Page 131 of Too Old for This
He is my son. Of course I’ve forgiven him for using that app. But I’m not stupid enough to keep it. First thing tomorrow, I’m getting a new phone.
After our call ended, I noticed the other messages. They were all about Glenda.
The whole thing started late on Friday, when Pastor Doug told our church organist that money was missing from Thursday night. The take from the raffle was too low. That alone would be big news at First Covenant, but what blew this gossip into the stratosphere was Glenda. She’s the one in charge of collecting the cash at the end of the night.
After listening to the messages and trying to piece it all together, I headed right for the shower and then to church. It felt like I missed so much.
I’m not the only one, either. Half the congregation has arrived early this morning, including Bonnie. Her blue dress and hat match her eyes, but the bright yellow bag and shoes really make a statement. Normally, I would say something to her about how colorful she looks. Today, I am looking closer at her eyes. Her mannerisms.
It’s been less than twenty-four hours since Danielle saw me at the motel. I still don’t know if she recognized me.
But I know if she did, she hasn’t told Bonnie. I see no indication of that.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“I’m just a little tired.”
She pats me on the hand. “We all are.”
Sheila arrives a moment later, and we are swept up in a conversation with Marla and Richard. A lucky break. Marla and Richard are two of the biggest gossips at First Covenant.
“Glenda says the cash shortage must’ve happened before she collected everything,” Richard says.
“You’ve seen that metal lockbox. How many people have the combination to that old thing?” Marla says. She has been coming to First Covenant since she was ten years old. If anyone knows where the holy bodies are buried, it’s her.
“I don’t think we should jump to conclusions,” Bonnie says.
Sheila rolls her eyes. She is firmly in the Glenda-did-it camp.
I join the discussion, weighing in on all the theories until Pastor Doug starts today’s service. It’s no surprise he talks about sin and forgiveness and not throwing that first stone. He has never been a subtle man.
I think about that tiny camera. I still have it, though it’s turned off and tucked away in my credenza. Something like that would be useful on Thursday night, if it were positioned to record everyone who went near that old metal box. I could set that up.
I smile.
This is exactly what I want my retirement to be like. First, because Glenda is the main suspect. Second, because I’m not. That is such an exhausting place to be.
—
I hold the phone to my ear while sweeping the kitchen. Somewhere I have earbuds, and I have an old set of headphones, neither of which I can find right now.
“Of course I want the kids to attend the wedding,” Stephanie says. “I would never keep them from that.”
“I know you wouldn’t.”
“It’s just…I’m trying not to put judgment on this, good or bad. Their father says he’s happy.”
“Archie is happy. And I know how terrible that is for you to hear.”
“No, it’s not. It’s fine.”
Stephanie sounds like she means that. I hope she does, but it’s not really my business. I can’t control who Archie wants to be with. I don’t have the time or energy for that. The wedding is this weekend, and it feels like I have a million things to do.
“Olive and Noah will be fine staying here,” I say. “I’ve got decent internet and two TV screens.”
“Archie wanted them in the hotel where he and Morgan are staying. But I think he’ll be too busy to look after them.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” I’m also sure that two teenagers would rather be in a hotel—not closely watched—rather than staying with their grandmother.
