Edward drove down Cherry Street, turned west onto Elm, then wound his way through Old Wachusett center and toward the southern edge of the city where Faith Community Church was located. He thought about his current situation and how he had never, at any time during the past fifteen years, thought he’d be in the position he found himself in today. Nearing forty-one, still a single parent, struggling in his relationship with his daughter, and about to prepare his final sermon as pastor of a church he had grown to love.
He drove through the streets of Old Wachusett, passing by the ranch and cape and colonial homes, the small businesses in the center of the city (Ray’s Music Emporium, Leland’s Chevrolet, IGA Foodliner, Halfrey’s Dry Cleaners) and others tucked away on side streets (Talbot’s Jewelers, Blount’s Meat Market, The Book Nook, not to be confused with the regional bookstore chain The Book Corner at Timpany Plaza), and a half-dozen pizza parlors, package stores, and barber shops. Old Wachusett had become his home. Most pastors didn’t last beyond seven or eight years in a church before they felt it was time to move on, but not Edward. His plan had always been to get a congregation, feed the sheep for thirty years or so, and then retire. Then he would have time to volunteer in nursing homes, visit the elderly and the sick, and mentor young pastors. Old Wachusett was the perfect place to carry out that plan. With a population slightly under twenty-thousand, it was one of the smaller cities in Massachusetts and Edward liked it for that reason alone. Until fifteen years ago he’d lived his entire life in Albany, and the reluctant move to a smaller community had turned out to be a welcome change.
The change had also been necessary. After what happened with Lynne, he’d had no choice. He had to move after that, even though he would’ve liked to have stayed in Albany. It was a good community in which to raise a family, pastor a church, live a quiet life. He had made a place for himself as an assistant pastor of a midsized congregation and had been groomed by the senior pastor to one day take over the church. He and Lynne had settled into a respectable neighborhood that quickly became their neighborhood. His neighborhood.
Edward stopped at the lights at the intersection of Routes 140 and 101. Faith Community Church was a quarter mile down the road on Route 101 heading south. Sitting at the lights, waiting for green, Edward couldn’t help but think of the similarities of fifteen years ago and where he now found himself. He had established a place for himself in Old Wachusett, had a reputable church with a good congregation, a beautiful, intelligent—albeit at times feisty and stubborn—daughter. And he was losing it all.
Again.
Years ago he had come close to losing Abby, and now he was close again, albeit in a much different manner. This time he was going to do something about it. He had to talk to her. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d had an honest, open conversation, the kind they used to have when Abby would tell him about the cute boy that looked at her in geometry class. The kind where he would tell Abby how much he missed her mother and how much Abby looked like her. He missed and needed those conversations. He suspected Abby felt the same way.
He would talk to her tonight. She’d come back after walking off her anger, would probably be lying in bed and writing in her journal when he returned from the church in a few hours. They would talk then. She’d apologize for her rash decision this morning and her display of disrespect toward him, Edward would apologize for his wrongdoings over the past couple of months. They would start down the road of healing their relationship.
They would become the family they used to be. He would—
A horn blared behind him. Edward glanced up to make sure the light was green then eased on the gas, not caring to make eye contact in the rearview mirror with the driver behind him. A minute later the Impala crested the rise in the road and the green wooden sign with gold lettering came into view: Faith Community Church. Turning right into the parking lot, Edward grunted as he passed the sign, struck by the memory of the day he took the senior pastor position at FCC and how the first thing he noticed about the church was its lack of signage. His first item on his first agenda for his first board meeting had been to secure the services of a local business to design, manufacture, and install a sign. After all, the good citizens of Old Wachusett needed to know that Faith Community Church was here and alive and well.
He sighed. It all seemed so trivial now.
Edward parked the Chevrolet. He got out of the car with his suit coat in one hand, closed the door, and retrieved his cane and briefcase from the back seat. He swung the rear door shut and limped across the parking lot, carefully avoiding the patches of ice and snow. When he reached the shoveled cement walkway that led to the front doors he started fishing through his suit coat pocket for the church keys. There were a dozen keys on the key ring—the main doors, side doors, main office, his office, maintenance closets and Sunday school rooms—and finding the one that fit the front door always took a minute or two.
The simple act of finding the right key to slide into the front door lock was enough to distract Edward from the brown pickup truck that slowed at the entrance to the parking lot of Faith Community Church, and the act of opening the doors and entering the foyer prevented Edward from seeing the truck pull into the parking lot and drive to the rear of the church.