by Nicole Deese
Definitely not the kind of gal who’d sit in a darkened parking lot eating the very food featured on a this-is-what’s-wrong-with-America docuseries.
I shifted in my seat and swiped an abandoned fry off my knee to the floor mat.
I supposed a woman like Catherine would find Silas attractive, seeing as she’d probably be into know-it-all attitudes and likely enjoy a calculated approach to pretty much everything in life. But I’d never been into those honest-to-a-fault types. No, I’d been into the type of man who would swindle his girlfriend’s work assistant with a job offer she couldn’t refuse.
A text came through the console of my Tesla’s touchscreen.
The Duke of Fir Crest Manor
Technically, sitting in a parked car for 34 minutes on private property is loitering. A code orange security breach.
I looked around again. What . . . how does he know I’m here? Where is he?
The Duke of Fir Crest Manor
But also, technically, you’re the most popular event that’s happened on our security screens in months. Glo is about to make popcorn.
A fluttering sensation filled my entire being. But where was Silas—inside the house?
The Duke of Fir Crest Manor
Your growing audience is eagerly awaiting a wave.
And because I’d built a life on pleasing an audience I couldn’t see, I did exactly that. I waved. And then I tapped my console screen and flashed my headlights, too.
The Duke of Fir Crest Manor
You coming inside?
Molly
. . .
I started at least five texts in response, erasing them all as I fumbled for a suitable reason for why I’d been sitting in my car for thirty-four minutes and counting. Something that wouldn’t make me sound entirely lame and pathetic. But not even my most creative excuses seemed good enough. Because no matter how I tried to spin it or pretty it up, the truth was getting more and more difficult to disguise: Though I was one of the most liked personas on the internet, I was likely one of the most lonely, too.
For the second time that day, tears blurred my vision. I started the “most efficient engine” on the planet. I reversed out of my parking spot, tires crunching over gravel, when I heard a voice shouting after me.
“Molly! Wait!”
I craned my neck to see Silas jogging down the cobblestone path.
I stopped my car and fought the urge to shrink to the floorboard. But it was too late to disappear now. And there wasn’t a handbag large enough in all the world to block him from view this time. He was headed straight for me.
He knocked on my window, and I reluctantly pressed the button to lower it.
“Where are you going?”
It was perhaps the most profound of all questions he could ask me at the moment—to which my answer would be the same in every area of my life. “I have no idea.”
Though I focused on the steering wheel, the intense way he studied my profile stripped the pretense from every cell of my body.
“I figured you were waiting to come inside until you . . .” He tilted his head to glance at the spot beside me—at the supersized cold fries scattered across my seat like a game of 52-card pickup. “Finished your dinner.”
“No,” I said, hoping the tear balancing on the rim of my bottom eyelashes wasn’t as obvious as it felt. “I just . . .” Had no plans at all and didn’t want to be alone tonight. “I didn’t think you were here.”
“You came because you didn’t think I was here?” Confusion laced his voice.
“No, that’s not what I—never mind.” I shook my head and swiped the stupid tear from my eyelash. “Do you think we can just . . . can we pretend you didn’t see me on those security cameras? I think that would be best for everyone.”
“Unfortunately, pretending has never been a strength of mine,” Silas said, lowering himself further and resting an elbow on my open windowsill. “But I do have an alternative option for you.”
My eyes flittered to his for all of one second, followed by an electric current that shocked my nervous system.
“You could come inside and join us for D&D—dessert and discussion hour. Diego baked oatmeal cookies.” Silas seemed to consider something more. “Wren’s inside, too, and I’m sure she’d enjoy seeing you tonight. She’s had a hard day.”
My full attention snapped to his face. “Why, what happened to her?”
“I’d rather Wren talk to you about it herself, in her own words. That is, if you’re willing to stay awhile longer.”
I knew exactly what he was doing. Wren was quite possibly the only hook he had to lure me into the house at this point, knowing my lonely fry binge had just been viewed by Lord only knew how many people. Yet I couldn’t say no. If something was wrong with Wren, then I wanted to know about it.
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.” He shrugged, and I sighed. “Fine, I’ll go park.”
Silas reached a few more inches into my car, set his hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Great. Thank you.”
We didn’t talk as Silas escorted me from the parking lot to the fireside room at the end of the east corridor. My silence was a conscious decision on my part, as there were too many jumbled thoughts rolling around my head to filter them into words. Yet I was fully aware that Silas was drawing his own unvoiced conclusions about my reserved mood by the way he eyed me at every turn.
A few paces out from the room, Silas touched my arm. “One word of advice—coffee helps the cookies go down easier.”
“Diego’s cookies?”
“Yes. Let’s just say he’s not our most skilled baker in residence. But it was his turn on rotation, and Glo never misses an opportunity to instruct one-on-one in the kitchen when she can. D&D is her baby.”
“Is it also mandatory—for the residents?”
“No.” He smiled. “Technically, only Tuesday night classes are mandatory, though mentor time on Fridays is highly encouraged. We find that most of our young adults work to arrange their schedules to be here each D&D. It’s often the highlight of their weeknights.”
I nodded, though I wasn’t entirely sure what he meant. “Okay.”
“Molly,” he said, with a brief touch to my back as we entered the room together, “I’m glad you’re here for this tonight.”
Thankfully, Glo was waiting on the other side of the open door, pulling me straight into an unexpected embrace that allowed me to hide the rush of emotion Silas’s gentle words had provoked.
Glo rubbed my back and spoke directly into my ear. “I was sure hoping you’d decide to come inside, Kitten Heels. These are always good nights to stop in for a visit. We’ll be starting things up in just a few. Oh, and sit wherever you want. We’re casual around here.”
“Thanks,” I said, turning to the room as a wave of insecurity washed over me at the sight of happy faces gathered together in clusters of four or five.
Though Silas had pointed this room out to me during the official tour, I hadn’t stepped inside it until now. And without a doubt, it was my new favorite space at Fir Crest Manor.
The room was oriented around a tiny platform next to a retired corner bar, where several residents swiveled on stools, sharing a laugh as they mixed hot chocolate packets into actual mugs, not disposable foam cups. A nice touch, presumably by Glo.
I scanned the unlit fireplace hearth, where to the left several girls from my mentor group sat on pillows, chatting near the built-in cabinetry stocked with board games and puzzles. A few waved at me and smiled, and I returned the gesture, although one of them gave me a look that couldn’t be classified as anything but dismissive. Sasha, the tall, too-thin girl with wispy, faded pink hair who wore eyeliner as thick as a black Sharpie, had an obvious dislike for me. It seemed whatever I had to offer her peers in the program held little to no interest where she was concerned. I needed to ask Clara what was up with her. I never saw Sasha speak to anybody but Monica. Those two always seemed connected at the hip.
The random pockets of seating around the room mimicked a downtown coffee shop. Cozy chairs, sofas, love seats, and tables of all sizes filled the space. Two mismatched round tables near the center of the room had been pushed together for a game of Yahtzee, where Devon kept score on the back of a paper plate. Silas had just pulled up a chair to join them, catching my eye and tipping his head toward the back corner of the room.
It took me all of two seconds to understand why. Wren’s unmistakable Celtic hair, plaited in a double Dutch braid, spilled behind the wingback chair she sat in. She sat alone, focused on a picture on a phone screen.
Armed with no plan and no real experience in the area of comforting another human being, I made my way toward her. As quietly as I could, I sat beside her on the edge of the sofa and glanced at the image she’d been staring at for quite some time.
“Hey, Wren. How are you?”
Startled, she dropped the phone to her lap. A fairly obvious indication that I’d already failed the empathy test straight out of the gate.
“Hey . . . I didn’t know you’d be here tonight.”
That made two of us. “Yeah, it was kind of a last-minute thing.”
She nodded. “Oh, sure.”
I tapped my thigh as if I were typing an SOS message for immediate rescue. “Did you go to school today?”
I’d learned from Clara that Wren had just been accepted into a two-year program to become a physician’s assistant after she finished her associate degree.
“Yes.”
“And it was . . . a good school day?” I asked, hopeful she’d give me a clue.
“It was fine.”
And now I understood why my parents used to despise the word fine whenever Miles and I would use it in response to their daily check-in questions. It was a dead end. No conversational trail to follow.
I’d have to make my own trail, then. “Who was that picture of? The one you were looking at on your phone?” I smiled. “I’m pretty sure I saw a hint of hair color like yours.”
Behind those crystal blue eyes was a debate I knew all too well: to trust or not to trust. “My brother. He’s ten.” Slowly, she turned the phone back over and handed it to me as if offering me the most precious gift.
“Okay, um, so he’s stinkin’ adorable.” I stared at the face of a ginger-haired boy with a splattering of freckles and a grin that tugged at my chest. “I’ve never seen a set of dimples so pronounced. What’s his name?”
“Nathaniel—Nate,” she clarified. “He’s cute, but he can be crazy, too.”
“I hear ya. I have one of those myself—a crazy brother, I mean.”
She gave me one of those half smiles as several questions popped into my head at once regarding this sweet child. I suddenly wished I could redo my quiet parking lot walk with Silas and prod a bit deeper on the subject matter of Wren. A little heads-up to a younger brother would have been nice.
“Do you get to see him much?”
“Twice a month for our hour visitation. But I’m allowed to see him more than that as long as I can get to the bus stop on time from my last class.” She looked back at the picture. “I’m used to seeing him at least once a week, but now that won’t be possible.”
“Why not?” I asked, glancing from his picture to Wren again.
“Nate’s foster family is moving to a farm outside of town. There’s no bus route I can take out there.”
Nate’s foster family. Those three words punched me the hardest. Wren’s younger brother had a foster family, while Wren was here, only a year into adulthood, living at The Bridge with twenty-three other young adults. My heart ached for her.
A shrill female voice called “Yahtzee!” from somewhere in the room, but my gaze held to Wren’s. “How long has he been with them?”
The muscles in her neck tensed as she swallowed. “Since our mom died last year.”
“Oh, Wren . . . I’m so sorry to hear that.”
She sniffled, but no tears came. “They’re a nice family—the Coles. They have three sons.”
“Good,” I said, absently. “That’s good.”
“He’s excited because they’re getting baby goats, and they told him he can name one.”
“Well, sure, who wouldn’t be excited about that?” I teased. “I might need to become friends with the Coles so I can visit your brother’s goat.”
She laughed a little before turning her face away on a sigh. “It’s just . . . I wanted to take care of him myself. I promised my mom I would never let anything or anyone separate us, and I tried to keep it, I did, but . . .”
But she was barely nineteen years old with no means to support herself, much less a dependent. “I’m sure he knows how much you love him.” Though I meant the statement to be comforting and supportive, it felt weak. Feeble in the light of such a difficult circumstance, one I only knew a tiny part of.
She wiped her nose on her sleeve. “I just really miss him.”
“Can the Coles take Nate to see you more often?”
She shook her head. “They said they’ll do their best to figure something out since I don’t have a car, but they both work full-time and have their other boys to take care of, too.”
At this she swiped at her face, smearing her light layer of mascara onto her cheek.
“Then I’ll take you,” I said.
She blinked up at me, her eyes narrowed and questioning.
“I can take you out there once a week. I’ll pick you up from school and take you to the farm. Just send me a screenshot of your schedule, and we’ll figure out the best day and time, okay?”
Her glossy eyes rimmed with doubt. “Mentors don’t usually do that kind of stuff.”
“This one does,” I said with such confidence I’d be willing to go to the mat with Silas over it. But as my eyes met his from across the room, I knew a throwdown wouldn’t be necessary, at least not over this.
“Really? You’re serious?” The hoarseness in her throat caused my own to ache.
I touched her knee, smiled. “I absolutely am. I don’t know what I’d do without my brother.”
“Thank you,” Wren said, still staring at me as if I might take back my offer at any moment. But I wouldn’t.
“Fresh baked cookies!” Glo announced to the room, carrying a tray as Diego trailed behind her. “Who’s going to be first?”
“First? What does she mean?” I asked Wren as she wiped a finger under her eyes and chuckled at my confusion.
“For sharing the high points and low points of their day. The warmest, freshest cookies go to the people who volunteer first.”
Just as I was going to ask her more on the subject, Devon and Monica raised their hands and made their way up to the platform.
20
Silas
I couldn’t make out the exact words shared between Molly and Wren, but body language often spoke the loudest. Whatever exchange had taken place just now had been a positive one. Quite the gamble on my part, given Molly’s parking lot mood not even fifteen minutes ago. Yet I knew from experience that serving others was a sure-fire way to shift an off-kilter focus to a new perspective.
By the look on Molly’s face, she was likely experiencing such a shift.
It was the same look I saw reflected in her eyes last night at the restaurant when she agreed to help raise funds for the Murphey Grant. And like then, I wondered what such a sacrifice might cost her. How it might change and challenge her. How it might unsteady her beliefs, or uproot whatever current torment she was working so hard to hide even now.
Her gaze tracked Devon and Monica as they trailed through the room and stepped up on the platform, and I forced my own to do the same.
As Devon reached the step first, I raised an eyebrow and nodded in the direction of the young lady behind him. A silent yet pointed reminder that he would be a gentleman and allow Monica to go first. After a short bob of his head, Devon took a step back and gestured for her to go ahead of him. Smart guy.
Though I didn’t usually
address the entire group on these evenings, as our routine was often as casual as it was fluid, for the sake of our newest volunteer and mentor, I decided a heads-up would be beneficial. From the floor below the platform, I smiled at the young adults I’d spent the better part of a year serving, counseling, coaching, and hanging with. “Evening, ladies and gentlemen. As all of you know, tonight is about answering one of three chosen questions, depending on what’s happened in your day or week.” I looked to the group sitting near the fireplace. “Amy, would you mind reading those questions out loud for us tonight?”
“Sure.” Amy stood and pointed to the questions printed inside the frame Glo had placed on the mantel two years ago when she’d envisioned D&D: “Question one: What was the high point of the day or week, a moment when you felt closest to God and to the truest version of yourself? Two: What was your low point today, a time when you felt tension or regret or most unlike your truest self? Three: What were you most grateful for today?”
“Sasha,” I directed. “Would you be so kind as to remind us of the three sharing guidelines?”
Sasha, who quickly veiled her frustration with the shield she so often wore in the form of indifference, stood and ticked off her fingers one by one. I hadn’t failed to notice the way she’d rolled her eyes as Monica made her way up. Though the two were usually inseparable, Glo had reported a dispute between them that had yet to be resolved. “Don’t interrupt others while they’re sharing. Keep your sharing time focused on I statements only. And encourage others by modeling good listening behavior when it’s their turn to share.”
“Thank you, Sasha.” I made sure to wait until she acknowledged me with a nod before moving on. “As usual, the goal of these evenings is to grow in authenticity and in vulnerability. When we’re willing to risk being real with others . . .” I stopped the sentence there, prompting the room to finish.
“We teach others how to be real with us,” they said in unison.
I stepped aside for Monica to share, noting Molly’s attentive posture. How foreign would this exercise be from her daily routine? I’d become increasingly aware that perhaps it wasn’t only our residents who needed Molly, but Molly who needed them.
