A Season of Angels Page 0,56

since they'd last been together.

She wore her hair down that morning and when she walked into the kitchen her father lowered the morning paper and smiled gently at her.

"Monica," he said softly, "how nice you look."

"Thank you."

"Will you be seeing Michael again this afternoon."

"I . . . I don't know." How keen her father was on the young musician. He'd pegged Michael early on as the perfect husband for her. He was right. Her father generally was. How she wished she felt the same way about the earnest choir director. There was no question of what a fine man Michael was. Several of the eligible women at church would have gladly welcomed his notice. For now those attentions were sadly wasted on her.

"It seems to me I said something to Michael about coming over for dinner one night soon. You don't mind, do you?"

"Of course not, Michael is welcome anytime." So this was to be the way of it. Her father would chart her romance for her, making excuses for the two of them to be together again.

"I'm sure he'll approve of the way you've done your hair," he added, looking pleased.

She smiled weakly. "I'll see you in a few minutes," she said, anxious to escape their conversation.

"You're leaving for the office so soon?"

"I . . . have several things I need to do first thing this morning."

"I won't be in until later. I'm visiting Mrs. McWilliams," he reminded her, downing the last of his milk and setting the glass in the sink.

The woman was an old and faithful church member who'd recently broken her hip. Lloyd visited her at least twice a week.

"I'll see you later, then," Monica said, eager to make her escape. She walked across the yard to the old church building and let herself in by the side door that opened onto the sanctuary area. She'd been raised in this building, lived the majority of her life in the same house with the same people.

Instead of heading directly to the office, which was situated in the room at the rear of the church off the foyer, Monica paused and looked toward the altar. An unspoken prayer rose in her throat and she found herself moving toward the altar rail.

Monica kelt there and slowly bowed her head. "Guide his life, Father," she whispered. The tears that filled her eyes came as a surprise and the remainder of the words were choked off in her throat. She wasn't sure how to pray for Chet. But God knew and she'd leave the man and the matter in His capable hands.

Several moments passed before she stood.

Her morning slipped past almost unnoticed. Typing was something of a chore with her hair continually falling in her face. It irritated her so much that she found two bobby pins in a desk drawer and clipped both sides behind her ears.

She was busy working on the bulletin for Sunday morning worship service when the door opened. Monica looked up from the computer and her pulse quickened. Quickened was a mild way of explaining what happened to her. Her heart was banging against her ribs with such force she wasn't able to do anything more than breathe.

"I see you took my advice about your hairstyle," Chet said, and sauntered into the office as if he were right at home.

"What are you doing here?" She glanced anxiously toward her father's office, forgetting he wasn't there.

"Don't worry, he's off visiting Mrs. McWilliams."

"How . . . how do you know that?"

Chet laughed lightly and rearranged the figurines that made up the nativity scene she'd set in a froth of angel hair, switching the camels and the mules. "I know just about everything there is to know about you."

Playing a game of cat and mouse with him was beyond her. Chet was much too clever for her. "Why are you here?"

"To see you. Why else? I'm not exactly the type of guy who frequents churches."

She was on her feet without knowing how she got there. Clenching her hands together in front of her, she drew in a steadying breath. "Why do you want to see me?"

"I figured I owed you an apology."

His willingness to admit it surprised her. "Then I accept your regrets," she informed him, sitting back down. "You don't need to trouble yourself further."

"I came for another reason," he said, easing himself onto the corner of her desk as if he had every right to do so.

"What's that?" Monica placed her hands on the keyboard, ready to