Almost Friends by Philip Gulley Read Free Book Online

ministry. Sometimes his father will recall a particularly grisly episode in the church’s history, and Sam will have to leave the room so as not to become too discouraged at the prospect of pastoring such malcontents as Dale Hinshaw.
    In his first five years at Harmony, Sam had made every effort to steer Dale in the right direction. He tried reasoning with Dale, directing Dale’s vast energies down more reasonable paths. It never worked. Now Sam was trying a different approach, one that involved the total abdication of pastoral responsibility—letting Dale do whatever he pleased, which was what Dale generally did anyway.
    As they walked home from meeting, Barbara said, “I saw you talking with Dale. What’s he want to do now?”
    “I don’t know,” Sam said. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
    “Doesn’t that worry you?”
    “I’m sure whatever Dale does, it’ll work out fine,” Sam said.
    Barbara studied him for a moment. “Are you feeling all right? Have you hit your head and didn’t tell me? Because what you just said suggests you might be suffering from a brain defect.” She touched his forehead. “You don’t feel fevered.”
    “I’ve just decided I’ve spent too much time worrying about Dale Hinshaw. At some point I’m going to have to relax and trust the Lord.”
    “Trusting the Lord sounds nice in theory,” Barbara said. “It’s what all the martyrs said just before they were killed.”
    Sam elected not to respond.
    Their sons had run on ahead, so it was just the two of them. They rounded the corner by the Legal Grounds Coffee Shop, walked past the Harmony Herald office, then paused to look in the window of Grant’s Hardware. A sign was taped to the glass. For Rent. Apartment Above Hardware Store. No pets, smoking, alcohol, rock music, or loud parties allowed.
    “I guess Uly fixed up Kenny Hutchens’s old room,” Sam said.
    “Who’s Kenny Hutchens?”
    “He mowed lawns and hauled trash when I was a kid. Uly’s dad rented him the room upstairs, but no one’s lived there since Kenny died. That was years ago. Back in the 1970s, at least. I wonder what it looks like up there now?”
    Barbara shuddered. “I’d hate to think.”
    “Maybe I should rent it,” Sam mused. For the past several years, since his sons had begun bickering as if it were an Olympic sport, Sam had dreamed of having a quiet retreat. Initially, he’d thought of buying a cabin in the woods outsideof town. But desperation had made him less picky, and the room over Grant’s Hardware seemed more than sufficient.
    “You keep wanting to get away from us,” Barbara said. “What’s wrong with our house?”
    “Nothing at all. I just thought it’d be nice to have a little place I could slip away to and read. Someplace without a phone, where I could have a little peace and quiet.”
    “Peace and quiet? Why do men always need peace and quiet? Boy, it’s a good thing we women didn’t always need to go away for a little peace and quiet or nothing would get done.”
    Sam chuckled and draped his arm across his wife’s shoulders. “Women are the stronger sex. No doubt about it. But if you must know, I wanted the peace and quiet to write a book.”
    “A book? You hate writing,” Barbara pointed out. “When you have to write your article for the church newsletter, you complain about it for days on end.”
    “That’s different. I have to write that. If I wrote a book, I could write what I wanted.”
    “I’m the one who should write a book,” Barbara said. “I’ve got things I’ve been wanting to get off my chest for years.”
    Sam was feeling frisky—like his father, squabbling excited him—and he thought dreamily of his wife’s chest. He took her hand. “I have an idea,” he said. “Why don’t we rent Uly’s apartment and not tell the boys where we’ve moved. Then we’ll both have peace and quiet!”
    They walked another block without speaking. Sam was thinking of peace and quiet and how dear it has