Sample Chapters

CHAPTER 1
Boston Evans, nine years old and small enough to pass for seven, extended her arm out the window of her mom’s Range Rover. Or as Boston called it, the Ranger. She curled her compact fingers in the wind. She found that if she held her arm the wrong way, the wind shoved it backward, too powerful for her to resist. But if she held her fingers tight enough and turned her palm facedown, the whipping winds whooshed around her hand, and it felt like she was flying. She did this for several minutes, experimenting with different angles, but eventually tired of the game.
Pulling her arm in, she leaned her head back against the seat, letting the wind blow her hair in every direction. She imagined she looked like a lion with a fuzzy mane, and when Daddy turned his head and smiled at her, she made claws of her fingers and growled.
Daddy was driving and Boston’s eyes ran over his face. He was pretty. No, the word for boys was handsome. That’s what Mommy told her. Boston thought she had the handsomest daddy in the world and the prettiest mommy, too. Mommy reclined in the seat in front of Boston. Mommy’s hair was dark, like the night sky, and curly. Nothing like Boston’s hair. Boston’s hair was blonde like Daddy’s. Except for the patch on the back of Daddy’s head where his hair was going away. She hoped that never happened to her.
She reached a timid hand to the back of her head and felt the thickness of her hair. It didn’t feel like any was missing. That was good.
She looked back out the window, the wind stinging her eyes. Far below the road, the ocean waves made foamy bubbles on the beach of the Pacific Ocean. Like God’s bubble bath. But between them and the water was a huge cliff covered in trees. It must have been five hundred and twenty-two feet. Yep, it had to be. Exactly five hundred and twenty-two.
She sniffed at the air. Mommy had said she could smell the salt from the water. Boston couldn’t smell anything, but maybe grown-ups had better smellers than kids. Either way, it was a nice thought.
An idea popped into her head and out of her lips as she rolled her window up to block out the wind and noise. “I wanna make You Tube videos.”
“Oh, really?” Mommy turned in her seat and crinkled her nose at Boston the way she did when she got tickled about something. Her smile was wide. “And what are you going to make videos about?”
Boston kicked her feet and rolled her eyes. “Anything, Mommy. Maybe Barbies, or puppies, or math.”
Behind the wheel, Daddy chuckled. “I hate to break it to you, kid, but I don’t think you’re going to have much of an audience if you do math videos.”
“Okay, not math, but Christa’s brother, Turk…”
“Tuck,” Mom cut her off. “His name is Tuck, honey.”
Boston ignored the correction. “He does stuff about video games.”
“You don’t like video games,” Dad peered at her in the rearview mirror.
“Daaaadd.” She made the word long and slow, like when Mrs. Watts wanted to really make a point about something at school. “Turk…”
“Tuck,” Mommy repeated.
“…said you get a dollar every time somebody watches it.”
“I think he was pulling your leg, honey.”
“What?” Boston said.
“You don’t get that much money for a view on You Tube. Maybe he just wanted you to think he did so he could impress you. Maybe he likes you.”
“Ewwww. Mommy, that’s gross.” The chant came unbidden, something she didn’t really understand the meaning of, but something all of the girls on the playground recited in a sing-song voice any time they were bothered by the little boys from the class. “Boys are users and losers so use ‘em and lose ‘em.”
In the front, Mike and Ruby Evans both gasped. Boston immediately felt like she had said something wrong. After a moment Daddy said, “I don’t think you should say that, Boston.”
“Why not?”
Daddy cleared his throat. “Just don’t, okay? Where do you get this stuff, anyway? Is your mom letting you watch soaps?”
Mommy made a huffing sound. “Of course not. What have you been letting her watch, Michael Wayne Evans?”
Daddy didn’t answer. Mommy had used his long name, like when Boston was in trouble.
“I don’t like Daddy’s movies. They’re all guns and blood and bad words.”
Daddy squirmed.
“Uh-huh.” Even from behind, Boston knew Mommy was giving Daddy a dirty look.
Daddy looked guilty. “They’re not that bad, Ruby.”
Boston knew better and she bet Mommy would fuss at Daddy later when Boston wasn’t around. Daddy was in trouble, and Boston found it funny. “Yes, they are. Remember that one where the robot shot the guy in the face and his head exploded and there was brains on the ground?”
“Mike Evans,” Mommy slapped him on the arm.
Mike took his hands off the wheel long enough to shrug his shoulders while keeping his eyes glued to the road. “I have no idea what she’s talking about.”
“Don’t lie, Daddy. Jesus doesn’t want you to lie.”
Ruby clapped her hands in approval. “That’s exactly right, Boston. At least someone in this family has a conscience.”
“People die in war.” Daddy made a pinched face. “It’s realism.”
“Fighting robots?” Boston snickered.
“Fine then. It’s realistic for the future. It really wasn’t that bad. Jake recommended it.”
Mommy gave a sound that was something between a snort and a laugh. “Oh sure, blame someone who isn’t here to defend himself. I doubt he recommended it for our child.” Mommy shook her head and winked back at Boston who giggled then tried to sit up higher in her booster seat.
After a while, everything got quiet again, and Boston kicked her legs to the beat of a song in her head. The song had no words. Just notes she made up. She sighed, contented.
It was only two weeks since Christmas, and the holidays had been great. She got to play Mary in the manger scene at church, and they had a real baby. The baby’s name was Charlie. He was Mrs. Gibbon’s little boy, and he was a happy little guy. He only cried once during one of the practices, and that was because he had a stinky diaper that made Boston’s nose burn. But that was just –
“Mike!”
Boston jerked as Mommy’s voice shattered the quiet in the Ranger.
Ahead of them, coming around a long curve, a semi had blown a tire. Boston saw it all like slow motion – the driver of the rig, a man with a beard and a baseball cap, yanked on the steering wheel trying to get control of the truck as it sort-of wobbled from the blowout. He swerved into their lane, coming right for them.
Suddenly, the big truck filled their windshield, and Daddy tried to swerve too. He pulled to the right to miss the truck, but it still hit them on the left side. There was a big crunching sound and they were rammed farther to the edge of the road.
Mommy and Daddy were screaming. She was screaming. The Ranger slid off the road, over the embankment, and began to tumble.

CHAPTER 2
At ten minutes until two, Pastor Jake Wilson pulled into the parking lot of 3254 Westbury Street in Atlanta, GA, found a fortuitous parking place near the building’s entrance and swung his Hyundai Santa Fe into it. He killed the engine, exited the car, and grunted as his thirty-five-year-old body protested when he stretched from the two-hour trip up from middle Georgia. He was too young to have such aches and pains. Maybe it was just his current level of stress.
He gazed up at the five-story office complex in front of him. It was impossible to see into the mirrored windows as they reflected the afternoon sun, stinging his eyes. Anyone could be watching him from behind those windows, and despite telling himself he was being paranoid, the feeling ate at him.
He whipped his phone from his pocket and dialed the number for his best friend, Mike Evans. Mike lived in California with his wife and daughter, Jake’s goddaughter, and was returning from a trip today. Jake needed to hear his friend’s voice again. They’d spoken the day before.
“You’re worrying about nothing, Jake. Tyndale loves you. You’re like a son to him. You’re not in any trouble.” Mike’s words played over in his mind as the phone rang, but this time all Jake got was Mike’s voicemail. He considered trying Ruby’s cell but decided against it.
Jake sighed and shoved the phone back in his pocket, ran his hands over the front of his shirt in a futile effort to smooth out the wrinkles caused by his seatbelt, and shut the car door before moving to the entrance twenty paces from his parking spot.
The automatic doors swished open with an accompanying rush of warm air infused with the scent of cleaning solvent. They always kept this place pristine.
Despite the relative stillness of the parking lot, the first floor of the state headquarters of the New Creation in God denomination was a bustle of activity. On either side of the space were glass-walled offices. Behind most, men and women sat at desks typing on computer keyboards or talking on phones. Each office had a stencil on the door denoting the position of the occupant – Director of Evangelism, Georgia Missions Director, State Secretary, and so on. Directly ahead, a young woman sat behind a marble-topped welcoming desk that mirrored the pattern of the marble floor.
He stood for a moment, his eyes taking it all in, everything as he remembered it. So many memories.
Jake willed his feet to move, and as he approached, the young woman behind the desk tilted her head, gazing up at him. “Can I help you, sir?”
Jake pushed himself forward, his lips curling up in what he felt was an obviously forced smile. “Hi. I’m here to see Bishop Tyndale.”
“Of course.” The girl was appropriately cordial while remaining businesslike. “What’s your name?”
“Jake Wilson. I have an appointment.”
The young woman pursed her lips and glanced at a ledger – something Jake thought ironically outdated considering the computer sitting to her right – and nodded after a moment of searching. “Sure, Pastor Wilson. Mr. Tyndale’s office is on the fifth floor. You’ll see his office as soon as you get off the elevator.”
Jake nodded. In truth, her instructions were superfluous. He could have made his way blindfolded as many times as he’d followed that exact route. As she returned to whatever task she’d been consumed with before his intrusion, he plodded to his left to the bank of elevators and punched the “UP” button with a quick jab. Once inside, he took a deep breath, the musky-metallic smell of the lift familiar but not comforting.
The doors closed and the elevator climbed, contemporary Christian music playing through the speakers as it rose swiftly to deposit him in front of the office doors of the State Administrative Bishop.
Jake crossed the hall and pushed through.
The waiting area inside was ornately decorated with two leather couches on opposing walls, each facing identical black coffee tables. Directly ahead, sitting behind another desk, was a middle-aged woman with curly brown hair and horn-rimmed glasses. Her disposition on first inspection was considerably sterner than the young woman downstairs. Jake thought he remembered her name was Susan. She was looking at a computer monitor and pecking away at the keys, but stopped as Jake came in and strode across the office to stand in front of the desk.
“Hi. I’m Jake Wilson. I have an appointment at two to see Bishop Tyndale.”
“Of course, Pastor Wilson. We’ve been expecting you. If you’d like to have a seat,” she gestured to one of the sofas, “I’ll let Bishop Tyndale know you’re here.”
Jake gave a polite, nervous nod and moved to sit.
State Administrative Bishop William Tyndale was a long-time friend and mentor to Jake. He had been influential in getting Jake his pastorate at Life Church in Warner Robins, a church that some on the board felt was too large to be taken on by such a young, upstart minister. The politics of the denomination often dictated that you didn’t get appointed to a large church until you had done your time in the “trenches”.
After several minutes, the door behind the secretary opened and Bishop Tyndale emerged. He walked quickly to erase the distance, his pupils large and welcoming, and took Jake’s right hand as Jake stood. Tyndale was in his early seventies, his gray and white hair thin and wispy, but his embrace belied strength still in his body. Despite his age, he was full of energy and life, and as such had always been an inspiration to Jake.
Tyndale leaned back from the hug, his hands still on Jake’s shoulders. “Jake. It’s so good to see you. Sorry to keep you waiting. Please come in.”
He led Jake back the way he had come and held the door to the office open.
Tyndale said, “Barbara,” – not Susan, Jake noted – “make sure we’re not disturbed for the next hour, please.” The secretary nodded as Tyndale closed the door behind them, and Jake swallowed hard at the ominous implication of the words.
The office was much the same as Jake remembered. It was a simple setup with Tyndale’s desk sitting in front of the left wall so that the older man could turn and look out at the city without having to spin his chair all the way around. Heavy bookcases lined the opposite wall, filled with all manner of religious books and commentaries, some so old and brittle that they looked like they could crumble into dust at any moment. Even from across the room, Jake could smell the rich aroma that only an ancient text could give off.
The lighting of the office was soft, save for the sun blazing through the window that took up the entire outer wall, but even that was stilted by the dark tint on the windows. Tyndale hated fluorescent lighting, and as such, preferred desk and floor lamps as his primary sources of illumination. The effect was normally calmative, reminiscent of the way Jake had set up his own office at Life Church, but not today.
“I’ve got a fresh pot of coffee, Jake.” The old man stepped to a KitchenAid coffee maker resting on a counter next to a small sink and mini fridge. “I also have sodas.” He gestured at the fridge. “Care for anything?”
“No thanks. I’m good.” Jake tried hard to read the older man, but so far, he only seemed genuinely pleased to see Jake.
Tyndale made a cup of coffee – black – as Jake slid into one of the chairs facing the desk. The familiar surroundings felt cold to him, and he closed his eyes, sighed.
Tyndale made his way back to the chair behind his desk and plopped down in it, his eyes bright. Jake didn’t say anything. Only watched as the man drank a sip of his coffee. Tyndale wrapped wrinkled fingers around the cup and took a deep breath of it like it was incense.
“Are you sure you don’t want some?” He gave the mug a little tilt in Jake’s direction.
Jake forced a laugh and shook his head. “Don’t really have a taste for it. The only way I like coffee is if it’s a Starbuck’s Frappuccino with enough sugar to choke a bull. Not really good for the waistline.”
Tyndale guffawed. “Like you need to watch what you eat.”
Jake had been blessed with one of those metabolisms that devoured anything he took in regardless of how unhealthy it was. It was a good thing, because he had a voracious sweet tooth and drank sodas like water. Still, he maintained a slim physique, something his staff members often complained about with good-hearted derision. Jake had the sneaking suspicion that one day it would catch up to him, but for now, he was content to take his chances. Besides, his job left him little time for working out.
Tyndale, however, had always struggled with his weight. He had tried more diets and workout gimmicks than most, and he had done well in keeping his weight in check. But it had been difficult for the older man.
Jake felt a sudden wave of nostalgia, remembering the many church conventions with Tyndale. It had been some years now since he and Jake had attended one together. Jake had learned so much during that time. Tyndale had treated him like a son, carefully guiding and instructing him. He’d given Jake a masterclass in pastoring that rivaled any doctorate program in the country. Jake had been unbelievably blessed to have that friendship, something for which he would always be thankful.
“I’ve been watching your stats.” Tyndale paused for another sip of coffee. “You broke thirteen hundred in Sunday morning attendance. That’s fabulous.”
Jake nodded, but the compliment did little to assuage his frazzled nerves.
“Always remember, though,” Tyndale gave Jake a pointed look, “that’s not what it’s all about. There are thousands of great ministers all over the world that work hard every week to care for the little flocks God’s given them.”
One of the things Jake loved about Bill Tyndale was his humble spirit and his ability to do his job as State Administrative Bishop without prejudice about church size. He was fond of saying, “Some pastors are called to shepherd big churches while others are called to lead ten or twenty people in places no one’s ever heard of. But they’re both still called, and equally important in the Kingdom.”
Tyndale’s mood seemed pleasant, friendly, like old times. Somehow it made things worse. Jake realized he was white knuckling the arms of his chair. He forced his arms to relax and swallowed hard. “Bill. It’s good to see you but…” he trailed off.
Tyndale’s brows furrowed, his expression growing dark.
Here it comes, thought Jake. Time for the hammer to fall.
Old friendships aside, Jake was all too familiar with the stories he’d heard from other ministers all his life. Getting summoned to see the State Administrative Bishop out of nowhere was never a good thing. It usually meant problems. Complaints from the congregation, or maybe a discrepancy in funds. He’d even had a friend who’d been removed from his pastorate for accusations of sexual infidelity. The claims had ultimately been proven false, but the man’s ministry had never recovered.
Tyndale sat forward and steepled his fingers on his desk.
“I’d rather just get to it,” Jake said, steeling himself for a gut punch.
Tyndale squinted, considering for a moment. Suddenly, his eyes grew wide and his expression took on one of horror. “Jake, are you under the impression I called you here to reprimand you?”
“Well, yes.” The words tasted like gravel in his mouth.
“Good heavens my boy. I’m so sorry. This is a happy occasion.” He reached into a drawer on the right side of his desk and pulled out a piece of paper. He laid it down on the desk and turned it to face Jake. “This is what I wanted to show you. I wanted to congratulate you in person since you’ve always been like a son to me. The State Council approved your request for the building project. You’ve got a green light for your new family life complex.”
Jake leaned in close and perused the document, stunned. At the bottom were six signatures, the members of the Georgia State Council. He smiled broadly; a smile that was matched by Tyndale’s.
“So soon?” he managed. “I thought that would take months.”
Tyndale beamed at him.
The two arose in unison. Jake rounded the desk and wrapped the older man in a gigantic hug.
“Thanks, Bill. Thanks so much. I’m sure your recommendation went a long way in making this happen.”
Jake released Bill who pulled back to arm’s length. “Nah. They didn’t need my recommendation at all. They looked over the church stats, the proposal…had legal verify everything. Now you just need to get financing and you’ll be ready to break ground.”
Jake bounced on his tiptoes. He’d had a desire to build a family complex for a couple of years now, but the State Council had some concerns. Namely, an upgrade of the sanctuary took place a few years prior, a major undertaking for which Life Church still owed a lot of money. The State Council wanted to be sure the finances of the church were stable, and that attendance didn’t wane before Life Church took on another expensive building project.
They asked Jake to draw up a detailed proposal including cost analysis. After that, they would follow the financial statements of the church for an indeterminate period before giving the thumbs up to proceed.
The church was performing well, and Jake knew that it might be approved sometime within the year, but he had no idea it would come just one month from the initial proposal he had submitted. Now he had the go ahead to proceed with financing for the addition he believed would be a huge boon to the church’s growth and continued outreach to the city.
As he stood there grinning like a fool, Tyndale squeezed his shoulder. “Jake, I’m proud of you. I can’t wait to see what God has in store.”
Jake’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out. He glanced at the number. Not one he recognized. He did, however, recognize the area code as the same as Mike’s and Ruby’s. New number? He swept his finger up the screen to answer it and placed the phone against his ear. “Hello?”
“Is this Jake Wilson?” An unfamiliar voice.
“It is.” He pulled the phone away and looked at the number again. Telemarketer? He got ready to hang up.
“Mr. Wilson, this is Captain Alan Wheeler with the California Highway Patrol.”
Jake’s stomach lurched with sudden dread. “Okay. How can I help you, Captain Wheeler?”
Bill Tyndale eyed Jake carefully. He must have sensed the change in Jake’s mood.
“Mr. Wilson…” there was a pause, and Jake knew. He just knew. The lurch in his stomach became a full-blown pain – a deep ache like his intestines were being twisted into knots. The man on the other end of the line continued. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
Please God, don’t let it be. Please, please, please!
The officer’s next words knocked Jake to his knees.

CHAPTER 3
The drive to the airport was a blur. Somehow Jake managed to throw some clothes in a suitcase – he couldn’t even remember what he packed and hoped he had everything he needed – called one of his staff to come by and check on his dog, Peaches, while he was away, and made his way from Warner Robins to Hartsfield International Airport in Atlanta.
What he could remember was that the entire drive he had flipped and flopped between moments of agonizing loss and sheer terror at the prospect that lay before him. The conversation with Bishop Tyndale the day before seemed like a year ago, and what had seemed so important to him at the time now seemed like a silly side note to an unspeakable tragedy.
He arrived at the airport and zombied his way to a parking space in the weekly lot. Thankfully, his mental clarity returned briefly enough for him to have the forethought to snap a picture with his phone of the section of the lot he was parked in, otherwise, upon return, he would have been in trouble.
He stumbled through the purchase of his ticket; his eyes concealed behind dark sunglasses. He imagined he looked like an idiot with them on inside, but his eyes were bloodshot from crying and he didn’t care what anyone else thought.
Security was the typical Atlanta nightmare. A serpent of people undulated through turn after turn of roped passageways leading to a long line of x-ray scanners. All along the way, TSA officers with drug dogs walked back and forth, the animals sniffing bags – and sometimes people – at random. Then he was at the scanners. Please remove all items from your pockets. Remove your belt, shoes, put them all in a bin. Use a separate bin for electronics, blah, blah, blah. He was so bumfuzzled that the guard had to remind him to remove his shoes when he tried to walk through the scanner with them on.
Dear God, help me. I’m all over the place.
By the time he made it through security, rode the tram to gate B4, stood in line to board the plane, and sat down in the window seat of row H, he was utterly exhausted. He couldn’t remember feeling this tired in ages, and he knew the next several days would be more of the same.
His thoughts circled back to Mike Evans for the umpteenth time since he received the news the night before. It had all started eighteen years ago.
For as long as Jake Wilson could remember, he had wanted to attend Lee University. His mom and dad both attended there, met, and fell in love. The stories of their experiences stuck with Jake from an early age. By the time it was his turn to leave home for college, Lee was a magical wonderland waiting just for him.
Established in 1918 as the Church of God Bible Training School, from its humble beginnings it had grown into a thriving, highly respected private University of over five thousand students. Although it drew a diverse group of students from all fifty states and over fifty countries, it had always been a rite-of-passage for children who had grown up in the Church of God denomination. Especially for PK’s – preacher’s kids – Like Jake – although Jake was not from the Church of God. The New Creation in Christ Denomination had no Bible university.
Jake leaned his head against the windowsill of the airplane, closed his eyes, still hidden behind his glasses, and drifted back to that first day.

The campus flooded with a mix of new and returning students on that blistering day at the end of August. All over campus, jam-packed cars and vans and U-hauls occupied every possible parking space and created spaces out of many that weren’t. Indeed, the entire city of Cleveland, TN pulsed with the influx of thousands of people who had not been there the day before, an infusion that filled the streets and restaurants and markets.
All around him, the atmosphere crackled with expectant energy as kids registered for classes and hefted furniture into dorms while meeting new people and reconnecting with old friends. It was contagious, and eighteen-year-old Jake Wilson was no exception.
He was here. He was finally here. And with this moment, his whole life extended before him with purpose and calling like an endless train track stretching into the unforeseeable future. He was destined to be here. It was about so much more than falling in love with the stories his parents had told. It was about more than all the lessons of ministry his dad had learned here and passed on to him. Now, standing on the campus, everything felt right. This was where he was supposed to be, not because his parents had gone here, but because it was what God planned for him. The excitement bubbled out of him like a boiling kettle.
Jake nearly bounced up the front steps of Medlin Hall to the double front doors. They swung open as two other boys came out. The boys nodded politely, and he did the same. His parents came up the steps behind him more slowly, their faces reflecting his own excitement and no small amount of poorly concealed trepidation at leaving their only child on his own. But there was also pride, and Jake couldn’t help but think they felt the same sense of purpose for him that he felt about himself being there.
He caught one of the doors before it closed and stood at the landing, holding the door open for his parents who were only about halfway up the external staircase. His dad waved him on, and Jake clambered inside, eager to take it all in.
In front of him was a great lobby – old and worn – but somehow the most beautiful place in the world to Jake. Mischievous students had once managed to carry a Volkswagen Beetle up the steps and deposited it in this very lobby. His dad swore he had not been a member of the offending party. Now, sans automobiles, the smell of old carpet and new paint mingled with the sour-sweet stench of sweat as people milled about like ants. Two large, semi-circular staircases led to the second floor from either side of the room, a mirror set of Jacob’s ladders of comers and goers.
Ahead, a cardboard sign written with a Sharpie read “Resident Director” with an arrow pointing to Jake’s right. Below that in smaller writing, “Please check in”.
Jake made his way around the corner to the RD’s small apartment. The door was wedged open and the tiny living room visible beyond was a flurry of activity. The air conditioning system fought like a gladiator to cool the room, but the air was tepid at best. A college student a few years older than Jake met them at the door.
“Checking in?” he said.
Jake nodded.
“Go on in. That’s Gary over there,” he indicated a skinny man with a Caesar haircut that appeared to be in his mid-twenties, sitting on the edge of a frayed couch with a clipboard and pen in his hand. Another kid stood in front of Gary as he wrote something on the clipboard then dug through a box to his right and pulled out a key. Gary gave the kid some instructions Jake couldn’t overhear and the kid smiled, took the key, shook Gary’s hand, and bounded past them on his way to check out his dorm room.
Jake glanced at his dad and mom who had only just caught up with him. “Do you think I’ll get one of the single rooms?”
His father leaned in close to make way for the other kid to exit through the doorway. Dad chuckled. “Probably not. They’re usually reserved for upper classmen.”
“A guy can wish.” Jake was aware that the fourth floor of Medlin Hall was comprised of single occupant rooms. His dad had known a couple of students that had stayed there in his day. The rooms were exceedingly small but having no roommate might be nice.
Despite his giddiness, one thing concerned Jake, and that was having to live with someone he’d never met before. Jake thought of himself as personable and easy to get along with, but still, you never knew. And he’d be spending at least the first semester with this stranger before he’d have a chance to change rooms if there were personality conflicts.
He took his turn with Gary who checked his name off a list and gave him a key to room 201. It was close, main floor, south wing, and first room on the left. He inserted the key into the lock and turned it, but the room was already open, and he pushed the door in.
Inside it was cramped and sparse, with a sink under a mirror, a couple of desks with one well-worn chair each, a single chest of drawers – that would be challenging – and a set of bunk beds. A lone window looked out the back with a view of a fence and the side of the neighboring house. It was just about what Jake had been led to expect: tiny, Spartan, painted cinder block walls.
It was perfect.
Sitting at one of the desks was a bronzed, tow-headed young man who had to be roughly Jake’s age but could have passed for fifteen. He wore flip flops with gray cargo shorts, frazzled at the ends, with a faded Ron Jon t-shirt and a Giants baseball cap. Underneath the cap, his hair was long and curly just shy of ringlets. A plethora of leather bracelets clung loosely to his left wrist. He couldn’t have looked more like a surfing afficionado if he’d had help from a magazine crew from a Billabong shoot. He looked up as Jake and his parents entered and gave a shy smile.
Jake wasted no time and crossed the small space. He reached his hand out to the other boy who stood in response.
“Jake Wilson. I guess we’re roomies.”
The other boy had a firm handshake but spoke with a softness of tone that mimicked the same shy smile still held on his face.
“Hi. I’m Michael Evans.” He shrugged. “Mike.”
And that was that.
Jake immediately liked Mike Evans. He proved to be every bit the shy and sometimes awkward young man he appeared to be on that first day, but they developed a bond.
Mike Evans was the polar opposite of Jake. Mike was an orphan, raised in foster care until he finally reached age eighteen and moved away to Lee. A bright student, he managed to get a full academic scholarship, and he and Jake spent hours bouncing ideas and dreams off each other.
Mike was not a ministry student like Jake, but the experience of one of his foster homes when he was thirteen changed his life. The Robinsons, Ella and Tim, had three children of their own and were avid churchgoers. They went religiously every Wednesday night, every Sunday, and every special event in between; they made sure all their kids, including Mike for that short time, knew church was a priority.
Mike had loved it. Church gave him the sense of family that was otherwise so fleeting in his life. He found camaraderie and purpose, and most of all, he found out that Jesus loved him enough to die for him. He was forever changed. Mike’s life was rough at times, but ever since Jesus found him, he had a hope that overcame every negative circumstance.
His story fascinated Jake, who also had a serious commitment to God. But Mike’s faith had been tested in ways Jake’s never had. In comparison, Jake had lived a sheltered life, and as a result, he looked up to Mike. Sure, Mike was quiet. Yes, he often needed Jake’s help with introductions to others and making friends, but to Jake, Mike was a hero. A person of deep character born of hardship and an insane will to persevere.
They were inseparable. Whatever clubs Jake joined, Mike joined, and vice versa.
During their sophomore year, Mike met Ruby Delisle. A freshman, and a year younger than Mike, they were kindred spirits. Mike sat a few seats down from her during a chapel service one weekend when Jake had gone home to visit. Mike was so smitten with her that for once, he overcame his shyness and approached her on his own. The way Ruby told it later, Mike was trembling from fear, but rather than see it as a weakness, she saw it as sweet.
She gave him her number and he called the next night. That weekend, they went to William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet starring Claire Danes and Leonardo DiCaprio at the dollar theater in Chattanooga – neither of them were well off, and neither of them cared for the movie – and a week later, they were inseparable.
Ruby, like Mike, had a rough backstory. She had been raised by a single mom, Danielle, in NOLA – New Orleans, Louisiana. There was never a father in the picture. Her mother didn’t even know who the father was. A strung-out drug addict who had fallen to sleeping with men for money or pills, she had gotten pregnant with Ruby at the age of sixteen.
Danielle’s family had long since disowned her by then, and it was a miracle Ruby survived her first few years of life. Her mom took her along for “tricks-and-trips” as Ruby would say with a strained smile. Danielle usually wrapped little Ruby in a blanket and placed her in a bathtub while she was doing her “work” and of course they had no home. Danielle, though emaciated and sunken eyed from drugs, was still beautiful, and usually managed to coerce a night’s stay in a hotel from her clients as part of her “fee”. Other times they slept on the street wherever they could find respite from the weather, usually in a cardboard box or some other makeshift contraption.
It was no life for a baby. It was no life for an animal.
Ruby once asked her mom why she never gave her up for adoption or left her at the nearest hospital. Danielle’s answer had surprised her.
“You were my only link to sanity, Ruby. No matter how far I’d fallen, having you depend on me kept me just above the line of ending it all. I can’t tell you the number of times I wanted to die, to jump off a bridge or slit my wrists with the top of a tin can. But what always kept me alive was you. You depended on me, no matter how little care I could give. As bad as it got, as terrible a mom as I was, you were the only thing that loved me.”
One night when Ruby was a year old, Danielle had found herself cold and tired in Jefferson Parrish. She’d stumbled into a tiny, turn-of-the-century church in a drugged haze. Ruby dangled precariously from one arm, as Danielle could hardly even stand up straight.
The church appeared warm and inviting, and Danielle, seeing the lights on inside and hearing a droning voice, went in. Her intention was to sit in the lobby. She knew once the service was over, they would find her and kick her out, but at least for a while, she would have a comfortable chair to sit in. She might even be able to catch a few winks and Ruby would be warm and dry.
That night a widow, Catalina Hernandez, sat in her regular seat at the Christ Alive Baptist Church on the corner of Wall and LaCroix streets. It was a Wednesday, and the typical paltry attendance they had on Sundays was even smaller. There were twenty at most in the sanctuary as Pastor Dan Davidson – a gentle soul that pastored the church for thirty-six years – spoke from the book of James.
Catalina had a clear view of the lobby from her seat. She preferred the back pew. The less distance she had to walk from her car, the better. In her eighties and arthritic, she had the hunched demeanor of a wizened grandma and that’s how everyone regarded her. She saw the scrawny young woman and child the moment they entered the building and moved instantly. She would later say she was drawn to them, but if pressed, she probably would have confessed her concern was that Danielle was going to drop the baby.
She rose from her seat and exited the row with pained steps. A couple of the other patrons glanced at her but gave no mind. Mrs. Hernandez probably has to go to the restroom again.
When she exited the sanctuary doors and Danielle caught a glimpse of her, Danielle’s immediate response was to turn and leave, but Catalina grabbed Danielle’s shirt with a frail arm and gave the girl the warmest smile she could manage. “Hello, dear. Would you like to come and sit for a while?”
It was obvious from the confused look in Danielle’s eyes that she was strung out.
“I’m jus’ gonna…” Danielle slurred, but Catalina reached out for the baby before Danielle could protest. Danielle found herself relinquishing her child, instinctively trusting the old woman. At the very least, any notion that Catalina meant harm to the child seemed ridiculous.
Ruby cooed up at Catalina, and Danielle thought it would be nice to have someone watch her for a little while. I just need a little time to get myself together.
Catalina grabbed Danielle’s hand with its dirty, broken fingernails, and gently led her into the sanctuary.
“I don’ really wanna go in,” Danielle’s words were a nearly inaudible whisper.
“Nonsense. I need to sit and so do you. I’ll watch your baby for a while, and you can rest. You can even sleep if you want to. No one will mind. Pastor Davidson is a good man, and you might find his voice soothing.”
Catalina led Danielle to her usual place and motioned for her to sit next to her. While Danielle drifted in and out of lucidity, Catalina held the baby and snuggled the child in a warm crocheted blanket she had made herself and kept on her pew for use when the air conditioning got a little too enthusiastic for her liking. By the time the service came to a close, Danielle had brightened a bit from her stupor, and when Pastor Davidson gave the invitation, she made her way to the altar, the dear old widow right behind her with baby Ruby.
Danielle had heard precious little of the pastor’s sermon, but when he asked if there was anyone that wanted to come forward and become part of Jesus’ family, she got up, timidly at first, but with growing boldness as the others in the sanctuary began to applaud and smile at her when she took a step into the aisle. It had been a long time since anyone had treated her with kindness like the old woman had, and even longer since she’d felt safe the way she did here. Maybe that’s why she went down to the front. She wasn’t sure. But she gave her heart to Christ that night, and the resulting change was nothing short of miraculous.
From that night, Danielle strove to be the best mom that she could be. It wasn’t a quick turnaround, but it was steady, and with every passing day she gained more and more traction and determination to leave the streets behind. The church provided housing at a halfway house where she started attending Narcotics Anonymous and got a job during the day at a Waffle House as a waitress. Catalina had become a mentor and a Godsend, watching baby Ruby for her while she worked her way up to being a short order cook.
At the end of six months, Danielle was clean. Her once-diminished beauty had again become vibrant, and her body had filled out. When it came time for her to leave the halfway house, Catalina, who by now had fallen in love with them both, insisted that Danielle and Ruby come and live with her. Danielle was only too thrilled at the prospect, especially with the only other option being public shelters where the pull of the old life would have been an ever-present ghost always beckoning her back to the destructive forces that had nearly ended her.
Catalina had a small, white-concrete bungalow with light-blue shutters and a splash of welcoming rose bushes inset against the eastern exterior. Though never wealthy, Catalina’s husband, Enrique, had made a modest living working for the railroad. They never lived beyond their means, and spent wisely, and by the time he passed, the little place was debt free, and Catalina had a respectable pension to live on. The house had two bedrooms, one which Danielle and Ruby shared.
For the next ten years, the unlikely trio spent some of the happiest times of their lives in that little home. Danielle eventually became a Waffle House manager, and Ruby was an excellent student. Ruby had taken to calling Catalina Grams. Catalina, who’d never had children of her own, saw them as her own daughter and granddaughter and dedicated herself to the mission of making sure Danielle and Ruby knew they were loved and wanted.
Around the beginning of year nine, Catalina’s health began to decline. Over the next eight months, Danielle and Ruby cared for her and nursed her. When the end finally came, Catalina passed away peacefully under the care of hospice. She left the little home to Danielle, and they carried on for a while. Sadly, as is often the case, life wasn’t done delivering misfortune to them yet.
Two and a half years after the passing of Grams, Danielle began to have pain behind her ribs. At first, she figured she pulled a muscle, but then the coughing began, then the wheezing. At Ruby’s insistence – “I don’t have time for doctors,” Danielle protested more than once – she finally scheduled an appointment.
The news came on a cold day in December, two weeks before Christmas. Lung cancer. Stage four. There was little to be done. It had progressed too far, and now Ruby, having lost her surrogate grandmother, was faced with losing the only family she had left. Thirteen days after Ruby’s seventeenth birthday, Danielle passed away in the night.
Ruby was alone.
Danielle, carrying the heavy knowledge that her daughter would have no one else should anything ever happen to her, had taken out an insurance policy after Catalina died. The policy ensured Ruby had sufficient money to live off of for a while. Danielle had also passed on the widow’s home to Ruby, and Ruby successfully petitioned the state to be considered an adult so that she could live there on her own. After finishing high school, she took what money she had left from the settlement, and at the encouraging of Pastor Davidson, completed the application process to attend Lee University.
When Mike and Ruby finally came together, it was as inevitable as sun and warmth, clouds and rain. It was two forces of nature melding in a coherent bond and no one who knew them doubted for a second that theirs was a relationship that would last a lifetime. They were kindred souls. Two halves, alone in the world, who found their completion in the other, and it was a beautiful thing to behold.