by Nancy Rue
“I hope that doesn’t sound like I’m bragging,” St. Clair said. “The glory goes to God.”
Sully couldn’t say anything.
And he couldn’t get away fast enough.
I composed the list of stone throwers that Sullivan Crisp told me to make in my head about seventeen times before I actually put it on paper. The thought of writing it down produced too much anxiety at first, but I was seeing him that afternoon—and Demitria Costanas did not show up for class without her homework.
When I did huddle into a corner in the prep room at Daily Bread with a cup of jasmine tea, I flushed into a sweat from the neck up. Why was it so hard?
Because I was afraid there were going to be more names on it than I’d been willing to admit.
First I did what Sullivan said and silently told God I was doing it for Him. There was no answer, so I went on.
There were the usual contestants, as Sullivan would have called them.
RICH COSTANAS
CHRISTOPHER COSTANAS
JAYNE COSTANAS
I paused on that one. How could I know what my daughter thought? It had been weeks since I’d heard her halting adolescent voice or seen the subtle changes in her mood flit through her eyes like newly unfurled butterflies looking for a place to land. She was right in the middle of coming together as a whole Jayne—how could she possibly know how she felt about me from one flit to another?
My fist tightened around the pen. Maybe I shouldn’t stop and have a conversation with myself over every name. No matter what Sullivan said, I didn’t have that kind of time. I only had to hear the chime of someone entering the restaurant, and I was convinced it was the sheriff with divorce papers.
Okay, who else?
KEVIN ST. CLAIR
WYATT ESTES
I rolled the pen back and forth between my palms, which were now sparkling with sweat. It wasn’t that long a list. It merely cut deep.
MY MOTHER
I could not go there—though there was part of me that believed she’d secretly applaud my unfaithfulness to Rich. She had disliked him that much.
MY BROTHERS
They would at least be disappointed. Actually, Nathan would say the church had done it to me. He blamed everything on the church— including our father’s death. That was a stretch from a collision with a tractor-trailer rig on a slippery night, when Daddy was exhausted from a day of fighting for the church to take a more active role on the issue of domestic violence. Nathan had made that stretch like a yoga master, and never turned back.
Liam—I no longer knew him well enough to predict how he would react to anything I did. How had that happened?
I wiped my palms on my drawstring pants. I was stalling. Putting off writing down . . .
DADDY
A flood of pain came over me like a veritable tsunami. Not because I knew what he would think or what he would say or how he would look at me if I went to him with this. It was agony because I didn’t know. I didn’t know him at all.
I had come close—it was almost time for me to know him. Two weeks before he died, he’d told me he was taking me with him to an event in New York. All I could think about was having him to myself. I already had my suitcase packed except for my toothbrush. Six weeks after my father’s death my mother discovered it and unpacked it. I wasn’t sure I ever forgave her for that. I even had a list of topics I wanted to discuss with my father while we were flying across the country or eating genuine New York pizza or riding in the subway. I found that crumpled in my wastebasket the day my mother unpacked the suitcase. It was such a desecration of my father’s memory, I secretly ironed the list and kept it in my King James Bible. It had moved to every translation I’d used since then.
“Hi—I’ll be right with you,” Audrey said.
I pulled myself back to the Daily Bread and looked up at the customer Audrey was greeting, a man with a Chia-pet crop of hair set on the back of a shiny head. Before I could duck behind the swinging doors, he caught my eyes with his needley ones.
“The person I was looking for,” he said.
Audrey cocked her head at me like a puppy waiting for instructions.
“It’s okay,” I said, though my hackles stood up one by one. I folded the list and stuck it into my apron pocket as I moved toward him.
He stood, hands in his own pockets, surveying the restaurant. He seemed surprisingly interested.
“Great place,” he said.
“You here for lunch?” I said. I could always hope.
”Sure—as long as I’m here I could eat.” His eyes scanned the menu Audrey had painstakingly printed on the dry erase board. “What’s good?”
“Everything,” I said stiffly.
“Surprise me.”
He moved to a table, still scoping out the décor, the display of teas, the case of baked goods. When he sat down, I marched toward him and took the chair across from him.
“All right,” I said, “let’s not pretend you came in here for the split pea soup.” I leaned across the salt lamp and lowered my voice. “I’ve told you to leave me—and my family—alone. That includes my friends who own this restaurant. They don’t need a scene in here.”
He shook his head, hands spread like a jazz dancer’s in front of him. “No scene intended. And I’m not here to pry.”
“You’re a reporter. Of course you’re here to pry.”
“Not about your personal life—please—that’s not what I’m about.”
My face must have shown that I thought he was as full of soup as he could possibly be, because he stopped smiling and looked at me soberly.
“Look, we got off on the wrong foot the other day.”
“You mean when you tried to take advantage of me when I was in the middle of an emotional crisis?”
“I didn’t mean for you to take it that way.”
“Wasn’t that the way it was?”
The Chia pet bowed its head. “Maybe partly.”
“Thank you.”
“But I’m on a different track now. I think I can help you.”
I felt my eyes narrow. “Help me how?”
“Can we restart?” He offered me his hand. “I’m Fletcher Basset.”
I took his palm halfheartedly. “You made that name up, right?”
“No, I think I just lived up to it.”
“Sniffing around in people’s business?”
We both pulled our chins in.
“I do that, too,” he said. “But like I said, I may have information that could be helpful to you.”
“What’s our friend having for lunch?” Mickey said from the doorway. She wore her is-this-character-bothering-you look.
“Give me the split pea, please,” Fletcher said. “It comes highly recommended.”
Mickey looked at me, and I nodded. When she disappeared, with one last sweep of suspicion over the basset hound, I folded my arms on the table.
“Why would you want to help me?” I said.
“Because I want the truth.” He looked straight at me with berry-blue eyes. “I’m trying to get to the truth of what’s happening at the college.”
“I don’t know anything about it anymore,” I said. “I’ve—retired.”
He glanced at my shirt. “So I see.”
I scraped the chair back, but he put his palm on the table. His eyes grew warm.
“Please,” he said. “I think if you know the truth too, you’ll be able to help both me and yourself.”
“What kind of help do I need?”
“You need to be at that college,” he said. “Every student I’ve talked to—except the ones out there protesting, who, it turns out, don’t know you from Eve and have no idea why they’re there—except one little jerk named—” He pulled a pad out of his jacket pocket and frowned at it. “Travis Chapman. You know him?”
I nodded. He wasn’t one of my Faith and Doubt students, but he was in one of my sections of Religion 102. He spent most of his time regarding me as if I were an intrusion
on his day, but I had no idea why. We’d never exchanged two words.
“The rest of them,” Fletcher went on, “are saying you and Dr. Archer were the backbone of the program.”
“Well, we’re not anymore,” I said. “Look—it’s over. I have more important things to think about.”
I got to my feet, his protesting hand notwithstanding. He slanted against the chair, but his eyes seemed to embrace the challenge. I wanted to slap him. I was experiencing that urge a lot lately.
“I don’t believe anything is more important than what you were doing at that college,” he said. “At least not according to your students. And I think you should know that your partner—”
“What partner?” My voice was shrill and I didn’t care.
“Zachary Archer,” he said. “He has no intention of picking up the pieces of the program—and if you don’t, it dies. Now it seems to me that—”
I gripped the back of the chair. “How could you possibly know what his intentions are? He’s disappeared. Nobody even knows where he is.”
“That part’s true. I don’t know his location. But he hasn’t disappeared. I interviewed him by phone.”
The air went dead.
“I can’t reveal how I got in touch with him.” Fletcher looked at me closely. “You really didn’t know he was around someplace, did you?”
“Nor did I care,” I made myself say. “Why should I?”
“Wasn’t he your closest colleague?”
I backed away from the table. “I’ll make sure you get your lunch,” I said. “And after this—stay away from me.”
“Look, I didn’t mean to upset you. I want to help—”
“Help me by getting completely out of my life.”
I kept myself from shaking until I got into the prep room, doors swinging behind me. And even then I didn’t get the chance. Audrey stood with her back to me, hunched over the chopping table, shoulders shaking.
“Audrey?” I said.
She straightened abruptly and turned to me, slapping at tears with her fingertips and working her face toward a smile she couldn’t possibly pull off.
“What is it, honey?” I said.
“Don’t you hate men sometimes?” she said.
“Often. Why do we hate men today?”
Her face crumpled. “Because they make you think they care about you and they make you open yourself up to them and then they stop calling and they stop returning your calls and they totally screw up your life.”
Oscar came out of the walk-in freezer, took one look at us, and retreated into it again.
“Are we talking about Boy?” I said.
She nodded and put her arms around me, face in my T-shirt. “I don’t know if he’s ever going to get to name status. But he’s C.J.— and I think I love him, Dr. C.”
I tightened my arms around her. “I’m sorry you’re hurting.”
“I hate this. I didn’t do anything wrong, but I feel like a loser.”
She wept the way I had for hours on end the past few endless days. Her crying swept over me, and then got into me, and suddenly I was holding her out in front of me, both hands on her shoulders.
“Listen to me, Audrey,” I said. “You are not a loser—that is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. You cannot let some guy who can’t even make a commitment define who you are, do you hear me?”
Her eyes grew almost fearful, which may have been because my hands were squeezing her biceps.
“He has lied to you with his promises, and now you’re the one who’s taking all the foolishness and the self-put-downs. Don’t do that.” I pulled her back to me and held on. “Promise me that you won’t do that.”
Whether she did or not, I couldn’t tell. She cried in my arms and made me miss my Jayne—and for the first time, hate Zachary Archer. From the broken pit of my soul.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Sully put the last stone on the pyramid he had built on his desk when she knocked on the office door—so hard the whole thing teetered off balance and tumbled all over the desktop.
“Come in,” Sully said, “but only if you’re not armed.”
Demitria shoved the door open and stood there, flushed and fiery-eyed.
Holy crow. The controlled Dr. Costanas on a tear.
“You wanted me to talk,” she said. “I’m ready to talk.”
She stuck herself into the papasan chair, rocking backward and recovering herself like a kid determined not to fall out of that swing. Sully slanted against the desk.
“You want to take a minute to breathe—maybe get centered?”
“No, I do not. I want to get this out before I explode.” She pulled at her hair with both hands. “How could I have been so stupid? This is just getting worse.”
“All right, then let’s—”
“He’s out there!” she said.
“He’s out there.”
“Yeah, sitting around, letting me take the flack for this whole thing by myself. He hasn’t ‘disappeared.’ He’s a complete psycho—and I thought I loved him! I threw away my whole life.”
She stopped abruptly, chest expanding as she heaved in air. He could see her reeling herself in.
“Sorry,” she said.
“For what? This is exactly what I think you need to be doing.” He grinned. “If I didn’t suspect you’d deck me I’d give you a series of dings.”
She folded her knees up to her chest.
“I take it we’re talking about Zach Archer,” Sully said.
She shuddered. “A reporter told me he’s been in touch with him—that he has no intention of coming back.”
Sully eased himself into his own chair. “Do you want him to come back?”
“No!”
Sully waited.
“Yes—I want him to take his share of the responsibility.”
Sully waited longer.
“Although I don’t know why. What difference would it make?”
She shrugged, but Sully put up his hand. “Try not to do that, Demi,” he said.
“Do what?”
“Slough off things because it doesn’t make sense to be upset about them. If you’re upset, you need to let yourself feel it. Then we can really look at it.”
She gave him a look. “I’m upset.”
Sully smiled. “And you do it so well. Nice job.” He propped a foot up. “I was hoping you’d get angry at somebody besides yourself.”
“Oh, I’m still ticked off at myself,” Demi said. “How could I have been such an idiot? I’m like a little coed who fell for some guy’s line— only I should know better. You know what really ticks me off?”
“Tell me.”
“He got away without believing I meant we were done. Why does that bother me so much?”
“You really want to know?”
She gave him the look. “What else am I here for?”
He wasn’t sure she was going to like it, but he had to go with it. He took the first step gingerly.
“As long as you still want something from Zach, you’re still in the affair.”
“No, I am not.”
He stopped.
“Okay—okay—go on.” She chewed at her lower lip.
“I get the sense that you’d like to have it all wrapped up with a bow.”
“Right.”
“But here’s the thing—if you have a neat wrap-up, you leave with a final kiss and the feeling that you’re abandoning something good.” Sully leaned forward. “How does that leave it? Done—or still lovely in your memory?”
She watched him with that focus he could imagine her having in the classroom.
“Neat and tidy,” she said finally. “But if it’s rotten and lousy, like this has been, I won’t wish I had it back.”
“Ding-ding,” Sully said.
“Yeah.” Her voice gave. “We better get to that premise fast, or I’m going to have to believe I went completely nuts.”
“You ready to get to work?”
She nod
ded. Sully waited until she got her face where she wanted it to be.
“You’ve noticed my collection of stones,” he said.
“Yeah,” she said, even before her eyes actually lit on them.
“There’s one for every person on your list.”
“Like the story of the adulteress.” She twisted her mouth. “I’m not sure you have enough though. What do we do with them?”
“That’s the point,” Sully said. “You can’t do anything about the people holding the rocks. Jesus didn’t even order them to lay down their weapons.”
Her eyes were now on the scattered pile.
“He said, ‘If any one of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw a stone at her.’”
She saddened, as if the right string had just been pulled. “I wish He were here now.”
“Who says He isn’t?”
That thought seemed to make her squirm.
“You still having trouble going to Jesus with this?” Sully asked.
“Ya think?” She lowered her eyes from the pile to her lap.
“The woman in the story didn’t exactly go to Him of her own free will,” Sully said. “She was pretty much dragged.”
He let that sink in. Demi finally looked at him.
“I know the feeling,” she said.
“So as long as you’re here—on the ground in front of Him, as it were—what does He say?”
She closed her eyes, as if the quote were written on her lids. “‘Go now and leave your life of sin’—I think that’s what it is in the NIV.”
Sully stayed silent and watched impatience gather on her face.
“That’s what I’m doing!” she said. “I’m not sinning anymore—I could cut my heart out for doing it in the first place!” She doubled her fists and banged them on her lap. “I’m never going to do that again—but what good does saying that do me now?”
Sully selected his next words carefully. “How do you know you won’t do it again?”
She nearly convulsed from the chair.
“Wait, there’s more,” Sully said.
“There better be.”
“You don’t know you won’t do it again unless you understand why you did it in the first place. I personally think that’s why you haven’t taken it to Jesus.”
“Then why did I do it?” Her voice broke, and the words tumbled like the stones. “I have to know.”