to know what I think?” Roger propped his bad hip against the edge of a desk littered with papers, files and orange soda cans.
“You’re going to tell me anyway.”
Roger grinned. Even then, his face looked soulful. “I think that lady politician is at the bottom of this somewhere.”
“Marian Jacobs?” Ian rubbed at the knot forming along the top of his right shoulder. The mission had plenty of naysayers who would like to see it closed, or at least, moved elsewhere. Runaways and street kids were a blight on the thriving tourist industry and any number of nearby businesses wanted them gone. Marian Jacobs happened to be one of the more influential.
“Yeah. Her. She wants to shut us down real bad.”
Last winter, the city councilwoman had enforced some ridiculous zoning ordinance that kept him from setting up cots in the chapel on the coldest nights. Before that she’d complained long and hard about the negative impact Isaiah House had on the happy-go-lucky atmosphere of the tourist district. Her post-Katrina revitalization for the city did not include street people or the ministries designed to help them.
“She doesn’t like me much, that’s for sure.” Outside his office window three bright red cardinals pecked at sunflower seeds sprinkled beneath a willow. “Your birds are about out of feed.”
Roger doted on the birds, just as he did on the equally flighty runaways who landed at Isaiah House.
“You going to Maddy’s funeral?” Leave it to Roger to cut to the chase.
With all the other worries on his mind, the last thing Ian wanted to do on a hot, humid Friday afternoon was attend a funeral.
“Sometimes being a minister stinks.” Most people would be shocked to hear him say such a thing. His mother for one. But not Roger. His placid face, lined and furrowed, never seemed shaken by anything Ian blurted out. He was about the only person Ian could share his frustrations and worries with.
Ministers were always expected to do the right thing, even when it hurt. Ian wasn’t perfect but he didn’t like to disappoint anyone, either. He worked hard to avoid that feeling. Somehow he worried about alienating the people around him.
His hand snaked into his pocket, found the familiar key chain and took it out. He’d had the thing forever, though he wasn’t even certain where it had come from. Maybe his parents had given it to him the time he’d been in the hospital with meningitis. He wasn’t sure, but he was certain that he’d been terrified then of being alone. Every time Mom and Dad had left the room, he’d thought they wouldn’t come back. So, he figured that’s when they’d given him the little fish that said, “I will never leave you nor forsake you.”
Wherever the key chain had come from, the words never failed to comfort him.
Funny that he would think of that now.
“God called me to heal the brokenhearted, to set the captive free,” he said, paraphrasing his favorite verses from Isaiah. “Maddy was both. I didn’t do enough.”
Roger clamped a bony hand on his shoulder. “How many times have you talked about free will, Ian? Maddy made her own decisions.”
“Yeah. Bad ones.” He felt so inadequate at times like this. Wounded souls were his responsibility. That’s why he drove the streets for hours each night ministering to runaways and street kids. But nothing he did was ever enough.
“You can’t help Maddy, but she’s got a sister.”
Ian drew in a deep breath then let it go in one gust.
“I was thinking the same thing.” Barracuda or not, Gretchen Barker was hurting.
He only hoped seeing her didn’t stir up trouble. He had enough of that already.
Gretchen gazed through dark glasses at the small group assembled amidst the sun-bleached tombs and scalding heat of Carter Cemetery. Not many had gathered to pay their last respects to Madeline Michelle Barker. As hard as that was for Gretchen to handle, she understood. Maddy’s brief life hadn’t made much of a mark.
As the hired minister said the final “amen,” Gretchen swallowed back the sobs that seemed to be constantly stuck below her breastbone straining for release.
The small gathering began to scurry away, eager to escape the energy-zapping heat and humidity. Who could blame them?
Gretchen shoved her slippery sunglasses higher, saw that her fingers trembled. Sometimes she got tired of being the strong one.
The moment the thought came, she nearly buckled. Who would she be strong for now?
Less than twenty people, most of them Gretchen’s friends and coworkers, had attended the simple graveside services. Even Mom and Dad hadn’t come, citing the distance between California and Louisiana. But Gretchen knew the truth. They had long ago washed their hands of the daughter who couldn’t get her life together. And so had everyone else. Everyone but Gretchen.
Tears pushed at the back of her eyes, hot and painful. She’d cried so much these past few days, she should be dehydrated. Digging yet another clean tissue from her handbag, she dabbed at her wet cheeks.
Carlotta, her best friend and roommate, rubbed the center of her back. “You okay?”
“No,” she said honestly. Carlotta would understand. She knew the number of times Gretchen had taken Maddy into their apartment, given her money, tried to get her clean. Enabler, some people called her. And now she was terrified that they may have been right. Had her desire to protect her sister ultimately caused her death?
Her friend’s gorgeous Latina eyes darkened with compassion. “Ready to go home?”
She shook her head, felt her hair stick to the side of her neck. “I want to stay here awhile.”
When Carlotta started to argue, Gretchen said, “Go. I’m fine. I just need a little more time.”
“The service was nice, Gretchen. Maddy would have liked it.”
“Yeah.” Regardless of her ambivalence toward religion, she couldn’t let Maddy leave this life without some hope that things would be better somewhere else. Life here hadn’t been all that good for her sister.
Carlotta hovered for another minute, her concern touching. Finally, she said, “I’ll see you later, then? Maybe an hour or so?”
“Sure. Go on. I’m fine.” She wasn’t fine. She was splintered in half. Maddy had been the other part of her, and now she was gone.
Carlotta gave her one last hug and turned to leave. After two steps, she stopped, turning back. Voice lowered, she tilted her head toward the rear of the funeral tent.
“I don’t know if you noticed, but there’s a man still back there that I don’t recognize. The nice-looking guy in the blue shirt. Do we know him?”
Carlotta wouldn’t leave her alone here in the cemetery with a stranger even if the guy was movie star gorgeous.
Gretchen followed her gaze to the well-built figure, recognizing him immediately.
Ian
