two.
He wondered what it would be like to have someone there for him—someone who cared that he’d had an exhausting day, who cared when he hit a home run or had to conduct the funeral for someone who had not only been a member of his congregation, but a valued friend as well.
He lifted his head and stared up at the small chandeliers that had graced the ceiling of the century-old church for fifty years or more. Had he only now realized how empty his personal life was, or had he known it all along and simply tried to convince himself that his work was enough?
With a swipe of his hand through his hair, he slowly got to his feet. He could hardly bear the thought of going home to the little house he’d just admitted was unutterably empty. He glanced at his watch. It was only nine-thirty. Maybe he’d just go upstairs to his church office and sit. And sit. Andstare out the window at the dark night that seemed to match his mood.
“You’ve got dirt in your hair.”
Gregory spun around. “Annabelle?”
She waved a hand at his head. “You’ve got streaks of dirt in your hair.”
He looked down at his hands, noting the black grease stains on them. Fishing a handkerchief out of his back pocket, he began wiping at the smears. “I thought you’d gone.”
“I left my purse here.”
“Oh.” Great, he thought. Grab her attention with your sparkling wit, why don’t you?
“I sort of figured you’d be gone by now, but thought I’d check and see. Don’t you ever go home?”
When there’s a reason, he thought. “Uh, yeah. I just wanted to make sure the air conditioner was cooling properly.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Don’t you think you might want to close the windows first, Rev?”
“Oh, right. I was just getting to that.”
A speculative look on her face, Annabelle watched Gregory as he strode from window to window, pulling them closed and fastening the latches. For a moment, when she’d first walked in, she’d noticed the strangest expression on his face—lonely, maybe, or sad—and she couldn’t help but wonder what had put that gray bleak look there.
Gregory came back over to her and handed herthe purse she’d left at the front of the church. “Here. I, uh, good night, then.”
For some reason she couldn’t fathom, Annabelle was suddenly in no hurry to leave, even though she hadn’t been able to get out of there fast enough half an hour ago. Maybe it was because she was bored and there was nothing good on television. Or maybe it was because her grandmother had gone to Lute’s house to watch rented videos and eat popcorn. And maybe it had something to do with the lingering shadows in Gregory’s eyes. She set her purse on the nearest pew and strolled up the center aisle. Gregory followed her.
She stepped up behind the pulpit. “So this is what it’s like up here.” She glanced down at the small shelves just beneath the podium and pulled out a comic book. “Your secret’s out,” she said, waving it in the air. “I didn’t know you read Galaxy Avenger.”
“A lot of things you don’t know about me now, Annabelle,” he said lightly. “Including my choice of reading material. Though, if I’m not mistaken, Charlie Osgood, the choir director, confiscated that from one of the boys in the junior choir a couple of weeks ago. I guess he forgot to give it back.”
She leaned back against the railing that ran the length of the choir loft. “Likely story. So what is your choice of reading material now? It used to be environmental journals.”
“Still is. Though I manage to get in a fewsports magazines once in a while and I find time to read the occasional novel.”
“What, no
Preacher’s Weekly
?”
“Actually, it’s
Minister’s Quarterly
.”
“Do you still read Tony Hillerman and Tom Clancy?”
He nodded. “And Clive Barker, Dean Koontz.”
Annabelle made a tsking sound. “A minister reading horror. Whatever would the board of deacons say?”
Gregory grinned. “Well,
He wondered what it would be like to have someone there for him—someone who cared that he’d had an exhausting day, who cared when he hit a home run or had to conduct the funeral for someone who had not only been a member of his congregation, but a valued friend as well.
He lifted his head and stared up at the small chandeliers that had graced the ceiling of the century-old church for fifty years or more. Had he only now realized how empty his personal life was, or had he known it all along and simply tried to convince himself that his work was enough?
With a swipe of his hand through his hair, he slowly got to his feet. He could hardly bear the thought of going home to the little house he’d just admitted was unutterably empty. He glanced at his watch. It was only nine-thirty. Maybe he’d just go upstairs to his church office and sit. And sit. Andstare out the window at the dark night that seemed to match his mood.
“You’ve got dirt in your hair.”
Gregory spun around. “Annabelle?”
She waved a hand at his head. “You’ve got streaks of dirt in your hair.”
He looked down at his hands, noting the black grease stains on them. Fishing a handkerchief out of his back pocket, he began wiping at the smears. “I thought you’d gone.”
“I left my purse here.”
“Oh.” Great, he thought. Grab her attention with your sparkling wit, why don’t you?
“I sort of figured you’d be gone by now, but thought I’d check and see. Don’t you ever go home?”
When there’s a reason, he thought. “Uh, yeah. I just wanted to make sure the air conditioner was cooling properly.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Don’t you think you might want to close the windows first, Rev?”
“Oh, right. I was just getting to that.”
A speculative look on her face, Annabelle watched Gregory as he strode from window to window, pulling them closed and fastening the latches. For a moment, when she’d first walked in, she’d noticed the strangest expression on his face—lonely, maybe, or sad—and she couldn’t help but wonder what had put that gray bleak look there.
Gregory came back over to her and handed herthe purse she’d left at the front of the church. “Here. I, uh, good night, then.”
For some reason she couldn’t fathom, Annabelle was suddenly in no hurry to leave, even though she hadn’t been able to get out of there fast enough half an hour ago. Maybe it was because she was bored and there was nothing good on television. Or maybe it was because her grandmother had gone to Lute’s house to watch rented videos and eat popcorn. And maybe it had something to do with the lingering shadows in Gregory’s eyes. She set her purse on the nearest pew and strolled up the center aisle. Gregory followed her.
She stepped up behind the pulpit. “So this is what it’s like up here.” She glanced down at the small shelves just beneath the podium and pulled out a comic book. “Your secret’s out,” she said, waving it in the air. “I didn’t know you read Galaxy Avenger.”
“A lot of things you don’t know about me now, Annabelle,” he said lightly. “Including my choice of reading material. Though, if I’m not mistaken, Charlie Osgood, the choir director, confiscated that from one of the boys in the junior choir a couple of weeks ago. I guess he forgot to give it back.”
She leaned back against the railing that ran the length of the choir loft. “Likely story. So what is your choice of reading material now? It used to be environmental journals.”
“Still is. Though I manage to get in a fewsports magazines once in a while and I find time to read the occasional novel.”
“What, no
Preacher’s Weekly
?”
“Actually, it’s
Minister’s Quarterly
.”
“Do you still read Tony Hillerman and Tom Clancy?”
He nodded. “And Clive Barker, Dean Koontz.”
Annabelle made a tsking sound. “A minister reading horror. Whatever would the board of deacons say?”
Gregory grinned. “Well,
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