Chapter 2

"Hey."

"Hey."

"Is that going to be the sum total of our conversation?" Jerry asked wryly, mopping his sweaty face with a large white cooling towel that had been made available for the members and their guests at the end of the tennis game because Evan Davenport mopped the floor with him.

The man had played as if he was being chased by a demon, a very persistent one. The man was sprawled in the chaise lounge, barely winded, a brooding expression on his face.

"I thought we already had our conversation on the court." Amusement tinged his silvery gray eyes as he stared at his friend. "And you are as red as a beet and sweating like a pig."

"Thanks for that, by the way." His friend grabbed a glass of freshly squeezed lemonade and took several large gulps. "What on earth is bugging you anyway? If I drop dead of a heart attack, you would only have yourself to blame."

"You need to work out more." Reaching for his own lemonade, Evan took a sip. "You have packed on a few pounds around the middle."

"Oh, just shut up." Taking another sip of his drink, Jerry glanced at his friend, concern evident on his broad attractive face. "It's that article, isn't it?"

"What article?" Evan's face was expressionless even though his heart was racing with anger and frustration.

He could not get a break. Whenever it seemed as if the public was focused on something other than his family's history, something would stir it up again. He had been trying ever since he took over as CEO of Davenport Industries to quell the nasty rumors, but he seemed to be going backwards.

His head of PR had suggested something, and he was using the weekend to mull it over. It seemed ridiculous and extreme and downright immoral, but he was at his wit's end.

"I am your friend…"

"I know." Evan assured him quietly. "And I am dealing with it."

"The entire thing is so unfair."

"Is it?" With a shrug, Evan put away his glass and ignored the tiny sandwiches that had also been provided. It was the middle of August and the heat; the humidity was making itself obvious.

The Elite Club was humming with various activities at this time of year. There were sounds of laughter and people splashing in the nearby pools. A hectic game of basketball was being played to the sound of strains of classical music playing over the surrounding sounds.

Dragging his fingers through his tangled and slightly damp ink black hair, he tilted his head back and closed his eyes. He was tired, not just physically, but emotionally as well. He was followed by the press constantly and was so sick and tired of the publicity that he was tempted to just disappear.

But he had until tomorrow to try and figure out if what he had been advised to do was a good idea. Today, he just wanted to have some fun, exert some energy and forget about the quandary he was involved in.

If it was just him, he would weather it, brush it away until it went away, but it involved his company and the nasty rumors, conjectures could not be ignored. It bothered him a lot. He had cleaned up his ‘act' as a result and had been without female companionship for almost six weeks. It was getting to him.

"What will you do?" His friend's voice filtered through his mind and interrupted his thoughts.

"For now, I am going to enjoy the lovely weekend and participate in as many games as I can. You up for another round?"

"Not a chance buddy. I am wiped out."

"Catch you later." Pushing himself out of the chair, Evan finished his drink and picked up his racket.

*****

"Pastor William! Hi." Dragging off her gardening gloves, she rose in surprise. Despite the plan to laze the morning away and stay in bed for most of the morning, her mental clock had kicked in at precisely six as it always did. She had stayed in bed for another half an hour, before getting up.

She had attacked her laundry first and foremost, because it was her least favorite chore and then cleaned the place from crevice to corner. Breakfast had been a bagel and coffee and leaving the clothes in the dryer, she had decided to take care of her favorite pastime. Gardening.

"I hope I am not disturbing you. It is your day off…"

"You can never disturb me." Taking off the straw hat, she dumped it along with her gloves on a bench next to the rose bush she had been tending.

"And it's time for a break," she declared, brushing her hands over the khaki knee length capri she had donned for the job.

"You have done wonders with the place," he murmured a little wistfully.

"God's handiwork. I am just the one who digs in the dirt and tends to the plants. He does the rest." She led the way to the bench and chairs that had been added a year ago beneath an overhanging oak tree. "I have lemonade and peach pie."

"You baked?"

His skeptical look had her laughing, dimples peeking out on both sides of her cheek.

"You know better than that. Sister Glenda handed me a pie dish when I was leaving last night. Make yourself at home, I will be right back."

Settling on the padded seat, William leaned back and took a deep breath, appreciating the scents and the quiet ambience. He almost wished he could stay here – almost wished he was single and carefree, like Cassandra.

Last night he had spent the time tossing and turning on the bed and woke up this morning as cranky as a bear with a sore head. The housekeeper was off for the weekend, but she had left their meals, which meant that they did not have to do anything except prepare breakfast.

He had made coffee and poured some in a go cup before leaving a terse note on the fridge to let Ingrid know he was doing rounds.

He had made it to one congregant before deciding to pop in and tackle some paperwork. Fifteen minutes in, he realized he was not concentrating. So, he decided to come and see the woman who has been on his mind.

"Here we are," she came back out bearing a tray. Jumping from his seat, William took it from her and placed it in the middle of the table.

"Let me pour. Sit." He instructed.

She waited until he had finished pouring and handed him a plate with a slice of the pie, before commenting on the tired look on his face.

"I was expecting you to stay home and relax today." Taking a sip of her lemonade, she studied him curiously. William Weeks was more than her pastor, he was her dad, even though she still called him ‘Pastor William.'

He had instilled in her valuable lessons and had been there for her most of her life. He was an integral part of what she was. And she also knew him pretty well. Enough to realize that something was not quite right.

"Visitations. Sister Marcia is still not doing very well and refuses to go to the hospital."

"She prefers to be in the comfort of her own home. How is Ingrid?" She asked casually. She had also noticed that the pastor's wife affection had cooled towards her, and she could hazard a guess as to the why of it.

"I left her sleeping. Yesterday was not easy on her."

As usual, mention, even subtly at the tragedy of losing his son brought tears to the back of her eyes. "I can only imagine."

"We had an argument." He toyed with the slice of pie on his plate. "Ingrid accused me of not understanding what it is like. She reminded me that she was the one who was mostly there for our children."

He lifted his head to stare at her, a smile touching his lips. Her thick natural dark brown curls were piled on top of her head in an untidy bundle with thick curls hanging down and touching her cheeks.

Her skin was a flawless caramel complexion with not even a hint of imperfection. Her eyebrows were tapered, and her dark brown eyes were large and very expressive. She was petite, probably barely topping five feet, but her personality was so big, one hardly noticed her slight frame.

"She also accused me of favoring you."

"Oh!" Cassandra took a sip of her lemonade, before putting the glass down and facing him.

She no longer looks me in the eyes, and she is very polite. Your wife was there for me when I needed a mother, and I hate to think that I am coming between the two of you."

"It's not you," he hastened to assure her. The last thing he wanted her to think was that she was a burden. "Instead of waning – the tragedy of losing Chad is lingering and increasing. His room is like a shrine.

Everything he left there is still in the exact spot. I suggested to Ingrid that we should clear out his room, but she would not hear of it. In fact, she gets hysterical at the very mention of it." He fidgeted with the dessert fork, a pained expression on his attractive face. "I shouldn't be telling you all this…"

"Why? Because you are the pastor, and you are not entitled to have feelings? Not entitled to feel overwhelmed with sadness?" Reaching across the table, she placed a hand over his.

"You were there for me in my time of need and for that, I will always thank the Lord that he placed me in your path or vice versa… "She shook her head. "You are the closest thing I have to an earthly father, and I appreciate all you have done for me. I just wished there was something I could do for you."

"You are doing it." Using his free hand to cover hers, he squeezed. "You are my daughter…"

She started to tug her hand away, but he held on. "Pastor…"

"No!" He shook his head slowly. "You are more daughter to me than the one I have. Ingrid said that very thing to me and I had to acknowledge it, because it would drive a further wedge between us. And yes, my dear…," he squeezed her hand again. "There is a wedge, and it is widening even further…"

"Please."

Taking his hand away, he picked up his glass and took another sip. "I am a man, Cassie." He smiled at her, the movement shallow and sad. "I have flaws and for a very long time, I have been questioning God. Should I?" He tilted his head slightly, a thoughtful look on his face.

"Perhaps. Or perhaps I should just go with the flow. Or it might be the fact that we are all sinners. We are not good, are we my dear?" His smile came again. "Except you." His hazel eyes touched on her beautiful face that was free of makeup. She hardly wore any, but she didn't need it.

Her skin was flawless, her eyes wide and innocent, but she was strong and had a steely resolve. She was no pushover. She was friendly and caring and would go out of her way to help an individual.

"I am not good."

"You come close to being the best person that I know."

Leaning over, he patted her hand. "This place…," he swept his hand to encompass the yard, "it's serene and so peaceful. I could stay here all day."

"Then stay for supper." she urged. "I went grocery shopping this morning and picked up some imitation crabs. A bit on the expensive side, but I want to make a crab salad." Her dark brown eyes sparkled as the idea took root. "Stay and help me. We could sit out here and enjoy the rest of the afternoon."

He was tempted. Being here with her was like a balm on his ragged spirit. Talking to her had already dispelled the heaviness inside him. But he had to go home and face the music. And it was not fair for him to be burdening her with his troubles.

"You should go out," he told her abruptly. "Go to the museum or the art gallery. You love that sort of thing."

"So do you. Let's go together."

He shook his head in regret and rose before he could change his mind. She stood up as well and came around to hug him. A sigh escaped him as he hugged her back and inhaled her subtle perfume and the scent of flowers and the sun surrounding her.

He held on a little longer than he should, but she was a comfort to him, now more than ever. Kissing her on the top of her head, he let go and stepped back.

"Will you be, okay?"

He nodded. Lifting his hand, he brushed his fingers over her left cheek, dislodging a smudge of dirt. "Thanks for the refreshment and the listening ear. Both are well appreciated."

She walked him to the gate.

"Where is your vehicle?"

"In the church's parking lot. I needed the exercise." He kissed her on the cheek and headed along the pathway leading to the back of the chapel.

Cassandra watched him for a few minutes, a frown on her brow. Turning around, she went to sit at the table and picked up her glass of lemonade. She had seen the sadness and the look of hopelessness on his face, and it broke her heart. She also knew what he was not saying. His marriage was disintegrating.

And that was frightening. She had often watched them when she was living at the farmhouse and prayed every night that she would find a man who was as good and perfect as Pastor William.

They had been a loving couple. Laughter had been in that house, as well as love. She had been so grateful to be part of that. But now the house was empty of children, and it was falling apart.

She could not bear to think of the man she had loved and admired for so many years as just a man. That should not be the case. He was a man of God, a messenger and surely certain things should be beneath him, such as going to another woman. Finishing the lemonade, she rose and started to tidy up.

Suddenly, the idea of going back to her gardening did not hold its usual appeal. Her mind was burdened, and his sadness had rubbed off on her. The tears were near to the surface. She could pray of course, but she doubts she would find the words.

*****

Ingrid Weeks sat on the side of her son's bed and ran her hand over the quilt slowly. She could feel his presence inside the room and his brand of cologne still lingered after all this time. There was a keen sense of loss inside her heart that no number of prayers and meditation could mend.

She was broken inside and shattered like a fragile glass that had been smashed to pieces. She had asked God why her son – why not her? Why had he taken a bright young man like that and left her to try and survive losing him.

William had sprouted Bible verses about God knowing what is best and that he had his reason. He had tried to assure them both that Chad had gone home to be with the Lord. That when a saint dies, we should rejoice.

She had listened and then told him succinctly to go to hell. She knew he was trying to comfort her, comfort them both, because he loved his son, but his words had grated and made things worse.

Lifting her head, she looked around the room, eyes landing on the teal blue wall where countless medals and ribbons were tacked. Chad had been very athletic. He had been involved in so many sports and had been very outgoing.

People loved him, loved having him around. He was always the first to be picked for a game. Always ready to lend a helping hand. When he was a little boy, he would knock quietly on their door and ask to be admitted so that he could get help with praying for the monster that was living inside his closet.

Ingrid felt the tears leaking from her eyes. She was exhausted, physically, and emotionally. She no longer had any urge to be with her husband.

She had been silently relieved when he was the first to suggest that he sleep in another room. She could not bear for him to be near her. She knew she was not being obedient or following what the Bible said, but she couldn't help herself. She had also stopped praying.

That most of all was weighing on her mind and her conscience. She had been brought up in church and the natural course was for her to marry a pastor. But it had not been just following tradition. She had fallen in love with William, the first time she laid eyes on him.

She still loved him, that wasn't going to change of course. But she had lost her beloved son and could not find it within herself to go on as if nothing happened. She could not accept that it was God's will to take her son from her. Bowing her head, she closed her eyes and tried to find the words to say to her Savior, but as usual, words failed her.

*****

"My dear, how nice of you to drop by," Aunt Eleanor was genuinely pleased as she greeted him at the front door.

"I should have called…"

"Nonsense." Taking his hands in hers, she squeezed gently before letting go, conscience of his aversion to being touched. "Come on in. The housekeeper just retired for the evening."

She led the way into a cozy blue and white salon where the floor to ceiling windows overlooked the stunning landscaped area where flowers were blooming in profusion. "I was out in the gardens earlier tending to my plants."

She gestured for him to take a seat on one of the antique chairs, facing the cherry wood table. "How have you been?" Without asking him, she was already pouring her herbal tea into two dainty cups.

With an inward grimace, Evan accepted the dreaded beverage and plate of sugar cookies. Eleanor Davenport was a creature of habit and living alone for years had not robbed her of her rituals. She had tea and cookies every night after supper no matter what the temperature was outside.

"I am well, thank you."

She eyed him over the rim of the delicate chinaware. She was also very perceptive and aware of what was happening around her. She kept up with the latest news and owned a small share in the company that Evan had taken over as CEO when his uncle died. Ever since he was a child, he had been highly groomed for the part.

His father was the eldest son, so naturally, the company had reverted to him, leaving his younger brother with a lesser role. Evan knew there had been dissension between the siblings over the running of the company, but he had been left out of the discussions, even when he was old enough to contribute.

"Are you?" Aunt Eleanor asked quietly as she placed her cup carefully on the saucer. "I have read the papers my dear and know that it's bad." A sigh escaped her as she stared at her hands clasped on her lap.

"George wasn't a man who took any sort of advice…," she looked over at him. "Your father was even worse. "They had a specific way of doing things and to them, having a woman tell them what to do was tantamount to handing over the reins.

Neither your mother nor I were privy to any business dealings, and we were always excluded from the meetings. In essence, we were decorations, arm candy as you young people would call it." She shook her head.

"It did not matter that we had gone to college and could have made a difference. Instead of veering towards a different path from what their father and grandfather took, they continued the same tradition of doing things the old way. Cutting corners and making unscrupulous deals, leaving a string of enemies behind them."

Picking up her cup, she took a pensive sip. "Now it is left up to you to clean up centuries worth of mess and I fear it's not going to be easy. Have you considered how to begin doing so?"

Evan smiled grimly as he took a sip of the dreaded tea. "I have a few ideas."