“Kasia, you sure you don’t want to play with us tonight?”
A fist squeezed her heart. “Maybe next time? Let me just get a feel for the group dynamics and see how everything works.”
Jayce bumped her arm and leaned in. “No rush. It’d be kickin’, but we got it. Whenever, yeah?”
She smiled her thanks, and he popped another melt into his mouth.
A.J. appeared, wrapping her hair into a bun and securing it with a pencil. She leaned back into the other room. “Jayce is in the kitchen!” Her almond-shaped eyes, back on them, lit with mischief. “All the best stuff is gone by the time the guys are done with the music, so Jayce stashes a plate in the fridge. A big plate.” She nodded toward the living room. “Let’s find a seat.”
They settled with their backs against the couch and kicked off their shoes.
Kyle stepped around the coffee table, guitar high over his head, and plunked down beside Kasia. He set the chord sheet on the floor in front of them. Shaggy brown hair framed his face.
Kasia caught his eye. “Want anything from the kitchen before you’re trapped there all night?”
“I’m good.” His boyish gray eyes were all thanks and interest.
Kasia scanned the room of twenty-somethings. Some were in the local universities, some worked, a couple were married. Good mix. She could get used to this. Help me to get Blake behind me. And please, fill my heart with love again—only for You though. Always, only for You.
It was the only kind of love she could feel anyway.
At the opening chords of “How Deep the Father’s Love for Us,” Kasia perked up. Kyle glanced her way, and she offered him a smile.
Kasia closed her eyes and shut out the distractions. She sang along for the only audience that mattered, imagined herself at Jesus’s feet, her voice an offering.
“Turn to Philippians three.” The words called her to attention. An international student leaned forward and straightened his glasses before he read.
Kasia followed along in her own Bible, enjoying his unusual accent.
“Pastor Sean preached this on Sunday. Paul counted ev’rything loss compared to knowing Christ as Lord. He calls it ‘rubbish.’ What does he mean? What does he say ’bout how we spend our time?”
The question hung in the air. Then, one by one, others answered. “Nothing.”
“Loss.”
“Trash.”
Trash might be a bit harsh.
After a minute, he went on. “Tell me: What kind of things do you pursue?”
“Success,” someone answered.
“God-honoring relationships.”
“A degree.”
“Marriage.” A few people laughed. Some nodded.
“A record label.” Kyle winked at no one in particular.
Kasia traced the edges of the onion-leaf pages. A recording contract used to be her answer too.
“These things—they’re not bad. But compared to all we can find in Christ, Paul says they’re worthless. Why?”
“’Cause whatever they are, they’re not gonna last forever,” Jayce said. “We gotta chase things worthy of Christ. Spend our time on what matters. Nothin’ else.”
Kasia’s hand stilled. She didn’t hear much after Jayce’s answer. His words played on repeat awhile.
Around nine, the study wrapped up with a time of prayer, and people started moving again. Kasia slipped her Bible into her canvas messenger bag and said goodbye.
She and Lenka climbed into her car and rolled down the windows.
Blake’s car hadn’t moved.
He hadn’t seen her.
A warm breeze caressed her cheek as she maneuvered out of the lot. As she pulled out onto the road, she let the wind whisk every distraction from her mind. The world faded and Jayce’s voice echoed again. Spend our time on what matters. Nothin’ else.
The words inked her heart, stained deeper than her new friend’s tattoo.
She inhaled April-warmed air, fresh and full of life, as determination saturated every inch of her.
Lenka turned on some background music and stuck her hand out the window. She sliced through the wind. “What’d you think?”
Kasia gripped the wheel and smiled.
“You were right. I needed this.”
~*~
Tuesday’s disciplinary hearing bore down on Zan like an angry third baseman.
He swung by his apartment to dress up and get his papers together. As he whipped into the lot, he spotted his father’s sleek gray Italian car in his parking space. Zan swore under his breath and switched off his radio.
He drove around to the side of the apartment building and found a guest spot, let the engine idle awhile. He wanted to appreciate the parental involvement, but he didn’t need the situation “handled” for him. What about that respect Dad mentioned on the phone?
Pressed and dressed, his father stood on the sidewalk in front of his door—on his cell. He never could set business aside easily. But he was here. There was that.
Zan jangled his keys and stepped past his father to let himself in. He grabbed a bottled water and leaned against the bar, waiting for the big entrance, but time was a-wasting. Should he make himself a quick lunch? Nah. He’d be willing to lay a hundred down his father would require better than sandwiches.
So he jogged to his room and threw his clothes on the bed, then pulled on the pair of khakis he’d ironed before he left. He buttoned his dark blue oxford as he walked to the living room. Still empty. When he’d finally perfected his tie and gotten his hair to lie down, the front door clicked shut.
“Felt like a four-hour drive this morning?” Zan gave his reflection a final once-over.
“I’ve been in town since yesterday afternoon, Alexander.”
Oh? Glad they could get together. “Where are you staying?”
“The Fieldstone, of course. Your mother made the reservations.”
Zan leaned against the doorframe of his bedroom, took a long pull on his water, wet his lips. “What does she think of all this trouble I got into?”
“I don’t suppose she likes it, son, but she certainly understands. We’ve all got skin in this game.”
Zan screwed the bottle cap on and off. “I’m sorry it was so public.”
“Michael chose the venue. And I can’t say I’d have behaved any better than you.” He pulled out his tablet and messed with the screen. “I’ve made an appointment to speak to the coach about all this.”
“No!”
His father’s head turned slowly and the warning eyebrow arched an inch.
Zan re-straightened his tie. “Let me do this, Dad. Please. I know you’re only helping, but I don’t want special treatment. I apologized for my conduct, but I have no regrets—and I’m prepared to accept whatever decision the board makes. It’s not like I play ball anyway. Just because I was issued a jersey—”
“That’s the point, son. We’re not going to throw all this away.”
All what? “I’m no Firelli. If he’d shoved someone in the stands, this might be a different conversation. It’s—I’d…” He’d like them to take his name off the roster, so he wouldn’t feel like such a quitter when he…if he had to walk away.
“You’re better than Firelli.”
“Not at baseball. And…he’s a good guy. If I’ve got to play second to somebody…”
His father stood there, a great stone face.
Zan checked the oven clock. “Have you eaten?”
“No. Let me take you out, and then I’ll drive you to the hearing.” His sigh practically made the earth rumble. “And I’ll wait outside. But you’ll show them the documents I brought up from Lydia Johansen.”
“Yes, sir. A courier delivered me some reports and files from the precinct up here too, thanks to Lydia.”
“This is why we keep her on retainer.”
Zan grabbed his backpack and swapped his textbook for the manila folder. He followed his father out the door, his mind too full to speak.
&nb
sp; ~*~
Zan gently closed the conference-room door behind him, paused in the hallway to collect himself before facing his father. Who knew what the board continued to talk about in there? He had been officially dismissed. Dealt with.
Suspended. Was he supposed to feel relieved?
He walked toward the lobby, loosened his tie. He needed to put the best possible spin on this decision. All they’d done was come up with enough sentence to satisfy the bloodthirsty and leave him as useless as he’d always been.
His father stood when Zan entered the lobby. “Well?”
“Suspended. I can’t play or even travel for the super-regional. I can be in the stands, but on my own dime.” If Firelli took the team that far.
“But not expelled or off the team. The documents were useful then?”
“Yes, sir. They understood the history between us, and it helped that I didn’t ‘hit’ him.”
“I’m sure it did.” He strode toward the glass door and held it open. When they were outside, he added quietly, “Maybe one day, you’ll still get the chance.”
Zan turned, pleasantly surprised to see a wry smile on his dad’s face.
“It would be ideal if he just disappeared,” Zan said.
“True. But if he doesn’t, and you’re not in uniform…” Both eyebrows lifted.
“I read you.”
“So.”
“So.” Zan smiled. Good to know the encouragement and support were still there—at least where Bailey and Mike were concerned. As for baseball, only time would tell.
“I’ll drop you off at your place, and we’ll see you in a week, yes?”
“Yes, sir.” They climbed into his father’s car, and Zan rested his head against the sun-warmed leather. So different from the hearing, with its cold air conditioning and the chill of tough conversation. “You canceled your meeting with Coach?”
“I did. But I—”
“I’m going to talk with him this afternoon.”
“About?” The question filled the car.
Zan cracked a window. “Where I go from here.” If he would never get to play, what was the point of staying on the team?
Even as he asked it though, it stung. Baseball had always consumed his future plans. Starting over felt impossible.
Kasia was starting over too, wherever she was in the world.
He sure would like to see her again.
10
The Cleavens would depart for Peru tomorrow.
Kasia’s nerves buzzed. Had Tatuś made time to meet them? If not, would he put his foot down and forbid her?
She hunkered at her desk, comparing ticket prices and making a packing list. If nothing else, she could plan. Preparation could only prove her determination.
A knock sounded, and Kasia’s heart rocketed into her throat. “Who is it?”
“Lena.”
She unbolted the door and let her sister in. “What are you doing here?”
“Thanks for the hug, nerd. I thought you might not mind me staying the night since we’re going to Kyle’s party together tomorrow. Aren’t you the girl who needs friends?”
She slid the lock into place.
“Dad met with Mr. Cleaven this morning. Figured you might like to know that.”
Kasia’s eyes burned, and she squeezed her sister tightly. Lenka was still her best ally. “Did he say anything about it?”
“Nope. No idea what the verdict is. Just saying. What are you working on?”
“Planning anyway. Packing list and stuff.” She pointed to her bed. “Have a seat.”
“I think it’s cool that you’re so serious about this. You remind me of a sister I used to know.” Lenka threw her duffel on Kasia’s futon and set a box on the desk.
“What’s that?”
“Mom sent oatmeal chocolate-chip cookies of deliciousness for Kyle.” She plopped down on the bed beside her bag. “Get back to work. I brought stuff to do. I knew you had exams and all.”
Lenka rocked.
Kasia’s ringtone pulled her attention. She grabbed her cell and frowned at the unknown number. God, please don’t let it be Blake. She waffled a moment too long, and the call ended. Unsure what to do, she sat next to Lenka.
“Yeah?” Her sister pulled an old-school photo album out of her bag and flipped through some of her favorite shots from the last few weeks. For Lenka’s birthday, their parents had given her an old manual 35-mm camera. She’d already been experimenting—on everything and everyone.
“Somebody called my cell a second ago, and I didn’t recognize the number. Should I call back?” She hated having to ask Lenka. Blake used to call Kasia an oak, but she behaved more like a clinging vine these days.
Lenka shut the book. “Think it’s the cretin?”
“I don’t know. Might only be A.J. at home…but I can’t make myself call.”
“Hand it to me.” Lenka took the phone and pulled up the number. She held it to her ear and pursed her lips. “Hey,” she said. “You just called me?”
Then everything about Lenka’s tense facial expression shifted, and she grinned. “She’s right here, Kyle. Let me get her.”
Lenka waggled her eyebrows and handed Kasia the phone.
“Hey, Kyle, what’s up?” Relief colored her every word.
“I thought maybe—if you want—I could give you a tour of the radio station tomorrow. Before the party.”
“Sure. What time? I planned to buy some things for my trip.”
Kyle even agreed to swing back by school and let her pick up her car before the party. If he drove her back afterward—too much like a date.
After he hung up, she punched through the menu, added Kyle to her contacts. No more mystery numbers. Lenka’s watchful gaze was on her again. “What?”
“Hanging out with Kyle tomorrow, huh? Does he mind having me around?”
“Course not. He probably expects you to be there. For the party. He knows, I mean…this isn’t a date, is it?” The room was suddenly sweltering. “Lenka, seriously. I think you’d better come—so it’s clear. Anyway. He doesn’t really have a choice.”
Lenka chuckled. “Got you a little flustered, did he?”
“Shut up.” Kasia spun on her heels and nearly face-planted over her sister’s shoes. “You always leave stuff in the middle of the floor. Clean up once in a while.”
“Hey, I’m a guest here.”
Kasia chucked a pillow at Lenka. As she walked back to her desk, she mumbled, “Thanks for calling him back for me.”
“No problem, dork.”
Kasia dragged the chair out a few inches farther to sit.
“Who sent you this letter? Jane Austen?”
Kasia stilled. Had she left Blake’s note out?
“Kosh?”
“Somebody slid it under the door. It’s from Blake.”
“Does he not get that the two of you are over?”
“He’s struggling.”
“You should go on a real date with somebody. Let Blake see you’re moving on. Hey, I know. Kyle.” Lenka pointed at her.
“What?”
“Kyle Compton. The guy who just asked you out. Plays guitar, hangs on your every word?”
Kasia drove her knee into the seat cushion. “Lenka, I’m done with dating for now. He’s wasting his time.”
“Maybe you’re not ready to date right now, but seriously. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. When you’re ready, I think you’re gonna want Kyle around. Don’t be too quick to blow him off.”
Kasia sat and dragged her toe across the carpet. “I am dead serious. I’ve wasted too much time already. My relationship with Blake was…monopolizing, I guess. I don’t want that again.” She repeated the words under her breath, her conviction solidifying like setting cement. “I don’t want that again.”
Lenka’s observant gaze bored into her, calculating.
She needed to press on. “Don’t worry about me. I’m all about what God has in store for me. I don’t want any distractions.”<
br />
“Huh.”
Kasia flicked her gaze in her sister’s direction. Lenka tapped the edge of Blake’s envelope against her palm. “So explain why you didn’t throw this away?”
She stomped over and grabbed the envelope. Her stomach curled as her eyes traced the lettering. That penmanship—no way it was Blake’s.
“Kasia? What’s going on?”
Could Lenka quit being so stinking astute for five minutes? “Nothing. Did you want to read the note or not?”
Her sister snatched it back and sat on it. “If you won’t trust me, we’ve got nothing to go on here.”
“Blake didn’t write it—the outside I mean. You can see his handwriting in the note, but that’s not it on the front.”
Lenka tugged the envelope out and inspected it, opened the stationery to compare the script. “I don’t like it, Kosh.”
“I don’t even get it. Why would he have somebody else write it for him?”
“Because you’d toss it if you knew who it was from?” She was probably right. “He probably wasn’t even the one who delivered it. Does he have a minion?”
“He wrote the inside—only did what he had to so I’d read it.”
“It’s underhanded though, you know? It’s just…it wouldn’t be a big deal if he weren’t the type of guy who watches your car in the lot, tails you across town, and kidnaps you from a coffee shop. But he is that type.”
“That’s a little much, don’t you think?” Kasia snapped.
“Is it?”
“Kidnap” was ridiculous. Way too criminal for Blake. Still, even as she defended him, phantom fingers seized her elbow and dug in. Half of Kasia tried to come up with something to justify Blake’s need to control her every move; the other half wanted to scream in exhaustion. Why couldn’t he make it simple and leave her alone? She buried her face in her pillow and let rip a muffled moan.
The bed shifted underneath her. Lenka rested a hand on her shoulder.
Kasia kept the pillow in place until her breathing evened out. Then she tilted her head to the side and peered at her little sister.
Lenka tried to smile, but the effect was depressing. “I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re right,” Kasia admitted.
“I know. That’s why I’m sorry.”
Now it was her turn to offer an awkward smile. “Lenka, what do I do?”
Strains of Silence Page 8
