The Runaway Pastor's Wife

by Diane Moody

  Max shifted in his seat. “With all due respect, Mr. Harrison, that’s where you step over the line. I’m just a student in your class. You have no right to keep bringing up my father’s name or the fact that he’s my dad. You think you can keep picking on me just because you have a problem with him, don’t you?”

  Harrison stood up and slowly walked over to the bank of windows. “Oh now, just calm down, McGregor. No use getting yourself all in a huff. I’d just like to see a little of that respect from you. That’s all. You sit there staring up at me with a real chip on your shoulder. I suppose I do expect more from you than I should.” Harrison leaned against the counter under the windows. “If I were a betting man, I’d wager there have been quite a few sessions about me at your home. Am I right?”

  Max scoffed. “What kind of question is that?”

  “Don’t play games with me. It’s no secret that your father and I don’t get along. Anybody associated with the church or this school knows that.”

  “So?”

  “So I’m betting my name has been batted around your home quite a bit. And most likely, not in the kindest of terms.”

  “Look, I still don’t know what you’re asking. You want me to tell you things that are said in the privacy of our home? I don’t think so!”

  “I’m sure your mother has probably had plenty to say—”

  “What about my mother?” Max stood up, hiking his backpack up on his shoulder. “Y’know, you’ve got some nerve. It’s none of your business what my mom or my dad say about you! But I’ll tell you this much—neither one of them come close to the kind of crap I have to put up with from you. And you know what? I just made a decision. I’m not putting up with your crap anymore! You got that?”

  Max shoved open the door in a burst of anger, slamming it back against the wall as hard as he could. Its glass window shattered in a thousand pieces then dropped like a waterfall, crashing to the floor. Max stood frozen in his tracks, his back still turned on the disaster behind him. He closed his eyes, knowing his fate was now surely sealed.

  From inside the classroom came the quiet, unprovoked voice of his history teacher. “My, my, what a temper, Mr. McGregor. No wonder your mother ran away from home.”

  In that split millisecond, Max felt his blood boil over. He clenched his fists, trying to steel himself. With bold, deliberate steps, he forced himself to walk away from actions that most certainly would get him expelled.

  Or land him behind bars.

  “Max, wait up! What happened?”

  Max fumbled in his pocket for his keys. He unlocked the passenger door of his car and held it open for Megan. He refused to look at her. “I lost my temper. I broke the glass in his stupid door, okay?”

  He slammed the door after she got in then slammed his own before turning the key in the ignition, immediately throwing it into reverse. His wheels squealed in protest as he backed out, leaving a patch of rubber as a black tribute to his anger. Megan quickly buckled her seat belt and braced her hands against the dash and the door handle.

  After roaring out of the school parking lot and onto the road that sliced in front of the church and school property, Max rolled his head back against the headrest and slowly let out a long sigh. His foot moved to the brake as he sought to bring the car back under control. They drove for several minutes without speaking. Finally, Max pulled off the road into the Sonic Drive-In. He placed their usual order over the intercom, then turned to face Megan, leaning against his door.

  “Hey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have peeled out like that. Are you okay?”

  Megan unfastened her seatbelt and turned to face him. “Yeah, I’m fine now. A little worried about you, though. I’ve never seen you like this. You really scared me back there.” She sandwiched his hand between hers. “This is more than the usual stuff from Mr. Harrison, isn’t it?”

  Max tightened his grip on her hands. “Yeah, a lot more. He just kept pushing me! It’s like he knows if he pushes me hard enough then gives me one more solid punch, I’ll go over the edge. And this time he actually pulled it off. And I lost it, Megan. I was already heading out the door, for cryin’ out loud!”

  He pulled his hand free and ran his fingers through his hair.

  “What in the world could he possibly have said to put you over the edge? To make you that mad?”

  He stopped agitating his hair. “He brought up Mom.”

  “That’s it? He mentioned your mom and you went ballistic?”

  “Megan, there’s something I haven’t told you. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to, but it’s killing me not to be able to talk to you about it.”

  “What is it?”

  He reached over for her hand again. “It’s about Mom. She’s been gone for a couple of days and we don’t know where.”

  Megan cocked her head sideways. “I don’t understand.”

  “Dad wasn’t going to tell us, I think because he knew how much we’d worry. But I knew something was up. Yesterday he finally told me ‘she had to get away.’ Whatever that means. Like maybe an emotional breakdown or something . . .” His voiced grew husky and he looked away.

  “Oh Max, I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you tell me? You know I’d never say anything to anyone.” She held his hand up to her cheek then gently kissed it. “No wonder you’ve been so upset. I can’t imagine what your dad must be going through. He doesn’t know where she is?”

  “No. She left a note but didn’t say where she was going. Only that she was having a tough time and had to have some time to herself. I keep wondering if it was something I might have done.”

  “You can’t blame yourself for this. It probably has nothing to do with you.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing. Forget it.” Max dropped her hand and stretched his arms against the steering wheel.

  Megan paused for a moment, looking out her window. “No. I don’t want to forget it. What did you mean?”

  “Stop trying to read something into it. I hate when you do that.”

  “Wait a minute. How did this get back to me? I haven’t done anything. I was just trying to help.”

  “Right, Megan. Always the innocent. You’re never to blame for anything. You never do anything wrong. You’re always perfect, every hair in place. No, it’s always me. I’m the one who’s always in trouble. Like I asked Mr. Harrison to pick on me! Yeah, right.”

  Megan’s chin began to tremble. “I never said that! And I don’t pretend to be perfect. How could you say that?”

  The waitress approached his window with two frosty mugs of root beer on a tray. “Just forget it!” he shouted, throwing the car into reverse again, screeching backward.

  Moments later, his tires squealed to a stop at the curb in front of her house. Megan wiped her nose and gathered her backpack and purse then opened the door. “Max, I don’t know why you’re so upset with me. And I’m really sorry about your mom,” her words warbling with emotion. “But if you don’t get control of your temper, you’re going to chase away everyone who loves you. And that includes me.” She slammed the door and ran up her driveway.

  And for the third time in less than an hour, he left a trail of black rubber smoking behind him.

  “It’s about time! Where’ve you been?” Jeremy blasted as Max opened the door to the kitchen. “You were supposed to take me to buy a new pair of Nikes this afternoon. You promised you’d take me after your basketball practice!”

  “Jeremy, you’re not the only one in this family with a life, okay? So I forgot. Big deal. I’ll take you this weekend, so get over it.” Max kept moving, heading for the solitude and privacy of his room. He hoped this little skirmish had gone undetected by his dad and grandmother. No such luck.

  “Whoa, hold up there, buddy,” his dad called out from his study. “I think you owe your brother an apology. He’s been counting on you to help him pick out those shoes for a long time. You promised him.”

  Max made
the turn and started up the stairs, calling over his shoulder, “Fine. Jeremy, I apologize. Now, is everyone satisfied?” He flew up the steps three at a time.

  “Max, stop. Right there.” His father stood at the foot of the staircase. “What’s going on? Jeremy didn’t deserve that kind of reaction. And I’d like to know where you’ve been. It’s almost 6:30.”

  Max stood with his back to his father then sighed and turned around. His eyes stayed focused on the backpack hanging from his shoulder. “I had to stay at school a little late, that’s all. Then I took Megan home and we had a fight. Okay? I’ve got homework to do.”

  He could feel his father’s eyes on him. Silence.

  Finally, “We’ll talk later.”

  He didn’t wait for a response, nor did he get one.

  Upstairs, Max threw his backpack on his bed and touched the ON button on his CD remote. Guitars and drums blasted, filling the room. It hammered his soul, matching rhythm with his anxiety. He started to pull the books from his bag, then decided against it for the moment. In one swift motion he shoved all of it off on the floor and flopped onto his bed.

  Max shut his eyes and tried to put the events of the last few hours out of his head, but it was too fresh. Images assaulted his mind. The smirk on Mr. Harrison’s face. The crash of the glass on the floor. The warmth of Megan’s hands wrapped in his, then the hurt in her eyes as she began to cry. He remembered the urge he’d had to bite somebody’s head off as he drove home. And he remembered the battle inside his heart as he flew up the stairs with his back to his father.

  Dad has enough to worry about right now. The last thing he needs is more fires to put out like this crap from Mr. Harrison. He’ll find out soon enough when the school calls.

  But something his teacher had said was echoing through the back of his mind. “My, my, what a temper, Mr. McGregor. No wonder your mother ran away.”

  Max felt a sudden wave of nausea. How in the world could Mr. Harrison possibly know about Mom? And even if he did know, why would he have any reason to think she ran away? Max rolled over on his side, cradling his queasiness. Harrison was to blame for everything—the busted window, his fight with Megan, his trouble with Jeremy and his dad’s disappointment in him. But none of that bothered him half as much as the gnawing fact that Harrison knew about his mother.

  CHAPTER 15

  The Texas Panhandle

  A knot of fear tightened in Michael’s stomach. A state trooper’s cruiser was two cars back. He casually put on his blinker and changed lanes. The cruiser did the same. Michael changed back to the right lane and eased back on the accelerator. The cruiser passed him then exited a mile later.

  Michael took a deep breath and blew out a long sigh. Relieved, he still couldn’t relax. Surely Elliott had put some kind of APB out on him by now. It didn’t make sense. You don’t escape someone as powerful as Elliott Thomas. Yet he was already 600 miles out of Houston. It didn’t add up. And because it didn’t add up, Michael felt even more insecure. He decided to get off the highway and find some back roads just to be safe.

  The two-lane road wasn’t shown on Michael’s U.S. map. He needed state maps so he could plot his way to Weber Creek. Three miles down the road he spotted a run-down gas station that must have been around since the invention of the automobile. But the gas was cheap and more important, the old man sitting behind the dusty counter could supply him with maps of Texas and Colorado. The proprietor never took his eyes off the tiny black and white television screen. He was deeply immersed in a Wheel of Fortune rerun.

  Good. If anyone stops in to ask if he’s seen me, he won’t know a thing. Thank you, Vanna White.

  Michael had driven a couple of hours when he realized the muscle relaxer had obviously given him the boost he needed to continue his long drive north. Outside, the temperature was dropping as the daunting sky continued to release its payload. For a Texan from Houston, he was unaccustomed to driving in frigid conditions like these. He hoped this country road would remain drivable if the storm got worse. His Escalade might own the road in Texas, but it was an alien to the rough back roads he now traveled.

  A twinge of sadness descended on him as he looked at the wintry scenes around him. It was far too beautiful. The flat barren panhandle of Texas had delivered him into a mystical landscape with majestic mountain ranges looming in the distance. These were visions designed for families on their way to the slopes. Couples heading for a romantic honeymoon in a secluded chalet. Carloads of college kids traveling to ski lodges for the weekend.

  Much too beautiful for someone running for his life.

  As he followed the narrow road through the rising mountains, he spotted a roadside store approaching. He pulled off and steered his car toward the phone booth on the far right side of the old brick building. The car door flew open once he turned the handle, whipped by a strong gust of wind. Shivering, he hurried to the booth, grateful it still had a door. He inched his bandaged hand into the pocket of his sweat pants and pulled out a handful of change.

  “Operator. How may I help you?”

  The wind rattled the booth as he backed against the door to hold it shut. The operator placed the call. In a few moments Michael heard the familiar voice on the other end of the line.

  “Michael!”

  “Yeah, Grady, it’s me.”

  “Where are you, man? I’ve been worried sick about you! Why haven’t you called me?”

  “Hold on, Brewster. I’m in trouble, man. I’m on the road—”

  “What? Where are you? What’s—”

  “Let me finish!” Michael yelled into the receiver. “Grady, you have no idea what’s been going down in the last 24 hours. I told you there’s been some trouble. After I met with you the other night, there was a confrontation between me and Elliot. He’s trying to shut me up. It was bad, Grady. Really bad.”

  “What happened? Are you all right?”

  “It got really ugly. He pulled a gun on me—”

  “He what? Michael, are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Well, not exactly. He pulled a gun and unloaded a couple of bullets into me—”

  “He shot you?! You must be kidding! He’s a United States congressman! Guys like that don’t go around shooting people!”

  “What, you think I’m making this up?” he yelled. “He was IN THE CAR with me, Brewster!” He paused, surprised at Grady’s silence. “Grady . . . look, I’m sorry,” he apologized quietly. “I didn’t mean to yell at you like that.”

  “No, Michael, I’m the one who’s sorry. I just can’t believe it, that’s all. I’m not saying it didn’t happen. It’s just so outrageous. What was he thinking? What could be so bad that he—”

  “There’s not time for that now. I’ll tell you all about it later. I just wanted to call you.” Michael slid down onto the floor. He was dizzy again and chilled to the bone.

  “Geez, buddy, are you okay? Where are the bullet wounds?”

  Michael took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The booth was swaying around him. “One in my shoulder, the other under my ribs on my right side. I’ve lost a lot of blood.”

  “Now you listen to me. You get yourself to a hospital and I mean now! You can’t fool around with this kind of—”

  “I can’t go to a hospital. I have to disappear for a while. Elliot wants me dead. He needs me dead, man, and next time he won’t miss. I’m not about to give him another chance. I had to get away as far and as fast as I could. I’ve stopped a few times to clean up these wounds but I’m not much of a doctor.”

  “Then find yourself one! It doesn’t have to be a hospital. Pull off somewhere and find some small town clinic or—”

  “But Grady, I can’t leave a trail behind me. I can’t stop, can’t take any chances. I’ll get help as soon as I reach my destination.”

  “Where are you headed? I’ll hop on a plane and—”

  “No, Grady. Don’t. Stay right where you are. I need you where I can reach you once I get there.”

 
; “So where are you going?” An audible edge filtered Grady’s voice.

  “I don’t want to say. They can’t beat it out of you if you don’t know.”

  “Are you crazy? Nobody’s gonna come asking me about all this! You’re not thinking rationally. You’re being completely paranoid, Dean. Just tell me where—”

  “No! I can’t take that chance!” He shivered, trying to stay focused. “I’ll call you in a few hours. I need time to think, time to figure out what I’m going to do. In the meantime, I need you to write this number down for me and keep it somewhere safe—89. It’s the number of a locker at the bus station in Plainview, Texas. If anything happens to me, you give that number to the authorities and tell them where it’s located. There’s a lot of evidence in a packet there. Documentation, that sort of thing. But swear to me, you won’t breathe a word of that to anybody unless something happens to me. Swear to me, Grady.”

  “Okay, okay! I swear. Do I need to go get it now? Are you there in Plainview now?”

  “No, I’m not in Plainview. And don’t even think of going after that yourself. Leave it to the authorities. And only if something goes down. I have the only key, so the police would have to order the postal employees to open it. Just promise me you’ll pursue it, but only if something happens to me. Promise me!” Michael heard another frustrated sigh over the phone line.

  “Fine. Whatever you say.”

  “Grady, my whole life is slipping out from under me . . . I don’t know what to do. I just need to get somewhere safe so I can think. I need to think. That’s all. I need to think . . .”

  “Okay, Michael. Have it your way. I’m here for you. Just don’t take so long to call me back. I want to hear from you again in a couple of hours, you got that?”

  “I’ll do my best. Hey, I’m sorry. I’m—” His voice cracked.

  “Hey, don’t go soft on me, man. You hang in there, okay? You can do it. I’m going to help you get through this. We’ll handle Elliot. But you’ve got to let me help you. Okay?”