The Trouble With Angels Page 0,61

all, what possible good would it do to be angry with almighty God?

"Where's Bernard?" Paul asked, afraid if he waited much longer she'd slip into a state of semiconsciousness.

"Chapel, I think. Talk to him, will you, Pastor? He's having a difficult time letting me go, and he must."

"Sleep now," Paul whispered. He claimed the fragile hand in his own and patted it. He couldn't tell this sweet, godly woman that he hadn't been able to relinquish his wife yet. Barbara was two years in the ground, and he clung to each memory of his wife until his life was so filled with stumbling blocks, he was no earthly good to anyone.

How long he sat at Madge's bedside he didn't know. Time lost meaning. He might even have slept some, he didn't know. But when he next looked up, Paul discovered Bernard standing across from him. The older man's shoulders were slumped forward as if standing upright were almost more than he could manage.

"She's resting comfortably now," Paul whispered.

Bernard nodded and sank onto the chair on the opposite side of the hospital bed.

Paul wondered when Bernard had last eaten. Or slept a full night through. He hadn't, Paul recalled. Not for weeks on end. He'd survived on bitter coffee out of a machine and stale sandwiches.

Paul came around to where Bernard was sitting. He didn't ask how the other man was holding up; he knew. He didn't ask about Madge's condition; he knew that, too.

"Let me buy you something to eat," he offered.

Bernard shook his head. "I'm not hungry."

Paul wrapped his arms around Bernard and gently pulled his head to his shoulder as if he were cradling a child.

A sob came from deep inside the older man's chest. It took some time to work its way up his parched throat, and when it was released it sounded like the cry of a wounded animal. One sob followed another and then another, until Bernard's shoulders heaved with emotion.

"I've loved Madge for nearly fifty years," he wailed.

"I know," Paul said soothingly.

"How will I ever live without her?"

"You'll learn," Paul assured him. His only hope was that his friend would learn better than he had.

"She's ready," Bernard said again, sobbing stronger now. "But I'm not. I can't let her go. God help me, I can't let her go."

"I know all about that, too," Paul whispered brokenly.

Chapter Twelve

It wasn't supposed to be this way. Joy had made her decision about Ted and stuck to it in spite of his persuasive arguments.

After he'd left her, she'd expected a feeling of elation. A sense of well-being all the self-help books described when one responded with emotional maturity.

Joy had taken care of her inner child, seen to her own emotional needs without surrendering to the risky desires of her insecurities. It wasn't necessary for anyone to tell her Ted was the type who'd only hurt her in the end. That much was obvious from the moment she'd seen him walk out the door with Blythe Holmes on his arm.

What she hadn't anticipated was the down time. This feeling of loss and emptiness. It felt as if the whole world were in danger of swallowing her.

"Is something wrong, dear?" Catherine's voice broke Joy's musings. "You haven't seemed like yourself all day."

"I'm fine." Joy was supposed to be working on the invitations to the local writers' group for the literary tea, but Joy's mind had repeatedly gotten sidetracked. She tried not to think about Ted. She tried to make herself angry with him instead of feeling blue and dispirited about her life in general.

"Are you a little under the weather?" Catherine asked, and patted Joy's shoulder affectionately. "I understand the flu bug's making the rounds. You do look a bit peaked."

"I'm feeling just great," Joy insisted, forcing a smile. Physically she was, but emotionally she was searching for an excuse to burst into tears. A sentimental advertisement on television would do the trick.

"I understand you got Charles to agree to collect the donations for the library committee?"

"Yes." Joy was rather proud of that accomplishment. During one of his more lucid moments, she'd talked to him, and the retired soldier had been delighted at the prospect. He seemed less embroiled in his fantasy world of late, and Joy wanted to believe that was because the present one was gaining appeal.

"Everything is coming together so nicely."

"Yes, it is," Joy agreed. It felt as though her life were in shambles but everything else seemed to be going along smoothly.

"Ted's coming by this