Nothing Sacred

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  Her father used to tell her that, too.

  TUESDAY NIGHT, during their shift at the rental building, Martha asked David about his family. And came dangerously close to falling for the man as he described a life growing up in foster homes. He’d developed a lawn-mowing business in the Phoenix area that eventually earned him a college education.

  “What?” he asked when she couldn’t seem to stop looking at him.

  “Nothing.” It just felt good. Looking at him. As though she could glean from him some of the determination that turned neglect and cruelty into an incentive for good.

  “You’re thinking something,” he said softly. The car, the many hours they’d spent there recently, gave his voice an intimacy that didn’t really exist between them. That shouldn’t exist. “Tell me.”

  She needed to look away. Told herself to look away. Started to remind herself why that was so crucial. “I’m thinking about life in general,” she said, her voice not sounding like her own at all. “About how one person takes hardship and uses it as an excuse for everything bad that ever happens to him. Lets it beat him. While another can be faced with horrendous circumstances and somehow find possibilities for good. They discover a way out and end up happy.”

  David didn’t say anything. At least not with words. His eyes were talking to her, though. Expressing things she needed to hear—and would never be able to believe.

  “It’s kind of like that glass half-empty or half-full cliché,” she murmured, rambling on. “You know, give some people half a glass of milk and they complain that it’s half-empty while others are thankful that it’s half-full.”

  “You make your own reality,” David said. It was something he said often.

  “To some extent, I guess,” she agreed. “You’re never going to convince me that we choose what happens to us.” She certainly never would’ve chosen to have her husband of two decades leave her to raise their four children alone. “But you certainly create the circumstances that come from those events in the way you choose to handle them. I choose to handle my life from a position of control. I’m not going to be blindsided again.”

  “You’ll never get me to agree with that,” he said. “But we won’t debate it tonight,” he continued, his face moving closer. “Just make sure you pay attention on Sunday.”

  “Where you’re going to enlighten me,” she said slowly, her gaze shifting from his eyes to his lips and back again.

  “Exactly.”

  “Hey, Pastor?” she said, although she was having a hard time focusing on what she meant to say.

  “Yeah?” His face was so close, his lips fascinating her.

  “On Sunday, prepare yourself for a fight, okay?” She couldn’t let the challenge lie, not even to keep him smiling at her. The man had to know that he wasn’t going to convince her to join him in his whimsical outlook. She was a woman who’d only recently gained full control of her own life, her own mind. She wasn’t giving it up. Ever.

  And especially not to a man.

  Martha could face a future of pain. Of loneliness. She couldn’t face a future in which she depended on a man or put her happiness in his hands. Not again.

  Men weren’t trustworthy.

  They let you down every time.

  Eventually.

  The touch of his lips, when they met hers, was so welcome, so right, so long-awaited, she accepted it without hesitation. Answered his tentative communication. He teased her with little caresses, his lips nibbling her bottom lip, letting her do whatever she wanted. Or nothing at all.

  Filled with something she didn’t recognize, Martha just sat there, experiencing every aspect of the moment. She was in control. She knew that. The minute she pulled back, he’d stop.

  And maybe that was why she didn’t. She didn’t want the feeling to end.

  Until he deepened the kiss and groaned—and she remembered all the reasons she couldn’t do this. Still, in spite of the panic seeping through her, she couldn’t just sever the connection. She opened her mouth, her tongue darting out to briefly meet with his, and then, slowly, she pulled her head back.

  “Our shift is up. We should go.” She had no idea where the words came from. Or the calm in her voice.

  Inside she was a quaking mass of uncertainty. And, more than that, she was afraid she’d never be the same again.

  Why did this man have the power to unsettle her in ways nothing else could?

  David nodded. Started the car, drove her home and watched her to the door with nothing more than a softly uttered “Good night.”

  Two little words. But they were enough for her to hear the regret in his voice.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  AT SIX-THIRTY IN THE morning on the last Saturday in March, almost two weeks after his impromptu meeting with Ellen, David skipped a breakfast of toaster pastries and milk to get over to the church. At his instigation, to save money for humanitarian projects, a group of young men in the church were taking turns doing the heavy cleaning each week. This morning was Aaron Hammond’s turn.

  The young man was already there, in the hall by the supply closet, when David arrived. Wearing a pair of black sweats and an old green T-shirt with an insignia that had long since faded, Aaron still looked like he was going places. There was always such an air of purpose about him.

  “Good morning, Pastor. I didn’t expect to see you over here this early.”

  David held out his arms, indicated the old jeans and T-shirt he was wearing. “Hey, this was my idea,” he said. “You didn’t think I’d skip out on the work!”

  Pulling the mop bucket and other supplies out the closet, Aaron ran a hand through his curly, sandy-colored hair. “You do this every week?”

  “Gives me a chance to plan my sermon.”

  “Oh.” The young man grinned, but seemed surprised as well. “Whatever, man. You do enough around here as it is. We can handle the cleaning.”

  “Of course you can.” David grabbed the window cleaner and a roll of paper towels. “But cleaning’s good for the soul. You wouldn’t want to deny me that opportunity, now would you?”

  Aaron laughed. “Clean away,” he said. “But I gotta tell ya, you’re one weird preacher.”

  “Thank you.”

  He did think over the various points in his sermon as he made his way around the building, cleaning all the glass doors, vestibule windows and bathroom mirrors. He wanted to be certain he wasn’t missing any key elements.

  And when his mind wandered right back to where it had been since Tuesday night—that kiss with Martha Moore—he went in search of the young man he’d been feeling more and more compelled to approach. He’d seen Aaron looking at Ellen last week in church. Had noticed the young man’s interest several times in the past couple of months.

  Not that young men looking at young women was anything remarkable. Or even a man who’d been scorned looking at the woman who’d left him. It was the look itself that spoke to David. The feelings he read in those glances weren’t of betrayal or anger or despair, but of love. David was certain about that.

  Finding Aaron in a front pew in the sanctuary, polishing cloth in hand, David grabbed another cloth out of the supply container by the door and joined him. “I’ll do one side while you do the other,” he offered, indicating the middle aisle dividing the sanctuary.

  Aaron nodded. “Great.” Then he added, “Man, do you have any idea what people leave in these things?”

  David grinned. “What did you find?”

  “A half-sucked life saver. Stuck in the hymnal rack in the second pew. It was gross,” he said, rubbing so hard at the wood that David had a moment of concern for the varnish.

  “Wait till you get the crushed animal cracker or a permanent marker without a lid,” David told him. “Or my personal favorite, a puzzle book with every single puzzle finished.”

  “You’re kidding.” His long body bent over the back of a pew, Aaron peered up at him.

  “Nope.”

  “Bet that pissed you off.�
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  “Nope,” David said. “Not really. If doing puzzles allows them to come here as opposed to not coming, I want them doing puzzles. You never know what might slip in while they do their word games.”

  Aaron shook his head. “Like I said, man, you’re weird.”

  David had finished five pews to Aaron’s two. “You trying to give me a complex?” he asked.

  “Is that possible?” Aaron retorted.

  “Nope.”

  “Didn’t think so.”

  David finished his side of the room and then moved over to the back of Aaron’s. “You don’t have to rub so hard, you know.” It hurt to see how much energy Aaron was needlessly expending. “The idea is to put the polish on, not rub the varnish off,” he added.

  The youth grunted. And kept working. With the same amount of effort. When he met David at the back quarter of the room, he pointed to the pew David had just finished.

  “You missed a fingerprint there, Preacher.”

  David looked. And had to nod. “You can do an adequate job, or you can do an exceptional job,” he said out loud.

  “I always do an exceptional job.”

  “Anybody ever tell you you’re a weird young man?”

  Aaron grinned, flicking David with his cloth. “Not to my face.”

  There were few people David didn’t like, but not many that stood out as extraordinary. He had a feeling that Aaron would be one of them.

  Vacuuming and bathrooms were all that remained. The two men finished the job in less than an hour. And met back at the supply closet once they were done.

  “So what’ve you got on for the rest of the day?” David asked as they locked the closet.

  “Not much.” Aaron shrugged. “Studying.”

  Not the way David remembered his college days. “On a Saturday?”

  “Beats watching the grass grow.”

  “You don’t have dates lined up?” With his height, firm build and friendly features, Aaron was a good-looking guy.

  “Nah.” The kid didn’t appear embarrassed, just disinterested.

  “I’d have figured you’d be beating the girls off.” It was stupid guy talk. And yet it wasn’t. David was on a mission.

  “Right. Well, I gotta be getting back,” Aaron said.

  David should have nodded. Left well enough alone.

  “You got a minute?” he asked instead. “I’d like to talk to you.”

  “Sure.”

  With Aaron following him, David prayed for guidance all the way to his office.

  “Have a seat.” He gestured at one of the chairs in front of his desk. With unspoken question in his eyes, Aaron flopped down, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

  David took the other seat. This was not a preacher-behind-his-desk type of talk.

  “I’m going to ask you something that’s absolutely none of my business,” David said, meeting the young man’s gaze. “Don’t answer unless you want to,” he added. “And only if you can give me complete honesty.”

  Chin jutting out, Aaron nodded.

  Elbows on the arms of his chair, David relaxed. “Tell me how you feel about Ellen Moore.”

  Aaron looked down. Out the window. Swallowed. If he got up to leave, David was going to thank him for his help and wish him a good day.

  But when Aaron finally spoke, his words were no surprise to David. “I love her.”

  “Like a friend?”

  Aaron nodded slowly, appearing to consider his answer. “Yeah…” He drew out the word.

  “And more?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you love her enough to see a future with her?”

  “I’m graduating at the end of the term,” Aaron said. “I’m twenty-four years old, and I have a good job lined up here in Shelter Valley. I’ll be able to support a wife who’s finishing school.” He paused. “I’d planned to ask Ellen to marry me.”

  Thank you, God. Now would you mind telling me where to go from here?

  “Can I ask you something?” Aaron interrupted before God got around to answering.

  “Certainly.”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  It was the opening David needed. Okay, God, you answered. Thank you. And I’m sorry for my lack of faith and my impatience.

  “If you came to me for advice, telling me you were in love with Ellen Moore and that you wanted to know what to do about it, I’d advise you to approach her.”

  Aaron frowned. “I didn’t come to you for advice.”

  “I know.” David held Aaron’s searching gaze.

  “But you knew I needed to,” Aaron said slowly.

  “I suspected.”

  The young man sat forward, elbows on his knees, hands together as he stared at the floor. He turned, glancing at David over his shoulder, obviously trying to hold back the silly grin on his face. “You think I should approach her?”

  Resolutely, David said, “Yes.”

  “I’ve heard that you had dinner with her and her family a few times.”

  “I have.”

  The grin broke through. “You talked to Ellen and she told you she wants to get back together with me.”

  Had the situation not been so grave, David might have smiled at the college-boy bravado that never seemed to be far from the surface at that age.

  “No, Aaron,” David was sorry to say. Sorry to see the light fade from the young man’s clear gaze.

  “I may clean toilets, but I don’t do romance.”

  “Then what’s this about?”

  “There are things you don’t know, things I’m not at liberty to tell you,” he stated slowly, choosing his words with utmost care. “Things I wouldn’t tell you even if I could, because you don’t need to hear them from me.”

  Eyes narrowed, Aaron looked almost afraid. “What?”

  David shook his head. “Ellen has to matter more than those things.” He heard the words, although he couldn’t remember ever thinking them.

  Aaron flopped back in his seat. “Of course she matters more than those things. More than anything,” he said, frustration giving an edge to his words. “What’s going on?”

  Focus, man, David admonished himself. Listen.

  “I wanted you to know that there are facts you’re not aware of, so you have an explanation for any behavior that doesn’t currently make sense to you.”

  Aaron seemed to be thinking about that.

  “But I didn’t tell you this so you’d obsess over these…facts.”

  “Okay.” The young man leaned forward again, his hands tightly clasped.

  “I believe—” David paused “—and this is only my belief, with no basis in anything else.” He waited for Aaron to nod so he knew the young man was with him. “I believe that, in spite of what Ellen might say, she still loves you.”

  Aaron let out a huge breath. Grinned. Nodded. Opened his mouth but said nothing.

  “More than that—and this is why I’m speaking to you today—I believe she needs you.”

  Serious at once, Aaron looked at David long and hard. And seemed to receive the understanding he’d been seeking. “Okay. What do I do?”

  “That’s up to you,” David said, glad to be able to hand off this particular responsibility. “Don’t force anything. Gentleness is the key word at all times. But I wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

  Aaron stood. “Done.”

  David joined him at the door. “And Aaron?” he said.

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t blow it.”

  “Are you kidding?” Aaron grinned again. “I never saw you as Cupid, but your secret profession is safe with me. I won’t let on.”

  “No, Aaron,” David said, his eyes narrow with the intensity of his mission. “This is not about romance. I am a man of God, not a matchmaker.”

  The grin quickly left Aaron’s face. “She’s in trouble, isn’t she?”

  “I’m not at liberty to tell you anything about Ellen’s private life.”

  A pause filled w
ith heated emotions fell between them. “It doesn’t matter,” Aaron said seconds later, his hand on the doorknob. “If she’s pregnant, dying, in trouble with the law—absurd as that seems—I don’t care. I love her and I’ll stand by her.” He yanked open the door.

  “That’s what I was hoping to hear,” David said to his retreating back.

  He wasn’t sure if Aaron heard or not. But he figured it didn’t really matter.

  He only hoped he hadn’t made a mistake in telling the young man as much as he had. So much was at stake.

  But he’d done what he needed to do.

  And that was all he could ask of himself. To be true to his heart, to his intuition and inner guidance. One way or another, that would have to be enough.

  MARTHA HAD LUNCH with Phyllis on Monday. Other than from a distance at Tim’s game on Saturday and at church on Sunday, she hadn’t seen David Marks since their shift at the boardinghouse the previous Tuesday night. They had another shift scheduled for that evening.

  Which was why she’d called Phyllis and asked to meet her for lunch.

  “What’s up?” Phyllis asked, depositing a cafeteria tray with two salads and two glasses of iced tea on the semiprivate picnic table Martha had held for them underneath a tree on the grassy Montford campus commons. Though most of the tables were filled with students, the closest one was several yards away.

  “I’m losing my mind,” Martha said unceremoniously, pulling her salad and drink off the tray and opening the plastic cover.

  Phyllis sat down and did the same. “I figured as much. People tend to call shrinks when they think they’re losing their minds.”

  “I call you for all sorts of things,” Martha retorted. “I called to let you know about Tim’s game on Saturday.”

  Phyllis had come, too. Though her twins were still far too young to play, she was a Little League baseball fanatic and, when she’d first come to Shelter Valley, had often attended games with Martha. The two women had been introduced by Becca, whose husband had hired Phyllis at the university.