by Sarah Monzon
Mila dipped her head to look Amber in the eye. “Adjust. You cannot coddle jet lag. Throw yourself into the new time zone and your body will catch up.”
Amber looked longingly at the striped wingback chair in the corner by a potted plant. “Maybe I can sit and rest while my body gets the memo from the new time zone.” She yawned.
“I am sorry, no.” Mila removed the cup of coffee from Amber’s hands and set it on the counter. “You need to hit the ground running, as you Americans say.”
She tugged Amber even further into the room—good thing, because Amber wasn’t sure she could walk under her own power at the moment. If Mila wanted a marionette for the day, someone she could move around and place at will, well, that was about as good as she was going to get. Amber stifled another yawn and shook her head to clear the cobwebs clinging there. She should have jumped into a cold shower to zap her senses, but she hadn’t wanted to be late on her first day.
Late would have been preferable to this half-dead state.
Her stomach bumped into the receptionist’s counter, and she slid her arms across the smooth, cool surface. Her head started to lower, the crook of her elbow looking like an inviting pillow.
“This is Yasmin.”
Mila’s voice broke through the brain haze, and Amber jerked her head back up. She hadn’t even noticed another person in the room. Blinking hard, she forced her eyes to widen. As far as first impressions went, bug-eyed narcoleptic wasn’t what she was going for. Her eyes constricted, drying out, and she blinked several times in quick succession.
She had to get ahold of herself. It wasn’t like she was an all-nighter virgin. Studying for midterms and finals, getting essays and research papers finished—those things often made her lose sleep.
She stared at the cup of black bitterness. A spoonful of sugar would make the medicine go down, but there didn’t seem to be any around.
“Yasmin is the center’s receptionist and has been with us for three years. She knows everything there is to know, and if you cannot find me, she is the person to see.”
Yasmin blushed and tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear. Her naturally tan skin, fine bone structure, and a rich-toned headscarf emphasized a warmth about her.
“It’s nice to meet you.” Amber attempted a smile.
“You two can get better acquainted later.” Mila tilted her chin toward Amber with a smirk. “Maybe after I’m done giving this poor girl’s brain a good whirl.”
Did she just say… Amber shook her head. The lack of sleep had her hearing things. “Excuse me?”
Mila’s grin widened. “I am going to make your head spin like a toy top.”
It already was. “I’m not one to complain, but that doesn’t sound at all pleasant.”
Mila laughed, then marched down a narrow hall and took a left. “If you can keep up, it won’t be as dizzying,” she called behind her.
If her brain had command of her muscles, maybe she could. As it was, all her power went to not slumping to the floor and dozing off on the spot.
“That means you should follow her.” Yasmin pointed.
If only I could. Stumbling back across the street to the dorm room she’d crashed in the night before sounded like a much better option. Just a little more sleep, then she could function like a human.
A desk drawer slid open, and then two sugar packets skittered across the counter. The movement caught Amber’s unfocused attention, and her gaze rose to Yasmin’s.
The woman’s lips quirked, a knowing sparkle in her dark eyes. “Maybe this will help?”
Amber grabbed the packets, ripped them open, and dumped the contents into the coffee mug. “Bless you.” She clutched the handle and made a circular motion with the mug, swirling the liquid inside. With a deep breath, she downed the coffee in a single gulp.
Her body convulsed against the bitter taste. Not exactly a caramel Frappuccino, but now, at least, there was something in her system that would kickstart her brain.
“You will have questions after Mila is done with you.” Yasmin was kind enough to hold in her laughter, though her twitching cheeks betrayed her. “Come and see me, and I will answer them all for you.”
“Thank you.”
Yasmin made a shooing motion with her hands. “Now go.”
It felt weird, meandering through a new building alone. Hopefully she wouldn’t take a wrong turn somewhere and get lost. After taking the same left Mila had, Amber walked down a long hallway, cubicles partitioning off private workspaces. Each housed filing cabinets and computers as well as other things a person would expect in an office space. At the end of the corridor, she reached what looked like a rec room. A ping pong table stood in the center with various other types of activities lining the walls. Arts and craft supplies. Custom-built shelving filled with books. Building blocks. Stacks of games.
“For this part, you might want to sit.” Mila spoke from the other side of the room and pointed to a fold-out chair opposite her.
Amber sat, the coldness of the metal seeping through her jeans. She sucked in a quick breath but let it out with something like relief. The jolt had worked like a defibrillator, jerking her body to awareness.
She’d been to a few orientations before. School. Work. Some were like a zero-entry pool where she could slowly immerse herself in the expectations. Get a feel for what was going on and adjust in comfortable steps. Others were a throw-you-in-the-deep-end kind of experience. Mila was definitely a sink-or-swim type of director.
“I don’t know your level of knowledge on the refugee state or Germany’s participation in helping those fleeing their countries. Nor do I have the time for you to tell me your understanding, me to tell you how wrong you are, and then to re-educate you.” She cleared her throat, but the action didn’t hide the tilt of her lips. “Therefore, I am going to give you a quick explanation of what has happened in Syria for the last seven years, as most of those who come to us seeking asylum are from that region. Also, a short explanation of on my homeland’s generosity and what we do here at the Excellency Center. Ready?”
Amber nodded. “I’m holding on to my hat.”
Mila eyed Amber’s head with a frown. “You are not wearing a hat.”
This time it was Amber’s turn to grin. Yep. She was catching up to the jet lag now. “American figure of speech.”
Mila clucked her tongue and muttered something under her breath in German. She squared her shoulders before starting her rapid-fire speech. “The civil war in Syria started with peaceful protest demonstrations. From the very beginning, the president of Syria, Bashar al-Assad, has only had one goal—staying in power. No different from any leader, I presume, but Assad has been prepared to do almost anything to achieve that goal. Bombings. Chemical warfare. Massacres. Nothing is too abscheulich—wicked, horrible—for Assad if it will keep him in power.”
Mila shifted in her seat, crossing her long legs. “But if it were the Syrians only fighting between themselves, this war may have ended a long time before. Instead, the land of Syria has become an international game board, its players those with global control. Russia, Turkey, Israel, Islamic State jihadist groups, the United States. And while these groups battle from the comfort of their own countries, innocent Syrians are suffering. Dying. Trying to find a way to survive and save their children.”
Amber fidgeted with the hem of her mustard-colored cardigan, making a mental note to do more research on global events. It wasn’t that she was uninformed; she knew what went on in the rest of the world.
Okay, not exactly true. She knew what had gone on in the rest of the world…within the scope of church history. Ask her questions about first century Rome, the rise and fall of the Empire, the Inquisition and the role of evangelism, the philosophical beliefs of men like Tertullian and Polycarp, the causes and effects of the Protestant Reformation. But current events? She twisted the cotton fabric around her finger. Her knowledge consisted of about what Mila had just shared…which was the equivalent of a three-min
ute BBC highlight.
Mila paused a moment and eyed Amber. “Remember, this is simplified. There are many complexities that I will not mention now.” She licked her lips. “Anyway, Chancellor Angela Merkel relaxed the borders with Austria and has welcomed great numbers of those seeking asylum to find a new life here in Germany. The center’s role in this story is two-fold. We have workers who file the necessary paperwork for the refugees, and we help them assimilate in their new home.
“Part of that assimilation goal is where you and other volunteers that cannot fulfill the legal tasks help. The children, especially, are innocent in all these things, guilty only of being born in a country of such political unrest that the basic rights of life are not a given. As such, the center expects you to help these children by easing their fears. Research has shown the benefit of team sports, arts, and nature in such cases.”
Mila paused, and Amber scrambled to come up with an adequate reply. “I…I will do my best.”
Maybe not the most confident of answers, but it literally was the best she could offer.
Mila steepled her fingers, her gaze probing. She studied Amber for a prolonged moment before releasing a sigh. “You are young and do not seem like one who has suffered the worst the world has to offer. This is a gut thing, although I fear your months here may open your eyes to things you have been sheltered from. The stories some of the refugees share…they will break your heart.”
A ball formed in Amber’s chest, pressing down on her sternum. A faint echo rang in her ears.
What do you know? You’ve lived a perfect little life. You can’t understand anything about what I’m going through.
Heat rushed to her cheeks. Two months later, the slap of those words still stung. She’d been at the hospital accumulating volunteer hours for a clinical pastoral education course. Because of her gender, the hospital thought it would be a good idea to have her make rounds in the maternity and neonatal wards. The babies had been precious, their tiny fingers and toes adorable beyond words. Not to mention the sheer contentment on the mothers’ faces when they looked down on their bundles of joy.
But then she’d entered Carrie’s room. Seventeen and alone. No parents. No boyfriend.
No baby.
Amber tried to swallow past the lump.
Carrie had been right. Amber couldn’t understand what she’d gone through.
And if Amber couldn’t relate to people’s experiences because of her sheltered life, how could she ever hope to touch their souls? No one would trust her because she’d never walked in their shoes.
“Are you ready to see the rest of the complex?” Mila rose and nodded to a side door.
Amber forced a smile, feeling suddenly drained once again. “Can’t wait.” She couldn’t postpone the rest of the tour any more than she could postpone the inevitable moment of truth. Pretty soon Mila would see what Carrie and the naysayers from her classes did—that Amber was a fake and not equipped for a life of helping people.
Amber pushed down those thoughts, desperately seeking the assurance she’d once felt about service.
It was like groping in the darkness.
She pushed back her shoulders. Even those in the dark stumbled upon something eventually. If she kept seeking, surely she’d crash into some sort of answer. Right, Lord?
“Are you coming?” Mila called from the open door.
Amber lengthened her stride to catch up. As she stepped out of the building and into the daylight, she squinted against the sun’s bright rays. Dew glistened like beads on the freshly mown grass, and she was thankful for the combat-like leather ankle boots she’d worn. Her canvas low tops would have been drenched in seconds.
“Since the center is connected to the university, we have been given permission to use their fuβball fields in the afternoons. We have our own equipment shed where we store balls and other training material.” She raised her hand to block against the sun. “If nothing held them up, my husband and Seth Marshall should be wandering around out here somewhere. Ah. There they are.”
Amber followed Mila’s gaze. Sure enough, two figures loitered on a distant patch of grass in front of a soccer goal. The men shook hands, and then one kicked a ball out in front of him a distance before toeing it to a stop at the penalty line. He backed up several paces from the ball and then stopped.
“Oh, this will be good.” Mila laughed and shook her head. “Come on. I don’t want to miss Ben and his fun.”
Amber didn’t know how the woman did it, walking as if her feet were in tennis shoes and not four-inch heels. She dressed the part of a director—stylish pants suit and her short hair fashionable and trendy—but she spoke straight from the hip and didn’t hide in an office. Amber grinned as she nearly jogged to keep up with Mila. She liked this woman. A lot.
They pulled up on the sidelines, Amber’s gaze moving between the two men. Her pulse raced at the sight of the one with his toes on the goal line, knees bent and hands out at his sides. Athletic shorts revealed sculpted calves and hinted at powerful thighs. His jersey hung on a lean frame—one she remembered with distinct clarity from the game when he took off said jersey.
Her breath came in short bursts. So winded after a short jog? She needed to get her nose out of her textbooks and exercise more.
The man she knew to be Seth Marshall grinned. His lips pulled back to reveal a mischievous smile. Dark, thick eyebrows framed deep-set eyes. His hair was two shades lighter in color with a slight wave in it.
“Are you going to kick the ball or what?” he called out.
“Calculating my angle,” the other man answered.
Mila leaned over. “That is Ben, my husband.”
Ben’s shoulders rose then fell, his gaze focused on the ball. He pushed off his toes and ran toward the black-and-white patterned sphere.
Mila cupped her hands around her mouth. “Whoop! Go Ben!”
Ben’s foot connected with the ball and sent it sailing. Up…up…and over the net.
“I call interference.” Ben threw up his hands. “My beautiful wife distracted me.”
Seth jogged around the net and collected the ball at the same time as Ben ran toward Mila and Amber, catching Mila up in a hug.
“You did that on purpose,” he said as he returned her to her feet.
She shrugged. “Now you have an excuse for why you did not make the goal.”
His brows created a V low on his forehead. “Are you saying I could not score a goal?”
“Against Seth Marshall? Nien.”
“But he isn’t even a goalie.”
She patted her husband’s cheek. “He is still a professional player, Knuddelbär.”
He growled at her but then pulled back as Seth jogged up.
“Better luck next time, mate.” Seth’s gaze circled the group, his eyes widening when they locked onto Amber’s.
From far away, she hadn’t been able to make out the color of his eyes, but now that they were trained on her, she found herself cataloging every detail. Rich brown with warm undertones of golden flecks. There was a dark ring around the outer edge, and she couldn’t help but wonder if such a border were a reflection of his character somehow. She blinked but didn’t look away. His eyes seemed to have a fathomlessness about them, and she found herself falling headlong into their depths.
Mila cleared her throat. “Amber Carrington, Seth Marshall. You two will be working together quite intimately for the foreseeable future.”
One side of Seth’s mouth lifted as he glanced at Mila. “Is that right?” He looked back at Amber. “Do you know anything about football?”
Amber pinched the outside of her thigh. She needed to get a grip. Like, yesterday. This girl who lost her head around a good-looking guy? Not her. She was cool. Calm. Self-controlled.
She plucked the ball out of his grasp. “Shall we find out?” Oh goodness. That didn’t come out like she was flirting with him, did it? Jet lag. She so blamed jet lag if it had.
The other side of his mouth joined
the first, stretching into a full smile. “Yes, ma’am.” He gave her one last searching look before turning around and jogging back to the goal.
Amber walked to the penalty spot with measured steps. What had she been thinking? Why couldn’t she have just said that, yes, she knew the rules of the sport and how to play. Instead she’d issued some sort of challenge. One she wasn’t altogether sure she could pull off. It wouldn’t be too embarrassing to miss. Ben hadn’t made it either, after all.
She set the ball on the white painted line and took a few steps back and to the side. She looked over to Mila. “You should have told me to pack cleats.”
Ben slung his arm over his wife’s shoulders. “Use it as an excuse if you miss.”
Despite herself, Amber grinned. She glanced up at Seth in the goalie box.
“I’ll put one hand behind my back as a handicap.”
Her eyes narrowed. It may have been a few years since she’d played, but she’d never needed a handicap in her life. Pushing off her toes, she sprinted to the ball, lining her foot up just right to send it sailing up into the left back corner of the net.
The ball rose into the air, arced. Seth dove, his fingers brushing the underside.
Right into the corner. Her sweet spot.
Shouts erupted from the sidelines, and Amber pumped her fist into the air. Boy, that’d felt great. Her smile stretched across her face.
Seth dug the ball out from the net, then kicked it over to her. He clapped his hands as he sauntered in her direction, his mesmerizing gaze saying something she couldn’t discern.
“Amber Carrington, I think I’m in love.”
Chapter Six
He wanted to slap a palm to his forehead. Out of all the things he could have said—Great shot. Where’d you learn to kick like that? Color me impressed—he’d had to go and spew some kind of cheeky pick up line. One he would have used in his old days.
