by Nicole Deese
As the lights dimmed and the video played, I held my breath and turned my gaze on the residents and volunteers instead of the screen. And even without the visual, emotion knocked against my ribs as I heard the sniffles and watched the tears being blotted from dozens of cheeks. I’d been confident it would have an effect, but this moment added even more fuel to the fire that burned inside us.
When the video was over, our residents hugged and fist-bumped and the volunteers applauded and stood as if the last four minutes and forty-seven seconds had been a Broadway production. The room buzzed with excitement and purpose.
Pride bloomed in my chest as Wren and Monica took their cue on stage, giving out Wi-Fi codes and the step-by-step instructions on the posting and sharing protocol we’d gone over early this morning. My eyes trailed to the screen above the fireplace, staring at the red train car on the donation tracker. As soon as it reached the destination, the color would change to black.
It was strange how different things felt on this side of things. I had a sudden image of the fundraising thermometer I’d seen a hundred times as a kid while my parents retold passionate stories of lost souls being saved in some of the poorest communities in America. Their testimonies had stirred the hearts of many, empowering a cause they believed in: opening church doors in economically challenged areas to reach underprivileged communities.
I placed a hand over my heart. Maybe I wasn’t quite as different from them as I once believed.
“Hey, sorry I’m late.” The familiar voice had me twisting to throw my arms around my brother. Like usual, his entrance had been perfectly timed.
“Hey, hey.” Miles patted my back awkwardly. “Are you already emotional? I thought you’d be thrilled that you already have twenty grand showing up there. That’s a great start. I need to hire you to do this for our missions teams. Of course, I can only pay you in apple fritters.”
“I am thrilled.” I beamed up at him and pushed away. “I’m just so happy you came.”
“You know I’d never miss this.”
I did know that.
A tap on my hip had me redirecting my attention from Miles to Tucker. He held up his iPad. “Look. My principal in Alaska just sent me this message after I sent her my mom’s video.”
Sure enough, there was a message waiting from a Mrs. Schultz with a donation of three hundred dollars. “Tucker, that’s awesome. Good job sharing!”
Miles scrunched his eyebrows and inclined his head toward the nine-year-old in question.
“Oh, Tuck. This is my brother, Miles. He’s my twin.”
Tucker looked Miles up and down before reaching out his hand to shake. “Do you like baseball?”
“Not much. Do you?”
“Not at all.”
Miles schooled his expression into focused concentration. “Do you like . . . basketball?”
“Still no,” Tucker said matter-of-factly.
“Wall ball?”
“Never played it.” Tucker’s dry wit was intense.
“How about . . . the rodeo?”
Tucker’s countenance brightened. “How’d you know?”
Miles shrugged, his eyes hovering on Tucker’s cowboy hat. “Lucky guess.”
I gave Tucker’s hat a pat and pointed to the stage as Monica gave the all clear to start posting and Devon took the stage with his guitar and two buddies to provide ambiance as every participant in the room shared the campaign. “Hey, we’re starting now, Tuck, so I need your help to watch and listen for questions, okay? Just like we talked about this morning.”
He tipped his hat to me. “You got it.”
Miles watched the boy march off with his iPad tucked up under his armpit. “Who is that kid?”
I narrowed my eyes at him, wondering how it could even be possible that I might have forgotten to mention the surprise arrival of my best friend. “Tucker is Val’s son.”
He rolled this news over in his brain. “Val, as in . . . Video Val?”
I swatted my brother’s arm. “Yes, Video Val. And stop calling her that. She’s real, and she’s been an absolute saint since she arrived. I’m secretly hoping she forgets to go back home.”
His eyes roved the room, and I grabbed his chin to redirect him to the petite woman sitting in the most Val-ish spot ever: a soundboard in the back corner of the room, surrounded by laptops and remote controls for various pieces of tech equipment I didn’t even know the names of.
My brother said nothing as his gaze lingered on the target, yet something curious climbed into my subconscious at his silence. What if . . .
“Oh, I have something for you,” he said, breaking my moment of wonder as he reached into his pocket and took out a piece of paper. “Here.”
It was obviously a folded check. “Miles, is this—”
“It’s not from me. Open it.”
And when I did, I brought my hand to my mouth and squeezed my eyes closed, releasing a sob I had zero chance of concealing. It was a check written to The Bridge from John and Karen McKenzie. For $2,500.
“Stop that,” Miles said. “You’re gonna make my allergies start up.”
I gawked at the figure, which to my parents was a sacrifice beyond my comprehension. “They can’t afford this.”
“They believe in what you’re doing here—what you’re all doing.”
It was a sacrifice sown in faith . . . and in love. One I’d never, ever forget. “I’ll call and thank them.”
“I’m sure they’d like that.” He smiled and looked around the room. “Now, where should I set up? I’ll be posting the video to the church’s platforms, as well.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep. And hopefully a good amount of our members will share it, too.”
As Miles found a place to work, following the directions the girls had written on the whiteboard, I took a moment to survey the room. Heads down, fingers tapping and typing, and lots and lots of happy faces.
Here we go, I thought, as I took out my own phone. Only four hundred seventy-seven thousand, two hundred dollars left to go.
Nearly ten hours and 342 launch participants later, our race was nearing the thirty-five percent mark—a huge feat—and yet we still had a lot of ground to cover before morning. We’d cheered for every thousand-dollar mark our Little Engine That Could had passed and continued doing our best to blow up the internet with every new post and new share from our campaign launch page. Amazingly, The Heart of The Matter page had seen exponential growth—one hundred thousand new followers in a single day. I didn’t even have time to wrap my mind around the wonder of that!
As the clock inched past 10:45 p.m., a handful of residents we’d deemed media admins for the event remained, scrolling through hundreds of online comments and answering pressing questions about the use of our funds, the matching grant, and our projected expansion timelines. Carlos and Peter had gone home for the night with a giant Ziploc bag of Glo’s blueberry muffins, promising their assistance to us again whenever needed. And I had a feeling they’d be back soon. Given the lighthearted exchanges I’d observed throughout the day between Silas and Carlos, I was certain Silas hoped the same. Never would I have imagined that the very man who wrote those heartbreaking letters to his younger brother would have been such an important guest on this special day.
“Hey, Val? Where are we at on video views now? Over fifty thousand?”
When she didn’t answer immediately, I popped my head up, blinking away the glare of my laptop screen. My friend wasn’t in her little corner anymore but instead was crouched on the carpeted floor, where Tucker had curved his sleeping body into a C on an old beanbag chair. If he didn’t look so pitifully uncomfortable, I would have laughed at the sight. I made my way over to her and watched as Val ran a hand over the side of his cheek.
“Hey,” I said softly, touching her shoulder. “You guys should head out. It’s late. Why don’t you take my car back to my place?”
Val smiled up at me, looking just as exhausted as her son. We’d run th
em ragged from the moment they’d arrived. “Your car?” She huffed and tucked her hair away from her face. “I’ve never driven anything fancier than an early 2000s Honda. Besides, the international window is opening soon. We have another big push to start.”
“I know, and I’ll be fine holding down the fort so you can rest—look!” I gestured to the dozen-plus pajama-clad residents who’d decided to pull an all-nighter for the sake of the cause. “I have lots of fantastic helpers in here. Victory is in our grasp.”
Val’s smile wavered as Miles joined the conversation. “I’m actually about to call it a night myself. I’d be happy to drop you both off at Molly’s, if you need a ride.”
Val politely refused, but I didn’t back down. “Come on, Val. He doesn’t mind at all. My brother’s favorite hobby is helping people.” Something the two of them had in common. “Plus, Tuck deserves a real bed. He’s been such a trooper all day.”
Miles stared down at the boy with a curious expression. “He fixed my Wi-Fi connection issue earlier. He’s a smart cookie.”
“He is,” Val said before tucking in her bottom lip, obviously debating her options.
“Why don’t you plan to help us out remotely tonight, and that way Tuck can get a good night’s sleep.” And I hoped Val could get comfortable. I might have believed her stiff muscle excuse if I hadn’t seen the way her balance seemed to come and go over the last twenty-four hours. But her quick deflection whenever I mentioned it made it obvious her limp wasn’t a subject she wanted to discuss—not even with me.
She braced a hand on the chair seat next to her and pushed up, her arms straining under the effort as she worked herself to a standing position.
Val’s gaze focused on my brother for the first time. “If it’s really not a hassle for you, then we’d be grateful for a ride. Thank you.”
“It’s not,” Miles and I said in tandem. He tilted his head and gave me a look that said why are you being such a weirdo?
While I helped pack up her laptop and supplies, Silas grabbed the tote near the soundboard and Miles bent down to collect the sleeping child.
Val immediately reached her arm out to stop him. “I can just wake him. You don’t have to—”
But Miles had already lifted Tuck off the beanbag, the boy’s head now resting on my brother’s chest without disturbance. “I got him.”
Val said nothing more as she followed the duo out to the parking lot.
Silas carried the tote of tech equipment to my brother’s truck while Miles situated Tucker in the back seat. After a quick round of good-bye hugs, I leaned against the passenger side of my car and took a moment to breathe in the fresh air. Now that I didn’t have a dozen residents looking to me as their cheerleader, I recalculated the reality of our funding needs. A sinking dread settled low in my belly as I worked the math over in my head. Twice.
We had less than ten hours and two hundred and eighty grand left to go. Even with the international push we planned to do overnight . . . that number was Goliath. We needed to do more. We needed to get creative.
I drummed my fingers against the cherry red paint of my car door, my thoughts going from zero to sixty in less than two-point-six seconds.
Much like my coveted Tesla.
Silas suddenly stepped right in front of me, his concerned eyes searching mine. “You realize that adrenaline and caffeine aren’t a replacement strategy for sleep, right?”
“They’ll have to be for tonight,” I said as cheerily as possible. “We still have lots of ground to cover.”
“Molly.” He paused, exhaled. “Whatever happens tonight, I need you to know that I think you’ve done a—”
“No.” I shook my head, cutting him off. “Please don’t finish that. There will be no silver medals awarded for good participation. We’re in this for gold, Silas. We’re in this for the matching Murphey Grant and for the trustees’ approval on a million-dollar expansion plan that will give a home to the kids who need it most. That’s what we’re fighting for, not a penny less. Please don’t give up. Because I need you.” It was hard enough to hide my fear from the kids, but I didn’t want to hide from Silas. I needed him with me.
The doubt that lurked behind his beautiful dark eyes shifted into something far more pliable. Something I could work with. Because giving up wasn’t an option.
“Do you know what time it is?” I asked.
“Eleven fifteen on the eve of August thirty-first,” he said without missing a beat.
I swallowed back the creeping fear of a deadline that felt far too close. “Sounds like the perfect time for a miracle.”
40
Silas
“Sounds like the perfect time for a miracle.” Molly’s words had been a shield against my doubts throughout the course of the night. Though I was a realist, she didn’t need to be reminded of the deficit we fought as the hours ticked by. She needed a partner. She needed a hand to hold when her glass-full optimism sprung a leak.
Which, unfortunately, would be all too soon.
Sometime after six in the morning, as sunrise cut through the gaps in the blinds, my eyes cracked open for the first time in hours. Fifteen sleeping bodies were scattered in impossible positions around a room littered with pillows and blankets. My residents and staff who’d volunteered to hold an overnight campaign vigil in the fireside room—posting, commenting, sharing, and the like—had traded in the stiff metal chairs for sofas, recliners, and even the floor.
Though I hadn’t slept soundly, or for longer than a few hours, my body was used to this time of day. It was used to the golden wash of a sun that had been commanded to rise no matter what had occurred the night before. Or, in our case, what hadn’t occurred.
I didn’t need to look at the final count to know the goal hadn’t been reached, yet I did anyway. The red train had stalled out at three hundred twenty-two thousand, nine hundred and eight dollars. An incredible sum of money. A mountain in comparison to the molehill we’d started with. And yet . . . it wouldn’t be enough to qualify for the Murphey Grant. Which meant it wasn’t enough for the trustee board to approve a building project we couldn’t afford.
I sighed, taking a moment to get my thoughts together. To be grateful for all the efforts made here yesterday and through the night. Even still, there was nothing I could do to prevent the dominoes from falling now.
We’d save every donation that came in by generous people, and we’d do everything we could to tighten our current budget . . . but without the matching grant, the possibility of an expansion plan would be years away.
I stood and stretched from my spot on the back wall, where I’d dozed on and off through the course of the night. Scanning the floor, I stepped over Devon and Tyler and the dueling guitars that had strummed song after song. My gaze stalled on the L-shaped sofa where Monica, Wren, and Amy had parked themselves for the night in odd angles. It was the same leather sofa that had been delivered to our lobby in early June without a name or a return address.
Donated by the same woman who was responsible for getting us sixty-two percent of the way to our funding goal.
Under a blanket, which looked as ragtag as the ottoman she used to prop her head on, slept the most tenacious woman I’d ever known. I’d been a fool to doubt the grit she possessed, because Molly McKenzie had grit. Enough to fight for a group of people who were rarely given the tools to fight for themselves.
Gingerly, I lowered myself to the floor and leaned my back against the ottoman beside her, closing the lid of her laptop to push it aside. The least I could do was protect her dreams while she slept. Though I knew exactly what she’d say if she were awake: “We still have an hour left, Silas. You should have woken me!”
But one hour or one day or even one week wouldn’t matter if the timing wasn’t right. And maybe that was the piece of the equation that had been off from the start. The timing. Had I rushed it? Had I heard wrong? Had I taken a leap when I’d only been meant to take a step?
“Hey, Duke of Fir Crest.”
Her sleepy voice shifted my eyes back to hers. She squinted against the light spilling over her delicate features. A sight I hoped to remember long after this moment passed. “You’re awake?”
My laugh was no more than a rumble in my chest as I reached out to stroke her hair, her cheek. “It would appear you are, too.”
She yawned and groggily rubbed at her eyes. The movement was slow and so unlike the hyperspeed she’d been operating at these last few days. She’d taken on my vision for this house, for these kids, for the brokenness in our world as if it had been her lifelong mission, as well. As if it were the only thing that ever mattered to her.
That thought, as well as so many others having to do with Molly, had me contemplating a timeline of an entirely different variety.
But first, I needed to address what she would be asking about as soon as—
With a sudden alertness, Molly snapped into action, digging into her pocket for her phone. “What’s the time? How far are we now?”
“Molly.”
My gut twisted the instant she saw it. The time. The dollar amount. The impossible gap that still remained.
I touched her arm, slid my hand down to her elbow. “Sweetheart, you’ve done an incredible job. I’ve never been prouder of anything or anyone in my life as I am of you and these kids.”
She blinked as if she was still trying to sort something out, still trying to calculate an impossible victory.
“Wait. No, wait.” She sat up straighter, tapping furiously on her screen to a site I didn’t recognize. But her face broke into a smile that nearly cracked my heart in two. “There’s more.”
“More what?”
“Money. We have eighty-seven thousand dollars more than what our little train has accounted for.”
