Chapter 18
Attending Blaze’s Thursday shows wasn’t as fun as Mondays.
Anson had switched to give Sydney space, but by the time he arrived, most of his friends were either on their way out or tired of talking over the music.
They’d listen to him, but he couldn’t delve into the trouble he was having at church.
He couldn’t discuss how, now over the shock of losing Sydney, he missed her friendship but not dating her.
He certainly couldn’t explain why sitting alone at a table near the back and listening to Blaze sing more than justified showing up.
At Rooted last night, she’d been quiet and withdrawn. Now, her tone was dull as she bade the crowd good night. She turned from the mic a little too quickly and disappeared in back.
The push and pull he felt where she was concerned was enough to tear him in half.
His head argued she was a loose cannon that had landed him in a river, volunteered him for a pie in the face, and scolded him for how he handled Mercy.
His heart focused on her depth of spirit and the tenacious compassion she—for reasons he couldn’t explain—sometimes aimed at him.
She was unexpected and enchanting.
She reappeared, hugging her leather jacket closed, and made for the exit without a look in his direction. She’d proven she kept tabs on her audience, so she knew he was there. Even last week, she’d waved at Anson when he’d left while she talked with Philip. Why ignore him this time?
He abandoned his empty glass and caught up in time to open the door for her. “You were right.”
She turned a hesitant gaze his way. She rolled her lips inward.
He propped the door open with his shoulder, since she wasn’t rushing out.
“Not many high schoolers were interested in raking. I was too focused on the ideal—that they’d want to pitch in out of the goodness of their hearts—to correct course by offering other incentives.
Along the way, they might discover the joy of helping people, but until then, your idea was the right choice.
I should’ve asked for your input sooner. ”
“Even a broken clock is right twice a day.” She maneuvered past him and onto the concrete porch.
He stepped out after her. “Who’s the clock in this instance?”
Lights strung from the overhang cast a soft glow on her features. Her dark hair fell between them as she descended the steps into the parking lot.
He followed. “If it’s me, I’m not offended. I’ve been called worse.”
“And if it’s me?”
“Can’t be.” His certainty won him another glance. “You’re not broken.”
She exhaled a puff of air. “I have it on good authority that I am.”
“I have it on the best authority that you’re not. You’re healed and new in Christ.”
“And yet ….” She edged between parked cars, forcing him to fall back.
He jogged to catch up again afterward and touched her coat sleeve. The supple leather was cool against his fingertips, yet warmth radiated up his arm and into his chest. He lowered his hand. “Why do you think you’re broken? Did something happen?”
She hit her key fob. A row away, her taillights flashed. “Anxiety. Apparently.”
Anxiety happened? “I’m gonna need more to go on.”
“The doctor says I have anxiety, not ADHD.” She yanked open her back passenger door. Her purse landed on the seat with a dull thump. “He said to quit coffee and start meds, and it’s two days in, and I haven’t felt this awful since my wild days.”
“What did those entail?” Now, more than ever, he craved the details of her story.
“Six to eight months of bad choices before I realized I was becoming my mother, hated myself—and the constant hangovers—and landed in church.”
The sip of information didn’t quench his curiosity, but he cared more about her present well-being than her past. “You did what your doctor advised, and you’re back to hating yourself and feeling hung over?”
She crossed her arms, hunched like he’d once again sent her out into a cold, wet night. “Something like that. My head is killing me. I can’t focus. I feel like ….” She pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose. “I’m going to go.” She pulled open the driver’s door.
“Blaze.”
She paused, one hand on the roof of her sedan.
“You quit coffee cold turkey?” The question seemed trivial in the face of the upheaval she’d expressed, but he wasn’t sure what other help he could offer.
She nodded.
“I only have one or two cups a day, but if I skip it, I get a headache too. If you’re used to drinking a few cups a day and just quit, it’s no wonder you’re feeling bad. Starting anxiety medication at the same time has to be a lot for your body to process.”
“It’s not even anxiety medication. It’s an anti-depressant.
I guess that’s the go-to, and it’s not that I think anxiety’s worse than anything else, I just …
Is that me? I never thought I was anxious—at least, not abnormally so.
But he says that’s why I can’t focus or meet deadlines.
And why do I want a disorder so bad anyway?
But anxiety’s a disorder too, so I win after all. ”
“Blaze.” He reached out again. Found himself taking her hand and dipping his head to look her in the eyes. When her fingers curved around his palm, protectiveness sparked within him. “I don’t know what the answer is, but I do know you need to give yourself grace. And maybe a cup of coffee.”
“Is that the best you can do, Pastor? Coffee and Jesus?” She freed her hand from his. Her helpless tone softened the challenge in her question. “I’m pretty sure I could get the same advice from a T-shirt.”
“Yeah, but you’d have to pay $24.99 for it.” He smiled. “As a pastor, I consider it my duty to dispense unwanted platitudes free of charge.”
She sighed. “It’s not unwanted. It’s just … I don’t know. Too easy. I can’t ignore the doctor and continue as I have been when there’s a fix.”
“It’s never been easy, so continuing as you were isn’t a cop-out. But I also didn’t mean to ignore him entirely. Just taper off coffee.”
“Maybe.” She rubbed her temple. “I wanted answers, and now that I have one, I hate it. It doesn’t seem to fit.”
“Doctors and tests can be wrong. You know yourself better than anyone. If you’re concerned about your diagnosis, get a second opinion.”
“I don’t even know how to do that.”
“Call a different office and make an appointment?”
She stared off over the roof of her car.
If only he could drive her home and set her up with a cup of coffee and a blanket. He’d tell her that she wasn’t broken and she deserved answers, that she was worth any effort.
“I think the best thing for me right now is bed.” She forced a smile and dropped into the driver’s seat.
“Let me know if there’s anything I can do. I’m praying for you.” He eased her door shut.
She waved meekly and drove away.
His offer of prayer shouldn’t have been such an afterthought, but he didn’t want to leave her only in the Lord’s hands. He longed to comfort her himself.
“It’s nice and quiet, right?” The cheerful voice blared from the passenger seat.
Blaze blinked and found herself driving through a sparsely developed industrial district on the edge of town. Her mind had been elsewhere, exploring questions about anxiety, Mercy, Anson, and coffee.
Coffee. Was Anson right? Should she make herself some? If it helped her focus, she might owe it to everyone else on the road.
She squinted at the rural highway. Following the route the dealership used for test drives, she’d turn left at the next intersection, if her trainee remembered to instruct her to.
“I get it.” Selina, dressed in a Portofino top and on-trend dress pants, chuckled. “So easy to get lost in the drive when it’s this smooth and effortless, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Blaze spared her newest salesperson a placating smile.
Selina was a quick study. That, or the furniture store she’d worked for had trained her on the benefits of getting a customer to say yes repeatedly.
Studies showed that if a prospective buyer got in the habit of agreeing, they’d be more likely to agree to purchase.
Although, psychological studies were also the reason Blaze tested as anxious instead of distracted.
“I’ll have you turn left at the next intersection. See that sign there?” Selina lifted a long, manicured fingernail.
Blaze looked at her own short, unpainted ones on the steering wheel. Last time she did her nails, she forgot the second coat on three of them. The uneven color had bothered her every day, yet it took a week until she remembered to remove it.
“It’s a beautiful country road, and”—Selina drew out the word playfully—“it has a couple of twists that’ll give you a feel for how this beauty handles. Sound good?”
A quick study indeed. “Sure.” Blaze flipped on the blinker.
As part of her training, Selina was walking Blaze through the entire sales process. Blaze ought to pose a question to mimic a client. Something about safety features or mileage.
“Is this a test?” Selina half-whispered.
Blaze hadn’t managed a question yet, so what did Selina mean? Oh. Blaze had passed the intersection without turning. Where was her head today? Since it ached, it must still be attached. She tamped down the impulse to apologize. “Always expect the unexpected.”
Blaze coached Selina on how to adjust the test drive route when a customer wanted a longer turn behind the wheel, then they headed back toward the dealership. Selina slid back into her upbeat sales persona, and Blaze managed a question or two about the car and one about financing.
When they parked, Blaze continued in her role as though she wanted to buy. Selina showed her to her office and motioned to a seat across from the computer. “Can I get you a coffee before we get to work?”
Blaze lowered into the chair. A wall stood between her and the single-serve coffee maker in the lobby, but her eyes fixed on the spot, so desperate for a caffeine fix she apparently thought she had X-ray vision now. “What could it hurt?”
“Great. Be right back.” Beaming, Selina slipped away.
Would a cup cause a setback? Blaze woke her phone screen to ask, then saw a social media notification. An event had been created for the leaf raking project, and someone had asked if they needed to bring rakes or tarps.
“Here you go.” Selina passed her a steaming coffee and set two prepackaged creamers and two sugars on the edge of the desk before circling to the chair behind it. As she dove into the next stage of the sale, Blaze eyed the cream and sugar.
She’d gotten distracted and missed the minute she had to research the effect of caffeine on anti-depressants.
Distracted. Forever distracted.
You’re not broken.
Would Anson say such things if he knew her twisted, dead-end thoughts?
She blew out a long breath, drawing a quizzical glance from Selina. “Is everything okay?”
“You’re doing great.” Blaze lifted her coffee in a toast, then took a long, slow sip as she prayed for her life to change.