She nodded and took a deep breath. “I'm fine.”
He was doubtful, but nodded back anyway, and squeezed her shoulder. “I should get going.” He took their mugs to the sink and rinsed them before pulling on his jacket. He looked at her once more before turning toward the door. Her softly spoken words had him pausing, hand on the doorknob.
“Thank you, Ez.”
He turned and gave her a smile, inwardly grinning at her use of his nickname. “Bye, Piper.”
His heart was heavy as he drove home. The protector in him wanted to take away all that had hurt Piper, erase it from her memory. All the pain she’d been through had made her close off her heart, keeping her from loving or trusting anyone. Not even God. Perhaps Him most of all.
He just felt so helpless . . . He wanted to pound a wall.
Failure. Again.
He parked his car in the apartment lot and pulled the key out, then tugged his phone out of his pocket. Pulling up the correct message thread, he sent off a text asking if he could drop by after his dad got out of the office. Tucking his phone into his back pocket, he scrubbed a hand across his face and blew out a breath. Grabbing his duffel, he headed up the steps to his apartment.
He needed sleep, first and foremost.
P ain settled deep in Piper’s heart, but it was a different kind of pain, a dull, aching, throbbing pain. A longing for something she didn't have. Couldn’t have.
She wished Ezra had stayed, yet she knew she wouldn’t have let him. His mere presence was slowly breaking down her bleak concrete walls . . . and it terrified her. She’d told him so much today. More than she meant to. She wasn’t sure yet if she regretted it. In a way, it felt freeing to share the burden with someone else, but he didn’t even know the half of it. . . .
Would it be so terrible to let him break down those walls? Her head said it would, but her heart suggested that maybe it was worth the risk.
Ezra gratefully accepted the cup of liquid caffeine from his dad. It would certainly come in handy later as the last hours of his shift stretched long. And no one made coffee like his dad. He inhaled deeply of the fresh, earthy scent and felt instantly calmer. His dad settled himself with his own mug across from Ezra and propped an ankle on his knee. He had shed the suit jacket and cufflinks and loosened his tie, but otherwise was still in his office attire.
Tom Bryant cut an imposing figure at just around six feet tall with black hair turning salt-and-pepper, and the square face and green eyes he shared with Ezra. As a civil litigation attorney, he could be quite intimidating, but Ezra knew there was a soft heart of gold underneath, and he was every inch a gentleman.
After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Ezra looked up and found his dad studying him with a contemplative look in his gentle eyes.
“What?” he asked, slightly defensive.
His dad chuckled, clearly bemused. “You tell me, Ezra. You didn’t just show up here without a reason.”
Ezra laughed ruefully. “I see why you’re so good at your job.”
“Nope, I just know my son well.”
Ezra smiled softly and nodded, staring into his already nearly empty mug. “So . . . I came across Piper Redding the other day . . .”
“Paul Redding’s sister? Why did I have a feeling this was going to be about a girl?”
“Da-ad!” Now his father was jumping on that bandwagon too? His dad was biting the inside of his cheek, clearly trying to restrain himself from a laugh at his son’s expense.
“Sorry, you know I was teasing.” Dad coughed, still covering up a chuckle.
“You and everyone else,” Ezra said, shaking his head with exasperation.
“How is Piper?” Dad asked, a more serious note in his voice.
Ezra blew out a breath. “Not good, Dad.”
Alarm skittered across his father’s usually impassive face at Ezra’s heavy tone. “What’s wrong?”
“Paul died. Years ago.”
“He what—?” His dad’s voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “I’m so sorry, son.” He placed a hand on Ezra’s shoulder and squeezed.
Ezra nodded and swallowed. Twice. His dad knew. He understood.
Ezra had never had the opportunity to apologize to Paul. And now he never would. He’d spent enough time beating himself up over past stupid decisions and missed opportunities. He wouldn’t over this one. But the guilt still stung—like fire.
“He was shot in a gang fight six years ago. Died instantly.” He chuckled humorlessly. “Want to know the ironic thing? Piper was shot too—last week in the shooting at the rink.”
Shock splashed across his father’s features. “Oh my goodness. That’s terrible. She’s all right though?”
Ezra nodded and explained her injury. It wasn’t breaking patient confidentiality if said patient was an old friend, right? “She’s really struggling, Dad. I don’t know what to do, and it’s killing me. I know she blames herself about Paul—she hasn’t said so, but she doesn’t need to. I think her getting injured brought everything to the surface. She feels like God abandoned her. I just . . . I just want to fix it!” He exhaled in frustration and dropped his head, rubbing his face with his hands.
His father was silent for a few minutes before he spoke softly. “You can’t, Ez. You can’t. The only thing you can do is pray for her and love her through it.”
Ezra’s head snapped up and he stared at his father. “Dad!” he said, aghast. Did he just say what Ezra thought he’d said?
His dad looked confused for a moment before a grin broke out and he chuckled, a rich sound. “Ezra Christopher Bryant, you know I didn’t mean it that way. I meant a brotherly love. Just be there for her, but also give her some space.”
Ezra exhaled loudly and Dad chuckled again. “You know, you’re unusually worked up about that specific subject . . . which I have a feeling is telling.”
Ezra grimaced. “You would be too, if people were constantly bringing it up. Tyler hasn’t let me hear the end of it, and I’m not sure I ever will.”
“It’ll blow over.” Dad’s words were encouraging, but the not-very-hidden smirk on his face wasn’t. It was rather alarming, actually. Ezra decided now would be an ideal time to change the subject. He asked his father about the case he was working on, and they continued to talk for another half hour before Ezra had to leave for work.
As Ezra made the silent drive to work, his dad’s words replayed in his mind. “Just love her . . .” Maybe there was more to that than what he had meant. But not yet. Piper didn’t need that.
Lord, I don’t even know what to pray anymore . . . Show me how to help her. Use me.
W hen Piper awoke from a nightmare at 3:30 a.m. on January twenty-second, she knew it was going to be a horrible day.
That much she could have guessed without the waking up early part. The nightmare was a kick-you-while-you’re-down kind of addition. She sighed and turned on her side, scrunching the pillow up beneath her head more comfortably.
Then it hit her. Today marked two weeks since the shooting at the rink. And six years since Paul had died . . . Oh, the irony.
She closed her eyes and tried to get back to sleep, but her mind was too awake. She rolled over to turn on the lamp and let out a squeal when Finley yowled and jumped off the bed. She must have been sleeping at Piper’s back, and Piper had almost rolled over on her. She cringed at the mental image of squashed-flat cat and stage-whispered to Finley. “Sorry, kitty! C’mere.” She snapped her fingers softly, but Finley disdainfully put her nose in the air and began to clean a paw. Stubborn cat.
Piper flipped on the lamp and grabbed the book she was currently reading off the nightstand. When Crickets Cry, one of her favorites, and one she’d read many times. She read until her eyelids grew heavy. She shut them for a moment, only to open them again three hours later with a furball sitting on her neck, tail tickling her nose. Piper groaned. Did this cat have no social skills?
Grumbling, she displaced Finley and lethargically climbed out from the
teal bed sheets to ready herself for the day. She was staring absentmindedly into her closet trying to decide what to wear when the shrill ringing of her phone from the bedside table startled her and sent Finley yowling and running from the room. Strangely, the sound of the phone ringing always sent the kitten for cover.
Piper grabbed the phone and frowned at the unfamiliar number. Who would be calling this early in the morning? Although it was 8:30. She cleared her throat and hoped her morning voice didn’t sound too terrible as she swiped the screen to answer the call. “Hello?”
“Piper! Honey, that you?” The mellow accented voice sounded familiar.
“Um, yes, this is Piper. May I ask who’s calling?”
A rich chuckle met her question. “Shoo, girl, this is Cecile.”
The nurse. Duh. “Miss Cecile! How are you?”
Another chuckle. “I’m just fine, honeygirl. Listen, I thought today we could go do some shoppin’, lunch, ya know, what girls do. I know you must be bored out of your mind all alone in that house. What d’ya say?”
“Oh, um . . . well . . .” She cleared her throat. “That would be nice. Thank you very much.”
“Alrighty! Whoo! It’s a date. I’ll pick you up about 9:30? That sound good?”
“Lovely!” And it actually did.
“Alrighty, honeygirl. See ya then.” The line clicked.
Surprisingly, Piper wasn’t freaked out about a near-stranger calling and taking her shopping. It was the way Cecile talked—as if she had known you all your life and was your best friend. The small amount of time Piper had spent in it, she’d enjoyed the outgoing woman’s company. And she was looking forward to getting out of the house for a bit.
She snagged a peacock-blue sweater and a pair of soft-gray jeans from the closet and pulled them on. Finger-combing her wavy bed head, she brought some semblance of order to it and pinned back the front pieces.
Makeup or no? Well, it was a girls’ day after all. She applied a light layer of mascara and a coat of peachy lip gloss. Frowning at her pale cheeks, she pinched them gently. She was still so pale. The doctor had said it would take awhile for her body to replenish the blood she’d lost. It’d been two weeks, and she still looked like Frankenstein’s Monster.
Piper finished getting ready and ran around the house, trying to tidy up the monstrosity it was before gulping down a muffin and a hard-boiled egg as breakfast. Finished with that, she scrolled through notifications on her phone while waiting for 9:30 and Miss Cecile to arrive.
After stopping at two stores, Piper settled herself in Miss Cecile’s passenger seat again as the woman pulled out onto the main road. The pleasantries long since already gone through, there was silence except for the sound of the wheels on the wet asphalt. It was just starting to get awkward when Miss Cecile spoke.
“How are you really doin’, hon?”
Piper was touched at the concern evident in Miss Cecile’s voice. No one had ever asked her that question with such care, such . . . love, behind it. She sniffed against the sudden moisture in her eyes. “I’m . . . I’m doing okay, thanks.”
Cecile shifted her grip on the wheel and sent a raised-eyebrows glance in Piper’s direction. “Girl, you’re obviously not okay, and I ain’t above dragging it out of you, so you’d better start talking.” Cecile’s tone left no room for argument.
Piper chuckled and squirmed a bit, but surprisingly wasn’t bothered by her companion’s pushiness. Instead of elaborating, she decided to ask the question that had been bothering her for some time. “Why do you care?” It was softly spoken with no attitude behind it, just pained curiosity.
Cecile answered with little hesitation, clicking on her turn signal to pull into a Starbucks as she did so. “Because the One tells me to care, hon.” She flicked a finger upward. “So I do. I been praying for you night and day since you showed up in my rotation. Well, if I’m being honest, I asked to have you put on my rotation. Not every day we get gunshot victims here.” She winked and pulled up to the drive-thru window. “Like coffee?”
Piper blinked at the abrupt change in subject. “Um, no, I don’t care for it.”
Cecile feigned horror. “Not like coffee? Well, I declare. What do you like?”
“I like hot cocoa . . .” Before she finished her sentence, Cecile had turned towards the window and ordered a hot cocoa with extra whipped cream and chocolate syrup, and a “venti half-decaf half-blonde roast with room for hot water” . . . whatever that was.
Drinks in hand, Miss Cecile pulled into an empty parking space and took a sip of her strange-sounding coffee. “My momma said there ain’t nothin’ coffee and a lil’ bit o’ Jesus can’t fix.”
Piper sipped her drink and stared out the windshield as snowflakes slowly accumulated on it and twinkled around the buildings in the distance. “I haven’t found either very effective in my personal experience,” she said lightly.
“Oh? That so?” Miss Cecile took another sip of her drink, letting the words drift in the quietness.
“Yes, that’s so . . . So why pray at all if God just ignores you?”
“God never ignores, honey, He just maybe doesn’t answer the way we want or when we want. But He knows best, and always answers in the way that’s best for us.”
“Then you’re saying it was God’s plan that my brother bleed out in a dark, abandoned Chicago alley before medical help could reach him? How is that ‘best’?” Piper couldn’t help the bitterness that had crept into her tone and she hurriedly took a sip to cover the crack in her voice.
Miss Cecile made a sympathetic noise and reached out a hand and placed it over Piper’s, surprising her with her acceptance after that little speech. “I didn’t say it had to make sense to us. You may never know why your brother died. Things happen. But God can turn it around and use it for good if you’ll let Him. Let me ask this: was your brother a Christian?”
“Yes. Very much so. He was always talking about God, and praying, and . . . he said he was praying that I would know God, too . . . but then he died. So what good did his prayers do?”
“Maybe the good God wants to bring out of his death is that you come to know God in a bigger way.”
Piper was silent as she processed Miss Cecile’s words.
“Somehow, I don’t think that’s truly what’s holding you back, Piper.” Miss Cecile’s words startled her. How could she know? “What is it?” Cecile tapped a finger to Piper’s chest. “In your heart of hearts, what’s stopping you from accepting His love?”
Piper looked down at her lap where Cecile’s dark, strong hand still clasped her own small one. A tear slipped down her cheek as she spoke the words that had haunted her all her life. “I’m scared, Miss Cecile. I’m scared that I’ve done too much for Him to love me. I’m not good enough. I’m scared that He’ll leave me like everyone else. It just hurts too much.” More tears followed the first one.
“I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other created thing, will be able to separate us from the unlimited love of God. ‘For the mountains may be removed and the hills may shake, but My love will not be removed from you, nor will My covenant of peace be shaken,’ says the Lord.” Cecile’s words had started quietly and slowly grown with strength and conviction until her voice filled the car. Faster and faster slipped the tears down Piper’s face and she saw Cecile wiping away tears of her own. She gripped Piper’s hand tighter. “He loves you, Piper Redding. Goodness, He’s crazy about you. Just think about it, okay, honey?”
Piper nodded and wiped away the moisture on her face. “Thank you, Miss Cecile. I will think about it.”
“Good.” Cecile pulled her hand from Piper’s and stuffed some tissues into it, using one to mop her own face. “Whoo. Alrighty then. Now where to?”
Piper thought a moment, then blushed. “Um . . . could we stop at the Best Buy? I need a new mouse and cable for my computer.” Not many girls asked to
visit the technology store on their girls’ day out. But Piper wasn’t most girls.
Miss Cecile chuckled. Then laughed. “Well, this will surely be a first, but hey, if you want. This is your day, girlfriend.”
For the next half hour, Miss Cecile followed Piper around the store, curiously picking up various pieces of tech and examining them. Piper was in her element, but it was clear Cecile was not. “Girl, I hope you know what all these gizmo-thingies are, because I certainly don’t.” She picked up a Microsoft Virtual Reality headset. “What is this?”
Piper giggled at her companion’s raised eyebrows and obvious consternation. “It’s a VR—virtual reality—headset. When you put it on, it’s like . . . like entering another world. We can ask to try it if you want.”
Miss Cecile seemed so intrigued, Piper went and found a salesman eager to give a demo. Jason, the kind, if slightly pushy, salesman, fitted the headset on Miss Cecile’s head and explained in layman’s terms how it worked. When he started the demo, Miss Cecile’s squeal of surprise had Piper laughing and the employee chuckling along.
“Nuh-uh! Piper, you seein’ this? This is scary, girl! Whoa!” Each new scene brought another amusing exclamation from the woman until Piper’s cheeks hurt from smiling so much. She didn’t remember the last time her cheeks hurt from smiling.
It felt good.
Eventually, Piper convinced Miss Cecile that they’d taken up enough of the generous man’s time and they checked out and left the store with Jason still chuckling as the door closed behind them.
Once back in the car, Miss Cecile asked, “You seen much of that young man who saved your life?”
Piper smiled at the drama in Cecile’s voice. “Actually, I have a few times . . .” Miss Cecile sent her a glance fraught with meaning and Piper blushed in realization. “I mean, you know we were friends before now, right? He was my brother’s best friend when we lived in Chicago.” Mentioning her brother didn’t bring the pang it usually did when she so much as thought of him. Strange.
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