Forbidden Falls

Page 7

The whole idea of considering going back to the seminary came from George, who described it as a combination of dredging the soul for the innermost spirituality, personal faith, teaching, counseling, community and theater. Only George could come up with a combination like that. “You’ve had those leanings anyway,” George had said. “Just check it out.”
“But I will never preach,” Noah said.
“Not that many ordained ministers do,” George said with a shrug. “They’re therapists, minister to sick and needy folk, teach—there are more options than I can list. But along the way you might find out a thing or two about yourself. No harm there.”
In short, Noah was convinced. During his studies, he found out he was meant to try to hold a group of believers together in faith, to lend a hand, to communicate, to educate, to bring hope. To be a friend. There was only one thing that was required of him that he could not do—and that was to forgive his father.
Just last year his mother passed. She had slipped away in the night, having had a stroke at the age of seventy. Noah attended the funeral, even though he hated the idea of seeing his father. But it was the only time in Noah’s life he could remember having the last word with his dad.
Jasper said to him, within the hearing of many others, “Do you see what leaving the family and the faith did? It killed your mother.”
Without missing a beat, Noah replied, “You should be aware that Mother and I have been in touch ever since I left home. She visited twice even though I wouldn’t come back. She was always there for me and we loved one another profoundly. The truth is, I think staying with you was what killed her.”
The shock on his father’s face was priceless; and the insult bit Jasper deep. It had obviously never occurred to Jasper that his wife would keep secrets from him. Maybe it was just that he paid so little attention to her, he was unaware that she kept a close relationship with her son. The reading of the will hammered Jasper with a few more home truths—Inez Kincaid had brought a trust fund to her marriage to a poor preacher who was ten years her junior. Her personal wealth had helped Jasper build a big following, televise his services, evangelize and collect members. She willed half of the fund to Noah. Jasper had expected to receive all of it.
And now Noah was going to run through a great deal of his inheritance fixing up this old church.
He looked in the direction of the kitchen. Another free spirit, he admitted to himself. In a completely different form.
There was a crash, a splash, and Ellie said, “Fuck.”
Lucy came to her feet and Noah looked up. “Very funny,” he said to God. “That kind of thing isn’t going to go over well.” Then he walked to the kitchen, Lucy beside him.
He stood in the doorway and watched as Ellie used the rag mop to try to capture the flood that resulted from a tipped bucket. But that wasn’t where his focus was—he frowned and looked at his watch. The morning had passed without him even realizing it. He’d been completely lost in thought. And while he’d been thinking of his past and patching wall cracks, Ellie had been working like a demon.
The huge, restaurant-size kitchen almost glowed. The floor had been swept, mopped, and was being mopped again. She’d done some things that had made an enormous difference—the high windows were cleaned and spotless, the frames scrubbed of dust, spiderwebs and dirt. The countertops were scoured and disinfected. The cupboards were washed out with their doors standing open. The few remaining kitchenware items that had been abandoned were washed and drying in a dish drain she’d found; all four deep sinks were scrubbed clean, the faucets shining. The room didn’t look like new, but it was clean and fresh and ready for painting and flooring.
She squeezed her mop, straightened and wiped a hand across her forehead, pushing up a curl that just bounced back to hang over one eye. She blew out of her lower lip to cool her face, making that curl flutter in her breath. “Let me guess,” she said. “You heard me say fuck. Sorry. I’ll try not to say it. But I bet if you’d dumped a big pail of nasty mop water on your clean floor, you would have said fuck, too.”
He laughed and just shook his head. “Maybe. It looks good in here, Ellie. Who knew you could do something like this with long, blue, sparkly fingernails.”
“I figured you meant for me to clean it, so I cleaned it.”
“It’s fantastic. I bet you’re hungry. It’s after one.”
She got a very strange look on her face, as though a thought just came to mind or she’d forgotten something. Then she just continued mopping. “Nah, I don’t think I could eat. I really pigged out on pizza last night and I’m still stuffed.”
“I’m going next door for a sandwich. Come with me.”
“Nah, go on. I’ll just finish up here. If I do a good job, maybe you’ll let me out of here early or something. I have to get looking for a new place to live.”
“You can leave whenever you’ve had enough—you’ve done an incredible job. I’ve been chipping away at the dirt in this place for weeks and it looks like you conquered it in no time at all.”
She straightened again. She pushed that curl back. Her neck and chest were damp with perspiration, which made her look even sexier. She smiled almost shyly. “I cleaned office buildings and sometimes houses for cash—under the table. One of my many second jobs. I don’t think it was listed on that sheet of jobs.”
“Résumé,” he corrected, then damned himself for being so uppity. Why couldn’t he just accept her the way she was?
“Résumé,” she agreed. “I got some great tips from the girls who had more experience than me. Clean is good. Fast and clean makes more money.”
He laughed with genuine pleasure. “You’ve been in the trenches,” he said with appreciation. Admiration. “Come on—let me buy you a sandwich. If you’re not real hungry, Preacher will make you half, but it’s your first day working for me. My treat—come on.”
Three
For someone who had stuffed herself on pizza the night before, Ellie seemed to have no trouble packing away a very large chicken-salad sandwich and some of Preacher’s potato salad. Noah doubted the pizza story. He picked up their plates and carried them to the bar, and when he returned he said, “Jack’s bringing chocolate cake.”
Her hands were on her flat belly. “Oh, man, I couldn’t…”
“Just a bite or two,” he said. “So—you said you were raised on hymns. Tell me about that. I mean, if you want to.”
“Sure, I’ll tell you. I grew up with my gramma. What a peach—you’d have liked her. My mother wasn’t…isn’t…very stable. When I was born, she was clueless, so my gramma took over and my mother left and I stayed. When I was seven, Gram started teaching me to play the piano. It was a real old piano and about the only thing worth a dime in the house, but we had a neighbor guy who kept it tuned. Gramma hummed gospel tunes all day long and she loved it if I could figure out one of those old-time hymns. ‘The Old Rugged Cross,’ ‘Amazing Grace,’ ‘Great Is Thy Faithfulness…’ ’Course, I would have rather played Elton John, John Lennon or Billy Joel, but for her I tried.”
“Where was your mother?” he asked just as the cake arrived.
“Jumping from man to man,” she said, lifting her fork.
“Were there more children?”
“No.” She laughed. “She figured out that much. When I got pregnant in high school, my gramma must have been scared to death that I was just following in her footsteps. I wasn’t really, but it must have looked like I was.”
“Well,” he said patiently, “what were you doing?”
She sighed. She shook her head. “Trying,” she finally said. “Trying my hardest. I got pregnant at sixteen. I was three months pregnant with Danielle and trying to throw together a fast, cheap wedding to my nineteen-year-old boyfriend when he was killed. It wasn’t his fault, either. His family sued the driver of the car that killed him, and they won. They were supposed to set something aside for Danielle, but I guess it slipped their minds.” That last was delivered with a dubious look on her face. “By the time she was three, I’d gotten my GED and had finally stopped feeling sorry for myself long enough to meet someone I liked—a guy who made nighttime bread deliveries to the convenience store when I worked there. Like some kind of curse, I was three months pregnant when he pulled that stupid robbery stunt.”
Noah chewed on the cake and this history for a second. He had a million questions, but the one that popped out was, “You didn’t have any intuition about him, that he was capable of a felony?”
“Ha, he wasn’t. He was an idiot. He was out with his friends, drinking. Twenty-two, drunk, and he thought he was funny—putting his lighter that looked exactly like a revolver—into the hardware-store owner’s chest and saying, ‘Hand over the money.’ The store owner was going to drop off his deposit for the night when my dipshit boyfriend decided to be cute. Didn’t quite work out for him, though. I guess the judge had no sense of humor. He was convicted. Did time.”
“Did?”
“He’s either out by now or due to get out.”
“Can’t he help you with his son? With the kids?” Noah asked.
“Oh, please. No, he can’t. And besides, I’m not going back that way. In fact, I’m not going back. Period.”
He smiled at her. “Have you always been this stubborn? This strong willed?”
“Uh-huh. For all the good it’s done me.”
“So—where did the husband come in? If that’s not too personal?”
“Nothing personal about it, Rev. I was a working mom with two little kids and two jobs. He was new in the area and came into the real estate office, looking for something to rent or buy. I was the office manager. Our agents didn’t find him anything, but he kept coming back, was real nice, real friendly. I thought he was a stand-up guy. Trevor was only two, my gramma had died a year before, and I was having a real hard time holding everything together. I didn’t rush into anything—I made him act nice for six months. I didn’t have much time to date, but I never had a single date alone with him—if he asked me out for dinner, I told him the kids went where I went, and that wasn’t a problem for him. He did a lot of talking about wanting to be a family man and just hadn’t found the right woman yet. I took that as a good sign.” For a moment she looked away and couldn’t connect eyes with Noah. “I knew I didn’t love him, but I was so tired,” she said softly. “So scared I wouldn’t be able to take care of my kids with my gramma gone. My kids saw more of the babysitter than they saw of me.”
She looked back at Noah and said, “I married him and quit my job because he wanted to take care of us. It didn’t take two days before I knew I’d made a big mistake. He insisted I dress real dowdy and awful. He had rules. He needed to be right about everything. Ridiculous demands. He started trying to get me to give up my independence on the first day! He wanted me to sell my car, and he took his computer to work, out of my reach. He doled out money for food…It was terrible. And I wouldn’t play along, which made him so frustrated and angry. I mean, I knew in two days it was a bad deal, but I gave it almost three months. Then I packed up our stuff while he was at work, picked up Danielle from his private school, and we were history. I went back to an old boss, the lawyer, to draft a divorce petition. That gave poor old Arnie the impression I had a rich, classy lawyer. I didn’t ask for anything, so he couldn’t contest it. I just wanted out.”
“He didn’t fight it, then,” Noah said.
“Not legally. But he threatened me. He said if I went through with it, he’d be my worst nightmare. We had been divorced for about nine months when he made a case for custody. There’s where I wasn’t too smart—I couldn’t see how he had a leg to stand on. He wasn’t their father, we’d lived with him less than three months, and I didn’t think I needed any help keeping my own kids. And, like I said before, I’d never done better for myself workwise. I had a good job, made good money, was taking good care of my kids. That club is totally legal. Maybe it’s not tasteful, but it’s legal. Most of the women dancing in there are single moms. That judge—he had it out for me. Maybe I should’ve let him buy me dinner.”