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Anger churned in his gut.
It wasn’t fair.
Maybe Joseph Butler had repented. But that didn’t change the fact that he’d killed the two people Marc had loved most in the world and deprived another family of the life he himself had gone on to enjoy.
A door opened down the hall, and a gray-haired man in a clerical collar emerged. He hesitated for a second, glanced at the closed door of Butler’s room, and extended his hand as he approached. “Father Bob Allen. I’m the pastor at Joe’s church.”
Marc exhaled and returned his firm grip. “Mr. Butler mentioned you.”
“I assume the two of you are finished?”
“Yes.”
“I know he appreciated your willingness to make the long drive to meet with him in person. I hope the conversation gave you some answers.”
Marc studied him.
The man who’d killed his parents may never have told his family any of his background or shared the sins that darkenedhis soul, but based on the cleric’s comments, Butler had unburdened himself on the priest who’d extended kindness to the lost soul in his storage shed on that long-ago morning.
Marc offered him a clipped nod. “It did.”
“If it’s any consolation, Joe’s led an exemplary life since the day I met him. He volunteers at the food bank. He does his job, humble though it may be, with diligence and dedication. He raised two wonderful children, and he treats his wife with love and respect. He’s always the first to pull out his wallet or roll up his sleeves to help anyone in need.”
“None of that erases the past.” He didn’t attempt to mask his bitterness.
“No. Our past is always part of us. Some people are victims of it and remain so until the day they die. Others overcome old traumas and mistakes and go on to create a new and better life.”
“That doesn’t condone wrongs. Or give me and my parents back the years we should have had together. The years Butler had with his own family.”
“No, it doesn’t.” The priest’s tone was empathetic and nonjudgmental. “That’s why mercy and forgiveness are so difficult.”
Marc wasn’t about to argue with that. He was nowhere near either.
“I’ll say goodbye to his family before I leave.” He motioned down the hall.
“They’re very grateful for your efforts to fulfill Joe’s last wish.” The priest stepped aside to allow him to pass.
“My motive was purely selfish.”
“Nevertheless, it was a gift to everyone in this family. Your kindness will be long remembered. God be with you on your drive home.”
As the cleric moved toward the bedroom door, Marc continued down the hall. He’d say goodbye, offer a few perfunctory words of condolence, and take his leave.
Then he’d have four hours during his trip back to St. Louis to think through everything that had occurred in the past half hour—and try to figure out how much of this visit he should share with Nan, who’d long ago made her peace with the events of that terrible night.
TWENTY-FOUR
Rather talk in person than by phone.
May I stop by around 2:30?
I’ll be waiting. See you soon.
Bri reread her text exchange with Marc, then peered through the front window again—her third detour to the living room in the past twenty minutes.
If he’d come here straight from KC, he should be arriving any second.
And if he wanted to talk out the encounter, that must mean he’d learned important information. Perhaps he was hoping to bounce ideas off her about how much to share with his grandmother.
