I AWAKENED AT 4:13 A.M. AND FOUND I WAS ALONE IN THE bed. “Brad?” I sat up and turned on the lamp. “Brad?”
No reply.
Closing my eyes, I tried to sleep a bit longer, but the events of the previous evening began running through my mind.
After the encounter with that dreadful reporter in the lobby, nothing more untoward had happened. Yet the life had gone out of the evening for both of us. We smiled when appropriate. We laughed on cue. When Brad received his award, he said all the right things and thanked all the right people while I applauded and smiled. We looked as if everything was fine.
It was a sham, a pretense. The evening was ruined for us both.
I tossed aside the bedcovers and got up, grabbing my bathrobe from the foot of the bed as I passed by. The house was chilly at this hour of the morning, and I was thankful for the thick carpet beneath my feet.
Downstairs, I saw no light coming from beneath the door of the den, which meant Brad wasn’t working.
“Brad?”
“In here.”
I followed his voice into the living room. He stood before the large window, the drapes pulled open. Moonlight fell upon him, silvering his hair.
“What are you doing?”
“Thinking about last night.”He looked over his shoulder. “I keep trying to figure out who might have made those accusations about the finances at In Step.”
“The media loves a scandal. If there were any facts behind what that reporter said, we’d have seen something on the news last night.”
He turned to face me. “I hope you’re right.”
I crossed the room to stand before him. “Of course I am.”
He stroked a hand over my hair. A hint of a smile played on his lips. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“Being here. With me.”
“Where else would I be at this time of the morning? Sleeping?”
He leaned down and kissed me lightly on the lips. At the moment, it seemed silly that either one of us had let Greta St. James spoil our evening. Now it was time to put her completely out of our thoughts.
When the kiss ended, I said, “Want me to make coffee or are we headed back to bed?”
“Coffee would be great. I don’t think I could fall asleep again.”
I gave him a quick peck on the cheek and headed down the hall, flicking on the lights as I entered the kitchen.
This was my favorite room in the house. It had been designed with entertaining in mind. Plenty of counter and storage space. Room for more than one person to move around without getting underfoot. A large pantry. A spice cupboard. Two ovens.
We’d had friends from church over two weeks ago. Three other couples, including our pastor and his wife. It was fiesta night. Mexican rice and refried beans. Fajitas with beef, chicken, and shrimp. Tacos. Sour cream and guacamole, green peppers and onions. Mexican fried ice cream for dessert.
It seemed I could still hear the laughter as we gathered around the counter, filling our plates, joking about Mike’s super-sized fajitas, teasing Stan for adding ketchup to his tacos.
What would they think if those rumors about Brad and In Step became common knowledge?
I gave my head a shake. I needn’t worry about our friends. They knew my husband. They wouldn’t believe any of it, anymore than I did.
Soothed by that thought, I ground the coffee beans, filled the reservoir of the coffeemaker, and started it brewing. Then I returned to the living room. “It’ll be ready in a few minutes.”
“I’ll check to see if the paper’s here yet.”
Coffee. The newspaper. A quiet time with my Bible. Then off to church. An ordinary Sunday morning, like hundreds of other Sunday mornings that had gone before.