The congregation rose to their feet as the band started to play. Some people raised their hands into the air; others clapped along to the music. Many people swayed along with the beat. They sang every song three times, at least. Why did they have to do that? Didn’t they know enough worshippy songs to do more of a variety rather than sing the same ones over and over?
Amber didn’t want to stare at Brittany, but—dying to know if she joined in on all the hoopla—she cast a subtle glance out of the left corner of her eye without turning her head at all.
Brittany sang along with the music. In fact, she knew the song well enough to sing along with her eyes closed. That must mean they did the same ones every week, too. Sigh.
The pastor took the microphone and invited people to come forward if they needed prayer for some reason. Amber stared openmouthed when Brittany’s mom scrambled over the feet of at least eight people to get to the other side of their seating section. She went down theaisle and stood before the pastor with the other hopefuls. Amber counted two women wearing hats, three men in ties, two kids she knew from school, one little boy with his arm in a cast, and an elderly man in a wheelchair being pushed by a bent-over woman—likely his wife. What did they all expect God to do for them? What could He do for them? It was different than the prayer time at the concert. This time the lights were bright, and people were just looking around like it was no big deal.
Amber checked her fingernails, then counted the lights hanging from the ceiling while the pastor prayed for the people up front and the band continued to play and sing soft repeats of the choruses they had already sung. The music finally ended, the pastor prayed again, the offering baskets passed from hand to hand, then, finally, sermon time. Half down, half to go.
Amber wished she’d mastered the art of sleeping with her eyes open. But wait. She wanted to try to take it all in, didn’t she? I want to find God, right? She sat up straighter and popped a piece of gum into her mouth hoping the sugar would perk her up.
“… still small voice that He uses to call out to you in your life.” Pastor Johnson paced across the stage while he spoke. “It always seems like the devil, our enemy, shouts at us with temptations, taunts, sarcasm, while the Holy Spirit of God whispers through the storm. You see, He’s one classy guy. He doesn’t need to shout, beg, or make deals with us. He just speaks truth, quietly. He knows we’ll hear it when we’re ready to listen for it.” He paused and looked around at the people.
He’s right. Those voices, those battles she’d been having since the White Horse concert came to Amber’s mind. Why did the wrong things always look more appealing, more fun, but the right choices were quiet, difficult, and not nearly as shiny? I thought I was the only one who felt that way.
Pastor Johnson continued. “There is not one thing new under the sun. This isn’t any surprise to God, and it shouldn’t be any surprise to us. The Bible tells us how our enemy operates. It also tells us we need to shut off his access to us by not giving him an ear. Learn the sound of the voice of God, and meditate on His truths so you can’t mistake an imposter.”
The rest of the service moved swiftly, and they stood for the last chorus before Amber knew it. Time for shopping.
After they dropped Mr. and Mrs. Kim off at home, Brittany turned the car in the direction of the mall. “So?” She looked at Amber, her eyes big with hope. “Did you hate it this time?”
“Surprisingly, no.” Amber shook her head and thought hard about her answer. “In fact, there were a few things I’ll have to think about.” She didn’t want Brittany to get the wrong idea, though. “But, Britt. Come on, the music and stuff? That’s a little much for me.” She shook her head. “It’s like my mom and dad’s church goes to one extreme and yours goes to the other.”
“Yeah, it probably seems that way. You’d get used to it in time and eventually start to enjoy it, I promise.” Brittany looked thoughtful. “Hey, speaking of your parents’ church—between the two, which do you prefer?”
“Oh, no contest. If I had to choose, yours! Hands down.” Amber feigned horror at the thought. “That’s like asking if you prefer a funeral or a baby shower.” Both girls laughed.
Amber turned toward the window and realized they had passed the mall. “Where are we going? I thought we were going shopping.”
“We are. We’re going for the good stuff on Mom and Dad—forget the mall.” She pulled into the parking lot of a high-end strip center.
“Britt, I can’t let your parents pay for clothes for me. I don’t really need anything, anyway.” Amber reached for the door handle. “I’m calling this a window-shopping trip for me.”
“Come on. Don’t be silly.” Brittany waved the gold card in the air like a dangling carrot taunting Amber.
Amber laughed and shrugged. “We’ll see.”
They wandered through the stores, felt the rich fabrics, and tried on several outfits. Then they saw them. The perfect pair of Lucky Brand jeans—long, dark, just-right wash. Perfect.
“Amber, you need to try these on. They’ll never fit me.” Brittany shoved the hanger at her.
Amber lifted the price tag, then peered at it through one squinted eye. “One hundred dollars? You have GOT to be kidding. There’s no way.” She started to return them to the rack.
“Don’t look at the price. Try them on.” Brittany grabbed Amber’s shoulders and steered her toward the fitting rooms.
Against her better judgment, Amber slipped on the jeans. Ahh. Second skin. Made for her. “Well, you were right. They are perfect. But I’m not getting them.”
“Sure you are. Take them off.”
“Did you hear me, Britt? A hundred bucks! I’m not buying them.”
“No, you’re not buying them. I am. End of discussion.”
Amber got dressed quietly. She wanted those jeans—badly—but felt awkward having Brittany buy them for her. I guess that’s what friends are for, right?
By the time she’d finished dressing, Amber had decided to let Brittany buy the jeans for her if she really wanted to.
On the way to the cash register—Brittany with a small pile in her arms, and Amber with her pair of jeans—they passed the Donna Karan section. Amber stopped short at the sight of a mannequin wearing an emerald green pintucked blazer, black slacks, and a white blouse—the kind of outfit that never went out of style.
“I wish I could buy my mom that outfit right there.” Amber pointed at the mannequin.
“Well, get it for her. I told you, sky’s the limit.”
“No way! I’m not letting you buy something for my mom. I was just saying …” Amber checked the price tags. “Besides, it’s twice as much as my jeans. No way.”
“Seriously, Amber. If you don’t, I’m going to have to come all the way back here and get itlater. Save me the trip.” Brittany winked.
“No. Really. You can’t.” Amber pleaded with her eyes. “Mom would be really embarrassed. She’d never be able to take it and enjoy it. I’ll save up for it and get it for her birthday or something.”
“That’s a lot of money to save for a birthday present.” Brittany gave in but shrugged her shoulders. “It’s already March. Isn’t her birthday in August?”
Amber gazed out the storefront window. “Mom doesn’t care much about that stuff anyway.” She’s happy with what she has.
Chapter 7
INDIFFERENCE
“Wouldn’t you rather go to a wedding than a funeral, Mom?” Amber ran her fingers through her hair, fighting the urge to pull it out.
“Come on, now. Our church is not like a funeral. Not even close.” Mom dried her hands on the dishrag as she walked past Amber. “I don’t know how you can even say that.” She left the kitchen, but a few seconds later, poked her head around the corner. “And I suspect Brittany’s church—or is it yours now, too?—isn’t much like a wedding, either.” Apparently having said her last words on the subject, she left for real.
Dad lowered his newspaper and pursed his lips. “Amber, I don’t unde
rstand what you have against our church. It teaches good, solid, biblical doctrine. It forces you to think. It takes you to a higher level of understanding.”
“I know all about it, Dad. I went there for years and years, remember?” Amber tapped on her chin, deep in thought. “In fact”—she held up a finger—”I went there every week until you decided I could choose for myself where—or even if—I wanted to go at all. Remember?”
Dad nodded slowly.
“Well, that’s what I’m doing. I’m exercising the right you gave me to make up my own mind—find my own way.”
Dad eyes drooped with his frown as he turned his saucer and watched his milky coffee swirl in the cup.
Amber didn’t mean to hurt his feelings. “Dad, your church … they’re good people. They mean well. It’s just—”
“What?” He looked up with heat in his eyes. “What could you possibly have against good Bible instruction and well-intentioned scholars?”
“That’s just it, Dad. I don’t want Bible instruction—at least not right now.”
“But—”
She held up her hand. “Hold on. Please let me finish.”
He softened his expression and sat back in his seat.
Amber exhaled the breath she’d been holding. “If I go to church, I want to learn how to really know God, how I’m supposed to live, and how to actually do it. I don’t care one bit about how many horsemen are in a legion, or how many cubits long the wall around Jericho measured, or that the Greek word for baptism is baptizo.”
Dad’s eyebrows rose, and his jaw dropped.
Amber laughed at his expression and rocked her chair on its back two legs. “Yes, silly. I remember some things. Probably more than you think I do. But I need more than that right now … or less … maybe just different. I don’t know.” She let the front legs of the chair fall forward on the once-white linoleum with a thud. “I need heart, not facts and figures. I want … um … relationship. I guess that’s the word.”
“You want that?” Dad asked softly.
“Well, I mean … I don’t know what I want, really. But if I did search for God, that’s how I would do it.” Why did she find it so difficult to be honest about this? Because if she told them about her spiritual search, they wouldn’t leave her alone about it, that’s why. But then again, if she confided in them, maybe they could help her find her way. No … one look at her dad’s eager-Labrador expression confirmed her initial fears. She’d have to keep it to herself for now.
Amber heard a honk in the driveway. She dumped her dishes in the sink and hurried to grab her purse. Would she need a jacket? The weather had started to warm up some, but the springtime dew from the mountains still lent a chill to the air at times. She reached in the hall closet by the front door and grabbed a pale-green nylon Windbreaker before rushing out the door—didn’t want to keep Mr. and Mrs. Kim waiting.
Seeing Brittany in the driver’s seat, Amber approached the passenger side. Puzzled, she opened the door. “Where are your mom and dad?
“They weren’t feeling well this morning, so they stayed home.”
“Oh.” Tasting the bitter exhaust fumes, she climbed into the car.
Neither girl said anything for a moment, suddenly presented with an opportunity. They looked at each other. Amber didn’t want to suggest it first—then they both smiled.
“You want to?” Amber decided to make the first move.
Brittany didn’t even try to pretend she didn’t know what Amber suggested. “Breakfast? Shopping?” She grinned.
“I’m game.” She tried to sound excited, but why did she suddenly feel disappointed about not going to church? She couldn’t prefer church over eating and shopping. Could she? “I even have money today. I babysat this week, plus mom gave me forty dollars for new shoes.” She chewed her bottom lip. “But I mean, we could still do all of that if you wanted to go to church first.”
“Oh, sure. I know. But everyone needs a break now and then.”
“Okay. Fine with me. I was just saying.” Amber felt a twinge of regret for arguing with her mom and dad and then deciding not to go at all. Oh well, they would never even know.
“Besides, if we wait until the churches let out, we’ll never get a table anywhere.” Brittany put on her turn signal and made a U-turn at the next intersection. She turned the car toward the strip-mall entrance where their favorite breakfast spot, Egg-static, had a corner position. “We haven’t gone here for the Sunday breakfast buffet in a long time.”
“I know. It’s so yummy, and it’s only $5.95.” Amber patted her belly. “If they knew how much you could eat, though, they’d probably charge more—at least double.”
“Ha-ha. You’re funny.” Brittany grinned and rubbed her tummy. No secret how much food she could pack away.
Cars filled most of the spots in the lot outside the restaurant, so they pulled into one at the bank next door, and then walked over to the entrance. They groaned when they saw the long line at the door. The sweet cinnamon smell of the baking rolls and the sound of the sizzling bacon made Amber’s stomach rumble.
They shifted impatiently as they stood in the slowly whittling line. Finally, the hostess called their name, then took them to a small booth at the back of the room. They slid onto the green vinyl seats next to the windows and ordered coffee and orange juice.
“Hey, this is really nice.” Amber poured two packs of sugar and two creams into her coffee, then took a sip.
“Tell me about it. It really is.” Brittany tapped her fingernails on the table. “But I’m famished. I’m getting a plate.”
They wove among the three buffet bars and piled their plates high. Amber picked up the ladle of oatmeal, but let it plop back into the steaming vat—too lumpy. She settled on some of the cheesy bacon-and-egg quiche, some fresh fruit, a few slices of bacon, and a small cinnamon roll.
Brittany’s plate had a few scoops of scrambled eggs, hash browns, a few pieces of sausage, and a cinnamon roll. She also carried a bowl with two biscuits and a huge dousing of sausage gravy. She put it all on the table and slid into the booth. “Wow. I don’t know if even I can eat all of this.”
“Five bucks says you eat it all and then go for some fruit.” Amber blew on a bite of the hot quiche.
“You’re on!”
They tore into their breakfasts, mouths too full to speak for the first few minutes. Finally, between bites, Brittany opened her mouth, as if to say something, and then closed it right away.
“What were you going to tell me?” Amber prodded.
“I wanted to ask you something, but I hate to bring it up.” She stirred her hash browns in the pool of ketchup then took a sip of her coffee.
Amber waited, knowing Brittany would eventually spit it out.
“Awhile ago, you mentioned something. It’s kind of bothered me since then. I haven’t wanted to say anything. But … I sort of feel like if I don’t say something now, I never will and it’ll keep bugging me.” She kept her eyes down.
Amber put her fork down and waited. “Well, if something’s on your mind, Britt, you should talk to me. Just say it.”
Brittany looked her in the eyes. “It’s about something you said on the ski lift.”
Amber’s heart sank. She thought Brittany had forgotten about that. “What did I say?”
They waited while the waitress set down a basket of their famous toasted-almond biscotti and refilled their coffee cups.
“It’s not really what you said, it’s more what you were going to say. Remember?”
“Sorry, I’m going to need more details. That was a long time ago.” Amber cut off a bite-sized piece of quiche with her fork. She moved it around on her plate and then just let it lie there.
“You started to kind of hint that you wanted me to let you win the car.” Brittany almost whispered the words. She took a bite of her cinnamon roll, and then sat back against the booth, chewing slowly, as though she couldn’t swallow past a lump in her throat.
“Oh. That?”
Amber waved her hand in the air. “It didn’t mean anything. Really. It was a stupid thought, and it hasn’t crossed my mind since.” She dunked the end of a biscotti into her coffee and held it there to soak.
Brittany peered at her with one eyebrow raised.
“Really, Britt.” She took a bite of the softened cookie as though it somehow sealed her point.
“Well, I have to tell you. It kind of bugs me that you ever even said it. Momentary lapse or not.” Brittany shrugged. “I’m being honest. I don’t think it’s fair you even had those thoughts.”
She’s not going to let it go. Amber sighed.
Brittany twisted her napkin and tied it into a knot. “I mean, am I supposed to forfeit the contest just because you need a car more? Does anything in life work that way? The lottery? Job interviews? The Oscars or the Emmys? Nothing works like that.”
Amber opened her mouth, but Brittany hadn’t finished.
“Besides …” Brittany put her napkin down. “The contest isn’t only about the car. It’s a huge honor to win it. It’ll mean a lot on transcripts and everything. Why should I forfeit that?”
Amber didn’t look at Brittany while she formulated her words. “Look, Brittany. I shouldn’t have said it. It had been kind of atough week for me personally. I’d been worried about my family—my dad had some interviews that didn’t go anywhere—and thinking about my future. It was selfish, and I wasn’t thinking about anything but the car.”
“You know … it’s not my fault your dad got fired.”
Amber’s head reeled as if slapped.
Brittany’s eyes immediately flashed with regret, but it was too late to take the words back.
“I can’t believe you said that. My dad didn’t get fired. He got laid off. And no one ever suggested you were at fault. That’s ridiculous. Like I said, I was only thinking about the car—which you don’t need, by the way—I wasn’t thinking about the other benefits of winning.” She took a few breaths to calm her fuming nerves. “Wait a second. You mentioned transcripts.” Amber narrowed her eyes. “We found out weeks ago that we both got awarded full scholarships. So, how does this contest help with that? What do our transcripts have to do with it anymore?”
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