Lance had taken four or five of the two women, which wasn’t a lot given the total. There was another of Adrienne alone, a close-up. But Kendra’s heart stuttered when she saw the next—of Lance and Adrienne. They each had an arm around the other’s shoulder, laughing, and in the next, were making funny faces at the camera.
Kendra’s hand came off the mouse, a mixture of emotions swirling. Why was she feeling this way? What was she feeling? Hadn’t she told him to ask Adrienne on a date? That’s probably where he was right now, again today, out with Adrienne.
She chided herself. Of course he should be out with Adrienne. Why wouldn’t he be out with Adrienne? The sky was the limit. They could hang all day, plan exciting ventures. Shoot, they could plan months and years out, no problem. They could plan their lives together. And Lance deserved nothing less.
So why the need for this little conversation with herself? Why was she feeling so—
The back door opened, and Kendra wished she could sprint upstairs. She did what she could though, switching the computer window to photos she’d already uploaded.
Lance came around the corner. “Oh. Hey.”
“Hey.” Kendra gave him a glance and saw he had on a nice pair of jeans, ones she hadn’t seen. Nice top too. “I’ll be out of your way in a quick sec,” she said.
“No rush.”
“I was headed up anyway.”
“Okay.” He paused. “When you’re ready, let me know. I’ll help you.”
Kendra exited from her photos. “It’s okay,” she said, pulling out her phone. “Molly’s right in the kitchen.”
Molly was down in a flash, and Kendra moved as quickly as she could back up the stairs.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
TREY HAD NEVER FELT HE WAS MEANT TO BE AT A PARTICULAR place at a particular time more than right now. He awoke with Living Word on his mind and knew he had to go to church, suddenly aware that the rhythm he needed to reclaim was deeper than he thought. Walking into the youth building with Lance brought a ton of memories, of a strong relationship with God, a deep connection to Jesus.
He stayed through the youth worship service, watching, remembering. And when Lance gave his message, it was as if Trey were a teen again, hanging on every word, wanting nothing more than for the Lord to use him . . . and wondering how He would.
But it was the message in the main sanctuary that rocked him. Trey and Lance sat in a pew near the front and listened to the guest speaker, a missionary sharing about his time in Burkina Faso. But then the speaker turned a corner, from talking about himself to talking about them.
“We live in our comfortable homes with our comfortable jobs and our spouse, kids, dog, and cat—all of whom are probably comfortable too,” he said.
The audience chuckled.
“If we think of doing anything outside the box, it’s either when we’re young and don’t know much or when we’re old and retired. Right? And I’m old and retired, so I can say that.” His eyes twinkled. “But those middle years are spent in the box. We’re raising a family, climbing a corporate ladder. Things are predictable. Settled.” He walked across the platform. “And let’s face it, for many of us, it’s hard to live outside the box when we’ve got toddlers. It’s hard to say, ‘Hey, let’s go live in a hut in Ouagadougou, learn the native tongue, and win souls for Jesus!’ ”
He smiled at them. “But some of you are called to live outside the box. You might not realize it yet, but your life is not meant to be ordinary. You’re not meant to have the comfortable spouse, kids, cat, and dog. Maybe you won’t marry at all.” He stopped, eyeing them. “And guess what? That’s okay. In fact, it’s wonderful. Singleness is not a second-class gift. It’s a true gift. And if that’s your gift, embrace it. Have a ball with it. Go wild for Jesus in ways your comfortable friends and family members could never manage to do . . .”
Trey was almost fidgety. This man was talking to him. For years he’d felt he didn’t want to marry. But whenever he mentioned it, to his mom especially, she’d bat it down.
“Trey, of course you’ll get married. Don’t be silly.”
Marriage was a given, a mark of adulthood. As he thought about it, he realized what had driven his prayers all these years—this idea of needing to be married to be complete. It hadn’t been driven by personal desires, but by outside pressure to pursue what he was supposed to pursue—marriage.
Yet this man was affirming singleness. And not only that, but Trey’s mind was racing with answers to questions he’d had about the type of life he could live. There was no end of options. He’d be free to go anywhere in the world, wherever God would send him. He could live out of the box.
He leaned over. “Are you hearing this, Lance? I mean, really hearing this?”
“I’m hearing this.” Lance smiled. “And I’ve been thinking about you the whole time.”
Pastor Lyles came up at the end, encouraging people to check out the missions table. Trey had passed it a thousand times over the years. Today he would linger.
They made their way up the aisle slowly after the service.
“I’m gonna stop by the missions table,” Trey said.
“Absolutely,” Lance said. “Take your time.”
Trey scooped up a handful of pamphlets and even applications for long-term and short-term mission trips. He had no idea if such a thing was in his foreseeable future, but he already knew he’d be praying about it.
He found Lance in the main lobby area, talking with a woman.
“Trey, this is Adrienne,” Lance said. “Adrienne, Trey.”
Trey shook her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Adrienne said. She turned to Lance, smiling. “Just wanted to tell you how much fun I had. I feel like the key turned to unlocking you, just a little.”
“As long as it was only a little,” Lance said. “I’d be off my game otherwise.”
“You know what I’m learning?” she said. “That you’re a piece of work.” She laughed and gave him a hug. “I’ll talk to you later.”
Trey followed her with his gaze as she walked away, then turned back to Lance, brow raised.
“Don’t ask,” Lance said, heading out the door. “I’m not even asking myself.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
KENDRA SET HER TRIPOD TO THE RIGHT OF HER BED NEAR A BIG window, where she’d discovered perfect late-morning light in her very midst. At least she hoped it’d be perfect. But that was the fun in experimenting. She could snap tons of photos with various settings and angles, and if only a few came out well, it was great. She could study them, see what settings she used, and hopefully replicate the best ones next time.
Photography was becoming an even bigger part of her existence. Although she’d never been active in social media herself, since her diagnosis she had realized how helpful blogs could be. She was grateful to the women who’d taken the time to chronicle their journeys, the highs and the lows, letting her know what each step was like. Kendra couldn’t see herself writing daily about her journey, but the idea came to set up a blog nonetheless—and post pictures.
She challenged herself to post a picture daily that reflected God’s goodness, as an encouragement to herself and to others who might be going through a hard time. This morning her goal was twofold, though. She was also trying self-portraiture.
Kendra fixed the height of the tripod and secured her camera on it. She’d been reading about self-portraiture, how it provided practice and developed skills both in composing shots and in post-processing. But what intrigued her most was self-portraiture as a journey of personal discovery, even healing of sorts, as it exposed aspects of the self buried deep inside.
When she realized no one was home this morning, she forced herself out of bed. Taking her own portrait seemed weird enough. She certainly didn’t want anyone watching. This way, she had the freedom to work out the kinks.
Her camera set, Kendra positioned herself against a spot on her bedroom wall for a few test shots. She clicked with
her remote and checked for framing, focus, and exposure. Then she took a big breath. Lord, if there’s something I can learn from this about myself, about You . . . let me learn.
She’d gotten a big, beige, floppy hat from her closet, probably from some silly high school event, and set it on her almost-bald head. She’d already put on makeup and dressed in a loose tunic top to try to mask her uneven breasts. She stood against the wall again with a simple pose, clicked the remote, and checked it.
A little too much space up top. She’d lower the camera a tad. But she liked her position, to the left of the frame, her purple wall filling most of it, the entire shot cast in a soft, almost shadowy light.
She adjusted the camera and took another. Yeah! She loved this one, loved how she looked in it. She wasn’t smiling, but the floppy hat gave a cosmopolitan feel, as if her hair was pinned up in the back. It reminded her of her old self.
She took a few more with different poses, then grabbed a baseball cap she’d found. She tried it in the mirror first and wasn’t too happy with the look. She was used to long curls falling from the cap, or a ponytail. Now she could see the baldness.
She snatched it off and in that moment knew this was the photo she needed to take of herself . . . with an almost-bald head.
Kendra closed her eyes. She couldn’t. She didn’t want to see herself like that. She heard herself say it in her heart—it’s ugly.
She opened her eyes again. Wasn’t this part of the photography journey, to face herself? Could she somehow see God’s goodness in this?
She walked back to her spot, head uncovered, and took the picture. It looked different from the others. Her countenance was different. Her eyes were different. With the hat, there was a little spark. Without, they were lifeless.
She sighed and decided to take another. But first she considered God and His goodness, on purpose. And after she took the picture, she saw a difference yet again. It was as if her gaze had moved off herself. Her soul was in it.
As hard as it would be to post a picture of herself like this, she knew she had to do it. And she would caption it: Today’s goodness—His life in me. I am so much more than what my eye can see.
Kendra was debating whether to take more when she heard footsteps on the stairs. Trey or Molly probably, heading to their rooms. Lance hadn’t been up here since the day he cut her hair.
But seconds later she heard a knock, and Trey stuck his head in. “Oh good, you’re up.”
“You can come in,” Kendra said.
Trey opened the door wider and walked in—with a young girl beside him. She had pretty brown eyes and thick, dark-brown curly hair gathered in a long ponytail.
“Well, hello,” Kendra said, half-eyeing her brother.
He’d gotten fired up after the message he heard Sunday, researching various ministry pursuits online. Kendra might have thought he was starting an in-home camp for the disadvantaged if the little girl didn’t look like a Gymboree model, in her picture-perfect shorts, shirt, and matching socks.
Trey took the child’s hand, leading her farther inside. “Kendra, this is Brooklyn,” he said. “Brooklyn Patterson.”
Fatigue began to wash over her. Kendra sat on the bed. “Hi, Brooklyn, it’s nice to meet you. My name is Kendra.”
“I know, Trey told me,” Brooklyn said. “He said you’re my sister. I always wanted a sister.”
Kendra raised her gaze slowly to Trey.
Trey cleared his throat. “Her mom is Ellen Patterson. I got to meet Brooklyn this morning, and I wanted you to meet her too.”
Brooklyn walked closer, her little head angling to the side. “Are you sick? Because my teacher last year got sick, and she had to cut her hair off, like yours.”
Kendra nodded. “Yes, Brooklyn, I’m sick. And the medicine made my hair come out, so I cut it.”
The little girl stared at Kendra. “Can I say a prayer?”
Kendra stared back at her. “Sure, yes, I’d love that.”
Brooklyn clasped her hands tight and closed her eyes. “Dear God, could you please, please heal my sister? Amen.”
Tears sprang to Kendra’s eyes. “How old are you, Brooklyn?”
“Eight. Well, eight and two-twelfths, to be precise.”
Kendra smiled. “Where’d you learn to pray such a beautiful prayer?”
“My dad prayed with me when I was a little girl.” Brooklyn played with her fingers. “When I used to see him sometimes.”
Kendra and Trey exchanged a glance.
“Brooklyn, come sit next to me.” Kendra patted the bed. “When was the last time you saw your dad?”
Brooklyn shrugged. “A year and a half ago.”
“Have you talked to him?”
“Once or twice.”
Kendra struggled to understand. Despite his failures as a husband, Marlon Woods had always been a doting, very present dad. If Kendra and Trey hadn’t distanced themselves, he’d still be a regular part of their lives.
Kendra smiled at her. “So you always wanted a sister?”
“And a brother,” Brooklyn said. “Now I have both. Can you believe that?” She shook her head. “You appeared out of nowhere.”
“I know what you mean,” Kendra said, eyes on her brother. She couldn’t wait to hear how Miss Brooklyn had appeared.
Evening Bible study was in full swing—the meal part anyway—and Brooklyn hadn’t yet left. Whenever her mom phoned Trey, Brooklyn would plead for a little while more.
“There’s nothing to do at home,” she would say. “I’m having fun with my brother and sister and Molly.”
It was easy to grant Brooklyn’s request since they only lived around the corner—a fact that blew Kendra’s mind.
Had Ellen lived there during the affair? Was it that easy for her dad to step out on his marriage? Kendra tried not to dwell on that. She had no desire to think about, let alone meet or talk to Ellen. But Brooklyn—that little girl had stolen her heart.
She’d stolen Chase’s too. Cyd’s toddler had a playmate now, as Brooklyn played hide-and-seek and tag with him.
“Today is her first time here?” Cyd asked, watching them run around the kitchen. “She’s so comfortable already.”
Trey laughed. “I think she’s pulled out every game we had in storage. If I’m not mistaken, she moved in when we weren’t looking.”
“I saw the Twister game on the dining room floor,” Cyd said. “Brought back memories.”
“Oh, that was a blast.” Molly crunched into her taco and chewed a second. “Brooklyn and I were all about that.”
“Brooklyn, you didn’t finish your taco,” Kendra said. “Take a break from playing and finish eating, sweetheart.”
Brooklyn scooted into her chair next to Kendra’s and took a bite, as she’d done several times before.
“Where’s your food?” Brooklyn asked, looking at Kendra.
“Right here.” Kendra lifted her glass. “Trey made me a drink with vegetables and fruit because the sores in my mouth make it hard to eat food right now.”
Brooklyn’s brows bunched. “You’re still sick?” She pointed behind her. “That was all the way this morning when I prayed.”
Kendra pulled her into a hug. “God’s making me feel better because you bring a smile to my face.” She made a pouting face. “But I still wish I could have tacos. This drink is really nasty.”
“Don’t blame me,” Trey said. “Lance was the one who suggested it and told me what to put in it.”
“Where did Lance go anyway?” Cyd asked.
“Downstairs,” Trey said. “Cedric wanted to see his camera equipment.”
“Oh no,” Cyd said, “not another hobby in the making.”
“Look out,” Kendra said. “It’s addicting.”
The guys came back up as the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it,” Lance said, “probably Timmy.”
“Mmm. Smells like a Mexican restaurant in here,” Timmy said, walking in with another guy at his side. “I hope it’s
okay to bring someone else. This is David, a friend of mine from SLU.”
Jess and Molly’s friend from last week showed up next, and a contingent went to the dining room to eat.
The doorbell rang once more.
“It might be this other girl I invited,” Molly said. “I’ll get it.” Seconds later she called, “Trey, it’s Brooklyn’s mom.”
Kendra quietly called him over and whispered, “Please make sure you handle everything at the door. I can’t take that woman coming into Mom’s house.”
“Brooklyn, your mom’s here,” Trey said. “You have to get ready to go.”
Brooklyn folded her arms. “But I don’t want to go. Can I stay the night?”
“Brooklyn,” a voice called. “Let’s go, honey.”
“Give me a hug, sweetheart,” Kendra said. “It’s okay. You can come over anytime you want.”
The little girl’s eyes lit up. “Really and truly?”
Kendra smiled. “Really and truly.”
Brooklyn followed Trey out, and Kendra could hear her telling her mother all the things she’d done.
“Tell Trey thank you,” Ellen said.
“Thank you, Trey.”
Kendra heard the front door close and for the first time wondered about her dad’s side of the story.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
LANCE TOSSED HIS BOSE HEADPHONES INTO A BOX OF PERSONAL belongings on the bed. It was probably full enough. He’d pack his books next and take them and the boxes to the car, then his clothes, leaving the computer and camera equipment last. He’d be out of here by evening.
He put an empty crate on the bed and began filling it with heavy theology books and commentaries. With every move he considered giving away the texts and reading them online with Bible software. It would lessen his load considerably and free up much shelf space. But there was something about holding them in his hand, flipping the pages.
One crate filled, he decided to start loading. He lifted a box and turned—and saw Kendra at the door.
“How’d you get down here?” Lance said.
“I walked.”
“But you know you shouldn’t be taking a chance—”
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