“Sounds like you’re gonna have a great weekend then.”
“Half a great weekend. My dad is staying with me for tonight only. He has to go back home tomorrow so he can attend church on Sunday morning.”
“He won’t miss a sermon to spend a full weekend with his daughter?”
“He can’t because he’s the pastor of the Methodist church that he goes to.”
Zac’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh! I understand now.”
I glanced at the mostly healed scratch on his face and then quickly looked over his neck, arms, and hands. There were no fresh marks from Avery. At least not any that I could see. For all I knew though, there could’ve been some underneath Zac’s clothes.
“Do you have weekend plans?” I asked.
“I do. I’m taking my son to the zoo in the morning. He loves going there and is like a magnet for all the animals. It’s like hehas his own language with them and it’s the funniest thing to watch, especially at the petting zoo.”
“I’ve always been like that with animals too. They’re drawn to me, I’m drawn to them, and yes—we do speak our own language. My parents were always taking me to the zoo when I was little and I’d just go play with my furry friends there.”
“When was the last time you went to a zoo?”
“I was around eleven or twelve.”
“Why so long ago?”
I shrugged. “Outgrew going, I guess.”
“Nah! We’re never too old to go to a zoo.”
I smiled at Zac. He was clutching the side of my buggy with his hands now and his blue eyes were sparkling. They reminded me of the sky.
“You really should check out the Dallas zoo sometime. It’s nice,” Zac went on to tell me.
“I may just do that.”
I picked up a couple of my grocery bags and started loading them into my car. Without hesitation, Zac began helping me with the rest.
“So do you have Sunday plans?” I asked. “Going to church with the family?”
“No, I’m not a churchgoer any longer, and for reasons that I won’t waste your time or my breath listing. My plan on Sunday is to get all the yard work done at my house. Will you be attending one of the many Methodist churches around here? You can literally take your pick.”
“Like you, I’m not a churchgoer any longer either.”
“A pastor’s daughter who doesn’t go to church. Do you mind my asking how your dad takes that?”
“He understands because he knows all about the downside of organized religion and how it, as well as some of its members, can leave a bitter taste in someone’s mouth—as it has mine.”
“Some of its members? You mean the hypocrites?”
I sighed. “Yeah. It seems you’ve had dealings with them too.”
“I have—and I got tired of dealing with them. I got tired of listening to their judgments of any and everybody when they’ve committed their own wrongdoings and continue committing them.”
“I got tired of the same thing. The icing on the cake for me was finding out the assistant pastor at my dad’s church was abusing his wife. While at the salon that I used to go to in Austin, she came in and sat down in the chair next to me. Of course we recognized each other and started talking and the longer we talked, the more heart-to-heart our conversation became. Before I knew it, Cathy—that’s her name—had broken down crying and told me all about the hell that she was living in. It finally made sense to me why she was so meek whenever I saw her at church and also why she would so often quietly cry to herself while sitting alone in one of the pews, listening to her husband deliver his sermon. My dad allowed him one Sunday a month to hone his preaching skills.”
Zac huffed in obvious disgust. “Yeah, that would’ve done it for me too. I would’ve said something to the guy, though, or to your dad.”
“I did. To both. I confronted the assistant pastor about everything and will never forget how red-faced he got. I told him that I was going to my dad about what I knew and I also told him that if I found out he’d laid another hand on his wife or spoken another cruel word to her, then I was going to the authorities. The man was dismissed from the Methodist Conference a week later.”
“Do you know what happened to him and his wife afterward?”