"Chapter 10"

Mark Latimer woke late in the night to an empty bed, the covers beside him untouched; Beth had not come to bed. Concerned he rose to his feet and silently made his way out of their room and down the stairs. Pale moonlight streaked the carpeted floors, wrapping everything in the calm and quiet of night. She wasn't in the bathroom, nor was she looking in on Chloe (which both Mark and Beth did now), and wasn't in the kitchen.

He finally found her seated awkwardly on the floor of the living room near the sliding glass door, photo albums spread in a messy circle around her. Facing away from the doorway she didn't immediately notice his presence, but he thought he heard a low sniffle like she was holding back tears.

"Beth."

With a low gasp she jumped and turned, a pile of photos falling from her hands to spill on the floor. "Mark!"

She was struggling to rise to her feet. "No, no, Beth, don't get up." He hurried to reach her side and seat himself beside her so that she didn't have to worry about climbing the furniture to stand. Once there he discovered what it was she had been looking at and he couldn't help his low but sharp intake of breath. Pictures of the Latimer and Miller families together beamed up at him, from vacations to days spent at the beach to simple Sunday brunches. There was a picture of Danny and Tom muddied and tousled from playing a game of football on a wet afternoon; underneath it Beth and Chloe and Ellie giggled in the Latimer's kitchen, covered with flour that had flown everywhere; beside that Joe Miller and Nigel and Mark himself smiled for the camera, taken by Danny's shaky inexperienced hands. The pictures were such an unexpected punch to the gut he almost felt winded.

Beth swallowed. "I couldn't sleep," she explained shakily. "Too uncomfortable."

Mark nodded, understanding. It happened a lot to her, these days. It had been like that with Chloe and Danny. He looked at her silently for a long moment, waiting to see if she would continue in her explanation.

She did. "I cleaned the kitchen, scrubbed the bathroom sink… and then I knocked over some stuff in the closet and these fell out. And I…" She trailed off, swallowing again. Her eyes were lined red. Slowly she took a deep shaking breath and met his gaze. "I'm not betraying Danny, am I?" she asked softly. "By accepting Ellie back in?"

"Don't do this to yourself, Beth," Mark said tiredly, shaking his head.

"I can't help it, Mark. I just- I want to do right by my little boy. Is it wrong that I want to let Ellie back in?" Her tone was so bewildered, so lost, that Mark pulled her as close as he could, aching to comfort her. He dreaded saying the wrong thing.

"No," he said finally. Decisively. "Please, Beth, don't do this. Don't overthink it. You've already reconciled with Ell. Don't push her away again." Secretly he didn't think either his wife or Ellie would be able to handle that if it happened, however much Beth may protest otherwise.

Beth sighed against his shoulder. "It's hard," she confessed, "holding onto all my anger. I'm so tired."

He kissed the top of her head, knowing how she felt. He didn't have an answer for her, but that was alright because she didn't expect him to.

"Come on. Let's get to bed." He helped her to her feet, leaving the photo albums on the floor. They caused too much pain and confusion to mess with now. Too many of those smiles frozen in time were wounds.

0000000

Paul had not slept at all, choosing instead to walk along his normal path whenever his insomnia grew too great. He was trying, also, to think of a sermon for the coming Sunday. Sometimes the ideas came easily, born from his own struggles or something one of his congregation told him offhand—but other times he didn't think of anything until Friday or even Saturday morning. It always came together, though, in the end; just one of the several little ways that he knew that the Lord was there. Sometimes, he thought, people needed to ignore the things God didn't do and instead focus on the good things he did.

He didn't normally go to the church so early in the morning but today he decided he would try to work on his sermon ideas, then perhaps go down to the Traders and help Becca with whatever bills she needed figuring.

He was surprised, therefore, when he approached the front doors to find a stranger waiting by them. He frowned, surprised; he rarely had visitors come to pray or ask questions. Beth was one of the few who did even though he kept the doors open throughout the day.

"Can I help you?"

The man turned, and Paul realized he did know him; John, the Scotsman he'd seen with Ellie Miller a few days ago. "Aye," he said, striding forward with a hand outstretched. After Paul had stepped back from shaking it, he looked him up and down. "Ellie tells me you're good at being a vicar."

Paul felt a blush try to crawl across his face. "I try my best," he said modestly. "I don't always succeed. What do you need, then?" He was wondering what would bring this man here.

"I'm here for a friend, actually." John shifted slightly from foot to foot, deliberating on the right choice of words. "Ellie said you know Alec Hardy."

Paul paused for a long moment, looking at him with wary confusion. "Yes," he answered slowly, carefully. "I can't say we're anything close to friends."

He was only more confused by John's answering small smile. "No," he agreed thoughtfully, "I don't think you would be." But he was off on his explanation before Paul could ask him what he meant. "He's in hospital. I wanted to know if you would be willing to see him."

In hospital? Paul blinked, taken aback. He had just seen Hardy in the church only a few days prior. But then he recalled Becca telling him how the former copper had had a heart attack at the Traders—ironically arguing with John, he realized. "He'll probably just kick me out," he warned him.

John smirked. "He'll be on his best behavior, I promise. He's not getting out of the hospital otherwise." Very quickly he sobered again, however; Paul could see how serious he was. 'Please, Paul. He doesn't have much time."

If the news that Hardy was in hospital was shocking this was even more so. He had to struggle to keep from his mouth falling open. He was vaguely surprised by how he felt his heart drop a little; he knew, after all, what John was after now. He nodded; what else could he do? "I'll visit him as soon as I can."

And he did. He stayed in his office/study space in the corner of the church for a few hours, praying and contemplating of what he should do and say when he made it to the hospital; but finally the morning came and went and afternoon was slowly waning and he decided to head on his way. Slipping his jacket on he walked out of the church, closing the doors behind him. He didn't drive, choosing to walk most of the places he wanted to get to, and so the sun was just beginning to set when he reached the hospital. Looking in the parking lot he didn't see Ellie's car anywhere and wondered if he would be talking with Hardy with company there.

As the vicar he was allowed access anywhere in the hospital where he was needed, so he very quickly found the room he was looking for. Hardy was awake and seemed to be expecting him, albeit resignedly, restlessly running his thumb over the corner of a closed book. When hearing Paul's footsteps he looked over, watching the vicar silently. Paul felt like he was being scrutinized, but with this man that was a normal feeling.

"I was hoping John had been lying when he said he'd invited you over," Hardy commented finally, breaking the heavy silence.

Paul took a deep breath. This was going to be a long visit. "He seems concerned for you," he replied quietly. "Frankly, I don't know why."

That got a smirk. "Is the vicar feeling vindictive today?"

"If you're going to taunt me as soon as I walk through the door, yes." Paul sat down on one of the vacated seats, crossing his legs. "He came to me as someone wanting to help a friend. I told him I would come, even though I also told him you would most likely throw me out what with your hatred of the church and all."

It was a deliberate jab, something Paul did not feel guilty for; Hardy, after all, always gave as good as he got. Except that last time, seeing him in the church. At that time Hardy had actually been vaguely pleasant to talk to.

He was taken aback, now, to hear Hardy's reply. "Do you know what I hate most about the Church? About Christians in general?"

"No." Paul supposed it was for one of the reasons Hardy had told him during Danny Latimer's murder case.

"It's the fact that you preach about a loving, forgiving God. A God who cares." A sneer was evident in the curl of his lips, in his dark eyes. "Tell me how a loving caring God can sit back and let murder and rape and incest and all the shit in the world happen?"

Paul leaned forward. "I don't know," he answered truthfully. "Some people think it's because God is letting us sleep in the bed we created. But I don't have a certain answer." He waited, seeing if maybe Hardy would fight that answer. "That's a question I come across a lot. I wish I had a better explanation. But I don't." He was quiet for a long moment. "I was right before, wasn't I? You have some knowledge of God. You'd have to, growing up in Scotland."

Hardy was quiet so long Paul thought perhaps it would be best if he simply left; but then finally, just as he was preparing to excuse himself, he got a reply. "I know God, but I don't believe. Never have." He rolled his eyes. "And now John has you come in to try to convince me to."

Paul frowned. "I don't think that's why," he said quietly. "He probably feels that you needed someone to talk to about- about what's happening."

"I'm going to die," Hardy said flatly. "What's there to talk about?"

"You'd be surprised," Paul retorted dryly. "Do you know what I hate most about non-believers?" he asked then, in clear retaliation to Hardy's earlier question. "They focus only on the negative. 'Oh, this happened to me, that happened to my family member. Why would God allow that to happen?' Maybe what you need to do is get up and continue on. God always provides if you let Him."

"Yeah?" Hardy raised a scornful eyebrow.

"Yes," Paul said firmly. "You're actually a pretty good example of that, actually."

"What?"

The vicar shrugged slightly. "God works in mysterious ways. Sometimes He places people somewhere right where they're needed most. You solved Danny's murder—granted, not easily—but Ellie told me later that you were the one to work hardest on it, the one to piece the clues together first. You were there for her, too, after Joe confessed." He paused. "And maybe John's here for a reason as well now." Now he smiled, just a little bit; Hardy was listening. "And just so you know, not all of us Christians are out for fame or recognition or for shoving the Bible down your throat. We stumble and fall and wonder why just as much as everyone else does."

Hardy snorted. "I respected you, you know," he confessed suddenly. "When you stood up to me in the station. I may not have agreed with what you said, but not many people ever stands up to me. You did."

"I don't let anyone belittle my faith," Paul said, repeating his words from months earlier, but the small grin playing in his eyes softened his words. "Not even a stubborn stick-up-the-arse copper."

At that, Hardy laughed outright.