The Runaway Pastor's Wife by Diane Moody, Hannah Schmitt

Tray for some kind of
sinfully good dessert! Oh—unless you’re still dieting? Are you still watching
your weight, dear?”
    Caroline slammed the receiver down. For a moment
she just stared at the phone, not believing the audacity of the woman behind that
voice. Lord! I just can’t handle her today! Give me strength.
    Ring.
    “I’m so sorry, Darlene, we got cut off. Listen,
I’ve got to run anyway. Annie’s not here right now but I’ll leave a note that
you called. Bye!”

CHAPTER 8
     
     
    Eagle’s Nest
    Annie reached for the blue and white checked
dish towel hanging inside the cabinet door below her. She wiped her eyes, now
blurred with tears. She laughed out loud. With everything else on her mind, the
last thing she expected to bring tears to her eyes were onions.
    She finished dabbing her eyes then scraped the
chopped onions off the cutting board and into the deep pot of sizzling ground
beef. For some reason, she had craved homemade chili since she first set foot
in this winter paradise. She couldn’t wait to smell the mixture of spices,
beef, and tomatoes.
    Drying her hands on the towel, she ambled over
to the entertainment center to find some suitable music. Christine’s taste in
music knew no boundaries so the selection was limitless—Billy Joel, Madonna,
Pavarotti, Garth Brooks ,
Michael Jackson, Springsteen, Big Band, the London Symphony
Orchestra . . . it was all there and more.
    And suddenly, Annie was transported back to
another day and time. Oklahoma State University —the
year, 1981. In the huge university arena which normally housed raucous
basketball games, she was surrounded by all her friends and thousands of
students from her campus. The driving beat and killer tunes of The Police
entertained them long into the autumn night.
    Annie realized she was smiling. The memories of
that night rolled tenderly through her mind like the gentle tide on the beach
back home.
    That night, they had laughed and sung and danced
in the aisles. The blaring guitars and pounding drums pressed them upward like
a thousand hands reaching up to lift the roof off the arena. She could see
Christine, decked out in an oversized sweatshirt and her favorite jeans, her
thick blonde hair a splash of curls in constant motion. Always the carefree
spirit, she was dancing up and down the aisle with any willing partner. At one
point a “gorgeous hunk of a man,” as Christine would later describe him,grabbed
her hand and pulled her to the front of the auditorium near the stage. For a
few minutes Annie couldn’t see her through the throng of wild fans surrounding
them. Suddenly, there was Christine—on stage with her new-found friend, dancing
in perfect choreography to the driving beat of the music. That was
Christine—right at home in front of a massive sea of strangers and side by side
with Sting.
    Only Christine.
    Those years were jam-packed with good times and
great friends. Life was one big party with an occasional exam thrown in the
mix. No worries about tomorrow, no regrets about yesterday. Just happy in the
here and now.
    Annie scanned through the enormous CD rack to
find Sting’s Greatest Hits and gently placed it into the system. As the smooth
melody of Fields of Gold filled the room, she made her way back to the
kitchen. She quickly tossed the remaining ingredients into the chili and turned
the heat down to let it simmer for an hour. After cleaning her mess, she made a
cup of tea then headed for a look out the window. The snow continued to blow,
but it appeared to be slowing at the moment. She would take a walk in a little
while if it got no worse. The frigid air would be refreshing. Besides, she was
dying to build a snowman, though even thinking of it made her feel a little
guilty.
    She pressed her forehead against the cold pane
of glass and inwardly scolded herself. Coming up here was a pretty selfish
thing to do. Think how much David and the kids would love it here. The kids
have never even seen snow except on