Ralph snorts and spreads his octopus arms. “And get an OSHA violation for dreadful working conditions? No, I wouldn’t do that to you. At least not until you get as jaded as the rest of us.”
Again that pressure hits my chest, like I should say or do something. But I’m helpless. I’m a temporary Texan in a temporary job with a temporary faith. If this building of believers can’t find the right words to take away his unhappiness, then I certainly can’t. “I’ll be back when I’m finished.”
“Sounds good.”
I hear his door shut again when I’m ten steps away and within arm’s reach of the elevator. Juggling the box to one side, I reach out to press the down button when a hand beats me to it. Next thing I know, the box is taken away.
“I’ve got it.”
“Thanks.” I turn toward my knight and swear the guitar pick heats up in my pocket, as if some life force is surging from its owner. “You again?”
Cameron’s smile is as warm as it was yesterday. “I do work here from time to time.” He peeks into the box of prayer cards. “I guess you have your first assignment.”
“Yep. Sorter extraordinaire.” The elevator opens, and it dawns on me that he might be using the band room. “I was going to set up in your practice space, but I don’t have to.”
“No, please do. I’d love the company.”
“What about the rest of the band? Won’t they mind?”
“Brent and I are the only ones on staff. Nate takes classes at UNT, and Brian and Darrel have succumbed to full-time respectable jobs.” He smiles at me over the box, and I watch the elevator doors trap me inside. “Looks like it’s just you and me.”
Suddenly, I feel the need to grab an empty prayer card myself. I’m starting to believe it’s going to take divine intervention to keep me away from a guy like Cameron.
six
We’ve recycled every bit of small talk I can think of by the time we reach the band room. I’ve learned that Cameron’s last name is Lee, that he’s kid number three of four, turning twenty-nine at the end of February—almost exactly six months younger than me—and lives in a small three-bedroom apartment with two other bandmates, eight minutes’ drive from the church.
He sets the box down and stretches his hand to the top of the doorframe. “Don’t tell anyone about my hiding spot.” He swivels his head like James Bond in a takedown. “Margie threatened my life if I kept forgetting my key, so desperate measures had to be taken.” He slides the key into the lock while I watch him with a goofy smile on my face. The same goofy smile that got my heart pummeled only months ago. My grin immediately fades.
Cameron turns the key and opens the door. “You can have the desk. I’m going to be working on a song and tend to pace when I get stuck.”
“You write music, too?” Is there anything this guy doesn’t do? He’s cute, kind, acts like a gentleman, is a musician for crying out loud, and he has a great sense of humor. I’m so busy getting annoyed at his perfection that I nearly miss the tension that comes with that question.
“I did write music.” Cameron is no longer smiling. He shoves the key back to its hiding place as if it wronged him in some way. “Now I stare at a blank sheet for two hours.”
I want to ask why, but everything in his body language keeps my mouth tightly closed. We all deal with sore subjects. This is his, and I’m not about to stand here and press on the bruise.
Instead, I peruse the space in a way I couldn’t the last time the door was open. A wave of relief slams into me. The room is not only clean and free of clutter, but whoever decorated the area must be part engineer. Every piece feels as if it’s been measured to be the perfect distance from the adjacent wall.
Cameron walks to the side of the room designated as a seating area with a full couch, two big club chairs, and a love seat. Framed pictures of the band and their album cover the wall, each impeccably spaced at what looks to be three inches. Turns out Cameron is as photogenic as he is talented.
“That one was taken in Arlington.” He points to an eleven-by-fourteen frame of him hunched over his guitar, his sweat-soaked hair draped over his forehead and fingers contorted in a way that doesn’t seem real. In this picture, Cameron looks like a full-on rock star. “There were twelve bands at a free concert, and we got to be on the same stage as For King & Country and Mercy Me. It’s still the pinnacle of my music career.”
“How long ago was that?” My shoulder brushes his, and tingles tiptoe down my arm and into my fingertips. I should move away, but I don’t. It feels good to feel this way again, even if it’s equivalent to lining up in front of a firing squad.
“September.” His voice is laden with disappointment. “I was sure that concert would be the launch we needed, but apart from a two-month spike in iTunes downloads, nothing’s come from the exposure.”
“Music is a hard business to break into.” I flinch when I realize my insensitivity. “Sorry. You don’t need me to tell you as much.”
His smile returns, and it’s so welcome I nearly sigh in relief. It feels wrong to see Cameron sad. He’s too . . . I don’t know, just too delightful to be anything but happy.
“It’s all about God’s timing. I know this, but it’s hard to be patient.”
And there it is. The reminder I need to get refocused and forget whatever crazy thought I had about me and Cameron sitting in a tree. “Speaking of timing, I should probably do some real work. Or at least look like I am.”
“Right, I can see how they may expect as much on your first day.” He winks and returns to the hallway to retrieve my box of prayer cards.
I slide four music binders into a stack on top of the desk and set them carefully on the floor. All that’s left on the surface is a laptop, a set of keys, and a baseball cap.
“I’ll take those.” Cameron puts the box on the corner and fills his arms with the rest of the items.
“You’re a Rangers fan?”
“Since I was old enough to throw a ball. Mom and Dad took us to every opening game. They still do.” He plops the hat upside down on the coffee table and tosses his keys inside. He’s gentler with his laptop. “You ever been?”
“To a Rangers game? No. But I went to a Braves game once.” I was ten and Stepdad #2 was trying to bond. It’s the only good memory I have of him. “It was fun. Especially since I got to eat all the cotton candy I wanted.”
He grabs a guitar from among the three on the far side of the room. “A girl who eats sugar. I didn’t know those existed anymore.”
“I am rare.”
Cameron pauses and stares with a look I feel all the way down to my toes. “That you are.”
I want to ask him how he could possibly know that when we’ve had only two small interactions, but at the same time I somehow feel a similar assuredness. That beyond the music, there’s something inside that makes him unique. Special.
My cheeks heat and I focus on the box. The room suddenly feels stuffy, and I struggle out of the cardigan that covers my thin blouse. One thing I learned quickly in Texas is to always dress in layers.
The plucking of guitar strings fills the space and relaxes me. Cameron’s back is to me, and he’s hunched over like he was in the picture, only this time he stops every few chords and writes in the notebook in front of him. The starting and stopping doesn’t bother me, but he seems to get more agitated with each strum.
I turn away because it’s none of my business and I’m already more invested than I should be. I’m here to help Ralph, not Cameron, and to do that I need to sort a thousand prayer requests.
My fingers lift the first one from the stack, and I stare at the elegant handwriting:
I’m a terrible daughter. Four months ago I put my mother in a nursing home because she no longer had the capacity to care for herself and needed full-time nursing assistance. Forcing her to leave her home of fifty-five years was the hardest decision of my life and has damaged our relationship immeasurably. She’s called me a traitor, a liar, a thief, and many other words
I won’t repeat. Now, to my dismay, the doctors have told me she’s going blind. Her eyesight has been deteriorating for a while, but as of this month she cannot even read the largest font on her Kindle. For her, this is a tragedy nearly as great as moving. Reading is her favorite pastime and now even that pleasure is gone. I know I need to visit more, to be her eyes for her, but I can’t seem to get my feet to move. I feel lost and completely depleted and truthfully very angry at God and at her.
Please pray for the Lord to give me perseverance and forgiveness. And to bring someone into her life who can fill the gap until I find the strength to take my rightful place by her side once again.
Every part of me that might have approached this task flippantly withers and dies. I turn the card over. The woman didn’t leave her name, but she did write her mother’s down. Sandra Cox. Serenity Hills Nursing Facility, Midlothian, Texas.
With shaky fingers, I set the card down. It’s the first time in my life I want to believe there’s a God somewhere who might hear this poor woman’s prayer.
Two hours pass before Ralph ducks through the doorway, and I’m pretty proud of the progress I’ve made. Cameron gave up on the song writing about forty minutes after he started and said something about adding lyrics into the computer for Sunday. He still hasn’t returned.
“How’s it going?” Ralph looks even more foreboding from my seated position, so I stand to get a little leverage.
“Good. I’ve gone through about a hundred and fifty and sorted them in the piles you mentioned. The medical one was way too big, so I’ve done subcategories with ones that have follow-up information and ones that are anonymous.” I point to my two highest stacks. “I can call and get updates on those if you’d like, before we pass them along.”
It sounds crazy, but I think I actually see the stress roll away from his eyes. “This is excellent, January. And while it’s a great idea to get updates, let’s wait until we’re all caught up. The last thing we need is someone complaining that their best friend’s cousin got a call and they didn’t.”
I think he’s joking until I realize he’s not. “People would actually complain about that?”
He snorts, and I’m learning that he makes that sound every time he finds something to be ridiculous. “People would complain about the color of my shoes if we let them.” He puts out his hands, palms up. “Go ahead and give me what you have so far.”
I hand over the four stacks but find myself hesitating as I let the follow-up medical one go. Sandra’s card is at the bottom, and every loop and period in her daughter’s handwriting is etched inside my head.
“What if I wanted to, um, do one of them myself? Is that allowed?” The words come out before I realize the impact of what I’m asking. Not only am I stepping way over the line, but I’m also taking away someone else’s prayer for that woman.
“Sure. Of course you can.” Ralph’s voice hitches in surprise, yet I don’t think it’s because he knows I’m a fraud. I think it’s more because he long ago stopped looking at this stack of cards as anything more than another task on his to-do list. “Which one?”
The sudden searing guilt makes no sense. I don’t believe in God, so these prayers are empty anyway, right? Still, I make no move to take Sandra’s card from the pile.
“I have it already. You can take all those.” It’s not totally a lie. I have it in my head as clear as if I’d taken a photocopy. There’s no reason to keep the card for myself. Sandra’s daughter asked for prayer, and I have no doubt she didn’t want it to come from someone like me.
seven
As far as first days go, today could definitely be counted as a success. I finished half of my sorting task, and since Ralph had left the office for a hospital visit, Cameron insisted on showing me around the sanctuary before I left for the day. Surprisingly, I feel none of the apprehension I did yesterday about stepping into the worship building. I don’t even check the sky for lightning.
Probably because Cameron is a much more pleasant tour guide than Margie.
“So, how did the song writing go?” I ask because he only came back to the office once, and that was just to ask me if I wanted something for lunch. I declined, having brought a thermos of Ramen noodles. Yeah, I know, it’s one hundred percent salt. Don’t judge.
“Terrible. I’ve rewritten the same verse at least fifteen times.” He shakes his head and swipes his keycard over the sensor. “I’ve been mentally blocked since the concert.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.” His tone indicates he doesn’t want to talk about it, so I refrain from asking any more questions.
We turn a corner where Cameron flips up four different light switches. The auditorium comes to life, and I’m stunned by what I see. Three huge projector screens, a state-of-the-art sound system, and laser lights. I always pictured sanctuaries to be filled with long pews and solemn music, but this building resembles a rock venue much more than it does a church.
“Over here,” he says, pausing on a set of stairs at the far end of the stage.
I follow him up and through a wide black doorway. It leads to a bright hallway that I assume is where all the backstage magic happens.
We pass a control room, and then he points to an open space that looks a lot like a teachers’ lounge. “This is where we hang out before and during the service when we’re not onstage. And to the right is Pastor Thomas’s quiet room.”
“He needs a quiet room?” For some reason I picture Pastor Thomas humming ohhhmmm with his massive legs crossed, his meaty fingers making a circle. “What does he do in there?”
Cameron pauses like he’s never bothered to ask that question. “Well, I assume he probably prays or talks through his sermon. More than anything, it’s a peaceful area where he gets settled before going out to preach in front of thousands of people.”
I halt. “Wait, thousands? How many people go to this church?”
“We run two services . . . so, not counting kids, we probably have close to twenty-five hundred attending each weekend.”
“Two thousand five hundred?” That many people really give up hours of their weekend to sing dull songs and listen to some guy talk for thirty minutes? “Wow. I had no idea.”
“You don’t go to church here?” Cameron tilts his head and studies me. “Where do you go?”
I give myself a mental head slap and toss out the best excuse I can come up with on the fly. “Well, I just moved to town a month ago, so I’m still trying out different ones.”
“Try here, then.” He says this as if it’s the easiest decision in the world. And truthfully it’s tempting, because I would love to see him onstage.
I shrug. “Maybe I will.”
“Good. Because now I’m gonna show you the best part.” He grabs my hand to pull me along, and as much as I try to ignore the pulse of excited tingles his touch brings, the effort is futile. If today has shown me anything, it’s that I’m hopelessly attracted to this guy. Which is why I should be anywhere but stepping onto a church stage with him.
Cameron, on the other hand, inhales as if the wood platform is his lifeblood. He lets go of my hand and walks to the center. Spreading his arms, he says in an exhale, “This is my favorite place in the world.”
I walk forward slowly until I’m standing at his side, sharing the same view of fifteen hundred empty stadium seats. I don’t feel elated like he does, more like terrified and overwhelmed, but I still smile and say, “Yeah, it’s incredible.”
“I was five the first time I performed in front of an audience, and I knew, even back then, that music was my future. It’s like the world stops for those brief moments and all I can feel is the pulse of the crowd and the beat in my chest.”
I’m drawn to his passion, mostly because I’ve never had any of my own. I’ve walked through life bumping along, figuring out what’s easiest and moving on when it gets difficult. “It’s good that you know exactly what you want.”
“Is it? I’ll be twenty-nine soon, working
two part-time jobs to keep my dream alive, and sometimes I think it’s never going to happen.” He looks at me and there’s apology in his eyes, like he knows this conversation is much too deep for two people who have only just met. “Sorry. I think the abysmal writing this morning got to me a little more than I realized.”
I pat his arm and try to lighten the mood. “You’re too young to give up on your dream. Wait until you’re thirty at least.”
That has been my go-to answer for years.
Not married? Well, I’m not even thirty yet.
No solid career? I’m still in my twenties. This is the time to explore my options.
Will you move to San Antonio with me?
I shake off that last question before it ruins my mood. In hindsight, I can now see that my yes was not just rooted in love but also in fear. I was turning twenty-nine at the end of the summer and felt as if the banker was about to call in all of my it-will-happen-when-I’m-thirty debts.
Cameron’s eyes spark back up, and I guess I’m not the only one who finds solace in pushing off decisions until we cross into the next decade of our lives. It feels good that the two of us have that in common at least.
He glances toward the electric piano at the back of the stage. “Wanna break some rules?”
“On my first day?”
“Eh. It’s a tiny rule, and I break it all the time.” He walks to the keyboard and sits. “I’m new at the piano, so be kind.” Seconds later, a beautiful noise escapes from his fingertips. I guess Nate was right when he said Cameron could play any instrument. He sounds nothing like a novice.
I smile when I recognize the song. It’s the same one Doreen played at Pawpaw’s funeral.
Cameron watches me more than his fingers, which is an art in and of itself. “Even with all the new music out there, ‘Amazing Grace’ is still my favorite.”
“Mine too.” Not that I know any others. “It reminds me of my grandfather.” I move closer, and he begins to sing. Everything inside of me melts. His voice is, I don’t know, shockingly unique. Raspy and coarse when in the lower register, yet smooth when he reaches the higher notes. I’m no musician, but I’m fairly certain Cameron has the most perfect tone of anyone I’ve ever listened to.
Love and a Little White Lie Page 4