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STUPID. STUPID TO GO into hysterics over something so minor. This time, Katrina didn’t even need her husband to tell her she was overreacting.
Locked in the bathroom, ignoring Greg’s questions on the other side of the door, she let the hot water from the shower scald her skin. Who cared if it wasted the parsonage’s precious energy? With as little money as they paid her husband to begin with, the church would have no right to complain if they doubled their utility spending.
“Mouse, I just want to talk to you.”
I’m not your mouse. She kept the thought to herself, knowing that she couldn’t make her voice carry over the roar of the water and pounding of her husband’s fists anyway. That’s what she hated most about herself, how soft-spoken she remained even when she was full of rage, angry enough to kill.
What right did the church have to go behind her back and make arrangements for her to take voice lessons with a complete stranger?
She could just imagine how the conversation went. Hey, Miles, you know that new pastor who’s come into town and his wife that everyone’s talking about because she’s so young and used to be part of his youth group? Well, we really need her to direct our Christmas musical, and it would be nice if she could lead singing on Sunday mornings as well, but see, she can’t sing a note to save her life. So why don’t you go ahead and treat her like a charity case and whip her voice into shape. We’d all really appreciate it.
The problem was when she told Greg she didn’t want the lessons, he made it out like she was the one being unreasonable.
“They really care about you, Mouse. They want to see you take your musical gift and develop it.”
What was it with every single person in this blasted town thinking that anybody who played second violin in a middle-rate symphonic orchestra should by extension know how to sing, lead worship, and direct a Christmas pageant? And what right was it of theirs to schedule her first lesson without consulting her? Not even Greg had thought to ask for her opinion. The entire church, including her husband, was in on the conspiracy.
And what would happen when all these petty gossips realized that two weeks of voice lessons wouldn’t come close to turning Katrina into a singer? What then?
I suppose it’s good she still has that violin of hers.
It was brave of her to try.
Maybe it’s time for her to have a baby so she has something else to occupy her time and energy.
“Come on, Mouse. Let me in. Please.”
She couldn’t go on ignoring her husband forever, much as she might want to. She slammed off the water and plodded to the door. Who cared if she made puddles all over the stupid bathroom floor? At least nobody would complain about it at the next church business meeting because they wouldn’t know.
She wrapped her towel around herself and threw open the door. “What?”
Greg was frowning, but instead of finding the anger she expected in his gaze, he looked concerned. He reached out and stroked her cheek. “You been crying?”
She shrugged. Some questions didn’t warrant a response.
“Let’s talk about it.”
She walked past him toward their bedroom. “It’d be nice to get dressed first.”
“Why? I like you just like that.” She didn’t turn around. Did he really think that sort of comment was appropriate at a time like this?
He followed her into the bedroom. “I guess I should have asked you about the voice lessons before I agreed to it, huh?”
She kept her eyes focused on her pajamas laid out on the bed. “Might have been nice.”
“It sounded like a really neat idea on the phone.”
“Mmm.”
He took in a deep breath and tried again. “I’ve heard you sing before. I think you have a sweet voice.”
He was correct, in a way. If there was anything positive that could be said about Katrina’s singing, it was sweet. In a quiet-to-the-point-of-being-timid, demure, and wispy sort of way. A breathy, airy voice with no power behind it.
At all.
And a two-week crash course crammed in over Christmas break wouldn’t change any of that.
Greg sat down on the corner of the bed. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask you first. Do you want me to call Mrs. Porter and cancel?”
She shook her head and buttoned the top of her nightgown. “No. It’s too late now.” She was about to go on, but his relieved sigh cut her off.
“I’m glad. Because I think these lessons might be a really good step for you. Maybe give you some confidence.”
She pulled on her warm, fuzzy socks, ignoring that last remark. Two weeks. That’s all Christmas break was. Two weeks.
Two weeks meeting with some stranger, humiliating herself most likely to the point of tears, but at least once she proved to the congregation that she simply couldn’t sing, they’d stop pestering her about it.
This time for good.