The Small Town Preacher's Fake - Lucy McConnell Page 0,42

playlist stuck on repeat.

He began the song, getting lost in the goodness, the beauty that surrounded his life when Evie was near. Maybe that was where his worth truly lay—in being the husband she deserved.

If that was true, then he’d better step up his game.

Chapter Eighteen

Evie

Evie walked into the chapel with her head held high—that is, until she saw Mrs. Farmly. The moment the woman’s feathered blue hat entered Evie’s periphery, Evie ducked her head, allowing her hair to fall in front of her face. Not that she could hide from anyone here, but she’d be able to postpone the inevitable questions about her crochet project. If you could even call it that. It was more of a crochet torture device. Why did the pattern have to speak in acronyms? Reading it was like trying to read alphabet soup.

She turned suddenly and dropped into an empty seat. The smell of stale cigarettes hit her nose, and she turned to smile at her seatmate.

Terri wore a black broomstick skirt and a tight white T-shirt. A flesh-colored nicotine patch poked out from under her sleeve. Her nails were painted red, and her necklace and earrings matched both in shade and vibrancy. Her hair was teased. Despite her efforts to pull herself together, her eyes bespoke of an internal falling apart.

“How are you?” Evie asked while throwing her arm around the woman and giving her a side hug.

“I’m doing okay.” She swallowed heavily—as if holding back an ocean of tears.

“Really?” Evie squinted one eye at her.

“Not really. I’ve got to visit Scott in prison this week. It’s all I can do to think of him rotting away in there with the scum of humanity—I can’t picture myself as one of those women who show up for visiting and such like it’s all part of a normal life.”

Evie squeezed her. “I’ll go with you, if you’d like.” She hadn’t pictured herself as the type who frequented prisons either, but Terri needed a friend right now. Who cared if someone saw her go in?

“Thanks. I’d like that.”

They set up a time for Thursday early afternoon when Terri was off work at the hospital. Evie sat back and folded her hands in her lap. She greeted a few more people as they came in or settled into their seats. This little congregation was quickly becoming a big part of her life.

Seth got the meeting started. Sitting in the back had certain perks. For one, she could let herself go all starry-eyed for her husband and he couldn’t see her from where he stood. She had to school herself so often during his sermons lately, rarely keeping her thoughts on the things that would fill her spiritual bucket.

Halfway through expounding on the principle of hiding one’s talents versus sharing them with the world, Seth paused. He glanced down at his tablet and tapped it to bring it back to life. After a moment, nothing happened, and he scowled.

“I’m sorry, everyone. It seems my light has gone out.” His joke earned him a few chuckles.

“Can you go on without it?” asked Mr. Timms from the front row. He wasn’t one to say much and always sat with his hands folded over the top of his cane.

“I’m sorry. I—” He glanced up, searching for Evie’s. Her heart thudded loudly as she realized what a panic he was in. They had at least twenty minutes he needed to fill.

“I can get the charger,” she mouthed as she stood.

He nodded. “My sweet wife is going to solve the problem. In the meantime, let’s sing a hymn.”

Evie rushed from the room, down the hall, and into Seth’s office. She scrambled to the outlet behind his desk, only to find it empty. She checked the bookshelves and opened every drawer, but the charger was nowhere to be found. Spinning, panic rising as the final notes to the hymn wound down, she spied his guitar.

Grabbing it, she hurried back to the chapel. Just as she was going through the main doors, her brain caught up with her and she paused.

Seth caught sight of her and stopped singing. With his voice gone, the rest of the room turned to see what had made him stop.

Her face burned.

“I don’t think that’s going to power up his iPad,” muttered Mrs. Werthers. Her face was constantly in a scowl, and even her kind words came out clipped. “What do you think you’re doing with that?”

“I, uh, thought Seth might play one of his songs.” Her voice was weak