The top of Dexter’s head reached the rim. Another resounding dunk. The crowd exploded, the noise deafening. Atlanta had the lead for the first time in five minutes. The final minute passed in a blur. But in that time, Nolan hit four more free throws. He watched the last seconds fall off the clock, watched it wishing only one thing.
That his father could have seen him win this game.
Maybe he has a way, Lord, a place where he can see this. If so, please . . . could you give him a front-row seat?
The buzzer sounded and Atlanta’s fans went crazy. They were the NBA champions. Nolan pointed up and held his hand that way, peering into the rafters of Philips Arena, looking for a glimpse of heaven. All for You, God . . . all for You. In a rush, the players joined at center court and began celebrating, chest-thumping and grabbing each other around their necks. This was what they had set out to do at the beginning of the season. NBA champs in God’s strength, not their own.
Nolan looked up at Ellie. She was watching him, smiling at him, both fists raised in the air. The way she used to cheer for him back in high school. He waved at her, and fifteen minutes later, when he was awarded the series MVP, Nolan took the microphone and did what he had longed to do since the game ended.
“First, I’d like to thank my Savior for letting me play basketball. I also want to thank my coaches and teammates. I’m nothing without them. And, of course, my family.” His mom and sisters had flown in for the games in L.A., but they couldn’t make it to Atlanta tonight. One of his sisters was graduating from nursing school tomorrow morning.
Nolan’s voice stayed strong. “Thanks also to my second family.” He pointed to where they were seated. Then he paused and held tight to the trophy. His voice filled with passion. “I’m dedicating this game, this series, to two people. My father, a man who was my mentor and friend. My first coach. Dad, I hope you’re watching from heaven.” He paused, struggling, his heart bursting.
“And second . . . I dedicate this to Ellie Anne Tucker.” He smiled up at her, and for a few seconds, they were the only people in the arena. “I told Ellie when we were fifteen that I was going to marry her. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.” He held the trophy in her direction. “I love you, Ellie.”
He saw her mouth the same words to him from her place in the stands. Nolan could picture the couple from the Dream Foundation—Molly and Ryan Kelly. Somewhere, if they were watching, Ryan had the answer to why he was supposed to go on the road with Peyton Anders this year.
Another miracle.
Nolan stepped back and gave the platform to his coach. When the celebration died down, Ellie and her family joined him on the court, and he whispered close to her, “Now the whole world knows.”
“I love you, Nolan Cook.”
“I love you. That’s all I want to do the rest of my life. Love you.”
When they went to leave that night, for the first time since his father had died, Nolan didn’t take the shot from the left-side three-point line. He didn’t have to. The championship he had promised his father was finally his. Promise fulfilled. Instead, he left the arena the way he hoped he would leave it as long as he played the game.
With his arm around the only girl he’d ever loved.
Ellie Tucker.
Acknowledgments
No book comes together without a great and talented team of people making it happen. For that reason, a special thanks to my friends at Howard Books and Simon & Schuster, who combined efforts to make The Chance all it could be. Your passionate commitment to Life-Changing Fiction™ leaves me beyond grateful for the chance to work with you. A special thanks to my dedicated editor, Becky Nesbitt, and to Jonathan Merkh and Barry Landis and my talented team from Howard Books. Thanks also to the creative staff and the sales force at Simon & Schuster, who worked tirelessly to put this book in the hands of you, my reader friends.
A special thanks to my amazing agent, Rick Christian, president of Alive Communications. Rick, you’ve always believed in only the best for me. When we talk about the highest possible goals, you see them as doable, reachable. You were the one least surprised and most grateful when I hit number one on the New York Times bestseller list last year. You are a brilliant manager of my career, an incredible agent, and an encouraging, godly friend. I thank the Lord for you. But even with all you do for my ministry of writing, I am doubly grateful for your encouragement and prayers. Every time I finish a book, you send me a letter worth framing, and when something big happens, yours is the first call I receive. Thank you for that. The fact that you and Debbie pray for me and my family keeps me confident every morning that God will continue to breathe life into the stories in my heart. Thank you for being so much more than a brilliant agent.
Thanks to my husband, who puts up with me on deadline and doesn’t mind driving through Chick-fil-A after a soccer game if I’ve been editing all day. This wild ride wouldn’t be possible without you, Donald. Your love keeps me writing; your prayers keep me believing that God is using this Life-Changing Fiction™ in a powerful way. Thanks as well for the hours you put in, helping me. It’s a full-time job, and I am grateful for your concern for the readers. Of course, thanks to the rest of the family who pulls together, bringing me iced green tea and understanding my sometimes crazy schedule. I love that you know you’re still first, before any deadline.
Thank you also to my mom, Anne Kingsbury, and to my sisters, Tricia and Sue and Lynne. Mom, you are amazing as my assistant—working day and night to sort through the e-mail from my readers. I appreciate you more than you’ll ever know. Traveling with you these past years for Extraordinary Women, Women of Joy, and Women of Faith events has given us time together we will always treasure. The journey gets more exciting all the time!
Tricia, you are the best executive assistant I could ever hope to have. I appreciate your loyalty and honesty, the way you include me in every decision and the daily exciting changes. This ministry of Life-Changing Fiction™ has become something bigger than I ever imagined, and much of that is because of you. I pray for God’s blessings on you always, for your dedication to helping me in this season of writing, and for your wonderful son, Andrew. And aren’t we having such a good time, too? God works all things for good!
Sue, I believe you should’ve been a counselor! From your home far from mine, you get batches of reader letters every day, and you diligently answer them using God’s wisdom and His Word. When readers get a response from “Karen’s sister Susan,” I hope they know how carefully you’ve prayed for them and for the responses you give. Thank you for truly loving what you do, Sue. You’re gifted with people, and I’m blessed to have you aboard. And Lynne, your help this past year has made a difference in my ability to adjust to life in Nashville. Thank you for that!
I also want to thank Kyle Kupecky, the newest addition to the Life-Changing Fiction™ staff and to our family. Time and again, you exceed my expectations with business and financial matters, and in supervising our many donation programs. Thank you for putting your whole heart into your work at Life-Changing Fiction™. I’m blessed to have a front-row seat to watch your solo Christian music career take wing. One day the whole world will know the beauty of your heart and voice. In the meantime, know that I treasure having you as part of the team.
Kelsey, you also are an enormous part of my team, and I thank you for loving the reader friends God has brought into our lives. This past year we’ve all discovered another talent of yours—cover design. The hours you’ve spent conveying my heart to the talented team at Howard have netted the gorgeous cover on this book and the last. And I hope for many more to come. What a special season, when you and Kyle are married and working together at our home office. God is so creative, so amazing. Keep working hard and believing in your dreams. I expect everyone to know your gift of acting someday soon. Along the way, I love that you are a part of all that God is doing through this special team.
Tyler, a special thanks to you for running the garage warehouse and making s
ure our storage needs are met and that we always have books to give away! You’re a hard worker—God will reward that. Thanks also to my forever friends and family, the ones who have been there and continue to be there. Your love has been a tangible source of comfort, pulling us through the tough times and making us know how very blessed we are to have you in our lives.
And my greatest thanks to God. You put a story in my heart and have a million other hearts in mind—something I could never do. I’m grateful to be a small part of Your plan! The gift is Yours. I pray that I might use it for years to come in a way that will bring You glory and honor.
Keep reading for an excerpt from Karen Kingsbury’s upcoming novel, Fifteen Minutes
Chapter One
Chandra Olson made the trek every July.
She inked it on her calendar and told her manager and booking staff so everyone in her camp knew she was off-limits. For two days in midsummer, nothing was more important to America’s premier black vocalist than leaving Los Angeles, flying to Birmingham, and driving out to the old country cemetery where her parents were buried.
Nothing.
She would spend the day here, same as she did each July for the last four years. No driver or entourage or fanfare. Just Chandra Olson, a fold-up camping chair, a cooler of Smart Water, and a journal.
Always a journal.
That way Chandra could write her parents a letter they would never read and express in words her thanks for their support, and her regrets at the cost of fame.
The very great cost.
She parked her rental car in the corner spot and surveyed the area. Oak trees dotted the couple of acres of grass and tombstones that made up the graveyard. There were a few worn-out bouquets and the occasional American flag pressed into the earth over the grave of a soldier’s sacrifice. A quick look around confirmed what she hoped to find. She was alone. The place was empty except for her.
Chandra stepped carefully over the freshly mowed grass, making her way between markers to the place where her parents lay buried. She set her cooler down and opened her chair. Then, for a long moment, she simply stared at the etchings in the modest gray stones, letting the truth wash over her once more. Martin and Muriel Olson. Young and vibrant and full of life. Her dad, forty-eight. Her mother, just forty-four. Weddings, grandbabies, retirement—all of life ahead of them. Shot down in the prime of life.
Tears blurred Chandra’s eyes. The death date was the same for both of them. May 15, 2009.
A song burned in her heart this morning, a lyric that had been swimming to the surface for weeks. It would come together here, Chandra was sure. Here, close to the bodies of her parents and with the first round of auditions for this season’s Fifteen Minutes set to begin later in the week. The song would be a ballad. A warning to be careful what you wish for, be careful what you dream.
In case it actually happens.
Chandra took her seat and studied the gray clouds low-slung over the cemetery. Somewhere in houses across America, they were getting ready. Tens of thousands of them. Saying good-bye to family and friends and headed off for a weekend of auditions in one of eight cities across the country. Looking for a shot at their own personal fifteen minutes of fame.
Six years ago she was that wide-eyed singer, working at a day-care center and taking college classes at night. Nineteen years old with a dream bigger than Texas. What did she know about Fifteen Minutes or where it might lead, where the journey would take her?
For a long moment Chandra closed her eyes and saw herself, the way she was back then. No one was more excited about her Fifteen Minutes audition than Chandra’s parents. They were hard workers, both of them managers in office jobs in Birmingham. Martin and Muriel grew up in the projects, too poor to eat some days. They spent their lives trying to give their kids—Chandra and her brother, Chaz—everything they never had. Chaz’s dream had been soccer. He was playing now, a senior at Liberty University in Virginia. But only because her parents had worked overtime to pay thousands of dollars in club soccer fees, private coaching, and gym memberships.
It was the same way for Chandra, only her passion wasn’t soccer—it was singing.
She opened her eyes and looked at her mother’s tombstone. You used to tell me I was born humming. Remember that? You gave me every advantage, Mama. It was true. Chandra took voice lessons from the best teachers in the city. She attended a private arts school on the south side, and when she wrote her first song, her parents took her to Atlanta and had it produced by a guy whose name was synonymous with R&B hits.
But nothing opened the door to her singing career the way Fifteen Minutes had. Chandra blazed through the audition process and, even with the show’s manufactured drama, there was never really any contest. On the finale show, when host Kit Barker smiled at the cameras and rattled off the famous line “The next fifteen minutes of fame goes to . . . Chandra Olson!” there wasn’t one surprised person in the audience or at home.
“You might be the best singer to ever grace the Fifteen Minutes stage.” That’s what one of the judges that season told her, and the comment was plastered across Internet websites everywhere, from the Today show to People magazine.
Chandra remembered a private moment with her mother a week later. “You realize how big this is, baby girl?”
Beneath the warmth of her mother’s words, Chandra’s heart swelled. qct She hugged her mama for a long time. “It’s big.”
“It’s bigger than that!” Her mother put her hands on her shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. “Fifteen Minutes is the biggest show on television, baby. And you’re the best singer they’ve ever seen! God’s gonna use you, child. He’s gonna use you like none of us can begin to imagine.”
Her mama was right about Fifteen Minutes. The show had been on the air a dozen years, and though other voice talent television programs competed for a share of the market, nothing compared to Fifteen Minutes. Between the judge’s comment and her mother’s praise, the future seemed brighter than the sun, Chandra’s potential unlimited.
Anyone could see the success ahead.
But none of them could have anticipated what happened nearly two years later. The second spring after Chandra’s win, with her first album topping the charts and her fame far surpassing fifteen minutes, an Alabama stalker stepped into the picture. He found her on Facebook and asked for a loan. Money to help him and his mother buy a house. Chandra let the comment pass.
The request quickly became harassment with the guy posting daily demands for money. His most chilling post was also his last. What if something happened to your parents, Chandra? Maybe that would get your attention!
Chandra blocked him from her Facebook page that day and filed a report with the Birmingham police.
“The guy’s annoying,” the Birmingham officer told her, “but anyone can make a Facebook page. We can’t prove he’s a guy or that he lives in Alabama.” He added that there wouldn’t be enough hours in the day to investigate everyone who bothered a celebrity.
Her concert schedule rolled on and Chandra tried to forget the guy’s comment.
But one warm night in late May, her parents pulled into their driveway after a church service and climbed out of their car. According to one of the neighbors outside getting her mail, Chandra’s parents were laughing and talking. Her father had just taken her mother’s hand when a spray of bullets exploded from the front porch area, ripping through their bodies and killing them instantly.
The man turned out to be crazy, a certified insane patient who had escaped from a mental hospital in Mississippi. He waited on the Olsons’ front porch until police arrived and he immediately admitted to the killings. “I wanted to get Chandra’s attention,” he told police.
It worked.
Life would forever be measured as before and after the shooting. No question, a part of Chandra was buried right here with her parents. In the wake of their murders, she took two months off and became a recluse, handling her parents’ affairs, afraid to leave t
he house. But eventually she had no choice but to return to the limelight.
The stage owned her now. It was where she belonged.
Questions plagued her then the way they still did here at the cemetery. What was the point of fame and celebrity? All the record sales and accolades and awards? The money and houses and vacations? None of it could take her back to that moment, to her mother’s hands on her shoulders.
Her parents’ faith had been strong and foundational, a key to Chandra’s life before Fifteen Minutes. But now there was only one Bible character she felt any connection with.
Solomon.
The king who had everything, but finished his days believing the most desperate of thoughts—that all of life was meaningless. Chasing after the wind. She had read the book of Ecclesiastes again on her Bible app during the flight and once more she had found her life verse, the only one that applied now. It was from Ecclesiastes 2:17, truth tucked in the midst of a host of depressing Scriptures. She could remember the verse now, word for word.
So I hated my life, because the work that is done under the sun was grievous to me. All of it is meaningless, a chasing after the wind.
Her newest album was number one on iTunes, and she’d been asked back to Fifteen Minutes, this time as a judge. But here in the warmth and quiet of the cemetery, she could only agree with Solomon. All of it was meaningless . . . a chasing after the wind.
All of it.
She opened her journal and began writing. The lyrics came easily, pouring from the gaping holes in her heart. The song would be a hit, she was sure. But even that was meaningless. Only one thing kept Chandra going, kept her engaged in the daily walk through celebrity and fame, through concerts and autograph seekers. It wasn’t her new role as a judge on Fifteen Minutes or the countless hopefuls heading out to audition this week.
The Chance: A Novel Page 28