by Nicole Deese
“I’d like to answer question one tonight—my high point.” Monica swayed side to side as she spoke. “This morning I was able to buy a muffin for one of my classmates. She’d got to the front of the line and realized she’d forgotten her wallet in her car. She was freaking out a bit, throwing out all her books to search for loose change in her backpack. I only had a ten-dollar bill on me, but I felt like I could help her. So, I stepped up and gave the cashier my ten. Just like that.” She looked around the room. “It reminded me of all the times someone stepped up for me, and also of the times when nobody stepped up, and I felt my only option was to steal what I needed.” She shrugged as if that wasn’t one of the most profound statements she’d ever made. “But I think God was proud of me today. It’s like what Glo’s always saying about how it’s better to give and all that—well, it was. Even though I was short on cash for myself, paying for Becca was even better than my double white mocha and slice of banana bread.” Monica smiled at Glo, and Glo blew her a kiss. “That’s all. Thanks.”
God wasn’t the only one proud of her. Monica was big on personality and on influence. A natural-born leader. And yet it had only been recently that I’d seen her use that powerful combination for people other than herself or Sasha. I smiled up at her, like the delighted father she’d never had, yet deserved nonetheless. “Proud of you, Monica. Good job.”
Glo met her offstage, wrapped her in a quick hug, then offered her a warm cookie as the room whooped and clapped for her. Devon then took center stage, which was likely his favorite spot to be in.
My brief glance at Molly proved she was up for another one. Good.
I braced for Devon’s speech to come, hoping he’d stay on track or at least on a single topic. The kid reminded me so much of Jake when he was nineteen. “I’ll take question numero tres.” The room laughed, and I quirked an eyebrow at him. Though we had some native Spanish speakers in this room, Devon was not among them. He gave me his signature apologetic grin and addressed the group once more. “Today I’m most grateful for this.” He reached in his pocket and took out a new iPhone, held it up.
“Devon,” I cautioned in a volume only he could hear.
“No, no really. Hear me out. This isn’t just for laughs. For a long time I could only afford the pay-as-you-go service plan, but the data was so expensive and my minutes would always run out before the end of the month. But today I got my first-ever service plan. Because I actually have some credit now—the good kind, even.” The class laughed, and he did, too. “But I got to talk to my old foster dad this afternoon, and I gave him my number. And . . .” Devon paused, swallowed. “He told me he was proud of me. And that he’d been praying I’d check in with him and let him know how I’d been doing. So yeah, today I’m grateful to have a phone, but even more grateful that I have someone to call on it.”
I stood and clapped Devon on the back, pulling him in to a quick hug as the room erupted once again. That kid had come so far since his first few weeks here. There was a time I hadn’t been sure if Devon would ever let go of the facade he wore long enough to let us in. But once again, God continued to prove His timing was right on schedule. Even when that schedule wasn’t made by me.
I cut another glance at Molly; this time her expressive eyes were on me, only I couldn’t interpret the thoughts behind them before she shifted her gaze to the other side of the room.
Amy and Alex and Jasmine all stepped up after Devon, each sharing a high or low, and reminding me for the thousandth time why it was worth it. The sacrifice, the long hours, the trustee meetings, the minimal pay, and the pending approval on a matching grant that would require everything we had to give and more.
And still, I’d do it all over again.
As the line dwindled, I moved to wrap up the evening before we prayed out and dismissed for the night, when I saw a flash of copper. There were few things in life that left me dumbstruck, but watching Wren make her way to the platform counted as one. She’d never participated in this portion of our community activities. But here she was, coming to take the stage, her hands trembling as she addressed her peers.
“Um . . .” Her lips quivered, and I prepared for her to bolt under the pressure. But Glo set her cookie tray down and went to stand beside her. We had a house rule about not rescuing one another from moments of vulnerability, but one way we encouraged support was simply to stand or sit beside the sharer.
I’d never been prouder of my staff.
I looked to Wren, willing her to open her mouth, to engage with her housemates and connect with the community God had given her.
“I’d like to answer number two and number three.” She took a shuddering breath, and I was sure more people than not were holding theirs in anticipation of Wren’s next words. I was one of them. “I spent most of today pretty upset about a change in routine I had no control over. For a while, it was looking like my weekly visitations to see my brother would be cut back to twice a month due to transportation issues. I couldn’t imagine seeing him less. He’s the . . . he’s the . . .” She closed her mouth, knotted her fingers. “He’s the only reason I’ve kept going when I haven’t wanted to. That was my low point.” Her eyes cut from me to Molly, and Wren’s chin started to quiver once again. “But tonight I’m grateful for my mentor, Molly. She’s offered to take me to see Nate each week.” She choked on a sob and placed her hand to her mouth. “I’m not sure if I can say what feeling close to God feels like exactly, but I imagine it feels a lot like this.”
As Wren stepped off the stage, her fellow housemates stood and cheered, not only for Wren, but also for Molly, whose own tears were now a steady stream down her cheeks.
With a single glance in Glo’s direction, I communicated my next move, and without a moment’s hesitation she understood and took the stage to close out the evening in my place. Because in roughly ten seconds, I would be needed elsewhere. If there was one thing I’d learned to recognize after years of working in social services, it was a flight risk.
And Molly was about to make a run for it.
Molly
Despite the weight pressing against my ribcage, I’d summoned a feeble smile when Wren had come back to her seat and thanked me once again for my offer. It was then she’d hugged me. An actual hug that had likely cost her far more than it had me, and yet, something about it had forced all the air from my lungs.
The instant Monica approached to encourage Wren, I excused myself and bolted for the exit at the back of the room. For once in my life, I prayed the attention would not be on me—the crying mentor who hadn’t a clue what her life was even about anymore.
I was halfway across the dusky lot when Silas called my name from somewhere behind me. For the briefest of moments, I considered the odds of outrunning him. If I could sprint to my car and engage the zero-to-sixty-in-two-point-six-seconds perk that Tesla fans raved about before Silas could catch up to me. But then what?
Where would I even go? Instagram didn’t have a destination I could drive to.
“Molly,” he said again, his voice closer, calmer than the first time. As if he couldn’t sense the panic invading my every labored breath. “You don’t have to leave.”
His words were so unexpected that I actually stopped, right there in the middle of the gravel driveway, and spun to face him. “But I should leave. And you should want me to.”
Not a flinch to his face. “Why?”
Because I can’t breathe here. “Because you were right. I’m not a good fit for your program. I’m . . . I’m not the kind of person you want as a mentor.”
He narrowed those deep dark eyes of his. “And what kind of person is that?”
I shivered, though I wasn’t cold. “Someone who’s selfless and caring and isn’t constantly looking out for her own personal gain wherever she goes. Someone like you and Glo and Clara.” And even Miles. Tears gathered in my eyes again, spilling over my cheeks once more.
Another step closer. Another too-calm question. “So if you’re so sure you
don’t belong here, then why did you come tonight?”
“Because I didn’t know where else to go.” I shifted my focus to the forest of trees, wishing I could hide among them. “And yes, I realize how absolutely pathetic that sounds. But it’s true.”
“Then it’s not pathetic, it’s real.”
“Real,” I repeated with a self-deprecating laugh. “You know, people talk about how important reality is, how the world would be better if we could just be real with each other. But nobody really wants that, Silas. Not really. If they did, there wouldn’t be multibillion-dollar companies built on bettering ourselves in every possible way—physically, mentally, emotionally, even spiritually. It’s why I have a job.”
I pointed to the red Tesla behind me. “It’s why I have that car and this purse and these shoes.” I rotated my ankle to show off my newest Coach slip-ons. “Nobody wants to see images of empty ice cream cartons and piles of dirty laundry. They want pictures of pristine living rooms with fluffy throw pillows and white shiplap walls and huge vases of fresh wildflowers. They want contouring compacts that promise a face like a Kardashian. They want chins without blemishes and clothing without the stains of last night’s chili cheese dog. Because that’s where hope actually lives—in the hustle. And if they can just hustle a little harder, a little longer, a little faster . . . then maybe all those pretty things can be theirs. Maybe life will finally make sense. Maybe something they do will actually matter.” I swiped at the tear trailing my jaw. “Reality isn’t enough. It’s never been enough.”
In the made-for-TV version of this conversation, the camera would zoom in on Silas’s face, panning away to a commercial break only after his broodiest of micro-expressions had declared me wrong.
But naturally, Silas never played to my expectations.
“You’re right. Our present reality isn’t enough; it was never meant to be. The danger, as far as I see it, is not in promoting the stuff you enjoy, it’s in believing that something so temporary can bring you actual joy. Peace. Acceptance. Fulfillment. Because if that were actually true, you wouldn’t be here tonight. You wouldn’t have parked in front of this building looking for something you can’t buy or sell.” He stepped closer. “And you wouldn’t have offered to drive a nineteen-year-old orphan across town once a week for any other reason than to bring her joy.”
I closed my eyes, my chin quivering in a way I hadn’t felt since I was a young girl. But Silas deserved better than my half-truths, better than my stories and my spins. He deserved better than anything I could offer him. And though I knew he’d cut me from the program the minute I confessed, I would keep my end of the deals I’d made. I’d get all the donations he needed for the house, and I’d even hire a driver to take Wren to her brother’s farm once a week. But I couldn’t hold back the truth of who I was for one more second.
Because confessing had to be better than the guilt pumping through my veins right now and poisoning my heart.
“I have an answer to question two,” I said. “The one about tension and regret and about not being the truest version of yourself.”
Silas said nothing in response; he just waited.
“Before this moment, I believed my low point was losing my virtual assistant today. I felt sorry for myself, for the fact that my best friend—my only real friend for these last three years as Molly McKenzie of Makeup Matters with Molly—was just bought off by my ex-boyfriend.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“And see? That’s exactly how I want you to feel—sorry for me,” I said, tears swimming in my eyes. “Because maybe then I can be a Catherine type—the kind of woman who wins your respect by rising above her own sufferings and lends a hand to those in need of justice and support. . . .” I shook my head. “Only that’s not who I am. And no matter how desperately I want to be more than just a pretty face with an addictive personality . . . the truth is, the only person I wanted to help when I first came here was me and me alone.”
The confusion clouding his face crippled something inside my chest. Whatever trust I’d managed to swindle from Silas was about to die a hard, quick death. “Care to expound on that?”
“I didn’t sign up to be a mentor because of some undying passion for my community or its underprivileged youth. I came for . . .” My stomach roiled, and for a moment I thought I’d actually be sick. Right there, in the parking lot with Silas. I forced the words out. “I filled out the volunteer application because I was being considered for a network show that dealt with disadvantaged teens and young adults. And I was told to—” No, I wouldn’t blame Ethan for this. I was an adult woman who needed to be held responsible for her own life choices. Her own deception in this plan. “I got your contact information from my brother under false pretenses. And then I sought you out and applied for the summer mentor position with the sole purpose of gaining experience with these residents so that I could use the experience to further my own career.” Again, nausea churned as the last of the truth sputtered out. “And to grow my following.”
“How?” he asked, his tone low and flat.
“By linking my brand to a human-interest cause. To your program here.”
“And have you?”
“No.” I shook my head adamantly. “I swear to you, I haven’t, Silas. I haven’t posted a single thing. I’ve only filed some notes away on my computer. Some future ideas and a few pictures I was planning to get your permission to post once you . . .”
“Once I what?”
This exhale hurt. “Trusted me.”
The silence that followed was excruciating. But I wouldn’t escape it. I deserved this front row seat to the disappointment I’d caused. After all, I’d conned one of the most respectable men I’d ever known for my own personal gain.
“I’m sorry, Silas. I’m so terribly sorry. I know nothing I can say will change what I’ve done, but if you’ll allow me to keep my commitment to Wren, then I’ll hire a driver to take her out to see Nate weekly—a background-checked driver, of course. And I can send you and Clara all the information I’ve collected so far on the fundraiser—that is, if you’ll accept my help from afar. But I understand if you won’t.”
Another several beats of silence until he finally opened his mouth. “Is that all?”
I glanced around the parking lot. Was that his way of telling me he was done with this conversation? With having to stare at my pitiful face? Was this the beginning of his dismissal, where he’d hammer me in place, one coffin nail at a time?
“Was that all of them? The lies,” he said in a detached voice.
“Yes,” I whispered. “Wait—no it’s not. There’s something else.”
He arched both eyebrows, inclined his head.
“I don’t . . .” I bit down on the insides of my cheeks. “I don’t actually speak Italian. Not conversationally. Unless that conversation happens to be in opera form.”
I thought I imagined the twitch in his lips, because it disappeared faster than I could blink.
“I figured as much.”
“You . . . did?”
“Yes, just like I figured there was something you were hiding when you sat in my office for that first interview. Several somethings, as it turned out.”
It was my turn to be confused. “Wait, you knew I was hiding something and still said yes to me being a mentor? Why?”
“Because I believed you needed this house and these residents even more than they needed you. What we did tonight in the fireside room—the high and low points of their day—it’s only a small peek into the collective challenges these kids have faced in their young lives.” He glanced up at the sky. “When I first started in this line of work, helping these youth navigate a life path they hadn’t been prepared for, I didn’t want to praise every baby step forward. I wanted to see them run through the finish line. I knew how far they had to go, and the progress I could see in the moment didn’t feel worth the time. I wanted to rescue them—to pay their way, to cosign their debts, to remove the hards
hips they faced on a day-to-day basis. I wanted to be the faithful authority figure they never had.” He looked at me. “But more often than not, the best rescue plan we can offer someone we care about is our support for each step they take forward.”
His words cracked something open inside my chest, something I’d worked to dam up a long time ago.
“Are you saying you might . . .” I rubbed my lips together, too afraid to even suggest the idea of yet another second chance with Silas. “You might allow me to stay with the program?”
“I’m not making this decision based on where you were when you started, but where you are now. No more lies, Molly. No more half-truths. No more trying to custom-make the rules. If there’s a question, you ask first, act second. It’s the only way I can assure the safety of our residents and our staff, including you.”
Stunned by a pardon I never in a billion years believed I’d be granted, another chin-quivering episode took over my face. “I promise. I don’t ever want to hurt anyone here.”
He studied my face. “I believe you.”
And then, before I had time to react to the one statement I’d longed to hear since our first meeting, Silas crossed the divide between director and volunteer and folded me into the kind of hug that could make even the loneliest of hearts feel reconnected again. And as I laid my head against his chest, listening to the strong beat of his heart, I realized I didn’t want to be a Catherine type after all. Because as much as I craved his respect and approval . . . those weren’t the only things I desired from a man like Silas.
A man I could so easily care for, and yet could never deserve.
21
Silas
Glo set her Diet RC Cola on the coffee table and sank lower into the couch cushion, laying her head back against the high leather back and exhaling deeply. A clear indication she was in no rush to wrap up our Tuesday lunch-hour meeting. Strangely enough, I wasn’t, either. While I’d come to enjoy this new meeting location, one she and the residents had deemed the “lobby living room,” my mind still had at least seven tabs open. Six of which had to do with the woman I held responsible for outfitting this new homey meeting space.
