“And yet, the jurors ruled in her favor. Excellent. Anything else?”
“Maybe.” Mr. Wheeler sifted through his briefcase again, producing low-quality images. “I found these on a college alumni website.” He handed them over. “They appear old and based on the captions—I couldn’t find anything more than that—they are from a past spring break trip. Inconsequential, I’m sure.”
Richard studied the images of three guys dressed in Bermudas and ball caps, each holding a beer. All except for Mr. Langley, who raised what resembled a bottle of Vodka to his mouth. The men looked to be in their early twenties. They were at the beach, posing with very curvy girls dressed in string bikinis. Though the girls were well-endowed, they looked young, maybe underage. Richard couldn’t be sure.
He looked at Mr. Wheeler. “Who are these girls?”
The man, still scowling, shrugged, and Richard didn’t push it. It didn’t matter. The images, along with the man’s legal issues, were condemning enough. He glanced at the photo again, smiling. Yes, these were very condemning indeed, especially considering Ainsley’s issues with her father.
Mr. Langley, the neighbor with the choirboy image stood sandwiched between two blondes, posing quite provocatively. A brunette stood behind him, her arms draped around his chest. Making a kissing face at the camera, she held a beer in one hand and a bikini top in another.
He set the photo on the table in front of him. “This confirms my suspicions, Mr. Wheeler.” Clearly, Mr. Langley was after one thing, and he’d set his lustful sights on poor, naive Ainsley. He needed to make sure the man’s efforts proved unsuccessful, and now he had the means to do just that.
Standing, he grabbed the photo and court papers. “Combined with the court documents you found, this image is quite telling. Quite telling indeed.”
Chris straightened the already tidy café. Funny how anxious a simple concert made him, although something told him it was more than that. If all went according to plan, tonight had the capacity to launch his dreams. And if it flopped? Well, then he’d have to try again at a later date.
But would Ainsley be so willing to join him the next time?
“How many people are you expecting tonight?” Candy leaned over the counter, hair twirling as usual.
“Don’t know. Twenty? Ten? Sixty-five?”
Her eyes widened. “How can I handle all those people by myself? Cuz Ainsley’s singing with you, right? Meaning, I’ll have to take all the orders single-handedly?”
Chris raked his fingers through his hair. Something he hadn’t thought about—how to deal with the influx of people. He scanned the handful of customers seated throughout the café. “Can you handle it here for a minute?”
Candy shrugged. “Yeah, whatever.”
“Great. I’ll be back in a few. An hour tops.” Running outside, he cinched up his jacket and raced home. Twenty minutes later, he pulled into the gravel parking lot of North Kansas City Ray of Hope, smiling. The midafternoon sun glistened on freshly fallen snow and tiny icicles sparkled in the chain-link fence. He practically bounced across the parking lot, stomped his snow-packed shoes on the concrete stoop, then threw open the door.
Rose met him in the hallway. “Everything all right? aren’t you supposed to be leading a concert?”
He glanced past her into the dark cafeteria then toward the long stairwell to their left before returning her gaze. “Yep, but I’m a bit shorthanded.”
She shook her head. “It’s just me and about half a dozen residents today.”
“Perfect. Any of them need a job?”
“I know what you’re up to, boy.” She clapped her hands and laughed. “Yes sir. And do I have the perfect workers for you. You wait a moment while—” She frowned and snapped her fingers. “Blast it all. She’s got two young ’uns, and I don’t think she’d feel safe leaving them here with me. Not yet. Poor girl’s as timid as a beat-down horse.”
“Then tell her to bring them.”
“For real? Well, all right then!” She turned on her heels and hiked up the stairs, pulling on the railing for support, laughing and shaking her head the whole way.
She returned less than five minutes later with two women and three kids—William and Wanda among them. The other two children were strapped in strollers.
Chris offered his biggest smile. “Looks like I’ve got a winning crew.” He grabbed William in a headlock and playfully rubbed his fist in the kid’s hair.
Ainsley added a dash of mousse to her damp locks, scrunched the curls, then surveyed her reflection in the mirror. Her stomach fluttered, making her laugh. Twenty-nine years old, acting like that awkward waif of a seventh-grader about to bomb the junior high talent show. It was a café performance for goodness’ sake, not Madison Square Garden.
Her doorbell chimed. After a quick glance at her nightstand, she spun around and darted down the hall. She opened the door to find Gina standing on the other side with a cheek-bunching grin and a camera dangling from her neck.
Ainsley stepped back, shaking her head. “Oh no, you don’t. Absolutely no pictures. You may as well leave that thing behind.”
Gina breezed past her. “But then how would I Facebook tag you? You know I created a page for this event, don’t you?”
Ainsley’s already somersaulting stomach flip-flopped as heat flooded her face. “You didn’t.”
“Of course I did. It’s not every day my best friend gives a concert performance, you know. Besides, it’s for an excellent cause. Imagine how many meals you guys can provide with this thing.”
Gina had a good point. Images of dirty, smiling faces from the shelter surfaced, adding perspective to her trivial concerns. While Ainsley worried about flubbing it in front of a crowd, the women feared spending yet another night on the street.
She threw her hands up. “OK. Fine. You’re right. Wanna help me choose an outfit? If I’m going to fall on my face, I’d like to at least look good doing it.”
“Absolutely!”
When Ainsley entered the jam-packed café twenty minutes later, her courage waned. Lingering in the doorway, she sucked in three successive breaths and willed her stomach to uncoil with each exhale. It didn’t work.
Gina looked at her. “You all right? Not gonna hyperventilate, are you? Because that could get messy. I never learned CPR.”
“So funny, and so not helpful. Besides, it’s too late to ditch now.” Although the idea had crossed her mind.
Chris approached. “Good morning. Hey, we’ve got the paparazzi! Awesome. I’ll tell Stan from the Star you’ll be handling the pictures.”
Ainsley swallowed, her hands growing clammy. “Reporters from the Kansas City Star are here?”
Chris’s eyes gleamed. “Crazy, huh? I guess they caught wind of this event somehow. They said it was a perfect community piece—local businesses helping out the underprivileged. And what a great way to generate community awareness for the shelter.” He draped his arm across William’s shoulder who now stood by his side. “And here’s our drummer.”
William’s gaze fell to the floor.
“Really?” Ainsley smiled, resisting the urge to wrap the boy in a hug. “We’re really going to rock the house then.”
William’s head snapped up, a toothy grin exploding across his face. “Yes, ma’am!”
“Well, ladies.” Chris gave a parting nod. “Guess we better find some percussion instruments for our friend here.” The two wandered off through the crowd toward the back hallway, likely in search of an empty coffee can and a pair of wooden spoons. Unless Chris had drums stashed somewhere.
Gina looped her arm through Ainsley’s and gave a squeeze. “See, this is way bigger than you. Think you can die to yourself for a few hours to give that kid the time of his life—a chance to hold his head high?”
Ainsley nodded. “Absolutely.”
Ten minutes later, Chris quieted the room by clinking a spoon against a ceramic mug. “Sorry, folks, but our sound system’s on the blink today.” The audience lau
ghed. Chris looked around then locked eyes with Ainsley. He motioned her forward.
A wave of nausea swept through her, threatening hiccups. Walking on wobbly, adrenaline-pricked legs, she joined William and Chris in front of the crowd. Three stools stood behind them.
Chris pulled a tall accent table from the wall and positioned it in front of one the stools. He plopped an overturned coffee can on top of it. “Thanks for coming out. What better way to spend a Saturday then praising God and helping His children?”
Amens echoed throughout the room and a whistle split the air. Ainsley glanced at Chris, who spoke words of encouragement through his steady gaze.
Once the crowd quieted, he introduced the rest of his band then gave William a nod.
William’s cheeks colored as he perched behind the coffee can. Using two wooden spoons, he tapped on the metal surface, softly at first, but gaining strength as he continued.
Chris shot Ainsley a wink and a nod, picked up his guitar, and started to strum.
Ainsley closed her eyes as the melody swept over her.
Just You and me, God. Just You and me.
Chris’s voice plunged her heart into the song until the words poured from her. By the second verse, a peace so deep it permeated every part of her took hold.
When all else fails, I run to You, for You alone shield me from the storm.
When the icy current crashes through, Your love alone keeps me warm.
I surrender now to the lover of my soul.
Take my heart and make me whole
I run to You, to Your arms of grace
I run to You, the lifter of my face
Be near me now
Hear me now
Cleanse me now
Remove my sin-ravaged heart and make me whole.
William slowed the beat, and they ended with a melodious hum.
They played three more songs, two crowd-stirring fast, and one tear-jerking reflective. Halfway through the third chorus, Ainsley opened her eyes to see families gathered close, mothers holding their children, chins rested on tiny heads, swaying to the music.
Chapter 42
hris stuffed a wad of cash into the bank bag, zipped it closed, then shut the register. Ainsley peered at him from the other side of the counter. She glanced around for Gina, anxious to share this moment with her, but her friend appeared to be engaged in conversation.
Ainsley faced Chris with anticipation. “Well?”
“Well . . . Laughter filled his eyes. “Take a guess.”
“Eight hundred?”
He shook his head.
“Nine?”
“Nope.”
“A thousand?”
William’s chestnut eyes grew rounder with each raise.
Chris reached into his back pocket, pulled out a 3-by-5 index card, and recited the verse printed on it. “Now to him who is able to do exceedingly more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work in us, to him be the glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever. Amen!” (Ephesians 3:20–21; paraphrase). Dropping the card, he drummed his fingers on the counter. “And the grand total is . . . $1,575.63.”
The girls squealed, and Ainsley gave William a high five. “Amen is right!”
Wanda threw her head back and laughed. “Amen, amen, amen!” She enveloped her son in a sideways hug. “Much more than William and I could imagine, that’s for sure. Got food in our bellies and cash in our pockets.” She teared up. “Thank you for letting us work. Most folks don’t give me the time of day.”
Chris smiled. “I could use you Monday too. If you’re available.”
“Available? Honey, I got all the time in the world.” White teeth flashed before fading beneath a frown. “So long as the bus comes out this way.” She looked at her son then lifted her chin. “But don’t you worry none. I’ll make it work.”
Chris’s smile grew. He pulled a business card from his back pocket and handed it to her. “And if you can’t, give me a jingle. I’d be more than happy to pick you up.”
William nestled in the crook of his mother’s arm, peaceful smiles on both of their faces.
Ainsley could’ve soaked in the moment forever. God had showered them all with so many blessings, well beyond what she could’ve hoped for. And her first official concert. The thought still made her giddy.
As if sensing her joy, Chris smiled and reached for her hand, twining his pinky with hers. “I better get you all back to the shelter.” He glanced around at the remaining customers, who seemed in no hurry to leave. “Would you mind locking up for me?”
“Not at all.”
He tossed her the keys, rounded the counter, and pulled a paper sack from the shelf, handing it to William. “Would you like to pick out a few pastries before we go?”
The boy’s eyes widened and his tongue flicked across his bottom lip. He looked at his grinning mother. She nodded.
While he scoured the pastry shelf, Chris turned to Ainsley, the intensity in his eyes causing her pulse to quicken. “I’ll be back in a few, if you’d like to hit a movie or something.”
She smiled. “I’d love to.”
Ainsley watched Chris leave, her heart swelling from the day and all God had done. It felt so good to sing again. She couldn’t quite explain the feeling, except that it was as if God Himself had reached down to her, was smiling over her.
A verse swept through her mind, threatening sweet, joyful tears. “For the Lord your God is with you. . . . He will rejoice over you with joyful songs” (Zephaniah 3:17; paraphrase).
Oh, how she longed for that to be true! To hear God say, “Well done, good and faithful servant!” (Matthew 25:23 NIV).” She wasn’t sure what the future held, or even what God was calling her to. But one thing she knew for certain: she planned to spend the rest of her life discovering what that was.
Breathing deep, she turned to see Gina approaching with an older gentleman, her lips twitching toward a smile.
The man appeared to be in his midthirties. His hair in a loose ponytail, and his face clean-shaven except for a strip of hair running from his bottom lip to just below his chin. He wore a T-shirt and ripped jeans and held a coffee mug in his hand.
Gina wasted no time with small talk. “Remember that friend of a friend I told you about?”
Ainsley tilted her head, sifting through past conversations.
“My friend, meet Matt Wharton from New Life Records.”
Her stomach bottomed out as her memory kicked in, and for a moment, she felt as if her legs would buckle beneath her. Face hot, she stared from the man to her friend then back to the man, all intelligible words suddenly erased from her brain.
The man smiled, obviously accustomed to seeing grown women scared mute. He extended a hand. “Good to meet you, Miss Meadows. As your friend said, I’m from New Life Records, a Christian record label, and I’m always looking for fresh talent. Is there a place we can talk?” He glanced around.
“Yes.” She cleared the squeak from her throat and motioned to a nearby table. “Would you like something to drink? A coff—”
The man raised his mug. “I’m fine, thank you.” He sat, and Ainsley did the same in the chair across from him. “So, your friend tells me you like to sing?”
Laughter bubbled in Ainsley’s throat as dreams she’d only recently allowed to resurface rushed to the forefront of her heart. Breathing deep to maintain composure, she nodded. “I do. More than anything.”
“Great. Because I’d like to sign you.”
Her mouth dropped open, and she stared at him long enough for it to become awkward. “Excuse me?”
“I’d like to sign you. You have the look—modern, yet chic without being . . . inappropriately so. I’m sure you’ve been told how beautiful you are.”
She dropped her gaze, her face heating.
“And yet, you have an endearing shyness about you I know fans will love. Combined with your sweet voice.” He grinned. “I am confident you will be a
perfect fit for New Life Records. What do you say?”
Her heart leaped, with no trace of her usual fear and hesitation. And yet, even so, she needed to be absolutely certain this was God’s will. “It sounds amazing, Mr. Wharton. Truly. But if you don’t mind, I’d like to take some time to pray over this.”
His grin widened. “Of course.” He pulled a second business card from his pocket along with a pen. “Can I send you information via email?”
A shiver of excitement ran through her, but she did her best to maintain appropriate composure. “Yes, please do.”
Richard pulled his cell phone from his pocket and skimmed through his missed alerts with a scowl. If Ainsley continued to avoid his calls, he’d have no choice but to allow the post office to deliver his scandalous news. But she couldn’t fall into his arms for comfort if he wasn’t there. No, he’d wait. She’d answer her phone eventually. If not, he’d show up on her doorstep ready to offer condolences.
“Richard, are you listening?”
He glanced up and gave Eric a dismissive wave. “Yes. You were explaining how you intended to generate more publicity for my upcoming book launch. I hope you don’t plan to include more no-name radio station interviews.”
Eric fiddled with the papers in front of him. “I’ve scheduled one hundred blog tours, and I need you to provide answers to these interview questions by next Friday.” He pushed a stack of papers across the table.
Richard read the typed questions. Why did he choose to write about schizophrenia? What made his book different than the others already available on the topic? How many years of clinical research backed the theories he presented? At least these questions were pertinent to the subject matter. On the first page anyway. After skimming a few more pages, he folded his hands on top of the table and stared at Eric.
“Is this a joke?”
Eric shook his head and started to speak but Richard raised a hand.
“Suzie’s Homeopathic, Aromatic, and Soul-centered Meditations? What possible benefit could I find in appearing on her site?”
Beyond I Do Page 26