The Trouble With Angels Page 0,25

couldn't. Guilty about being healthy when she was so desperately ill. Guilty about being alive when she was dead.

He'd wanted to stay awake with her, wanted to spend every precious moment she had left at her side. Yet he slept. The sleep of the damned, he suspected. Those damned to grieve. Those damned to be left behind. Those damned to live the rest of their lives alone.

"I'll drive you home," Paul offered, patting the older man's shoulder.

Bernard clasped his hands together and nodded slowly, as if the effort drained him of every ounce of strength he possessed.

"Hello, Mrs. Johnson," Joe Morris said, sticking his head in the door of the church office. "Have you see my father around?"

"Joe." The woman who'd served as his father's secretary for as long as Joe could remember stood up behind the desk, walked around, and hugged him. "When did you get home?"

"Late yesterday afternoon."

"My, my, but you're a sight for sore eyes," she said, sounding genuinely pleased to see him.

Joe buried his hands in his pants pockets. It embarrassed him to have the women of the church make a fuss over him. He liked Leta Johnson better than most. At least she didn't pinch his cheeks and tell him what a handsome boy he'd turned out to be. Boy indeed! Last summer he'd been forced to bite his tongue to keep from reminding the church ladies he was twenty-one. Soon he'd be married. That should set matters straight once and for all.

"Have you seen my dad?" Joe repeated. Annie was waiting for him at the house, and he didn't want to get involved in a lengthy conversation with Mrs. Johnson.

"Not this morning," the secretary said with a thoughtful look. "Could you come in and talk a minute, Joe?"

Joe looked at his watch. "I don't really have a lot of time."

"That's fine. I'll only keep you a few moments. It's rather important."

"Okay." He walked inside the office and pulled a chair up to the secretary's scarred mahogany desk.

For someone so keen on talking to him, Mrs. Johnson didn't seem overly eager to start. Nor could Joe imagine what could be the problem. "Have you noticed any changes in your dad over the last year or so?" she asked.

"Changes? What sort of changes?"

"He's lost weight, hasn't he?"

"Oh, that," Joe said, relieved. "I suppose he isn't eating properly since Mom died. He walked into the house last night with a hamburger and fries. I think he intended on having that for dinner."

"Yet he's turned down a dozen dinner invitations last month alone," Leta murmured under her breath. "There are a host of families who'd be delighted to have your father join them once a month or so. He could eat a home-cooked meal every night if he wanted."

Joe didn't blame his father for preferring his own cooking. "He doesn't want anyone else to cook for him. Dad's too independent for that."

Leta Johnson found it necessary to store a couple of pens in her top desk drawer. "He seems to have gotten forgetful of late. More often than not I have to remind him of church meetings, and even when I do, he arrives late. The finance and worship committees have decided to start without him, and frankly I don't blame them. It's frustrating to arrive on time and then be kept waiting a half hour or longer."

Joe frowned. He'd always known his father to be a tyrant about punctuality. This wasn't typical of the man who'd raised him.

"That doesn't sound like Dad."

"I've known your father a good many years, Joe, and I'm telling you right now, something isn't right. It's like...it's like he's given up."

"He misses Mom," Joe said, more to himself than Mrs. Johnson.

"But it's been two years now, and I'd have thought matters would get better. Instead they've gradually grown worse. My own Floyd's been gone seven years. I know how difficult it is to lose one's mate."

"I don't know what to tell you," Joe admitted.

"Frankly, I'm worried. There isn't anyone I can talk to about this. I thought to phone your sister, but this sort of thing is difficult to discuss without being able to look the person in the eye, if you know what I mean."

Joe wasn't sure he did, but he nodded anyway.

"With you coming home for the holidays and all, I decided to wait. I was hoping you might know something I don't."

"I wish there was something I could tell you," Joe said, at a loss.

"This morning is a perfect