Forgivin' Ain't Forgettin' (16 page)
“Good morning, Francine,” Cassidy replied. Francine Philmont, recently into her winter forties, listened to Cassidy’s request to see the pastor with her usual all-work-and-no-play air. Some of the parishioners had complained about Francine’s austere nature, maintaining that a pastor’s personal secretary should be more outgoing. But Cassidy had often overheard Pastor Audrey defend Francine as a blessing. During a sermon, he’d praised Francine by saying she was privy to many of the problems that came in and out of his office, yet he could depend on her to keep those problems confidential. He went on to say that in his opinion, this alone far outweighed how unsociable she was.
Francine marched into the pastor’s office with a manila-bound collection of documents. She came back empty-handed and with a message for Cassidy. “Pastor Audrey has a few minutes. You can go in.”
Cassidy rose from the cushioned chair. “Thank you, Francine.”
Francine gave a curt nod, and Cassidy entered the office. The pastor closed the magazine lying on his desk.
“Cassidy, how are you?” The tall and wide middle-aged preacher, muscular in some areas, flabby in others, left his seat, strode across the room, and presented a hand that swallowed Cassidy’s as she remembered the first time she met Clement Audrey.
She was a student at La Salle and taking a walk between classes. They were both waiting for the light at a busy intersection when an elderly woman, crossing the other way, dropped one of her grocery bags, sprinkling the street with canned goods. Cassidy and the stranger next to her rushed to rescue the frail woman’s cans and usher her safely to the sidewalk. The stranger introduced himself as the pastor of Charity Community Church and invited the woman to service. He turned and asked, “How about you, young lady? Do you have a church home?”
She shook her head no. “Sometimes I attend All Saints’ Baptist with my aunt.” She paused. “A lot’s happened in my life, and I’ve strayed way off track.”
He smiled. “You can never stray too far away for God to hear you.”
As the rumble of an incoming subway erupted from the mouth leading underground, and passengers scuttled up the stairs to the streets and hurried around Clement and Cassidy, he continued to minister. On the corner of Broad and Olney, Cassidy rededicated her life to Jesus Christ.
Clement left the door to his office ajar and went to his desk. Cassidy sat on one of the chairs facing him. She glanced behind him to a few of the books filling the shelves of a unit extending from ceiling to floor and wall to wall.
“Thank you for seeing me,” she said, looking straight at him now.
“Let’s pray so we can get started.” The pastor bowed his head. At the end of the short prayer, he leaned back in the plush chair customized to accommodate a man of his proportions. He rested his folded hands on a belly that hid his belt buckle. “It’s interesting you should stop by this morning.” Clement exposed his thoughts. “The Lord laid you on my heart yesterday. I believe our Sparrow Ministry would be a good place for you to utilize your gifts.”
Cassidy’s insides turned liquid. She clenched her hands. How could someone with a past like her own inspire courage in unwed pregnant women?
But, Cassidy, there is no condemnation to them which are in Christ . . .
Cassidy resisted. She was the last person God would designate for the Sparrow Ministry. The pastor’s signals were crossed, just like Sister Maranda Whittle’s.
Cassidy found her means of escape. Clement often advised members to commit to one or two ministries, do them well, and avoid becoming involved in too many things. “I’ve already joined the Special Day team,” she said.
The pastor’s face was compassionate, but his silence pressured Cassidy to glance away. “If that’s where the Lord has led you to serve, then that’s where you should be. But why don’t you give the matter a little more prayer time?” Clement smiled. “Now, what’s on your mind?”
Cassidy relaxed her hands, although her guts still felt like they were sliding around. “I would like to use the remainder of the children’s summer fund on ACES.”
“Problem,” Clement murmured.
“Some lady is here for you,” one of a group of twenty-one boys announced.
“That’s no lady, that’s Sister Cassidy,” another corrected him with a grin.
A smile danced around Trevor’s mouth, too. He pushed his pen behind his ear, his clipboard under his armpit, and turned to face the reason that his heart cartwheeled.
“How could you?” she attacked.
Even with the layer of sweat clinging to the room’s atmosphere after the rigorous workout he’d just put his boys through, Cassidy’s familiar fragrance reached his nose. “How may I help you?” he queried, struggling to keep comedy out of his voice. When angry, Cassidy was as appealing as whipped cream. He licked his lips, stepping forward, gently invading her space, the tips of his black sneakers nearly kissing the soles of her sandals.
Cassidy held her position. “I would like to speak with you.” The acerbic request drew everyone’s attention. They both glanced at the boys, who were all eyes, all ears. “In private,” she said less astringently.
“We can talk in the hall.”
“Fine,” she agreed, and swirled to exit, the hem of her dress whipping about the calves of her legs.
“Three laps,” Trevor ordered. He lifted the whistle dangling around his neck and blew, signaling for the boys to start.
Outside the gymnasium doors, Cassidy fumed, “I don’t appreciate you going behind my back.”
Leaning against the cinder-block wall, he crossed his arms, clasping the clipboard against the big number 5 on his jersey. “What are we talking about?”
“The money you drained out of the reserves. I went to Pastor Audrey to discuss the possibility of using the funds for ACES. I was informed that the director of SAFE, whatever
that
stands for, had squandered the money on gym mats and basketballs.”
Trevor cleared his throat. “‘SAFE’ doesn’t stand for anything. It simply means we provide a wholesome and danger-limited environment for kids to play.” He talked much slower than she had. “And your facts are inaccurate. I did not deplete the funds.”
She threw her hip to the side and put a hand on it. “You barely left enough to purchase an adequate supply of pencils. Just how many basketballs does one team need? And what was wrong with the old mats? They had a few good years left.”
Trevor curbed his resentment and suppressed his urge to give Cassidy a few choice words. “As I understand it, your tutoring program, this sports camp, and the vacation Bible school are allotted the same amount of money. Funds banked afterward are up for grabs. It may not be the best way to do business, but that’s how it’s been done, at least up to now.” He paused for a second. “As for your questions about the manner in which I elected to expend the funds . . . well, that’s really none of your concern, now, is it?” Her lips parted to answer, and he realized she was raring to give him a good verbal beating, but he wasn’t ready to pass the microphone. “I don’t come snooping around your classrooms to see how much chalk is being wasted each day. Why do you need all those different colors? My grade school teachers seemed to do fine with basic white and yellow.”
Anger narrowed her eyes. “Under my supervision, not one
inch
of chalk or anything else is wasted. I run a very serious program, and I planned to use the money in the reserves to replace the library books we lost.” She hurled a glance through the square window at the top of the gym door. “My children come to work, not play. As you know, we’re preparing for the Interfaith Spelling Bee.”
Trevor peered through the same small glass at the top of the door. The boys had completed the laps, and most were playing with the basketballs he’d told them not to touch until later. The others were running about like jungle cats. He glanced at his watch. One of his assistants had car trouble and wouldn’t be in until this afternoon, the other called in sick with a stomach virus, and his teen counselors were not due in until midweek. He didn’t have another second of free time to donate to Cassidy’s grumbling. “It’s our first day of camp, and I have a long list of dos and do nots to cover, so if there’s nothing else?”
“Why are you here?”
“Excuse me?”
“Pastor Audrey had an appointment, so there wasn’t time for me to ask him, so I’m asking you: why aren’t you utilizing the recreation center down the street like last year? Coach Snyder said the boys loved being there.”
“I guess you haven’t heard. Mold was discovered in the building, so it’s off-limits.”
Her expression became suspicious, as if to suggest he had somehow planted the mold himself. “What about that church over on Greene? Coach Snyder and the boys used their facility one summer.”
“I know, but why pay to use someone else’s space when there’s ample space here?”
She answered with a question. “When was all this decided?”
“While you were away, I guess. Your assistant . . . uh . . . what’s her name . . .”
“Portia,” Cassidy answered.
“Yes, Portia agreed with me and the pastor that having the camp here shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Well, I disagree. Having the camp here
is
likely to be a problem. Listen to them.” She tapped her ear. “Your boys are absolutely
obstreperous
.”
The walking, talking dictionary had a know-it-all look in her eyes. Well, he hadn’t had as much college as she had, but he did graduate. And he knew the meaning of plenty of big words, though he had no idea what the twenty-syllable word she’d just flung at him meant.
A smile slinked across Cassidy’s lips. “It means—”
“I don’t care what it means.” Impatience roughened his voice. He was ready to return to the gym and restore order before someone got hurt. “We can talk later,” he said. “Give me a time, and we’ll meet in our office.”
Cassidy drew back. “Our office?”
“Yes, the one down the hall.”
“That’s
my
office.”
“
Our
office,” he corrected. “Portia gave me her desk.”
Give up? No way. Cassidy lifted the nearest pencil and tapped it on the desktop as she brainstormed. ACES needed books, and right now that was synonymous with money, so she needed to come up with a way to raise money. Cassidy smacked the pencil on the desk. “It will take months to raise enough money to buy books.” She sprang from the chair. “I need some help here, Lord.” She crossed her arms and strolled back and forth across the room, the rubber bottoms of her sandals squeaking a steady cadence. With each step, her thoughts grew more intense, and she could feel the skin on her forehead tightening as she frowned. Suddenly, as if someone had lassoed her shoulders, Cassidy halted, spun, and marched to her desk. She grabbed the pencil she had been so hard on, and reached for a pad of paper to record notes. She had an idea. “Thank you, Lord,” she said, chuckling.
A
ccording to the radio announcer, the time was 4:10. Trevor backed from the driveway of his stone house. He had just left a meeting with the contractor in charge of remodeling the kitchen Trevor had set on fire as a result of leaving potatoes frying unattended.
During the short commute to Seconds, he thanked his Heavenly Father for helping him to find a day camp for Brittney and Brandi that came with van service. This meant he wouldn’t have to pick them up in the evenings, and until they moved back home, the girls would be dropped off at Mother Vale’s. After a long debate, she’d finally convinced him she was strong enough to assist and would care for them until he arrived home from work.
Trevor had showered earlier this afternoon in the men’s locker room at the church, directly after dismissing the SAFE boys. Now, instead of shorts and sneakers, he was clothed in slacks, a button-down shirt, and a pair of semicasual oxfords. He greeted Grace and strode to his desk. He landed in his chair, sifted through the mail, and held up the last envelope in the pile. It reeked of perfume, and he twisted his face, holding back a sneeze. He grabbed the gold-tone letter opener from the holder, sliced the flap of the envelope, and pulled out a photocopy of what appeared to be a newspaper article. Trevor muttered the headline, “Tilden U. Student Saves Lives.” He read on silently.
Cassidy Beckett shared the dangers of drinking and driving at a local youth meeting. Beckett, driving under the influence . . .
Trevor stopped. He felt his world tilt. Collapsing against the back of the chair as if he’d been punched in the chest and the breath knocked out of him, he let the information sink in.
Cassidy had been a drunken driver.
The statement became a deafening echo in his head, drowning out every other thought. Finally able to silence the offensive sound, Trevor flicked the newspaper clipping to the desk. His mind flared with images of the man serving time in a Pennsylvania prison for running down Brenda as she attempted to cross the street. Several scriptures on love and forgiveness came to Trevor, yet he stared sorrowfully at the desktop photograph of Brenda and turned his thoughts over to the article again. Perhaps the black print he’d just read wasn’t about the Cassidy Beckett he knew. Maybe, by some bizarre coincidence, there had been another Tilden student with the same name. With a slight sense of relief, he lifted the article and focused on the date of publication. To his dismay, it matched the year Cassidy was a student.
Trevor unclasped the paper and tightly folded his hands on the desk. Questions raced through his mind. Would Cassidy drink and drive again? Were his children safe in her presence? How could Cassidy have done something as unthinking and unfeeling as driving inebriated? But, then, drunk drivers didn’t think, didn’t feel. They simply went on their merry, oblivious, selfish way, endangering lives or ending lives and devastating loved ones left behind.
Brandi dashed to Trevor before he could set his briefcase down. “Can we go, Daddy?”
He placed the leather briefcase on the floor and scooped up Brandi. “Can you go where, sweetheart?”
Cassidy and Brittney came all the way into the living room. “There’s a double-Dutch contest this evening at the recreation center around the corner,” Cassidy informed him. “I was about to call you and ask if the girls could go and watch. They ate dinner with me and Aunt Odessa, so they’re all set.”