Page 4 of Beyond Perfect

He was always so pleasant. She wasn’t sure she would be if she was in his shoes. He’d lost everything in Binghamton. On the other hand, he was the kind of man who would suffer in silence.

“Classes went well. Jackson’s back.”

“That’s news. What did he say to you?”

“A lot of bullshit.”

“Still mad?”

“Yeah. I need a minister to set me straight.”

Laughing, he climbed down the ladder. She handed him the water and he took a swig. “You got that, sis. Want to talk about it?”

“When he explained his reasoning, I tried to forgive him. But the anger’s still there.”

“It might dissipate.”

“Maybe.”

“Exposure to him might help.”

“Are you kidding me? It’ll hurt to see him.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t mean to be in such a lousy mood. How about I get some old clothes on and help you with the cutting in.”

“How about you go out for a run? It’s a beautiful day.”

“I’ll go if you will.”

He smiled at her manipulation. “It might be good for me. Go change and we’ll hit the path.”

“All right.” She got to the door, then turned. “I’m glad you’re here, Caleb.”

“I’m glad I’m here, too, kiddo.”

She walked out thinking about Caleb. Hell, if he could deal with having his church bombed and losing his wife to another man, she ought to be able to get over a little grudge. In any case, it was something to think about.

* * *

Caleb had gotten himself to a place where he didn’t think about what happened to him constantly and could enjoy some aspects of the day. He let the sun beat down on his face and warm his soul. He’d arrived in Westwood in the dead of winter, so this weather was a blessing.

At one time he would have thanked God for the day, but he’d lost God in the bombing, too.

He and Maisy jogged to the path around Westwood and then ran at a clip; conversation was impossible. After half an hour, they’d done the route, cooled down with a walk and came upon a bench in the shade. “Let’s sit.”

“Gladly.”

Maisy watched him. “How’s it going today? I heard you up during the night.”

“Sorry. I had dreams. Nights are tough.”

She asked, “How are the counseling sessions going?”

“As well as can be expected after six months.” In actuality, he quit going to a psychologist because it wasn’t changing anything, so he told a little white lie. “But I want to talk about you.”

She sighed. “If you’re sure.”