by Jessica Kate
“He’s in Charlottesville to run the pilot program for his East Coast campaign. The one on the West Coast last year started a revival in at least a dozen Christian high schools. He’s basically the next version of your dad.”
Natalie turned to the counter and twisted the faucet, holding back a wince. Her Australia-born father had taken Virginia by storm when he arrived as a young evangelist forty years ago. Up until the last seven years, people predicted she would be the next Philip Groves. She and her father shared the same intense work ethic, the same sharp mind. Or so Billy Graham had said when she met him at a youth leaders’ conference a dozen years ago.
Ever since she’d had to drop out of ministry, most people in the church didn’t even know her name.
And sometimes it felt like God didn’t either.
“Dad’s been excited about Samuel’s work for a while. Especially since he’s an Aussie. But how does this compare to my news about Jem?”
“Sam’s hired me to help get things going. Administration isn’t his strong suit. I’ll be part-time for the church and then part-time for Wildfire. But we need more manpower, so we’re about to open an internship. It goes for three months, and if Sam likes the intern, he’s promising a job at the end of it. They’d even pay for you to finish college. I told him you’d apply.”
Natalie’s hand slipped as she shut off the water. “Are you serious?” Thoughts exploded like confetti—youth rallies, baptisms, working with Steph, her father’s beaming face, social-media buzz, altar calls, discipleship camps, the Wildfire logo on her email . . . “It would never work.”
A single wrinkle creased Steph’s porcelain forehead. “Why?”
“Internships are unpaid. I’ve got bills.” Her mind raced. There had to be a solution. This internship could be her ticket into a career that actually mattered.
“It’s minimum wage.”
“Still not enough.” She calculated the money she’d save by moving into Mom and Dad’s spare room. Not much. And her savings were long since tapped out, as she’d secretly paid all the medical bills she could without Mom finding out about it.
Steph puffed up her cheeks. “What if you found a job flexible enough to work around it? It’s a lot of nights, weekend work. Our focus at first will be getting Sam in to speak at schools, and we’ll brainstorm other strategies from there. It means the hours will be flexible for the time being. I’ll email you the official details. Maybe you can look for something that fits with it.”
Something twisted Natalie’s gut. She picked at a torn fingernail. “Maybe.”
“Oh yeah. The Jem thing.” Steph wrinkled her pert nose. “He told me he planned to ask you. I told him to stand out of striking range.” She squeezed Natalie’s forearm. “Believe me, I get it.” Something strange entered her tone before she gave her head a little shake. “Brother-in-law or not, in my books he’s got a long way to go before he earns a place back in our family. But consider what’s at stake. You’ve always dreamed of carrying on your dad’s work, but . . .”
“I knew he wouldn’t see it,” Natalie finished. Her watch ticked five times before she spoke again. “What if Jem’s only offering because of . . . you know, our history?”
“So what? Do the job and take his money. His feelings are his problem.” The corner of Steph’s mouth twitched in a sympathetic smile. “Just think about it. When will you get another chance like this?” She dropped an eyelid in a wink. “I’m even ninety-five percent sure Sam’s single.” She patted Natalie’s shoulder and left.
Natalie gripped the counter as the marrow drained from her bones. She’d done the same thing in this room before. The Friday that the news broke of her ruined engagement. The Sunday that Dad announced his diagnosis.
She stared at the dark hole in the bottom of the sink, searching for any speck of dirt the cleaners had missed. Her eyes zeroed in on the edge of the metal guard on the plughole, tears clearing as her focus sharpened.
Different day, same grit.
Working for Jem would be like staring at a movie of how her life was supposed to turn out. Longing and revulsion in one twisted pill, like the sweet-and-sour Warheads Dad used to trick her into eating.
There had to be another way to fund her months in the internship.
She just couldn’t do it with Jem.
5
Pain dug its fingers into Natalie’s shoulder as she gave the pedals of Mom’s rusting bicycle one final shove and coasted toward her parents’ home in the waning evening light. She’d come off second best in a pileup of bodies—including Jem’s—when a contest for the basketball went a little too far. Jem had offered her a ride home, but she’d said no before he finished the question.
As she rolled closer, the streetlight illuminated the driveway in front of the 1970s rental her parents now called home. She squinted at the parked vehicle. Not Dad’s ancient Volvo.
Dismounting, she walked the bike up the drive and peered into the blue Camry. A baby seat sat buckled in the back.
No, no, no, no—
“Come on in.” Mom stood in the open door dressed in a fluorescent-blue sweat suit and too wide smile, her Australian accent a touch thicker than usual. “You’re just in time for sweets.”
“Mom, what did you do?”
Mom folded her arms. “Natalie Jane, don’t you throw a hissy fit. I didn’t know you planned to stop by before you went home. Your father asked to see Jem, so here he is.” She pointed to the door. “Come inside and help me serve dessert.”
Natalie double-chained the bike to the mailbox—hopefully it would be secure enough in this neighborhood—and tried to give Mom the stink eye as she passed. But she couldn’t frown for more than two seconds at her vanilla-scented mother without breaking into a smile.
Instead of vanilla, hospital disinfectant greeted her as she entered the kitchen. That and the deep voice of a CBS news anchor.
Jem jerked upright when she walked in, his tall frame making the room seem tiny. Olly fussed in his arms until Jem popped a pacifier into the baby’s mouth. “Nat, I didn’t realize— I, um . . .”
Natalie eyed him. Where was his previous swagger?
She shuffled farther in, her right hand holding her left shoulder. “Where’s Dad?”
“He was just having a little rest before Jem arrived,” Mom said. “You serve up and pour the tea, and I’ll go get him.” She scuttled down the hallway.
Natalie smiled at the ice cream bucket sweating beside an open tin of peaches, her taste buds watering at the Groves household’s Thursday night dessert. But she moved to the freezer first and snagged a bag of baby corn. Then she rummaged through the third drawer for Dad’s masking tape.
“Sorry again about the shoulder,” Jem said from the other side of the counter.
She kept her eyes on her task. “It’s fine.”
“Need any help?”
“I’m fine.”
She balanced the bag on her shoulder, held it down with her ear, and wrapped the tape around and under the armpit, once and then again. She had neither the energy nor the patience to hold the thing on and try to serve dessert at the same time. Tearing the tape with her teeth, she slapped the end down, grabbed a spoon, and slopped peaches into the first bowl.
Jem, still in her peripheral vision, let his gaze wander around the walls crammed with photo frames, knickknacks, and more photos. “It’s, uh, different from their old place.”
“They had to sell last year.”
“Oh.”
The news droned on in the background, and Olly rattled Jem’s keys, breaking the awkwardness. Tension left her shoulders. She could survive this. Jem just had to keep quiet till she made her escape.
“So how is your dad, uh, doing?”
She usually prided herself on her politeness, but this whole keep-a-distance-from-Jem thing called for an exception.
Make it clear he should stay away. Be tough.
She squared her shoulders. “He’s dying. But I thought you knew.”
&nbs
p; He cleared his throat. “Your mom mentioned it. But I mean how does he feel about—I mean, does he think the same, uh . . .”
Natalie looked up to meet his eyes, but he focused on the photo frame in front of him, the Australia-shaped one that used to contain a photo of Mom, Dad, Natalie, and Jem. She’d swapped it out years ago.
His lost expression matched how she felt.
“Here we come.” Mom broke the moment as Dad’s wheelchair edged out of the hallway.
Jem tensed. Lines appeared on his forehead, and his skin turned a delicate shade of gray.
Despite her brain’s warning signals, Natalie’s chest tightened. Jem had been closer to her father than his own family.
Dad’s slippered feet peeked around the corner, followed by patchwork-quilt-covered legs with veined hands resting on the knees.
“Jeremy Walters. Get your skinny backside over here. I’ve got something to say to you.” Dad’s voice cracked across the room as Mom stopped the wheelchair next to their table.
Jem paled another five shades and stepped closer.
“Sir, I just wanted to say—”
Dad grabbed Jem’s free hand before he could finish and squeezed it. “I missed you, boy.”
A muscle twitched in Jem’s face, and he bent to give Dad an awkward hug.
Natalie’s eyes misted.
Jem had adored her father ever since that day in eighth grade when Dad had filled in for Captain Walters at a school Father’s Day basketball game. Jem found an excuse to come over all the time after that, and their family had often laughed that they never knew if it was to see Natalie or Dad.
Jem perched on a seat next to Dad and cleared his throat. “I, um, think I should apol—”
“Gimme a look at the strapping young man you’ve got there. He’s a chip off the old block. What a handsome little devil.”
Jem surrendered Olly to Dad’s outstretched hands.
They chatted about the baby, Jem’s new job at the local newspaper, apartment rental prices. The only thing Dad refused to discuss was Jem’s apology.
Natalie handed out dessert bowls, shifting a stack of papers so she could place Dad’s in front of him as he chatted.
A large red number on the top page of the stack jumped out at her. She did a double take and snatched up the bill, her skin prickling into goose bumps all the way down to her curled toes. She caught Mom’s eye and nodded to the far side of the kitchen. Mom moved behind the sink and turned on the water as Natalie joined her.
“What is this?” Natalie held out the page, pointing at the bottom figure. She shot a quick glance at Dad, but the gurgling water seemed to cover their conversation.
She’d managed her parents’ finances for the past four years. Mom had a terrible head for numbers and enough stress to deal with already. And Dad . . . Well, they’d all decided it was best if she took care of the paperwork and kept them up to date on the situation.
And so far she’d handled dozens of large bills like this. But not without a job.
Mom grimaced. “It came this morning. We didn’t realize this one was coming.”
Natalie rested her elbows on the counter and studied the document. Worse than the dollar figure were the words Due in thirty days.
“You can’t get an extension?”
“Already tried.”
Head down, Natalie counted to ten. The beast inside her longed to smash everything in reach. Instead, she reached for the sugar bowl and dumped a teaspoon of granules in Jem’s tea. He liked it black, no sugar, and even though this situation wasn’t his fault, she felt a smidgen better.
Mom moved closer and lowered her voice. “How much do we have left?”
Natalie shook her head. “Not this much. Not if you want to buy bread and toilet paper in the next month.”
Ripples ran through Mom’s tea as her hand shook. “Toilet paper’s overrated. There’s some leafy trees in our backyard.” Her upbeat tone couldn’t hide the quiver in her voice.
Natalie dumped three more spoonfuls of sugar in Jem’s cup. “Not going to cut it.”
“And you’ve had no luck finding a job?”
Oh no. There had to be another way.
She scanned the room, crammed with worn furniture and bric-a-brac valuable only in terms of sentiment. They had nothing left to sell except for Dad’s Sean Connery–signed James Bond poster—something he loved only slightly less than her. She’d sell her clothes before she sold that. And her job search had been futile. Savings: gone.
Natalie’s eyes slid shut and she massaged her temples. There was no way around it. They needed cash, and they needed it now.
Steel entered her soul. She could do this for Mom and Dad. “Actually, I have a bit of an announcement.”
She took a fortifying gulp of tea. It scalded all the way down her throat. Two more spoonfuls went into Jem’s cup. She turned to the men and raised her voice. “Tea’s ready.”
Jem stood and passed Dad’s cup to him, then picked up his own.
“Dad, I’ve got good news.” Natalie glanced at Jem as she stepped closer to her favorite man in the world. Dad’s weathered face smiled at her.
“Eh, what’s that?”
Jem choked on his tea. A small satisfaction in light of the blow about to be delivered to her fragile pride.
“I’m applying for an internship with Samuel Payton’s youth ministry, and I’ll work as a nanny for Jem at the same time. If I get it, the positions will be flexible enough to work around each other.”
“You will? It will?” Jem recovered enough to ask, setting his cup on the table with a grimace.
Natalie braced her hands on her hips. “Take it or leave it.”
He beamed at Dad. “Right. I’m your daughter’s new boss.”
She should have put another six sugars in.
Dad grasped her fingers, and she dragged her death stare from Jem’s face. “Nattie, that’s terrific. Samuel Payton’s a good man.”
Her lips tugged into a smile. “Yes, he is. It’s an amazing ministry.” And she’d dreamed for so long now of taking part in something of such significance.
Putting up with Jem would be worth it. Hopefully. Now she just needed to secure the internship.
Dad’s eyes clouded for a moment before he blinked the tears away. “You deserve this chance, more than anybody. After all you’ve given up.”
She clasped his hand with her other one. “I haven’t been accepted yet. And I might not get the job at the end of it.”
Dad tugged her down to kiss her cheek. “I know you. You’ll get it. You always do me proud.”
A tiny blossom of hope unfurled in her soul. He was right. She would work harder than any intern ever before. She’d make this ministry thing work. And she’d make Dad proud.
Mom’s expression remained the only one uncertain, unlike the grinning Jem and Dad.
Dad turned his attention to Jem. “Thank you, Jem. She couldn’t do this without the right kind of job.”
Jem shrugged. “I feel bad it’s only part-ti—Ow!”
Natalie ground her heel into his toe. No need for Dad to know their financial situation still wasn’t ideal.
“What’s wrong?” Dad frowned.
“Remember he used to get terrible leg cramps?” She patted Jem on the back as he grasped his foot. “Needs more salt.” Technically, it wasn’t a lie.
Jem, still bent over and holding his foot, glanced up at her with mutinous blue eyes. She drilled him with a look and prayed he got the message.
He straightened. “Yeah, those cramps. I’ll have to eat more bacon.”
Natalie licked ice cream from her spoon and smiled at him.
He flexed his sore foot. “Anyway, I should get home and give Olly a bath. I’ll see you on Monday, Nat.”
“I’ll walk you out so you can give me the details.”
He collected Olly from Dad, pried his keys from the baby’s slobbery hands, and she followed him out the door. As soon as it shut behind them, he spun. “We need a saf
e word, because I think you just broke my toe.”
“Makes up for the shoulder.”
“That was an accident.”
“So was this.”
He shook his head, opened the rear car door, and fastened Olly into his seat. “You don’t want your dad to know it’s only part-time?”
Natalie shook her head. “He and Mom have enough on their minds. They don’t need to think about finances too. But that brings me to my one condition.”
“Condition?” He finished clicking Olly into place and faced her.
She put her best negotiating face on and held his gaze. Thank goodness Steph had been able to email her the details straight from her phone after the game. “I’m only interested if I can work it around an internship with Wildfire. Most of it is night and weekend work, but some will be in the daytime. I’ll need to bring Olly along with me or do the work from your place while I have him. The hours change, so I’d need to be flexible.”
Jem folded his arms and tilted his head, like he was thinking about it. “You’ll send me the details when you get them? So I know how many hours we’re talking about?”
She brought up the new-contacts screen of her phone and held it out. “I’m guessing you’re not still [email protected]?”
His fingers brushed hers as he took the phone from her. “I have a condition of my own.” His thumbs flew across the screen, his own phone dinged, and he handed hers back. She checked the screen. He’d entered his contact details under the name Elmer Fudd and sent himself a text, presumably to get her number.
She gave a cautious nod. “Shoot.”
“You’ll consider staying later occasionally, if I need it. You can always say no. Just be open to the possibility. And sometimes, if I need a hand with something, like . . . finding furniture for my apartment, you’d also consider helping out with that. I’d pay you, of course.”
