All That Really Matters Page 8

  “I don’t believe in fundraising gimmicks. God will provide the way He always has—in His own timing.”

  “You also don’t believe in using a kitchen sponge. Doesn’t mean they aren’t necessary at times.”

  “A sponge is nothing more than a breeding ground for bacteria. It only serves to circ—”

  “Circulate germs. Save it for your residents, Silas. I’ve heard it more times than Aunt Barb’s coin drops in the swear jar at Mom and Dad’s. And that’s saying something.”

  At that, I laughed, and Jake did, too. But when we settled, it was clear by the way his knee continued to bounce that Black Widows and swear jars weren’t the only things on his mind.

  “Your tell is easy, Jake.”

  He glanced at his knee and tried to laugh it off, only we both knew there was something he wanted to ask. The same something he’d avoided asking the last three times we were together. “It’s just, I’ve been keeping track. I know Carlos was released on parole a few weeks ago.”

  “You’re right, he was,” I said. “Nearly a month ago now.”

  Jake looked at me, all humor stripped from his gaze. “Has he contacted you?”

  “No.” Yet I knew he would find a way. Carlos always found me when he wanted something.

  Jake leaned in closer, elbows to knees, his gaze focused on the scar on my right forearm as if he were remembering all the gory details I’d done everything in my power to forget. “But you’ll tell me if he does?”

  The charge in the air thickened immediately. Though Jake was six years my junior, there was nothing young about the fight for justice that ran thick in his blood. He was all jokes until somebody messed with the people he cared about. A dangerous combination, and one I’d never allow him to act upon on my behalf.

  As much as Jake wanted a fight, there was more at stake than righting a past that couldn’t be righted. It wasn’t Jake’s job to protect me. It was my job to protect him, as well as everybody else in my life who could be tainted by an addict’s lies. “He’s been locked away for three years—that’s the longest term he’s served. There’s a possibility Carlos won’t want to jeopardize his freedom again.” A possibility that seemed slim considering the number of times he’d claimed to be clean. And I’d likely never really know for sure, considering I’d cut off all communication with him after his sentencing.

  “I don’t give a rip about his freedom or about the lessons he may or may not have learned in prison. He doesn’t deserve to call you his brother.”

  And yet I wondered how many times a day Carlos must have thought the same about me.

  8

  Molly

  I figured Glo would be surprised to see me back at The Bridge unannounced. I also figured she would be under strict orders to keep me off the premises, removing me by armed guards with Nerf blasters if need be. But neither of those assumptions appeared to be true.

  “Hello again, Glo. I brought you something,” I said as she met me in the lobby, wearing an all-black outfit with slip-on Birkenstocks. This time the two straps across her feet were tan colored. Perhaps she considered this her “pop” of color. In all honesty, I hated that made-up fashion term. A person did not need one pop of color to complete an ensemble. They needed synergy.

  I turned up my smile several notches, letting go of my internal argument for now, and handed her the shoe box. “So, I obviously didn’t know your exact shoe size, but I guessed you to be about an eight. Just to be safe, though, I also bought a pair of sevens and nines. They’re out in my car.”

  Now Glo did look shocked.

  “You bought me a pair of shoes?”

  Technically, I’d bought three pairs. “I was in Seattle yesterday, and there was this great pre-summer sidewalk sale going on and I couldn’t resist—”

  “How much do I owe you for these?”

  “Oh, nothing.” I gave a quick shake of my head. “Absolutely nothing at all. They’re a gift.” I waved her on, encouraging her to open the box.

  It wasn’t until she looked at me with such a dazed expression that I realized how foreign this gesture might be in Glo’s world. But in mine, the reality of gift packages showing up from companies and small businesses hoping to be mentioned on my pages had become as commonplace as receiving a mortgage statement each month. Whether they be for product placement purposes or for review, there was hardly a day I didn’t have a package or two waiting for me to open.

  I didn’t know Glo well enough to gauge all the things going on in her head, but once she peeked under the lid, she simply stared at the shoes as if they might disappear if she blinked too quickly. I wasn’t exactly sure which way to take that.

  “It’s totally okay if you don’t care for them,” I hedged. “You are under no obligation to wear them, or even to like them—”

  She shook her head slowly, but no verbal response followed. Instead, she went over to the worn couch in the massive lobby and sat, setting the box beside her with a reverence that made the back of my throat tingle.

  As she slipped off her worn sandals and lifted the shoes out of the box, I held my breath. I hadn’t anticipated the moment to feel like this . . . but then again, I hadn’t expected Glo to look as if I’d given her an all-expenses-paid island vacation, either.

  She slipped one foot inside the matte-black kitten heel and then did the same with the other one. Standing up, she took a wobbly step forward, righting herself quickly before strutting her way across the lobby. And then back again.

  She spun on one heel. “You weren’t lying. These really are comfortable.”

  I clasped my hands and held them tightly to my chest. “So you like them?”

  “I love them.” Again, she met my eyes with a wonder that caused something to bump and burst inside my chest. “And they’re quite possibly the best bribe I’ve ever received . . . and that’s saying something.”

  I flashed her a guilty grin. “To be fair, I would have bought them for you anyway, on principle. Because I believe every woman should own a pair of go-to heels to spice up an outfit if she wants them. But yes, I am hoping you might help me with something.”

  She laughed and tilted her head to the side. “Have you come back for a redo?”

  “A . . . redo?”

  “That’s our lingo around the house for a second go. Another chance. A do-over.”

  I nodded. “Then, yes. I’m here for a redo. I have—” I reached inside my satchel and pulled out a rose gold portfolio folder that contained the syllabus I’d worked on until 2:00 a.m. One I hoped Silas couldn’t refuse.

  “Ah, good for you, Molly. Silas can be . . .” Glo pursed her lips and dropped her gaze to her tapping foot. “Hmm . . . I could get used to this sound.”

  I laughed.

  “He can be a bit rigid at times.”

  I bit the insides of my cheeks to keep from saying one of the fifteen hundred comebacks currently scrolling through my mind.

  “But,” she continued, “he has integrity. More than anybody you’ll meet this side of heaven.” She paused and looked at me straight on. “We’re lucky to have him—not only for all he does at The Bridge, but for the way he believes our world can be.” She shook her head, sadness creeping onto her face. “It’s a special person who can see all he’s seen and experience all he’s experienced and still have faith for better days ahead.”

  Her praise of Silas pinged against a tender place in my subconscious, one I hadn’t visited or explored in a very long while. I shook my head, brushing away the lingering impressions of a young girl who so badly wanted to believe that she, too, could be worthy of the praise her family members so often received for their good works and selfless callings.

  “Do you think I might be able to meet with him for a few minutes? I have something I’d like to hand him in person, if possible.”

  Glo smiled. “You’re in luck. Our residents are all away at school or work at this time of day, so Silas is actually out on the grounds tending to a few things.”

  �
��Oh . . .” I turned uncertainly, attempting to catch a glimpse of him through the windows.

  “I’m happy to point you in the right direction. Last I checked, he was doing some repair work in the girls’ cottage. I can find out for sure, though.”

  She lifted her phone, and I held out my hand to stop her. “Actually, if you don’t mind, I’d like to just pop in on him for a minute. I won’t take up too much of his time. Promise.” Also, I was ninety-nine percent sure that if she called to alert him of my presence, Silas would have zero qualms about sending me packing.

  Glo hesitated, then seemed to make peace with something in her mind. “How about I walk you to the path that leads to the cottage. Jake, his younger brother, is with him today.” The woman’s mouth quirked a bit as she opened the front door and gestured for me to follow. “You’ll like Jake. Everybody does.”

  Glo gestured to the path leading to a frothy white and lilac cottage, set off from a gazebo and a common area with a picnic shelter. “Let me know if you need anything more, Kitten Heels. Good luck. And this time, don’t take no for an answer.” She gave me a wink.

  Regulating my breathing to one of high-level confidence, I rehearsed the pitch I’d come up with the night before. He’d be crazy not to say yes to me this time, right? He couldn’t keep turning away free help, and if he didn’t get another mentor soon, his summer life skills program wouldn’t get off the ground.

  Lavender Cottage—as the pretty sign read—wasn’t large by any stretch of the imagination, but the outside looked charming enough. Did all the girls share this one house? If so, I wondered where Wren’s room might be.

  I knocked on the door. Waited. No response.

  “Hello?” I called out, but again, no one answered.

  On my third knock, I twisted the handle. It was unlocked. Using the tip of my pointer finger, I tapped the door just enough for it to groan open. Immediately, the scent of imitation vanilla and drugstore hairspray confirmed I was in the right place.

  “Mr. Whittaker—Silas?” I wasn’t sure which name he’d respond to best today. Perhaps neither, since I was the one calling out for him. “It’s Molly McKenzie. Are you in here? I was hoping we could talk. I don’t need more than five minutes.” Ten, tops.

  I crept through the silent, super-sparse living area, noting the lack of art on the off-white walls. It wasn’t that no one had tried to decorate this space—just nobody with an eye for interior design.

  I rotated until I spotted a gas fireplace surrounded by river rock in the corner. Okay, so the room wasn’t a total loss. This, at least, looked classy and sophisticated. It should be the focal point of this entire space, yet on top of the mantel was a single red candle flecked with gold glitter. I desperately hoped it hadn’t been left up since Christmas.

  My feet shuffled across the open space, and then I saw . . . Oh, Great Aunt Wanda. What had happened to that fridge? The stainless-steel door appeared to double as a weekly menu, chore list, and message board for missing items. Strangely, there wasn’t a found list.

  Missing:

  Red flats, size 7—Jasmine

  Necklace with gold heart pendant—Wren

  Bluetooth earbuds—Amy

  iPad for school!!!—Felicia

  Black marker was literally all over the refrigerator. I smudged the edge of one of Felicia’s corkscrew letters with the tip of my finger and sighed audibly. At least it wasn’t permanent. But come on, ladies. You have enough wall space to set up a theater screen. Why not get a cute menu board and a chore chart display and add to the charm of this darling space? I made a note to look up some options when I got back home.

  Much like the first time I’d visited The Bridge, something outside caught my eye as I looked through the sliding glass door near the kitchen. A man. No, two men. Throwing something at each other.

  I moved closer, my lips parting at the sight of Silas pitching pinecone after pinecone at a man who looked close to seven feet tall. Was that the Jake Glo had spoken of? He gripped a rake and looked to be encouraging the onslaught, egging Silas on and smashing four out of the five pinecones in quick succession. These two were brothers? Did Glo mean they were like brothers, as in the spiritual sense? Or perhaps they only shared one parent between the two of them? Because, unlike Silas’s tawny skin and dark hair, the other guy looked like he could be a Viking.

  As noiselessly as possible, I slid the glass door open and stepped onto the back porch, watching in earnest as Silas picked up another round of pinecones to pitch.

  “Don’t wimp out on me now, old man,” Jake heckled. “Let’s do five more. Consider this your workout for the day.”

  “I finished my six-mile run before your alarm went off for work.”

  “Fine. Then consider this your stress therapy. I’m a lot cheaper than a shrink.”

  “And you would know that how, exactly?” Silas asked. “You skipped the one session I set up for you with our house therapist, Denise.”

  “True. But what do I need a shrink for when I have you for free?” The Viking laughed with a levity that caused me to smile as Silas pitched the next few. “Okay, focus. If I miss this last one, then I’ll take the garbage disposal job in the main house.”

  “Deal.” Silas warmed up his shoulders and prepared to throw his final pinecone from his makeshift pitcher’s mound. Obviously, Silas had played baseball at some point in his life. And it was then that I had the strangest epiphany: Silas had been a child at one point. And not only a child, but also an adolescent, one who likely stressed about girls and acne and embarrassing pre-puberty voice cracks. What an impossible revelation to have, considering he was quite possibly the adultiest adult I’d ever met.

  He pitched the last pinecone, and a smile brightened his entire face as the Viking swung . . . and missed.

  “Enjoy cleaning out that disposal, hot shot.” Silas clapped the dust off his hands while wearing what any female on earth would describe as a sexy smirk. “I’ll meet you at the boys’ cottage after you finish raking up the pine—”

  But his words died off as he turned to find me standing ten yards away like some deranged stalker in a maxi dress.

  He blinked at least three times in a row before his mouth moved. “Molly?”

  Whatever I’d rehearsed in my house sometime after the clock struck midnight now felt as tangible as the vapor of perfume I’d spritzed on after my shower.

  “Hi,” I said first to Silas, and then to the man who may or may not be his brother. “I didn’t make an appointment.” Not my smoothest opening line ever.

  “It would appear not.”

  “But I wasn’t sure you would agree to see me again if I called first.”

  “So, naturally, you decided to come in person.” His even tone gave me absolutely nothing to work with.

  I took in a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and glided toward him with ninety percent more confidence than I felt. Why did this guy rattle me so much? I’d pitched dozens of ideas to the agency, held meetings with executives about influencing their products, and even given an acceptance speech once for Cobalt Group’s 500,000 Subscribers Club Award last fall. But this guy made me feel like I was trapped inside a living game of Tetris, only I never knew which way I needed to slide or move or flip to make a play.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt your day like this.” Although pinecone baseball hardly seemed like the most productive use of time for someone who walked around wearing an invisible Badge of Efficiency wherever he went. “But I’m hoping for just five minutes of your time to tell you that I thought about what you said—about the grit—and while I’m still pro grit, I do realize that there are likely more practical, more current needs to be addressed with your residents, and especially your young ladies at present. I typed up a syllabus for the life skills classes I could teach on Tuesday nights and even an outline for possible conversation topics I could help facilitate during the mentor connection time on Friday afternoons.” I slipped the portfolio out of my satchel and handed it to him. “I�
�ve also reviewed your privacy policies, and I’m happy to sign whatever contractual agreement you might need from me regarding house rules and the like.”

  From my peripheral, I watched the man who’d just been wielding the rake like a baseball bat begin walking toward us, but I couldn’t shift my attention away from Silas now and lose momentum. Not when I was fully aware that any second he might cut in and smash any hope I had of gaining the mentor experience I needed before my audition. “I know you’re short on female volunteers, and I also know that the start date for your summer program is next week. Your residents deserve a solid program, and I’m asking you to let me be a part of it. I’m asking you for a redo.” I paused for only a blink, hoping the use of this specific vernacular might unlock the deadbolts bearing my name.

  There was the slightest movement in his right cheek. The beginnings of a smile, maybe? Or perhaps a tic warning me to take my pretty portfolio off his property before he called the authorities on me for trespassing. I couldn’t be sure. “If you give me a chance to be on your team, I promise to run harder and faster than any volunteer you’ve ever brought on. I will make these young women my top priority.”

  Silas stared without saying a word for nearly five seconds before he opened my portfolio and studied the typed syllabus as if I’d handed him blueprints for a jewelry heist in Vegas.

  “You put all this together in two days?”

  “Technically, in an evening—I was traveling for most of the day yesterday, so I just took notes on my phone that I transcribed last night, but yes.” I’d edited each page three times before I’d finally printed them out. I hoped he hadn’t spotted a typo.

  He nodded again, his expression giving zero clues as to what he was thinking.

  “‘Week One—Dress for Success: How to purchase a professional wardrobe on a budget.’” Silas lifted his eyes to me again, as if waiting for me to expound.

  “I know where every sale rack and consignment store is located within a fifty-mile radius. My idea is to teach the residents about appropriate work attire in the first Tuesday session and to match apparel options with job descriptions. Then maybe I can bring a variety of clothing options for the practical steps of choosing outfits on a budget while also demonstrating how nearly every ensemble can be multifunctional with a little tweaking and attention to detail. This idea can be as flexible as you need it to be for the program.”