Paul’s eyes flickered. “Not shares. Bonds. There’s nothing wrong with it! It’ll give us what we need to finish the project.” Paul tried on a smile, but it didn’t fit. “You won’t have to worry about paying the subcontractors anymore.”
There was no talking to him, no heading him off from disaster. By the time the church was finished, it would just be another big project brought to fruition. Stephen wished he had never gotten involved. He wished he had never done the conceptual drawings and the blueprints. God, forgive me. Please. I didn’t know what I was getting into. I didn’t know what I was getting these people into. He felt sick. “I’m contracted to finish the west wing. It’s almost done. After that, I’m out. I can’t in good conscience move forward. Not in the direction you’re going.”
Paul looked grim, but not surprised. He folded his hands on his desk. “Gerald didn’t think you’d have the staying power.”
“Is that so? Based on what information?” He’d never left a project unfinished until now. Then again, he had never worked with a pastor and board who thought they had unlimited resources. They ran this place like the government, a new tithe increase every term.
“We’ve had our disagreements, Stephen, but I hoped you would see this project through. The end result will be every bit as fantastic as we first envisioned it.”
The end result was exactly what Stephen had been talking about for months, but Paul didn’t seem to get it. “I was under the impression a church wasn’t just a building, Paul. A church is built on faith.”
Paul’s eyes darkened. “I don’t need to be told that. It is being built on faith. My faith in the ability of the people of this church to come through!”
“Come through for what? for whom? You?”
“You’re the one without faith, Stephen. You had enough to get us started, but not enough to endure to the end. And that’s saving faith. You don’t even have as much as a mustard seed.” He took on an expression of profound disappointment. “Who’d have thought you would be the stumbling block to a project like this? Something that will bring credit to your name whether you finish it or not?”
“I don’t want my name mentioned. I never did.”
Paul shook his head. “The least you can do at this point is give us some recommendations.”
Stephen couldn’t believe his brass. “Someone with more faith than I have, you mean? Someone who’ll work for 3 percent? Other subcontractors who’ll walk when I do because they will know Marvin Lockford holds the key to the money and they’ll have to use dynamite to get into the vault?”
“It’s always the money with you, isn’t it? So much for all your rhetoric about building something for God!”
Stephen clenched his fist. Lord, help me think straight. Don’t let my anger get the better of me.
“How about giving me the name of someone who values his reputation?”
Stephen felt a cold wave of shock. “Is that a threat?”
“It’s what people will say when word gets out that you quit in the middle of building our church. And what will the papers make of it? I wonder. Did you think of that before busting in here with your demands? Stephen Decker doesn’t finish what he starts. He’s not dependable. That’s what people are going to say. I don’t think you’ll be welcome at VNLC after word gets out. I doubt you’ll find much work in the area either.”
“And you call yourself a man of God.”
“You’re the one turning your back on the church, Stephen! You’re the one deserting Jesus Christ!”
Stephen couldn’t believe the man sitting behind the mahogany desk was the same man who had befriended a stranger at Charlie’s Diner. Or had all that just been a good cover for what he really was underneath the surface? “It’s because of Christ I’m walking away from this project, Paul. And it’s because of Christ I’m not coming over the top of your desk right now and pounding your face into a bloody pulp.”
His eyes widened in fear. “Try it and I’ll have you arrested for assault.”
“You know your real problem, Paul? You’ve forgotten who you work for.” Stephen yanked open the door.
“Finished so soon?” Sheila crooned, rising like Venus from the sea.
Stephen figured Pastor Paul could fend for himself in shark-infested waters.
Samuel sat in his DeSoto across from the old Centerville Christian Church, a newspaper lying beside him on the seat with the headline that had sent him out for verification: “Historical Landmark Sold.” The front doors of the church were open. A cherry picker was parked on the curb, a two-man crew at work on the steeple. Samuel saw a pickup pull up. A man got out and pried up the For Sale sign with a Sold banner across it, heaved it into the back, and drove off. A local sign company was at work mounting a new marquee on the front of the building.
He heard shouting from the basket of the cherry picker. The wooden cross that had stood above the treetops of Centerville for over a hundred years toppled, bounced down the roof, and fell, splintering into pieces on the front steps of the old church. Samuel made an anguished cry, but no one heard him. Who cared about an old man in an old car watching progress come to town?
Two young men came out of the church. One held a box. They talked animatedly as they put letters up on the marquee. When they finished, they embraced. The crew from the cherry picker gathered up the pieces of the cross and tossed them into the back of the truck, then received a check from one of the young men. As the cherry picker pulled away, Samuel was able to read the marquee:
New home of the Science of the Mind Church Services every Sunday at 10:00 A.M.
Visitors Welcome
Bowing his head, Samuel wept. Sobs shook his body. He could hardly catch his breath. Soul-weary, he started his old DeSoto and drove home, praying every foot of the way that the Lord wouldn’t leave him on this earth much longer.
Paul answered the telephone on the second ring, and his heart leaped at the familiar voice on the other end. “Paul, I have to talk with you.”
He glanced toward the kitchen where Eunice was peeling potatoes. “I told you never to call me at home.”
“I couldn’t help it. Rob was an absolute monster before he left yesterday. He said the meanest things to me. I need to talk to you. I’m desperate.”
Paul could hear her soft weeping. “Sheila, I’ve explained before. You have to call the church office and make an appointment through Reka. The last thing either of us wants is misunderstanding about our relationship.”
“Reka doesn’t like me.”
Eunice looked his way. He shrugged and rolled his eyes, pretending it was someone unimportant. “Why do you say that?”
“I can tell. Every time I call for an appointment, she leaves me on hold for five minutes.”
“We get a lot of calls.”
“You know I would never bother you without reason, Paul. I know how important you are.”
“Maybe I should call Carol Matthews. She has a master’s in family counseling.”
“I don’t do well with women, Paul.”
“She’s well trained.”
“It doesn’t matter how well she’s trained. It never works.”
Eunice was looking at him again. He carried the phone into the living room, but found Tim lounged on the sofa, reading his American history textbook. Sliding the glass door open, Paul went out to the patio.
“They don’t like me, Paul. I think they’re jealous. I have money. They don’t. I do everything I possibly can to look my best for my husband. And they gossip about everything from the age difference between me and Rob to the size of my bustline. I’ll bet you didn’t know that, did you?”
“No, I didn’t.” A small white lie.
Paul conceded Sheila was the most beautiful woman in the congregation. And he had overheard gossip. LaVonne Lockford made a crack at a dinner party not long ago about Sheila Atherton having a body like the Star Trek Voyager character Seven of Nine. Whether it was manufactured by plastic surgeons, Paul didn’t know. But he was
a healthy male. He couldn’t help but notice her body when she came to counseling sessions in figure-fitting pants and sweaters. Sometimes she moved in such a way that his mouth went dry.
“I’ve been holding back, Paul,” Sheila had told him last week. “I didn’t want to seem disloyal to my husband. But I guess it’s best to be honest and get things out into the open. I think there’s something wrong with Rob. I wanted him to go in for a checkup, but he says he’s fine.” Paul had pressed her. “Well, I don’t know how to say this . . . ” She had explained in embarrassing detail what the problem was.
No wonder the poor girl was unhappy.
She said she wanted children, but there didn’t seem much chance of that happening. Besides, Rob already had three children by his first wife and a grandbaby on the way. “I’ve tried to be friends with them, but they hate me. They think I’m the one that broke up their father’s marriage to their mother. But it was over and done with long before I came on the scene.”
The more she talked, the more his mind wandered into realms he knew he should avoid. She’d given him a hug the last time, and he had been shocked by his physical response. Of course, she hadn’t meant anything by the embrace. She’d just been thanking him for all the time he spent counseling her and trying to help her fix her marriage. She was so grateful.
“Could you come out to the house? Rob left this morning and I’m so upset. I don’t think I can drive without getting in an accident. Please, Paul.”
“I can’t, Sheila.” Rob was out of town. “It’s inappropriate.”
“Inappropriate?” Her voice broke. “Why? You’re my pastor, aren’t you?”
“People would get the wrong idea.”
“The wrong idea about what?”
She was so innocent. “I have to be especially careful about my reputation.”
“And you think I’d ever do anything to hurt you? Oh, I wouldn’t. I swear I wouldn’t.”
“I know you wouldn’t. But people can easily get the wrong idea. They talk.” A reputation that had taken years to build could be undone in a few minutes. He felt a twinge of conscience. Stephen Decker had little business in Centerville or the surrounding area anymore because Marvin Lockford and Gerald Boham had said Decker wasn’t as upstanding as people might think. Did they know he’d spent time in an alcoholic treatment center? Paul had stayed out of it, but his silence had helped fan the sparks into a fire-storm against the contractor. And Stephen had said nothing to defend him-self. The first few Sundays after the gossip started, he had come to church and sat near the front, looking up at Paul. After a month, Stephen left VNLC.
Sometimes Paul regretted it, but at least no harm had come from his leaving. The building program was on schedule. The new contractor wasn’t a Christian. He didn’t quibble about cutting corners.
“I’m sorry, Paul. I guess I’m asking too much again. Rob says I’m always asking for too much.” She was crying harder now. “It’s just that . . . that I’m so miserable. Sometimes I wish I was dead. Sometimes I think Rob would be happy if I drove my car into a tree! Or took a bottle of pills.”
Paul felt a prickle of fear. He’d learned in training never to take a threat of suicide lightly. “Don’t talk that way. He cares about you. I care about you.” Maybe he should go to her house. She needed him. And she didn’t trust anyone else. Ordinarily he could take Eunice along for something delicate like this, but Sheila thought women didn’t like her. She would never open up if Eunice was there.
“I’m sorry I called you,” Sheila said in a broken voice. “I shouldn’t have bothered you.”
“You’re no bother.”
“I’ll be all right. You don’t need to worry about me anymore.” She fum-bled the telephone as she hung up.
How desperate was she? What had Rob said to get Sheila into such a state? Could he believe her that she would be all right? And if she wasn’t, how could he live with the knowledge that she’d called him and made a desperate plea for help? He couldn’t in good conscience abandon her.
“I’ve got to go out for a couple of hours.” He put the telephone back on the power source and headed for the back door to the garage.
“Who was calling?”
He pretended he didn’t hear her as he grabbed his car keys. “I’ll try to call you later.”
She dried her hands on a towel and followed him as he went out the door. “Paul?” She stood in the doorway.
All he could think about was getting to Sheila before she did anything crazy.
Stephen sat at the counter of Charlie’s Diner. “Haven’t seen you in a while, handsome.” Sally poured his coffee.
“Pastor Paul still warming a seat in here?”
“Oh, not in ages. Not since he moved up to that new housing tract. I don’t think he jogs down our way anymore. At least, not that I’ve seen.” She set the pot back on the burner. “Still going to church?”
“Not lately. You?”
She lifted one shoulder. “Not as often as we used to. CCC’s gotten too big for us. Sorry. Forgot. Valley New Life Center. Beautiful facility though. That fountain is really something, Stephen.”
“Lot of splash.”
“You okay?”
“Why do you ask? Did you hear I fell off the wagon? Don’t believe everything you hear, Sally.”
She made a fist and stopped it just short of his jaw. “You should know me better than that. You just look a little down today.”
“Down, but not out.”
“So what are you building these days? Hotel? Hospital? New airport?”
“Nothing.” He still had business offers, but none that had excited him as much as building that church. In the beginning, at least. It was a good thing he’d made some sound investments. He needed time off.
“Sure miss going to church. You could sure feel the Spirit moving. . . . ”
“You should stop by Samuel Mason’s house if you want to feel the Spirit moving. He’s still holding his Bible study every Wednesday night.” It was the only port in the storms battering Stephen’s life.
Brittany had run away. The private detective ran into a wall in San Francisco. “She’s probably living on the streets. . . . ”
Stephen had bought a bottle of bourbon that night and come close to taking his first drink in years. Then he remembered what his AA sponsor had told him: “It’s the first one that kills you.” He didn’t want his little girl coming home and finding her father had turned into a drunk again.
“Might just come to that Bible study,” Sally said. “Wednesday’s a slow night. Charlie and I could close up early. You sure Samuel wouldn’t mind?”
“He always leaves his door open. You might have to sit on the floor, but there’ll be room for you.”
Others came in. Stephen ate his breakfast alone, praying for his daughter’s safety, praying she’d come home soon. He even prayed for Kathryn. She was a mess, her marriage tumbling down around her ears.
The only thing that kept him from selling his house and moving back to Sacramento was the Wednesday night Bible study. It had become a lifeline. He dropped by Samuel’s a couple of times a week. Every time he did, they sat in the kitchen or out on the patio talking about the Bible. Stephen had gotten hooked on it. It filled in the holes life had punched in him. Stephen always felt God’s presence during those short hours with Samuel. He came away feeling better, believing that God was at work somewhere, somehow. Just not in his line of vision.
“Don’t make yourself so scarce,” Sally said when he set the bell ringing on his way out the door.
Stephen headed out for a drive. He had the inexplicable urge to go to Rockville. The little town fit its name, the only apparent business a sand-and-gravel company on the outskirts of town. As he drove down the main street, he spotted a building up for sale. Pulling over, he looked at it. It could have been an old five-and-dime at one time with an apartment up-stairs for the proprietor. Brick and mortar with turn-of-the-century touches. An iron bench was out front, a derelict w
ith a newspaper over his head sleeping on it.
Stephen got out of his truck and walked the street from one end to the other. It was lined with old maple trees and run-down buildings, a third empty due to businesses going under. Still, there was something about the down-on-its-luck town.
The place fit him.
Laughing at himself, he took his cell phone out of his pocket and punched in the number of the real-estate office listing the building. Teresa Espinoza said she could be in Rockville in an hour. He spent the time driving up and down the rest of the streets. Half the houses were built on bare ground, having been put up before zoning laws would have prevented their construction without proper foundations.
Teresa was a small woman with graying black hair and intelligent dark eyes. “The bank foreclosed three years ago. I don’t think there have been any offers on it.” She unlocked the door and entered. “As you can tell, it needs a lot of work.”
That was an understatement. He walked around the big room, looking at the floors, walls, ceiling. The stairs creaked as he went up to the apartment over the vacant store. It had a great view of Main Street, assuming anyone would want to look at that depressing sight.
“How much?”
“You’re kidding.”
“Why would I kid you?”
“I saw the name on your truck. Decker Design and Construction. Haven’t you built a couple of places in Granite Bay?”
“Three or four.” Thank God she didn’t mention VNLC.
As they came outside, she grimaced in distaste as the bum slumped on the front bench, a half-empty bottle of Ripple next to him. “Frankly, I can’t picture you here, Mr. Decker.” She locked the door again.
He looked into the drunk’s eyes. “I can.” His own battle was far from won.
She told him the price.
Maybe taking on a challenge like renovation was just what he needed to keep his mind off what he couldn’t change or control. God had begun a complete renovation of his soul and remodel of his life. Why shouldn’t he take on this project?