After Richard left, Edward turned off the lights and locked both his and the church’s main office. At the top of the stairs, he looked out the window at the storm. He should not have stayed so long. He did not look forward to the ride home. In good weather it was only a ten minute ride, if that. Today? He’d consider himself lucky if he didn’t slide off the road and end up having to call a tow truck.
He limped down the stairs. At the bottom he looked around the foyer, looking for anything out of place. His eyes stopped at the double doors that led into the sanctuary. Sanctuary. What he wouldn’t give to be able to declare ‘sanctuary!’ and keep himself holed up within the four walls of the church. Let the battle rage on without him. He was tired. Yes, he knew it was mostly of his own doing, but he was tired nevertheless. Maybe even more so.
He turned to the window by the front doors. The snow was blowing and swirling. She’s out there. Oh, dear God, she’s out there. I need to get home. I need to—
Call home. He should call home first, because that’s probably where she was. Abby was smart. She wouldn’t risk her life in a storm like this no matter how intent she was on visiting her mother’s grave. She had acted impulsively this morning, but she would have come to her senses and made it back home where she would now be, in their house safe and warm. Edward dropped his briefcase and coat on the floor. He hobbled up the stairs as fast as his lame hip would allow and unlocked the main office. He picked up the secretary’s phone and dialed.
After twenty rings he hung up. He waited a moment before redialing. Come on, Abby, he thought. Pick up the phone. I know you’re home, pick up the phone, let me know you’re all right. Twenty more rings with no answer. He hung up. She could be in the bathroom. She could be sleeping. It was unlikely, though, that she would sleep through forty rings as there was a phone in his bedroom that she could hear, even with her bedroom door closed. She would answer the phone, she always did. Unless…unless she thought it was him calling and she didn’t want to talk to him. But in a storm like this she would know it might be an emergency and she would answer it no matter how upset she was.
He dialed a third time. On the thirteenth ring Edward turned an ear toward the office door thinking he heard what sounded like the door in the foyer opening. “Come on, Abby.” He willed her to answer the phone. No answer after twenty, twenty-five, thirty rings. He dropped the receiver onto the cradle. Even if she had been in the bathroom she would have answered the phone by now. Which could mean only thing: Abby was not home. He turned to the window. She was out there, in the snow and the wind and the cold, alone. And it was Edward’s fault.
He had to get home. He left the office without thinking to lock it, too focused on Abby to think about such a trivial thing right now. He got halfway down the stairs when he felt a chill in the foyer. At the bottom of the stairs he discovered the source.
Edward staggered backward, his heel bumping against the bottom step. He grabbed hold of the railing to steady himself. “Carl. I wasn’t expecting to see you.”
The entrance door was still slowly swinging closed, allowing the gusting wind to carry in a blanket of snow and unfurl it across the floor. Carl’s Patriots cap and work coat and work boots were covered in white. He didn’t bother to brush the snow off his coat or stomp it off his boots. Instead, he reached for the door, waited another two seconds for it to click closed, and set the lock with a key he produced from his hand like a magician who’d been doing such sleight of hand tricks for years—no flash, no showing off, just doing something he’d always done, but knowing the simple action would elicit a response from his audience.
Edward blinked. “Where did you….”
“What,” Carl said, holding the key up between two fingers. “This?”
Edward looked at the key, the locked door, and Carl.
“My, my, how quickly we forget. My wife. She’s the—sorry, was—the church secretary. Having a key to the church goes along with the job. Guess she forgot to turn hers in when she got screwed out of her job.”
Edward sniffed at the cold air. “Have you…are you drunk?” Carl answered by shaking his head. Snow fell to the floor. “I smell alcohol.”
“Oh.” Carl cocked his head. “Were you asking me if I was drunk? Or were you asking me if I’d been drinking. I could’ve sworn you asked me if I was drunk, to which I answered no. If you’d asked me if I’d been drinking, well, of course I would’ve answered yes, because I have been drinking. But I can’t afford to be drunk now. I’ve got something to say to you, and I need to be damn sure you understand me. Yes to the drinking, no to being drunk. I always answer questions truthfully, Ed. The truth may hurt, but as my daddy used to say, honesty is the best policy. I’m sure, Ed, that your daddy must have told you the same thing somewhere along the way. Maybe you weren’t listening too well that day.” Carl waved a dismissive hand. “Enough of that.” He dropped the key into his coat pocket. “Let’s get down to brass tacks, as my daddy also used to say.” He then inserted his hand into the other pocket and Edward watched as Carl massaged whatever was concealed inside it.
Edward stepped backward. Unable to catch himself this time, he fell. He sat down hard, cracking his elbow on a stair edge. Numbness spread up to his shoulder and down to his wrist.
“Yeah, you might want to sit down for this.” Carl smirked. “We’ve got business to discuss, and I guarantee you that one of us isn’t going to like the deal that we’re about to make.”