15
So much for his taco fix.
Martin eased back on the accelerator as he approached Charley’s shuttered stand on the wharf. The tourist rush must have died down for the day, even if it was just past six. Or else Charley’s muse had called and he’d closed up shop to paint.
Whatever the reason he wasn’t cooking, there would be no tacos tonight.
Martin winced as the dull headache that had plagued him all day intensified.
The Myrtle was an option, but sitting alone at a table while everyone in town watched and whispered about the state of his marriage would only give him indigestion. Merely dropping in for a takeout would also encourage gossip.
A to-go pizza from Frank’s would have to suffice, though a high-carb entree didn’t hold much appeal. But it beat the frozen dinners he’d been subsisting on for the past week.
He executed a U-turn on Dockside Drive, retraced his route, and hung a left on Harbor Street. Took another left on Main, heading north toward the empty house that didn’t feel much like home these days.
As the steeple on St. Francis church came into view, however, he slowed.
Though he’d never set foot on the church’s property, word on the street was that Father Murphy had created an amazing, contemplative garden oasis that was open to anyone in need of refreshment or respite.
He could use both about now.
Would a few minutes in such a peaceful ambiance help him sort through the muddled mess he was in, point him toward an action plan?
Perhaps that was too much to hope for from an impromptu visit, but there was no harm in checking it out. The lot was empty, so he should have the place to himself. And it wasn’t as if anyone was waiting for him at home. He could linger as long as he liked.
Decision made, he swung in and pulled up near a rose-covered arbor with a sign on top that said “All Are Welcome.” Surveyed the parking area again.
There wasn’t a soul in sight.
Excellent.
Leaving the Audi behind, he pocketed his keys and entered the garden, the sweet scent of the roses following him in. Paused to take in the serene setting.
A meandering, circular stone path wound through the lush layout. Colorful flowers were tucked among the hydrangeas and rhododendrons and ferns, and the soft splash of a fountain from deeper inside the garden added to the peaceful vibe.
If there was a bench in the garden, this would be an ideal place to sit for a spell. Maybe ask for direction from the Almighty.
Although in light of his sporadic attendance at Grace Christian, that could be presumptuous.
Still, if nothing else, a few quiet minutes here might soothe his soul.
He started down the path, his rubber-soled loafers silent onthe flagstones. As he rounded the first curve, a secluded wooden bench tucked into the greenery came into view.
Perfect.
He continued toward it and sat.
Here, the splash of the fountain was more pronounced, masking any street noise that dared try to invade the tranquil spot.
Closing his eyes, he leaned back and inhaled the fresh air. Exhaled long and slow.
The tension in his shoulders began to ease.
If he could clear his mind, like he did when thorny problems arose at work, it was possible a solution to his issues on the home front would—
“No worries. I appreciate your quick response. Thanks for stopping by.”
At the sound of Father Murphy’s voice, Martin jerked upright.
