“Why no. I never have been married. I came close to becoming engaged once, to a woman in my last parish.”

May continued. “Have you never met anyone else you felt you couldn’t live your life without?”

“No. I haven’t.” Denny shifted and leaned back in the chair. “I’m of the opinion that there are any number of people any one of us could marry and be quite content with.”

“You don’t believe in one great love, then?”

“I guess not. Maybe I’m just jaded. I’ve seen so many couples marry with high expectations and hopes, and a couple of years later they’re divorced. Fifty percent of marriages end in divorce. Discouraging, don’t you think?”

I’m one of those fifty percent, one of those parishioners that helped turn him off of marriage. Her stomach tightened. Here she was a fifty-six-year-old, miserable, divorcing woman who felt as if she were fifteen and in love. Worst of all, the object of her passion sat across from her discussing marriage and divorce as if they were just old friends hashing over some church issue that neither of them cared much about.

Denny picked up a pencil and tapped its eraser end on the desktop.

Next thing he’ll shove back his chair, and that will be the end of it. I’ve never been very brave. I’ve let people push me around. I’ve done things I didn’t want to do to please others or to keep from hurting anyone. May leaned forward, rested her arms on his desk, and looked into his eyes. Say it right out. Get this off your chest, once and for all.

“I believe, Pastor Denny, that I have gone and got myself a big, old silly crush on you.”

13

Things Not Meant to Be

The air-conditioning unit shifted gears, its hum falling to almost inaudible. Denny’s eyes went blank, then left her face and fastened for a moment on something behind her. He shut his eyes and when he opened them, May read concern, not love. She had been too quick, too ill prepared. She had made a perfect fool of herself, humiliated herself. May wanted to sink into the ground, disappear from the face of the earth, and die. Tears sprang to her eyes.

“Denny, you back there?” a male voice called. Footsteps sounded in the hallway and moments later Charlie Herrill stood in the doorway. “Oh. May. How are you? Did I interrupt something? Sorry. I’ll call you later, Denny.”

The pastor was on his feet heading for the door. He clasped Charlie’s hand and drew him into the room. “Not at all. Come in.”

May felt as if she’d been kicked in the stomach.

“May and I are finished, wouldn’t you say, May?”