by Max Lucado
Hancock gave a deep sigh and turned to face his mom. Chelsea was not yet fluent in twelve-year-old boy, but she was fairly certain this meant he was ready to talk.
“Did something happen at school? Trouble with friends?”
“I don’t have any friends. So no. But that’s just . . . whatever. I came late, and everybody already had friends.”
Chelsea felt for him. All the changes had been hard enough on her; she could not imagine going through them as a middle schooler. “So what’s on your mind?”
Hancock propped himself up on his elbow. “It’s just . . . all about the café all the time. I want things to go back to normal.”
“I know it’s been busy, but this is a learning phase. We’re all learning a new normal.”
“Why can’t we just go back to the old normal?”
Her son knew perfectly well it was a loaded question. And even though he knew the answer, he couldn’t help asking. Tonight the truth was welling up in his watery blue eyes.
“We have to keep moving forward. Besides, you don’t want a mom who can’t run a business or take care of her family,” Chelsea said, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “But I promise I’ll carve out some time just for us. Even if I have to hire some extra help.”
“You really promise?” he asked in a small, shaky voice.
“I really promise,” Chelsea said. And she really meant it.
Hancock must have heard it in her voice, because a heavy burden seemed to lift from his chest as the words left her mouth. Then and there, Chelsea knew that whatever she had to do to keep her promise would be well worth it.
Chapter 17
It was the planet Saturn that brought me here. This morning’s horoscope compelled me to seek ‘art, vitality, and value’ in my occupational pursuits. When I looked up from the paper, I saw it. The sign was right there in front of me.”
Chelsea’s curiosity was piqued. “What kind of sign?”
“The sign for the Higher Grounds Café,” Katrina said. “It was uncanny. Although it helped that Saturn’s orbit was working in my favor. I’m a Scorpio.”
“Right.”
Katrina was Chelsea’s third interview for the newly opened position at the café. She wore beads, a tie-dye shirt, and a long flowing skirt. Her angular face was framed by a shock of red hair, and her eyes and lips were painted with shimmering silver.
“And you expect to find art, vitality, and value working at a café?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Katrina asked. “Coffee is the most traded commodity in the world—second only to oil.”
“Wow, I had no idea!”
“A person can live a day without silver or gold, but coffee? No thanks.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more,” Chelsea said.
She had a good feeling about Katrina. She called Manny to the table and made the introduction. “Looks like you’ll have a new barista buddy! This is Katrina. After all the other candidates, I’m convinced she’s heaven sent. Any questions for her before you guys start?”
Manny assessed the young woman. Judging by her unique appearance, there was a fifty-fifty chance she was indeed sent from above. But there was only one way to find out. Manny crossed his arms and fired off a round of loaded questions.
“Where are you from?”
“Just moved here from Phoenix.”
“And who do you report to?”
“My Uncle Frank, I guess. I’m living with him.”
“What do you know about the God Blog?”
“The what? I’m not good with computers.”
“Are you good with people?”
“Not as good as you,” Katrina said drily.
Manny’s smile cracked through his tough-guy facade. Moments later, Katrina was working alongside him behind the counter.
Chapter 18
Compared to talkative Manny, Katrina was a woman of few words, but she wasn’t shy or sheepish. She just preferred her work, or her “art” as she called it, to do the talking. And what a rich conversationalist she could be! As a thank-you for hiring her, Katrina crafted Chelsea her favorite drink, a simple latte. Only this latte was anything but simple.
Chelsea watched as Katrina pulled two shots of espresso into the blank canvas of a white mug. She steamed the milk to perfection. But she didn’t just dump it over the espresso willy-nilly. Oh no. Katrina thumped the stainless steel pitcher on the counter, dispersing the unsightly big bubbles of milk. She tipped the white liquid into the mug, her wrist twisting back and forth. Seconds later, Katrina unveiled her masterpiece: a latte topped with the coffee foam image of the planet Saturn.
“This is beautiful! Thank you, Katrina.”
Chelsea was grateful. With Katrina, Chelsea had enough added margin in her day to tend to the baked goods in her new oven and even share a lunch with her kids. And much to Chelsea’s delight, her patrons were just as appreciative of her new hire.
The first afternoon rush was a lively family who had recently been relocated to San Antonio. Their accents placed them as New Yorkers, so Katrina served them with a taste of home: cappuccinos emblazoned with the Statue of Liberty. The father left a fifty-dollar tip.
In the lull that followed, Katrina watched, transfixed, as the family of New Yorkers logged onto the God Blog, and then gathered together to offer tear-filled prayers up to heaven.
Chelsea asked her, “Have you tried the God Blog yet?”
“No. Only asking one question . . . that’s a lot of pressure. Is it really real?”
“Of course it’s real!” Manny interjected. “Is it so hard to believe that God is answering people’s questions through a blog in your café?”
“Well, now that you put it that way . . .” Chelsea began, but then she and Katrina dissolved into laughter.
“Think about it,” Manny said. “The Creator of the Universe is willing to answer your deepest question . . . and you’re not even willing to ask? What if God really is on the other end of that Internet connection?”
Chelsea pondered Manny’s audacious logic. But only for a moment. The lights in the café had begun to flicker and then . . . ZAP! All dark.
With the light from her cell phone, Chelsea inspected the circuit breaker in the pantry. She flipped some switches, but to no avail. She needed an expert.
“Sorry, folks!” she announced. “Looks like we’re closing early today!”
Katrina and Manny distributed consolation cupcakes to exiting customers, while Chelsea took her son’s suggestion to call their neighbor for some expert help.
Bo came at once, flashlight in hand. “I ’spect that’s your problem right there,” he said, illuminating Chelsea’s new industrial oven. “You’re fortunate a fire didn’t break out. Gotta be careful of aluminum wiring in old houses like this.”
“So what do you think it’ll cost me to fix it?” Chelsea braced herself for the worst.
“Shouldn’t be more than a hundred bucks. In a few hours I’ll have the wiring to the oven redone. I still suggest you get all the aluminum replaced, but this’ll hold you over till then.”
“You mean you’ll do this for us?”
“On one condition.”
“Yeah?”
Bo pointed his flashlight at Hancock and Emily. “You take these young’uns out for the night. I think y’all could use a break.”
Chelsea couldn’t have been more pleased. It had only taken forty-eight hours for her to fulfill the promise she’d made to Hancock to carve out some time for family fun.
Forty-eight hours! I’d like to see Sawyer beat that.
That Hancock’s favorite movie was playing at a local “oldies” theater was simply icing on the cake. “Four tickets to Star Wars, please.”
Upon Manny’s shocking admission that he had never seen Star Wars, Hancock had insisted that he come as their family’s plus one. Chelsea wasn’t sure what her children enjoyed more, watching the movie or watching Manny watch the movie. Emily and Hancock howled with laughter when Manny jumped w
ith panic at the sight of Darth Vader, spilling his bucket of popcorn all over their laps. He took the passing of Obi Wan Kenobi especially hard, but when Luke launched the proton torpedoes into the Death Star, they couldn’t keep him in his seat.
When they returned home, Chelsea was relieved to see the electricity working just as Bo had promised. He’d left a note, and just below his name he had scribbled a familiar passage of Scripture: The Lord is near to all who call upon Him. Psalm 145:18
Chelsea closed her eyes and reveled in the moment. For the first time in a very long time, she didn’t feel helpless or alone. She had the help she needed at the café. Bo was proving to be quite the guardian angel. Even Hancock and Emily were settling into their family’s new normal.
She ventured upstairs to tuck the kids into bed. But just before opening their door, something stopped her. The sweet sound of their laughter.
“It was hilarious!” Hancock said. “You have to meet him, Dad! He was yelling and cheering the whole time!”
“Popcorn spilled all over us!” Emily added.
Even over speakerphone, Sawyer’s laughter echoed into the hall.
“I wish you coulda been there, Dad.”
Sawyer. Chelsea still didn’t know how he fit into their new normal.
“Hey, maybe next family fun night, you can come!” Hancock said.
“That sounds fun to me! But you should probably leave that for Mom to decide.”
Chapter 19
Manny had to look closely, but he could see it. An image emerging within his cup. He held his breath as he worked, angling his mug side to side as the ivory liquid marbled the velvety espresso. He had picked up some impressive moves from Katrina over the last week. He didn’t know much about the latest addition to their team, but he knew he liked her. His rapid-fire questions had debunked his theory that Katrina might be a fellow angel. Even still, he had a hunch that it was more than the planet Saturn that had brought her.
“I must ask Gabriel about her,” he said to himself as he finished his latte with a final flick of the wrist. In the end, his leaf design looked more like corn on the cob, but it was certainly an improvement on the ghostly blob floating in yesterday morning’s latte.
Manny had come to love these quiet mornings in the café. Not many employees would enjoy the extra responsibility, but when Chelsea asked if he would take on early-morning prep so she could have more time with the kids, he had jumped at the chance. (And he even landed on his feet.)
Ever since the God Blog went live, the café had been a hub of constant activity. But as much as Manny enjoyed the rush of customers, he relished more his moments in Grandmother Sophia’s prayer closet.
He followed a trail of whispers to a set of doors tucked between the staircase and the café. He pulled back the accordion doors, drinking in the sights and sounds of a sunroom washed in buttery paint and brimming with boxes, antiques, and trinkets from eras past. Delicate lace drapes framed a picture-perfect bay window, still hours away from flooding the room with light. Nestled between the floaty antique fabric was a wingback chair holding a needlepoint pillow with the phrase Living on coffee and a prayer. Manny sipped his latte and leaned into the space. The whispers swelled into words and phrases pulled from the ether. He closed his eyes and listened to the symphony . . . the kind only angels hear.
“Oh Father, you are faithful and true . . .”
“I need your help, God . . .”
“. . . bring healing to my family”
“Lord, bless my daughters . . .”
Decades of prayers resounded through the small room. Prayers that pass through the lips in a moment, but endure for all eternity.
“. . . help my girls to forgive their father . . .”
“. . . thank you for your mercy . . .”
“Lord, give Chelsea the grace she needs . . .”
“May your angels be encamped around my family . . .”
“. . . and let this place be a house of prayer.”
As Manny soaked in the chorus of prayers, his eyes roamed the maze of memories that filled the room. Beneath the film of dust was a colorful past. Stacks of photo albums, a rainbow of books, newspaper clippings. In the far corner, an imposing cabinet showcased rows of amber and green Depression glass dotted with blue ribbons and elementary school pottery projects. To Manny’s right, a mint-condition phonograph sat atop a tower of vinyl records, surrounded by several hand-loomed tapestries and a small rocking horse from Mexico.
Remembering the family’s vacation in Acapulco brought a smile to Manny’s face. He could still see a carefree Chelsea splashing through the waves on the beach, one hand in her mom’s, the other tucked securely in her dad’s. Manny had been with Chelsea through it all. Yet for all the progress she had made, Chelsea still had a lot of unpacking to do.
Manny pulled the doors shut. As he did, an image flashed before him. A vision of the room from heaven’s view. Cutting through the dark landscape of the neighborhood, a glow had been emanating from this very corner of the café. Manny was certain this forgotten corner was meant to be more than a storehouse for memories; it was a sacred space. A house of prayer. Though neglected for a time, Manny had a suspicion the room would soon be put to good use once again.
Chapter 20
Mornin’, Manny! Have you seen—” But the sight of Manny in a decorative Christmas cardigan seemed to grab the words right out of Chelsea’s mouth. The pockets were decked with jingle bells and embroidered holly, and the buttons running up the center were cleverly disguised as ornaments adorning a Christmas tree of yarn. The very top button was a shiny star.
“Good morning, Chelsea! Have I seen what?” Manny walked down the hall, jingling all the way.
“Um . . . Have you seen . . . my cell phone. Yes, my cell phone! That’s what I’m looking for.” Chelsea busied herself looking around the café, stifling an eruption of laughter.
“Still missing? I will keep my eyes open!”
“If it doesn’t turn up soon, I’ll have to break down and get a new one. Not that I mind the reprieve.” Chelsea tied an apron around her waist, preparing herself for the onslaught of morning customers already gathered outside the front door. “Don’t these people want to sleep in? It’s Saturday! And spring break no less!”
“Chelsea, have you thought about expanding?” Manny ventured.
“Expanding?”
Manny pointed to the room between the stairway and the café. Chelsea peeked through the door and smiled, her mind filling with happy memories. When her Grandmother Sophia opened the café, “the parlor,” as she called it, offered a peaceful respite for patrons to read and study. Chelsea’s mother had loved the windowed room so much she kept it for herself.
“Mom turned this into her prayer closet. It is a lovely space, isn’t it?”
“You could seat ten or fifteen people in there.”
With some organizing and a fresh coat of paint, Chelsea could imagine the room filled with customers, maybe even attracting new ones. But planning for the future would have to wait for the moment. Her existing customers were knocking on the front door.
Weekend mornings weren’t typically busy, but this Saturday was proving to be the exception. Word about the blog was spreading, and visitors were driving from miles away to claim a seat in the café and post their questions. They came from Dallas, Austin, and the Rio Grande Valley. Of late, they were also driving from Santa Fe, Little Rock, and even Tulsa.
Thankfully, Manny was always there, and Katrina was but a phone call away. Chelsea’s extra help could not have come at a better time. The two were a dynamic duo. Manny brought warmth and personality; Katrina brought experience and technique. In fact, Katrina’s arrival at the café had sparked its own wave of new customers, coffee connoisseurs who relished the artisan experience. Judging by the influx of Café Cosmos signature tumblers, Katrina’s converts were many. It was safe to say the Higher Grounds Café was giving the nearest franchise a run for its money.
Chelsea sli
pped back upstairs to enjoy a family breakfast. Hancock had the makings of a great chef, and Emily proved to be an accomplished taste tester. Together they had whipped up a family favorite: cinnamon pecan pancakes. The kitchen smelled like Christmas morning. Or maybe that was just Chelsea, who had been feeling rather festive ever since her run-in with Manny.
“That’s not really what you’re wearing for the day, is it, Mom?” Hancock asked as they made their way downstairs to face the crowd.
The question caught Chelsea off guard. “Um . . .” She glanced down at her outfit. Maybe the purple Crocs were a mistake, but the jeans and black T-shirt didn’t seem too offensive. “Is it really so bad?”
“Well . . .” Hancock’s face twisted into an unsavory expression.
Chelsea turned to ask her two employees for their thoughts but stopped short at the site of Katrina in her plaid miniskirt, striped shirt, and knee-high combat boots and Manny dressed like, well, Santa’s helper.
“It just makes you look old is all,” Hancock said.
Moments later, Chelsea returned to the café in tailored khakis and a breezy chambray blouse. She knew her navy Converse lace-ups were only a half step up from the purple Crocs, but she hoped they exuded a youthful vibe.
“I guess that’ll work,” Hancock said as he and Emily darted back upstairs to watch cartoons.
Since when had her son become the fashion police? But a moment later, Chelsea was grateful for his intervention.
“Konichiwa, Mrs. Chambers.” A young Japanese interpreter spoke for a dignified Japanese businessman. He handed Chelsea a box wrapped in decorative floral paper. “On behalf of my employer, Mr. Takeda, please receive this sincere gift.”
“Um, hello.” Chelsea took the package and dipped her head, hoping that was the appropriate gesture. “And . . . thank you. What brings you to the Higher Grounds Café?”
“Mr. Takeda came to your café in search of wisdom. To make inquiries of your blog from God.”