Broken Things (Faded Photograph Series) (14 page)

“What sort of trouble was she in?”

Dad shook his head. “Let’s not go there.”

“I want to know.”

“Prostitution.”

Logan winced.

“Satisfied?”

Sitting back in his chair, Logan decided that
satisfied
didn’t describe his emotions at the moment. Unsettled. Disgusted. Those words came close.

Dad finished eating the rest of his meal and brushed several breadcrumbs into his palm. Walking to the sink, Logan heard him dump the remainder of his beer down the drain. Then he returned the second can to the fridge. Relief poured over Logan.
Thank you, God!

After his dad left the room, Logan stuffed the remainder of his sandwich into his mouth and stood. Tossing his plate into the sink and his paper napkin into the garbage on the way out, he pursued his father. He wasn’t about to let this subject die now.

“Dad..?” He found him in his room, unbuttoning his shirt. “Dad, let me ask one more thing and I’ll stop pestering you.” When no reply was forthcoming, he continued, “Why you do act like my mother’s actions hurt you, if you didn’t love her, and why didn’t you remarry and bring some normalcy to your life…and to mine? Would that have violated some personal belief of yours?”

“That’s three questions,” Dad pointed out. “But I’ll give them my best shot. After that, this discussion is over―forever. If you want to find your mother, that’s your business. But keep me out of it. Got it?”

“Got it.”

Dad gave a dip of his head at the agreement. Next he seemed to search his mind for the right words. “Why do I seem hurt? Guess I am―well, not really so much anymore. But I was. Your mother’s betrayal hurt me. Her disregard for our marriage in general hurt. Why didn’t I remarry? That’s simple. I have terrible luck with women!”

Logan tried to suppress a grin. “Does that include Allie?”

“Yeah, if you must know, it does. And now you’ve asked four questions too many.”

Dad paused and gave Logan one of his steely police officer glares that as a kid, caused him to stand up a little straighter. Now, however, it just made him smile because he knew his dad was a regular marshmallow underneath that stony façade.

Lord, break it
, Logan prayed.
Break him…

“Look, Logan. I don’t have much respect for the institution of marriage. It, like Christianity, doesn’t work. I found that out the hard way.”

”No, Dad, you’re so wrong.”

“Prove it. Marry that nice girl and raise a family. Be happy. That’s all I ever wanted for you. Happiness.”

Before Logan could reply, his dad closed the bedroom door.

* * *

Every afternoon for the following four days, Allie went up to visit Cynthia Matlock before she went home. Evan said he didn’t care if she visited the patient as long as they didn’t discuss the allegations or the police investigation. Finding his request most reasonable, Allie gave her word. And even though she could think of a hundred different things she’d rather do, she couldn’t seem to stay away from Mrs. Matlock’s room. The thought of her―or anyone, for that matter―dying a painful, lonely death broke Allie’s heart. But the idea that Mrs. Matlock might leave this world without hearing about Jesus, was more than she could bear and Allie prayed for an opportunity to share her faith.

However, introducing the subject of eternity hadn’t been easy―or welcomed. Instead of discussing any sort of future, the frail woman preferred to linger in the past, in a time when she was young, pretty, and financially secure. Allie could hardly fault her for it. Who wouldn’t relish those memories? But at the same time, it was hard to listen to her ramblings because they brought back emotional remains that Allie had thought she’d long since laid to rest.

“Do you remember that song
Angel of the Morning
?” Cynthia asked that sunny Friday afternoon. “Not the one that came out several years ago, but the one that came out in ‘68. I remember the year because I just turned twenty-two when I first heard that song. Everyone said I sounded just like the singer.”

“I remember.” Sitting on the edge of Cynthia’s bed, Allie smiled ruefully into the dying woman’s sleepy gaze. How difficult it was to imagine this woman at twenty-two. But it was even tougher for Allie to remember herself in 1968.

Her mother had just died.

Allie ran away from home.

She met Jack Callahan.

She turned eighteen, graduated from high school, and vowed never to speak to her stepfather and stepsisters again...

“Well, that’s what you are.”

“What am I?” Allie figured the name would be none-too-flattering.

“You’re my angel of the morning.” Cynthia sounded groggy.

Allie laughed under her breath. “No, I’m not an angel.”

“Oh, but you are.”

Looking to take advantage of the spiritual turn in their conversation, Allie said, “I suppose you could say that I’m a messenger of God because I like to share the news about God’s gift of salvation―that gift is Jesus Christ.”

Cynthia opened her eyes with great effort.

“I’m a born again Christian.”

Her heavy eyelids closed. “My first ex-husband was one of those.”

Her first ex?

“Do you mind my asking how many times you were married?” Allie couldn’t quell her curiosity.

“Four times.”

“Mmm…”

“And I can honestly tell you Mr. Right doesn’t exist.”

Allie couldn’t contain the little grin, pulling at her mouth. “Well, none of us is perfect. We’re all sinners…only some of us have been forgiven.” She paused, sending up an arrow of a prayer before continuing. “What about you, Mrs. Matlock?”

“Call me Cynthia. Me and my angel should be on a first name basis.”

Allie laughed softly. “I’m not an angel. I’m far from it. I’m a sinner…a sinner saved by grace. That’s it. What about you?”

“I’m a sinner, too. But I learned a long time ago that sinners have a lot more fun than saints.”

“That’s all a matter of perspective. Christians have fun.”

“Not all of them.” Cynthia’s words came slowly. “My first ex-husband was the most miserable guy I ever met. He was mean, too. He wanted a June Cleaver clone for a wife―you know, the kind who wears her dress and pearls to vacuum the living room? The kind who hands her husband his lunchbox and kisses him goodbye at the front door when he leaves for work?” She drew in a wheezy breath. “But I couldn’t be that kind of a woman, and I didn’t want to be either. Besides, he didn’t’ love me. All I ever wanted in my life was to be loved. So I decided to…to dance and sing. I had a really good voice, too,” the woman rasped. “People said I sounded like the gal who sang
Angel of the Morning
.”

“Shh…” Allie patted Cynthia’s hand, sensing that she’d only go on repeating herself at this point. “Sleep now.”

“Okay, Angel.” The tension on her ashen face began to ebb. “Okay, I’ll sleep.”

* * *

I’m going to do it.
Logan sat on the end of his bed, staring at the phone in his palm.
Now is the time
. He had been praying about it for months and at last he knew in his soul that it was the right thing to do. However, he couldn’t deny the fact that his father’s words had spurred him on. “Prove it,” he’d said. “Marry that nice girl and raise a family. Be happy.”

Well, Logan would prove it. This was his chance. Besides, he didn’t know of a better way to overcome a phobia than to face it, wrestle with it, and conquer it. That’s what he liked to tell his youth group. Now it was his turn to act.

Pressing the ON button of the cordless phone, he punched in the Domotors’ number. He knew it by heart, having called it three times this evening only to disconnect before anyone answered.

But this time, he wouldn’t hang up.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Domotor,” he began, doing his best to quell the anxious pounding of his heart, “this is Logan Callahan.”

“Well, Pastor Logan, how nice to hear from you. What’s up?”

“Is this a convenient time for you, sir? I’m not interrupting your dinner or anything, am I?”

“No, I’m free to talk.” A pause. “Is something wrong?”

“No…I, um, well…” Logan swallowed hard, hoping he didn’t sound as nervous as he felt. He took a deep breath. “I would like to ask Marilee to marry me…if it’s okay with you.”

Stan Domotor chuckled. “You had me worried there for a minute. Sure…you have my blessing. You’re a fine young man and I know how my daughter feels about you.”

“Did you want to pray about it first?” Logan held his breath.

“Naw, I’ve been praying all along.”

“Glad to hear it.” Logan started to relax.

“When do you think you’ll pop the question?”

“I was thinking tomorrow, seeing that it’s Saturday and we don’t have an activity planned with the youth group.” Rubbing the back of his neck, Logan still didn’t know how that happened. He thought he’d filled every weekend through the end of the year. “Maybe I’ll take Marilee out to dinner, and―”

“Let me put her mother on.”

Logan waited as the phone was passed, but not before Mr. Domotor informed his wife of the news.

“How exciting, Logan!” Eileen Domotor squealed. “Now, about the engagement ring…”

Oh, right, he’d need one of those. How could he have forgotten that little detail?

“There’s a store in the mall called Precious Gems and Marilee has absolutely fallen in love with a wedding set there. Of course, it won’t be sized by tomorrow. But you could give it to her and she could get it sized.”

Logan found a pen in his desk drawer and jotted down particulars. “She won’t be disappointed if the ring doesn’t fit right away? I mean, I could wait a week or two before asking her―”

“Oh, no, no, no. Don’t wait.”

Logan tamped down his mild disappointment. But in the next moment he realized he didn’t want to put off the inevitable any longer.

“I’m so delighted about this,” Mrs. Domotor shrilled. “Now, let me tell you about the ring Marilee wants. It’s a gold and silver band with a solitary diamond…”

Logan made his notes, hoping he’d find the right one. Glancing at his watch, he figured he still had a couple of hours to get over to the mall before it closed.

“Now, why don’t you plan to come to our apartment first?” Mrs. Domotor coaxed. “I’ll get Marilee over here by making up a little fib.” The woman laughed. “Once you get here, my husband and I will slip out of the living room and you can propose. What was that, dear? Oh, wonderful…Logan, my husband said he’ll buy a dozen roses for the occasion and have them in the living room. Marilee will be so surprised.”

Logan had to chuckle just imagining Marilee’s expression. He’d barely seen her all week because he’d been so busy. When he “popped the question” tomorrow, she would likely pass out from the shock.

“Five o’clock, Logan. Does that sound all right?”

“In the morning?” He grinned. “Sounds great.”

Silence met him at the other end of the phone.

“I’m kidding.” He laughed and his tumultuous case of the nerves dissipated. “Guess I’m just a little excited myself.”

Chapter Eleven

Jack couldn’t believe he was braving the mall with Logan on a Friday night―and for an engagement ring, of all things!

“How did you manage to talk me into this?”

Logan chuckled from the Explorer’s passenger seat. “Call it answered prayer. God knew I needed the moral support.”

“Look, you don’t
have
to buy a ring tonight, you know. You can shop around a while and make sure you’re getting a deal.”

“I’m sure I could…but don’t I need something to give Marilee tomorrow when I propose?”

“Don’t ask me. This is out of my league. When I got married, I bought a couple of wedding bands from a guy I knew who used to run a pawn shop.”

“How romantic,” Logan quipped.

Jack grinned. “Better watch it, kid. My sarcasm is rubbing off on you.”

“Hm…good thing you pointed that out.”

Pulling into the mall’s busy parking lot, Jack found himself smiling. He had to confess that the more time he spent with his son, the more he actually
liked
him. It’s as though their relationship had reached the father-son boundary and now teetered on friendship.

“You’re all right, Logan, know that?” Jack said as they strode to the doors of the mall.

“Let’s hope Marilee agrees.” He rubbed his palms together.

Jack found his son’s nervousness amusing. “She will. Anyone can see she’s nuts about you.”

“You can tell, huh?”

“Of course I can tell. Can’t you?”

“Yeah.” He sounded hesitant. “It’s just that I’ve got half a dozen girls in the youth group who are ‘nuts’ about me too. I don’t intend to marry any one of them.” Logan slowed his pace. “I just wish I knew for certain—”

“You can’t. Quit trying. There’s nothing ‘certain’ about life. Just read the Book of Job. God might decide to make an example out of you, too, and rip everything near and dear right out from under you.”

“Dad…”

“Don’t get me started.”

Logan didn’t say another word as they eyed the marquee just inside the mall’s entrance. Locating the store, they ambled off in search of it.

Jack eyed the rows of shops. It had been years since he’d gone into a mall for anything but a shoplifting call. Passing him in either direction were young people of various ages and stages of dress―make that undress. He noticed, and not for the first time, either, that both males and females wore earrings in parts of their bodies that Jack, in his wildest imaginings, would never dream of piercing. He had to admit to an apprehensive pang when he thought of these kids as the next police chiefs, doctors, lawyers, and legislators.

“Heaven help us,” he muttered.

“What?” Logan turned his way. “Kinda noisy in here.”

“Look around you. You’ve got your work cut out for you, Mr. Youth Pastor.”

“I’ll say!” A slow grin curved his mouth. “We’ll actually be recruiting here in the mall for our hayride and bonfire activity pretty soon.”

Jack gave a nod. He figured a lot of these teens and young adults probably needed a sense of purpose. He had spent enough years counseling in juvenile hall, especially early on in his career. But how could he advocate what Logan peddled as “the Way, the Truth, and the Life”? At one time, he believed it. But Jesus Christ had turned His back on him when Jack needed Him most.