The Trouble With Angels Page 0,71

order her the works, and drive her back to the Wilshire Grove in record time."

"Ted, you didn't!"

"Yes, I did. I'm not wasting a minute more without you. I'm crazy about you, Joy."

She shut her eyes and turned her head away from him. "Don't say that, please. It's difficult enough."

He gripped her by the shoulders and turned her so that it was impossible to hide from him. "You don't want to hear how I feel about you?"

"No." He was sincere now, but all that would change. Soon he'd have a change of heart. Soon he'd discover the same way Billy had what was most attractive about her: simply that she didn't represent any threat to his freedom.

The sermon was one Paul had given before, and he sincerely hoped no one remembered it. He stood at the pulpit and looked out over the congregation of believers he'd been a shepherd to for almost twenty years. His gaze drifted from one face to another, and he experienced an achy kind of sadness.

"Let us pray," he said after a moment, and bowed his head. He said the words by rote, but they had lost their meaning for him. At one time they'd come from his heart, but no more. He didn't feel as if he had one any longer - at least none to speak of.

When he'd finished praying, he closed the Bible, turned, and sat down. The choir in their shiny blue robes stood, and organ music crescendoed through the building. Soon the melody of male and female voices blended in song. It was a favorite Christmas carol from his childhood.

Paul didn't sing. He didn't think it was possible to do so with a heavy heart.

Joe and Annie were gone. Joe had phoned to say they'd arrived at Annie's family home safely. He joked with his dad that meeting her parents was like falling into a jar of honey. Annie must have been listening because Joe claimed her family was so pleased he'd agreed to marry her, they were throwing a party in his honor.

Paul had laughed. The happiness in his son's voice lifted his spirits. He didn't blame Joe for wanting to head out early. There wasn't anything in Los Angeles to hold him down.

When the singing was over, Paul stood and offered the benediction. The congregation filed out of the wide double doors at the back of the church. As was his habit, Paul stood in the doorway and shook hands.

"Merry Christmas, Pastor," said Steve Tenny's wife, gripping his hand in both of hers. "We're looking forward to having you spend Christmas with us."

"I don't believe I've gotten back to Steve about that. I will soon," Paul promised. He'd always liked Myrna. Barbara had enjoyed her friendship for a good many years.

Bernard Bartelli stood back, waiting for the bulk of the crowd to file past. His shoulders were hunched and his eyes weary with fatigue that reached far deeper than the physical.

Paul clasped the older man's hand firmly in his own. They didn't speak, didn't exchange pleasantries. Bernard kept his gaze lowered and shuffled past with his head low; if he'd wanted to say anything, he had changed his mind.

Paul watched as the old man ambled toward the parking lot. It was in his mind to follow after him and ask about Madge's condition. But he already knew the answer. She was failing more each hour.

It wouldn't be long now, and then Bernard would be as alone as Paul was. It wouldn't be long, and Bernard would sit in this same church and feel God had not only turned his back on him, but shoved the door closed in his face.

The white-hot anger that seared through his blood surprised Paul. He'd never been an angry man. Rarely had he clenched his fist or raised his voice. Rarely had he voiced his discontent. And never to God.

He could feel the heat work its way through him, yet it seemed not like the poison he dreaded, but like an energy that invigorated him.

He waited until the church was empty, then marched up the center aisle and stood in the middle of the church. His chest swelled as his lungs filled with oxygen. He held his breath until he chest ached, then slowly, purposely, expelled it little by little.

"You promised healing," Paul said out loud. The sound of his voice echoed eerily in the vacant room. His eyes rested on the closed Bible propped up in the middle of the altar.

He was a