“I . . . I thought . . . I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes to a significant advance in your career.”
“I didn’t apply for this. I didn’t even know you were looking for a new GM.”
Robert leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “They tell me I’ve had a good run here, Dana. Good enough that I’m being bumped up.” He smiled and waved his thumb at Spencer. “I’m taking his role, so someone needs to fill mine. They’re going to let me work out of Seattle, so we’ll still get to work together.” He pointed to the sheet in her hands. “So what do you say? Would you do me the honor of succeeding me?”
She glanced at the paper in her hands, then up to her GM. “Yes.”
The rest of the meeting was a blur. She thanked both of them, shook their hands, and stood, her body numb. They told her to be expecting a contract on her desk in the morning and to take her time looking it over and have her attorney look it over as well.
Dana was still in a daze as she pushed open her office door and slumped against her desk. Really? Had she really just been offered the chance to run the station? She’d been noticed. She’d been seen.
And suddenly life was good.
Sure, it was balanced out on the negative side with wanting a special person in her life and having no prospects on the horizon, not to mention her weird quasi relationship with Brandon. But still, on the whole her life felt solid and the future was full of hope. Warriors Riding continued to propel her deeper with Jesus than she’d ever imagined was possible and they were doing amazing things for the kingdom. The school at Well Spring was going extremely well and now this promotion? If this was the enemy’s attack she wanted more.
THIRTEEN
MARCUS PUSHED THROUGH HIS FRONT DOOR AT SIX THIRTY on Monday evening, the smell of spaghetti filling the small entryway of his home. His gaze fell on the picture of an eight-year-old Layne sitting on the credenza next to the coat closet, reminding Marcus for the millionth time of what he’d done.
No, take every thought captive. It was over and he couldn’t go back.
You’ve been forgiven.
The words of the Spirit were hollow in his mind, the pain in his soul like thunder. But he’d gut through it just like he always did this time of year.
Kat peered around the corner of the kitchen as he took off his shoes and pushed them toward the basket next to the front door. “Hey.” She winked at him and disappeared back inside the kitchen.
He walked up to the kitchen door and stood in the entry. “I thought I was supposed to cook tonight.”
“You were, but I got home early and figured I’d get things started.”
“Sorry I’m late.”
“You’re not that late.” Kat glanced at the clock on the wall above the breakfast nook. “How was your day stimulating young minds?”
“Not as strange as Friday.” He set his satchel down on the kitchen counter and gave Kat a quick kiss. “I swear I stepped into two different versions of your shop. It wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t a vision.”
“But you decided to let it go. So do it.”
“You’re right, you’re right, I know you’re right.”
“Then truly release it and enjoy the evening, okay? You haven’t been sleeping. You’ve been stressed over this possible book deal with Tim, and you’re always a little out of sorts on the first day of a new quarter. Isn’t it possible your mind was playing tricks on you?”
“Yes.”
“Could you say that with a little less enthusiasm?”
Marcus laughed and lifted his hands in surrender. “Let me change and I’ll set the table.”
“No need. We’re eating in the dining room tonight.”
“What?”
“We’re having a dinner guest tonight and you’re going to be nice.” Kat glared at him, a paring knife in her right hand pointed directly at him.
A dinner guest? This couldn’t be good. If he hadn’t been consulted on the occasion it meant the guest was one of Abbie’s or Jayla’s friends. And it wouldn’t be Jayla’s. Her friends didn’t come for dinner. Neither did Abbie’s unless they happened to be over and Kat extended an impromptu invitation. Which gave high credence to the hypothesis that this guest was not female.
“There’s a boy coming to dinner tonight? Here?”
“Come on.” Kat put her hands on her hips. “How did you know that?”
“It didn’t take a great deal of analytical prowess to reach that conclusion.”
“Yes, it’s a boy.” Kat turned and stirred the spaghetti sauce.
“From where? How old is he?”
“A friend of Abbie’s from high school. He’s seventeen.”
“I seem to have acquired a considerable amount of wax in my ears in the past two seconds. I thought you just said he was seventeen.”
Kat spun and glared at Marcus again. “Your ears are fine.”
“This boy is three years older than Abbie?”
“Yes, he’s a senior this year.”
“She’s not going to date anyone, let alone a young man who is three years older than she is.”
“She’s not dating. This isn’t a date. They’re just getting to know each other. As friends.”
“Coming to the parents’ house is more than just getting to know each other. And no seventeen-year-old is simply a friend of a fourteen-year-old girl.”
“Would you rather she hid it from us?”
“How long have you known about this?”
Kat set down the knife, sashayed over to Marcus, and slid her fingers under the collar of his shirt. “How old were you when you went on your first date?”
“If memory serves me accurately, twenty-three.”
“We were married at twenty-three.”
“Then my first date must have been at twenty-two.”
“Do I need to remind you of what your father used to say about your dating habits during your teen years? That you had more girlfriends than fleas on a dirty dog’s back?”
“That wasn’t until I was at least . . . seventeen.”
“Try fourteen. The same age as your daughter. I remember stuff like that, remember?”
“The dating equations that pertain to boys are severely different when applied to girls.”
“Care to explain that?”
“I was that age once. I understand fully what is going through a teenage boy’s mind.”
“And what is that?”
“Have you met this kid who has hormones racing all through his body like a particle accelerator?”
Kat nodded.
“And?”
She took a loaf of sourdough bread off the counter and put it in the oven. “You’ll like him the second you meet him, I promise.”
“I’m sure I will.” Marcus gritted his teeth. “And when will said senior in high school be arriving?”
“He’s in the family room with Abbie. Dinner will be ready in ten minutes. Remember, be nice, if not for his sake, for the sake of your relationship with Abbie.”
Marcus frowned. “It’s not right.”
“What’s not right? Calen is charming, handsome, an athlete, gets decent grades from what Abbie says . . . goes to youth group—he’s the total package.”
“That’s the kind of description that worries me.”
“Why?”
“I don’t like perfect people. They’re usually not.”
“Don’t be worried. I’m sure he has flaws like the rest of us. And maybe this is God’s way of bringing a little light into what has been an unusual past year, to say the least.”
Marcus headed upstairs and tried to wrap his mind around the idea of Abbie dating a seventeen-year-old. It wouldn’t be easy.
“Good to meet you, Mr. Amber.” The kid shook his hand with a firm grip and looked right in Marcus’s eyes when he spoke. His smile was relaxed and he didn’t hang back but wasn’t overly eager.
“You too, Calen. Welcome to our home.”
“Thanks.” Calen hooked hi
s thumbs on the front of his belt, then immediately released one of his hands and pointed at the bookshelves to his left. “I’m trying to read your book.”
“Trying?”
Calen’s face flushed a pinch. “I’m dyslexic and reading has always been a challenge. So it takes longer for me to read books than most people.”
“Calen has a 3.75 GPA,” Abbie said and smiled at Marcus.
Dyslexic? And still got good grades? Great. Could this situation get any more clichéd? Sir Calen was not only a star but circumvented his weaknesses to light the way for others with learning disabilities. When dinner was over, Marcus would be shocked if the kid didn’t propose to clear the table and do all the dishes.
He needed to relax. Why couldn’t he accept Kat’s idea that God was bringing something good into Abbie’s life? Because he wasn’t ready for another male to waltz into Abbie’s world and become her main influence at the same time he was starting to find his way back into her heart.
True, he’d alienated her by spending far too much time on his career at the university when she was younger, but he’d been more than on board for the past two years. And lately their relationship had grown significantly better.
After they were seated, Marcus said a quick prayer and watched Kat gracefully steer the conversation. “Abbie tells me you’re new in town.”
“Yeah, we’ve been here for only a month but it’s been great so far.” Calen glanced at Abbie. “But like it says in John’s gospel, the wind blows where it will, and I have to think the Spirit brought us to Seattle for a reason.” He glanced at Abbie again and she flushed and gave him a shy smile.
That night as they lay in bed Marcus tried to accept the fact Abbie wasn’t ten anymore. Or even twelve.
“Don’t blow it.” Kat patted his leg.
“Something is off about this kid.”
“No, for you there is. No one else. Something is going to be off for you with every guy Abbie brings home. It’s okay to feel that way but your feelings don’t make it true.”
“A large part of me cannot comprehend that we’re having this discussion.”
“Be wise.” Kat poked him in the shoulder. “I mean it. This is a good kid. Yes, he’s a senior but he’s good for her. Haven’t you seen it? She’s lighter than she’s been in a year and it’s good for your relationship with her. Tell me you saw that tonight. And that you’re not going to crush her.”
“What are you insinuating?”
“That he asked her to the prom tonight, and when she tells you, you’re going to smile and congratulate her.”
“What? Wait a minute. When did this turn from ‘a friend’ to going to the prom? Let me guess, you wanted to ease me into it? Meet the kid, agree he’s great, then roll over and say yes?”
“You and Abbie have done pretty well over the past several months. If you’re going to tell her she can’t go with Calen I suggest you do it with a great deal of tenderness and tact.”
“She’s just a little girl.”
“I wish that were true.”
“It is true.”
“It’s not.”
“I don’t care if she’s twenty.”
Kat didn’t answer and turned over. Within minutes she was asleep. Slumber didn’t come for Marcus till nearly an hour later. And fifty minutes of prayer didn’t get him any closer to knowing what he was going to do.
The next evening at nine thirty Abbie slumped onto the couch in their family room next to Kat and skewered him with her eyes. “This is where you tell me I can’t go to the prom with Calen, right?”
“I’m only saying I want to discuss it.”
“Let’s cut to the final scene, Dad. Do you approve or not approve? Can I go or not?”
“He seems like a nice kid but—”
“He’s not a kid! He’s a senior and he’s almost eighteen years old. He’s nearly an adult.”
Marcus took a deep breath. “Exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
“He seems like a nice adult but—”
“But I’m too young to date, he’s too much older than me, blah, blah, blah, and I can’t go to the prom with him.”
“I’m just trying to—”
Abbie grabbed the back of her long red hair and pulled down, her eyes closed. “To what, Dad? Protect me? Keep me from getting my heart broken? I just want to go to a dance together and if that goes well maybe a movie. Take a hike in the mountains. Go to a Sounders game together. Hang out with him at youth group. I’m not going to bed the guy.”
“Abbie!”
“What?” She kicked the coffee table and yanked her arms across her chest.
“Statistically young girls . . . women . . . who start dating early have a much greater chance of winding up in relationships that will hurt them and taint their marriages for years to come. I know emotionally this doesn’t register with you, but please consider the logic of this.” He glanced at Kat for support but she shook her head. “You’re only fourteen years old and you’ll have years of time to date when you’re older.”
“Technically I’ve lived on earth for fourteen years so I’m really in my fifteenth year of living.”
“Abbie.”
She scowled. “Marcus.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Then be my dad, not a professor lecturing me on the ills of holding hands with a boy at my age. Can’t you trust me just a little bit? I’ve prayed about this by myself and with Mom and I’m not blind.”
He stared at her pleading eyes and an image of the dinner they’d had almost a year ago at the Space Needle flashed into his mind. And the times since then where they’d watched TV together, went for mountain bike rides, and how her face lit up for a few seconds when he framed a picture he’d taken of her playing soccer and gave it to her for no reason at all. He didn’t want to lose the ground they’d gained.
And logic? Yes, it was logical to let her go. It was one date. She wasn’t getting engaged. And he could keep a very close eye on where things went from here with Calen.
“Okay, you can go.” The words sputtered out of his mouth, and the moment they did he wished he could take them back.
Abbie leaped from the couch and threw her arms around his shoulders. “Thanks, Dad. I’m so glad I don’t have to cut you out of my will now.”
Marcus tried to smile. “Me too.” He stood and glanced at Kat who mouthed, Well done. Then he walked out of the room and upstairs, trying to ignore the sensation in his stomach telling him he’d made an extremely poor decision.
Marcus sat at his desk in his den. You made the appropriate choice. But had he? Where was the line between being a strong father and protecting his daughter and letting her go? How much of their strained relationship played into it—should play into it? Had he let her go just to keep their relationship going in the right direction? Did it mean he’d always be a slave to Abbie’s desires? The desires of a fourteen-year-old?
A shuffle of feet in his doorway made him look up. Kat, with a smile on her face.
“Thoughts?” he said.
“You hit a few bumps, swerved a few times, but got the car back on the road by the end of the conversation.” Kat eased over to his walnut desk and leaned against it.
“I hope we’re even supposed to be on this stretch of the highway.”
“I’m thinking what’s left of today still has enough to worry about, so why don’t we put tomorrow’s worries off till tomorrow?”
“Well said.”
“Are you coming to bed?” She turned to go.
“In a few minutes. I need some time to wind down.”
“Don’t think too hard. It’s all going to work out.” As Kat left, his den light flashed off her wedding ring and Marcus glanced around his den. Everything looked exactly the same.
He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and stayed that way for a long time. He needed to relax. Trust that God had Abbie in his hands. He repeated the idea to himself along with verses that seemed like cli
chés. Finally he opened his eyes and came forward. Time for bed. Kat was probably already asleep.
He pulled a couple of pens out of his pocket and tossed them onto his desk. They came to rest against a small stack of photos tucked underneath a book he’d been studying. He reached for them and slowly drew them closer. He didn’t remember the photos being there the day before yesterday. Were they? Marcus lifted the stack and his pulse spiked. Whether the photos had been there or not was irrelevant because the one on the top of the stack shouldn’t exist.
FOURTEEN
MARCUS SLUMPED BACK IN THE LEATHER CHAIR IN HIS den and stared at the photo clutched in his hand as if it were proof UFOs were real. Where had the shot been taken? He racked his brain for the answer but his mind offered no solutions.
The picture was of Dave Damrell and him standing on the top of a rocky, nondescript cliff, their arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders, wide grins under their mirrored sunglasses. A sweeping view of snowcapped peaks forty or fifty miles behind them appeared to be an ideal backdrop to capture a memory of male bonding.
The only problem was, Marcus had no recollection of the picture being taken or where he and Dave were standing. He turned the photo over. Eight words on the back, scrawled in his handwriting, made his body go numb: On top of Little Annapurna—Enchantments trip ’93.
Was this some kind of joke? The first four photos were of jade-green alpine lakes and sweeping mountain views and goats with molting fur. But the last one was of Dave and him on a trip in the summer of ’93 he didn’t go on.
The trip he’d regretted missing ever since. Dave, Ricky Totten, and Mark Effinger had all gone and raved about it for years afterward—needled him was a more accurate description—and he’d never forgiven himself for canceling at the last minute so he could . . . Marcus couldn’t even remember why he’d thrown the trip away. Probably studying for a test for his PhD.
He turned the other photos over. There was a lack of notation on them. He set the photo of Dave and him in the center of his desk and shoved the other pictures to his right. A thick sensation of dread grew in the center of his stomach. There was no logical explanation for how this photo could exist. But it did.
Memory's Door (A Well Spring Novel) Page 8
