Safe from Harm (9781101619629) by Stephanie Jaye Evans Page B
Authors: Stephanie Jaye Evans
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what had happened.
âDad, no. Iâd be the last person Phoebe would have come running to. She made a scene. Cara said one of the guys made a pass at her and she didnât like it, thatâs all I know. But since I heard she was only wearing a towel, she must have let things go pretty far before she decided she didnât like it.â Jo smirked. I didnât like seeing that on her face and I gave her a warning look. She looked away.
Jo wasnât happy with the idea of waiting around the church while I was at a meeting and her mother was watching the twins. I made sure she had her new house key and she caught a ride home with friends.
â¢Â   â¢Â   â¢
Peter Martinez had set up a big pot of coffee and a pitcher of iced teaâthe lemon-flavored instant kind, but stillâon the credenza in the meeting room along with ice, cups and creamer. The meeting room is set up like a large living room, with sofas and love seats, tables and credenza, but we also brought in some folding chairs to make sure everyone could sit where they wanted to.
Seven of our twenty-four elders are assigned to shepherd the youth ministry and we had hoped all of these could be with us to meet with the Pickersley-Smythes, but two were out of town and Barrett Foley had recused himself on the grounds that his wife had been the one behind the ugly phone call Annie and I had gotten that morning. He had apologized, tears in his voice. Sally Foley was only seventy-two, but she was showing signs of dementia. Barrett didnât want to leave her home alone, and after that phone call, he sure didnât want to bring her anywhere near Jonathon Reece. That left us with elders Morse Mealey, Peter Martinez, Casey Dobbins and Jack Cradyâall solid. I could count on each of them.
The couple in the parking lot, the ones with the tall young manâthose were, as I had guessed, Jonathonâs parents and his elder brother, David, the one who had recently been released from prison. Mr. and Mrs. Reece were tall, handsome people, like their sons. Mr. Reece wore a dark, lightweight suit with a pale-gray tie and his wife had on a neat navy-blue dress and a matching hat. David, who looked like grim destiny come to claim his own, was wearing dress slacks with a button-down shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. Either they hadnât had time to change after church, or they had felt the gravity of the meeting called for this level of formality. I was glad I had opted for khaki slacks and a polo shirt instead of shorts and a T-shirt. Mr. and Mrs. Reece both took my hand when I held it out, David waited long enough for me to get the message, and then gripped it hardâanother message. David was there to make sure we didnât mess with his baby brother.
Jonathon told me he had asked them not to come, but they had insisted, and I didnât blame them. Texas has a history with young black men, too much of it grim.
Jason and Brick, our full-time youth ministers, sat with their arms draped around Jonathonâs shoulders, presenting a touching, if slightly ridiculous, united front. All three wore damp, mud-streaked T-shirts and smelled of river water and unwashed male. They greeted David with the overly friendly handshakes, smiles and slaps on the back that we dole out when weâre trying to communicate, without saying it, that, hey, the past is the past, and youâre all good with us, man. David took it like youâd take the attention of a pair of untrained puppies.
Liz had posed herself and Mark on the love seat, her hand on his knee. He tried to rise when Phoebe came in, but Lizâs hand pressed him back down.
Ahh, Phoebe.
Phoebe had on shorts so brief I think Iâve seen more modest panties, and in lieu of a shirt, she wore a bikini top tiny enough to do a couple of radishes proud. She slouched against a window, her hands clasping her elbows. Her eyes looked bruised and tired and her small mouth
âDad, no. Iâd be the last person Phoebe would have come running to. She made a scene. Cara said one of the guys made a pass at her and she didnât like it, thatâs all I know. But since I heard she was only wearing a towel, she must have let things go pretty far before she decided she didnât like it.â Jo smirked. I didnât like seeing that on her face and I gave her a warning look. She looked away.
Jo wasnât happy with the idea of waiting around the church while I was at a meeting and her mother was watching the twins. I made sure she had her new house key and she caught a ride home with friends.
â¢Â   â¢Â   â¢
Peter Martinez had set up a big pot of coffee and a pitcher of iced teaâthe lemon-flavored instant kind, but stillâon the credenza in the meeting room along with ice, cups and creamer. The meeting room is set up like a large living room, with sofas and love seats, tables and credenza, but we also brought in some folding chairs to make sure everyone could sit where they wanted to.
Seven of our twenty-four elders are assigned to shepherd the youth ministry and we had hoped all of these could be with us to meet with the Pickersley-Smythes, but two were out of town and Barrett Foley had recused himself on the grounds that his wife had been the one behind the ugly phone call Annie and I had gotten that morning. He had apologized, tears in his voice. Sally Foley was only seventy-two, but she was showing signs of dementia. Barrett didnât want to leave her home alone, and after that phone call, he sure didnât want to bring her anywhere near Jonathon Reece. That left us with elders Morse Mealey, Peter Martinez, Casey Dobbins and Jack Cradyâall solid. I could count on each of them.
The couple in the parking lot, the ones with the tall young manâthose were, as I had guessed, Jonathonâs parents and his elder brother, David, the one who had recently been released from prison. Mr. and Mrs. Reece were tall, handsome people, like their sons. Mr. Reece wore a dark, lightweight suit with a pale-gray tie and his wife had on a neat navy-blue dress and a matching hat. David, who looked like grim destiny come to claim his own, was wearing dress slacks with a button-down shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. Either they hadnât had time to change after church, or they had felt the gravity of the meeting called for this level of formality. I was glad I had opted for khaki slacks and a polo shirt instead of shorts and a T-shirt. Mr. and Mrs. Reece both took my hand when I held it out, David waited long enough for me to get the message, and then gripped it hardâanother message. David was there to make sure we didnât mess with his baby brother.
Jonathon told me he had asked them not to come, but they had insisted, and I didnât blame them. Texas has a history with young black men, too much of it grim.
Jason and Brick, our full-time youth ministers, sat with their arms draped around Jonathonâs shoulders, presenting a touching, if slightly ridiculous, united front. All three wore damp, mud-streaked T-shirts and smelled of river water and unwashed male. They greeted David with the overly friendly handshakes, smiles and slaps on the back that we dole out when weâre trying to communicate, without saying it, that, hey, the past is the past, and youâre all good with us, man. David took it like youâd take the attention of a pair of untrained puppies.
Liz had posed herself and Mark on the love seat, her hand on his knee. He tried to rise when Phoebe came in, but Lizâs hand pressed him back down.
Ahh, Phoebe.
Phoebe had on shorts so brief I think Iâve seen more modest panties, and in lieu of a shirt, she wore a bikini top tiny enough to do a couple of radishes proud. She slouched against a window, her hands clasping her elbows. Her eyes looked bruised and tired and her small mouth
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