Chapter 33
She may have taken that too far. Blaze drummed her fingers on the steering wheel as she drove away from Anson’s house.
Anson was an either-or thinker: everything was either right or wrong, success or failure.
His convictions made him a man of integrity.
A man she’d had up on a pedestal with all the other church leaders.
Sure, she’d known they weren’t perfect, but she had thought them better than her with her shorter walk with God, her messed up past, her dysfunctional upbringing.
But a disagreement this extreme meant anyone might have serious issues they needed to address. Anson had judged her too quickly back in high school. Remnants of that kind of thinking might still lead him to jump to the wrong conclusions.
Except Eric was probably guilty of something. He’d come up with one excuse after another until he’d finally found one that stuck. Which reason was real? And if his motivation had to be hidden under so many layers, was it valid?
Doubtful.
Why couldn’t she have told Anson he was right? Why start nitpicking him?
Because getting him to recognize his own flaws might help him extend more grace to others instead of assuming the worst. If she could soften him up, maybe when she told him Mercy had snuck out, he’d start with trust instead of calling the fire inspector.
But even Blaze wasn’t sure that trust was well placed.
Instead of skirting the downtown area to get home, Blaze flipped on her blinker and turned. A couple of blocks later, she found a parking spot on the square and started down the path toward the gazebo. Many of the oaks retained their leaves, brown and rattling overhead.
A text pinged as she passed the chinkapin oak, and she found a message from Nolan. If they want a leader for Rooted, I vote they bring Anson back. I’m not going to take his place.
Great. If she didn’t lead, there would be no Many Oaks Bible Church youth group for Mercy.
She ought to say she’d pray about it, but her testimony had done so much damage already, and she hadn’t even given it yet.
She didn’t belong on the youth ministry team at all, let alone leading Rooted.
Given how messy everything had become, maybe no one was qualified.
Where did that leave them? In God’s hands. Where they’d always been. She’d found that truth more comforting before the Lord had allowed the board to fire Anson.
They might just bring in a new volunteer to lead, she replied.
That’s fine. MOBC isn’t the right place for me anyway if this is how they operate.
I’m sure Anson appreciates the support. She sent the message, wishing she’d been the one to give it to him, and put the phone away.
Ahead, late autumn had rendered the vines on the gazebo frail and sparse.
She stepped up into the shelter and scanned the bench that hugged the perimeter.
Not even a stray wrapper lay on or beneath the white slats.
No signs that Mercy had been here. Not that her presence in the gazebo would definitively rule out a trip to the church.
Blaze drove the shortest route home, the one a girl on foot would choose, though it meant slower driving with more stops. It was quite a distance for an eleven-year-old to walk in the dark, and the church would’ve been another two miles.
In the garage, she stopped by Mercy’s bike.
They’d upgraded her children’s bicycle to a small mountain bike last summer, and Mercy had zipped around the neighborhood with her friends.
Once the weather had cooled and school started, the bike had been more or less forgotten. Blaze squeezed the front tire.
Totally flat.
Would Mercy ride it that way?
Her phone pinged. Expecting another text from Nolan, she pulled it out.
Anson.
Her eyes instantly watered, and with weak fingers, she opened the message.
I’m sorry we fought. I’m not in a great headspace. Haven’t slept much since Thursday. Can we try again in a day or two?
I hate this. I miss you already.
Unexpected and sweet, the messages twisted her stomach.
She wasn’t in a great headspace either. Her fight with Anson had mostly sprung from her defensiveness about Mercy.
But no one knew she’d been out. As long as Mercy kept quiet and no proof indicating her surfaced, reconnecting with Anson shouldn’t be as hard as Blaze was making it.
Her legs ached from squatting by the bike, so she straightened to compose her reply.
I’m not in a great headspace either. A day or two sounds good. I’ll be at The Depot tomorrow. Otherwise, I’ll be home Tuesday night.
She’d heard couples needed to learn to navigate conflict, but it would’ve been nice if she and Anson could’ve made it past their second date before it crashed in on them.
Monday’s basketball practice served as a much-needed mental break for Anson. One that ended abruptly as he left the gym and his phone went off with a call from Nolan.
Anson stopped at the exit to answer, looking out through the glass at the high school parking lot. The clouds hung low over the smattering of cars. “Hey, Nolan. What’s up?”
“It’s ridiculous, firing you. And then to say we’re not teaching anymore, except with these five-minute pre-recorded devos? Aren’t we a church anymore?”
“Yeah, I—”
“I’m not standing for it.” Nolan was more fired up than Anson had ever heard him—except perhaps during the fight on the bus all those years ago.
Uneasiness crept through Anson’s aching muscles.
“I’m going to bail if they don’t bring you back with a raise and a huge apology. I’ll get members to vote. You’d get your job back by a landslide, and we could elect a new board.”
“Hold on. Back up.” Anson clenched and released the hand that wasn’t holding the phone.
In theory, he’d wanted someone to feel this way—everyone, actually—but a fight had cost Coach Voss his life, and this time, it could split the church.
The damage to individuals’ spiritual lives could be devastating.
Blaze had been wise to shy away from pointing fingers and toward extending grace.
“I don’t know all the factors that went into the decision. Let’s go slow, assume the best, and prioritize the ministry.” The words tasted like spoiled milk.
“What ministry?” Nolan demanded. “They’re ruining it. And what are you going to do for work?”
Excellent question. He wasn’t qualified for much besides coaching and pastoring, and he wouldn’t find a full-time job in either role in Many Oaks.
He rested his hand on the cold metal bar on the door.
“I’m not sure yet, but God will provide for me and the church.
” The statement still didn’t feel one-hundred percent true, but he knew it was.
If he kept saying it, hopefully it’d sink in.
“I don’t think He’s going to let the ministry die.
I’d appreciate it if you’d help keep it alive, unless you’re confident you’re being called somewhere else. ”
“You don’t think all this is a sign?”
“Responses trump reactions.”
Nolan grunted. “How am I supposed to respond, Coach?”
“Take it slow and pray. Let God work. That’s what I’m trying to do.”
“We can’t take it too slow. They want to know who’s going to lead Rooted by Wednesday so we can start up again next week. You really want me and Blaze taking over without you?”
“I trust you both.”
Nolan exhaled heavily. “Fine. But I don’t like it.”
“Me neither.”
When they ended the call, Anson’s bag of equipment felt twice as heavy as he shouldered through the door and into the lot. He’d head home and pass the time until Blaze’s show browsing job listings. Or not. Just walking to his car drained his energy. It seemed he’d finally exhausted himself.
Footsteps slapped the concrete behind him. “Pastor Anson! Hey!” The runner pounded to a stop at his side.
Anson shifted his duffel bag higher on his shoulder. “Dylan. What are you still doing here?”
“I’m a stagehand for the musical. And, unlike my brother, I didn’t bail.”
That’s right. Carter had volunteered for the theater department to clear his suspension. “Why did he join the crew if he wasn’t planning to go out for basketball?”
Dylan shrugged. “Maybe he thinks I’m cooler than he lets on and he wanted to hang out with me.”
Anson had to smile. “That must be it.”
“He acts like he can’t stand me, but …” His shoulders rose again. “He’s actually not the worst.”
Anson chuckled. “High praise.”
“Hey. So.” Dylan pulled his hands into the sleeves of his hoodie. “What’s the deal with the fire? You went when my dad texted, right?”
“I did.” Eric had been at the scene, but he never explained why he’d texted Anson and then failed to invite him to the leadership meeting.
“I heard it was an accident.”
“That was the theory, the last I heard.” Presumably the investigation was underway.
“You ever figure out who was on the camera? You have video of the person?”
The question confirmed one of Anson’s suspicions—that nothing about the fire was secret. At least not from the students. Dylan might’ve heard something the adults hadn’t, though. “Who do you think might be in the video?”
“How would I know? I just heard you had a picture. My mom says I’m nosy.” His face lit. “It could be Silas. He’s kind of weird. I bet he likes to play with fire.”
“Silas is introverted, not weird.”
Dylan wagged a sleeve-covered arm at him. “You can never trust the quiet ones.”
Anson dismissed the accusation with a head shake. “I turned the video over so it can be used in the investigation.”
The humor disappeared from Dylan’s face. “I suppose you had to.” His forehead wrinkled. “So, why can’t we have youth group this week? I heard the youth room is fine.”
Anson took a breath, started to answer, stopped. Was it possible Eric hadn’t told his own family the decision he’d instigated? “The room was spared, but I believe it still has smoke damage.”
“Ah. Okay. Good. ’Cuz someone said it was because you quit.”
Anson had wanted to let the leadership board tell the congregation what happened, but he couldn’t let that slide. “I don’t work at the church anymore, but I didn’t quit.”
Dylan cocked his head like a puzzled puppy. “Huh?”
“They let me go.”
Dylan froze, mouth open. “No.” Somehow, he managed to not move his jaw.
“Afraid so.”
“Because of the fire?” He was back in motion, balling his hands under his crossed arms.
“No.” Although during that last meeting, one of Eric’s talking points had been his prediction about the fire decreasing giving. “Not directly, anyway.”
“Then it was because of my dad?”
“The leadership board made the decision together.” Hopefully that was diplomatic enough.
“My dad is such a ….” Dylan clenched his jaw.
Part of him would’ve loved to finish the thought, but he took a page from Blaze’s playbook instead. “The board is doing what they feel is best for the church.”
“So, no more youth group?”
“My understanding is they’re coming up with a plan, but if you want details, you’ll have to talk with your dad.”
“Carter’s going to …. Are you sure this isn’t because of the fire? It was an accident. You shouldn’t be punished for it.”
Dylan spoke with a little too much certainty.
“Is there something you want to tell me?”
“What do you mean? No. Why?”
“How do you know the fire was an accident?”
“You just said.”
“I said that was the theory. You sound pretty sure.”
“No, I’m not. I’m not. I just ….” His hands popped back out the ends of his sleeves. “Okay, so all I know is we sent you the text.”
“What text?”
“The one about the fire. It wasn’t from my dad. It was from me and Carter. Well, Carter, but he did it because I was worried about the church.”
“How did you know about the fire that early on?”
“One of my dad’s friends called and told him. The guy saw all the fire trucks and called because he knows Dad is kind of in charge or whatever. Carter and I heard Dad getting ready to go see what was happening, so we asked him what was going on. I was really worried. Carter said you could help.”
“Why use your dad’s phone?”
“We checked to see if he called you, but he only called Pastor Greg, so we sent the text. But we figured he might be mad about it, so we deleted it from his phone. He doesn’t know he texted you.
Maybe don’t tell him? He’d be mad. But I guess you probably couldn’t really help, huh? The fire was so big.”
Spoken with the confidence of a witness, but Anson hadn’t spotted him at the church. “Did you see it?”
“There were pictures online.”
Suspicion needled Anson. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“Sure. Lots of things. I aced my algebra test. In band class, Jonah hit Melody in the back of the head with his trombone.” He mimed extending a trombone slider. “Mrs. Ratey was sick, and we had a sub for—”
“About the fire, Dylan.”
“Oh. Then no.”
Someone called Dylan back inside. With a hasty goodbye, he sprinted off.
Anson hefted his equipment bag onto the backseat of his SUV. Shrugging the kink out of his shoulder, he studied the school. Dylan knew something, but Anson wasn’t sure he could find out what without crossing Eric or the leadership board.