You Must Remember This Part 2. Marilyn Pappano
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and living rooms, until only one dim light had burned in the front hall. He had remained there in the dark, imagining her getting ready for bed—brushing her blond hair, washing her face, unbuttoning every tiny button on her long, flowery dress, then sliding it off her shoulders and letting it drop to the floor, leaving her wearing damn near nothing, all pale delicate skin, small breasts, narrow waist—Squeezing his eyes shut, he forced air into his constricted lungs. And so he had stayed away Sunday. He had given her a day’s peace to do all the things she’d normally done before he’d intruded in her life. He had stayed locked up in his apartment, but his thoughts had been two and a half blocks away. His desire had damn well been with her. He’d considered himself lucky to survive the day.
“Hey, Martin, what’s taking so—Oh. You found a mutt.” The preacher walked straight toward the dog, extending his hand.
“Don’t—”
The dog went still, the hair on his back rising, and a low, threatening growl rumbled through him. Before Martin could finish his warning, the puppy snapped at the preacher, closing his jaws only a breath away from the man’s hand.
“Hey, he tried to bite me!”
“If he’d meant to bite you, he would have. That was a warning. Don’t ever approach a strange dog with your hand out like that. He could take your fingers off.”
“Well, don’t encourage him to stay around here. The kids play outside after the service, and he might seriously injure them.”
“I won’t. If he’ll come, I’ll take him home with me.” As if he needed a dog in his apartment…but he knew someone who did need one in her backyard, even though she didn’t realize it yet.
After emptying the can, he left the dog with a backward glance. Back inside he picked up more rubbish while Reverend Murphy double-checked measurements for the new wall they were building. “This carpet used to be burgundy,” Martin remarked as he scooped up Sheetrock and insulation.
The preacher looked down at the plastic-covered carpet. “It’s been green since I came here, and that was fifteen years ago.”
“Then maybe before that.”
“If it’s important, I can ask some of our long-time members. A number of them got married here. It might show in their photographs.”
“Do you have a list of members from twenty years ago or so?”
The preacher shook his head. “We’re a small church, and we’re a little informal. Other than marriages, births and deaths—and our financial records, of course—I doubt we have anything going back more than ten years. I’d be happy to put you in touch with some of our older members, though.”
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