Chapter 9
Though written in cursive, the letters clearly spelled the name Jennifer. Anson squinted. Still Jennifer. He’d watched Blaze sign this permission slip. Why had she used someone else’s name?
When his office door swung open, he peeled his gaze from the paper to make eye contact with Sydney. Her brown hair lay loose and naturally straight to her collarbones instead of in its usual ponytail. She’d completed the look with a blue tank top, denim shorts, and flip-flops.
“Who is Jennifer Astley?” he asked.
She tucked her fingers into her pockets. “That would be Blaze.”
“But …” This was going to sound foolish, but he was also certain. “Her name is Blaze. We went to high school together. She’s always been Blaze.”
“Mercy’s been enrolled in after-school and summer care at the community center. Blaze always signs official paperwork for her with her legal name. Jennifer.”
He blinked at the page. “Is Mercy’s real name Mercy?”
Sydney lifted one slender shoulder. “Must be. It’s what she wrote on the form, right?”
He double-checked. “Yeah.” He knew two Jennys, a Jen, and a Jennifer, but only one Blaze. The originality suited her: edgy, bright, and entrancing. “I’ve known her for over a decade, and I’m just now learning her name?”
Sydney crossed her arms. “Were you ever close?”
“No, but I met her on her first day of high school. She tested ahead in math, so she was in my geometry class. Without hesitation, she said her name was Blaze.”
“My understanding is it’s a nickname, but if you want the story behind it, you’d better ask her. I’ve heard outlandish theories.”
The stories he’d heard as a high schooler clicked into place, and he couldn’t believe he hadn’t connected them to Blaze’s name.
The one agreed-upon fact was that the Astleys’ garage had burned down.
Theories varied regarding who’d started it, why, and where Blaze had disappeared to for a while afterward.
Some said she’d run away, some insisted she’d been sent to a youth correction program.
Sydney gave an uncertain smile. “Ready?”
The question—and the hesitant way she posed it—doused his curiosity. Why did he care how well he knew Blaze? Sydney was his priority. Had been for the last year. They had the same goals and a real future—not to mention plans for the evening.
For Labor Day, the town square had been closed to traffic to make way for food trucks, a petting zoo, and carnival games.
Outside his office window, a high layer of clouds filtered the sunlight without threatening rain.
The forecast predicted a high in the low eighties, just about perfect weather for the festivities.
He checked his watch. “How long do you think the food truck lines will be?”
“Many Oaks is up to almost eleven thousand people.” Humor glittered in her eyes.
“And we’ll end up behind all of them?” He chuckled at the exaggeration, placed the slip on the stack with the others, and scooped up the box of unclaimed lost and found items. “Then I guess I’ll donate all this tomorrow.”
Sydney touched the edge of the box as she peeked inside. “Some of that’s nice stuff. That brand of water bottle is going viral. At the community center, someone would’ve claimed it whether it was theirs or not.”
He pressed the box between the wall and his body, freeing up one hand to lock the office. That done, they continued toward the lobby. “The sleeping bag got claimed, but almost nothing else. There are clothes in here, serving platters, books, a ball of yarn, a lamp.”
She opened the door, and as he passed through, she trailed her fingers down his arm. “At least it speaks well of the church that people aren’t claiming stuff that isn’t theirs.”
“And now someone at the thrift store will find a viral water bottle.” He balanced the box on one hand just long enough to secure the building. As he turned toward his SUV, his knuckles hit Sydney’s hand. The box tipped, rattling the contents before he caught it.
“Sorry.” She stuffed her fingers into her pockets.
He winced. “I didn’t mean to push you away. This box is awkward, but ….” He adjusted the box on his hip so he could take her hand, but when he reached over, the load nearly slipped.
“Don’t worry about it.” She kept her eyes ahead, lips pinched.
Apologizing again probably wouldn’t help. Anyway, what did she expect with his hands full?
They reached his SUV, and he stowed the box in the back as she climbed in the front passenger seat.
He slid in behind the wheel. “Did you get much done at the community center today? You were working on the mentoring program, right?”
She shrugged and clicked her seatbelt. “I went through all the applications, and I think I have the pairings figured out—for the kids we have mentors for. We could use about a dozen more adults.”
“I could take on a student or two.”
“Where would you find an extra hour or two each week?” She spoke with tired amusement. “We already both worked on Labor Day.”
He steered onto the street. “I’ll find a way if it helps you.”
“Help isn’t really what I need from you.” Now she just sounded tired.
“I know. You’re plenty capable all on your own.” He smiled at her, but she stared out the windshield and tapped her fingers against the armrest.
She’d wanted to get the mentoring program off the ground since she accepted her role at the community center. The lack of volunteers must really be grating on her. “I know some high schoolers who would make good mentors,” he said.
She sighed. “I don’t need help, remember?”
“Right. Sorry.” He clenched his hand around the steering wheel. “What do you need?”
Nothing but the hum of road noise answered.
He glanced over. “I can listen. Tell me about it.”
She breathed out a quiet laugh. “There isn’t much more to tell.”
Over the next two blocks, regret accumulated. They weren’t on the same page today, and he didn’t know how to fix it.
“I’m excited about it and invested in it.” The quiet weight of her voice drew his attention from the road in time to see her mouth lift ruefully. “But sometimes I wonder if I’m the only one.”
That echoed how he felt with the board. He reached across the center console and opened his hand to her. She laced their fingers together and squeezed.
He squeezed back. “You’re not alone. All those students signed up, and there may not be as many adults as you want, but the people who volunteered are invested.”
Her grip loosened until her hand slid from his. “Right.”
A red light gave him another opportunity to look over, but she turned her face away.
He tried changing gears. “I think I saw on the flyer that the gyro truck you like is going to be at the park tonight.”
They discussed dinner options until they parked and fell in with the crowd headed for the square. The closer they got, the louder and busier the sidewalks became. Sydney slipped one hand around his elbow and wrapped her other hand around his.
At church, they rarely touched because the youth group kids weren’t allowed to.
Walking like this when church members and students were undoubtedly in the crowd felt conspicuous.
But if connection was what she needed, that was what he’d give.
He pulled his arm from her hands and wrapped it around her, drawing her to his side.
She grinned up at him. He must’ve finally gotten it right.
The savory scents of roasted meat and warm bread promised dinner would be delicious—once Blaze finally reached the front of the line.
As she waited, she kept a wary eye on Mercy and her friends.
Since Mercy had hung out at Amelia’s and Sarah’s houses all summer, Blaze offered to keep tabs on them tonight.
Amelia’s mom had assumed the offer extended to her one-year-old, and Blaze hadn’t had the heart to correct her.
She rocked the stroller back and forth, grateful for the cloud cover that kept the sun from beating down on her.
Across the street and down a couple of vendors, Mercy and Amelia hadn’t spoken to each other yet.
At least, not as far as Blaze had seen. The trio of girls reached the front of the line, and Amelia ordered.
Then Amelia said something to Sarah, who checked her pockets.
Apparently coming up empty, she turned to Mercy.
Mercy opened her little purse. Blaze laughed when the first thing she pulled out was A Wrinkle in Time. Next, she wiggled a wad of cash free. All those ones made her look like quite the high roller as she peeled off a few bills and passed them to Amelia, who put them toward her order.
“Attagirl,” Blaze murmured as she mindlessly followed the line forward.
Melinda started fussing, so Blaze hefted the munchkin from the stroller. Didn’t smell like it was time for a diaper change, and Melinda ate before Blaze took over twenty minutes ago, so she settled the baby on her hip. The change of scenery seemed to work.
When she looked at her sister again, Mercy and Amelia stood to one side, talking, while Sarah ordered. No more tension. Another answered prayer. Blaze needed to remember to talk to the Lord more often, like about how poorly work was going.
Melinda yanked her hair. Blaze stifled a cry and untangled the pudgy hand from her locks. “Sweetie, ladies don’t treat each other like that.”
A chuckle rose from behind her.
She offered the woman a sheepish smile. “Twenty minutes, and I’m already trying to reason with a one-year-old. I don’t know how moms do it.”
“I think you might have an idea. You’re Blaze Astley? Mercy’s guardian?”
Blaze pulled her hair over her shoulder away from Melinda’s prying fingers. Most people weren’t so formal about her connection to Mercy. They either assumed Blaze was her mom or they knew her life’s story and called them sisters. “I am. But I’m sorry, I don’t know you.”
The stout brunette extended her hand. “I’m Alicia Johanssen, Mercy’s English teacher.”
Blaze shifted Melinda to free up her right hand, but Ms. Johanssen saw the struggle and waved it off.