The borrowed mug sat on the ground, begging to be returned. He’d tinker with the rattletrap mower a few more minutes, waiting until she wasn’t staring out the window at him. With a bit of luck, he’d be able to slip over and leave the cup on the porch before she caught him.
Then it should be about time for Ivy to wake and eat again. A living, breathing alarm clock—sleeping, eating, and then sleeping again. Babies didn’t do that forever, he knew that much. When this sleep-all-the-time phase ended, they would be back to square one.
Harvey shook his head. One notch on the tree at a time. His only goal today was to make that one notch become two. But with the blue-haired Neighborhood Watch on the case, the jig would be up before his first day ended. He stowed the tools and dragged the mower back to its dusty corner in the shed. Maybe he could get the rust heap running tomorrow. He’d go prune the hedges next so at least it would appear he’d accomplished something.
Harvey crept up the walk, mug in hand, scoping out the windows. All clear. He reached to set the mug on the porch rail.
The front door opened while he slipped his fingers from the handle. He started and the cup fell onto her concrete porch, shattering into pieces. The sound ricocheted inside his head, seeming far louder than the crash warranted. Harvey froze, hunched over the shards.
Pearl balanced a tray laden with sandwiches. “Oh dear.”
Ivy arched and squirmed against his chest. His knees trembled when he quick-stepped backwards. “I’m sorry, I’ll replace it. I’m sorry. So sorry.” He turned on his heel and bolted as quickly as he dared without jarring Ivy. Her delayed startle-reflex cry was—he hoped—masked by his fake coughing and the distance he put between himself and Pearl. Heat spilled over him. He’d left that elderly woman to clean up his mess.
She called out from her porch, “Oh, stay. Harvey, it’s all right. Come back. Please.”
Pearl stared as Harvey strode down the road, hunched and coughing. The crashing mug must have triggered his reaction. Pearl cringed against a memory—the worst Fourth of July in her life, huddled in a closet trying to convince her son, fresh from the war zone, that he was safe. Stepping over the ceramic pieces, she walked to the church with the lunch tray.
At the door of Pastor Thomas’s study, she balanced the tray one-handed and tapped on the door. “Hello, I’ve come with a peace offering.”
“Pearl?” Thomas opened the door. “Peace offering? What have you done now?” He gave a teasing wink. “Whatever it is, I forgive you. I’m starved.”
She set the tray on his desk. Inhaling the scent of books and leather, an image played in her mind as tangible as the desk itself—Elliot poring over his Bible for the Sunday sermon.
“It appears I’ve run off your new groundskeeper.”
Thomas sank into his desk chair. “What?”
“I—well, I’m not sure what happened, actually. But I startled him, and he left.”
“Left?” Thomas stood and faced the window overlooking the green space between the church and Pearl’s home.
“So, he is the new groundskeeper?”
Thomas turned and studied the rug beneath his feet, rubbing his hand through his dark hair. “In a manner of speaking. That is to say . . . not officially.”
Pearl propped a hand on her hip and arched her brows. “I had a feeling this wasn’t a board-approved hire.”
“There was something about him. I can’t explain it. I was compelled to offer him a job.” Thomas walked back to his chair, motioning for Pearl to take the seat across from his desk. “You know the board doesn’t trust my judgment, whippersnapper that I am. And even if they did, Harvey doesn’t exactly fit the image of a prime candidate for the church staff. I couldn’t turn him away . . .”
“And how exactly are you going to pay him?” Pearl eased into the chair and leaned in.
A mischievous glint lit his eyes. “I was going to save up my lunch money since you’re so kind to feed me every day.”
She smiled through the ache in her heart. “It’s a forty-year-old habit, bringing lunch to the pastor’s office. I’m a bit set in my ways.”
“How are you doing? Truly?” He reached over and squeezed her wrinkled hand, his expression gentle and open.
She blinked and sniffled, pressing the emotion back down to the reservoir that faithfully held until someone asked that dreaded question. “I’m hanging in there. The Lord is with me, Pastor Thomas. He’s near to the brokenhearted.”
“That he is.”
She nodded. He was. He really, really was. Didn’t mean it didn’t hurt though.
“Hello? Thom?” The cautious call pulled Pearl’s gaze to the doorway. Miriam poked her head into the office, her hair a glorious cascade of red curls.
Pearl turned back to Thomas. Light filled his expression as he stood and crossed the room to kiss his wife’s cheek. “Miriam, I wasn’t expecting you today.”
Pearl’s heart squeezed. His adoration was so precious.
Miriam must turn heads everywhere she went with her flaming hair and that statuesque build of hers. She was what people call big-boned, but she had a breezy way of moving, like a runway model. It was her eyes, though, that pulled at Pearl’s heart. Pale blueish-green, they were the saddest seascape she’d ever seen. Pearl didn’t know Miriam’s story, but she felt it in her presence. And it felt a lot like hers. Swirling loss that left her adrift.
“Come, sit. Join Pearl and me for lunch if you can spare the time.”
“I have a few minutes.” Miriam turned to her. “Hi, Pearl. How are you this afternoon?”
“Good, good. It’s been interesting at least.”
Miriam sat beside Pearl. “Oh?”
She handed Miriam a ham sandwich. “I accidentally ran off your husband’s new hire.”
“He showed?”
Thomas chuckled. “He did. Then this intimidating woman scared him away.”
Pearl cut her gaze playfully in Thomas’s direction. “Oh, hush. I was just keeping an eye on him. Mercy, he’s an odd character.”
“He certainly is nervous, the way he stares at the floor and disappears as soon as the conversation lulls.” Thomas clicked the end of his pen against his desk. “So what do you say, Guardian of Triune First, did I make a mistake?”
Pearl lifted her shoulders, ignoring the ache settling in her joints. “I wanted to talk to you about that. He darted off every so often, talking to himself the whole time. At first I thought some addiction was the cause, but after meeting him, I think he may have an anxiety disorder.”
Thomas leaned against the back of his desk chair. “What more can I do to help him?”
Pearl tapped her lips with a fingertip. “I can’t figure him out. His odd manner. His clothes. The gigantic shirt he wore reminded me of those tent-like maternity shirts I wore back in the day.”
Miriam stood abruptly, turned away from Pearl, her voice tight. “It’s probably time I get out of here. I’m meeting a young woman that’s been coming to the Pantry. What time—” She glanced at the still clock on the wall. The battery hadn’t been replaced since Elliot passed.
Miriam’s attention went to Thomas’s wrist. “Did you forget your watch?”