The Runaway Pastor's Wife (35 page)

“You come with me.” He clapped Max on the back
and led him back to the kitchen. “You sit,” he ordered, pointing to a wooden
stool. He poured Max a cold glass of milk from the refrigerator and with a
tissue picked up a fresh cinnamon roll still warm from the oven. “Here. You
eat. I be right back.”

PJ hurried out to the front of the store through
the swinging door. Max could hear him barking orders. “Tony, you take care of
’dose customers for me, yeah?”

“No problem, PJ. Gotcha covered.”

Max had often heard the story his father told of
discovering PJ’s little shop shortly after moving to Seminole. On a whim, David
had stopped by one morning to pick up some fresh donuts for his new office
staff. Surprised by the rude demeanor of the shop’s owner and sole employee,
David ordered a cup of coffee so he could observe the old man gathering up his
order.  The other customers seemed to take PJ’s abrupt manner in stride. David
had wondered why so many people would patronize a business where they were
treated so poorly.

In the months following, he made a point to
visit the odd little shop at least once a week. Gradually, over small talk and
too many glazed donuts, he began to piece together the story behind the old
man’s ill-mannered behavior. It seemed the shop was originally named
P&J’s—short for
Pearl
and Jake’s. But Jake had
recently lost
Pearl
, his wife of sixty-three years, to a long
and difficult battle with Alzheimer’s. He’d grown bitter watching her waste
away, no longer knowing him. Her sweet temperament vanished in the fog of
dementia, leaving her mean as a snake and cussing him out with the vilest
language he’d ever heard. Her eventual death nearly destroyed him. Only the
daily task of running his tiny donut shop kept him going.

Little by little, David befriended the man who
came to be known as PJ. Undaunted by the gruff responses, he persisted, drawing
the Polish immigrant out of his shell until one day, with no other customers in
the shop, PJ poured out his heartache to his new friend. David responded with
compassion and understanding, comforting PJ with the love of Jesus.

It wasn’t long before the McGregors adopted PJ
into their family. He insisted on cooking the Thanksgiving turkey each year,
his flamboyant carving of his masterpiece an annual tradition. He spoiled them
with armloads of presents tucked under their Christmas tree, and never missed a
single birthday party.

PJ was family.

Now, as Max sunk his teeth into the warm pastry,
he relaxed under the old man’s care. “Thanks, PJ. I didn’t know I was so
hungry.”

“Sure you did.” PJ poured himself a cup of
coffee.

“Huh?”

“If you not hungry, why you come to PJ’s? Unless,
of course, you come here on account you need to talk?”

Max wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Okay, here’s the deal. Dad lost it this morning. I’ve never seen him blow up
like that. I didn’t know he had it in him. You should have heard him.”

PJ pulled up another stool. “Not good. Not good.
Doesn’t sound like your papa at all. Max, where your mama go? You got any
idea?”

“Well, she wasn’t kidnapped. That much we know
for sure, regardless of what they wrote in the paper. Those idiots never even
talked to us! They ran that whole story based on Nana’s rants.”

“Dat woman—she a pack of trouble. I never liked
dat lady. But dat’s just between you and me, okay?”

Max rolled his eyes, understanding all too well.

PJ took another sip of coffee. “You didn’t answer
my question. Where your mama?”

“We don’t know. Dad said she was having some
problems, like maybe she was about to have a breakdown or something,” Max
shrugged. He looked PJ straight in the eye. “She didn’t leave
Dad,
she
just left. There’s a difference.”

“Ah, you don’t have to tell me that. ’Dem two
never gonna split up. I seen ’em together—they like a couple of love-birds.”
PJ’s smile widened across his weathered face. Bushy eyebrows danced over
knowing eyes.

Max smiled. “Yeah, when I was a kid I used to
get embarrassed because they were all the time holding hands and hugging and
stuff. Dad was always pulling Mom over to sit in his lap and—”

Max didn’t voice the realization dawning on him.
He hadn’t seen his mother and father’s affectionate gestures in a long time.
The thought twisted his stomach.

He hid his concern by taking another bite of his
cinnamon roll. “Dad said Mom just needed to get away for a while. I mean, we’re
all worried and everything, but we just kept thinking any day she’ll come home.
Then her mom had to go and stick her big nose in it and blab it to the whole
world.

“So Dad sees the paper this morning and it was
like he came unglued or something. I’ve never seen him like that, PJ.
Never.
He just lost it. And naturally,
I
was the one in his line of fire. I
know I shouldn’t have let it get to me, but lately I just—I don’t know what’s
gotten into me!”

He took a last gulp of milk and wiped his mouth.
“Mom promised to call and check in so we wouldn’t worry, but last night we
never heard from her. Who knows what could have happened. She could be okay or
she could be . . . I don’t even want to
think
about all
the stuff that might have happened. I just wish there was something I could
do.”

After moments of silence, PJ got in his face.
“What? What you got cooking in dat head of yours?”

Max answered with resolve. “I know what I’m
gonna do! I’m gonna find Mom, PJ! I know I can do it, but I’m going to need a
little help.”

PJ stood up and placed his hand on Max’s
shoulder. “You don’t even got to ask. Whatever you need, you got it!”

“Just promise me you won’t tell anybody
what
I’m going to do. I mean it. This has to be strictly confidential between us.
Well, except for Megan, of course. She’s already helping me track down Mom’s
whereabouts. But nobody else can know, okay? Especially Dad. Have I got your
word?”

PJ stood as straight as his eighty-year-old body
could muster. “You got it, buster,” He put his hand out, “Partners?”

Max grasped PJ’s hand firmly, finally beginning
to feel a trace of optimism. “Partners.” He slung his arm over the old man’s
shoulders. “Now here’s what I need you to do.”

“Max! I finally heard from
Denton
!”
Megan blurted with excitement. “Your Mom is in
Colorado
!”

“
Colorado
? What
the heck is she doing way out there?” He blew a long whistle. “
Colorado
is
like a gazillion miles from here.”

“Yeah. So?”

“So I’ve got an idea. But I need your help. Can
you meet me at PJ’s after school today?”

As
soon as Megan walked in, Max watched PJ pull the shades and flip the door sign
to read CLOSED.

“PJ, what’s going on?”

Though the donut shop was completely deserted,
the proprietor looked around as if making sure the coast was clear. Without a
word, he herded her back toward Max, standing at the kitchen door. Max led her
into the warm kitchen, to a stainless steel table covered with maps.

She stopped cold. “Oh no . . .
you’re
not
—”

He held up his hand to stop her protest. “Now
Megan, don’t start with me until you’ve heard our plan.”

“
‘Our’
plan?” she asked, looking from Max
to PJ and back again. “You have
got
to be kidding.”

“Just hear me out. PJ here is going to help us
find Mom. We’ve got it all figured out.”

“Oh yeah, right. I suppose you two are taking
off for
Timbuktu
?”

“Megan, will you just listen? PJ’s not going
anywhere. He’s going to stay right here and man my control center for me. I’m
the only one heading for
Colorado
. Do you have that phone number
for Mom?”

Megan stared at him then slowly dug the
notepaper out of her purse. “You aren’t seriously thinking about driving alone
all the way to
Colorado
, are you? You said yourself
it’s a gazillion miles!”

“Sit, Megan,” PJ ordered as he pulled up two
more stools for Megan and himself. “You listen to Max. Hear him out.” He
continued motioning with his head while peeking out the kitchen door to make
sure no one was out front.

“What’s with him?” Megan whispered close to
Max’s ear.

Max wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed
her ear before answering. “Isn’t he a trip?” he whispered. “Ever since he
offered to help me out, he’s been acting like James Bond.”

“Hey, none of that kissy stuff, now. We got work
to do!” PJ ranted, hustling back over to them. “You gotta call your mama, Max.”

“Here’s the number.” Megan handed Max the slip
of paper. “
Denton
said it originates out of
Weber
Creek
,
Colorado
. He
looked it up and said it’s about forty miles west of
Pueblo
up in
the mountains.”

Max ignored the piece of paper and looked up
Weber Creek on his map guide, then followed the coordinates to find its exact
location.

“Max, look at this.” Megan pointed at the note
from
Denton
. “The
number is listed under the name ‘C. Benson.’ Does that mean anything to you?”

He thought for a moment. “No, not off the top of
my head. I assumed she was staying at a hotel or something. Is that a private
residence?”

“Sounds like it. Best way to find out is to
place a call.” She looked at Max with eyes full of expectation.

“I guess you’re right.” He picked up the note
and made his way over to the extension. “What am I supposed to do if she
answers? What if she
doesn’t
answer?”

“Well, you can’t exactly say ‘Hey, Mom—this is
Max, what’s happenin’?’” Megan mimicked. “If she thinks you know where she is,
you’re gonna freak her out.”

“She’s right,” PJ added. “You can’t say nothing.
You just listen and make sure dat’s your mama’s voice who answers dat phone.”

“Well, here goes.” Max took a deep breath then
dialed the sticky cordless phone. “PJ, don’t you ever wipe your hands before
you pick up the phone? This is gross.”

“You gonna call the health department or you
gonna call your mama?”

“Yeah, yeah. Now you’ve made me forget what I’ve
dialed.” He pressed the button and started over. He listened impatiently as the
connection worked its way across the miles. “Okay, Mom, answer the phone.”

“Hello?”

Max motioned with his hand then froze.

“Hello? Is that you, Dr. Wilkins?”

His stomach doing a complete somersault, Max
pressed the button to break the connection.

“It was her,” he whispered.

“Max, that’s wonderful! You found her!” Megan
grabbed him, slapping him on the back.

“Did she sound okay, your mama?”