Potter Springs (27 page)

“Thanks.” Mark tugged a tissue from the box. For some reason, his nose wouldn’t quit running.

“What matters more than what I think is what
you
think,” Ervin said. “You’re thinking wrong.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“Well, son, being lost is a good way to start getting found. You asked me to tell you something, I will. Ervin Plumley didn’t
fall off the turnip truck yesterday.”

“That’s beautiful, Erv. What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the two eyeballs the good Lord gave me sitting smack in the middle of my head. The ones resting in front
of my mighty-working brain.”

“And…”

“I’ve been using them, Mark. Don’t you think I knew something was wrong when you two pulled into town? That a guy like you
coming to a place like this had to have a history? Your pretty little wife with more pain in her face than anybody has a right
to?”

“I didn’t realize.”

“I know. That’s the problem with the invisible elephant. Pretty soon, it’s all you can see. I’ve just been waiting for you
to be ready. Willing to admit a giant Dumbo’s stomping around your life.”

“So”—Mark took a shaky breath—“it’s all been for nothing. I’m a fool.”

“Yes, but now you’re a broken fool. I’ll tell you another little secret, Mark.” Ervin leaned forward in a stage whisper.
“We’re all fools.”
The preacher sat back. “Everybody falls short. Lord says so himself.” He tipped his head toward the Bible on the table. “Likes
working with us, I guess. ’Cause the only place to go is up.”

“I can take a leave. Put in my resignation. Maybe I-”

“Maybe
now”
Ervin interrupted, “you’re ready to be a minister.”

“But when the board finds out… Dale Ochs is ready to see me swing.”

“You let me take care of the board,” Ervin said. “God love ’em, but those goats got more skeletons than the Smithsonian. Yours
looks downright puny in comparison.”

“There’s something else.” Mark might as well get it all out now. On the table. Away from his soul, where it tangled him, choking
and dark. The last of it. “About Courtney Williams. And me.”

Ervin looked less excited. “Go on.”

“It’s nothing, really. Nothing happened. But it could have, I think. Maybe. More on my part than hers.”

“Be clear. Speak English, boy, and tell me what you’re saying.”

“That I came close to making a really stupid mistake with Courtney Williams. It was my fault. But I didn’t. We didn’t.”
By the grace of God and a glass of cold Coke.

Ervin crossed his arms. His brows lowered. No more buffoonery, no trace of a simpleton. “You think it might happen again?
The almost stupid mistake?”

Mark looked Ervin dead on and spoke the truth. He found its rhythms easier now. “No.”

“Then watch yourself. You know what they say, ’Take heed, lest you fall.’”

“I will. But there’s a problem. Dale Ochs knows.”

“Dale Ochs couldn’t find his butt with both hands.” Ervin snorted.

“What? I thought you and he-”

“Mark, have you ever thought that part of my job is keeping the peace around here? Making sure everyone has a place and feels
valued?”

“Dale Ochs wants my job,” Mark stated the obvious.

“I know, and people in hell want ice water. Don’t get me wrong.” Ervin shook a finger. “Dale Ochs is a fine deacon and we’re
glad to have him. But his…
talents
… are best suited to the board, and that’s it. You get me?”

“I get you.”

“Then that’s all we need to say about that. What’s been said between us, as far as I’m concerned, stays between us.”

“Fine with me.” He accepted Ervin’s handshake. The shadow of James Montclair fell away as new respect and trust dawned in
Mark for this West Texas pastor. Not worship, but respect.

“Besides, it’s not about the past, Mark.” Ervin stood.

The head pastor of Lakeview Community Church, a full foot shorter than his associate, strode out of the counseling room with
all the authority and vigor of Tom Landry. Leaving Mark no choice but to follow.

“Not what’s gone on before, but what lies ahead.” Ervin increased in volume as he quoted Scripture, walking down the church’s
hallway. “We… you, me, the board, all us fools!” He bellowed, tossing a hand in the air to great effect.

Mark could see how the former high-school football coach had taken a Division 3A team to the play-offs eight years running.
Precalling, as Ervin liked to say. Mark wondered how much

Ervin’s vocation had actually changed. Different uniforms, different playing field, but the work-encouraging the team to the
goal line-stayed the same.

“Our job is to press on. It’s about the future.” Ervin punctuated this with a hearty punch to Mark’s upper arm.

“The future,” Mark echoed, slightly overwhelmed at the idea.
Our job.
He had a job. Still.

He hadn’t thought much past this point. The meeting, the getting through the truth part. What would face him on the other
side?
What,
he wondered,
lies ahead for me? For Mandy?

Ervin actually slapped Mark on the rear as he hustled him through the exterior doors into the church’s chilly parking lot.
“Yes, son. The future.” Ervin grasped him on the shoulder.

Son.
The nickname, though familiar, took on new meaning. An invisible mantle of approval slipped over his shoulders. An honor
he thought lost forever, when the El Camino pulled away.

“Your future,” Ervin continued. “And I believe it’s high time you went out to get it.” The glass door clanged behind Ervin,
leaving Mark alone underneath the overcast sky.

He couldn’t be sure. Had Ervin said to go out and get
it?

Or
her?

“I
s Mark all right? My father?” Frantic questions fired faster than Amanda could stop them. Why in the world was her mother-in-law
standing in the lobby of Palacio del Grande? She knew Marianne’s job as a secretary at Lubbock Community College didn’t pay
enough to send her to Mexico on a flight of fancy. “How did you get here?”

“Slow down, dear.” Marianne patted Amanda’s shoulder in a movement both condescending and irritating. “Not to worry. We’ve
got plenty of time. Why don’t you go get changed out of your beach clothes, and then we can visit in that darling little restaurant
back there?”

Amanda fingered the edge of her floral dress, purchased at a shop downtown. Not beach clothes. She nodded and escaped to her
room. In the steaming shower, the scalding water soothed her fears, for the moment. She made up her face and pretended Marianne’s
appearance at the hotel was a welcome event and not an impending sign of disaster.

In Antiqua Grill they sat across from each other, old enemies with bright smiles. Marianne in her traveling outfit, still
starched in spite of the humidity. A suitcase at her feet.

Checking in?

After ordering a cup of hot tea, Marianne shooed the waiter away. She glanced at Amanda as if she didn’t know where to start
and fiddled with the sugar packets. Flicked the edges, then shook it in the tea.

Ninety-eight degrees outside and the woman’s drinking Earl Grey. Amanda sat quiet, waiting for the Queen to pounce on the
pawn.

Marianne obliged. “As for your first question, Mark is fine. He’s held up beautifully.”

Amanda winced at the knife in her stomach.

Marianne must have noticed her expression. “No, let me rephrase that. I don’t want to get started off on the wrong foot.”

They’d danced on the wrong feet since day one. Why change the steps now?

“You asked how I got here. Your mother and I have been in contact.” At Amanda’s raised eyebrows, Marianne nodded. “I know
that surprises you, but we mother hens tend to cluster when our chickens wander. And since you hadn’t called her…”

Amanda thought of her mother as less a hen, and more a drill sergeant, ordering her troops in line. Apparently, the woman
had gotten strategic and enlisted Mark’s mother behind Amanda’s back.

“Katy has kindly provided the, ahem,
means
for me to come visit you. She’s been busy”-Marianne colored prettily-“with your father at the lake house.”

“Yes, I know. Since Dad’s heart attack, they’ve been second-honeymooning.” Strangely, Amanda didn’t feel angry at her mother’s
interference. After all, Katy Thompson carried control as comfortably as a Chanel tote. More than that, she loved her daughter.
Somehow, sending Marianne to the rescue seemed a sweet gesture, however bizarre.

Family. Maybe it looked different than her childhood dreams of happily-ever-after, but she’d been blessed with a family after
all. Twisted and strange perhaps, but they were hers.

“Well, I wouldn’t know anything about second honeymoons.” Bitterness pinched Marianne’s features, then passed away.

Amanda remembered. Mark had told her about Doyle, left and gone with the busty blonde. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. Not mine either, of course. Just bad luck, I suppose. Bad luck and poor choices.”

Amanda wasn’t sure whether to agree or try to defend Marianne’s marital history. She decided on a vague “Hmm.”

“I thought,” Marianne went on, “maybe I could help with that. The voice of experience and all.”

Bracing herself, Amanda prepared for a tongue lashing of the in-law kind. She wondered if she had time to order a stiff drink
from the bar before the onslaught.

“From Doyle… the divorce… Mark has this-how should I phrase it-tremendous sense of
duty”
Marianne began.

Ah. Mark as perfect son, Amanda as lousy-ruiner-of-Golden-boy’s-entire-life. A well-worn theme.

“I suppose you’d call it duty. Honor, perhaps. Toward me, the church. You.” Marianne turned the teacup in her hand, sunlight
reflected off the silver rim. “I think his
honor
didn’t know what to do when… when he didn’t cope with things quite as perfectly as he’d hoped.”

The surprise, the second major one of the day, nearly knocked Amanda from her chair. “What do you mean?”
That, for once, something is not all my fault?

“With the baby.” The cup clicked against the saucer, the delicate china ringing high and clear.

Amanda’s ears rang with it. The baby.

“Having it too soon,” Marianne continued, “and then, not at all.” Her hands fluttered, drawing Amanda’s gaze. “He reacted
poorly.”

An understatement, but Amanda would take what she could get. After all, none of them had known what to do. Yet somehow, everyone
had turned to Mark, including Amanda. They’d all expected perfection, not understanding he had a grief of his own to work
through.

No wonder he fell short. With the pedestal they placed him on, he’d had so far to fall.

She nodded, staring at a tiny chip in Marianne’s pale pink manicure.

“I did as well. Amanda, I’m sorry for not being there for you. And for Mark.” Her gaze, round brown eyes, rested on Amanda.
Like a bird, still and unwavering.

“Thank you,” she managed. And meant it.

A slender bridge stretched between them.

“Actually, Mark has been a mess.” At flight once again, Marianne lit on the silk flowers in the table arrangement, twisting
the stems to her liking. “I’ve talked to him more now than ever before. He misses you, terribly.”

Amanda’s heart leaped, bringing quick tears to her eyes. Mark was a mess. Over her. Not Courtney. And he missed her. Terribly.
She liked that part the best.

“I miss him too,” she admitted. “In fact, I’m heading back to Potter. Tomorrow.” She’d take her joy and face the morning.
No matter what.

Intent on the bouquet, Marianne shook her head. “No.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s not the right time, dear.” Marianne frowned as she sought perfect placement for a peony.

“I think it is. I’m ready. I know what I’ve done wrong and how we can work on things.” Well, maybe she hadn’t gotten the
how’s
all figured out, but at least she wanted to try.

“Mark’s not.”

“Not what?” Amanda bristled, tempted to yank the daisies from her mother-in-law’s hands and shake her.

“Ready.”

“But you said he missed me, and that means he still loves me so he
has
to be ready.” As she rose from the table, Amanda’s knees shook. So did her voice. “I’m going to call him-”

“Oh, you don’t want to do that. I’ve spoken with him myself, frequently.” Marianne pursed her mouth. “Give him more time.
As much as your little… home away from home has done you good, I think the solitude has helped Mark too. Leave him be, a few
more days.”

“What do you mean it’s helped him?” Amanda sank back down, hoping she wouldn’t start crying.

“You know, spreading his wings.”

“In what way?” Familiar jealousy hummed in her throat. In a flying-into-the-arms-of-another-woman way? But she’d sooner shrivel
up and die than ask Marianne if Mark the perfect son was sleeping with the president of the Ladies’ Guild. She wouldn’t surrender
that kind of ammunition. Especially not to her mother-in-law.

“Nothing to worry about. I’m sure he’ll tell you all about it when it’s time. But for now, allow him his space. Trust me.”