After a late night, Cassandra and I got up early Sunday morning searching for a church. “I’ll go online and find one,” I offered.
“Not necessary. I do have one cousin in Houston. He said just look for a Williams Chicken and there’ll be a Missionary Baptist or a CME church within a three-mile radius,” she quoted.
“I’m not familiar with Williams Chicken locations.”
She bucked her eyes at me.
“I don’t each much fried chicken.”
“Could have fooled me.”
My cell phone got us to a small, white frame church tucked behind—where else?—a Williams Chicken restaurant. Cassandra and I withstood curious stares and speculative smiles, but soon got into the service as the members realized we knew the words to the choir’s hymns. We weren’t heathens.
After church, we grabbed lunch at Panera. I dropped Cassandra off at the apartment and gave her a satellite TV lesson to keep her occupied while I ran off to meet with Preston.
I used my key—maybe for the last time—to enter the locked building. Preston, uncharacteristically flanked by piles of paperwork, was waiting for me in his office. Framed pictures of his family had been overtaken by spreadsheets, charts, and graphs.
“Hi, Tori. Sorry for the mess. I’ve got a ton of work to accomplish before I fly out tomorrow. Thanks for agreeing to meet with me today.”
“No problem.” I moved a stack of papers from the least cluttered chair, placed them on the floor next to my feet.
Preston’s tranquil demeanor scared me. Was this the calm before the storm? God, do whatever is best.
“So, what gives?” I asked.
He tapped a few last computer keys, cleared an area on his desk, folded his hands, and finally faced me. “I don’t have to tell you the meeting with Inner-G didn’t go well for Lexa.”
I sighed. “She texted me.”
“They were not impressed with her. To be honest, neither was I. What did impress them, however, was the number of times she referred to you as the magic key holder. They’d ask a question, she’d say, ‘Well, as soon as I hear back from my colleague, Tori, I’ll be able to respond accurately, blah, blah, blah.’
“Long story short, they pulled the plug on us. And I let Lexa go.”
I flinched at the news, wondering how Lexa would process this disappointment. Before this incident, I might have gloated in her demise. Not now.
“Late last week, Inner-G’s head honcho called me. He said after he’d heard your name so many times during the botched meeting and saw Tori Henderson computer-stamped at the bottom of the only comprehensible data Lexa produced, he and his team decided they’d stay with NetMarketing if and only if they could work directly with the infamous Tori Henderson.
I took a deep, processing breath.
Preston continued, “If you take on this assignment, your old clients will be reassigned. I’d want you dedicated to Inner-G alone. You need to get out there, travel with them, immerse yourself in sports and hip-hop culture. Learn this market like the back of your hand. Eat, drink, and live Inner-G. Lots of long, hard, nose-to-the-grindstone hours.”
Overwhelmed by his demanding spiel, I interrupted him. “Can I still work remotely?” Given my Bayford-inspired prioritizing skills, I might be able to pull this off. Well, everything except the travel.
“No.” Preston killed the dream. “I need you here.”
When my face hinted disappointment, Preston tried flattery. “I can’t think of anyone who’s more dedicated to NetMarketing than you. So, what do you say, Tori?”
A few months ago—before appendicitis, before DeAndre, Jacob, reconnecting with Aunt Dottie, God, and the good people of Bayford—I would have dived headfirst into this opportunity, no questions asked. Isn’t this the recognition and position I’ve always wanted?
My mouth went dry. “H-how soon must I make a decision?”
Muscles knotted in Preston’s neck. “Tori, what’s there to think about?”
“My life,” I said under my breath.
He peered at me, bemused.
“I have to think . . . and pray about this.”
“You do want to keep your job, don’t you?” he threatened, clicking the top of his ink pen repeatedly.
“Yes, I do,” I admitted. “But I’ve learned life isn’t about me. I have other priorities, other people I care about to consider.” For once.
He hurled his hands back onto the keyboard and started typing again, severing eye contact with me. He bit off the final words of our meeting. “Let me know by tomorrow morning.”
“Okay.”
I dismissed myself, wondering where this new and depreciated Preston Haverty had been hiding all these years. I’d seen him angry, of course, but never rude. Never disrespectful. Then again, we’d never had so much at stake.
Before I left the building, I made a conscious decision to forgive Phantom Preston. No way could I arrive at the best option under the influence of anger.
I veered off the path to the exit doors in order to use the ladies’ room. The need to hear from God pressed heavily on my heart. What if Preston removed his offer from the table by morning? What if Judge Kiplinger’s attitude never changed, no matter what my circumstances? Was it fair to move DeAndre to Houston so I could drown myself in work? What about Jacob?
As I pushed through the women’s bathroom door, two little girls, younger than DeAndre, scampered into empty stalls, slamming the doors shut. Odd.
“Hello?” I called to them. “Are you girls okay?”
Just then, a woman nearing Aunt Dottie’s age slipped into the restroom, softly closing the door behind her. Her wispy, cotton-spun hair retained her Sunday-morning roller set with great effort. The fancy curls contrasted with the mop and bucket she’d managed to glide into the restroom noiselessly.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I hope they’re not bothering you.”
“Oh, no,” I assured her, “I was only making sure they weren’t alone.”
The woman smiled relief. “These are my granddaughters. I have to bring them to work with me on Sundays.”
“It’s like that sometimes,” I related.
She leaned in and whispered, “Please don’t tell anyone.”
“My lips are sealed.”
“Come on out, girls. It’s time to go.”
Bows and bouncing twists emerged from the stalls. The girls shied toward their grandmother. The woman winked as she walked away. “You understand the importance of family, I see. God always rewards a tender heart.”
Peace filled my chest so completely, I didn’t need to wait until morning to give Preston my answer. I confidently strolled back to his office. With a hint of cheer in my voice, I caught his attention at the doorway. “Preston?”
“Yes.” His brow arched and rounded, mimicking my optimism. He clapped twice. “I knew you’d make the right choice. Welcome back, Tori.”
“No, no. I’m not coming back. I can’t take the Inner-G account.” I burst his bubble.
He gulped and chewed his bottom lip. “I hate to lose you, Tori. You’re a smart lady, but the economy’s in a slump. You sure about this?”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ve got faith and family. I’ll land on my feet. I’ll be in touch.” Turning my back to him, I ended the conversation.
“Tori, wait.”
“Yes?” I stopped, looked in his direction again. Oooh, those glasses.
Preston shifted nervously in his chair, his jawline tightening. In that instant, I realized Preston wasn’t concerned about me. His anxiety centered around NetMarketing. Losing Inner-G meant losing money and blowing the contract of a lifetime. Preston had more at stake than me, actually. I mean, really, what sense would it make to fire the one person who could save NetMarketing’s reputation with its biggest client ever? He’d be next on his boss’s chopping block.
“Let me rethink the remote alternative,” he compromised. “If we hired a production assistant to travel with Inner-G and handle the minute details,
this might work. Colleges are always looking to place eager interns. We might even get a tax break for giving someone else a chance to get their feet wet.”
“Okay,” I agreed, stunned at his unexpected rollover. “I’ll wait to hear from you.”
Cassandra and I laughed about Preston’s change of heart half the long way home, then we praised God for His intervention.
“Girl, God’s lining your entire, best life up for you,” she teased. “Before long, Daddy’ll have you spoiled rotten, thinking every good and perfect thing you pray for is supposed to happen.”
“Well,” I hesitated, “it is supposed to happen, right? I mean, why pray if you don’t expect God to move?”
“That’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout!” She clapped. “Preach, girl! You talkin’ like somebody who knows the Word now!”
Chapter 31
Icould hardly wait to tell Jacob what happened with the NetMarketing situation. I called him immediately after I dropped Cassandra off at her paid-for home.
“Hey, how are you?”
“Good. How was the trip?”
His lowered tone concerned me. “You all right?”
“Yeah.”
“You busy?”
“No,” he sighed. “Not really.”
My brows furrowed instinctively. “I’m no voice analysis major,” I teased, “but you certainly don’t sound like yourself.”
He laughed softly. “Got a lot on my mind.”
“Would a frappuccino help?”
“No. Not this time.”
“Well, you know,” I imitated him, “I’m not God, but I’m a pretty good sounding board.”
Out of the blue, he perked up and asked, “You want to go bowling?”
“Sure. When?”
“Now.”
“Now?”
“Yeah. Lanes don’t close for another couple of hours.”
Ten minutes later, Jacob was opening the passenger’s door for me. We made it to Bowl-King on my testimony of God’s hand moving at NetMarketing. “I think I’m going to be able to work from home, too. Isn’t that great?”
“That’s great, Tori,” was the full extent of his excitement for me—for us.
“Jacob, are you listening to me?”
He parked the Camry. “No. I’m sorry.”
We sat in silence for a moment, looking out the car windows, then at each other.
“What’s wrong?”
He ran a finger across his lips. “My dad. He told me, after church today, the doctors say he’s in the first phase of Alzheimer’s. He wants me to start transitioning the church, preparing them for my leadership.”
The second I heard Jacob speak those words, one of Aunt Dottie’s favorite verses arrested my spirit. “What about Jeremiah twenty-nine and eleven?”
Jacob recited the scripture. “ ‘For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’ ”
I reiterated, “God has good plans for you and your father.”
Jacob shook his head. “But Alzheimer’s is Alzheimer’s, you know? It’s slow. Humiliating. Degenerating. I can’t watch him decline and be there for my mom while taking over the church, too. I don’t think I’m up to it, Tori. I really don’t.”
Jacob sounded like me when I first moved to Bayford. Overwhelmed with new responsibilities, unsure of how to accomplish the daunting tasks ahead. I still didn’t know what was going to happen with the store or exactly how DeAndre would fare, but when I looked back over the past few months and saw God’s faithfulness, I had no reason to doubt His ability to figure out the rest of my mess.
“Jacob, you’d be surprised how much pressure God can handle inside you. He’s amazing. He just lines up circumstances and people in your favor. I can’t even explain how He does it.”
Jacob’s eyes sought mine. “You truly believe His Words, don’t you?”
“With all my heart.”
Jacob smiled again. He grabbed my hand and kissed my palm. “Thanks for being here, and for being one of the people sent to help me through.”
“Any time.”
He tilted his head, jokingly, and asked, “You mean like any time any time, or like some of the time any time?”
“Any time.”
“Like you’re moving out of your apartment any time?”
“Like I’ve already arranged to put my stuff in storage any time,” I informed him.
He pressed once more. “Okay, so is this like you’re moving to Bayford any time?”
Fully aware of the commitment he was groping for, I replied, “Yes, I’m relocating to Bayford.”
Jacob’s smile faded. “What if your new client won’t allow a remote office?”
“Then I won’t work for them,” I stated. “DeAndre’s placement is only temporary. Aunt Dottie still has a long way to go in her recovery. And you.”
“What about me?” he fished.
“You. And whatever God is doing to us. Another amazing surprise.”
“I’m not surprised,” he bragged, pinching his chin.
“Oh—you already knew Aunt Dottie would have a stroke and I’d come back to town and fall in love with you?”
Did I just say that?
Jacob covered my face with his, kissing me softly. Almost solemnly, as though we’d just made an everlasting agreement.
Yeah, I just said that.
Chapter 32
“All parties in the matter of DeAndre Lester, please step forward.”
Jacob squeezed my hand. “Be strong.”
I’d wanted to wear my power suit, but I didn’t think Judge Kiplinger would take kindly to me projecting an authoritative stance in his courtroom. I couldn’t come off like a city-slicker. By the same token, I needed to appear confident and capable of taking care of an eight-year-old boy, without a husband.
Ms. Gentry approached the bench along with another gentleman, Mr. Ybarra, whom I’d never met before but was expecting. He was a volunteer who’d been assigned to DeAndre’s case by an organization named CASA (Court Appointed Special Advocate). As I understood things, this gentleman’s job was to speak on behalf of DeAndre’s best interest.
We all introduced ourselves as we stood before Judge Kiplinger, who took his time about reviewing the notes in DeAndre’s case.
Man, you’ve had seven weeks to look at those notes! I literally bit my tongue to keep my attitude in check. The judge had already thrown out two people in the half hour we’d been waiting for our hearing.
“Ms. Gentry, please inform the court of your findings.”
“Your honor,” she began, “DeAndre was left in the care of his father, grandmother, and stepmother when he ran away. We find those caregivers unfit to care for him due to the disturbing family dynamics recorded in DeAndre’s file. The state would prefer to place DeAndre in the care of other, suitable family members.” She gestured toward me.
Thank you, Ms. Gentry!
She continued, “However, if that’s not possible, we recommend he remain in state custody.”
Judge Kiplinger asked, “How’s he doing with his current foster family?”
“Oh, he’s fine, your honor, but the family he’s with now only accepts temporary placements. He’ll have to be moved again next week.”
“I see,” from the judge. He eyed me for a second, then shifted his focus back to the papers. “Mr. Ybarra, what are your recommendations?”
“I agree with Ms. Gentry, your honor. DeAndre is doing well now, but it would be best for him to be placed with responsible family members. He’s head-over-heels about his cousin Tori. She’s the best fit for him.”
Two votes for me!
Finally, Judge Kiplinger addressed me. “Miss Henderson, has your living situation been stabilized?”
“Yes, your honor. I’m living in Bayford now.”
“And you have steady employment?”
I nodded eagerly and slapped my letter of employment verification from NetMarketing
on the platform. “Yes. My job in Houston allows me to work from home.”
He examined Preston’s letter. “Says here you’re traveling ten percent of the time.”
My throat tightened. “It’d be more like once every couple of weeks, mostly just to Houston and back. They hired an assistant for me and everything, Judge Kiplinger.”
“I don’t give a rat’s behind who they’ve hired. I want to know who’ll watch DeAndre while you’re trotting the globe in your fancy suits.”
I hadn’t figured that part out yet. “My aunt. Jacob.” I pointed behind me.
Judge Kiplinger grilled me. “Who’s he? Your new boyfriend?”
“Yes, but I’m not—”
“So you left one man, moved back to Bayford and now you’re living with another one? Is this your idea of an ideal environment? Have you run a background check on him?”
“No, no, no.” I could almost feel DeAndre slipping away. I took a deep breath and tried, unsuccessfully, to hold back the tears welling in my eyes. Jesus. I was sure my words sounded like jibber-jabber, but I had to get them all out before he slammed that gavel on me again. “Your honor, I don’t live with my boyfriend. It’ll be just me, DeAndre, and Aunt Dottie, and I don’t know exactly how—”
“Did you say Aunt Dottie?” Judge Kiplinger’s sparse eyebrows shot up.
“Yes.”
He set both hands flat on the platform. “You mean Dottie Mae Lester?”
“Yes?”
He smiled—I didn’t know his muscles knew the formation—and caroled, “Why didn’t you mention Aunt Dottie before? She’s a saint. Impeccable character. She brought food to my sister when she was in the final stages of breast cancer.”
Wordless, I nodded.
“You say DeAndre will be staying with you and Aunt Dottie?”
“Yes, your honor.”
“Well, if Aunt Dottie’s got anything to do with raisin’ DeAndre, he’ll be perfectly fine. The court hereby places DeAndre Lester in the temporary custody of Miss Tori Henderson. We’ll review this case in six months to determine permanent custody. Court’s adjourned.”
He slammed the gavel. “And tell Aunt Dottie Judge K says hello.”
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