Unlikely Hero. Marta Perry
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“Not theological, no. But we might not agree on what beautiful and memorable is.”
“We won’t know unless we try, will we?”
He studied her face for a long moment, as if wondering what lay beneath the surface. His steady gaze began to make her uneasy. She didn’t have a smudge of mascara on her nose, did she?
“Fair enough,” he said finally. “Let’s take a look at the sanctuary and talk about what you have in mind.”
His tone made it clear he was reserving judgment on her view of the wedding. That didn’t matter. She’d swing him around to her way of thinking.
Brendan led the way back up the flight of stairs she’d come down. When she hadn’t found him waiting in his office for their appointment, she’d followed the sound of thuds, bumps, and jeers to the gym, where he’d been playing basketball with a scruffy-looking bunch of teenagers.
Strange as it seemed, she’d apparently have to negotiate with the minister to get what she wanted. No, what Nolie would want. Failure wasn’t part of her vocabulary. She and Nolie had a kinship that went deeper than friendship or sisterhood, and she’d give Nolie the wedding of her dreams even if she had to go through Brendan Flanagan to do it.
But she’d try a milder tactic first. She’d always found it useful in business to establish some sort of mutual ground. She glanced at him as they walked through another long hallway, this one lined with stained-glass windows. The brighter light picked out the fine lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes, suggesting that he took his responsibilities seriously.
“Was that some kind of a youth group you were working out with in the gym?”
He looked startled, as if he’d forgotten about those kids. “No, not exactly.” He hesitated before going on. “This neighborhood has changed since Grace Church was built a hundred years ago. A lot of kids in the area don’t have a church to call their own, or any place to hang out except the street corners.”
“I’ve seen them.” She frowned. “Frankly, most of the kids I’ve noticed hanging around the street corners aren’t ones I’d care to invite into my church, if I had one.”
“Reaching out to people who need help is the church’s business.” His look was faintly disapproving.
Claire stiffened. Whether he was a minister or not, he didn’t have the right to disapprove just because she’d voiced her opinion.
Be agreeable, a little voice cautioned in her mind. You want to gain his cooperation, not put his back up.
“I guess Suffolk isn’t just an old-fashioned market town anymore,” she said.
He nodded, as if Claire were a pupil who’d gotten an answer right. “That’s the problem exactly. People still think this is the kind of place where everyone has the same values, but it’s not. Suffolk has become a mid-size city with a few city problems no one has figured out how to deal with yet.”
“And you’re the man to deal with them.” She tried to keep the skepticism out of her voice.
“I’m trying. With God’s help.”
That was the sort of thing a politician might say, except that in Brendan’s deep voice, it sounded genuine. If he insisted on bringing God into the discussion, she was definitely out of her depth. A Sunday school class when she was seven or eight hadn’t prepared her for a debate on religious issues with a minister.
Well, that wasn’t why she’d come here, in any event. She wanted his cooperation with the wedding. Aside from that, she didn’t care how many juvenile delinquents Brendan let take advantage of him.
He opened a paneled oak door at the end of the hallway. They stepped into a vast, echoing space, dimly lit by a bank of recessed lights at the front.
“This is the sanctuary. By the way, I draw the line at live doves let loose in here.”
The glimmer of humor he showed again reassured her. Maybe he wouldn’t be too difficult to deal with. “Not even one or two?”
“Not even.” He fumbled along the wall for a light switch, and the overhead chandeliers came on with a blaze of light, making the sanctuary spring to life. “As you can see, there’s a center aisle. I’m told wedding planners like that.”
Claire looked the length of the sanctuary. The cream walls were accentuated with walnut arches and wainscoting, and a burgundy carpet crossed the front and swept up the aisles.
“It’s perfect.” She could visualize Nolie coming down that center aisle, past pews decorated with flowers and ribbons. She could almost hear the murmurs of appreciation.
No, that wasn’t a murmur. It was a stifled sob.
Brendan seemed to hear the sound at the same time she did. He spun toward a pew half-hidden by one of the columns. What she’d taken for a coat thrown over it was actually a woman, huddled into herself on the cushioned seat.
No, not a woman. This was barely more than a girl, wearing threadbare jeans and a tattered T-shirt. Her long dark hair hung down to screen her face.
Claire took a step forward, and then stopped. This wasn’t any of her business.
“Stacy?” Brendan knelt next to the kid, his hand gripping the pew’s carved arm. His voice was soft with concern. “What’s wrong?”
Obviously he knew the girl, and he’d shifted into minister mode. All his attention was concentrated on her, as if he’d forgotten Claire was there.
That was undoubtedly her cue to back away. Even though she didn’t want to put it off, their wedding consultation would have to wait until another time.
“I should leave,” she said.
The girl looked up at the sound of her voice, her hair falling back from a too-thin face. Claire’s heart seemed to stop and then resume beating in slow, threatening thuds. The kid’s cheek was puffed out, and one eye had been blackened.
It wasn’t just the obvious signs of abuse that turned her stomach and made her want to flee. It was the look in the girl’s eyes—frightened and accepting all at once, like a dumb animal that couldn’t escape.
She knew the look. It was the one she used to see in her mirror.
Brendan put his hand gently on Stacy’s and fought down the tidal wave of black anger that threatened to overwhelm him. He couldn’t give in to the anger. That would make him no better than the person who’d done this. He had to concentrate on her.
“What happened, Stacy? Did Ted do this to you?”
Stacy’s boyfriend was the likely culprit. The girl’s mother seemed to play little role in Stacy’s life, as far as he’d been able to find out the few times Stacy had stopped by the church with some of the neighborhood teens.
“No!” Her response was emphatic, and her hand flew up to shield her eye. “Ted wouldn’t hurt me. He loves me.” She jerked away from him, as if ready to flee.
“Right. I’ll bet you walked into a door.”
Claire’s voice startled him. In his concern for Stacy, he’d forgotten she was there.
He frowned at her. Sarcasm wasn’t what Stacy needed at a time like this.
Claire was looking at the girl, and something in her gaze gave him pause. She looked—he couldn’t put his finger on it, but it was almost as if she saw something familiar in Stacy.
He gave himself a mental shake. Claire was all chilly edges and expensive sophistication, from the top of her shining mahogany hair to the tips of the shoes that had probably cost more than he’d made last month. She couldn’t have anything in common with one of his lost street kids.
“Yeah, that’s right. A door.” Stacy snapped the words at Claire, but she leaned back against the pew, her impulse to run apparently vanishing.