“I’m not sure if—”
But his father is walking over now, eyebrows high in question.
“Jane wants to know if she can see the offices, but I don’t know if—”
“Absolutely!” he booms. “Give her the grand tour.”
“Oh, thank you, Pastor Hepsworth. You’re such an inspiration.” I dart close and give him a quick hug, then immediately pull back and apologize. “I’m so sorry.”
He’s chuckling, his cheeks still red from the rousing sermon. “Nonsense, my dear. Go enjoy the tour.”
As we cross the grand hall of the church, I look back to see him smiling proudly at us. I give him a little wave and he waves back.
“I just can’t believe you grew up like this,” I whisper as we step through double doors into a wide hallway. “You must have felt so safe.”
“My dad is the best. I really had a perfect childhood.” His soft smile abruptly freezes. “Well, until my mom . . .”
“But it was good until then?”
“Yes. It was perfect.” His voice roughens a little with grief.
Steven has no resiliency, I guess. He didn’t learn about pain and disappointment until he was fifteen. Now every little letdown is a threat to him. Every weakness a sign of looming betrayal. I got a cat, so I need to be slapped down. Another man talked to Meg, so she had to be ground to smithereens. The smallest infraction might mean he’s about to be humiliated and abandoned again.
Such a delicate flower, our Steven.
I know he didn’t kill Meg. I know she killed herself. So is it fair that I blame him so thoroughly?
Well, first of all, life isn’t fair, and Steven has had a hell of a lot more good fortune than Meg or I ever had. He’s mad that his mom stepped off the path of righteousness after fifteen-plus years. My parents never once set foot on it or even tried. And Meg’s father had been an example of moral frailty from the time she was born until the day he walked out on her forever when she was three. Just old enough to feel the loss.
So excuse me if I think Steven got a better deal.
My lack of sympathy aside, even if he didn’t technically kill Meg, she would never, ever have killed herself if Steven hadn’t tortured her. And it was torture. That constant push-pull of love and abuse. I want you, I hate you, I love you, you’re nothing. Over and over again.
I’ve experienced it myself. I know it deeply. My parents were casual in their abuse. Unthinking. But Steven wanted Meg to crave his approval just so he could remove it as a form of punishment. He wanted her to hurt and hurt badly every single time he felt a moment’s fear.
If he’d beaten her to death, it would be simple for everyone. But for me, this is still simple. Suicide was the method of her death, but this man was the cause. She’d struggled with anxiety in her life but she’d never been depressed. Not until Steven.
He shows me all the different offices, and I pretend to be rapt as I case the joint. There’s not much here to go on, although the newsletter list could be helpful if I can get it. The door to the communications office is wide-open and unoccupied, and I assume it stays that way all the time.
The accounting office is locked tight. I wonder if the donations are stashed in there for the night. Churches aren’t any more trusting than other businesses, so there must be a safe, either in the accounting department or in the pastor’s personal office. I’m not a movie sociopath, just a regular one, so I wasn’t born with any inherent safecracking abilities. Locks can’t be manipulated the way people can.
The last stop on the tour is Pastor Hepsworth’s personal office, and it’s as grand as I expect. Not ostentatious but dark and woody and lined with bookshelves. Steven opens the door but does not cross the threshold.
A big walnut desk takes up a huge amount of floor space, and a tall leather chair sits behind it, awaiting the pastor’s ass. The two chairs angled in front of the desk are much smaller, of course. He must loom over his guests as he gives counsel. Fair enough. He’s the big man here.
I whisper in awe, “I’m imagining you playing under the desk as a little boy.”
Steven laughs. “Not this desk and in a much smaller building, but yes.”
“Christmas must be grand here.”
Steven closes the door and smiles down at me. “I’m hoping you’ll be here to see it.”
I tip my head back and sigh. “Me too.” I close my eyes when he kisses me. I melt. But modestly. Not into him but into the doorjamb behind me. He pulls back after a gentle peck on my lips, but he raises a hand to tenderly cup my cheek.
“I was proud of you today,” he murmurs.
“You’re so good to me.”
“When will you be done with your . . . you know?”
My woman’s curse? “In a few days.”
“Good. Want to come over on Thursday?”
I duck my head shyly. We both know what he means. “That would be really nice,” I whisper. “I mean, if you think it’s okay.”
“I think it’s more than okay.”
I don’t get periods. I’m on a continuous cycle of birth control pills, so I’m in complete control of my hormones. But it’s a good way to put Steven off whenever I want to. As far as he’ll know, I bleed like a stuck pig every twenty days. It’s not like he’d ever take the chance of coming in contact with my menstrual blood. Please.
Steven drives me home and I’m free for the entire afternoon. I play with my cat and then walk to the little Italian restaurant for an early dinner. I drink a whole carafe of wine by myself. It’s heaven.
CHAPTER 30
Looks like it’s the last warm day of fall.
I pause in my data entry and glance at my phone to read Luke’s text.
A few seconds later a second one appears. Want to go to the zoo tonight?
The zoo? My hands hover over the keyboard as I frown at the bizarre question. Why would I want to go to the zoo? I’m not a child.
Not that I ever went to the zoo as a child either. There weren’t a lot of zoos in the panhandle.
I text back three question marks.
The zoo is lit up for the holiday season starting in November. Supposed to be 50 degrees tonight. Go with me?
Maybe this is a thing that normal people do? I shrug and text back a yes, agreeing to meet him outside my apartment at 6:30.
Luke is one of those impulses I have trouble resisting. Being involved with him doesn’t forward my mission here. In fact, it puts it in danger. Unfortunately I like a little danger. It quickens my blood the same way sex does. Otherwise, the world is too steady for me. Boring. Maybe that’s why so many sociopaths end up habitually hurting people, even killing them. It’s not about the people; it’s about the danger.
And there’s a good chance Luke will get hurt here. When I leave, I’ll go abruptly and I may very well leave a trail of crimes in my wake. No one knows I’m involved with Luke. He won’t get pulled in. But he may find out and be hurt or frightened at how close we were. Or maybe he won’t care. I’m not sure.
As I’ve said before, it’s difficult to figure out how nice people work. I can manipulate Luke with sex, but a nice guy wants more than that, apparently. He wants to go to lunch and . . . and to zoos.
There’s finally birthday cake in the office today, and I jump up from my desk when I see everyone else headed toward the far corner of the floor. It’s Karen’s birthday. I don’t know Karen, but I sing along with the crowd and clap when she blows out the candles. Someone tries to hand me a piece of cake, but I pass it along and wait for a bigger slice. It’s chocolate with white frosting, my favorite. Steven steps off the elevator just as I stuff a huge bite into my mouth. His eyebrows rise and then drop into a deep frown. I wish I had milk. There’s nothing better than chocolate cake and ice-cold milk.
He joins the circle and stands next to me as he accepts his own piece. “Happy birthday, Karen!” he calls; then he nudges me and lowers his voice. “Are you skipping lunch?”
“No, why?”
“Really?” He shifts his eyes meaningfully to my cake.
“Lunch isn’t for an hour.”
“I know, but you just had cake on Saturday.”
“So did you.”