Dear Wife(71)

“I’ll take care of it, Ma. I swear to God. I’m taking care of it.”

She presses her palms to either side of my face and shakes her head. “You go. Clean up this mess you made. I’ll clean up the one here.”



BETH

“Hey.”

I jump at the man’s voice, and the papers slip from the stack between my fingers, hitting the table and scattering. First Martina, now Erwin Four. It’s like visiting hour in here, a revolving door of people coming and going. He stands in the same spot his father did less than an hour ago, looking like he just came from the mall, or maybe a visit with his tailor. The creases in his shirt are knife-sharp, his belt buckle so shiny I can see my own reflection.

“You scared me.”

“I noticed.” He comes into the room uninvited, dipping his chin at the piles on the table. “New-member bags, huh? Looks like fun.”

I gather up the papers I dropped, shuffle them into a neat pile. “Are you looking for your father? Because he went to visit a sick parishioner.”

“Mrs. McPherson, I know. Charlene told me.” He wanders over, looking over the stacks of papers and brochures on the table. He picks up one of the Bible booklets, flips through it with a thumb. “I hear somebody got into her drawers. Probably the most action she’s seen in decades.” He gives me a sly grin. “How much did they get away with?”

“Two thousand dollars is the number I heard.”

He whistles between his teeth. “That’s a pile of cash. Who do you think took it?”

I push to a stand, digging through the box for a handful of tote bags and draping the straps over an arm. “I’m trying not to think about it too much, to be honest.” It’s a lie, of course. Like everybody else in this place, I’ve thought of little else.

He tosses the pamphlet back on the stack with a shrug. “I just figured since you’re up here all day, you might see things others don’t. Like somebody sniffing around Charlene’s drawers.”

Ha ha, snicker snicker. As much as I like and respect the Reverend, I’m not getting the same upstanding vibe from his son.

“I didn’t see anybody sniffing around anywhere,” I say as casually as I can, “but I also wasn’t looking. I’ve been too busy working.”

He nods like he doesn’t quite buy it. “What do you think about my father giving the thief time to return it? I mean, this isn’t preschool, and two thousand dollars is not nothing. If it were me they stole from, I’d have called the cops hours ago.”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I like to think I’d be as compassionate and forgiving as your father, but there are few people on this planet as softhearted as he is.”

Erwin snorts, sinking into a chair and stretching out his legs. “Is that what you kids are calling it these days—softhearted?”

“What, you don’t think so?” As soon as I pose the question, I wish I hadn’t. I don’t much care what Erwin Four thinks about his father or the money or anything else for that matter. I just want him to leave. The skin on the back of my neck is tingling, the hairs rising up one by one.

“Home by ten. Straight As or else. Don’t just read but memorize the Bible, so you’re able to chastise sinners with apt verses at all times. Thus is the life of a preacher’s son.” He sighs, watching me fill the bags on my arm but not lifting a finger to help. “I never see him, not unless I come here. I can’t tell you the last time we’ve had a family dinner.”

If Erwin Four wants me to feel sorry for him, he’s going to have to give me something better than some daddy issues. So his father didn’t spend enough time tossing baseballs with him in the front yard. My husband beat me, I want to scream in his face. He put a gun in my mouth and pressed his finger to the trigger, and he’s looking for me right now so he can finish the job. I think all these things, but I press my lips together and move down the table, dropping coffee mugs in the bags when what I’d really like to do is bean Erwin Four in the head with one.

“Hey, I have a question for you,” he says, almost conversationally. “What did you do to get Oscar’s job?”

My hands freeze midreach, and my head whips in his direction. “Excuse me?”

“Like, do you stroke my dad’s ego? Tell him how kind and wise he is? Convince him to do you favors? Oddly enough that’s a confirmed technique to make a person like you, you know. The person who does the favor actually ends up liking the other person more. Weird, I know, but true.” He laughs in a way that is the opposite of funny. “Or maybe you’re the one doing him favors.”

It’s not just his words but the way he’s looking at me—like I’m some sort of puzzle to be put together. Like I’m slightly dirty. A phone rings out in the hallway, but distant, at the far end. Martina’s warning floats through my mind: Erwin Four is a creep. Stay far, far away.

“I hope you’re not implying what I think you are.”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m trying to figure you out. What my dad sees that the rest of us can’t. And while we’re at it, if you have any tips on how to win some affection for me and my sister, I’m all ears.”

How about stop acting like a spoiled brat? Maybe don’t be an asshole? I get that the pressure on a preacher’s kid must be enormous, but Erwin Four should be able to see the bigger picture—that he has a father who cares enough to hold him to a higher moral standard than others in his flock. That should count for something.