“Bye, Andybird.”
That stopped me. I held the phone pressed to my ear even though she’d hung up, her adolescent nickname for me bouncing around in my head. Kel was worried. She joked around and reverted to nicknames when things were the worst. It was her defense mechanism, a time machine of sorts. Her way of going back to before when everything was better. The last time she’d called me that was during her divorce.
I sat down at the table. Put my head in my hands. What did Mom always say about life being the ultimate crucible? I didn’t care. Her abbreviated wisdom had always fallen short for me. Right now I needed to keep my mind clear on every front, and that included the ghost of my mother’s voice.
Instead I thought of what Winston Churchill had supposedly once said. If you’re going through hell, keep going.
Yes. Right. No stopping now. No way to turn back anyhow.
I was about to get up and change out of my faux dress clothes and wash the gel from my hair when I realized I hadn’t called the last number on the list I’d gotten from Ryan Vallance’s carrier. After considering waiting until that evening, I punched it into the burner phone, readying my new cover story.
Five rings, then voice mail. A voice came on, and I froze.
Because I recognized it. I’d listened to it hundreds of times over the years, booming and echoing throughout cavernous spaces, speaking of damnation and redemption.
“You’ve reached Father Mathew Travers. I can’t answer the phone right now, but please leave me a message and I’ll return your call as soon as possible. God bless you.”
18
I stared at Mary Shelby’s empty desk.
The seating area outside the glass enclosure near the sanctuary was quiet, and I was alone, looking at the place where she used to work. On another timeline, I’d be sitting in front of her desk, kicked back and at ease in her company. Mary’s eyes would be twinkling with whatever story she was telling about a parishioner, her horses, grandkids, it didn’t matter. She’d always been so alive.
And now she wasn’t. It was very hard for me to accept the fact.
Her desk appeared untouched, its neatness betrayed only by a few sticky notes stuck to the dark computer screen. I could almost see her fixing a cup of coffee across the room and bringing it over to where she’d sat for the better part of twenty-five years, day in, day out. Everything was a potential echo chamber for someone who’d moved on. It wasn’t just houses that could be haunted. Hearts could be too.
Especially hearts.
Elliot Wyman pushed an electric lawn mower past the nearest window. Besides his being an usher, it now looked like Father Mathew had him doing groundskeeping as well. He saw me and waved enthusiastically. I waved back and was semi-horrified as he left the mower and stepped inside.
“Andy, how are you?” Elliot said, coming too close to shake my hand.
“Good, how’re you, Elliot?”
“Blessed. Just blessed. What a beautiful day.”
“It is.”
He glanced at Mary’s desk. “So strange not seeing Mary sitting there, isn’t it?”
“Sure is,” I said, not happy with him voicing my earlier thoughts.
“But strangeness is part of faith, isn’t it?”
“I’ll say.”
“It’s the mystery. We don’t know when our time is up, and that’s a blessing!” He laughed, leaning close again, and I nodded, resisting the urge to sidle away. “He works in mysterious ways, and we just have to trust in him, don’t we?”
I was saved from answering by footsteps coming down the hallway. Father Mathew. All six feet one and two hundred pounds of him. He looked bigger in casual dress than he did in the ceremonial outfit, if that was possible. I knew he took care of himself, saw him jogging around the Loop from time to time. Maybe he CrossFitted.
“Andrew,” he said, his voice carrying across the space, and I was hearing him on his voice mail again before I’d hung up an hour ago. Hearing his recorded words because he had called Ryan Vallance’s cell phone shortly before Ryan died.
I took his offered hand, and he squeezed mine firmly before addressing Elliot. “How’s the lawn looking?”
“Beautiful, just beautiful,” Elliot said. We stood in an awkward silence for a beat before Father Mathew raised his eyebrows slightly. Elliot grinned and nodded. “I’ll just get back to it.” He gave me a final wave and exited.
When I returned my attention to Father Mathew, he was looking me over, a complacent smile on his face, like an uncle or grandfather examining a wayward son. “Thanks for meeting with me on short notice,” I said.