9

ROGUE’S HOLLOW, OREGON

AUGUST

Oliver ran a hand through his hair and yawned. He’d gotten a late start on his sermon notes and now, Friday night, the clock was ticking toward midnight and he wasn’t yet done. He knew a lot of it had to do with Anna. They’d had some bad news: the results from her last round of tests showed that the chemo wasn’t working. Anna was depressed and angry, and it was so unlike her that he was at a loss as to how to help.

Earlier, they’d had the new police chief, Tess O’Rourke, over for dinner and things seemed good. It had been a warm, companionable evening. But right after the chief left, Anna’s mood went from calm and amiable to angry, hurt.

“God is just not listening. He’s turned a deaf ear,” she’d cried in frustration.

He kept hearing those words echoing in his thoughts and he hated that part of him believed them. This trial with cancer had been with them for fifteen years and it had taken so much. It had taken Anna’s ability to have children, removed the sparkle from her eyes more times than Oliver could count, and now if the doctor was correct, it would take her life.

God hadn’t been silent all this time or distant. Oliver and Anna had reveled in the feeling of closeness to God they’d felt at times. At each of the four rounds of chemo, and the four times doctors had declared the cancer beaten back, they’d felt complete and safe in the hand of God.

But this last round of chemo had no effect. The doctor had mentioned other possible alternative treatments, but he was not at all hopeful. He came close to squashing all hope.

But with God there is still hope when there seems to be none. That was what Oliver preached often to his congregation. He’d tried to preach it to Anna but had only succeeded in raising her ire, not her hope. Her words had pierced Oliver deeper than he’d ever thought possible. He felt the fear of losing her so deeply it anchored him. In one sentence his own weak faith was thrown back at him with the force of a 100 mph fastball.

“God has turned a deaf ear, and you need to think about life without me.”

Those few words acted like gasoline thrown on the smoldering flames of his doubts, and now he had a scorching fire of unbelief raging in his soul.

Where are you, Lord? We really need you now. I need a touch.

Oliver believed the hope of heaven was real, but the truth was that the thought of life now without Anna was unbearable. He stood to pace his small office, mindful that it was well past the time he should be home in bed, home with Anna. Oliver paused at his blank page. He couldn’t think straight enough to write anything for Sunday.

He dropped his hands to his sides and looked heavenward, the years of tears and disappointments flashing through his mind’s eye. They’d had hope fifteen years ago when the chemo helped. Anna was sick and lost weight, but they’d beaten the disease—so they’d thought. Four years later it was back. The treatment took a greater toll that time but still, when they made it through, they’d won another battle. But the cancer kept coming back. And now the treatment was doing nothing.

Deaf ear.

They’d always prayed the tough things through together, always trusted God. Why the doubt and anger now?

Taking a deep breath, then letting it out slowly, Oliver didn’t even have the words to pray now. He rubbed his tired eyes, turned off the desk light, and prepared to lock up for the night. His office was above the fellowship hall. He had a short walk downstairs and across the parking lot to the small house behind the church that he and Anna called home. But before he could lock the door to the church office, he heard a knock.

A spark inside flared. Maybe it was Anna, come to apologize and walk him home.

The door opened, and his heart leapt—it was Anna.

“Oliver?” She held a large paper bag in her arms, full from what he could see. But it was her expression that froze him.

“Yes?” He stepped toward her. “What’s wrong?”

“Glen . . . Glen was here.”

Oliver frowned. “Your cousin? This time of night?”

She nodded. “He gave me this.” She pushed the bag toward him.

He took the bag from his wife and set it on his desk, flicking the light on again. The pungent, stale odor of cigarette and marijuana smoke wafted toward him. Was it pot? he wondered. Growing pot for recreational use was now legal in this state, but its sale was not yet legal in Rogue’s Hollow. But why would Glen give something like that to Anna?

Peering inside the bag, Oliver didn’t see drugs. He saw money, lots of it. Fist-sized rolls of twenties and tens secured with rubber bands filled the bag. It was more cash than Oliver had ever seen in one place in his whole life.

“What . . . ?” He looked at Anna, astonished.

When she saw the contents, she whispered, “What in the world?”

Her bewildered expression matched his.

“All Glen said was ‘Only God can make this clean.’ Then he left. What’s he done, Oliver? What on earth has my lost cousin done?”