Potter Springs Read Online Free Page A

he lost
     himself in her. Tossing his future and his calling like a cheap brown penny.
I am looped in the loops of her hair.
    Then morning sunlight streamed on what he’d done. On him, sick with regret for not honoring her. For not holding the wolf
     in check.
    But she’d smiled so sweet and hugged him tight, no furrow of fury or regret on her brow, but crazily, unexpectedly-love. She
     didn’t say she was sorry, and when he did, she hushed him and handed him coffee.
    The words
I love you, let’s get married
died on his lips and he drank it, bitter, down his throat. Warming him as the sin-sickness slid from his gut.
    The serpent whispered
Later
and Mark listened.
    Progression.
They’d danced again and again, not bothering with the sawdust floors, his conscience held at bay. He separated the white
     from the black and fed the darkness in himself with the power of their passion and dressed in glorious white each Sunday morning.
     The shadow eclipsed by the halo, coating his insides with shame while it tied him, tighter and tighter, until he couldn’t
     speak.
    The wolf caught in the net of his own weaving. He’d screamed for help too late. He’d broken the silence and spoke the truth,
     yet there he lay. Wounded by his choices, his purpose and his plans, gone.
    Progression.
    Still, he wouldn’t be alone. Somehow, in spite of his stumblings and failures, he’d won the desire of his eyes and the love
     of his heart. He’d obtained a pearl of great price, Amanda as his bride.
    Yet by heeding the wrong voice—
Later,
it had whispered-the cost was higher than he’d ever imagined.
    You’d have made a fine pastor, James had said.
    Would have.

CHAPTER 4

rotisserie
    T he drizzly morning matched Amanda’s mood as she battled for a parking spot near the upscale restaurant. She punched the pedal
     of her red Toyota hatchback, sped past a Starbucks and a Talbots to nab an empty space from a retreating SUV.
    Wheeling in to a squeaky halt, she bared her teeth to the rear-view mirror to check for lipstick smudges. She snapped off
     the radio and grabbed the leather handbag Mother bought her for Christmas in college:
It’s a classic, honey. You’ll carry it for the rest of your life.
    She hadn’t cared for the light shade of the purse, but it was no use arguing with Mother. Besides, she was usually right.
    Usually, but not always. This time, Mother was wrong.
    Leaping over pothole puddles, Amanda gave herself a pep talk.
    She would not argue. She would state her case, pass on the information, then leave. Mother could take the news however she
     wanted, Amanda’s only job was to tell the truth.
    Then she’d treat herself to an afternoon of watching movies with Mark. Maybe she could cheer him up with the Three Stooges
     or
Blazing Saddles.
Something silly, to make him laugh.
    News of the meeting with James had sent Amanda into a tailspin, yet Mark seemed determined to finish out his tenure as best
     he could.
    It was almost as if the firing hadn’t taken place. They never really talked about it, and Amanda hadn’t seen Mark get angry,
     or sad, or even call James ugly names like she did in her heated moments.
    He didn’t seem to fear what would happen next, where they would go or what they would do. He simply went to work each day
     like nothing had ever happened. When she pushed him, he’d say, “It’ll all work out. Give it time, and everything will be okay.”
    Amanda didn’t see how, but she believed him anyway.
    Inside the overcrowded French café, fresh-baked quiches lay behind sparkling glass and rotisserie chickens spun like headless
     dancers on steel rods. Amanda spotted Katy Thompson seated at a corner table, cozied up to the riverstone fireplace, partially
     secluded by a palm. Mother insisted on the best tables. She’d been known to move three times in one dining experience.
    “Morning.” Essence of rose swept over Amanda as she kissed her mother’s cheek. The familiar smell she’d known forever.