The Damage Done
Page 36
“Officer Kincaid,” she said softly. “Come in, please.”
Louis started toward her and heard a sound to his left. He turned to see Delia Arnold sitting in the corner of the back pew. The housekeeper was bundled in a plaid coat, her pink tote sitting next to her. She gave Louis a slow nod then looked down. As Louis passed the pew he saw she was holding an open Bible.
He continued up to the altar, stopping at the steps. Violet was wearing a beige raincoat, her long hair held back by a blue scarf. Her face was bare of makeup but the cold in the church had colored her cheeks pink.
“What are you doing here?” Violet asked.
It felt weird talking to her as she stood behind the pulpit. Violet didn’t seem uncomfortable at all. In fact, Louis thought, she looked more at ease than he had ever seen her.
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” Louis said.
“How did you know where to find me?” she asked.
“Just a hunch.”
She smiled slightly.
Louis’s eyes went up to the plain rafters, down across the puddles on the altar and finally back to Violet’s face. A shadow crossed her face but was quickly gone.
“This was your father’s church,” Louis said.
Violet nodded. She closed the Bible on the pulpit and came out from behind it and paused on the first step. She looked around the church. Louis wondered what she was seeing—the rot and ruin or what it had once been, when she had been just a girl, barely old enough when she was married off to Anthony.
“This is the first time I have been back,” Violet said. “I didn’t have the courage before now. Delia convinced me it was time, so she brought me here. I didn’t think . . .”
Her voice trailed off as her eyes went up to the windows. The sun streaming through the dead ivy left veined shadows on the wood floor.
“I didn’t think it would be this hard,” she said.
“To see how bad the church looks?” Louis asked.
She shook her head. “No,” she said softly. “I didn’t think it would be so hard to forgive.”
Violet had said it in such a soft whisper, Louis wasn’t sure he had heard what she had said, but then he understood.
“Anthony?” he asked.
Violet nodded.
Louis wasn’t sure what to say. No words were coming because, for the life of him, he couldn’t fathom why this woman needed to absolve Anthony of all the hurt he had created. She had a right to feel betrayed. She had a right to her anger.
She looked down at the Bible she was holding. “This was Anthony’s Bible when he was young,” she said. “He told me he had lost it a long time ago, but I found it locked in a drawer in his desk.”
She looked back at the pulpit. “Anthony was eighteen when he gave his first sermon,” she said softly. “I remember it so clearly. He had begged Jonas to let him do it, and finally Jonas agreed. It was for the Ash Wednesday service, and Anthony worked so hard on the sermon, rewriting it and rehearsing it. It was about repentance and turning your life around.”
She paused, still looking at the pulpit. “When he got up here to deliver it, he . . . he just sort of froze. I was sitting in the back with Jonas and it was awful to watch. Anthony was stammering and wiping his face. People were whispering.”
Violet paused again, looking toward the back of the church. “I looked over at Jonas sitting next to me, and his face was red. Then he got up. I was so afraid he was going to go up there and make Anthony sit down. But he did something even worse.”
Louis knew what was coming.
“Jonas got up and walked out,” Violet said. “He just turned his back on Anthony and walked out.”
Louis remembered what Buddy had said to him. Do you know what it feels like to have your father tell you that you’re just a pile of dust?
“I am trying to understand,” Violet said. “I’m trying very hard to understand what happened, so I can forgive him.”
Her eyes glistened. “But all I can seem to feel is pain. I have this hollow feeling in my stomach and this tightness right here,” she said, touching her chest.
What did he tell her? That she had been hurt and what she was feeling was anger and that she had a right to it? An urge passed through Louis, a sudden urge to pull this woman into his arms and hold her.
He reached down and took Violet’s hand. It was warm. She didn’t pull away. For a long time, they just stood, hands interlaced. After a moment, Violet pulled her hand from his and moved away.
“Anthony’s brother,” she said softly. “Is he okay?”
“I think so.”
“Does he need any money?”
Louis hesitated. “I don’t think money means much to him.”
Violet was quiet. “Does he have anyone?”
“Family? No, he’s alone.”
“I’d like to contact him,” Violet said. “Do you think that would be all right?”
“I think Buddy might like that.”
She stood there, cradling the Bible as her eyes wandered around the ruined church. She focused finally on the windows. They were dirty but not one pane was broken.
“What are you going to do now?” Louis asked.
“People here need a church,” she said.
Louis looked up at the rafters. “There’s a lot of damage,” he said.
When she looked back at him, her eyes were bright with tears. “It can be repaired,” she said.
Louis knew Violet was going to be all right. After everything was sorted out, he suspected she would turn control of the cathedral over to the board and step away. Maybe far enough to find herself again. As for that pain in her heart, he knew exactly what that felt like and he knew it would always be there. A memory came to him in that moment, a pastor back in that hot Mississippi Baptist church, something about Peter asking Jesus how many times you had to forgive someone who hurt you.
He couldn’t remember the answer.
Louis looked up at the window. The sun was slanting in through the dead ivy. It was getting late.
“I have to go,” he said.
Violet took a step back and smiled. “Thank you,” she said.
Louis went down the steps and started down the aisle. Delia gave him a smile this time as he neared.
“Officer Kincaid?”
He turned back to see what Violet wanted.
“Go with God,” she said.
Louis hesitated then nodded. “I’ll try,” he said.
He turned and went out the door. Outside, he paused. He could hear the rippling sound of water. But there was no sign of Christiana Creek anywhere nearby that he could see. He brought up a hand and pressed it to his chest. The tightness was still there—it always would be—but he could feel his heart beating stronger over it.
A Bible verse came to him. Nothing he had ever heard in any church but something he had seen on the sign that first day outside Saint Michael’s.
The old is gone. The new is here.
Louis raised his face to the sun. That was something he knew he could believe in.
MEET PJ PARRISH
www.pjparrish.com
P.J. Parrish is the New York Times bestselling author of ten Louis Kincaid and Joe Frye thrillers. The author is actually two sisters, Kristy Montee and Kelly Nichols. Their books have appeared on both the New York Times and USA Today best seller lists. The series has garnered 11 major crime-fiction awards, and an Edgar® nomination. Parrish has won two Shamus awards, one Anthony and one International Thriller award. Her books have been published throughout Europe and Asia.
Parrish's short stories have also appeared in many anthologies, including two published by Mystery Writers of America, edited by Harlan Coben and the late Stuart Kaminsky. Their stories have also appeared in Akashic Books acclaimed DETROIT NOIR, and in Ellery Queen Magazine. Most recently, they contributed an essay to a special edition of Edgar Allan Poe's works edited by Michael Connelly.
Before turning to writing full time, Kristy Montee was a news
paper editor and dance critic for the Sun-Sentinel in Fort Lauderdale. Nichols previously was a blackjack dealer and then a human resources specialist in the casino industry. Kristy lives in Tallahassee Fla., and Traverse City, Mich. Kelly resides in Traverse City. The sisters were writers as kids, albeit with different styles: Kelly's first attempt at fiction at age 11 was titled “The Kill.” Kristy's at 13 was “The Cat Who Understood.” Not much has changed: Kelly now tends to handle the gory stuff and Kristy the character development. But the collaboration is a smooth one, thanks to lots of ego suppression, good wine, and marathon phone calls via Skype.
BOOKS BY PJ PARRISH
DARK OF THE MOON
DEAD OF WINTER
PAINT IT BLACK
THICKER THAN WATER
ISLAND OF BONES
A KILLING RAIN
THE UNQUIET GRAVE
A THOUSAND BONES
SOUTH OF HELL
THE LITTLE DEATH
THE KILLING SONG
CLAW BACK
(A Louis Kincaid Novella)
HEART OF ICE
SHE’S NOT THERE
THE DAMAGE DONE
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