Hidden Blessings

by Kim Cash Tate

  “Obviously the ones I dated had defects, too, because they didn’t last.”

  “Um, no, hon,” Charlene said. “They didn’t last because you were working 24–7, trying to make partner. You and Derek must’ve been meant to be, because he landed right in your world at Fleming & Stein.”

  Kendra pondered that. From the beginning, it did seem meant to be, a whirlwind romance culminating in a memorable wedding. But the whirlwind and the wedding would pass. What kind of husband would he be? What kind of wife would she be? And why the anxious feeling all of a sudden?

  Kendra shook it off. Prewedding jitters . . . bound to surface.

  Her phone chimed with a text message.

  “Can you get that for me, Charlene?”

  Charlene reached in Kendra’s purse and handed it to her. Kendra smiled at Derek’s text as the jitters evaporated.

  THINKING OF U. LOVE U. 21 DAYS.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “I’D BE GETTING KICKED OUT OF THE NEST—PREMATURELY.” Lance Alexander’s elbows rested on a tabletop in the St. Louis Bread Company, coffee cup in hand. “You said to give you my straight thoughts, right?”

  “I did.” Pastor Lyles gave a slow nod, the nod that meant he was considering every word. “You’ve done that from the beginning.”

  Lance nodded with him. That was certainly true. He’d told the pastor exactly what he thought when he met him as an inmate—that the gospel he was peddling was garbage.

  Pastor Lyles added, “And I wouldn’t want you to stop now. Tell me what you mean.”

  “Okay,” Lance said. He tried a different metaphor. “It would feel like somebody stole my training wheels in the dark of night. I mean, I’d rather you took the whole bike.” He got more worked up thinking about it. “To take the training wheels only? And expect me to ride, with no support?”

  “On the contrary, Lance,” the pastor said, “you’d have the full support of Living Word. You know that. That’s the whole point of this church-planting endeavor—to send and support qualified leaders.”

  “And that’s my point,” Lance said. “I’m not qualified to lead a church plant. It took awhile to wrap my mind around leading the youth ministry at Living Word. But at least with that, I’m under the overall leadership of you and others at the church.”

  Pastor Lyles was nodding again. He sipped his coffee. “I’m sure you want me to be straight as well?”

  “Hey, Lance.” A Bread Company worker stopped at the table. “What are you doing back in this corner? Your office is over there.” He gestured at a table near the main door.

  Lance laughed. “This was the only way I could get a little privacy.”

  The guy nodded, smiling. “If anybody comes looking, I’ll tell ’em you’re not in the office right now.” He pointed at their cups. “Can I get you some more coffee?”

  “No thanks, man.” Lance was touched by the gesture. This guy’s job was to clear tables, not get refills. “I appreciate it, though.”

  “Anything for you, man.”

  Lance watched him walk off and turned back to Pastor Lyles, remembering his question. “Absolutely,” he said. “You know I want you to be straight.”

  “Lance,” the pastor said, “I think this is fear talking.”

  “Fear?” Lance looked at him crosswise. He couldn’t recall ever being accused of fear. He was the one who’d taken a bullet for a friend. “I’m just being real. Why would I agree to do something—something as serious as this—if I’m not ready?”

  Pastor Lyles leaned in, engaging Lance in his fatherly way. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt ready for anything God called me to do.”

  “Pastor, come on. You had a PhD from seminary when you started Living Word. The only letters after my name are GED.”

  “I had some book knowledge. That’s true,” Pastor Lyles said, “but I didn’t have near the experience you’ve got. I can’t count the number of young men you’ve discipled, many of them right here in your ‘office,’ over coffee and a cinnamon roll.” He continued, “Your high school students bring so many friends that we had to put you all in a bigger space. And that’s aside from the fact that you’ve submitted yourself to discipleship over the course of several years, and you’re a confirmed elder.” He sat up, spreading his hands. “Son, how much ‘ready’ do you need?”

  Lance sipped his coffee, mulling over the pastor’s words. “I don’t know how to explain it. Living Word has been my home. I’ve been able to do everything you mentioned because of you.” He added, “Come to think of it, I wouldn’t even be a photographer if it weren’t for you.”

  Pastor Lyles chuckled. “Oh, I get credit for that too? The man who couldn’t take a decent picture if he tried?”

  Lance smiled. “You know what I mean. If you hadn’t vouched for me, I wouldn’t have gotten a job at the camera shop, which is where I discovered my passion for photography.”

  “Listen . . .” Pastor Lyles leaned in. “You’ve been able to do everything you’ve done because of God,” he said. “I’m just happy I’ve had a front-row seat to watch Him work. But as you consider the church plant—assuming you’re considering it—I do have an update since we talked last.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We’d been talking about a plant on the north side of St. Louis.”

  Lance nodded. That was the one positive. It would be near the neighborhood in which he grew up.

  “But we were approached by Church of the Redeemer. They’re targeting the same area for a plant and are much further ahead. They want us to partner with them in terms of financial resources, and I think they’ll serve that community very well.”

  Lance looked confused, but Pastor Lyles wasn’t finished.

  “And wouldn’t you know, God put another location on my heart.”

  “What location?”

  “Clayton.”

  Lance frowned slightly. “That’s the last place I expected you to say.”

  “Exactly,” the pastor said. “My first thought was, ‘No, the inner city needs us, not the people who are well off.’ As if they’re not sick and in need of a Physician too.”

  “Pastor, I hear you, but I know I’m not called to lead a church plant in Clayton.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I can’t believe you forgot,” Lance said. “That’s where I went to high school for a short while, got in big trouble, and got expelled.”

  Pastor Lyles shrugged. “I didn’t forget.”

  “How would it look to go back there and start a church? People have long memories. And considering the other things in my past . . . it just wouldn’t work. If I was called to do something like that, I believe God would make it real clear.”

  “I would absolutely want you to hear from God about something like this. So I won’t say another word. If it’s His will, I trust He’ll establish it in His timing.”

  Lance gave him a look. “You used that tactic when you raised your kids, didn’t you?”

  “All the time,” the pastor said, smiling. “And you should know you’re like a son to me.”

  It took a moment for Lance to respond. “That means a lot.”

  “On another note,” the pastor said, “are you still looking for a place to stay?”

  “I am. My roomie’s getting married next weekend. He said there’s no rush, but it’s his house, and three would definitely be a crowd. You know of a spot?”

  “Marlon Woods called me.”

  Lance’s eyes widened a little. “Really? Isn’t he still overseas?”

  “University of Ghana.”

  “How’s his family doing?”

  “His daughter is doing well,” the pastor said. “Getting married this month out east. But his son dropped all his classes last semester and has been majoring in partying.”

  “Trey? No way. That’s not the guy I had in youth group.”

  “Marlon’s tried to get Trey to return to church, but the last person he’ll listen to is his dad. Anyway, as he’s te
lling me this, he also mentions that he’s thinking about renting out the lower level of his home because he needs someone to help look after the place. I told him that you were in need of a place to stay, and he said it sounded like an answer to prayer. He also said you could stay for free.”

  “What?” Lance said. “Why?”

  “He holds you in high regard, and I think he wants to be a blessing. But I also think he’s hoping you’ll do what you do and kind of help Trey through this.” Pastor Lyles stood. “I’ve got to run to another meeting, but I’ll text you his info.”

  Lance was about to ask where Mr. Woods lived, when he suddenly remembered—Clayton.

  CHAPTER THREE

  MEET ME DOWNSTAIRS AT 11:00 AM. CASUAL/COMFORTABLE. LOVE U. 20 DAYS.

  Kendra read the text while in bed, loving the feeling it gave. What outing had Derek planned now? How did he come up with this stuff?

  She rose and headed to the bathroom. It was the first Sunday in weeks neither of them had felt compelled to go into the office. They’d probably pull out their laptops later and do some work, but right now she wanted to soak up the leisure in the morning. And the second she walked into her bathroom, she knew how to do it—a bubble bath. One of her favorite things, but one she never had time for.

  In no time, she lit scented candles around the perimeter of her bathtub and found the bubble bath in the back of the cabinet. She ponytailed her hair, safeguarded it in a shower cap, and turned on the bathwater, liberally pouring in the lavender liquid. It felt like a minor luxury to step into the semi-hot water and sink down into the bubbles. She closed her eyes, determined to erase thoughts of due dates and court deadlines.

  Twenty days. In twenty days she’d be Kendra Richards. Her heart smiled at the sound of it. Shortly after their engagement, Derek had asked what she thought about taking his name. She could tell it meant a lot to him, though he assured her he’d be fine either way. She hadn’t thought much about it until that moment, but knew at once—to her own surprise—that she wouldn’t have it any other way. She’d happily ordered new business cards and asked her secretary to order the new nameplate that would go outside her office door. She was ready to make the switch.

  For thirty-two years she’d been Kendra Woods, and in the small suburban St. Louis enclave where she’d grown up, the Woods name meant something. Her dad had been a prominent sociology professor at Washington University in St. Louis, and her mom had been active on the school board of the Clayton School District. Kendra felt the weight of their expectations early in life, and it drove her to succeed. She’d attended college and law school in DC, then started her career there. Now, DC would play host to her wedding and married life. She didn’t see herself ever returning to St. Louis to live.

  Kendra raised her left hand above the bubbles and gazed at her engagement ring. She’d asked herself a thousand times how she could be so blessed. Making partner at a prestigious firm. Marrying the man of her dreams—though maybe not a man of strong faith. She’d had to admit that to herself. But she wasn’t where she needed to be either. Once they were married, they’d find a church home and grow together as husband and wife.

  Shifting in the melting bubbles, she turned on the water, resteaming her sanctuary, and turned her attention to the checklist that would consume her between now and the wedding day. The RSVPs would be the biggest headache—contacting those who hadn’t responded, and even some who had, to tell them they couldn’t just add a guest. Space for the wedding and reception was limited at the Textile Museum, not to mention expensive. Once she had the final number, she had to confirm with the caterer and plan the seating chart for dinner. Oh, and make sure out-of-town guests had booked their rooms. It would be nice if she could get a little gift basket to leave in those rooms, but she wasn’t sure if—

  Her eye caught something on the inside of her left breast. Swishing away a few microbubbles, she looked more closely. Where did that come from? It looked like she’d bruised herself somehow, a weird reddish-orange color, about the size of a quarter. Her fingers examined the area, then the entirety of both breasts, relieved she didn’t feel any lumps. Still, a slight tremor passed through her.

  Her mom had found her illness in a similar way, not in the bathtub but casually, while reclining on the sofa. Her hand had run across a mass in her abdomen the size of a small apricot, and weeks later, after ignoring it for a time, she discovered she had Stage IV liver cancer. She was dead in less than a year.

  Kendra didn’t want to overreact, but she took seriously anything that half looked like a symptom. She bathed quickly, stepped out, and slipped into a terry robe as she walked, water droplets trailing. How long had the bruise been there? Why hadn’t she seen it before? And what about Derek? He wasn’t a stranger to her body, but their time together was usually at night, when it’d be too dark to notice.

  She got her laptop from the nightstand and, sitting lotus style on her bed, powered it up and opened her browser. On her Google home page she typed “bruise” and “breast” into the search box, then surveyed the results. “Common causes” seemed a good place to start. She clicked the link and skimmed the first paragraph, landing on a sentence that might as well have blinked in neon: “One of the most feared causes of breast bruise is inflammatory breast cancer.”

  Her heart pounded. She’d read a fair amount about breast cancer over the years, but why wasn’t she familiar with this kind?

  Only a brief description was given, which thankfully branded it “very rare.” Still, her hand twitched as she scrolled down for other possible causes. Injury or trauma to the breast . . . ill-fitting bras . . . anticoagulant medications . . .

  She clicked the next link, then the next, swinging from relief to alarm at the possibilities. Then she stared at the laptop, exhaled, and typed “inflammatory breast cancer.” Her breath caught at images of breasts with similar bruises and coloring. But most were also swollen, with a pitted orange look to them. She examined hers closely again. Was it slightly pitted? Or was she imagining?

  An image led to a story, which led to several stories and profiles and blogs of women who’d been diagnosed with inflammatory breast cancer—including one who’d discovered it in the bathtub, with a casual glance. Kendra began reading this woman’s daily accounts as she walked through the reality and fear of the diagnosis to the first stages of treatment. She was so engrossed that the phone startled her when it rang.

  “Hey, I’m downstairs.”

  Kendra looked at the clock. 11:05.

  “Sorry, I lost track of time. I’ll . . . be right down.”

  She jumped up, threw on a pair of jeans and a top, finger-combed her hair, swished on light makeup, and tried to catch her breath on the ride down the elevator of her building, which housed renovated condos.

  Derek’s sports car was parked at the curb. He got out and opened the passenger door as she approached. “I almost came up to check on you,” he said. “You’re never late. Everything okay?”

  Kendra had debated whether to tell him. But tell him what? That she’d found a bruise and let her imagination run wild? Besides, she didn’t want to put a damper on the day he’d planned.

  “I got caught up doing some research,” she said. “Everything’s great.”

  Derek’s arms enveloped her waist from behind as they stared out into the vast landscape of downtown Washington.

  A perfect summer breeze lifted her hair from her shoulders. “I didn’t think you could outdo yourself . . . but you outdid yourself. Rooftop picnic, spinach quiche, this view—incredible.” She turned, embracing him. “What did I do to deserve you?”

  He kissed her softly. “I ask myself the same question. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He twisted a lock of her hair. “I didn’t know my father, and my mother wasn’t much interested in being home.” He stared away, remembering. “I basically raised myself, and I had a vision of what my life would be like one day—wife, two or three kids, dog, house, sports car . . .”

  Kendra
smiled into his chest. “You’ve already got the sports car.”

  “And twenty days from now I’ll have the wife. And nine months later, our first baby.”

  “Umm . . .” She leaned back. “Did you say nine months? Can we get a little more honeymoon than that?”

  “Okay, twelve.” He laughed. “Speaking of honeymoon, as promised I’ve been doing my due diligence on Paris, taking notes on all the must-see places. And, of course, the out-of-the-way romantic spots.”

  “We’ve been counting down to the wedding,” she said, “but we need to count down to Paris too. I can’t believe we’ll be there the day after.”

  “I like the sound of that . . . ‘the day after.’ ” Derek kissed her cheek. “The first day of the rest of our lives.”

  Kendra turned back around, facing the view once more. “You mentioned having a vision for your life.” She stared at the Washington Monument. “Graduating from law school, landing a position at Fleming & Stein, making partner. That was my vision. I could control those things.” She was thinking it through even now. “Then you came along and gave my life a dimension it had never had. I’ve never felt this way about anyone. And it’s all . . . unexpected and out of my control. It’s like I’ve stumbled into a new vision—a longing—for true love and relationship.” She looked at him once more. “And it’s scary.”

  “And beautiful.” He kissed her. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone either, Ken.” His voice was a whisper. “You’re everything I’ve always wanted.”

  He kissed her again, deeply, and led her to their private picnic area. As they lay together, Kendra feared he might see her bruise, given the daylight, but he didn’t seem to. Still, she couldn’t get it off of her mind. One question circulated—What if? With all she had to do to prepare for the wedding, honeymoon, and life afterward, one thing had suddenly leapfrogged them all. She needed to see her doctor. Tomorrow.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  GOD HAD A SENSE OF HUMOR; LANCE WAS SURE OF IT. IN THE last ten years, he’d spoken of Clayton as part of his testimony. It was the place that had represented promise, then failure, the last stop before his life took a turn for the worst. He’d always felt like an outsider here, but for a time he’d been welcomed into houses like this.