Chapter 5
“I’ve heard what my dad’s up to. I’m going to help you out.”
Anson panted, hands on his hips, as he and Carter descended the hill behind the community center.
When they reached the bottom, they’d sprint up again.
If Carter could talk only seconds after they’d switched to a walk, Anson needed to pick up the pace next time. He sucked in a deep breath. “How so?”
“I’ll bring people to Branching Out. Most kids do whatever I say.” The boast rang true. A popular athlete going into his senior year, Carter held sway over his classmates.
Anson hadn’t been so charismatic. “Why would you do that if you don’t see a need for God?”
“It’s a good time.” Carter smirked. “Mostly.”
Despite the tease in the kid’s voice, Anson’s stomach tightened with disappointment. “You know I’m still going to teach, right?”
“Yeah. It’s what you believe. It’d be dishonest not to.” Carter’s commitment to honesty was one thing Anson liked about the kid.
Carter slugged his arm and grinned. “Just make sure there’s food during the boring parts. Because we like to eat and our parents don’t feed us at home. A few times last year, you let us starve.”
“Is that why I found a stash of junk food wrappers behind one of the couches last week?”
The student snorted but didn’t offer an explanation. He might not know. Anson didn’t, and he led all the activities in the youth room.
They reached the bottom of the hill where Carter’s younger brother, Dylan, lay on the ground playing on his phone.
The other kids who’d played basketball with them in the community center gym had disappeared as soon as Anson suggested hill sprints.
Only Carter had accepted the challenge. Since he was Dylan’s ride, the incoming freshman was stuck until they finished.
“We’re going up backward this time.” Carter kicked the backpack his brother was using as a pillow. “Think you can beat me?”
Dylan narrowed his eyes at the incline.
“He is a lot slower backward,” Anson said.
Carter scoffed. “Still going to beat you, old man.”
He might. Hoping to land a scholarship, Carter had trained intensely over the summer and attended two elite basketball camps. Anson no longer had that much time to work out.
“Come on, Dylan,” he said. “Show us what you’ve got.”
The boy lumbered to his feet, and on Anson’s signal, they raced.
Anson and Carter tied for the lead until Dylan turned and sprinted forward.
Carter stuck with the initial challenge, matching Anson step for step.
At the top, the race was too close to call.
Carter was more concerned with telling Dylan he’d cheated anyway.
Afterward, the boys headed straight to their car.
Anson caught his breath on the way back to the community center.
Back when basketball was his life, he’d learned to equate tired muscles with progress.
His aspirations no longer included going pro, but the heaviness of his arm as he reached for the door still felt like an achievement.
He meant to go change out of his sweaty clothes, but the path to the locker room took him by Sydney’s office.
As the director of the community center, she often closed her door for meetings, but today it stood open.
She sat behind her desk. Her brown eyes glanced up from the computer when he paused at her doorway.
A smile lifted her lips as she rose. “Hero’s a nice look on you, Marsh.”
The compliment surprised a laugh from him. “Hero?”
Sydney motioned him forward and shut the door behind him, closing them in together. “You would’ve made a good firefighter, carrying damsels in distress from burning buildings.” She traced her fingers down his biceps.
“I see.” If only he hadn’t been close enough to help because he’d owed Mercy an apology. “There’s more to firefighting than that.”
“Still.” She smoothed her hands over his chest and peered up at him.
His damp shirt stuck to his skin, and her pressing it in felt like cuddling up with a wet blanket. No way he wanted that in the middle of an embrace. He took her hands in his own, but his palms felt slick too. Definitely should’ve stopped by the locker room first.
“I’m sorry we ended up getting pulled different directions, thanks to the whole Jimmy thing.” She squeezed his hands. “Have you heard from Blaze about how Mercy is?”
“I texted this morning, but she hasn’t replied. She might be under the impression I don’t think she’s a good guardian for her sister.”
Sydney’s mouth dropped open like she wasn’t sure whether to laugh or gasp. “Why?”
“Let’s just say my meeting with Eric yesterday wasn’t the only train wreck. Anyway”—he kissed Sydney’s forehead—“how’d it go with Honor? When I got back inside, you looked pretty deep in conversation.”
She turned her face down as she stepped back. “Honor felt guilty, and I don’t think she believed me when I assured her she wasn’t responsible for Jimmy’s choices.”
“All we can do is try. And pray.”
She gave a sympathetic smile. “As if you’re any good at not interfering either.”
“Fair enough.”
“Did Gabby have any good ideas for you about how to deal with Eric?”
To give Sydney and Honor space last night, Anson had found a seat with Gabby Voss, his high school basketball coach’s widow.
She often served as a sounding board for him, but drama with the leadership board was tricky.
Gabby had plans to move away in a couple of months, but for the time being, she was a member of the congregation.
“I didn’t bring it up. I don’t want to stir anything up if Eric’s out of step with the board. Greg will be in the office tomorrow. I’ll talk to him then.” The senior pastor was a reasonable man with a heart for God. He wouldn’t let the church succumb to a comparison trap.
Anson stepped toward the door, then paused. “Speaking of the youth groups, what do you think of Blaze as a leader for Rooted?”
Sydney shrugged. “She’s a member, right?”
He nodded. To join, Blaze would’ve shared her testimony and agreed to the church’s statement of beliefs. “Beyond that, she’s never been very involved, aside from attending services. Even then, she’s always late, and she doodles her way through sermons.”
Sydney smiled. “Yours or Pastor Greg’s?”
“Both.”
“Then it’s nothing personal.” Her light tone spoke volumes. “Drawing doesn’t mean she’s not listening, and it’s not like she’d be teaching the lessons as a youth leader.”
“She might end up in conversations with students, though.”
“Rooted leaders don’t meet up with students outside of youth group, so you’ll be close by if she needs help with something tricky. Besides, you and Nolan could use a female leader on the team. And you’re already stretching your ratio. If you do grow the group, more leaders are a must.”
Sydney was right. Anson preferred to have one leader for every four students, and the middle school group brought in eight to ten kids every week.
“Plus, around Many Oaks, Blaze is almost as much of a celebrity as Philip or Michaela. The girls will look up to her. Who knows? Having her around might solve your attendance problem without you lifting a finger.”
“I don’t think she carries that much pull.”
Sydney arched an eyebrow. “She gets all of us to The Depot every week.” Before Anson acknowledged the validity of the point, her phone rang.
“I’m going to go change. Dinner tonight?”
She extended her hand toward the phone. “I promised some of the Branching Out students a girl’s night before the school year starts, remember? Tonight was the one that worked for everyone.”
“How about tomorrow?”
She nodded as she picked up the call.
He let himself out. He’d thought Sydney would rule out the idea of Blaze helping as quickly as he had. Instead, she’d given a list of reasons to give it a try. Maybe he’d been too quick to rule her out.
Blaze’s office at the dealership was quiet. Too quiet.
She drummed her hands against her thighs. She preferred chatting up clients on the sales floor to running reports in her windowless office. Every day since she’d taken the promotion, she felt like the kid stuck in summer school while the others enjoyed water parks.
To burn off some energy, she hopped out of her seat and shook out her arms.
There. Better. Right? She lowered back into her desk chair, and her gaze wandered yet again to her phone.
Responding to Anson’s text shouldn’t require a day of strategizing.
She ought to get it over with. Then she’d have a clear mind to finish her team’s commission and bonus report, already a day overdue.
If she dragged her feet much longer, checks would be late, and checks could not be late. People depended on her.
But the numbers on her screen blurred together. Anson had never said whether she could help with Rooted. Would her overreaction to Mercy’s sprain cause him to turn her down? The numbers wouldn’t focus until she had an answer.
She picked up her phone and opened his message.
Hey, Blaze. It’s Anson. How’s Mercy?
They’d never texted before, hence the introduction. Presumably, he’d looked her up in the church directory. Or on Mercy’s emergency contact form, filed away at the church.
He probably saw multiple sprains each season as a coach and responded with far less drama. Then again, carrying Mercy had been his idea.
Blaze typed, She’s on crutches but in good spirits.
Keeping her on the crutches for the recommended week would be a miracle. Mercy shared Blaze’s restlessness.
“Am I interrupting?” Tony’s short, heavy-set frame ambled into the office.
She fumbled her phone, and it landed with a clunk beside her keyboard. “Not at all. Mercy sprained her ankle last night. It’s a whole thing.” She straightened her posture. “What can I do for you?”
“You know why I promoted you?” He dropped into the chair across from her and interlaced his fingers over his belly.
“Because I hold the record for consecutive months as the dealership’s top salesperson?”
“Nope. Because of your humility.”
“Oh.” He had?
He broke into a teasing smile. “Yes, because of your sales record. You were driven and good at it.”
“Were?”
He exhaled, pity on his face. “No one on your team’s risen to your level yet. They need more from you than flyby tips. And your reports are habitually late.”
She bit her lip and looked at the spreadsheet on her screen. The one that was due yesterday. “I’m trying. Maybe I could put together a mini-training seminar for my team? And I’ll set more reminders.”
“I already hear your reminders go off all day. You set them for everything. Including, if I’m not mistaken, to remind you to eat.” His bushy eyebrows lifted.
She gulped. The meal reminders had been more necessary when she’d had a job she could lose herself in. “I’ll silence them. I didn’t realize they were so loud.”
“Nah, it’s just a little bell. By the third time I hear it, I figure half of the angels have their wings, and you’re about to turn something in. Still”—Tony cleared his throat—“not everybody is cut out for administration, and there’s no shame in that.”
Her shoulder blades hit her seat back. “You want me to step down?”
“I want you in a role where you’ll flourish, Blaze.
You’re possibly the best salesperson to work here since I opened the place thirty years ago, but after this long in business, I’ve learned to employ people where they’re gifted.
As a salesperson, you did a fraction of the paperwork and spent most of your time interacting with clients.
Reports and meetings aren’t for everyone. ”
“They are for me.” She heard the confidence in her tone even as desperation needled her. As a salesperson, her paychecks had varied with commissions. The managerial role meant bigger, more dependable checks that had already made life easier for her and Mercy. “I will do better.”
“Finding a rhythm can take a few months, so I’ll leave you to it. But do find a rhythm. Reports need to be in on time, and sales numbers need to come up. A mini-seminar sounds promising. If you want to brainstorm other ways to accomplish the department’s goals, you know where to find me.”
“Yes, sir.”
His mustache shifted as he tightened his lips. “You don’t need to resort to sir-ing me. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, Blaze. You can make this work. I’m counting on you to do that.”
She nodded, barely suppressing another “Yes, sir.”
He strolled back out, and Blaze tipped her head down, fingers pressed against her temples. She needed to stop sabotaging herself and start performing. If only willing herself to perform had ever worked.