Sweet as Sin (32 page)

But the dim light illuminated the tracks left by her tears. Tears he had caused because he couldn’t be what she needed.

Weak and hating himself for it, he bent down and brushed his lips across her cheek, tasting salt mixed with sugar. The flavor lingered as his truck sped into the night.

Chapter Fourteen

The beeping alarm yanked Livvy from her restless sleep. She rolled to John’s side and smacked the clock until it shut up. She was scowling before she even opened her eyes. He hadn’t come to bed again last night. No click-clack of computer keys greeted her and the house was oddly hushed.

Livvy tugged a tee shirt over her head and tiptoed to the study. John was not asleep at his desk. He wasn’t sprawled on the couch. There was no note saying he’d run out for coffee. His driveway was empty. Livy stood staring at that empty patch of gravel and fought a shiver.

Her mind raced with worry as she darted across the lawn and into the back of her house. Andrea sat on the couch eating frozen pizza, her scrub top wrinkled and her eyes heavy.

“Morning,” she called without turning her face from the TV.

“Hey.” Livvy poured herself a cup of coffee.

“Are you eating pizza for breakfast? What happened to your diet?”

“This is my dinner and screw it, I’m starving. I might even have another slice.”

“What time did you get home?”

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“About three. I had to work a split shift. We’re short-handed since Katie’s on vacation.”

“Did you notice if Murphy’s truck was in the drive when you came in?”

“Mmm, not that I recall but I didn’t look.

Why?”

“Just wondered. He was gone when I woke

up.”

“Meh.” Andrea yawned and stretched. “He

probably had cabin fever. I swear he leaves his house less often than many shut-ins do. I’d go nuts if I couldn’t get out every day.”

“Yeah, I guess. I’m going to hit the shower.”

Under a scalding spray, Livvy picked and

prodded at every place John had mentioned going since he moved in. There weren’t that many places he might go. A sudden thought slowed the washcloth’s trek up her arm. Could Gina have taken a turn for the worse? She could completely see John darting out the door in that case. Leaving a note would be the last thing on his mind. She hadn’t heard the phone ring but with only the single extension in the kitchen, she might have slept through it.

She rinsed the shampoo from her hair and

discounted that thought. No, John would have woken her up if something that traumatic had occurred. She was back to square one. As

immature as it sounded, it fit. John had bolted 356

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because he was afraid. It didn’t take a mind reader to understand last night’s mistake had changed things. She’d expected a tense conversation or four, a walking-on-eggshell wait until nature took its course. She’d never expected him to bail.

She called his cell before she got dressed.

Straight to voicemail. Feeling like a love-struck teenager, Livvy called information and was informed there was no public listing for anyone named Salvatori except for a Salvatori

Construction. She was connected in less than a minute. A nasally female put her through.

“Hi, Pete? It’s Livvy Andrews. Sorry, I didn’t know your home number.”

“Livvy? Hi. Is everything all right?”

The guarded tone made her eyes close. “That’s what I was wondering. Uh, Murphy isn’t with Gina by any chance, is he?”

“No, she’s playing Homeroom Mom today at

kindergarten. Livvy, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I just…” She swallowed. “I can’t find Murphy.”

“Did something happen? Did you guys have a fight?”

“Not really.” This was stupid. She never

should have called. “I’m sure it’s nothing and he’ll turn up soon. Sorry to bother you at work.”

“It’s okay. Look, I don’t want to get into the middle of anything but…” A low sound made her Inez Kelley

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think he sat down heavily, as if his load was suddenly too heavy to carry any more. “No one knows more than me. Loving those two isn’t always easy, all right? Sometimes, it’s hard as hell.

They’re both stubborn and strong and…hurt, down where you can’t see it. But I promise they’re both worth it. If you ever need an ear or a shoulder to cry on, anything, you can call me any time.”

“Thanks, Pete.” Livvy hurried off the phone.

She gulped another cup of coffee and drove to the Shack. Her gaze darted down every side street, over every parking lot, looking for the oversized red truck. Nothing.

Why was John so scared? No, neither one of them was ready to be parents but his reaction was extreme. What was going through his head?

Something was missing, something she didn’t understand, something that no army-green folder could explain. Part of her wanted to call Pete back and pour out the whole story, to beg him for insights. But she could never do that to John. He kept his secrets too closely guarded. Pete probably knew more but that knowledge was private, personal and not for sharing.

Lipstick she had carefully applied a half hour ago was chewed off before she pulled into the Sugar Shack’s lot. She sat outside the building and stared at the white painted cinderblock.

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Outlined for the day were three baked-goods trays for the local college alumni meeting, a fiftieth anniversary cake and twelve dozen pumpernickel rolls for a nearby restaurant. She also had to start the cakes for Friday’s pickups and deliveries.

Added to the normal bakery needs, it was a full schedule.

Her mind should be full of all those details that brought in income. The only thought she could muster was how much she loved him and how desperately she needed to hear his voice.

“Where are you, Murphy?”

The coffee in his cardboard cup had long ago cooled and was now bitter but he sipped it anyway.

Why he’d driven half the night to come back to this place he didn’t know. When he pulled in the lot before daybreak, a stray dog had run off but there were no other signs of life.

He must have dozed. One minute, the church stood like a black shadow, the next, it was bathed in soft morning light. Now an orange cat lay on the steps, lazily cleaning its face. He pulled his eyes from the cat to the building behind it.

It didn’t look like much. Just a small brick church with a gravel parking lot, clapboard parsonage situated behind it. Parked at the far edge of the lot, John could tell the house had been recently repainted a blistering white. It shone like Inez Kelley

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alabaster in the early morning sun, making him squint.

The flowerbeds had been taken out and

replaced with river rock and birdbaths. Shutters that had once been green now sported a deep red sheen. Without looking, he knew the back porch would have been repaired. The third step had always sagged and, of course, the door window had been busted out. He’d done that his last night here.

Morning dew was sucked into the growing heat and John stared. He stared so hard the voice at the window made him jump.

“Good morning.”

Her gray hair wrapped in a messy bun atop her head, the plump woman screamed
grandmother.

Her silver glasses hung on a chain around her neck and John was quite sure her teeth could have done the same. “I’ve been watching you out here a few hours now. At first, I thought you were waiting for someone, but I guess not. Would you like to come in?”

His tired eyes shot back to the quiet building.

He had not set foot inside a church since his arrest.

Gina and Pete had had an outdoor wedding so he’d been spared the trip then, and he’d not bothered to attend his nephews’ baptisms. John and churches did not mix well. Did he want to go inside this particular church now?

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“Yeah.” He yanked the keys from the ignition and followed the woman to the wide double white doors. He didn’t get far inside. Just within the foyer, before the actual sanctuary, his feet locked on the floor.

The carpet was new. Yards of camel stretched where once dull red had lain. Gleaming with polish, the pews looked the same, as did the altar.

Not even the high windows in frosted colored glass had changed. But he noticed these things almost subconsciously. His eyes were trained on the third row back from the pulpit, center aisle, on the floor. His spot.

“Are you looking for a new church to attend?”

The woman’s voice buzzed like a fly, hovering just above his thoughts and his reply was terse.

“No.”

“All right. I’m Emily Standish, the pastor here.

What’s your name?”

“John.”

“Hello, John.”

He could feel her eyes boring into him and knew he probably looked like trouble. He hadn’t shaved since yesterday, and sweat rolled down his back despite the stale but cool air in the room.

Every muscle in his body was shrieking with tension and he tried to move his gaze from that invisible spot. The whistle of swinging wood Inez Kelley

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came from the past. Demons screamed his

unworthiness in a never-ceasing voice.

“Louder, John.”
Whack!

“‘And I will not have mercy upon her children;
for they be the children of whoredoms.’”

“I said louder. Hands out!”
Whack!

“‘For their mother has played the harlot: she
that conceived them has done shamefully—’”

Whack!

The slight touch on his arm made him flinch and his face snapped to the older woman. She radiated concern but at this minute he didn’t care.

She didn’t withdraw her hand. Instead, she cupped his elbow and tried to lead him inside.

“Would you like to sit? Maybe I can help.”

Ashamed to admit he wasn’t sure how much

longer his weak legs could hold him, he allowed her to lead him to the very last pew. His knees would not bend and his eyes would not leave that damn empty spot.

Before he knew it, he was standing directly over it. Body trembling, he raised his face to the pulpit, half expecting to see his demon standing there. It stood silent and empty but words rang in his ears.

“‘Cursed be the day on which I was born. The day when my mother bore me, let it not be blessed.

Cursed be the man who brought the news to my father, saying, “A child is born to you, a son,”

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making him very glad. Let that man be like the cities that the Lord overthrew without pity; let him hear a cry in the morning and an alarm at noon, because he did not kill me in the womb; so my mother would have been my grave, and her womb for ever great. Why did I come forth from the womb to see toil and sorrow, and spend my days in shame?’”

He wasn’t aware he’d spoken aloud until the last word fell from his lips.

“Jeremiah twenty, verses fourteen through eighteen, I believe.” The pastor’s soothing voice pulled him from the memory.

“John, age eleven through sixteen.”

Silence, not wholly uncomfortable, seeped into the room and he stared unseeingly at the empty church. It didn’t seem as dark a place as he remembered it being. The walls were the muted eggshell they had always been, and the piano still sat on the left side of the choir loft. Red hymnals and Bibles dotted each pew, and tall candles graced each side of the altar. It was quiet. Maybe peaceful to some, never to him. But no demons screamed here anymore. They had long since left this place and moved to his head.

“You’re Pastor Warner’s son.”

The soft statement spiked his anger. “No. He married my mother but I was never his son.”

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“I remember reading the newspaper accounts.

Why are you here, John? What are you looking for?”

He had no answer. What was he looking for?

What had brought him back to this place after all these years? More confused than before, he turned and faced her. There was no condemnation in her eyes, no fear. She patted the pew seat and he joined her without thought.

Pastor Standish angled her portly frame and leaned back, fiddling with her glasses. “Are you looking for forgiveness?”

John snorted. “Pastor, if you think I’m here because I’m sorry the son of a bitch died, you’re wrong. At the time, it was me or him and I’m too selfish not to have picked me.”

“But you came
here
for a reason. Any church would have done if you were simply looking for absolution. Tell me how I can help you.”

He focused on the crucifix on the far wall. “I don’t know. I hardly remember driving here.”

“What were you thinking before you got in your truck?”

Hands steepled to his lips, John leaned his elbows on his knees and tried to find the words.

Giving voice to his greatest fears was never easy, and he found his tongue oddly tied by her question even though his mind was racing.

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I was thinking that I made an angel cry out of
my own pathetic fear. That I need someone to tell
me I’m wrong, that my soul isn’t as damned as
Alan said. That even if it is, it won’t tarnish Livvy
just because I love her. Tell me I picked the right
side of the fence. Tell me he was wrong and I’m
not a danger to anyone who loves me. Tell me I
won’t become a monster to my own child.

Pastor Standish waited but no words came. Her hand fell on his shoulder and he couldn’t harness the strength to shrug it off. He didn’t know why he couldn’t force his tongue to move. Maybe the secret was buried too deep to be exhumed, maybe he was too ashamed to admit he even

contemplated believing Alan, or maybe he just didn’t want to hear the answers for fear they would confirm the worst.

Too much had crashed down on him in too

short a time, and his mind struggled to adapt.

Added to the normal stresses of an advancing career, buying a house and moving, he’d met an angel, then fallen in love with an intensity that defied description. Before, whenever anyone got close, he’d never had to think about pushing them away, he just did it. It was second nature. But one glimpse into Livvy’s eyes and he was powerless.