“He’s a man you would know. Someone with a good reputation that you would respect.”
“Not likely,” Mother said. Chloe could hear the discomfort in her voice. It had always been Mother, Father, Chloe—with a place at the figurative family table for someone like Jack.
“People change, Mother. People grow up.”
“Yes. I suppose they do.” And in the tiny catch in Mother’s voice between they and do, Chloe heard fear. Fear that Chloe, too, might change. Father’s unexpected death had stunned both of them. Mother had her charities and vigorous volunteer work, and she projected a serene and gracious public image, even in her grief. At home, she held so tightly to her daughter that Chloe dreaded ever disappointing her.
Jack had become Father’s surrogate—the man who could be trusted and admired. Perhaps that was as weighty a burden for Jack as it had been for Chloe.
“I’ve got to go, Mother. Try to keep Jack in North Carolina. Please.”
“Wait. Can you please tell me why you’ve gone off like this? Is there something your father or I didn’t provide? Maybe there’s something Jack needs to do.”
Make love to me like he means it—like it’s the spiritual experience it should be and not another task on the list.
“No, Mother. Please.”
“What will meeting this man accomplish?”
“I have no idea. Probably nothing.”
“Then just come home. We want you home. And you’re endangering your medical-school admission by delaying these interviews.”
“Mother, I didn’t go looking for this. You know that. But sometimes God drops things in your lap and you’ve got to go with it. I don’t know where this is heading or if it means anything—I just need to let it play out.”
“Don’t agree to anything in regard to this liver thing until you discuss it with either me or Jack. Preferably with both of us.”
“Of course not.” Donating part of her liver was the least of her worries.
Rob Jones. How incredibly stupid she had been to think that they’d had an intellectual and emotional connection. Any reminder of that sordid evening made her want to rip her skin off.
Jack made everything orderly. She, on the other hand, had demonstrated a talent for making everything insurmountable. Like those mountains outside her window.
“Sweetheart, may I pray for you?”
“Please, Mother.”
“Heavenly Father, we praise Your name. I thank You for giving me this lovely child, for raising her up to be a lovely woman, a blessing to all who know her. Please shine Your light on Chloe’s path so she will be led into Your will, for Your glory.”
Her mother left a few moments of silence. Chloe could find nothing to add—I flirted, I drank, I danced, dear God, can You ever forgive me?—so she said, “I love you, Mother.”
“I love you, darling. Call Jack,” Mother said and ended the call.
What a comfort it would be to slip back into those little-girl rain boots and let Mother hold her tightly.
What a relief it would be to not have met WaveRunner. Hopefully that foolishness was over and that Hope McCord was buried for good in the blizzard. In the haze that alcohol-soaked evening had been, she must have only imagined him calling her Chloe. The product of a guilty conscience, for sure.
Imagine what it would be like to have no more guilty conscience?
No more lofty expectations. No more of Jack’s blueprints for her life. No birth mothers popping out of nowhere on a Monday morning with a private jet and a desperate request. No sister to make her feel like a puppet on everyone else’s strings.
No deviation from the norm.
If only she could erase these three days and go back to Costco coffee and Duke University degrees and her husband’s plan to shape her so she could help him save the world.
And she saw it in a flash—Jack’s miscalculation of how she could best serve. Excitement made her pulse race. She grabbed her phone, dialed him. “Hey there.”
“Chloe. Hi!”
“Hi.”
“Are you all right?”
Deep breath. No, she wasn’t all right, but she soon would be. “I’m fine. It’s just a tiring trip. Emotionally and everything else.”
“Don’t let them wear you down. Don’t agree to anything without us discussing it.”
“That’s why I called you.”
“You’re not thinking of going through with this donation, are you?”
“Jack, I’m not thinking about that at all.”
“You sure?”
“I’m thinking about us—and how we’ve been talking for years about what we can do to provide help to a suffering world,” she said.
“Glory to God.”
“Of course. And this whole thing about rooting out corruption so private aid and industry will come to poor nations. Jack, I know you’re right. It’s a wanting area in Christian mission work.”
“The concepts are difficult to grasp,” he said, “and they sound worldly.”
Chloe felt excitement building, thought maybe—despite all the terrible things she’d done—maybe God still had a calling for her. “Here’s what I’ve been thinking about. If you’ve got time . . .”
“Of course I have time.” Jack’s tone was eager.
“So third-world countries need medical services. There’s never enough to go around.”
“Why do you think I was so rattled about you missing the UNC interview? That’s one of the best med schools in the nation.”
“Just listen for a minute. Part of any emerging economy—especially one that’s been through a natural disaster—has to include solid infrastructure. Roads and electric grids and clean water.”
“That’s a given. Hard to do, with grants slipping into black holes, contractors providing shoddy materials and shoddier work.”
Chloe smiled. Maybe this would be easier than she anticipated. “We thought I could best serve as a physician . . . but, honey, wouldn’t it be even better if I served at your side?”
“I would love that. You don’t like economics, finance, any of that.”
She laughed and it felt good. “Love you, hate that stuff. Here’s the thing, Jack—I love building things. And I’m really good at fixing things. Think about us working directly together, you helping guide battle-torn or disaster-ravaged areas through the financial morass, and I would work with civil engineers on actually building infrastructure. Isn’t that where corruption is most likely to be rampant? The two need to be a pair. Think about drought-stricken places like West Africa or Kenya. Deep wells would help irrigate crops. And think about Haiti after the earthquake and the desperate need for road rebuilding.”
“Why all this now, Chloe?”
“Because I need to be using the gifts God gave me.”
“You are. You’re a sure thing for getting into med school. The science is all so easy for you.”
“I don’t want to be a physician, Jack. I want to do hands-on engineering.”
“You put that to rest freshman year, didn’t you? Remember how you struggled with Advance Calc? Engineers have to whiz through those types of courses.”
Chloe swallowed her sigh. He had put it to rest, not her. No use slapping him with that now. “I’m four years older. A lot more experienced in handling difficult classes.”
“You’d make such a good physician,” Jack said. “To walk away from that? I don’t see it.”
“Think how many medical missionaries there are, and how few structural engineers.”
“Those are skills that you’re four years behind in learning.”
“Yes, I’ve got ground to make up. If you stay at Duke or go on to Wharton or Sloane for grad school, I can find a good engineering college nearby. I don’t need an MIT degree to make a difference. Just a solid program, maybe a dual civil/mechanical engineering degree.”
“You agreed we were on a good track. Remember?” He sounded as breathless as she felt. “You did agree.”
“I was eight
een years old. I agreed as an excuse for not stepping out in faith to do what God had created me for.”
“So it’s a spiritual argument now? Who is putting these weird ideas in your head?”
“Is that what you think of me, Jack? That I am as malleable as chewing gum?”
“No, darling, no. We want to be clay for the Potter.”
“Just call me Play-Doh and leave it at that. I’ve got to go.”
“Wait, don’t. I’m sorry—I miss you, that’s all. Why don’t I come out there and we can discuss it further? I’ll get on a red-eye out of DC. We can talk about this then, consider our options. Give me a few hours to think this through.”
“Good night, Jack. And don’t even think for one instant about coming here.”
“If we’re going to build anything,” he said, his voice cracking, “it needs to be us.”
Chloe clicked off the call. He dialed back immediately. She let it go to voice mail.
She had allowed Jack to manage the currency of her well-being and purpose instead of personally accepting Jesus’s gift of debt paid, now go and serve as I call you.
It is always easier to let someone else manage the spiritual checking account. If Jack didn’t know her—the essential Chloe, not the constructed one—it was her fault because it was more convenient and painless to go with the holographic image than to let the Savior smash her to bits and rebuild her in His image.
Lovingly. And hands-on.
Chloe fidgeted with her phone. Could you love someone as fervently as Jack claimed to love her and not know them?
Perhaps. Sure. She loved Jesus and yet so often found Him beyond understanding. Did the unknowing make her love any less genuine?
What an excellent question to ask Andrew Hamlin. Assuming he agreed to meet her. Why would he? She’d only bring trouble to his carefully constructed ministry.
Her birth father was a national figure, a respected lecturer and author, a leader in the contemporary evangelical movement. Surely he could help Chloe understand what God required, help her navigate Jack’s objections, and help her forget that a cyber-creep who called himself Rob Jones ever existed.
Good plan. Even Jack would agree.
And then her phone rang and her good plan went up in a blaze.
Thursday, 5:24 p.m.
Destiny’s phone wouldn’t stop binging and buzzing and chiming.
Her sister Sophie texted her:
SC: Is it tru U have 3 new sibs?
DC: Tr. No worries, sis. UR the fav.
SC: Swear?
DC: On a stack of pancakes.
SC: :)
Her phone rang. “Hey.” She recognized Tom’s voice in a split second.
“Hey back-at-cha.”
“Did you make it through the blizzard okay?”
Kicked in the head. Almost poisoned by carbon monoxide. Hypothermia. A foot closer and she might have been decapitated by that sign that crashed through the windshield.
“Just peachy,” she said. “And you?”
“The girls went nuts in the snow. Building forts and sliding down the hill at the side of our house. So I guess it was worth losing power for a few days.”
“Bummer. I missed all the fun,” Destiny said.
“Maybe not. The girls are bugging me to take them to Disneyland in February. Would it be the worst thing in the world if we took you out to eat one night while we’re in LA? We don’t want to impose. Though Natalie wants me to tell you if you happen to know Justin Bieber . . .”
Destiny laughed. “Is Jenny coming?”
“Would that be okay?”
“Absolutely. Do you do roller coasters?”
“What do you think?” Tom said.
“Hah. I guess I know. Bet my stomach can outlast yours.”
“It’s on, child. It is so on.”
She and Tom chatted for a couple more minutes. Jenny came on, spoke with her for a while, and that was that. It was easy to see how this was going to work out. See each other occasionally, otherwise let three thousand miles keep them out of each other’s business.
While she was on the line with Tom, an e-mail from her father—the real one—came in from Washington, DC.
Mom says you are on quite the adventure. Can we talk this weekend? Love, Dad
Talk about a three-thousand-mile relationship. Then again, she and her father had communicated more easily once she’d left the household. She blamed him for always being in DC. He didn’t blame her for anything except making her mother crazy. She had, and apologized to both after Luke finally called her out on it.
Luke. No call or text today. Not that she had any right to know where he was every second. They used to sync their calendars so neither would have to bug the other. They worked odd hours, different projects, and varied locales. It was convenient—and yes, nice—to at least know where the other one was.
Her calendar was empty since Saturday’s wrap. He was scouting locations for one of those gritty cop dramas.
The phone rang. Whittaker. Not Julia’s number. Her husband, perhaps? He had arrived unexpectedly in Colorado to face Saint Andy with her. Maybe he needed something.
“Yes?”
“Hey, Destiny.” A scratchy, adolescent voice.
No. Good grief, don’t make me do this.
“Destiny. You there?”
“Yeah. How did you get this number?”
“My father left a cheat sheet for Pottsie.”
“Pottsie who?”
“My godmother. Weird name, right? She’s hanging with me while Dad is up there with you guys. Did you meet him?”
“No, not yet.”
“Don’t let the bald head fool you. He’s pretty cool. Anyway, he wanted to make sure Auntie P. knew who to call in case of the zombie apocalypse.”
“Considerate of him. Shouldn’t you be in bed or something equally responsible?”
The long pause made her want to bite her tongue. He probably was in bed, day and night.
“Nah,” he said. “I’m cool.”
“So, what’s up? You prowling for another blizzard?”
He laughed. “I know how to use weather.com. It’s thirty degrees and dry in Colorado Springs.”
“So what’s up?”
Dillon cleared his throat. “Nothing.”
“Just like the sound of my voice, huh?”
He laughed. “Better than talking to myself. My voice sounds like a wet cat.”
“You’ll grow into it. Give it a couple ye—”
Dear God, do You hear this? He doesn’t have a couple of years. He may not even have a couple of weeks.
Destiny wanted to slap herself. For someone who threw Luke—and God—out of her house and out of her life, she sure was praying a lot.
“So here’s why I called. When I’m in film school”—he cleared his throat—“would you be willing to take me on as an intern?”
Oh God oh God oh God, don’t do this to me!
“I know it’s a lot to ask,” he said.
“No, it sounds like a great idea. Maybe, like, when you’re feeling better, you can come out here for a week and do a school project. I’ll help you make a couple creatures. Maybe get us into a green room so we can do some computer stuff. You’re taking art?”
“I’m not taking much of anything right now.”
“I’m sorry, man. That stinks.”
“Yeah. Hey, don’t you think it’s cool?”
“What? What’s cool?” Destiny bit the inside of her cheek. She could not let him hear her cry. She could not let him make her cry.
“I never wanted to go into the wedding business. Come on, a guy doing the bride thing? My dad’s like a martyr, doing that stuff. My parents have their gig and I have mine. I figure it’s got to be a God thing.”
“What does?”
“Us. You and me. You’re doing what I want to do. Now I have someone in the family, someone I can trust to help me learn. So thanks.”
“Anytime, pal. Anytime.”
T
hey ended the call. Destiny went to her bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. Tick tock. Time is running out. She would either have to cut out of this caravan or get tested. And if she got tested, and was a match, she would have to do it.
She liked Dillon too much not to.
Thursday, 5:55 p.m.
This is the longest walk of my life.
Matt held her hand as they followed Rick Stanley down the hall. The steps from the reception area to the conference room where Andy waited seemed endless.
She thought about the long walk in Boston, searching for a place to put Tom, and that past, to rest. Finally driving to Nahant, the long hike to the rocks. The waves washing away the chalk.
Jesus. Cleansing. Redeeming.
Tom would never replace Destiny’s father but he would add to her life, and she would add to his life and his family’s. Boston was good, but this dark hall and the march to face her past could only lead to pain.
Julia had left Andy and Katie in the dark all these years. Clinging to baby Hope as her treasure—her secret—and not giving him the chance to claim her.
Not giving Katie the chance to forgive her husband. Did she even know? Surely Andy told her, given they’d gone on to the kind of speaking ministry they enjoyed. They had expanded Andy’s first book, When God Is Not Easy, to a variety of life circumstances.
They passed one office after another, windows showing dark night outside. Rick Stanley opened a door and motioned for Julia and Matt to go in.
She saw Kathleen Hamlin first, though Andy’s physical presence seemed to fill the room. Both were composed, body language loose and inviting. How many people did they receive in a day, listening to stories, counseling with grace, the personal touch of a man and his wife who had a vibrant—and very public—ministry.
She and Matt could leave right now, leave these people with the life that they had built. Send Chloe home to North Carolina, tell her to put that awful thing with Rob Jones behind her and just live the life that God had set before her.
If Julia chickened out, Destiny would freak, neither girl would get tested, and Dillon would lose the best hope they had for his recovery.
Julia shook Katie’s hand and then Andy’s—his palm sweaty—as Matt introduced himself and her.
“Of course! I remember you,” Andy said. “We worked together at IronWorks. Reverend Paul and his people are still going strong up there, praise the Lord.”
To Know You (9781401688684) Page 24