Edward let out the breath he’d been holding since he’d come out of the sanctuary and found Carl standing in the church foyer withdrawing a metallic object from his coat pocket. Carl unscrewed the cap, raised the flask to his mouth, and swallowed. He capped it, stuck it back in his pocket, and dropped his hands to his sides. If it had been the late 19th century and they were living in the Wild West, Edward would’ve expected Carl to say, “Draw.”
Edward cleared his throat. “Well.” He looked at his watch. “I, uh, usually use this time before anyone else gets here, to, uh, spend some quiet time in the sanctuary.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “To pray. Clear my mind, get a sense of what the Lord has for the week, and prepare for my message on Sunday.”
“Huh.” Carl stepped toward him. “That so.”
Edward scratched his calf with his cane. “That’s why I don’t normally schedule appointments this early in the morning.”
“Does a man change over time?” Carl’s arms hung motionless at his sides.
Edward stopped scratching the itch. He stared at Carl. “I…ah….” He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. “I don’t under—”
Carl chuckled, but didn’t smile. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
Edward looked at his watch, adjusting the flexible, metal, silver-plated strap that pinched his skin.
“Ed—I can call you Ed, right? I mean, considering everything that’s happened between you, me, and Jess, calling you Pastor Graham, or Reverend Graham, or whatever the hell you call yourself seems too damn formal. Don’t you think?”
Edward wished Carl would move his arms or hands. He could not shake the uneasiness that came with hearing the words filled with an underlying foreboding and not having them accompanied by hand gestures or even facial expressions. Edward swallowed. He nodded. “Ed is fine, Mr. Sanderson.” Edward straightened his posture, determined to show that, as angry as Carl was at him—and he had every right to be angry, with that Edward would not argue—there was a certain level of decorum needed in a situation like this to keep emotions under control.
“Good. That’s good.” Carl stepped closer to Edward, hands still at his sides, eyes steady, voice calm in its cadence and tone. “Now, Ed. I know you didn’t expect me here this morning. I know you don’t want me here this morning. I can see that. Thing is, I don’t care. Tell you the God’s-honest truth, I don’t want to be here either. But circumstances, being what they are, dictate that I be here. There’s things that need to be said, and the sooner we get on with it, the better.” Carl angled his head toward the stairs.
Edward got the not-so-subtle hint. “Very well, then.”
This was not good. Carl Sanderson drinking, the two of them upstairs and alone. Edward couldn’t smell any alcohol, but he doubted it was Kool-Aid in that flask. Carl did not appear to be drunk, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t unsteady.
Edward swallowed again and tightened his grip on the cane. The warm, smooth texture of the wood that he had gripped for the past fifteen years offered a small amount of comfort, as if conveying to Edward that, if it came to it, he could use the cane as a weapon against this man that had taken it upon himself to invade his personal, private time.
Limping around Carl and toward the stairs, Edward considered calling the police. He could ask Carl to wait outside the office while he called to check on Abby who was home alone this morning. Surely Carl would understand that and not question it. He could call the police and tell them…tell them what, exactly. Hello, officer. This is Pastor Graham at Faith Community Church. There’s a man here in my office, I think he’s been drinking…no, he doesn’t appear drunk…no, I don’t know what he’s drinking, I don’t smell any alcohol, but he’s got a flask. No, he hasn’t threatened me. At least, not yet. Officer, you don’t understand. You see, I slept with this man’s wife. I—, officer? Hello? Hello?
Edward definitely didn’t feel comfortable with Carl here, but the man hadn’t committed any crime. There was nothing he could tell the police that would get an officer here. Besides, did he honestly think that Carl would believe him about calling to check on Abby?
Edward climbed the stairs. Carl followed. Edward opened the glass doors to the main office, hobbled around the secretary’s desk, and opened the door to his office. His briefcase was still on the floor next to the desk, his suit coat draped over the chair, the notebooks and books on his desk apparently untouched. Evidently, Carl hadn’t come up here to snoop around before confronting Edward downstairs.
Not waiting to be ushered in, Carl followed Edward into the office. Carl stood a couple inches taller than Edward, was about ten years younger, and dressed in his mechanics clothes—blue Dickies, white buttoned shirt with his name sewn in red script above the breast pocket, and work boots—he was the epitome of the American blue-collar worker. Carl made no move to remove his work coat.
“Please, Mr. Sanderson.” Edward motioned to the four wooden chairs arranged in a square in one corner of the office. “Have a seat.”
Carl sat in one. Edward sat opposite Carl, resting his cane against the arm of the chair. Sitting opposite each other, Edward hoped the closeness of the chairs would calm Carl’s emotions. The entire office was designed in such a way to imbue the room with an atmosphere of comfort that would encourage emotional intimacy. People did not visit their pastor to chat about the weather or sports or politics. They came with heavy hearts looking for wisdom, encouragement, perhaps redemption, and, sadly, in most cases, simple validation. To that end, every piece of furniture was a shade of light brown, the walls were painted ochre, the desk and chairs mahogany. There were a few pastoral paintings placed unobtrusively around the room, again mostly in shades of brown with a hint of light green in the leaves and grass. The lighting was subdued. One wall was lined with bookshelves holding Bibles, textbooks, commentaries, histories, Christian-living books, and biographies.
Edward looked to Carl, waiting for him to begin. He didn’t, so Edward did. “Carl, I know—”
“Ed, I don’t care what the hell you think you know about me, what I feel, or what I’ve been through. No matter what you think you know, I guarantee it’s a helluva lot worse.” Carl placed his hands on the armrests, his fingers curling around the ends. “You just sit there and keep your mouth shut for once. You can do that, can’t you?”
Edward did not appreciate the tone. Anger replaced his anxiety. He swallowed, nodded, telling himself that if Carl disrespected him again he would call the police, regardless of what Carl would think or do. Carl could be upset with him, but there was no call for disrespect here. None at all. He nodded his answer.
“Good.” Carl paused. He did not blink, his throat did not move. Finally, he asked the question. “What the hell were you thinking when you were having sex with my wife?”
Of all the things Edward thought Carl might say, this was not one of them. There was no answer for it. There was no explanation, no apology, nothing he could say that would satisfy Carl. More than that, Edward couldn’t answer the question because he didn’t know the answer himself.
“I asked my darling wife that same question. I asked her what she was thinking when she was having sex with you. Unlike you, Ed, she answered me. It was obvious she had been thinking about it. More than I can say for you.” Carl looked away from Edward, then continued with his head bowed. “Jess and I’ve been married for ten years.” Carl raised his head and narrowed his eyes at Edward, a lion zeroing in on its prey. “Ten years. We might not have a perfect marriage, but it’s been a satisfying one. We’ve done everything we know to do to make it work.” He paused. His hands worked the ends of the armrests. In a lowered voice, he repeated the four words that sounded simultaneously full of hope and fear. “We make it work.”
Edward’s mouth was dry. His palms were clammy. It wasn’t the threat of physical danger that was causing his anxiety, so much as it was the bare fact that he had no idea what to say to Carl. There was nothing he could think of that would make things right with the man sitting across from him. There was no amount of rationalization or justification that would explain Edward’s actions to Carl.
“Perhaps I didn’t ask the question in a clear manner. Let me rephrase it.” Carl tightened his grip on the armrests and leaned forward. “What, exactly, were you thinking when you tried stealing my wife from me?”
“Carl—” Edward’s voice caught in his throat. He swallowed, got his voice uncaught, and continued. “Carl, I had no intention of stealing your wife. I was just….”
“Just banging my wife.”
Edward wondered if his eyes betrayed the emptiness he felt in his soul.
Carl leaned back in the chair. “Did you think you were making love to her?”
Carl paused a moment, stood, shoved his hands into his work coat pockets, and hovered over Edward. Carl’s fingers worked in both pockets and Edward could hear metallic clinking noises that sounded like loose change. Edward knew the flask was in one pocket, and he assumed the loose coins were in the other.
“Did you think you were making love to my wife, and that she, in turn, was making love to you?”
Edward shifted his eyes to meet Carl’s. The man was still standing over him, and it was Carl’s posture that brought the threat of physical danger to the forefront of his mind once again. “Carl.” Edward raised his hands as if in surrender. “I don’t—”
“There’s a world of difference, Ed.” Carl moved so that he was now behind the chair he had been sitting in. Edward breathed an inward sigh of relief. “A world of difference,” Carl continued, glaring down at Edward. “I,” he pointed to his chest, “I make love to my wife.” Carl pointed at Edward. “You had sex with her. Understand?” Carl gripped the back of the chair, applying enough pressure to make his knuckles turn white. “No one except me makes love to my wife, Ed. No one.” Carl let go of the chair. The color returned to his knuckles and the rest of his trembling hands.
“Carl, I…I never said I made love to her.”
Carl gripped the chair again and leaned over it. The muscles around his eyes tensed. Edward lifted his hands from his lap and placed them on the armrests of the chair, readying himself. A grin, shaded with a hint of satisfaction, slid across Carl’s face. “It was just sex, then. Use my wife to get off on, satisfy your horny lusts, wham bam thank you ma’am, and then to hell with Jessica Sanderson and her husband. But be sure to come next Sunday and don’t forget to drop a few bucks in the offering plate as it goes by and, oh, I’ll see you at work first thing Monday morning, Jessica.” Carl pushed away from the chair, causing it to rock back and forth and come close to toppling over. “That how it was, Ed?” Carl stood straight and took a deep breath. He strode to the bookshelves and ran his hand along the spines as if looking for a specific title. He stopped at the shelf that held various Bible translations—King James, New American Standard, The Good News Bible, the Revised Standard. He grabbed the King James and looked over his shoulder at Edward.
Edward held his head up and met Carl’s indignation with his own. “It was not like that.”
“I didn’t ask what it was like. I asked what you were thinking.”
Edward did not answer. He understood the man’s anger, the jealousy raging within him, but he didn’t need to sit here and take this psychological abuse. If Carl wanted to talk, that was one thing. But this was not talking. Edward started to stand.
“Sit down.”
Halfway up, Edward froze. He looked to Carl, half unbelieving at what he’d just been told to do and the tone he’d been told it in, half believing that Carl was about to hurl the Bible at him. Calling the police now seemed like a good idea that he should have followed through on ten minutes ago. If he tried it now, it would only exacerbate the situation. Besides, judging from Carl’s demeanor, he wouldn’t let Edward get anywhere close to dialing the number. Edward glanced over his shoulder at the phone on the desk. He looked back to Carl, and for the first time in his life truly understood the cliché if looks could kill.
Edward lowered himself back into the chair. Keeping his eyes on Carl, he reached for his cane.
The same grin crept back onto Carl’s face. He stepped toward Edward and opened the black Bible, speaking as he turned the pages one by one, his focus zeroed in on the book in his hands. “I’ve talked to my wife, Ed.” He looked briefly at Edward, still turning pages, and then focused back on the Bible. “Jess and I’ll get through this. I don’t know how long it’ll take, or how messy it’ll get, but I can tell you that the two of us’ll get through it.” He turned a couple more pages, held his place with a finger, and turned toward Edward. “I love my wife and she loves me. We’re in this marriage for the long haul, not just for one night.” Carl sat opposite Edward, resting the closed Bible on one knee. He leaned forward. “It was just one night.” He raised an eyebrow. “Right, Ed?”
Edward closed his eyes and sighed. “Yes.”
“Figure I should ask, in case you’ve been lying about that, too.” Carl pulled the Bible into his lap. He placed his other hand flat on the Bible’s cover. He pulled one leg up and crossed it over the other. His eyes wandered around the office before settling on Edward. His fingers drummed on the black leather cover of the Bible. “Used to be you could trust a preacher of the Good Book to tell the truth.”
Edward sat up to respond, but Carl cut him off. “I’m not a religious person, Ed. Never found the practical use for it. But my wife is. Has been ever since she was a kid and got confirmed at her parent’s church. And that’s been fine with me seeing how she never really took it too seriously. That is, up until a few years ago when she asked if I would mind if she started coming to this church. She wanted to get closer to God. I said sure, go ahead. One night, after attending for a few months, she tells me she’s been born again. I say fine, honey, whatever floats your boat. As long as you’re not gonna try and guilt me into coming on Sunday mornings or give up beer or start forking over half my paycheck to the church, you can get born again as many times as you’d like. She thought that was kind of funny. She appreciates a good sense of humor. Anyway, a year ago she asks if she can take over the secretary’s job seeing how the woman who had the job at the time was moving. Seeing how we needed the money, I gave her the OK.” Carl paused. He rubbed a hand over his face and through his wavy blonde hair. “Ed, I had no problem with her doing any of that stuff with this church. None at all.”
Carl paused again. He tried continuing. “Way I figured….” He cleared his throat, struggling to keep control. “Way I figured it, what could it hurt?” He turned away from Edward to wipe his eyes with the back of one hand. He cleared his throat again. He turned back to Edward. “What could it hurt.”
Edward closed his eyes. Dear God, he prayed silently, what have I done to this man? Edward kept his eyes closed for another moment, afraid of what he would see if he opened them. When he finally did, Carl was looking at him. That’s when the full enormity of what he had inflicted upon Carl Sanderson took hold of Edward.
The anger and resentment and fear that had built up in Edward since he’d come face-to-face with Carl downstairs in the foyer dissipated. Replacing it was a feeling that—sadly—he could not remember the last time he felt for anyone: empathy. He saw himself getting up from the chair and, without leaning on his cane, wrapping his arms around Carl in a hug and allowing the tears that had been pent up for months to finally flow, bringing with them the salty taste of sorrow and repentance, sprinkled with the sweet aftertaste of the possibility of forgiveness, redemption, and ultimately reconciliation and making things right for Carl.
Unsure of what he was about to do, Edward nevertheless rose from the chair.
Carl pulled a retractable ball-point pen from his shirt pocket, clicked the top of it with his thumb, and that brief, imperceptible plastic click shattered the moment more than a bolt of lightning striking directly between the two men ever could.
Edward dropped back into the chair.
Carl opened the Bible to the page he still had marked with his finger and underlined a passage. He dog-eared the page, stood, clicked the pen, put it back in his breast pocket, and dropped the closed Bible onto Edward’s lap. “It’s a sad thing when a supposed man of God can stand in front of people every Sunday and preach against sin, then retreat to his office during the week where maybe he’ll listen to a few people talk about their own private failures, but when confronted with his own sins he can’t say nothing worth a damn about it.”
Carl stood in front of Edward, unblinking, unmoving. Then a hand clenched into a fist. Edward’s stomach tied itself into a knot. The fist unclenched. Edward blinked and sighed. Carl grinned as he walked to the door. He gripped the knob, pointed at the Bible on Edward’s lap. “There’s some good reading in that book. Good advice I might follow up on some day.”
Carl opened the door and walked out, leaving the door open.
Edward stared at the blank doorway, seeing a gaping mouth that he prayed wouldn’t reach out and swallow him whole. After a few minutes he opened the Bible and read the underlined words. Then, Bible in hand, he pushed himself up from the chair with the aid of his cane, limped around the desk, sat in his comfortable chair, and laid the Bible in front of him. He stared at the verse underlined in black ink, the line so precisely drawn that if Edward hadn’t been present to witness it he would have sworn Carl had used a ruler.
Ten minutes later, snow falling steadily outside the office window, Edward still did not know what to make of the message—the threat?—that Mr. Sanderson had hand delivered only minutes ago.
And the man that committeth adultery with another man’s wife, even he that committeth adultery with his neighbour’s wife, the adulterer and the adulteress shall surely be put to death.