Second Chance

Chapter 22

CINDY THOMAS parked her Mazda across from the La Salle Heights Church and let out a long sigh. The church's white clapboard front had been defaced by a pattern of ugly chinks and bullet holes. A gaping hole where the beautiful stained-glass window had been was sealed with a black canvas tarp.

She remembered seeing it the day the window was first unveiled, on her old beat at the paper. The mayor, some local dignitaries, Aaron Winslow all made speeches about how the beautiful scene had been paid for through community work. A symbol. She remembered interviewing Winslow and being impressed with his passion, and also his unexpected humbleness.

Cindy ducked under the yellow police tape and stepped closer to the bullet-ridden wall. On her job at the Chronicle, she'd been assigned to other stories where people had died.

But this was the first one where she felt the human race had died a little, too.

She was startled by a voice. “You can stare for as long as you want, but it doesn't get any prettier.”

Cindy spun and found herself facing a man with a smooth and very handsome face. Kind eyes. She knew him. She nodded. “I was here when the window was unveiled. It carried a lot of hope.” “Still does,” Winslow said. “We didn't lose our hope. Don't worry about that.” She smiled, staring into his deep brown eyes.

“I'm Aaron Winslow,” he said, shifting a stack of children's textbooks to extend his hand.

“Cindy Thomas,” she replied. His grip was warm and gentle.

“Don't tell me they've put our church as one of the scenic sights on the Forty-nine Mile Drive.” Winslow started to walk toward the rear of the church, and she followed along.

“I'm not a tourist,” Cindy said. "I just wanted to see this.

“Listen.” She swallowed. “I'd like to pretend I just came by to pay my respects... which I did. But I'm also with the Chronicle. On the crime desk.”

“A reporter.” Winslow exhaled. “It makes sense now. For years, everything that really goes on here--tutoring, literacy training, a nationally recognized choir--doesn't crank up a story. But one madman acts, and now Nightline wants to do a town meeting. What do you want to know Ms. Thomas? What does the Chronicle want?”

His words had stung her a little, but she kind of liked that.

He was right.

“Actually, I did a story here once before, when that window was unveiled. It was a special day.”

He stopped walking. He focused his eyes on her, then smiled. “It was a special day. And actually, Ms. Thomas, I knew who you were when I walked up. I remember you. You interviewed me back then.”

Someone called Winslow's name from inside the church, and a woman came out. She reminded him that he had an eleven o'clock meeting.

“So, have you seen all you came to see, Ms. Thomas? Should we expect you back in another couple of years?”

“No. I want to know how you deal with this. This violence in the face of all you've done, how the neighborhood feels about it.”

Winslow let himself smile. “Let me clue you in on something. I don't deal in innocence. I've spent too much time in the real world.”

She remembered that Aaron Winslow wasn't someone whose faith had been formed through a life of detachment.

He'd come up from the streets. He'd been an army chaplain.

Only days before, he'd put himself in the line of fire and possibly saved lives.

“You came here to see how this neighborhood is responding to the attack? Come see for yourself. Tasha Catchings is being memorialized tomorrow.”