Chapter 20
Anson kept an eye on Mercy, who squealed as Hadley chased her around a tree. Blaze had disappeared, but she couldn’t have gone far without her sister.
“I hope lots of people tell my dad how great this was,” one of the kids said behind him.
Anson turned to find Dylan. “Glad you enjoyed yourself.”
“Yeah. I mean, I got to throw two pies at you. Plus, the old lady at the last house was so happy we helped, she cried. We were going fast because we wanted to win. If it wasn’t a race, we wouldn’t have gotten to her house, but I’m glad we did, and not just because of the pie.”
Anson clapped him on the shoulder. “Helping people feels good, doesn’t it?”
Dylan’s smile dropped prematurely. “I just wish I could help you more.”
“Help me with what?”
“My dad says you’re running the youth group into the ground. He wants to replace you.” He looked toward his friends. “I think they had fun. I’m going to try to bring them to Branching Out tomorrow.”
Carter had once offered similar help, but he hadn’t repeated their dad’s mission in such stark terms. A warning tone droned in Anson’s ears. Eric might’ve grown more outspoken. “It’s not your responsibility to help me with your dad. That’s between us and the leadership board.”
“But that’s the thing. Dad talks to people about you.”
Anson massaged his own shoulder. “You don’t need to worry about it. God is in control, and I’m glad you brought friends so that they can know Him too. That’s the important thing.”
Dylan’s mouth curved in a half smile, but before they could continue, his mom called him and his friends over to her SUV. Meanwhile, Ashley West parked. Hadley and Mercy bounded toward her and climbed in the car.
Anson helped Sydney and Nolan scrub pie toppings off the pavement and carry the table inside. One by one, the leaders said goodbye. Anson piled up one last load of empty pizza boxes and deposited them in the trash bin beside the building.
He could lock up and head home, but his SUV had company in the form of Blaze’s black sedan. They could finally talk. Light steps carried him back to the building.
He checked the youth room first. Empty, but he’d left it unattended during the pie ceremony. He pulled the food stash out from under the couch. He checked it once a week, and nothing had changed since he’d first found it.
Today, however, an apple rolled into his hand instead of an orange.
Some of the candy had been swapped out for other varieties, and the note with his phone number was gone.
He scanned the room but saw no hints to reveal who’d stopped in.
He hadn’t seen any students snacking on anything besides pizza and pie filling during the event.
He rubbed his mouth, considering his options. All of them would require steps he couldn’t complete now. He put the bag back and locked the room before setting off to find Blaze, if she hadn’t already ducked out.
No one sat in the sanctuary. He swung by the offices, but all the doors remained closed. On his way to check the gym, he heard water running in the kitchen.
Blaze stood at the sink. Her jeans and long sleeves suited the cooling weather.
Despite being in a ponytail, her hair reached the small of her back.
What he wouldn’t give to walk up behind her, slide his hand across the soft fabric of her shirt, and feel the ends of her hair feather across his knuckles.
She shut off the faucet and plunked a handful of serving spoons into the drying rack. Wiping her hands on a towel, she turned from the counter and jolted. Exhaling, she pressed a hand to her chest. “How long have you been standing there?”
Longer than he should’ve been.
She smirked. “Nice shirt.”
“This old thing?” He tugged the hem for the hundredth time.
With a chuckle, she dipped her chin and turned away.
As she replaced the towel on its hook, he leaned against the counter beside her. “Was that coffee in your mug earlier?”
“I’m doing one cup per day until I can quit altogether.” Lines bracketed her mouth, and light from the window above the sink glinted on her dainty gold necklace. Tendons shifted in her slender neck as she moved.
He could study her all day, but that was a bad strategy for connecting with her. “Despite asking everyone I could think of, no one knows how or why anyone is getting into the youth room. But the stash changed, so someone is.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Set up a motion-activated camera. I don’t think they’re too pricey, and I need to find out what’s going on so I can help if it’s one of the students.”
“Good.” She shifted and assessed him without giving him the satisfaction of eye contact. She could leave, but instead she stuffed one hand in her pocket and settled her hip against the counter. “It’s good, you know?” She spoke soft and slow.
“What is?”
She rubbed her thumbnail along the seam where the sink met the countertop. “That the kids have someone looking out for them. Invested in how they’re doing.”
“Because you didn’t?”
She frowned and something flashed in her eyes.
Her stories waited beneath the surface, but he hadn’t earned her trust yet.
“I’ve thought about that night when I didn’t give you a ride home.
I’ve always been a black-and-white thinker.
Sometimes, like with Mercy and that bathroom situation, I get carried away with it.
” An example of how his head got him in trouble sometimes.
Giving more sway to his heart might not be all bad.
“Back when we were in high school, I was a lot worse. I apologized the other night, but I’m not sure you understood how much I meant it.
I’m sorry I left you in the cold that night. ”
“Thank you.” She hugged her arm across herself. “If it makes you feel any better, it wasn’t the first or the worst time someone did that.”
“Made you walk home?”
“Left me in the cold.” Her beautiful voice shivered.
How much had she been through? “Why would that make me feel better?”
She swallowed.
“But I do want to know.”
Her lips parted, then sealed. After a long inhale, she said, “It’s how I got the name.”
When she bowed her head, he risked a guess. “Because you were cold, you started a fire. The one that burned the garage.”
She returned to picking at the caulk around the sink. “I knew you’d heard the story.”
“Not from anyone qualified to tell it. They left out the part about you starting the fire for warmth. And probably a lot more.”
She didn’t continue the story.
He understood the hesitance. He’d never laid out his story for someone so early in a deepening friendship either, but Blaze was unlike anyone he’d grown close to before. “My offer stands. If you’ll trust me with your story, I’ll tell you mine.”
She assessed him and nodded. The deal was made. His soaring satisfaction set off ripples of concern that he’d promised too much. His story likely carried similar weight to the one he’d asked of her, but what if it changed how she saw him?
She hooked her hand behind her neck, eyes trained on the sink.
“During Christmas break, I called a friend and invited her over. I listened as she asked her mom for permission, and her mom said she couldn’t come because my mom drank so much.
Until then, I didn’t realize how different our family was or the connection between Mom’s drinking and her behavior.
I was so upset, I poured all her alcohol down the drain.
“When she found out, she was livid. Locked me out of the house. It was just me and my … My kitten sweater had this big, black-and-white cat on it and a ball of yarn.” She motioned over her torso.
“I loved that thing, so I wore it even when it was way too hot. But that day, when I had nothing else against the cold …” Pink shaded the whites of her eyes and the crests of her cheeks.
“A kitten sweater? You were young.”
“First grade.”
Little Blaze, huddled in her kitten sweater against the cold, not only abandoned, but pushed away by the person who was supposed to love her most in the world. His heart shattered at the image, and his arms ached to crush her in a hug.
She stared at her hands. “I banged on the door for a while, but it turns out I didn’t get all the alcohol.
While she was consoling herself inside, I found newspapers in the bushes by our front door and a lighter in the garage.
My fingers were so numb, I could barely pull the trigger. But once I got it, I got it.”
His stomach dropped. “The fire got out of control.”
“Fast. The whole garage went up in flames. A neighbor called the fire department. I’ll never forget how terrified I was.”
“Were you trapped inside?”
“No. I hid behind a neighbor’s house, watching. I thought I’d go to jail for the rest of my life.” The corners of her mouth lifted. “Instead, I got sent to the Blovers.”
“What’s that?”
“A foster family. I guess the neighbors saw me pounding on the door, wandering the yard, and running away from the fire. They’re the ones who sent the police looking for me.
I confessed the whole thing, thinking it was my fault for making Mom angry and burning down the garage.
I thought the police officer would put me in cuffs and haul me away.
And I was whisked away, just not to jail. It took a year for Mom to get me back.”
Even that might’ve been too soon, given Anson had never heard her tell a good story about her mom. Hopefully, the foster parents gave her a glimpse of how family ought to work. “Were they good people?”
“The Blovers?” She shrugged. “Sure. I remember a lot of fresh baked cookies and dinners around a table. But I also knew I didn’t belong. I missed my mom. I spent the year homesick. When I came back to Many Oaks, the kids started calling me Blaze. It caught almost as fast as the garage did.”
“That was wrong.” The urge to reach out was so strong, he shoved his hands in his pockets. After all, he’d taken her hands when she’d told him about her anxiety diagnosis. If she wanted that kind of comfort from him, she ought to know he was within reach, waiting. “The kids sold you short.”
“With the nickname? I’d say I earned that.”
“No one deserves to be branded for trying to stay warm.” He couldn’t help the little girl in the story, but he could help the woman before him. “We can change it back. I’ll never call you Blaze again if—”
She held up a hand. “Jenny went up in smoke that day. She’s the before, the naive girl who didn’t know how much heartache the world holds or how to handle it. Blaze is the survivor. All that’s left.”
Christ had carried her through the fire, Anson was certain. Someday, the Lord might breathe new life into the trusting and optimistic Jenny, but in the meantime, Anson’s allegiance rested with the phoenix named Blaze.
How had he ever believed his classmates’ stories about her? He should’ve befriended her. Should’ve given her a ride that night when she’d asked. What else might he have seen about her sooner? “I can’t tell you how incredibly sorry I am—for what you went through, for believing the stories.”
“What’s done is done. ” A wisp of hair fell along the curve of her cheek. “I don’t want pity.”
“Good. Because what you have is my respect.”
Her wide eyes snapped to his.
“You once said surefire failure is your thing, that your nickname was connected with that idea. I should’ve argued on the spot, but Blaze, please hear me now.
The deck’s been stacked against you your whole life, but you’ve made something of yourself—Christ is making something beautiful of you.
Surefire failure isn’t your hallmark. The surefire love of God is. ”
She pulled a lock of hair over her shoulder and twirled it around her finger.
“You are tenacious and capable and compassionate, and no matter how many times you’ve been hurt or disappointed, you keep opening yourself up.
I suspect you do it every time you step on stage.
You do it when you stand up and fight for Mercy.
You did it when you volunteered for Rooted.
You did it when you dared to ask a doctor for help and again by telling me your story. ”
Her velvety brown eyes scanned his face. Her gaze landed on his lips before rising again. “You promised to tell me a story in return.”
“I did.” He considered spitting out the facts without diving as deep as she had done, but that would snuff out their flickering connection. His only desire now was to fan the flames. “Would you like to know about my brother?”
“You have a brother?”
“I d—”
“Anson. Good. You’re still here.” Greg appeared in his peripheral vision. “We need to talk.”