Tara Quinn - Nothing Sacred

Great, so he was saying that Ellen only needed to yell at the guy instead of getting scared and she’d have been spared the atrocities that had changed her life forever? If Martha had taught her daughter self-defense, then Ellen would still be young at heart and innocent and relatively carefree?

God, Martha didn’t even know if her daughter had been a virgin. She hadn’t been able to bear asking.

“In the same vein, being rough keeps the adrenaline going, gives them courage.”

He wasn’t done yet?

This was far more than she needed to know. Did preachers take some course in Rapist 101? Or maybe Criminal 101? “So what’s your point, Preacher?”

“Ellen’s attacker treated her gently when she quit fighting him.”

Oh. Well, leave it to him to find something to be thankful for. She’d feel irritated with the whole idea—except that she was thankful.

It wasn’t much. But it was something.

“There’s another fact that’s bothering me,” he said.

Now what? Resting a head that felt twice its normal weight on her hand, Martha looked at him. She should be going to bed, letting him get to bed. Just as soon as she could manage to stand up.

“I’m not sure Ellen mentioned this to Greg, but when she first told me the story, she said something about the man trying to give her money when he dropped her off.”

“She told Greg,” Martha said. “He found it odd, too. But not as odd as the guy dropping her off in the first place.” At Ellen’s request, the bastard had driven her daughter to the church when he’d finished with her. Two things to be thankful for on this god-awful night. The preacher was having an effect on her.

But only because she was so weary.

“So we’re dealing with a guy who commits crimes and then feels remorse about them,” she continued. “Greg says it’s almost a classic composite of one of the four basic criminal types.”

David didn’t say anything. Just refilled her coffee cup and stayed with her.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Being here.” She didn’t know what she would’ve done without him tonight. And didn’t know who else she could have leaned on so completely. He was a man whose job was to see to his parishioners; it was nothing personal. He’d do the same for anyone. A paid professional, just like the doctor who’d attended to Ellen that night. And the sheriff. And the counselor who’d stopped in briefly and was seeing her again tomorrow.

Martha told herself she was at no risk of making more of it than it was—depending on someone again, the way she’d depended on Todd.

She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was six in the morning on the East Coast.

“I have to call her father.”

David grabbed the cordless phone off the wall cradle. Handed it to her.

She stared to dial, then hung up. Tried a second time. She hadn’t talked to her ex-husband since his call weeks before to tell them about the baby. She rarely spoke to him anymore.

But every single time, he made her crazy.

Crazy with pain. And anger. And all the things he’d left her with that she didn’t understand.

Like the ever-present feeling that she wasn’t good enough.

“Martha?”

She peered over at the minister, noticing the lines around his eyes when he smiled. “I’m glad to be here,” he said, holding her gaze with his own.

Something happened to her in that second. She felt…a jolt. A sudden, unexpected peace. She wanted to believe in it. To hope that someday things would be okay.

But that was only because she was overtired.

She knew better.

Breaking eye contact, Martha nodded.

And dialed.

EVEN HEARING ONLY ONE side of the phone conversation between Ellen’s parents, David could tell what was happening.

Martha was asking for support that Todd Moore was unwilling—or unable—to give her.

Will Parsons had told David a little about his once-closest friend, Todd Moore. He’d described Todd as a man searching for meaning in life, trying his best to be fair while daring to seek out happiness during his time on earth. David had been prepared to give the man the benefit of the doubt. But now…

“I don’t know what to say to her, either, Todd. I don’t really think it matters all that much. She needs you. Especially you—” Martha turned away as her voice broke. “Right now.”

David watched the slender muscles along the back of her neck as she nodded. “I understand.”

Then she murmured, “Yeah, I know.” Her voice had softened, filled with the kind of intimacy that could only develop over years of knowing everything there was to know about a person.

“Okay.” Another nod. Slower.

Watching as much as listening, David filed away the insights he was learning, sensing that he was going to need them.

Todd Moore was letting Martha down again. And she was allowing him do it.

She expected nothing more.

Which might be why she got nothing more.

“I’ll tell her.” Her voice was filled with resignation and disappointment. Of the two, the resignation seemed stronger.

David felt a tug of concern that he couldn’t ignore. Resignation was a step further than disappointment into emotional darkness. And much harder to combat. Perhaps he’d been led to a job that was beyond his limited capabilities.

“EL?”

Shelley slid quietly into her older sister’s bedroom a few minutes before the alarm was due to go off on Friday morning.

“Yeah?”

“You awake?” She wanted to climb into the double bed, find Ellen’s toes with her own, cuddle up like she used to do when she had nightmares. But she was afraid to touch her. Didn’t know if that was okay.

Or even if she really wanted to.

“Yeah.”

“Can I…sit?” She motioned to the end of the bed.

“Of course.” Ellen sat up, propping pillows behind her back. She moved slowly, gingerly. Her hair was all flat from having dried by itself after the shower they’d made her have at the hospital the night before. Mom had told them about that. And about the pill Ellen had to take to make sure there was no kid. Shelley wanted to run.

Instead she sat. Stared. Didn’t know what to say. She was afraid she’d do something really stupid, like cry.

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