Chapter 8
HE SHADOWS THE DETECTIVE AS he walks through the grocery store, slowing his own pace and hanging back so as to not rouse the suspicion of a man whose job it is to remain in a constant state of observance.
The detective’s cart is mostly full of basics: a loaf of bread, milk, peanut butter, a frozen pizza, a candy bar, and, surprisingly, some fresh produce as well.
It’s an interesting look into the life of a man Philip feels like he’s only just starting to know.
Philip turns the corner with him, stepping into an aisle filled with what could be every cereal on the planet.
He adjusts the hood on his sweatshirt and pulls the brown baseball cap farther down his forehead, deliberately casting a shadow onto his features.
The detective stops, turning to the right and grabbing a box of Raisin Bran before tossing it into his cart. Interesting choice.
Philip observes him, pretending to read the back of an oatmeal box as he notes that the man has the look of a typical TV detective: a white button-down shirt and dress pants, a tie just loose enough to offer relief, and slightly unkempt brown hair.
He looks like he’s absorbed the stress of a thousand unanswered questions over the course of a few days.
He continues to walk down the aisle, and Philip takes his time replacing the oatmeal box before he follows, noting that the detective’s walk is more of a saunter.
He seems to trail farther away from humility with each step.
The detective’s phone rings, an almost-silent vibration, and he answers it with only his last name. His face is stern and emotionless as he listens to the person on the other end. After a moment, he sighs, shaking his head and leaning over the handle of the grocery cart.
“You’ve got to be shitting me. I just left,” he says, his frustration evident.
The voice on the other ends responds, and he nods. “Fine. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
He hangs up and clicks the phone back onto his belt.
He looks down at his cart, clearly pondering whether to abandon it, then makes the decision to head toward the checkout.
He’s moving faster now, the breezy nature of his previous browsing now replaced with a reluctant sense of urgency.
Philip follows, trying to gain as much information as he can in what little time is left.
There is a moment when the detective spins around, no doubt sensing someone keeping step with him.
He looks right past Philip, his gaze licking at the edges of him like flames.
Brows wrinkled, he flicks his eyes back and forth, quickly scanning the area.
Seizing on the moment of distraction, Philip walks right past him, brushing his arm against the detective’s and forcing him to turn back around.
He can feel the man’s eyes bore into the back of his sweatshirt, but that’s all he will see.
Leaving the store, Philip walks around to the side of the building and leans against the cold concrete, suddenly finding his breaths puffing out in shallow huffs.
Adrenaline takes hold of him, sending his body into a mode he isn’t used to.
There is no plan, only one goal, and that’s always the same: protect himself, protect his name, and guard what he has built.
No ardent detective with a foolish vendetta is going to threaten the delicate world he has constructed.
Philip left on this trip, leaving his church in the hands of Brian and Margaret, to make sure he finished what was started.
Darkness always accompanies Jeremy Rose, but a few months ago he brought a spotlight to shine onto Philip. Now the meddling fingers of outsider hands are shuffling through everything in Philip’s life, interfering with the carefully constructed balance he has struck between worlds.
He’s felt this way before, but only once. It was the night he learned the Lord would grant him one supreme fuckup, but not without consequence. He knew then that he was made to cleanse, not to linger with a sinful woman.
As he quietly clicked the door closed behind him, he could sense her presence almost immediately. Kathryn walked around the corner and entered the hallway like a wrecking ball. His entire body tensed with anticipation of what was to come.
“What in God’s name are you doing walking into this house so late?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest. Her voice was hushed, but it was laced with rage.
He didn’t answer her right away. He just looked at his soon-to-be ex-wife’s small frame standing there in a matching white pajama set, the very picture of purity.
Her wide brown eyes were full of worry, but there was anger there too; it was something he had never seen in those eyes before.
She knew, and he knew she knew. The thing is, even when they had originally decided to separate, when he had gotten a new home near the lake, Kathryn hadn’t outright accused him of infidelity.
She never had before, and there had been plenty of reasons for her to.
He had managed to figure out what she was willing to accept from him, and it was just about anything.
Sometimes he tried to convince himself he cared about her, but something was off.
No matter how hard he tried to make it real, to make it tangible, the hollow feeling remained.
He met her with indifference. “I told you, I had a counseling meeting, Kathryn.” He slipped off his jacket and tossed his keys in the bowl by the door. “Stop the dramatics, please.”
With that, the anger in her eyes seemed to increase tenfold.
In fact, she couldn’t even properly respond right away.
Instead she began muttering unintelligible words as she walked back toward the kitchen.
He sighed, following her slowly, knowing the same old discussion was likely to follow.
She always brought it right to the boundary of an accusation, but the road to that place was long and arduous.
He expected this discussion to last a while and prepared himself to explain the same story over and over, to bring more carefully crafted details into each rendition until it convinced her that the conversation wasn’t going to end in her favor.
“This isn’t some conspiracy.” This was a crux of their previous fights. “You know I have to do my job, and sometimes that means I have to counsel at odd hours.” He leaned against the wall, shoving a hand in his pocket and gesturing with the other. “You know this,” he said.
She was sitting in a chair at the kitchen table, a mug of tea from hours before sitting in front of her. She cupped it, as if it might give her warmth, and shook her head.
“I don’t know anything, Philip,” she said quietly, staring down at the teacup.
“Now, come on, Kathryn,” he started to say, but for the first time in their marriage, she interrupted him.
“Isn’t that how you prefer it?” she asked, looking up at him with brand new eyes he hadn’t seen before. They were tired—tired eyes that were tired of him.
He scoffed, finding himself caught off guard. He took too long to answer, and she filled the dead space with more unfamiliar anger.
“Your na?ve little wife, if that’s what I am, doesn’t know what you do, but she can act her ass off every Sunday.
” She stared into him, letting the words spill out of her mouth like poison darts.
Hearing that kind of language come from Kathryn was like seeing an animal walk on its hind legs.
He just looked back at her, unable to comprehend how things had escalated so quickly.
“When did you start talking like that?” he asked, his tone like that of a disappointed parent. He took two steps closer to her.
For a moment, she looked appropriately ashamed. Her eyes changed for a second as fear crept in, but just as he finally recognized the woman sitting in front of him, she quickly gathered herself, and anger came rushing back.
“I have been wanting to say this for a long time, Philip,” she said. “Where were you really tonight?”
His jaw twitched, and he sucked a sharp breath into his nose.
“It’s that book club.” His eyes landed on an open book lying upside down near the teacup.
“You’re lucky I wasn’t here when you started this.
I never would have allowed it,” he said, ignoring her question.
He grabbed the book, shaking it to illustrate his point.
“You read this smut, and suddenly you’re comfortable disrespecting your husband? ”
She flinched, attempting to grab the book from him, but he pulled it back. “That’s what has your attention?” she yelled, standing up now. “You weren’t counseling anyone tonight, were you?”
The first pure accusation she had launched over the course of their marriage hit him like a missile. He wasn’t prepared for it, because he was so sure he had trained her not to ever make that mistake. He couldn’t imagine how she knew, or what she knew.
“Kathryn, who are you? Cursing like a whore, accusing your husband, your provider, of what? What are you implying?” He moved closer to her, slapping the book down hard on the table.
Her eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t retreat.
She didn’t move away even though it was clear that every cell in her body was begging her to.
One tear rolled down her cheek. She blinked it away before another could follow. “I know you are having an affair. I know you have been having affairs,” she said, her voice breaking only slightly. He could see her throat bob as she swallowed the sob that was threatening to escape.
He couldn’t stand this woman in front of him. This wasn’t his wife; it was an angry, nagging creature who no longer believed in respect. She was defiant, her mouth tightened into a hard line.
He couldn’t stop himself—he grabbed her by the arm, shaking her slightly. “How dare you!” he growled. “How dare you question me like this, Kathryn!” Rage exploded out of him, uncontrollable and fierce.