The Runaway Pastor's Wife (4 page)

Caroline put the car in park and relaxed.
Absently running her hand through her thick white hair, she tucked renegade
strands back into the loosely woven French braid. Realizing she’d forgotten to
put on her lipstick, she dug in her purse for the tube then adjusted the
rearview mirror to see herself. She didn’t care much for mirrors. They seemed a
necessary evil to anyone her age. The hazel eyes looking back at her seemed
weary and strained, the crow’s feet feathering from them more numerous than she
remembered. She blew out an indifferent sigh and concentrated on applying the
lipstick to her open lips. Tossing the lipstick back in her purse, she gladly
shoved the mirror to its original position.

Peering out her side window, she could tell the
storm was socked in for the rest of the day. Something was bothering her. She
couldn’t put her finger on it, but her soul was troubled. She glanced at the
building impatiently. “C’mon, c’mon . . . ring the bell.”

Tall
Pines
Christian
School
, a
private school spanning kindergarten to twelfth grade, was an extension of the
large metropolitan church for which it was named. Sharing the same sprawling
campus in Seminole,
Florida
, both church and school
boasted a growing membership in this middle-class area, a bedroom community on
the Gulf coast sandwiched between
Clearwater
and
St.
Petersburg
.

Routinely, the elementary wing of the school
launched into the ritual known as
Rainy Day Procedure
on days such as
this. A mass of teachers in yellow slickers huddled beneath oversized
umbrellas, escorting each young scholar to his or her family car with Mom at
the wheel. The cars advanced at a snail’s pace but it was a small price to pay
for curb service and staying out of the rain.

“Jessica and Jeremy McGregor, please,” Caroline
called out to the teacher on duty who approached her car. She heard the names
of her grandchildren repeated on the battery-powered megaphone by the haggard
teacher. In only a matter of moments she spotted her two grandchildren knotted
under one of the umbrellas. They climbed into her car with a barrage of eager,
breathless questions.

“Gran! We didn’t know you were picking us up
today! Where’s Mom?”

“Can we go to PJ’s, Gran?”

“Can we go to PJ’s and then to
your
house?”

Always happy to see her grandkids, Caroline felt
her apprehension ease. She laughed as she pulled out into traffic. “Whoa—slow
down! I can only answer ten questions at a time. Put your seat belts on, then
Jessica, you first.”

“Where’s Mommy? How come you’re picking us up?”
Jessica’s head full of blonde curls bounced with her animated questions. Her
deep blue eyes sparkled with excited curiosity.

“Your mother called early this morning and asked
me to pick you up today. She said she had some things to do and wasn’t sure
when she’d be back.”

Jeremy, at the wise old age of eight, followed
with another torrent of questions. “Will you take us to PJ’s for a donut and
some hot chocolate, Gran? We haven’t been there in forever!”

Caroline glanced at the review mirror to peek at
her youngest grandson. His light brown hair, shaggy in its usual disarray,
covered his head like a dust mop. The stubborn cowlick atop his forehead stood
at attention. She loved that cowlick, an inherited gift from her late husband.
The resemblance sometimes took her breath away.

“In
forever?
” Caroline feigned dismay.
“Why, I can’t believe how cruel your parents are! I suppose I’ll have to report
them to the DEA.”

Jessica wrinkled her face. “What’s a DEA?”

“Donut-Eaters Anonymous. It’s a non-profit
support group for deprived children like you. A
huge
organization, in
more ways than one, I might add.”

“Ah, you made that up!” Jeremy countered.
“There’s no such thing . . . is there?”

“Okay, so you caught me. I confess. But I must
admit this weather sure makes a hot cup of coffee sound good.”

“All right!” Jeremy cheered.

“As long as we’re back in plenty of time before
Max gets home. I don’t want him to come home to an empty house.”

She stole a glance in the rearview mirror again
just as Jessica rolled her eyes. “We
never
know when Max will get home
so don’t worry, Gran. We’ll have lots and lots of time.”

Caroline smiled at her granddaughter. To a
five-year-old, a sixteen-year-old brother was nothing short of a constant
aggravation. And while there were occasional, stolen moments when Jessie truly
adored Max, she never hesitated to remind her parents and grandparents of any
possible shortcomings she might discover.

“No kiddin’, Gran,” Jeremy added. “Max thinks
he’s so cool now that he can drive. What’s the big deal about driving anyway?”
Jeremy shook his head, rolling his eyes just as his sister had. “I mean, what
difference does it make how you get somewhere—whether you drive or your mom or
dad drives or your grandmother drives? It’s only a car, for crying out loud.”

“It may not seem like such a big deal now, but
when you get to be Max’s age, believe me—you’ll be counting the days until you
can get your license.”

“Hey, Gran, speaking of coffee, can I have a cup
of coffee too?” Jeremy asked, his voice sounding mysteriously deeper. Caroline
laughed at the sudden change of subjects. Keeping up with these two was like
following the moves of a ping pong ball in a championship tournament.

“You know, like the time you fixed me a cup at
your house,” he continued. “That was pretty cool—you ’n me discussing real
important stuff over coffee.”

She recalled the mug of mostly cream and sugar
with only the slightest trace of coffee. “Yeah? Like what kind of ‘stuff’?”

“Don’t you remember? Stuff like what I wanted
for Christmas, what kind of PlayStation games you needed to look for. Stuff
like that.”

“What a memory. Just like your father. Jeremy,
you are truly a gigabyte brainchild. Well, I tell you what. You stick with hot
chocolate today and we’ll save the coffee for your next visit to my house. How
about you, Jessica? What kind of donut are you going to have today?”

“PJ prob’ly won’t have any left but I want a
chocolate one with sprinkles.”

“Jessie, you’re so boring. You always get the
same thing. Dull, dull, dull,” Jeremy lectured, playfully dumping her backpack
onto the floor of the car.

“You’re such a creep!” Jessica slugged her
brother in the arm. “Gran, look what he did to my backpack!”

“C’mon, you two. Either get along or I’ll head
straight to the house sans donuts.”

Jessica gathered her belongings. “Will Daddy be
home for dinner tonight?”

“As a matter of fact he’ll be home all night.
Your mom said he doesn’t have any meetings at church tonight, so he should be
home in plenty of time for dinner.”

Caroline pulled into the vacant parking lot.
“Here we are. Looks like we might have PJ all to ourselves. Now watch the
puddles, kids. Let’s make a run for it!”

“Good-morning-how-you?”

PJ Ludwinski always greeted his customers the
same way, with those same exact words, no matter what the time of day. The
McGregor trio made their way through the glass door, their arrival announced
cheerfully by the jangling bells on the door. An ancient radio was playing a
rousing rendition of
Roll Out the Barrel
, to which the crusty Polish
owner and sole employee danced a jig as he made his way to the counter. “Ah! My
McGregors! Come in! Come in!”

The popular neighborhood donut shop was by no
means fancy, but to Caroline’s grandchildren, it was magical. Souvenirs from
around the world hung from dusty rafters above, most of them gifts from
faithful customers. Colorful piñatas, beer steins, a flock of artificial
parrots, and too many hats to count. A Polaroid gallery of loyal customers
covered the back wall. Toddlers with chocolate-smeared smiles. Construction
workers in hard hats. Wrinkled senior citizens, many long since gone to the
Donut Shop in the Sky.

Yes, PJ’s boasted a rich legacy. Greasy, but
rich.

On this late and rainy afternoon, Jessica
hurried to grab a seat next to her grandmother along the counter. Jeremy busily
spun himself around and around in circles on the vinyl-covered stool—never mind
that he’d been told not
to spin on his stool each and every time they
came to PJ’s.

“Jeremy, you stop dat spinning. You makin’ me
dizzy,” the old man scolded, trying to sound stern, but they weren’t fooled.

“Hi PJ. Wassup?”

“I’ll wassup you,” he teased, grabbing pastries
from the display shelf. “Now—here we go,” he announced, his sing-song cadence
spawning the usual giggles as he delivered their standard order. “A chocolate
sprinkle for Miss Jessica and a chocolate éclair for Mr. Jeremy. Now—what can I
get da pretty grandmama?” he asked, hands planted firmly on his hips.

“PJ, I’d love a hot cup of coffee if it’s
fresh,” she smiled, always amused by the comical eighty-year-old. PJ was like
family to the McGregors. They had history.

“For you, I
make
it fresh! Five
minutes—give me five minutes!” Off he dashed to brew a pot.

“Gran, can we do something special for Daddy
since he’ll be home tonight?” Jessie asked, her mouth already lined with
sprinkles and chocolate icing. “I’ve been thinking. It seems like he could use
a little happy about now. Don’t you think?”

Caroline pushed a blonde curl off her
granddaughter’s forehead. “Honey, I think that would be lovely. What did you
have in mind?”

“I know! We could make him chocolate chip
cookies! He loves those,” Jeremy said, poking his finger into the éclair.
Nibbling at the sides, he exposed the luscious creamy filling, obviously
savoring every lick.

While the rain trailed rivulets down the
storefront window, the plans continued over coffee and pastries until at last
the threesome slid off their stools and headed for the door.

“Thanks for the treats, PJ,” Caroline said,
herding the kids into their raincoats. “And the coffee was wonderful—as it
always is.”

Before their old friend could reply, Jeremy
interrupted again. “Hey, Gran, I know what would
really
make Dad
happy—let’s get him some of his favorite ice cream—Death by Chocolate!”

“Bye PJ!” Jessica waved as they headed to the
door.

“Bye-bye-nice-day!”

Following her grandchildren, Caroline said
good-bye to the old man as she held the door. Already wiping down the counter,
he mumbled, “‘Death by Chocolate’? What kind of kook names his ice cream Death
by Chocolate?”

Caroline chuckled as the bell over the door
jingled as if punctuating his question.

Just after
6:30
, David
McGregor turned into his shaded driveway at home. He pulled around to the back
of the house, spotting his mother’s car parked under the basketball hoop. The
two-car garage was open, beckoning him like a familiar welcome sign to the home
and family he loved. It was usually long after dark when he made this final
trek home, and the house was always locked up for the night by then. He hoped
the kids didn’t have too much homework. It was his first evening off in weeks.

Pulling into his side of the garage he noticed
his wife’s van conspicuously absent.
Wouldn’t you know it? I finally have a
night home and Annie’s out. Must be a committee meeting or something. Go
figure. Oh Annie, I really need you tonight.

“Daddy!”

His quiet thoughts were quickly overwhelmed by
two rambunctious kids bursting through the door from the kitchen.

“Daddy, we helped Gran fix dinner and we made
chocolate chi—”

“Jessie! It was supposed to be a surprise!”
Jeremy scolded. “You’re such a blabbermouth!” Brother and sister both leaped
into their father’s waiting arms as he dropped his briefcase and knelt beside
his car. “Hi Jess! Hey there, slugger! Boy, is it good to see you guys. Can you
believe it? A whole night at home all to ourselves! Where’s Mom? Did she have a
meeting?”