by Sarah Monzon
A rip current of indecision swirled in her middle. Should she stay? Offer help? Her body swayed forward, but her feet remained planted where they were. It felt wrong, gazing in on such a private moment, but she couldn’t make her body move one way or the other.
Kayla pushed Sonia away from her chest and, with a finger under her chin, raised her face and looked into her eyes. Kayla’s features were earnest, her gaze like a tool drilling in a point, then she smiled and stood. She picked up a paintbrush and handed it to Sonia, then pointed to the easel and took a step back.
Art therapy. Amber had heard of the technique and how effective it was with children. Sometimes experiences and feelings were too hard to put into words, and a child’s natural communication through play and art helped express and articulate what their words couldn’t.
Why hadn’t she thought of that before?
After a few strokes, Sonia stepped back. Tears dried in salty streaks down her cheeks, but her eyes radiated a new inner peace. Kayla had offered her a key, and she’d used it to unlock a door that had been bolted inside her. She looked freer. A step taken toward healing.
With a quick hug to Kayla, Sonia bolted through the door that led to the field. Amber should follow. The break would be over soon, and Seth would need her help.
“You can slink out of the shadows. I know you’re there.” Kayla dumped the used paint brushes in a glass of liquid.
Amber’s sneakers scuffed over the gym-type floor as she crossed to the art center. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I heard crying and wanted to make sure no one was hurt, then I saw you and Sonia. Anyway, thank you for helping her. You’ve made a real difference in her life.”
Kayla snorted and continued cleaning up the art supplies.
Amber shifted her weight between her feet. Her sincere words might as well have bounced off Kayla’s invisible walls. Why did people do that? Why build walls to keep others out when what they really needed was to let people in? Was there a way to get Kayla to let her in?
Kayla glanced up. “Still here? Don’t you have anywhere better to be?”
Amber wouldn’t let the verbal slap sting. People lashed out. It wasn’t personal. “I thought—”
“What? That we could be friends? Sit around a campfire and sing Kumbaya?” She rolled her eyes. “I don’t think so.”
Not. Personal. “That’s not what I—”
Kayla huffed. “Look, the way to my brother is not through me. Nor do we have to plait each other’s hair, even if he asked you to be nice, make friends, and try to straighten out his crooked little sister.”
“He never—”
She laughed, though the sound was ugly. “As if you and I could ever be friends. What do we have in common? Nothing. You, with your perfect little family—parents still married, doting brothers—your suburban, picket-fence life. What do you know of hardship? Of living on the streets? Being afraid in your own neighborhood? Hunger gnawing on your backbone? Of life.” Her hand slashed through the air. “Absolutely nothing. You could never understand where I’ve come from or what I’ve been through, and you can’t for a second relate to those kids out there. So take your messiah complex and go somewhere you’re actually wanted before reality starts knocking on your door. No one needs you here. Not me. Not my brother.” She flipped her braid over her shoulder and marched out of the room.
Amber felt as though she were freefalling. Like she’d been pushed off a cliff and was watching the ground race to meet her. She braced for impact, all her muscles contracting. Finally, she sucked in a breath through her teeth and blinked away the image, forcing her limbs to relax. But her lungs had a mind of their own, taking in and puffing out oxygen with the speed of a freight train.
Kayla thought the only reason Amber had talked to her or wanted to befriend her was to get to Seth? Why? What had she said or done that would give that impression?
And the other things Kayla had said…
The sum of her fears, the doubts she’d tried so hard to outrun, spoken with such clarity and volume that they still rang in her ears. Kayla had deftly painted the image of all Amber’s inadequacies.
The picture grew in her mind, taking the shape of a hideous beast that slashed her hopes and devoured her dreams.
She closed her eyes, her unworthiness causing her to stagger to the nearest wall and slump to the ground. The worst part was, she knew Kayla was right. Half a globe she’d run, but her doubts—the truth—had caught up with her anyway. She had no right to be in ministry. No right to help people along paths she’d never traveled herself. How could she know how they felt? What they were thinking? How could she relate or commiserate with their experience when she hadn’t experienced the same thing? Or anything, for that matter.
So, what was it she thought she’d heard in that hospital chapel while Michael was in surgery? Obviously, it hadn’t been a divine calling, for God would not call someone so wholly ill-equipped for the task. Then what? Her own ambition? Her own pride?
A small ring chirped from in her pocket. Saved by the bell. She sighed, relieved to have a distraction from her spiraling, consuming thoughts, then pulled out her phone and stared at the screen.
A text from Adam with a link to an article, a question as to whether or not she’d seen it, and an instruction to call him. Her phone offered a small preview to the website associated with the link, which looked to be some sort of online tabloid.
Adam knew she didn’t read that sort of thing. Why would he think she’d seen it? Better yet, why would he think she needed to? Maybe it was a scam or a virus. A hacker pretending to be Adam sending her a message, and as soon as she clicked on it, her phone would be infected with a virus.
Not falling for that.
Although…a hacker wouldn’t say to call him. She chewed on her bottom lip and punched the call button next to Adam’s name. The phone rang once before her brother picked up.
“Are you okay?” He sounded concerned, like he wanted to travel the radio waves between their phones so he could reach out and touch her and assure himself of her safety.
A trickle of alarm wove down her spine. “I’m fine. Why the alarm?”
“You’ve gone viral and you ask why the alarm?” His pitch rose. “Seriously, answer me truthfully. Are you being harassed by reporters? Or by fans? Is that jock protecting you? And when did you meet Seth Marshall, much less become involved with him? And why didn’t you tell any of us? And, Amber, I swear—”
Nerves frayed like exposed electrical wires, she snapped, laughing like someone who’d lost her last marble. Who knew, maybe she had.
“This is not a laughing matter, young lady.”
She held her side as she laughed harder. “Oh man, you and Olivia need to start having kids right away after you get married. You’ve got the dad tone down pat.”
He cleared his throat. “Not funny.” He sounded more like her brother and less like a scolding father.
She snickered. “Maybe it’s funny because I have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re acting like I’m in some sort of danger or something.”
“Maybe I’m overreacting, but I’ve seen the way the press can eat a person alive and spit them out. I know you, and so I know what that wanna-be reporter wrote isn’t true, which is why I wanted to make sure you’re okay, emotionally as well as physically.”
“That’s really sweet of you, Adam, but I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The article. Didn’t you read the link I sent?”
The link. He’d said…wait. Did he say she’d gone viral? An article. Online. Had gone viral. How many people had to share a link before it went viral? A lot, she bet. And… her mind sifted through what else he’d said. What the reporter wrote isn’t true. Safe emotionally and physically. The trickle of alarm turned into a flash flood.
“Adam, I’ll call you back later.” She hung up and clicked on the link, her hands shaking as it connected and the article filled her screen. She scrolled down, pictures o
f Seth and her together at the park staring back at her. Hand-in-hand, her head on his shoulder. One picture showed his back, his head bent toward her. From the angle of the shot, it appeared they were kissing, but she knew that wasn’t the case. She’d never kissed Seth, or anyone else for that matter. Another item to place in the can’t relate because I haven’t experienced it column.
That was the last picture in the article and her breathing evened out. Did she want to be in a tabloid? No, but those pictures weren’t bad. She hadn’t done anything wrong or to be ashamed of, and all those photos showed was what had happened—a very sweet first date. She scrolled back up and froze at the headline. How had she missed that to begin with?
Seth Marshall to Score with the Virgin
Her eyes ate up the article, but with each bite-sized sentence they devoured, she became more nauseous. The author had expounded on Seth’s past exploits with women in sordid detail, then turned the audience’s attention to her, outlining her degree in theology and painting her as the perfect church-girl. Ground work laid, the author planted innuendoes and made gutter-worthy inferences, twisting with a dirty mind all that had been beautiful that day.
Her phone vibrated in her hand, an alert scrolling down from the top of her screen to inform her of an incoming email. The remaining words of the article blurred through her tears. With a sniff, she closed the browser and opened her email app. Two new emails awaited her. She clicked on the first.
Andrew Ethridge
to Amber Carrington
Dear Miss Carrington,
It is with great concern that I contact you today on behalf of the faculty of the theological department. As you know, we hold our students to a high moral and ethical standard and, as such, must investigate certain recent events that have been brought to our attention. We know one cannot take everything one reads in the press as fact, especially not in certain publications, and therefore have not jumped to the conclusion that the things written about you hold any sort of merit. The department would like to extend an invitation to you to write a response to the allegations and clear your name with regard to accusations against your character that would, in essence, diminish the voracity of your ministry.
On a personal note, I want to say I’m praying for you. I feel like I’ve gotten to know you a bit from the classes you’ve taken from me, and I don’t for a minute believe the trash printed in that tabloid (and have had quite a lot to say about reading such garbage and the evils of gossip, I might add). Sometimes Satan attacks those he fears have a voice that will make a big impact. Don’t let him or this situation silence your voice.
Respectfully,
Dr. Ethridge
Even her professors had seen the article? Read those lies about her? Possibly even believed them? There had to be some doubt about her character if they wanted her to create a written rebuttal.
All she’d wanted was to help people, and now everyone thought all she wanted was to sleep with Seth. How had it gotten to this? How could one innocent date that had fifty chaperones be painted in such a twisted light? And how did the paparazzo know they’d be there anyway? It was possible that a fan tipped them off, but could they have gotten there so quickly?
Go somewhere you’re actually wanted before reality starts knocking on your door.
Kayla’s words played back like a nightmare. She couldn’t be behind all this, could she?
Chapter Twenty-One
Where’s Amber?
Seth had watched her head into the center during a water break, but that had been—he glanced at his watch—over three hours ago. The younger kids had long gone, and the older ones were now warming up, getting ready to practice corner kicks and controlling the direction of the ball with a header.
He placed a hand over his eyes to block out the afternoon sun, scanning first the pitch and then the center’s building. Nothing. No slender, athletic form. No golden strands of hair that soaked up the sun. No soft laughter that made his pulse race faster than hearing the starting whistle of a high-stakes game.
He jogged over to his duffel bag, lying on the grass by a goal post, then rummaged through, pulled out his cell, found her contact info, and tapped the call sign. Voicemail picked up, and he ended the call with a growl.
This wasn’t like her. Pristinely responsible, she wouldn’t not show up to a job. Especially one that meant so much to her and others. Too much was at stake.
Where is she?
He didn’t want to overreact, but concern was making his mind jump to all sorts of scenarios. None of them good.
Should he pause practice? Maybe send one of the teenage girls into the center to check on her? But if she’d retreated to her dorm room for some reason, or anywhere else, he wouldn’t be able to find her. No matter how much he wanted to drop everything and make sure she was okay, he couldn’t. But he could put someone else on her trail.
He dialed Mila and let her know Amber was missing and asked if she could check up on her. Mila didn’t sound worried, but the reassurance did nothing to calm his nerves.
The kids ran down the track on their last lap, then pulled up beside him. Some bent at the waist, bracing their hands on their knees and gulping in huge breaths. Others grinned as if they’d been looking forward to the physical exertion all day.
Seth clapped his hands. “Listen up. You guys have come a long way in a short time, but if you plan on beating the competition in next week’s game—a team that has been playing together for years—then you need to start working together as a unit. A family.” He let his gaze bore into each kid until they met his eyes. Through that connection, he poured his belief into them. That they’d worked hard and deserved to be there. They were worthy, no matter what they’d heard other people tell them. He was counting on them, and they could count on him in return.
One by one, spines straightened and rounded shoulders squared. Determination etched across faces and eyes lit with purpose. Would they win? Didn’t matter as much as watching them work together to conquer something put in their path. But, for their sake, he did hope they’d win. If anyone needed to feel victorious, even for a few brief moments, it was these kids.
“All right. We’re going to start off working on our passing drills before we move on to corner kicks and headers. You guys are fast, and you play all out, but even the fastest person can’t outrun the ball. Okay, let’s begin.” He blew his whistle and watched as the players took pre-assigned positions on the field, putting the ball in motion and passing it to teammates in a drill they’d practiced before.
Still no Amber. Unease crawled across his skin. He’d woken up determined to tell her about the paparazzo that had tailed them in the park but hadn’t had the opportunity yet. How she’d not been aware of the flash of the camera, he didn’t know. He should have told her then. Made her aware of what could happen so she could prepare.
But a small part of him had hoped the episode wouldn’t amount to anything. They’d only been walking in a public park. Nothing had happened, not even a kiss, so the press had zilch to report. He didn’t want to scare her. Wasn’t that one of her concerns about starting a relationship with him in the first place? That his very public life would shove her into the spotlight as well?
But he’d realized those justifications were the voice of his old self talking, and he didn’t want to hide things from Amber. Especially things that could be potential problems. So even though it gutted him—take a spoon and scoop out his insides, gutted him—to think about her reaction, terrified him to even consider she might step back and change her mind about getting to know him better and pursue this unnamed connection they shared, he was determined to tell her. Just in case. Because it was the right thing to do.
Commotion on the pitch brought his head up. Zaid rounded the building and walked slowly toward centerfield, one arm cradled in his hand. Even from the distance, Seth could see something was wrong with the boy. The closer Zaid drew, the more horrifying the picture became. Left eye swol
len nearly shut, bottom lip busted. Dark, dried blood spotting his shirt.
Seth ran over to him, followed by the rest of the kids. He put a light hand on Zaid’s shoulder, afraid to touch any unseen injuries. “Are you okay?” He caught Yosef’s eye. “Run inside and find Ben. Tell him to call the police.”
“No.” Zaid’s nostrils flared. “No police.”
Seth waited for Zaid to look at him, but the boy stubbornly refused. “An attack like this needs to be reported.”
“No. It is nothing. I come to play football. If you call police, I will tell them nothing. I will leave.”
Seth let his chin fall to his chest. Everything within him said to report the crime, but if Zaid wouldn’t press charges, what was the point? He’d only push Zaid away and maybe some of the other kids as well.
“Fine. We won’t call the police. Tell me what happened.”
Zaid finally met his eyes. Seth had seen that expression before. In the mirror. When he was about the same age. Half boy, half man. Shoulders too small to carry the weight placed upon them but determined not to be crushed. “You are Coach, not my father. I am here for football. Let’s play.”
Seth heard the unspoken message. Zaid needed the distraction of the ball. Feet in motion, anger leaving the body and watering the grass through his sweat. He needed to realign his mind. Command a piece of his life he was in control of.
Football had given Seth that, and he could share the gift with Zaid. He blew his whistle. “You heard Zaid. Let’s play.”
Everyone ran onto the field but Yosef.
“Something on your mind you want to share?” Seth asked.