The Ruth Valley Missing (18 page)

I could throw everything I needed in
my car and disappear in the middle of the night. No one would have to know.
Whatever horrors I’d experienced firsthand, whatever horrors I’d yet to fully
uncover, they’d all be left behind in the exhaust of my little black coupe.

But it wouldn’t only be horror I was
leaving behind.

There was Emma. Sweet, bubbly,
innocent Emma, who’d been more of a friend to me in my short time here than any
of the girls I encountered in my time in Brooklyn.

There were the sweet old gossips in
the knitting circle. Gossips, yes, but they meant no harm, and never had an
unkind word for me.

There was poor Joan, who was still
trying to solve the mystery of her missing husband, determined to find the
truth, whatever that was.

And there was Jack. Considerate,
completely swoon-worthy, surprisingly enamored with me, and willing to risk his
reputation in the name of my care and well-being.

I couldn’t leave these people
behind. Not when they could all be in danger.

Jack opened the door, rubbing the
back of his neck as he stood in the doorway.

“I’m out of coffee,” I said
sheepishly, feeling the guilt of having ignored even Jack over the past week.
“I was wondering if I could borrow some?”

Jack replied, cautious, “I have a
fresh pot on, if you feel like coming in for a cup.”

I smiled. “That would be nice.”

I stepped inside, while Jack walked
over to the coffee pot, grabbing a mug, tossing a heaping spoonful of sugar in
it before filling it with coffee. I sat at the table, watching as he set the
cup in front of me before sitting down.

“You’ve been quiet lately.” He
leaned forward, then hesitated, leaning back into his chair. “I’ve been
worried.”

I stared down at my coffee cup. “Sorry.
I didn’t mean to make you worry. I’ve been a bit overwhelmed. Needed some time
to myself to recuperate, if that makes any sense.”

Jack nodded, a look of morose
understanding on his face.

Guilt for staying away gnawed at me.
I reached across the table, laying my hand on his. “I missed this, though.”

A smile slowly spread on his face.
“Me too.”

I sipped my coffee, enjoying the bit
of intimate silence, Jack gently caressing my hand in his.

“You had some visitors come by.”

“Oh?” I replied between sips.

“Emma, obviously, worried sick about
you. And some of the women from the knitting circle checking to see if you
needed anything.”

“And probably checking to see if I
was hiding out in my place or yours,” I added with a laugh.

“Probably so,” Jack smiled in
agreement.

“Anyone else?”

“Were you expecting anyone else?”

I shrugged, not wanting to reveal
that I was.

Jack mirrored my shrug. “Not that I
know of. But someone could have stopped by when I wasn’t around.”

I nodded, staying quiet. It pained
me not to talk to Jack about everything going on in my head, but if I was going
to stay, if I was going to figure out what was going on, I decided that I
needed to do it without putting anyone else at risk. No matter how many lies I
had to tell to make that happen.

Confession was going to be necessary
after all.

“Thanks for spending the morning
with me, Emma.”

“Don’t be silly! I was happy you
called. I’ve been so worried about you. That flu hit you something fierce.”

I nodded, grateful that Emma’s sweet
simplicity kept her from suspecting that my time away was nothing more than a
wicked stomach flu.

“I’m feeling a lot better, finally.”
I looked at the huge doors to the church as we walked up the steps, taking a
deep breath. “And I figured now that I feel better physically, I should get
myself right the rest of the way.”

Emma giggled. “You’re funny.”

I smiled at Emma as we walked into
the church. “Did you need to, you know, confess?”

“I came by a few days ago. But I can
sit and wait for you. I don’t mind. It’s so beautiful and peaceful in here.”

Creepy, more like it, I thought, as
I walked towards the front of the church.

“Jameson,” Father Mike’s voice made
its way past the rows of pews, “it’s been a while. I’ve been concerned.”

“Thanks. I haven’t been well.”

“I heard.”

“But I’m doing much better.
Physically anyhow. I was wondering if you were taking confessions today.”

“Of course, James. My doors are
always open to you.” He quickly added, “To everyone.”

He held a hand out, directing me
towards the confessional. “I won’t be long,” I called out to Emma, making sure
Father Mike noticed I wasn’t alone.

I entered the confessional, closing
the small door behind me. The designs on the screen, now all too familiar, matching
the scarred over brand on my back, made my stomach churn. I leaned forward, my
hand against the wall in front of me as I took a moment to regain my composure.

“Bless me father, for I have sinned.
It has been, well, a while since my last confession. But not as long as last
time.”

“You’re making progress.”

“I’m a quick study.”

“What’s on your mind, James?”

“I’ve been lying, Father.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve been hiding things from people
I care about.”

“What kinds of things?”

“Things that could get them hurt if
I told them. Which is why I have to lie. But that leaves me conflicted.”

There was silence on the other side
of the screen, then finally, a response. “Because lying is a sin, of course.”

“Right. It’s one of those, what did
you call them, ‘ethical dilemmas’. Lying is a sin, but if by telling them the
truth I brought harm to them, that feels like it would be a greater sin.”

“I see your dilemma.”

“So?”

“So what?”

“What’s the answer?”

“I’ve told you before, James, that
isn’t really what confession is about.”

“But you’re supposed to, how does it
go, shepherd the flock or whatever, right? I’m feeling conflicted, you should
be offering words of comfort.”

I looked at the silhouette on the
other side of the screen, the Father’s hand rubbing the side of his face. “If
the truth would truly put those you love in danger, then withholding it is the
right thing to do. That’s what I think.”

I nodded in agreement. “Me too. But
I am glad you agree. So, does that apply to all kinds of sin?”

“I’m not sure what you mean?”

“What if I had to do something else
to protect someone? Something bigger than a lie?”

“More hypothetical situations? I’m
happy to have discussions like this, but really, not in confession.”

Father Mike’s voice was strained.
Something I said struck a nerve, which is what I was hoping for.

“You’re right, Mike. My bad.”

“Is there anything else you would
like to confess, Jameson?”

“Nope. Three Hail Mary’s and I’m
set?”

“Uh, yeah. I mean, give thanks to
the Lord for He is good.”

“Got it. Mercy and all that jazz.”

I opened the door and tried not to
smile as I walked towards Emma. Father Mike stepped out of the confessional,
watching us leave without a word.

“You sure you aren’t selling these
too cheap?”

Jack picked up a black and white
photo of a salt shaker, and gently placed it on the table next to the others.
It was yet another weekend of activity, this one the town Arts and Crafts
Bazaar. Jack encouraged me to join in by selling some of the photographs I took
around town, and I had to admit, it wasn’t a bad idea.

“The frames and prints cost next to
nothing. I’m not doing this for the money.”

“Are you still trying to get
everyone to like you? ‘Cause I’m sure they’ve come around by now.”

“I’d like to be liked for more than
being the Sheriff’s girlfriend.”

Jack stood behind me and wrapped an
arm around my waist. “Is that a bad thing?”

I giggled, stopping at the sound of
someone clearing their throat. Jack’s arm loosened but he remained close.
“Morning, Father. Sisters.”

Two stern-faced nuns flanked Father
Mike as they approached the table. The nuns gave a quick nod.

“Good morning, you two,” Mike said,
looking at Jack, then at me as he picked a picture up from the table. “What do
we have here?”

Jack answered, “James is a very
talented photographer.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” I replied,
smiling at Jack, grateful for the compliment.

“Modesty only begins with the
knowledge of evil,” Mike mumbled.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re being too modest.” Mike
turned to Jack, quickly abandoning the subject. “Jack, the sisters here could
use a few able-bodied men to help them with some boxes. Would you mind?”

“Of course not.” Jack leaned over,
kissing me on the cheek, never taking his eyes off of Father Mike. “I’m happy
to help.”

As he started to walk off with the
nuns, he called over his shoulder to Father Mike. “Aren’t you joining us?”

Mike smiled and placed a hand on his
back. “Can’t. Sciatica.”

Jack glared at him, then returned
his attention to the sisters.

“I’m glad you’re here, Mike. I have
something for you.” I fished through a bag under the table and pulled out a
large manila envelope. “Here.”

“What’s this?”

“Photos. I put them together
especially for you. Ones I thought you would appreciate.”

“That’s awfully kind of you, James.
And I have to say, a bit unexpected.”

He stared at the envelope in his
hands, eyebrow raised, and started to open it. I grabbed his hand quickly,
causing him to jump.

“Not here. You should look at those
later. Alone.”

He grinned. “That sounds a bit
scandalous, Miss Quinn.”

I jerked my hand away. “You know,
most people wouldn’t find that very funny coming from a priest. Or
appropriate.”

“You’re the one giving me an
envelope full of secret photos.”

“I think maybe it’s been too long
since you had to go to confession, Father. You need to get those thoughts in
check.”

He laughed. “Maybe so.”

“Anyhow,” I took a breath, trying to
push down my annoyance, “I’d love to know what you think of the photos once you’ve
had a chance to look at them. Maybe we could grab lunch at the diner this
week?”

Mike leaned his head to one side,
forehead wrinkling. “Really?”

I nodded, trying to put on my
sincerest smile. “Of course.”

“How about tomorrow, then? I’m sure
I’ll have a chance to look over these tonight.”

“That’s perfect.”

He stared down at the envelope, then
up at me. “Well, then, it’s a date.” Before I could respond, he quickly added,
“You know what I mean. I’m not expecting a green sweater or anything.”

“James!” Emma came bounding up to
the table, in her usual excited fashion. “Hello, Father. James, these look
great. Aren’t her photos great, Father?”

He nodded as he stuffed the envelope
inside his coat. “They’re lovely. And if you ladies will excuse me, I need to
make the rounds.”

Father Mike walked away, a perplexed
look on his face.

Emma leaned against the table,
taking in a deep breath. “I love that smell.”

I nodded, breathing in the fresh air
mingled with herbs and smoked meat. I looked over towards the church and
watched the little columns of smoke swirling up to the sky, hoping that I knew
what I was doing.

“What’s wrong?”

I was sitting in Jack’s kitchen,
sipping coffee, listening to him slam cabinet doors.

“I’m fine. Just looking for something.”

“Can I help?”

“Probably not. Missing a pocket
knife. I can’t seem to find it anywhere.”

I grimaced. “Oh, sorry about that. I
might know where that is.”

He paused, hands still on an open
set of doors.

I dug in the pocket of my jeans and
tossed the knife on the table. “I kinda borrowed it a while ago. Forgot to put
it back.”

Jack grabbed his coffee and sat down
at the table. “I don’t mind you borrowing things, but what did you need it
for?”

“I used to carry mace with me when I
lived in the city. I like feeling like I have something on me for protection.”

“Why didn’t you just ask, then? I
wouldn’t have minded.”