by Nicole Deese
“I’m sure there’s a way we can tweak one of your lines to be a little diff—”
“Hey, Molly! I don’t have a shirt without a logo on the front. Can you just, like, put one of those fuzzy stickers over my chest for the interview?” Devon strutted out of the guys’ Bunkhouse, showing off his six-pack with what I was certain was a perfectly timed escapade, given the group of seven young women who stood not too far away from him.
I took a breath and held out my palms like a seven-year-old who still believed invisibility was a thing that could be achieved.
At that moment Silas stepped in front of me, gripping a to-go coffee cup with my name scrawled across the front. Goodness, how I loved this man.
“Okay, everyone,” he said. “New rule. From this point on, if any of you has a question for Molly, you can run it past me first. We’re on a tight production schedule today, and every delay costs us valuable time. Everyone understand?”
They answered with a unanimous “Yes, sir.”
A mix of relief and renewed hope filled me as he offered me the coffee. “I thought you could use this.”
I beamed up at him. Ever aware of our audience and their prying eyes, I lowered my voice. “You make a strikingly handsome bouncer.”
A slow smile crept over his face. “I aim to please.”
Devon, who was standing just a few yards away, didn’t let the moment go unnoticed. “Uh . . . is there some kind of purpling action going on here?” He waggled his finger between us.
I pursed my lips, heat flaring in my cheeks as Silas faced him and the rest of our curious onlookers. Truth be told, I was likely just as curious as they were to see how he planned to handle such a question.
“I think you all have more important matters to focus on today, Devon. Like putting on a shirt for starters.”
“Is that your way of saying I’m right, then?” Devon tried, his eyes brightening as his gaze ping-ponged between me and Silas.
Monica and Wren shared a not-so-secret smile, while Glo did her best to hold in a laugh. A losing effort.
Silas glanced back at me, his eyebrow arching with a question meant only for me. I gave a single nod, trusting his judgment.
He backed up a step, took my free hand in his, and stared out at our rapt audience once again. “Like for many of you here, Molly has become an important person to me this summer—it’s true.” A sensation like feathers trailed down my neck and spine as Silas’s pronouncement was met with obvious delight and excitement. “My hope in trusting you with this information is that you’d continue to show Molly the utmost respect as she continues to serve here at The Bridge.”
A quiet chant trickled from the back, working its way up to the front, increasing in volume. “Kiss her! Kiss her! Kiss her!”
Silas gave a shake of his head as I bit my bottom lip. When he twisted around, I fully expected him to apologize for opening Pandora’s box. But instead, he stepped in close, pulled me toward him, and planted a kiss square on my mouth, stunning the residents into near hyperventilation.
And me, too, for that matter.
“Now that we have that settled,” Silas said through a smirk, “let’s all get back to work. And, Devon,” he said and pointed at the prankster, “Shirt. Now.”
Devon whooped a reply as he jogged back to the guys’ place.
I lifted my iced coffee to take a sip, but as I caught sight of Silas’s devilish grin, I couldn’t stop smiling long enough to complete the action. After mouthing the words you’re in big trouble, I set the drink down and reached for the ten-pound binder of notes I’d taken with Val last night.
Just then the unmistakable sound of a young boy’s voice at my back caused me to stop flipping pages and twist around. “Whoa! Is this place a castle or something? Does Harry Potter live here?”
The kid was so out of context, running through the east lawn at Fir Crest Manor and not telling jokes behind a screen, that I almost didn’t recognize him. But I knew those freckles. And I knew that hair. And I knew that voice. “Tucker?”
He replied with a wild, toothy grin I’d seen a dozen times over the past three years. “Hey, Molly!”
If Tucker is here, then . . . I kept turning, my heart nearly bursting from my chest the second I spotted her closing the passenger door of an airport taxicab.
“Val?” But I was already sprinting toward her, already tossing my pink binder onto a mound of fresh mulch.
She pushed away from the cab, her balance a bit unsteady as she swung her purse over her shoulder and opened her arms for my incoming hug. A thousand emotions traveled through me at once. Val was here. Here! After three years of communicating long distance via every form of technology, we were both finally in the same place at the same time. In the flesh. And somehow, she was tiny—a miniature version of the woman I’d spoken to through a screen for so long. How did I not know she was so petite? The top of her head barely brushed the bottom of my chin. I loosened my bone-crushing embrace just long enough to squeal.
“You’re here! You’re actually here!”
She laughed that Tinker Bell laugh of hers. “Tucker was way too excited for his first plane ride for me to cancel, and his mommy had been looking forward to seeing her best friend in person for far too long.”
I pulled her into another hug as Silas moved past me to retrieve her luggage from the trunk and tip the driver before Val even knew it had happened. Of course, I still wasn’t sure how any of it had happened.
“Why didn’t you ask us to pick you up?” I asked, trying to sound stern when instead I just sounded squeaky.
“We wanted to surprise you.”
“Well, you succeeded! And it’s the best surprise ever.” I looped my arm through hers.
Miles couldn’t call her Video Val any longer.
The sun reflected in her pale green eyes. “We’re glad we can help. We know how important the next few days are—so please, put us to work however you need to. Tucker’s a great help.”
I laughed, because really, there were currently too many needs to name. After introducing her to Silas, whose arms were full of carry-on bags and checked luggage, I led her toward the campus, catching sight of Tucker breakdancing on the stage. He certainly wasn’t shy.
“He’ll fit in well here,” Silas said with a chuckle as Val scrunched up her face.
“He’s been awake since three this morning. I’m fully expecting him to crash hard by dinnertime.”
As we maneuvered through the east lawn, I stopped to look at her, struck by a thought. “Val, we were on the phone last night till nearly one in the morning. I can’t believe you caught such an early flight on so little sleep.” It explained why she felt a bit shaky on my arm.
“I’m fine, just a bit stiff from all the traveling. Nothing caffeine and a few stretches won’t fix. Oh—” She tugged on my sleeve, and I twisted to face her. “I think I found it, Molly. Last night. I found a strategy that might work for what we need to accomplish.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “After we hung up? Did you sleep at all before you boarded that plane?”
She waved away my concern. “It will take all of us working together at once, pushing and promoting from the new platform we create, but I think . . .” Val’s eyes twinkled in that brilliant way of hers. “I think a collective launch is our best chance at gaining traction once we have a finished product and a live donation link.”
I couldn’t help but feel a giddy sense of awe. “I’m pretty sure you’re the biggest answer to prayer we’ve had so far.” I wasn’t certain where Val stood on issues of faith, but her arrival wasn’t coincidental. I knew that much for sure.
As a now shirt-wearing Devon strummed his guitar from under a nearby apple tree, and Monica and Amy squabbled about who would get to say the coveted line, and Diego and friends fiddled with the camera equipment and lighting props, I made a sweeping gesture with my arm for Val. “Welcome to The Bridge, where all your finest recording and editing dreams are about to come true.”
&
nbsp; Turned out, Val had been right about two things: First, nine-year-old Tucker had crashed hard at approximately 6:00 p.m. after his third slice of cheese pizza. And second, the collective launch strategy she’d researched was not only our most viable option, it had quickly become our best option. If we were going to get this thing off the ground to attract mad cash from kindhearted donors by the cut-off date, we had just hours to do so.
And by thing, I meant the video clip currently under the editing knife of none other than my former assistant. Val had been on her laptop since the moment she arrived. Her fingers were numb, her eyes red-rimmed, and whatever stiffness she had tried to pass off as minor had certainly increased as the hours ticked on. Yet somehow, just past the stroke of midnight, while Tucker slept in my guest room, Silas worked on a spreadsheet, and I set up a brand-new platform entitled The Heart of The Matter, Val clicked the green button at the bottom of her edit screen: Finalize.
“It’s ready,” she said softly, tugging off her headphones and stifling a yawn. “Want to see it? I got the final cut down to four minutes, forty-seven seconds. And, of course, we’ll have those five thirty-second teaser clips to share, too. I still have two more to finish up.”
“You can finish those up tomorrow, Val,” I said, stretching my neck side to side. “You need some sleep before the big day.”
She twisted in my dining room chair and offered me a humble smile as if she knew she’d lose that argument if she tried. Silas and I set our laptops down and moved to the table where Val had set up camp. Her light chestnut hair was twisted in a topknot I’d seen a hundred times during our on-screen chats, and something about the sight of it caused nostalgia and gratitude to mist my eyes. Having her and Tucker here had brought an extra layer of fullness to my home, to my life, and I had no desire to let go of either of them any time soon.
I reached for Silas’s strong hand as we stood behind Val’s chair. Her pointer finger hovered over the play button as if she, too, knew how critical this moment was for us all. Because it was. This was our last chance at securing the Murphey Grant for The Bridge and for dozens of waiting young adults with nowhere to go.
Silas rubbed his thumb over my knuckles, his anticipation intertwining with mine.
The instant Val tapped the keyboard and those first three haunting piano notes trilled, emotion swelled inside me. I hadn’t known the order Val would choose for the interview excerpts or even the stories she’d select for the main campaign video, but I trusted her creative instincts explicitly. This was her area to shine, her art, her brilliance. And it showed on every shot and on every perfectly captured expression. The way she played with time and focal points was astounding. Every spoken or typed word held impact for the viewer. I might have been the one to ask the questions and direct the residents while we recorded, but Val had woven all the random starts and stops into something profound and purposeful. We’d handed her a hope-filled idea, but she’d created a visual legacy.
Silent tears dripped off my chin as I listened to Diego retell his struggle with substance abuse and the months he’d spent in a cold car without a plan. And when Amy shared of running from her last group home, only to end up in a bad relationship with a man twice her age. And when Wren’s unblinking gaze had stared into the eye of the camera lens as she described the day her brother was taken away from her after the death of their mother.
Silas tucked me into his side as we continued to watch the heart-wrenching montage. After Wren finished speaking, her face faded into a panoramic shot of Fir Crest Manor. The music morphed from the chilling solo notes of a lonely piano to the warmth and richness of a connected symphony. The footage we’d taken of the house, of the grounds and property, of the residents smiling and laughing outdoors while holding up their testimonial signs against a bright tangerine skyline, had been expertly spliced and arranged.
Silas had once described the moment he’d received the official approval to acquire Fir Crest Manor as the permanent location for The Bridge as a miracle. His word choice had stood out in my mind for weeks. Because Silas didn’t inflate truth. He didn’t speak in hyperbole. His vocabulary was as thoughtful as it was careful.
But now, seeing all the pieces come together in one place, enriched by color and sound and emotion, I understood. Each face represented a life transformed by a vision far bigger than anything Silas could have hoped for on his own. Miracle was the only word that could have described what had happened inside that old, dusty manor.
No, not just a manor, a home. One that equipped and supported, shepherded and loved. One that offered sanctuary in place of survival. And hope instead of heartache.
The current statistics that today’s youth faced without a program like The Bridge faded in and out at the bottom of the screen. On the final slide, the donation link lingered long after the final sustained note of a cello played.
In the wake of an emotionally charged room, a reverent silence fell over us all.
Still nestled against Silas, I closed my eyes and prayed for tomorrow’s collective efforts to succeed. For this four-minute, forty-seven-second video to have an impact. For the hurting, lost, and vulnerable to finally find a place to call home.
Do it again, God, my heart pleaded. Give us a miracle.
39
Molly
It was incredible what happened when people banded together to fight for the good of others. Excitement pumped through me as I watched the fireside room overflow with volunteers of all ages and backgrounds to put their swiping fingers and devices to good use.
The premise for our Bridge The Gap Launch Day was simple enough: Anybody willing to give an hour of their time to share the campaign videos and donation links was welcome. As were their friends. And their friends of friends, too.
Naturally, Silas had worked out a schedule based on the research Val provided regarding the steady push we needed to build throughout the day and evening. And despite having a brand-new platform, The Heart of The Matter, I’d been surprised to find over two thousand followers waiting for me this morning—most of whom I recognized from an account formerly known as Makeup Matters with Molly. I could only hope their loyalty was stronger than my last five-star pick for ultra-hold hairspray.
While some of our participants today had committed to posting the campaign during their allotted time from home or carpool line or after-school study group, others had decided to join us here, in person, at Fir Crest Manor. It was a beautiful effort of solidarity for a cause worth far more than the ask.
Just before noon, Carlos showed up at the house with his mentor, Pastor Peter Rosario. And whether it was launch day nerves or the three shots of espresso I’d consumed before sunrise, the sight of Carlos standing next to Silas in a house built from the splinters of their childhood was enough to push me over the edge.
“Hi!” I said, sticking my hand out to him before Silas could even finish the introduction. “It’s great to finally meet you, Carlos! Thank you both for coming, it means so much to us.” I smiled at the line forming behind me: Jake, Clara, Glo. “Glo and a few of the residents baked muffins and cookies to share with our guests today, and there’s coffee and juice, so please feel free to help yourselves.”
“I’ve heard many good things about you, Molly.” Carlos, who looked like a shorter version of The Rock, only with more hair and a more defined neck, had an accent that seemed to curl around each word he spoke. Most people here would likely suspect he and Pastor Rosario were hired as our security team, seeing as nobody in their right mind would try and get past them. Carlos arched a humorous eyebrow at Silas, then returned his attention to me. “My baby brother did not paint an adequate picture of your beauty. I think he could use less time at the dart board and more time studying poetry.”
I blushed a thousand shades of flattered while Silas wrapped an arm around my waist.
“Thanks for that, Carlos,” he deadpanned.
Peter laughed as Carlos slapped Silas on the back, putting the whole group at ease. While Wren an
d Devon waved me up to the stage for the big kickoff, Val gave me a thumbs-up as I reached the mic and looked out over the room. Incredibly, every round table was full. Friends, foster families, local clergy, past residents, teachers, and neighbors had all rallied to be here on such short notice, and the sight of them made my throat ache with gratitude.
I met Silas’s eyes from across the room, wordlessly asking if he’d like to join me on stage as planned. But he simply dipped his chin for me to go ahead—a gesture of trust I’d never take for granted. “Welcome, everyone, to our Bridge The Gap Launch Day. We’re thrilled you’re here with us, and more than that, we’re thrilled that you believe in a cause that’s been near and dear to our hearts for . . .” I glanced at Silas, Carlos, and Jake, noting the unique trio of biological and adopted brothers they formed. “For years.”
Reaching my arm out to the line-up of chairs filled by our residents at the side of the stage, I asked them to stand and introduce themselves. Each one of them had a part in the success of this day—whether keeping the refreshment trays filled, answering tech questions, or playing live music during the posting push.
I was just about to step down when Amy gestured to the projector screen over the fireplace. “Ah, yes, and as you can see, we’ve set up a place to monitor the donations as they come in throughout the day. This is a live counter, which is located at the bottom of the donation website.”
A former foster mother from a neighboring town raised her hand. “What is the final goal?”
I did my best to keep my smile intact as I answered her. “We’re hoping to raise five hundred thousand dollars to secure a matching grant for the expansion plan—” I took a breath but did not let my voice falter—“by tomorrow morning.”
I couldn’t decipher the chatter that hummed through the room at this announcement, but this wasn’t a day for doubts. This was a day for miracles.
“I’m sure you’d all like to know a bit more about why we’ve asked you to come and what exactly we’re asking you to share with your friends and followers to raise such an extravagant amount of money. . . . Well, I can make a pretty convincing case as to what The Bridge has done for our current twenty-two young adults in this room, and all the residents who’ve come before them, but I’d rather have them show you in their own words.” I stepped off the stage and nodded at Val, who sat at the ready for this very moment.