Lauren Nock pulled her apartment door closed behind her and made sure it locked. She was cutting it close. Seven minutes to be on time. She urged her sleep-deprived body to go faster than it preferred as she bounded down the flight of stairs to the street and set a lively pace down two blocks and around the corner to the church. By her own routine, she was at least an hour late. Lauren liked arriving early at Our Savior Community Church on Sundays, in time to listen to the musicians warming up and get a hint of what the morning’s music would bring. In her office, she liked extra time to gather the handouts and sign-up sheets she intended to distribute to children, youth, and parents that day, giving people plenty of opportunities to participate, both to offer ministry and to receive it. And someone always popped in for a quick chat before the service.
Not today.
With only three minutes to spare now, she entered the church. The pre-service music was underway, and worshippers were curtailing their conversations over coffee in the foyer and drifting into the sanctuary.
“Good morning, Mrs. Berrill.” Lauren’s long habit had been to disregard the dour expression etched on Mrs. Berrill’s face and greet her with cheer, no matter what. Ever since she retired and closed her hair salon, Mrs. Berrill seemed to require personal attention from every member of the church staff each Sunday or she mumbled to others in the congregation about how church leaders were too busy for her. Today Lauren dreaded mustering interest in which part of Mrs. Berrill’s body hurt now. She suspected the root cause of the pain was in the woman’s spirit, anyway. Thankfully, with the prelude beginning, even Mrs. Berrill wouldn’t choose this time to start on her litany of ailments.
Lauren slipped into a random pew. This was the sort of day she wished she had a regular spot to sit and know what to expect from the others around her. Her intentional custom, though, was to choose a different part of the sanctuary each week so her greeting and chatting were not confined to the same predictable list of people every Sunday. How could she serve as director of family ministry if she didn’t intersect with every family in the church?
On this morning, it didn’t matter where she sat. She wasn’t in any condition for socializing and doubted she would remember a thing anyone said to her.
She stood with the congregation for the opening songs, one hymn and one contemporary song to placate preferences for both styles of music. Even though her lips moved with the familiar words, Lauren’s mind spun with the events of last night and the consequent lack of sleep.
Lauren spent enough of the night sitting across from Cooper Elliott to watch his face begin to advertise its need for a morning shave. He wasn’t on duty, but someone—Lauren wasn’t sure who—decided to wake him and bring him in to do the questioning because he had been present at the banquet when Quinn disappeared.
It was the sheriff’s staff who asked Lauren to sit in a room by herself while Cooper further interviewed Nicole and then sent Nicole away during Lauren’s interview. Lauren resented the implication of wrongdoing. To officers on the scene, Nicole reported finding Lauren standing near the accident, but not with rancor or suspicion. They had bonded in their worry about Quinn’s welfare. Nicole didn’t suggest Lauren had anything to do with the accident.
Cooper kept saying they needed to piece together separate testimonies and not have two witnesses confusing each other and potentially blocking independent memory of significant details. By two in the morning, the circular nature of Cooper’s questions irritated Lauren. Cooper was making careful notes, but he didn’t seem to grasp that Lauren didn’t see the car’s collision with the tree, and she didn’t see Quinn get out of the car. She had no idea how long before her arrival the crash happened. She wasn’t hiding information. No matter what angle Cooper’s questions came from, the answers didn’t change. Lauren knew nothing.
Around three in the morning, Lauren overheard confirmation that Quinn’s house still showed no sign of his presence.
Now, Lauren spoke the words of a printed congregational prayer without taking in their substance. She sat when the congregation sat, hard-pressed to recall even a snatch of a phrase that might suggest the day’s theme.
Next would come the announcements—and the moment Lauren dreaded. Quinn was supposed to briefly present the health fair and would have had something clever to say. His congenial manner alone would have stirred interest. Lauren hadn’t stopped in her office for the sign-up sheets and hadn’t even remembered to bring the clipboard she carried around town yesterday for some basic information.
Only yesterday.
It seemed such a long time ago that she ran into Quinn outside her apartment and heard his reassurance that all was in hand.
Today all was most definitely not in hand.
Lauren caught sight of Nicole sitting three rows forward on the other side of the center aisle. When her turn came during the night, Nicole had to remember everything she touched inside the overturned car, any place where investigators might discover her fingerprints. She had been at the station just as late as Lauren, and given Nicole’s “maybe” answer to Lauren’s invitation to attend church, Lauren hadn’t expected to see Nicole in the service.
Someone nudged Lauren’s shoulder and she stirred.
“The pastor is calling for you,” Raisa Gallagher said behind Lauren. “Are you supposed to make an announcement?”
No, I’m not, Lauren wanted to say. Quinn is going to do that.
She stood up, arranged a smile on her face, and walked to the front of the sanctuary, where the pastor moved aside to give Lauren room to speak into the microphone.
Lauren saw in her mind the microphone and podium from the banquet hall. She saw her aunt’s drawn face at the end of the evening when she retrieved a speech that for the most part had gone unspoken. She saw the forlorn stage.
Lauren closed her eyes for two seconds to push the image away and instead visualize the clipboard she ought to have had in front of her. She cleared her throat, chiding herself for not at least bringing a bulletin up with her.
“Good morning. You’ll see in your bulletin that Saturday is the health fair we’ve been organizing for the last couple of months. I know that many of you are involved.”
Lauren hadn’t seen the final list of volunteers, but it seemed reasonable to give the congregation the benefit of the doubt. Quinn couldn’t do everything himself, after all.
“This is an exciting outreach to our community and a chance for all of us to explore better health in body and spirit.” Lauren could say this much with confidence because it had been her main argument for introducing the idea for a health fair in the first place. “If you haven’t signed up to help, I’m sure we still have room for you. And no matter what, we hope you will come and enjoy the booths and demonstrations. It’ll be a great chance to meet members of the community as well as learn something new about your own health.”
This seemed like a good place to mention specific attractions, if she could just remember some of them. “We’ll have. . .um, cooking demonstrations. . .um, immunizations and games for the children. . .” What else was there? “You won’t want to miss the joke contest, because laughter is good medicine.”
Chuckles broke out around the sanctuary.
“The list is too long to mention everything now. If you have questions during the week, you can call or e-mail me here at the church.”
That was the best she could do. Lauren might not have answers for any questions, but she couldn’t discourage people from asking. Quinn meant no harm yesterday by saying he had everything under control, but Lauren wished she had pushed harder, and sooner, for detailed information. The meeting they scheduled for Monday after school looked dubious.
Lauren needed Quinn to turn up soon. But after seeing the state of his car, she had to wonder what condition he was in for following through on the fair.