Jane Doe(44)

I gush to Steven about the church and his father, and once the place starts clearing out a little, I ask if they run the whole thing here in this building.

“We do. Dad’s offices are in the back. And, of course, there’s accounting and the communications office, along with the volunteer coordinators.”

“Can I see it?” I’m practically clapping my hands with excitement.

“I’m not sure if—”

But his father is walking over now, eyebrows high in question.

“Jane wants to know if she can see the offices, but I don’t know if—”

“Absolutely!” he booms. “Give her the grand tour.”

“Oh, thank you, Pastor Hepsworth. You’re such an inspiration.” I dart close and give him a quick hug, then immediately pull back and apologize. “I’m so sorry.”

He’s chuckling, his cheeks still red from the rousing sermon. “Nonsense, my dear. Go enjoy the tour.”

As we cross the grand hall of the church, I look back to see him smiling proudly at us. I give him a little wave and he waves back.

“I just can’t believe you grew up like this,” I whisper as we step through double doors into a wide hallway. “You must have felt so safe.”

“My dad is the best. I really had a perfect childhood.” His soft smile abruptly freezes. “Well, until my mom . . .”

“But it was good until then?”

“Yes. It was perfect.” His voice roughens a little with grief.

Steven has no resiliency, I guess. He didn’t learn about pain and disappointment until he was fifteen. Now every little letdown is a threat to him. Every weakness a sign of looming betrayal. I got a cat, so I need to be slapped down. Another man talked to Meg, so she had to be ground to smithereens. The smallest infraction might mean he’s about to be humiliated and abandoned again.

Such a delicate flower, our Steven.

I know he didn’t kill Meg. I know she killed herself. So is it fair that I blame him so thoroughly?

Well, first of all, life isn’t fair, and Steven has had a hell of a lot more good fortune than Meg or I ever had. He’s mad that his mom stepped off the path of righteousness after fifteen-plus years. My parents never once set foot on it or even tried. And Meg’s father had been an example of moral frailty from the time she was born until the day he walked out on her forever when she was three. Just old enough to feel the loss.

So excuse me if I think Steven got a better deal.

My lack of sympathy aside, even if he didn’t technically kill Meg, she would never, ever have killed herself if Steven hadn’t tortured her. And it was torture. That constant push-pull of love and abuse. I want you, I hate you, I love you, you’re nothing. Over and over again.

I’ve experienced it myself. I know it deeply. My parents were casual in their abuse. Unthinking. But Steven wanted Meg to crave his approval just so he could remove it as a form of punishment. He wanted her to hurt and hurt badly every single time he felt a moment’s fear.

If he’d beaten her to death, it would be simple for everyone. But for me, this is still simple. Suicide was the method of her death, but this man was the cause. She’d struggled with anxiety in her life but she’d never been depressed. Not until Steven.

He shows me all the different offices, and I pretend to be rapt as I case the joint. There’s not much here to go on, although the newsletter list could be helpful if I can get it. The door to the communications office is wide-open and unoccupied, and I assume it stays that way all the time.

The accounting office is locked tight. I wonder if the donations are stashed in there for the night. Churches aren’t any more trusting than other businesses, so there must be a safe, either in the accounting department or in the pastor’s personal office. I’m not a movie sociopath, just a regular one, so I wasn’t born with any inherent safecracking abilities. Locks can’t be manipulated the way people can.

The last stop on the tour is Pastor Hepsworth’s personal office, and it’s as grand as I expect. Not ostentatious but dark and woody and lined with bookshelves. Steven opens the door but does not cross the threshold.

A big walnut desk takes up a huge amount of floor space, and a tall leather chair sits behind it, awaiting the pastor’s ass. The two chairs angled in front of the desk are much smaller, of course. He must loom over his guests as he gives counsel. Fair enough. He’s the big man here.

I whisper in awe, “I’m imagining you playing under the desk as a little boy.”

Steven laughs. “Not this desk and in a much smaller building, but yes.”

“Christmas must be grand here.”

Steven closes the door and smiles down at me. “I’m hoping you’ll be here to see it.”

I tip my head back and sigh. “Me too.” I close my eyes when he kisses me. I melt. But modestly. Not into him but into the doorjamb behind me. He pulls back after a gentle peck on my lips, but he raises a hand to tenderly cup my cheek.

“I was proud of you today,” he murmurs.

“You’re so good to me.”

“When will you be done with your . . . you know?”

My woman’s curse? “In a few days.”

“Good. Want to come over on Thursday?”

I duck my head shyly. We both know what he means. “That would be really nice,” I whisper. “I mean, if you think it’s okay.”