“I moved to Atlanta right after high school,” I said. “The night I graduated, in fact. I was obsessed with the Atlanta Child Murders. Had an encounter with Wayne Williams as a kid. I’ve always done some form of both investigation and ministry—even back then. Went to seminary school while working a couple of cases. Eventually became a cop in Stone Mountain and later a pastor. I was drinking on and off. A few of the investigations I worked were particularly horrific and difficult. When I transitioned to mostly ministry, I stopped drinking, threw myself into my work, and ignored how ill-suited my wife and I were.”

“You exchanged one addiction for another,” she said.

I nodded. “I was a classic workaholic, seduced by the incredible feeling helping people can give. This whole time I’d been living as a dry drunk, and that was okay with Susan, my ex-wife, because that’s what she was used to. We had a nice, comfortable, unhealthy relationship. We didn’t see each other all that much, and we lived in a glass house, so when we did, we were usually doing our best to look our best. Finally, everything started stacking up—the pressure of being a pastor, of trying to meet all the needs of a large congregation, unable to say no—and this after never really having processed the bad cases. I started drinking again—which is just a symptom of . . . other deeper issues. Susan was a classic, well-trained enabler. She was the best. The silence, the secrets, the excuses, and the justification. But eventually I started AA again—read the books, got a sponsor, and became honest about my addiction. Something both Susan and my congregation couldn’t tolerate.”

Upstream, a fish jumped and made a loud splash.

“When I was accused of having an affair with one of my parishioners, Susan was so insecure, so . . . disconnected from me . . . she believed it and made everything worse.”

“Why did the woman accuse you of adultery?”

“She didn’t. Her husband did. She had come to see me because they were both severe addicts. She wanted help. He didn’t. So he . . . Not too long after that, she committed suicide. He said she had done it because I had . . . Anyway, the papers smeared me with rumors and innuendo and . . . I . . . just didn’t have it in me to fight any of them anymore.”

“Them?”

“The members of my congregation who wanted me gone. The church hierarchy. The media. Susan. I resigned the church. We divorced. I came home.”

The walk back to my trailer was short but slow.

Every step hurt, but was worth it for all the good the sun and river and Laura’s lap had done for me.

When we neared the trailer I could hear the phone ringing.

Though it took us a while to get there, it was still ringing when we did.