The Trouble With Angels Page 0,51

company."

"I appreciate the invitation," Paul said, unsure of how to respond, "but..."

"I understand, Paul," she said, saving him from having to invent an excuse, if that was his intent. "Don't worry. It was just a thought." She returned to her typing, her nimble fingers bouncing over the keys.

To the best of his memory, it was the first time she'd ever called him by his given name.

Not having an answer for her, Paul walked into his office and gently closed the door. He needed to work on his sermon for Sunday. He'd put it off far too long already.

Sermon notes were tucked inside his study Bible. He stared at the text and experienced nothing. None of the passion. None of the energy. None of the urgency to spread the good news.

At last he closed the Bible and reached for the first pink slip. Steve Tenny answered the phone himself.

"Paul," Steve said enthusiastically, "it's good to hear from you."

One would think Paul had initiated the contact, when in reality he couldn't remember the last time he'd purposely telephoned Steve. He hadn't meant for it to have been so long. "I got the message you'd phoned."

"Yes," Steve said cheerily. "Are you sure I can't talk you into taking a few days off and going hiking with me?"

The offer was more tempting than ever, especially with Joe leaving soon with Annie. Then Paul thought about Madge Bartelli and knew he couldn't leave her now. "I can't," he said with real regret.

"Myrna and I understand Joe's going to be away Christmas Day," Steve began again. "It's hard for me to believe he's engaged. Time sure does fly, doesn't it?"

"It does," Paul agreed flatly.

"Anyway, Myrna and I were talking, and we want to invite you to spend Christmas Day with us. Myrna puts on quite a spread, and there's always plenty. We won't take no for an answer, Paul. Not this time."

Paul wasn't entirely sure what his plans were for the holiday. The idea of being alone, without responsibilities, without commitments, strongly appealed to him. He didn't want his friend to think he didn't appreciate the invitation, but at the moment he simply didn't know what he was going to do.

"Would it be all right if I got back to you?" he asked.

"Of course," Steve said.

Paul grinned. What he'd enjoyed most about his friend was his unabashed enthusiasm for life. Even a solid "no" wouldn't have discouraged Steve. "I want you to know how much I appreciate you and Myrna thinking of me," Paul said.

If he could have his own way, Paul mused, he'd go camping. Alone. He'd leave directly after the Christmas Eve services and head for the hills to a campsite he'd taken the family to many times over the years. Then he'd lie under the stars. Away from Barbara's red stocking over the fireplace. Away from the tattered cotton snowmen his son had made a dozen or so years earlier. Away from Christmas and church and friends, however good their intentions.

He'd stumble over the memories of Barbara while he was camping, too - Paul was wise enough to recognize that - but at least it wouldn't feel as if the heaviness of his grief were smothering him.

The phone rang, and line one lit up on his telephone. His line. Leta answered it for him, then buzzed him.

"Bernard Bartelli," she said through the intercom.

Paul ran a hand down his face. He had nothing to offer the old man. Resting his face in his hands, he tried to reason what he could possibly say to the grieving husband.

"Line one," Leta's voice said through the intercom.

The line continued to flash like a bright red beacon, and still Paul couldn't make himself reach for the receiver.

He couldn't listen to the other man's pain and not relive his own. He couldn't hear Bernard's frustration and anger without feeling it bubble up inside him all over again. Just when everything seemed to be getting better, he had to bear it all again, and he hadn't the strength. He hadn't the courage.

His hand trembled as he pushed the button to the intercom and steeled himself. "Please take a message."

Leta hesitated, then said, "I already told Mr. Bartelli you were in the office."

"I realize that," he answered, the words thick with regret. "Just take a message. I'll get back to him later." Although he released the intercom, it seemed an eternity before Leta picked up the receiver and the light on line one stopped flashing.

Paul covered his face with both hands