by Tari Faris
“I affirm your choice in not committing a felony.” Libby crossed her legs on the bed. “He’ll come around.”
“You didn’t see his face.” Olivia’s eyes filled with more tears. “Besides, after that article and Dale, I don’t think I could say anything to change his mind at this point.”
Libby pushed to a stand and tapped Olivia’s foot. “Then we’ll have to make them all come around.”
“All?”
“Yes. Nate, Austin, the church, Dale Kensington—okay, maybe not Dale Kensington, but the rest of the town, Reader’s Weekly—all of them.”
“How?” Olivia sat up straighter.
“By telling the real story.” Libby grabbed Olivia’s computer from her desk and handed it to her. “You and I both know that the only thing that sells in journalism better than a scoop is a tell-all piece. And I think it’s time for us to tell all about Heritage. I was keeping all the financial records of the project. I had to turn them over to the mayor, but I have my own copy. And he’s on our side. We could find out if they have minutes from the meetings when the committee voted on the landscaping company.”
“What will I do?”
“You will be the amazing reporter you are and find the real story.”
Olivia took the computer and set it aside. “But who’ll publish it?”
“Maybe no one, but we can make sure the town reads it. And the people of Reader’s Weekly. It may be too late to save Williams and Son Landscaping, but it isn’t too late to save Austin’s and Nate’s reputations. I can do the research, but I can’t do it alone. Are you with me?”
“This may not work.” Olivia picked up her laptop and opened it.
“I know. But then we can walk away knowing we did all we could with what we had today. I’m done with what-ifs and if-onlys in my life.”
Olivia sat up a bit straighter. “I’m in.”
He’d had a lot of tough conversations with his dad over the years, but none had been this hard. Austin shifted in his spot on the couch. He’d arrived at the care home thirty minutes ago, and he’d yet to bring up why he’d come.
“Nuts! What do you think this is, spring training? This is the playoffs, get some glasses.” His dad yelled at the umpire on the TV, then looked at Austin. “Did you see that?”
Austin blinked at him and then the TV. “Sorry, I missed it.”
His dad stared at him for a full five seconds before he clicked off the TV. “Okay, spill.”
“You didn’t have to do that.” Austin reached for the remote, but his dad stopped him.
“You’re more important. And the good guys were losing anyway.”
Austin drew a deep breath and leaned forward on his knees. “The thing is, Dad . . .”
Here it was. But how did he tell his dad that everything he’d worked for his whole life was gone?
“Go on.”
“Williams and Son is bankrupt.” The words tumbled out in rapid succession.
His dad sighed and sank back into his spot on the couch. “Is that all? The way you were acting, I thought you were dying. Nate was here earlier to tell me he was leaving the church. I thought maybe it was my day for bad news.”
“It is bad news.” He faced his dad squarely. “The business is done.”
“Yeah.” His dad walked over to the kitchen, holding the counter for balance.
Why wasn’t he reacting?
Austin tried again. “Like, over. Kaput. Nada. No more. Finished.”
His dad poured himself a glass of orange juice and returned to the couch. “I understand what bankrupt means. That medicine has been helping, you know.” He tapped at his head.
“I know.” Austin leaned back in his spot and took in the white wall next to the TV. They had never gotten up any decorations for that one. Was it strange that he kind of liked it that way?
When his dad still didn’t react, he looked over at him. “I guess I thought you’d be more upset.”
His dad took a large gulp of juice and set it on the end table. “It’s hard to say goodbye to anything. But life keeps moving on.”
“I wanted to make it work for you, but—”
“For me? You mean for you.” His dad’s brow wrinkled.
Austin shrugged. “Sure. I just didn’t—”
“No. Not sure. Yes or no.” When Austin didn’t answer, he pressed on. “Why did you want this business to succeed?”
“What do you mean? It’s our business.”
His dad held up a hand. “No. Now it’s your business. Don’t think about it. Gut reaction. Why did you want Williams and Son Landscaping to survive?”
“To make you proud.”
His dad sighed and rubbed his gnarled hands together, then looked Austin straight in the eye. “Austin, I am proud of you.”
“But the business—”
“Failed. I’m sorry I didn’t leave it to you in better shape.” He took another drink of juice. “But I’ve always been proud of you. Why would you think otherwise?”
“You never say it.” Austin stood and walked over to the empty wall. “You always questioned whether I was up to the task of running the business. And all I hear about over and over is how proud you are of Nate.”
“I am proud of Nate. I’m proud of both of you. I never . . .” His dad’s voice grew rough. “I never questioned if you could handle the business. I was trying to find out if you wanted to handle the business.”
Austin turned around and leaned against the wall.
“Don’t get me wrong. You’re a fine landscape architect. But I never really got the impression that it was your . . . passion. And to be honest, it wasn’t my passion either.”
“What?” Not his father’s passion? It had been their life.
“It was your grandfather’s passion. I did it because . . .” He shrugged. “Well, because it needed to be done.”
A rock landed in Austin’s gut. Hadn’t that been basically what he’d said to Libby?
“Maybe I celebrated Nate more because that boy always followed his heart, whether good or bad.” He leaned back on the couch and stretched out his arms across the back. “I’ve always been a little jealous of that. I played it safe. But I never wanted you to think I wasn’t proud of you. You’re one of the hardest-working people I know. But do you want landscaping to be your whole life? Is it your passion?”
Passion? No. “To be honest, I’m not sure when I stopped enjoying it, but it’s been a long time since I was excited about Williams and Son.”
“Then this isn’t a failure. This is a new start. An empty canvas.”
An empty wall. The unmarked white surface held endless opportunity.
The weight that he’d been carrying since he took over the business lifted as his father’s words sank in. He was free for the first time to do whatever he wanted. But what did he want?
Libby’s words echoed in his mind. “Why don’t you get a larger greenhouse and grow roses?” Could he do that? Yes. He could do anything he wanted now. Success wasn’t guaranteed, but maybe failure wasn’t the worst thing either. Maybe the worst thing was failing to try.
He looked up to find his dad studying him. His dad. Not a man who looked like his father but whose mind had betrayed him. It was his dad. Present. Aware.
He’d begged, prayed for months for one more clear talk with his dad. Maybe it was the medicine and maybe it was a miracle. Either way, it was a gift that he’d treasure as long as he lived. For Nate’s sake, he hoped his brother would be granted a few of these moments as well.
“Wait, did you say that Nate is leaving the church?” He’d been so consumed with his own train wreck that he hadn’t even considered what the article would mean for Nate. He’d guessed that his brother would get some backlash from it, but to fire him?
“It was more than the article. A board member created a whole file on his past and threw it in his face.”
“Can they do that?”
His dad sent a pointed look at Austin. “You do it all the time.”
The truth landed like a smack to the back of the head. It wasn’t the same. Was it?
“I have got to get going, Dad.” Austin pulled his keys from his pocket. “I have a lot to think about.”
“What are you going to do next?”
Austin stared at the blank wall. “Start fresh.”
His dad stood and nodded his approval. “I like that.”
Austin wrapped his arms around his dad, holding on a touch longer than usual. He couldn’t hold on forever, but he thanked God for today. “It was good talking to you, Dad.”
Tomorrow would be his last official day. Nate lifted his diploma off the wall and ran his hand over it to remove the dust. Somehow he’d thought that a degree would make a difference. Turned out that Xerox copies carried more weight than credit hours. He didn’t blame them. He’d been waiting for this since he took the pulpit his first Sunday.
A knock at the door echoed in the nearly empty room.
Nate added the frame to the box. “Come in.”
Chet Anderson opened the door. He was dressed in his Sunday best circa 1975. He tugged at his collar, then walked in and extended a gnarled hand.
Nate shook it. It seemed frailer than the last time he’d seen him. He’d recovered from the stroke, but it had aged him.
Chet yanked off his flat cap as if just remembering he was wearing one and twisted it between his hands. “Can I talk to you, Pastor?”
“Sure thing.” Nate moved the boxes from a chair and then claimed the other one. “You can just call me Nate.”
Chet nodded as he sat down. “The thing is, Pastor, did you know that I’m a cousin to the Kensingtons?”
“No. I didn’t know that.” Nate sat back, unsure where this was going.
“Our moms were cousins. Dale and I never really got along, but George and I, we were pretty close on account of—” He paused and shook his head. “Anyway, we were close.”
“He was a great man.” A slight ache filled his chest for the man who’d been his mentor for such a short time. George Kensington had been the backbone of this community, and his absence was still keen a year and a half after his death. Not just for Nate but for everyone.
“Yes, sir. Many in the town didn’t even know because we hung out at . . . odd times. Anyway, one night when we were . . . working on a project, he started talking about you.” Chet pulled a folded-up envelope out of his pocket and smoothed it against his leg. “He was all excited because the board had agreed to offer you the job.” His smile doubled the wrinkles on his face.
“That was just over two years ago.”
“Yup. Then a strange look crossed his face, and he told me that if there was ever a day that you decided to let your past interfere with your present, I was to tell you to stop it. I told him to tell you himself, and he just shrugged like he knew something I didn’t.”
“I appreciate you coming here.” Nate shifted his position. “But you don’t understand the situation.”
“I told him you wouldn’t listen to me.” Chet wagged one of his gnarled fingers. “Only I told him a little more colorfully.” His face reddened with the admission. “The next time we . . . worked on our project, he gave me this. Told me to hold on to it if this day ever came.” He handed Nate the folded envelope. Nate’s name was scrawled across the front.
Just seeing George’s familiar writing twisted something inside him.
“I’ve done my job.” Chet pushed to a stand and walked to the door. He paused and turned back. “I may not understand the details, but I do know you’re the first pastor we ever had that I listen to. You aren’t boring and you make it simple.”
“Thank you.” Nate tapped the envelope in his hand as Chet disappeared out the door. He slid his finger under the seal, pulled out the stationery, and unfolded it.
From the desk of George Kensington.
Dear Nate,
If you’re reading this, then I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you’re doubting yourself right now, and I’m sorry I’m not there in person to remind you of the truth.
You have made mistakes. You were up-front with the board, and everyone was aware of your past when we voted unanimously to hire you.
You have been forgiven. End of story.
Don’t let what God has forgiven stand between you and what He’s called you to do.
George
He smoothed out the letter. Why had God let George be taken from him? If George were still here, none of this would be happening. But he wasn’t here, and he didn’t know back then what Nate would be facing today.
Another knock echoed through the room. He’d never had this many visitors when he was on the payroll. “Come in.”
Luke pushed the door open and dropped into the chair.
Nate added the letter to the box. “I thought you went back to the hospital.”
“I did. But I made another trip back because I heard my pastor resigned.” Luke leaned forward and plucked a metal globe off Nate’s desk.
“Yup.” He tapped the side of the box. “I turned in my resignation, and I told them I’d be out by tomorrow.”
“Want to talk about it?” Luke tossed the globe from one hand to the other.
Nate picked up the file and handed it to Luke. “This pretty much says it all.”
Luke set the globe back in its holder and took the folder. He scanned the file, his brows lifting at several points. Then he shut the file and stood. “Follow me.” He grabbed the metal trash can by the door and walked out.
Nate pushed out of his chair. By the time he caught up with Luke, his friend stood in the church parking lot with the trash can in front of him and a lighter in his hand.
He glanced at Nate, sparked the lighter to life, and held it under the file until the flames licked along the papers. When the flames began to reach his hand, he dropped the file in the trash can and let it burn. “That, my friend, is what forgiveness looks like.”
“Those are only copies.” Nate shook his head. “Dale has more.”
“I know. But I’m not talking about Kensington’s forgiveness or the church’s.” Luke shoved his hands in his pockets and met Nate’s gaze. “I’m not even talking about forgiveness from God, because I’m pretty sure you get that. I’m talking about you forgiving yourself. Let it go, man.”
Nate tapped the side of the trash can with his foot. “Easier said when your accusers aren’t dropping files off.”
“From what I heard, you didn’t need Dale to drop them off. You’ve been living in your grave clothes for a while.”
“My grave clothes?”
“Wasn’t it you who preached about how when Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead, the first thing he said to Lazarus’s friends was to unbind him and let him go?”
“Yeah.” Nate shrugged. It was a touch surreal being preached to by someone he’d mentored.
“You also said we can’t cling to the grave God called us out of. That file was your past. Not your present.” Luke pointed to the final embers consuming the papers. “Those are your grave clothes. It’s time to let them go.”
“Austin thinks I volunteer out of guilt. He may be right.” Nate rocked back and forth on his heels. “You think I should give up all the volunteering?”
“No.” Luke shoved the lighter back in his pocket. “Serving the community is good. Just make sure you do it out of love and not guilt. And you may not want to overcommit yourself.”
The last few embers faded from orange to black in the bottom of the trash can. “How did you get so smart?”
Luke folded his arms and smirked. “I have a great pastor.”
“I don’t know about that. Lately, I don’t have answers for anyone.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure you weren’t called to have the answers. You were called to point to the one who has the answers.”
Nate shoved his hands in his pockets. “I know that, but—”
“You’ve helped me through some tough times. Now let me do the same for you.”
He pointed to the pile of ash. “This is just a metaphor. This isn’t the answer. I’m not the answer. And you’re not the answer to this church or anyone in it. You’re just the guy who points to the answer.”
A tendril of smoke from the ashes curled up into the air. “How do I do that?”
“Like you did with me. Tell the story and tell it well.” Luke pointed skyward. “He’ll do the rest.”
Tell the story. He could do that.
“And while you’re at it, stop slapping God’s hand away. He’s giving you a gift. Accept it.”
“A gift?”
“O-liv-i-a.” Luke shook his head. “Was I this dense when it came to Hannah?”
“Yes.” Nate let out a laugh. Then it died as the memory haunted his mind. “You didn’t see Olivia’s face after she read the file.”
“What file? All I see is a pile of ash.” Luke’s hand landed on Nate’s shoulder. “Consider this the official ripping off of your grave clothes.”
“What about Chase? That isn’t a file I can burn. And I don’t want to.”
“True. But it isn’t a file you can do anything about right now either. That’s one you have to leave in God’s hands and see what He’ll do with it.”
Luke walked back toward the church, leaving Nate with the burned remains of his past.
eighteen
This had seemed like a better idea when she didn’t have the eyes of the town staring at her. Libby stood on the steps of the library and scanned the crowd. She and Olivia had been posting flyers, making phone calls, and sending emails for the past two days, and it seemed as though their work had paid off. Three news crews had shown up, and at least two papers. This was either the best thing she’d ever done or her worst mistake yet. More than half the town had shown up, but she still didn’t see Nate, and this wouldn’t work unless he came.
Libby shifted from one foot to the other and checked the time on her phone. Where was Olivia? Libby had done the research and Olivia was supposed to deliver the speech. That was the deal. She didn’t do speeches.
Her phone buzzed with a text from Olivia.