“TOM,” CLARK SAYS WHEN he opens the door to his office. “Good to see you.”
I shake his hand as I say, “I hope you don’t mind me stopping by unannounced. You don’t have a meeting or anything, do you?”
“Just finished my last for the day,” he says with a smile. “Young couple getting married in a few months. Lovely people, the kind a pastor dreams about.”
His talk of a happy couple looking to get married twists my gut, making the pain worse. I actually get wobbly. Clark notices and grabs my arm.
“Whoa, Tom! Are you OK?”
“Just the stress of everything,” I rasp as he gets me to a chair. He sits in the one next to it. “The doctor said I might get this way occasionally, because of the concussion, for several months.”
“I guess being falsely accused of murder will do that to you,” Clark says w
