by Marta Perry
“That’s not true, Brendan. It can’t be.” The words tasted bitter. “Because if you really believed that, you’d have told me what you were doing.”
He stared at her, the color of his eyes almost black. He didn’t have an answer. He couldn’t, because there wasn’t one.
The closeness she’d felt such a short time ago was gone entirely now, replaced by a chasm. Wide and deep and dark.
Chapter Four
Brendan hung up the phone after leaving a message for Claire. It would probably qualify as a miracle if she called him back. The two days since their disastrous exchange about Stacy and Ted had been enough time to kick himself a thousand times about the way he’d handled that situation.
He leaned back, his desk chair squeaking in protest. No use telling himself that he’d been too shocked by the revelation to respond tactfully. If he had that conversation to do over again, he wasn’t sure he’d do any better, no matter how much time he had to prepare.
He’d unintentionally burned bridges between them, personal as well as spiritual. She wouldn’t forgive him easily.
“Do you have a minute?”
He nearly toppled over backward at the sound of Claire’s voice. He righted his chair. It would probably help not to act like a total idiot just because she was here.
“Of course. Come in.” He couldn’t help the flood of pleasure at the sight of her, but he could try to contain it so that she wouldn’t know. He gestured toward the phone. “I just left a message for you.”
And apparently miracles did happen.
“I know.” She held up a palm-sized cell phone and then dropped it into the leather bag that was slung from her shoulder. “I’d left the office already, so I thought I’d stop by instead of calling.” Her tone was as cool and remote as if he’d called to sell her insurance. “You have some information for me?”
His mind scrambled for the reason he’d called her, swamped by the sheer surprise that she was actually in his office again. Information. Yes, he had that, as well as a suggestion, and both things were going to require a little tact. Correction, a lot.
“I have the counselor’s name and phone number here somewhere.” He shuffled through the papers that covered his desk, even though he knew exactly where the information was. “Please, have a seat.”
Claire hesitated for a fraction of a second, looking at the visitor’s chair as if she’d never seen it before. Then she swung her bag off her shoulder and sat down, dropping the bag lightly beside her feet.
Today she wore a pale cream jacket over a green shirt. The combination turned her eyes the same mahogany color as her hair, and she looked cool and elegant in spite of the fact that it was the end of the workday and the June sunshine had brought the outside temperature over eighty.
Focus. Figure out how to approach her about this. Don’t let how she looks distract you.
Good advice. Now if he could just manage to take it, he might handle this situation better.
“Here’s the counselor’s card.” He rounded the desk to take it to her. No point in having a piece of furniture between them when he hoped to sway her to his way of looking at things. He sat in the other visitor’s chair, watching as she frowned at the card.
“You’re convinced this woman is the best person for Stacy? I haven’t ever heard of her.”
“Would you expect to have heard of her?” It seemed unlikely that someone like Claire would have had any experience of Suffolk’s counseling community.
She shrugged. “People talk.”
He took a breath, trying to find the right way to phrase what he had to say about the counselor. Please, Father.
“I’ve referred people to her in the past with good results. And the other mental health professionals I’ve worked with speak highly of her, particularly in the area of pregnancy counseling for teens.”
Some emotion flickered in her eyes and was gone. “I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.”
“There’s something else you should know about her.” He was walking on eggs, trying to gauge her reaction. “Ms. Fielding is a qualified counselor, but she’s also a Christian who counsels according to Christian principles.”
Actually, her reaction wasn’t that tough to figure out. She stiffened, her fingers tightening on the leather bag strap she still held as if she’d like to swing the purse at him.
“What exactly does that mean? That she shares your concern for the abuser?”
They’d ricocheted right back to their earlier argument. “Beth Fielding will be Stacy’s counselor. You don’t have to worry about her having a conflict of interest.” The words she’d used to him echoed in his head. “I’m sorry you feel as if I do.”
Claire’s jaw tightened. “It’s not a question of how I feel. As long as you’re trying to help Ted, you’re risking Stacy’s well-being.”
Was he? He’d struggled with that question since their battle, but he still didn’t have an answer.
“Stacy comes first with me,” he said carefully. “Her situation is urgent. But I can’t ignore Ted’s problems. Whether he knows it or not, he needs help, too.”
And you think you’re the one to help him. The voice jeered at him from the back of his mind. How could you help him? You couldn’t even help your own father.
“Why do you have to be the one to help him?” Claire’s question was like an echo. “Why don’t you send him to someone else?”
At least he knew the answer to that question. “He wouldn’t go to someone else. It’s not easy to get these kids to open up to you. They’re used to being let down. One mistake and they’re gone.”
God certainly knew he didn’t want to be the one to deal with Ted. Being around the kid only forced him to fight his own inner battle more fiercely.
Claire didn’t know that, and her stare was uncompromising. “Isn’t it a little arrogant to think you’re the only one he’ll open up to?”
His temper flared, appalling him. He couldn’t let Claire’s probing affect him that way. “Maybe so. But at the moment I’m all he’s got.”
“It seems to me that’s all the more reason to get someone else involved.”
He had to clench his teeth for an instant before he could speak. Persistence seemed to be Claire’s middle name. Was this how his father had felt when his mother went on and on at him about something?
Please, Lord.
God knew the rest of that prayer. He’d heard it enough times.
“We seem to be getting off the subject.” He nodded to the card she still held in her hand. “We’re trying to decide who can best help Stacy, remember? Are you willing to go with her to see Beth Fielding?”
She frowned at the card, her lashes hiding her eyes from him. Finally, she nodded. “I’ll give it a try. With one provision.”
He was almost afraid to ask what, but she seemed to take his response for granted.
“If I feel this counselor of yours is giving Stacy advice that’s against her best interests, we look for someone else.”
“Done.” A wave of relief swept over him. Claire would recognize Beth’s value, he felt sure of that.
“All right. I’ll call and set up an appointment. About the cost—”
“The pastor’s discretionary fund was set up for things like this.” Though how far it would stretch was another question. “I’ll handle it.”
She nodded. “I guess that’s all, then.” She started to rise.
“There is one other thing.” It was scary how much he’d like her to stay a bit longer. “You said you’re trying to help Stacy get a job.”
“Trying is the operative word.” She brushed a strand of that copper-colored hair back from her cheek impatiently. “Don’t schools teach these kids anything about how to get along in the working world?”
“If they do, it doesn’t seem to be taking.” The faces of his drop-in kids flickered through his mind. “Anyway, I wondered how she responded to the idea of helping with the wedding.”
“Not bad.
At least she’s enthusiastic about it.”
“That’s half the battle, isn’t it?”
She nodded. “I suppose so. I’d like to get her thinking beyond flipping hamburgers for the rest of her life. Maybe that will come.”
She stood, picking up her bag.
He rose, too. “If anyone can do it, you can.” He touched her arm lightly, wishing he knew how to get back to that feeling that they were in this together. “Believe me, I do have Stacy’s best interest at heart. We both do.”
She looked at him for a moment, as if measuring the weight of his words. Then she nodded. “I guess I can accept that.” She reached for the door.
“I’ll see you—”
The door swung open, revealing the kid who waited in the outer office, leaning against the secretary’s desk. The last person he wanted to see right now.
“Ted.” He tried to sound welcoming. “I didn’t expect you.”
The boy shrugged, face set in his usual tough-guy mode. “I figured maybe you know where Stacy is.”
The outrage that flowed from Claire was almost strong enough to knock him off his feet. He didn’t look at her, but he felt it.
“I’m not going to tell you that.” He kept his voice even. “But I’d still like to talk to you. Come in.”
Ted’s fists clenched, but then he shrugged and sauntered through the door.
Brendan glanced at Claire, wanting to tell her—
But Claire was already halfway across the secretary’s office, and the very set of her shoulders told him he couldn’t say anything to her that she’d be willing to hear right now.
“I still don’t see why we have to go to the Flanagan house to do this,” Claire said. Three days had passed since that difficult exchange with Brendan, and she still wasn’t ready to see him again.
She glanced across the front seat of Nolie’s car at her friend. No doubt about it, Nolie looked like a bride-to-be. With her blond hair loose on her shoulders and that contented smile constantly on her lips, Nolie was a poster child for love.
Claire was happy for her. Of course she was. But that didn’t mean she wanted to be dragged into such close contact with Nolie’s future in-laws.
“We’re working on the invitation lists, remember?” Nolie said. “We can’t do that without the groom’s family.”
Nolie had a point, but she didn’t intend to admit it.
“They could have just sent me their list. The important thing is to get the text and numbers to the printer.”
Nolie braked for a suicidal squirrel dithering in the middle of the residential street. Nolie, with her love of animals, would wait patiently until the creature decided which way it wanted to run.
“We’ll do the wording and make up the lists this evening,” she said. “Siobhan will be a big help. I still don’t understand how you managed to get the printer to agree to do the invitations on such short notice.”
“I twisted arms.”
Actually, the printer she’d approached did a lot of work for Gray Enterprises. It didn’t seem necessary to mention the subtle blackmail she’d applied.
Nolie glanced at her, her blue eyes sparkling with laughter. “Is that how you’re getting Brendan’s cooperation, too? Arm wrestling?”
“Pastor Brendan deserves to be body slammed.” Nolie and the rest of the Flanagans already knew about Stacy’s pregnancy. She could tell her the latest. “He’s still trying to counsel the kid who beat up Stacy. I practically tripped on him when I was coming out of Brendan’s office the other day.”
“Poor Stacy.” Sorrow and memory shadowed Nolie’s face for a moment. Nolie knew, as well as she did, what abuse felt like. How it could affect the rest of your life even when you thought you were free of it.
Claire shook off the morbid turn her thoughts had taken. That was ridiculous. Nolie was free of the past now, in her love for Gabe. And she herself was free in her success. Neither of them were going back.
“Well, I have to admit Stacy’s doing better. And the counselor does seem to be helping, even if Brendan did recommend her.”
“Be fair. Brendan isn’t a total waste, is he?”
“I refuse to answer on the grounds that you’re about to be related to him.”
The car turned onto the pleasantly tree-lined street where the Flanagan family lived. It was the kind of street where kids played hide-and-seek outside in the summer twilight. She’d lived on a block like this once, before her mother’s death and her father’s remarriage had changed her life forever.
Nolie shot her an impish glance as she pulled up in front of the brick house with the wide, welcoming front porch. “You know, maybe the reason Brendan annoys you so much is that you’re too much alike.”
“Alike?” She could only echo the word. “What on earth makes you say that?”
“Alike,” Nolie said firmly, switching off the ignition. “You’re the two most single-minded and determined people I know.”
“Love has made you soft in the head if you think I’m anything like Pastor Brendan Flanagan.” Claire grasped the door handle. “Let’s go in and get this over with. The less time I spend with the Flanagan tribe, the better I’ll feel.”
“Okay, I think I have everything.” Stacy looked up from the lists they’d spread on the Flanagans’ oval dining table. “I can put everything on the computer tomorrow.”
Claire would like to insist that she could address all those invitations by hand, but that was clearly impossible, given the time limits. The important thing was to get them out, and at least Stacy knew something about using a computer.
“That’s great, Stacy.” Siobhan, Gabe’s mother, gave Stacy a warm smile, and Claire couldn’t help noticing how the girl blossomed under the look. “We’ll have these ready to be mailed in no time.”
“I’ll take care of mailing them,” Claire said. The Flanagans had helped get the list together, but there was no reason for them to do more.
“We want to help.” Siobhan turned that warm smile on her. If she hadn’t had her shield in place as usual, she might actually have felt warmed by that look.
“You’ve already done enough, getting the lists together. To say nothing of the dessert.”
There’d been two kinds of pie waiting on the table when she and Nolie arrived, along with coffee and tea. Brendan, Gabe, and Gabe’s father had joined them for the dessert, but they’d quickly lost interest when the conversation turned to wedding lists.
Claire could still hear the low rumble of masculine voices from the living room. She thought she could identify Brendan’s chuckle.
She dismissed that fancy. They all sounded alike.
And it was just as well the men had wimped out at the thought of making up invitation lists. She had no desire to have Brendan looking over her shoulder while she interacted with his aunt.
Brendan had been completely off base in implying that she had some ulterior motive for excluding the Flanagans from the wedding plans. She was cooperating, wasn’t she?
“Now, I’ve been giving some thought to the shower,” Siobhan said.
“You don’t need to worry about that. I have it under control.”
Her gaze clashed with Siobhan’s across the polished table. She’d thought Siobhan was just a soft, fluffy, maternal figure. There seemed to be steel beneath the surface, however.
“I don’t want either of you going to that much bother.” Nolie’s face was troubled. “It’s too much work. I don’t need a shower.”
“Yes, you do,” Claire said firmly.
“Of course you do,” Siobhan echoed. “Every bride should have a shower. It could be a couples party if you want, but you’re definitely having a shower.”
“At my place.”
She had to get this business back under her control, or the Flanagans would be running everything. Just like Brendan tried to run everything when it came to dealing with Stacy and her troubles.
“We have plenty of room here.” Siobhan’s gesture swept the dining room and
living room.
“My place is big enough.”
“Big enough for what?”
Brendan’s voice came from close behind her, and a little frisson of awareness swept down her spine. Too close. She wouldn’t turn and look.
“We’re talking about the bridal shower.”
He grasped the top of her chair back, leaning against it casually. “Do the guys get to skip that one?”
Siobhan and Nolie exchanged a laughing glance, as if they’d known he’d say that. The feeling that stabbed her was impossible to mistake. She took a breath, forcing herself to admit the emotion.
Jealousy. She was jealous of Nolie’s relationship with Siobhan.
There was nothing pretty about that emotion. She struggled with the unpalatable truth, while Siobhan and Nolie took turns explaining to Brendan that since it was going to be a couples shower, he couldn’t possibly get out of attending.
“All right, all right.” He held up his hands in surrender. “Just tell me I don’t have to play any goofy games, and I’ll be there.”
“If there are goofy games, you’ll be the first one called on,” Nolie promised him.
“You do, and I’ll make sure you stumble over your vows,” Brendan threatened.
Claire glanced up at his face, then wished she hadn’t. She hadn’t seen that relaxed, laughing, loving expression before. Maybe that was just as well. It sent a dismayingly strong wave of response sweeping through her.
“You’ll behave yourself, Brendan David, that’s what you’ll do,” Siobhan said. “I’ll not have Claire thinking I didn’t raise you right.”
“I’m sure Claire doesn’t blame my shortcomings on you.”
His smiling gaze challenged her to agree. Maybe it was safest not to respond at all.
“Anyway, about the shower.” Siobhan’s voice had turned persuasive. “You’re doing so much, Claire. At least let us have the shower here. We won’t interfere with any arrangements you want to make, but at least we can save you the clutter, and we have plenty of room. Please, won’t you let us do that?”
She opened her mouth to refuse, but she caught the ironic glint in Brendan’s eyes and stopped. He knew what was going on with her. He’d recognized that ugly emotion for what it was even before she had.