
Am I my brother's— or in this case, my sister's—keeper?

"Forrest," she said, gently but firmly, "your mom is a great woman. Tell her you're worried and scared. My advice? Talk to her, not me. I actually gave her the same advice. But don't call her tonight. You know she is in bed as soon as the sun goes down. And try not to worry."

"I know, I know," he moaned. "But how does a guy tell his mom when he's worried she killed his dad?"

For that, Pat didn't have an answer.

"It's going to be okay; it's going to be ..."

Rocking the old white chair back and forth on it back legs, his mantra went on.

Funny ... I thought once they found it, I would be free of it, but time after time, I find myself in this pl ace, in this chair, waiting.

Waiting for? Forgiveness? Or to just be found out at last? The killer always returns. I never understood that, but now I do. I return, hoping against all hope that it was all a bad dream, and it didn't happen at all.

It's going to be ...
Angrily, he stood up, picked up the old chair, and smashed it to bits.
It's never going to be okay again!

Getting up for church the next day was a little harder for Pat than usual.
Give me strength to do the best I can, Lord. I may be tired, but there might be someone who needs to hear a good word.
Pat's prayer was not unusual as she drove over to the church for the eight-thirty morning service. She and God had a deal: she didn't try to get flowery when asking for help, and God ... well, God always took her as she was.

Esther pulled up right beside her as Pat got out of her car.
Good and faithful Esther would understand.
"Hey, kiddo, good morning. Say, could you take the announcements today? Frankly, if I were a snowmobile, I would be running on fumes."

Esther nodded sympathetically. "Hard night?"

"Late calls. Oh, and would you say something in the prayers for Linda and Forrest and Mac?"

"No problem," Esther said as they walked together toward the door.

This must be why Jesus sent people out two by two,
Pat thought gratefully.
Thanks, God.

Esther walked up to the lectern and smiled. "Welcome, everyone! It's so nice to see guests in our midst." She peered out over the large podium as if she was greeting everyone individually. Her long dark braid hung down her back and swayed slightly as she leaned forward. "And of course, you are all welcome to coffee time after worship. No Lutheran's Sunday would feel complete without it." There were polite snickers from the pews.

"On a sadder note, you will notice in the prayers today we will lift up the friends and family of Monty McIntyre. There will be a small memorial service next week. I'm sure everyone will contribute cookies and cakes for a coffee time afterward." She raised her voice above the murmurs. "I know many of us have loved his music at the Tent over the years. Keep them in your daily prayers, please." She looked down at her notes and then continued, "Oh, and don't forget your recipes for the church cookbook. We can't make it without you, and all the proceeds will go to our Circle of Grace Program," she gently encouraged them. "And now, let's do what we've come here for—worship." She stepped back, nodding at Pat to begin.

The service went pretty well,
Pat thought as she greeted worshippers in the back of the sanctuary an hour later. The time after the service was always a favorite of hers. There was the baby boy that she had baptized two years ago, coming with Grandma.
Boy, can he run now!
And the widower who had been married for seventy-two years before losing his wife.
Imagine that!,
Pat thought as they exchanged hugs. Person after person—she had grown to love each of them and knew they cared about her, too.

Next came Forrest. He looked so young and vulnerable.

"Thanks, Pat, and you, too, Esther, for mentioning my dad and the prayers." He looked uncomfortable, like he didn't know what to do next. His mother came up behind him and put her hand on his shoulder.

"I'll call you tomorrow, if it's okay," Linda said quietly. "Mac had no family except this great kid here. His parents are gone. I guess they're with him now, right?" She wiped her eyes, as if to clear them of sadness. "Anyway, thanks for . well, for everything."

Following her lanky son, she walked out the door. And since church people are still people after all, the crowd around the coffee all watched them go.

The next morning, Deb glanced across the mahogany table in her conference room at the cute blonde sprite with pigtails and a missing front tooth. Amanda Thompson was the picture of childhood innocence.

"Well, honey, how has it been going, now that your parents are divorced?" Deb asked. She pushed a plate of cookies toward her.

"They're behaving really good," Amanda replied, "especially now that they got called into the principal's office and the judge told them to behave!" She carefully looked at the cookies and then chose one, popping the whole thing in her mouth.

Deb smiled at the innocent charm of her words.
Out of the mouths of babes,
she mused.

"Deb, are my parents going to get a detention if they don't behave?" Amanda asked plaintively.

Oh, were it so!
"Sorry, Amanda, but I'll tell you what: if they don't behave maybe we'll have to give them some extra homework."

Amanda smiled gratefully, and Deb couldn't keep herself from gently wiping the chocolate off the little girl's face. Reaching in the folder on the table, she offered Amanda her business card. "This is just for you. It's my phone number, here and at home. If you need to talk to someone, call any time."

If only all my clients were so easy to handle,
Deb thought.

A day off!
Pat put her feet up and opened up the mystery book she had stashed in the seat cushion of her favorite chair.
Now if the phone just doesn't—

No sooner had the thought popped into her head than her cell rang.
This better be important,
she thought less than charitably, as she marked her place.