The Color Of Light. Emilie Richards

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      He laughed. Garrett had a nice baritone laugh. Reportedly his wife had left him for a younger man. Analiese had always wondered if thicker hair and six-pack abs had been worth the end of a twenty-year marriage.

      “All the office doors are locked,” she said. “And I can’t imagine them carrying off any of the furniture in the meeting rooms. Where would they put it?”

      “We don’t know anything about these people. Maybe this is a scam.”

      She knew this wouldn’t be the last time she heard that. “That’s always a possibility, but I don’t think so. The mom is genuinely ill, and they didn’t ask for a single thing. They said they were going to spend the night on the lawn and steal away early in the morning. I believed them.”

      “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do. Do I call the rest of the council?” He hesitated, but she didn’t answer because she knew he was just thinking out loud.

      “I could call the head of the building and grounds committee,” he said. “Joe’s a good guy. He’ll understand. And if they’re gone by tomorrow, maybe nobody else will need to know.”

      “That’ll backfire. If somebody else finds out, the rumor mill will crank into full gear. And we have a seminar tomorrow morning, so people will be in the building.”

      “I suppose.” He hesitated, then asked the question she least wanted to answer. “What’s going to happen to them tomorrow?”

      “There was too much going on to question them about their plans. I don’t know if they intend to stay in Asheville. I think the dad was looking for work today, which is how they ended up waiting at the church. He was probably walking the area on foot making inquiries.”

      “He didn’t find anything?”

      “I doubt he will, not until things have stabilized. He needs a haircut, better clothes.” She added something else she’d noticed when Man had managed a smile. “And dental work, I’m afraid. These people really fell on hard times.”

      “I wish I had something for him at one of my shops, but I don’t.”

      “Even if he finds a job, he’s not going to find one that pays enough for rent. Not even if he puts every cent he makes toward it. They have to get on their feet and save a little for a deposit and cushion, and they’ll need a lucky break.”

      “Ana, are you suggesting we might be their lucky break?”

      She sidestepped. “I don’t know if they want to stay in town, Garrett. They may want to head back north.”

      He was too astute to be fooled. “And if they do stay?”

      “They have two children. From what I can tell they haven’t gone to school for a while. Shiloh, the daughter, seems especially smart. She’s running the family without much help. Dougie, the son, is bright-eyed and energetic. They deserve so much better.”

      “Why is this our problem?”

      “Why isn’t it?”

      This time the silence was awkward.

      “I’ll call council members,” he said at last, all business again. “I think we’ll need to have an emergency session of the executive committee tomorrow morning.”

      She had expected this, but her spirits plummeted. “Of course.”

      “You can’t make these decisions alone. If you do, they’ll come back to haunt you.”

      “I think they may anyway.”

      “Eleven o’clock? If that changes, I’ll let you know.”

      Saturdays were the days she polished the sermons she wrote on Thursdays. She had a feeling this one might remain a diamond in the rough.

      “Fine,” she said. “And they may be gone by then, I don’t know.”

      “With the church silver.”

      “If we had silver, I would hand it over to them. I’ve seen Les Misérables.”

      He laughed a little, but he still sounded worried. “I wouldn’t mention that to the committee.”

      They hung up, and she sat staring at the wall and the framed photograph of her older sisters. Growing up, Elsbeth and Gretchen, respectively six and four years her senior, had been her lifeline. As young children the three Wagner girls had bonded, aware that if they wanted love and support at home they would best find it in each other, not their emotionally distant parents.

      She thought of Shiloh, who didn’t have the support of anyone, but who by herself was clearly in charge of the clan. Her heart ached for the girl whose burdens were too large to bear.

      She considered calling Gretchen, always a no-nonsense sounding board, but Gretchen had three active daughters who would be going to bed about now. Elsbeth and her partner, Joan, had no children, but they did have a busy social life, and it was unlikely they would be home until much later.

      Analiese was alone tonight.

      She thought about Isaiah, as she had intermittently since that afternoon. He would offer exactly the right words of counsel, but unless he really was the man who had helped her off the ground today, she hadn’t seen or heard from him in such a long time that calling would be inappropriate and awkward.

      Still, she could email.

      The simplicity appealed to her. Isaiah remained on her contacts list. She could write a quick email, tell him that for a moment today she’d thought she might have seen him in a crowd, and now she wished she really had, because she had an ethical dilemma in her congregation he would enjoy discussing.

      She imagined how good it would feel to have him respond, to have him offer to call and talk in person, to laugh with her and say that apparently he had a twin in North Carolina.

      Then she imagined how bad it would feel to receive no reply because these days Isaiah considered her a thorn in his side, one he thought he’d already removed.

      The air in the house suddenly seemed weighted with regrets, unfulfilled expectations and decisions. She was one of a long line of clergy who had lived here, and tonight, as she had before, she almost felt their presence. Sometimes her male predecessors condemned her, sometimes they praised her. Tonight they seemed to be hovering in the air waiting for her to do anything so they could pounce.

      She never really felt she belonged in this house. Tonight it almost felt dangerous to stay.

      Her laptop lay on the desk in front of her. She opened it, and as it booted up, she told herself not to over think this.

      When her email program was on the screen she began to type in Isaiah’s email address, and the program finished it for her.

      All these years, and the computer remembered him, too.

      She quickly composed the email she had imagined, finished by telling him she hoped he was well and happily doing the work he loved. Then she ended with All my best, Ana, and hit Send before she could reconsider.

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