She studied the tall buildings as they drove through town. She wondered if she’d ever be able to afford living in this section of town. Maybe someday—when she was a psychologist and had a great job in a nice office. She could see herself living in a studio apartment in the city.
“So you’re glad you hitched a ride with me that day, huh?” He smiled at her, but she averted her eyes before his gaze caught her and trapped her.
“I thought you were a preacher or something.”
He laughed. “Am I already giving off preacher signals? Was it something I said?”
“No, it was your notes. You took out your notebook to write down my number, and I saw some words that clued me in.”
“And that didn’t scare you off?”
She shrugged. “Maybe a little. I was desperate for a job, though.”
“Aw, thanks.”
She began to relax. Maybe she could survive this trip after all. “Well, you have to admit preachers can be a little intimidating.”
“We’re just regular people.”
“I know that, but somehow a man of God is set apart from everyone else. At least in my mind.”
When he paused, she wondered if she’d said something wrong. He was the first pastor she knew personally. Even if he wasn’t quite a pastor yet.
Adam’s face clouded. “I wish it wasn’t like that. I can’t live up to impossibly high standards any more than anyone else. I’m human; I’m going to fail. God is the only One who’s perfect.”
“I know that. I think everyone knows that, but still there’s that high expectation.”
He frowned. “It’s a lot of pressure. More is expected of me than I feel like I can deliver sometimes.”
“Adam, you’re worrying for nothing. I’ve been totally impressed with you, and I’ve spent an awful lot of time with you the past five weeks. I’ve seen you stay cool when you’ve been provoked and think of others when it inconveniences you. You’re going to make a great pastor.”
When he didn’t respond, she studied his profile. He stared out the front windshield, his mouth drawn into a straight line, his brows drawn together. He seemed unsure of himself, and that surprised her. Adam always seemed like he had it together. He was always protecting and picking up everyone’s spirit.
“Are you worried you won’t make a good pastor?”
Even as she asked the question, she was aware that this was their first serious conversation. They’d never talked about anything deeper than smoothies and lattes.
“Some,” he said slowly. “Mostly I’m just confused about life in general.”
Linn had never seen this serious, thoughtful side of Adam. He seemed almost vulnerable.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
He was drawing her in, and she wanted to get inside his head and know what he was thinking. What made worry lines spread across his face? What made him roar with laughter?
“How do we know what we’re supposed to do? I mean, I know we’re supposed to follow God’s will for our lives, that’s a given. But how do we know what that is?” Adam shook his head. “Sometimes I feel so sure I’m doing what God wants. Then something happens, and I think I’ve made the wrong decision.”
It surprised her that Adam had these insecurities. He seemed like a steel tower all the time.
“I go through that confusion sometimes too,” she admitted. “I thought it was because I’m kind of new at this Christian stuff.”
He gave a wry laugh. “I don’t know. I’ve been in church all my life and a Christian since the age of seven, but sometimes I feel like I don’t know anything.”
She wished he’d be more specific. He wanted answers but wasn’t giving her anything to go on.
“You’re not giving yourself enough credit,” Linn said. “You probably knew more about the Bible at ten than I know now.”
He parked the car by the curb, and Linn was surprised to see they were already at the apartment. Surprised and dismayed.
“I’m not talking about Scripture necessarily,” Adam said. “I’m talking about knowing what God wants us to do. Sometimes there are two—or maybe even more—options. None of them are wrong or evil, just different. How do we know which one God wants for us?”
Linn rested her head against the back of the car seat. She couldn’t believe a seminary student imagined for even a second that she might have answers. “I don’t know, Adam.”
He put the car in park and shifted toward her. “I mean, we can pray and look at circumstances and read the Bible and think it’s all pointing one direction, then boom. Everything changes and we start thinking we made the wrong choice.”
Linn turned to look at him. His coat collar was flipped up on one side and down on the other, and even in the shadowed car she could see the lines of distress between his brows.
She shrugged. “Maybe it’s a matter of following your heart.”
When his eyes swung toward hers, Linn’s insides became as hot as a wood stove. His gaze lingered so long that the moment became intense and awkward. Why wasn’t he saying anything? What did it mean? She searched for something to say to break the tension, but all coherent thought ground to a stop.
Finally he looked away. “Feelings can be misleading sometimes.”
She started breathing again, only now aware she’d been holding her breath. Why did he stare at her for so long? People didn’t do that unless it meant something. Or was he only gathering his thoughts and hadn’t realized he was staring at all?
“Feelings can be misleading sometimes,” he’d said.
Boy, was that ever true. She’d just made one little glance out to be something significant when he probably was unaware it had even happened. What an idiot she was.
She cleared her throat. “You’re right. Feelings can be totally misleading.” She remembered all too well feeling like it was so right for her and Keith to be together. Even though she knew he was married. He convinced her that his wife was horrible and his marriage was a farce. And she believed him. Believed those feelings he stirred up in her were right.
“Then what are we supposed to go on if not feelings?” Adam asked.
She was so new at Christianity. She wanted to give him answers, but what could she know that he didn’t? Even as she asked the question, she remembered a story from her past that might apply.
“When I was little, maybe five or six, I wanted a dog really bad. But we had this tiny house and yard, and my mom kept telling me we couldn’t have one. I’m sure I drove her nuts about it. One day she started talking about the pet gerbil she’d had as a child. She made it sound so neat, and before I knew it, I’d forgotten all about wanting a dog. I wanted a gerbil more than anything. When my birthday came, my mom and dad surprised me with one.”
Linn stopped and looked out the window. “Only later did she tell me what she’d done.” It had been when her mom was dying. They’d had great talks during those difficult months.
“She knew we couldn’t have a dog,” Linn said. “So she bought the gerbil the week before my birthday and kept it down in the basement. Then she proceeded to convince me that what I really wanted was a gerbil.”
She caught Adam’s expression. He was studying her, as if trying to read her thoughts.
“Maybe God’s like that,” she said. “He already has something special in our basement, and He’s just waiting for us to want it.”
“But how do we know what that is?”
She wanted to sink into the depths of his eyes. “Maybe we need to ask Him to help us crave whatever it is He already has for us.”
Adam focused beyond the front windshield for a long moment. The car, still running, kept the inside nice and toasty, while the windows fogged up with their breath.
“If you’ve always felt the need to be a pastor,” Linn said softly, “maybe God put that need there.”
Adam closed his eyes. One of his gloved hands gripped the steering wheel, and his jaw worked. She wished she could read his mind.
“The thing is”—he smacked the steering wheel with his palm—“it’s not my calling that I’m questioning.”
At first the words were just words. But then she felt something. It was almost as if the air in the car became weighted with meaning. He wouldn’t look at her, and she suddenly thought she might know why.
Yet it couldn’t be. He wasn’t questioning his feelings for Elizabeth, was he? It was only her own pathetic hopes that made her think so.
But when he finally raised his eyes to her, she knew she’d been right. And not only about Elizabeth. The way Adam was looking at her wasn’t the way one friend regards another. It was the way a man looks at a woman he longs for.
She couldn’t have moved, couldn’t have looked away if she’d tried. There was enough heat in the car to fly a hot-air balloon, and it had nothing to do with the heat blowing through the vents.
His lips parted, as if he was about to say something. Then they clamped shut.
She wanted to drag the words from his mouth. But the ones that came next weren’t the ones she longed to hear.
“It’s getting late. You should probably be going in.” He smiled gently to soften the blow.
She wanted to beg him to explain himself. She wanted to ask if she’d totally misunderstood. She wanted to reach over and smooth the creases between his brows with her fingers.
Instead she said good-bye and watched him drive away.
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
Paula finished the first-draft copy on a story about a local massage parlor that was found to have a hidden camera in one of their rooms. She’d gotten great bites from a regular client who was outraged at having been secretly taped. The story would air on the evening news. It was a story Darrick probably would have gotten if he hadn’t been away on another assignment when the story broke. It gave her another chance to prove herself, and she was grateful for that.
She took the time to review the interview tapes for the “Switched at Birth” story and painstakingly tried to duplicate the lost file, but even so, she was reaching a dead end. The story had died down. Some of the other reporters who covered it suggested that the nurse who died was probably the one who held the key to the mystery.
Paula wondered if it was time for her to drop the story. It was taking a lot of thought and energy. Lately she’d sensed that Miles was ready for her to move on. The Morgans’ story was taking time that could be spent on fresh news. So unless she came up with new information, she’d need to drop it. Even she was starting to feel like she was beating a dead horse.
Paula focused on her pad of paper and scratched out a verb, substituting it with a stronger one. She needed to forget the Morgans’ story and focus on more productive work. She’d accomplished more in the short time she’d been at the station than she’d ever expected to. None of the other reporters at WMAQ had ever broken a story that went national. She should be content with that.
She read the last paragraph of the copy and marked a line through it. She could come up with a better wrap than that.
The phone at her desk rang, and she answered it absently.
“Paula, it’s Deb. Deb Morgan.”
Paula stiffened, feeling a twinge of guilt about the thoughts she just had.
“I was wondering if you’d come across any helpful information recently. Things have died down so quickly here,” Deb said. “It’s like someone turned on a faucet and deluged us, then turned it off just as suddenly.”
“That’s the way the news is, unfortunately,” Paula told Deb. “In the media, stories like yours are a flash in the pan.”
As Paula crossed her legs, she felt the silkiness of her hose glide across her skin.
“But this is our lives,” Deb said. “I knew the media only cared about the story because it was something to fill airtime, something people would be interested in. But it’s not finished. We raised a question to the public, but no one has answered it.”
“I know. I know.” Paula could only imagine Deb’s frustration. All the hassles of going public, all the stress of coming out with the truth, and all seemingly for nothing.
“You’re staying on the story, aren’t you, Paula?”
Paula closed her eyes at the innocence in Deb’s voice. The grieving mother thought way too much of this reporter.
“Deb, I know you’re feeling desperate to know the truth, but maybe it’s not meant to be. Maybe”—Paula searched for terms Deb might appreciate—“maybe God doesn’t want it to go any further. Maybe He just wanted you to be willing.”
“No.” The adamancy in Deb’s voice was something Paula hadn’t heard before. “It doesn’t end there. I know . . . Steve and I both know . . . we want the truth. We will scratch and snoop and beg and plead if we have to, but we will not stop until we know the truth.”
Paula didn’t know what to say. She admired Deb and Steve’s fortitude. Was, in fact, surprised by it.
“I know you have a job to do, and you can’t just drop everything,” Deb explained. “But we believe you’re the one who can find the truth, if anyone can.”
Paula wanted to find the truth, too, but it seemed she’d already done everything she could. “Have you thought of hiring a private investigator?”
“Sure we have. We even called a few, but they’re way out of our budget. We’re scraping by as it is.”
Paula tugged in frustration at her straight locks. Miles was going to get irritated if she kept following this story, and she couldn’t afford that. Yet the Morgans wanted answers, and somehow Paula felt responsible to them.
“Please, Paula,” Deb said. “I know it’s asking a lot, and we’ll help any way we can, but we just don’t have the skills or the contacts you do.”
Maybe she could work on the story only in her free time. She could even let Miles know that. Surely he’d be OK with that. He may even be impressed by her diligence and devotion. And if she found the answer to the mystery, it would be a win for the Morgans and for her.
“All right, Deb, I’ll stay on it awhile longer.”
“Oh, thank you, Paula.” Deb’s words rushed out in a gush of appreciation. “We’re so grateful to you. Please let us know if you need anything.”
When she got off the phone, Paula picked up her tablet of paper, but her eyes wouldn’t focus on the words. She hoped she hadn’t just bought more than she’d bargained for. Maybe the other reporters were right. Maybe the nurse who died held all the answers.
But there was still one nurse no one had been granted an interview with: Louise Garner, the woman who was too ill to see anyone. At least according to her son.
Before she could second-guess herself, Paula rummaged through her purse for the scrap of paper with Louise’s phone number. She’d almost given up when she found it in the bottom of her purse. She picked up the phone and dialed, promising herself she wouldn’t spend any more WMAQ time working on this story.
The phone was picked up on the third ring by a young woman.
“May I speak with Louise please?”
“Who’s calling?” The young woman sounded wary. And no wonder—they’d probably had a hundred phone calls from reporters.
She was tempted to lie. “This is Paula.”
“Paula who?”
The young woman wasn’t letting her off easily. “Paula Landin-Cohen from WMAQ. I know Louise is ill, but I’d really like to speak with her for just a couple of minutes. Please.”
“Look, Mrs. Garner is sick. I’m under strict instructions to prohibit calls and visits.”
The phone clicked in Paula’s ear. She set the phone back in the cradle and sighed. Maybe she should just leave the poor old woman alone. When she got home, she’d call her hospital contacts and some of the families who were in the hospital the same time as the Morgans. There were a couple of families who decided to have their children tested to see if they were the birth parents. Others had opted not to. Maybe she would find an answer that way.
* * *
Two days later Paula was on
the couch, her head bent over her notes while Linn studied from a thick textbook at the small dining table. On the TV, David Letterman appeared to be giving his opening monologue, but the sound was muted so they could concentrate.
Having Linn at the apartment wasn’t a problem. She was gone most of the time and quiet even when she was home. Plus, she picked up the studio apartment, leaving it tidy for when Paula returned home in the evenings.
Paula read through her second set of notes one more time. She’d talked to her contacts at the hospital, talked to everyone she could think of, and now she was officially at a dead end.
“Everything all right?”
Linn had turned in her chair, and Paula realized she’d just let out a frustrated sigh. “It’s a story I’m working on. I can’t seem to get anywhere on it.”
Linn hugged her knees to her chest. “What’s it about?” she asked.
Maybe it would help to talk it out. Paula couldn’t talk to anyone at work about it. “It’s a story about this family who found out the child they were raising wasn’t their birth child. They didn’t find out until recently, and the little girl is now three.”
Linn’s eyes widened a fraction. “I heard about that. Everyone at the coffee shop was talking about it last month.”
“Really?”
It was always good to hear about viewer interest. The good stories were the ones employees chatted about over the water cooler at work.
“Adam said it was on Good Morning America too.”
“Adam?”
Linn’s head ducked down, as if she were studying the hands wrapped around her knees. “A guy I work with at the shop.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, then rubbed the back of her neck.
Paula smiled. “Is this guy a boyfriend?”
Linn stilled for a split second, then her hands found their way back to her knees. “He’s engaged.” There was a world of disappointment in the young woman’s words.
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