Grant stared as Calista carefully removed a little boy’s sock and painted his bare foot a bright green. The blond-haired toddler shrieked with laughter as she worked, then he stood up unsteadily, still grinning. Calista slid a piece of paper under his foot and he pressed his foot onto the paper. As he proudly showed off his work, most of Calista’s crew started to take off their shoes and socks, ready to follow suit. The assistant waved her arms in the air, eyes wide at this alarming development.
He figured he better lend a hand and strode toward the group. Savannah stood up from Calista’s table and waved energetically. “Mr. Monohan! I made another picture for your office and it has a kitty.”
He caught Calista’s look, her eyes bright with surprise.
“Beautiful, Savannah,” he responded enthusiastically. The little girl held up her new masterpiece, the paint glistening wetly. A blue cat with red sunglasses stared back at him. Of course it was a kitty. Savannah swore she was going to have her own someday, when she was in a real home.
“Isn’t she talented? Aren’t they so creative? Look at this one!” Calista pointed out a little boy’s rocket ship. And there were Christmas trees and orange lions and lots of turkeys and all manner of blobs and squiggles. The chatter was deafening but he hardly noticed as he patted shoulders and complimented the artwork. Calista’s happiness was infectious. He wanted to sit down and join their table, take off his shoe and paint the bottom of his foot. But that’s not what you did when you were trying to keep kids under control. You had to keep a kind but stern demeanor. Calista looked like she followed an “if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em” motto.
“Very creative, but let’s keep our shoes on, okay?” He laid a hand on the shoulder of a curly-haired little boy who was struggling to untie his laces. The boy frowned but turned back to his paper, his fingers covered in brown paint.
He glanced over at Calista, who was carefully wiping off the boy’s foot with a wet paper towel. Her light blue linen suit had more paint on it than a lot of the papers. “I think your suit is a lost cause.”
“Oh, for sure.” She grinned up at him, brushing the hair away from her clear green eyes with one forearm. She was so happy, she was shining with it.
Something about that gesture, and the light in her expression, caught at his heart. Eric had asked him why Calista was different and he hadn’t been able to say. But he knew now, watching her in this room. She wasn’t afraid to grab every opportunity and wring something good from it. He flashed back to how she had looked that first day, arms wrapped around her middle, fear hovering behind her eyes. She’d reached out to Marisol and Lana, become friends with Jose and Lissa, worked side by side with recovering addicts and teen parents clearing tables in the cafeteria. He’d heard her laughing this morning when she walked into the janitor’s closet by accident. I come that they may have life and have it more abundantly. That’s what she had, like the verse said, life abundant.
Grant felt his heart contract with the sudden realization that he cared for her in a way he had never cared for anyone before. A surprised smile spread over his face. He wanted to stand up and holler that he finally got it.
“Did you...want to paint?” Calista’s hesitant voice brought him back down to earth. Her eyes were watching him steadily. Yeah, he got it, but he sure wasn’t going to yell about it here and now. Calista would be off and running the moment the words came out of his mouth. She would think he was crazy.
“No, thanks.” He cleared his throat. “I was just thinking how great this is for the kids. They go through a lot of upheaval and a little finger painting goes a long way toward making them feel normal.”
“It’s true, everyone should try it. When I think of all the years I paid for therapy when I could have just been making footprints...” She shook her head, laughing.
Lissa walked over, arms full of empty paint pots. “We’ve got about five more minutes and then we’ll need to clean up. If any of your kids are finished, try to get them to slip off their smocks by the sink and wash up.” She flicked a glance toward the disaster that was Calista’s table and rolled her eyes. “Or maybe we can just declare this a national emergency and call in the troops.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know how you get them to stay in one place.” Calista stood up to start clearing the table, her voice registering the admiration she felt for the day-care staff.
“It’s a gift. And I can look really serious when I have to,” Lissa said, her face relaxing. She seemed relieved that Calista wasn’t going to skip out on the hardest part of the activity: the cleanup.
“All right, kiddos, put your hands in the air.” Grant demonstrated by putting his palms up high. “Walk with your helper to the sinks. We’re going to get cleaned up so we can have snack time.”
The response was a burst of excitement, followed by the assistant helping the group line up for the sink. He winked at Calista as they filed past. “The key is to give them a little incentive.”
“That’s just what Michelle said,” she responded, stacking lids and gathering up papers. “I guess I need to write that tip down somewhere.”
“Planning on another stint in the day care?”
She frowned up at him, green eyes clouding over with confusion. “I’d like to come back here again. Unless Michelle thinks I wasn’t up to spec today.”
“I’m sure you were fine.” He hesitated, wanting to say so much more, but knowing the time wasn’t right. Not just yet. “I’m glad you had fun.”
“More fun than I’ve had all week. Thanks for letting me help out.”
“So, if you had to choose, it would be little-kid chaos over filing?”
She laughed again, that sweet sound that drew him toward her like she was pulling on a string. “This beats filing any day.”
“I can name a few people off the top of my head who would rather have teeth pulled than spend the morning in here.” Like Jose. If he ever wanted the young guy to quit, he could have him transferred to day care. Jose thought little kids were germ factories.
“There’s nothing like tidy paperwork. But this—” she waved a green-colored hand at the room “—is beautiful. These kids are a treat after spending the day with businesspeople.” She turned serious for a moment, weighing her words. “They’re honest. You don’t have to wonder what they’re thinking. And they don’t care what you’re wearing or what kind of car you drive or how big your company is.”
He wanted to say something, but he couldn’t seem to form words. His fingers itched to reach out and brush back that strand of hair that kept falling into her eyes. Her face shone with that fragile sweetness he’d seen the first day she came to the mission.
“And they don’t care who your parents are,” he added, his voice sounding huskier than he’d intended.
“Exactly.” She nodded, her gaze locked on his. “I always thought that verse about being like little children meant we were supposed to be gullible. But that’s not what Jesus meant at all.” She watched a little girl run toward the door, excitedly waving her art project in the air as her father grinned in greeting. “He meant that we needed to believe first, and doubt later. Not the other way around.”
“Sort of the way that little kids love you first and ask questions later?”
Her face lit up at his words. “That’s just what I mean.”
Love first, and ask questions later. Great for kids, but it was the very worst advice he’d heard for adults. And still, that was what was happening in his heart. It was almost enough to make him open his mouth and blurt it all out, tell her how thankful he was that God brought her through the mission doors.
Instead, he managed to look away, his heart pounding. “Kids. You gotta love ’em.” Probably the dumbest rejoinder in history, but it was either end the conversation or ask her out to dinner. She’d probably appreciate not being covered in paint when he took a ste
p in that direction. “I better help Janice.”
“Janice?” Calista’s brow furrowed in confusion.
“Your assistant. She’s got about ten kids left to scrub down.”
“Oh, right. And I’d better clean this area or I won’t be invited back.” She grabbed another handful of paper towels and started to swab off the tiny chairs.
He stood there for a moment, debating. Lana had set the time for the media announcement. He should probably say something now, before Calista saw it on the news.
“I know you won’t be here on Friday morning, but I wanted—”
“Actually, I’m filling in for Lissa for an hour.” Calista smiled up at him, hands full of soggy towels.
Grant paused, struggling to find his place again. This shouldn’t be that hard. No harder than telling the whole nation. But what did he say? Hi, you know the guy who owns half of this fine state? Well, he’s my dad. But not really, because he abandoned me and my mother when I was born. He really wants to know me now, so I guess I get to be his son whether I like it or not.
Calista was watching him, a frown appearing between her brows, green eyes turning serious.
A wave of shame flooded him. He couldn’t do it. “Great. Michelle needs the help.”
Grant ducked his head and crossed the room to where toddlers stood in line for the sink. Janice helped them stand on the stool, soap up and rinse off. Some were spick-and-span in no time. Some would need a thorough dunking. They chattered and giggled, chubby fingers leaving colored prints along the sides of the white porcelain sink. Grant grabbed the dispenser and delivered dollops of soap into waiting palms, all the while replaying their conversation.
He wished he could just blurt it out. But she was going to hear the ugly news the same way everybody else would: on the news. Love first. He felt the words echoing around in his brain, in his heart. He was used to being careful, wary, never taking anyone at face value. Was it possible he should trust that Calista was going to stick around? He wanted it so badly that his teeth ached with it.
But before he could build any kind of life with her, he had to bring his ugly little secret out into the light. Tomorrow would be his last Thanksgiving—no, his last day—as Grant Monohan, mission director, and not Grant Monohan, Kurt Daniels’s illegitimate son.
* * *
Calista wiped down the table and gave herself a quick pep talk. It was now or never. She knew she should probably wait until she was looking her best, or even just a little less colorful, but he seemed so friendly, so open.
She kept glancing back at him, watching the line get shorter and shorter at the sink. Finally, he was almost done. Janice led a little girl toward the door and her waiting mother. Calista took a deep breath. It was just a Christmas party, not a wedding. She marched up behind him and cleared her throat.
He looked back, tilting his head down at her, dark hair just a bit mussed as usual. She picked up a faint woodsy smell, his cologne, and for some reason it was her undoing.
“Grant-Humphreys,” she started, then slapped a hand over her mouth.
He blinked. “Excuse me?”
Calista felt heat creep up her neck and wanted to press the rewind and delete buttons. “Sorry. That came out wrong. I was wondering if you wanted to come to the VitaWow Christmas party in a few weeks.” There it was. Out, for better or worse.
He turned, helping a little boy with jet-black hair
down from the step stool. “Let me guess. It’s at the Grant-Humphreys Mansion?”
Calista couldn’t help the snort of laughter that answered him. “Sorry. I haven’t asked anybody to a dance since my Sadie Hawkins days.”
“I’m sure you haven’t.” He leveled a gaze at her, something in his eyes she couldn’t quite define. “And I’d be honored to go.”
“You don’t even know the date yet,” she protested, feeling unreasonably happy, her voice losing its anxious tone.
“Don’t need to, but you can tell me anyway. I’ll just make sure I’m free.” Then there was that smile again, the one that made her brain take a leave of absence.
“It’s the fifteenth,” she said briskly, working hard to keep herself from puddling at his feet. Get a grip. You’re not a teenager!
Grant said nothing, just inclined his head a little, as if that smile was just between the two of them. As if there weren’t thirty small children still rocketing around the room. “Yup, definitely free.”
She stood there half a second too long, her gaze locked on his. “I thought it would be a great opportunity to meet some really big donors. I’ve already made sure the guest list has a few considering a sponsorship of the roof project and the classroom remodels.”
His eyes went dark as if someone had hit a switch. “Gotcha.”
Something about that one word rang a warning bell in her mind. But she couldn’t figure out why. The mission needed money, right?
“We can talk specifics later.” And he turned back to the sink, running the water and washing the sides of the porcelain with a sponge.
Calista nodded, to herself, since he wasn’t even looking, and wandered to the door. She had done something wrong, but she couldn’t figure out what.
* * *
“Calista, can you be here in ten minutes?” Jackie’s rapid-fire speech interrupted Calista’s vivid daydream. Something about Grant and kids and lots of laughter. She adjusted her Bluetooth and glanced at her car’s dashboard clock.
“I can’t. I have to get home and change. Isn’t my schedule cleared until one?”
“It was, but then the PR director from Genesis Drinks decided we needed to approve some paperwork ASAP. I didn’t think it would be a problem to tell him to come on over. Can’t you leave early?”
“I’m already on the road. But I can’t come straight back to the office, so he’ll have to wait until I get there.”
“You got a hot lunch date?” The curiosity in Jackie’s voice should have made Calista smile, but part of her wanted to keep Grant safely away from her other life. Which was how she was starting to think of VitaWow.
“No, but thanks for asking. There was a little mishap and I need to change. I’ll be quick.”
There was a pause, long enough for Calista to imagine that Jackie had disconnected the call. “A mishap.” She repeated the words carefully, as if debating whether she really wanted to hear the details.
Calista peeked in her rearview mirror and changed lanes without dropping her speed. “Nothing too awful. Just paint.”
“You were painting? Couldn’t they hire some of the homeless people to do that?”
She squashed the niggle of irritation at Jackie’s tone. “Not that kind of painting. It was finger-painting day at the day care.”
“The day care?”
Calista heaved a sigh. “You know what I’ve always loved about you? You’re so quick on the uptake that I hardly ever have to repeat myself.” She pulled onto the exit ramp and tapped her brakes. A long line of cars were queued at the intersection leading to her condominium.
Her sarcasm startled a laugh out of Jackie. “Sorry. You’ve just always been work first, play later. This new you takes some getting used to.”
She pulled through the intersection and took a quick right. “I’m almost home. Give me about fifteen minutes and I’ll be back on my way to work. We can conference call while I drive over, if he really can’t wait.”
“I’ll try and stall until you get back. We’ve got some cookies around here somewhere.”
“Okay. And you can always try the basement break room. They get a shipment of bakery goodies from Les Amis every few days.”
“They do? No wonder everybody’s trying to get transferred down there. When did you start that?”
“About a month ago. It’s a long story,” Calista said shortly, sliding her car i
nto the parking spot in front of her condo.
Calista hung up and jumped from the car. If she didn’t take too long, she might even get there before the press people. She pushed open her apartment door and kicked off her shoes. Probably better to throw the clothes away than try to dry-clean the fine linen. She paused, fingering the sleeve of her jacket, a smile tugging up one corner of her mouth. Streaks of red paint slashed from her elbow to her wrist. She remembered a little boy tugging her sleeve, wanting her to see his creation. There had been so many little hands and chattering voices, she couldn’t even keep up with them all. But Grant was a natural, the way he crouched down to talk to them and let a hand on their small shoulders speak volumes. She ran her hand along the dry paint, smiling at the visible memento of a perfect morning.
Grant’s words echoed in her head, about loving like children. She allowed herself to wonder, just for a moment, how Grant loved. Was he someone who fell in love at first sight? Or did he have to warm up to a woman? Any woman he loved would be amazing. She’d certainly have a rock-hard faith, a real purpose in life and a clear calling.
Calista sure had the rock-hard, clear and real part down. But the faith, life and calling was still a work in progress.
She needed to get her priorities straight before she ended up going to the mission just to see Grant. It was so easy to get wrapped up in his purpose, his joy. But she was trying to help other people, not satisfy her own needs.
She’d spent years focusing on herself and now it was time to let God use her for something important, which did not include daydreaming about Grant Monohan.
* * *
“Mija, take this pan to the front line, please.” Marisol passed a large tray to Calista and pointed to the far right, her bright eyes flashing with energy. “The smashed potatoes are almost gone. We cannot have a good Thanksgiving without the smashed potatoes.”
Calista bit back a smile and carried the metal serving dish as quickly as she could out into the serving area. The noise of the packed cafeteria was almost deafening, lessened only by the high-ceilinged room. Everywhere she looked there were tables of people, talking and laughing. It might have been a big party, if not for the number of old men in shabby coats and hollow-cheeked women. If you didn’t look too closely, it was a happy gathering. If you focused on each person, you started to see the tiredness in their faces, the discouragement in the set of their shoulders.
Season of Joy Page 10