The Reason E-Book

William Sirls

• Herausgeber: BroadStreet Publishing Group, LLC
• Kategorie: Religion und Spiritualität
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Seitenzahl: 597

Beschreibung

WHAT DOES GOD LOOK LIKE? Welcome to southeast Michigan and the small town of Carlson where faith, hope, and struggle are defined by the different faces of those who live there. An addict that sits at a bar to forget. A mother whose five-year-old boy has leukemia. Two doctors. An atheist haunted by his past and a brilliant young oncologist that places all her hope in the power of modern medicine. A blind pastor whose son hasn't spoken a single word in thirty-eight years.  But the minister sees by faith. He knows there are answers and believes that someone who cares is watching—someone with a greater purpose. Yet there is something he doesn't know... that none of them know. In the midst of the ordinary and the devastat- ing, there is a reason these lives will be changed forever. Lightning is about to strike. The Reason opens with a thunderbolt and never lets up as it introduces us to everyday characters who are wrestling with questions: Where is God when bad things happen? Does God ignore the prayers of the faithful? The answer each character receives will astound readers while offering an unforgettable call to hope, to change, and to believe. 

Leseprobe

ENDORSEMENTS

“A skillfully written first novel with the narrative voice, knack for dialogue, and plot movement of a veteran author.”

PUBLISHERS WEEKLY

“The thrumming question of faith—how can there be a good God in a world so full of pain beats at the core of the book. A page turner that is not easy to put down. By the end of The Reason, you will understand that question in an entirely new way.

KAY CAMPBELL, The Huntsville Times

“Sirls sets the narrative hook deep with intriguing characters and a multi-layered plot that asks you to ‘only believe’ when everything else tells you not to. Prepare to laugh! Prepare to cry! Prepare to be inspired and renewed!”

GAIL WELBORN, Midwest Book Reviews

“Readers everywhere will identify with these characters’ experiences. An incredible story of second chances and seeing the bright light of Christ shine through in the darkest hour. William is using his own second chance at life to remind us of God’s love. This is a must-read for anyone who needs a reminder of what God asks of us: only believe.”

PETE WILSON, pastor and author of Plan B and Empty Promises

“The Reason is one of those rare books whose characters reach off the pages and take you by the heartstrings. It demonstrates an unwavering faith in God that was an inspiration to me.”

KIMBERLY BROWN

“The Reason will serve to fortify your faith and reassure you of God’s constant love and incredible power. If you are not yet a believer, this book will open your eyes to the possibilities of God that can manifest in any and every part of our lives.”

CHRIS SONKSEN, lead pastor of South Hills Church, founder of Celera Church Strategy Group, author of In Search of Higher Ground and Handshake

“The Reason will serve as a reminder that God wants us to do our part, to only believe, and to leave the outcome (good or not) to Him because He, ultimately, always knows what’s best!”

JACQUELINE LYNCH, associate pastor, Loma Linda University Church

“Of Mice and Men meets Brian’s Song. The Reason is a powerful story that delivers message after message.”

THOMAS LANE

“While I love to read, I’m generally not into Christian fiction. The Reason is an exception. It is a gritty story about everyday people who are believable and easy to relate with. It had me both laughing and crying at times as a good book should. I would recommend it to both believers and non-believers alike, but non-believers—be cautioned. You may have to really rethink and question why you don’t believe in the God of the Bible.”

MARK DREW, California Baptist University

“Pay attention to each and every page or you will miss something. William Sirls is about to take you on an emotional rollercoaster ride that ends in an answer that far too many are still blind to.”

KELLY ANDERSON

“The Reason is an outstanding effort to communicate the love of Christ.”

THOMAS AYERS

“A book you will not forget. A clever tearjerker that invites you to think as you turn page after page.”

D. JAMES

“The people in the small town of Carlson come to life fully. They made me laugh and cry. A book as rich and engrossing as The Reason can make you forget your own problems.”

PATTI HOGUE

“Draws you in with its richly written characters and maintains an intense, almost eerie vibe throughout the story. The Reason is a uniquely compelling tale.”

RUSSELL BRADLEY FENTON

“The Reason will grab you at the beginning, wrap its arms around you, and keep you guessing until the end. Have your Kleenex handy and then only believe.”

M. MYERS

“Anyone reading this book will identify with at least one character with an invitation to change.”

JAMES STEERE

“May this book turn out to be a blessing to an unheard number of more people as it was to me.”

MICHAEL STEDMAN

“The Reason is an intriguing tale of diverse personalities and problems that will lead you to twists and turns that are entirely unexpected.”

LORENE MILLER

“The book started off very well, even had my heart pounding in the opening scene in the church … but as soon as I realized it was about Alex having leukemia, I almost put the book down. I have a very difficult time reading/watching books/movies where children are hurt. On top of that, one month ago I lost a best friend to leukemia. It seems that God’s timing was perfect for me reading this book! I certainly sense His Hand in it. Looking back, I am blown away by the slim chance that ‘I’ ended up reading ‘your’ book. That you ended up being connected with me, when it could have been countless others. There are no such things as ‘chances’ with our God! I would highly recommend your book to anyone, and will definitely do that. Thank you for letting me have the privilege of reading it.”

LIZ ZELLER, director of biblical counseling and director of growth classes, Harvest Church, Billings, MT

“A tangible reminder that God is with us, loving us, and guiding us towards him if we only believe.”

KAREN MORTON

“Nothing I say could capture what this book meant to me.”

BETH HENSLEY

“Believable characters whose life lessons will truly inspire you. I can’t wait to read it again.”

EMILY SCHMIDT

“Brilliant. Simply brilliant. I don’t know what else to say. I’ve never cried like this reading a book before and you will too.”

MELANIE JOHNSON

“These characters became people I cared about. I lived the story with them and enjoyed the difference God made in their lives.”

TED J. KOZIATEK

BroadStreet Publishing Group, LLC

Racine, Wisconsin, USA

BroadStreetPublishing.com

THE REASON

Written by William Sirls

Copyright © 2016 by Canyon Insulation, Inc.

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Scripture quotations are taken from the NEW KING JAMES VERSION. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved; the King James Version of the Bible; and the HOLY BIBLE: NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved.

Publisher’s note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

ISBN-13: 978-1-4245-5136-1 (softcover)

ISBN-13: 978-1-4245-5137-8 (e-book)

Cover design by Steve Fryer at stevefryer.com

Interior by Renee Evans at reneeevansdesign.com

Printed in the United States of America

16 17 18 19 20 5 4 3 2 1

DEDICATED TO ALL OF US WHO NEED FORGIVENESS.

CONTENTS

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Forteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four

Thirty-Five

Thirty-Six

Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Eight

Thirty-Nine

Forty

Forty-One

Forty-Two

Forty-Three

Forty-Four

Forty-Five

Forty-Six

Forty-Seven

Forty-Eight

Forty-Nine

Fifty

Epilogue

ONE

It was the second time in fifteen minutes that the power had gone out at the church, and it was noticeably darker this time.

Brooke paused—to wait for the lights to come back on—and stared at the three strange shadows that hovered against the fellowship hall’s vaulted ceiling. Something about them seemed alive.

She glanced over at her five-year-old son, Alexander, and removed her earbuds, noticing the wind had stopped howling. “You okay, buddy?”

“I’m not even scared,” Alex said bravely. He gave her a reassuring smile and waved the small rag he liked to use when he helped her dust.

Brooke turned off her smartphone and pressed the vacuum’s power button a few times. Nothing happened. She shook her head and looked back up at the ceiling. The shadows had somehow become one.

The weatherman on the morning news had said they may be getting some storms, but when she, Alex, and Charlie had come up from the house to clean, only plump, white clouds and a bright sun filled the southeast Michigan sky. But it had been windy. Really windy.

And now the wind was gone.

“It’s too dark,” Alex whispered. “Charlie is gonna be scared.”

“He’ll be okay, baby,” she said. “The lights will come back on soon.”

“But the sky just did some big thunder,” Alex said. “You couldn’t hear it with your music on.”

“Charlie!” she yelled, taking Alex’s hand and moving quickly across the room toward the tall double doors that separated them from the sanctuary.

Though Charlie was thirty-eight years old and big as a tree, thunder terrified him. Even with his familiarity with the church, all his safe places had surely been erased by the darkness and terror flooding his small mind.

She opened the doors and walked into the sanctuary. It was dark, but not nearly as dark as the fellowship hall. It was perfectly quiet.

“Charlie?” Brooke said, glancing up toward the front of the church. She heard nothing, but could feel Alex pulling on her pant leg.

“Look, Mom,” he said.

She turned, and her eyes followed his index finger, pointing at the two-paned glass doors that served as the main entrance. Brooke squinted and cocked her head to the side. She had never seen the sky that color before.

She took his hand again, walked to the doors, then leaned against one to push it open.

It was deadly still outside. The air was thick and had a strange smell to it. The clouds were now a dark gray and the sky behind them an eerie crayon green, casting down a steady shadow of the same color over everything she could see.

“We better take cover,” Brooke whispered, holding the door. She gazed out at the fifteen-foot wooden cross, centered on the church’s front lawn. Beyond the woods, she could hear spirited rolls of thunder approaching off the shore of Lake Erie. There was no way in the world Charlie would have come out here, let alone try to make it over to the house.

“I want to go back inside,” Alex said, letting go of his mother’s hand and wrapping his arms around her leg.

Brooke took a deep breath and tilted her head up again to stare at the sky, wondering how much time they had. She looked down the hill at the house, which now seemed far away. More thunder sounded in the distance. Louder this time.

“Charlie!” Alex shouted. There was panic in his small voice.

Brooke looked back over her shoulder into the church. She leaned her head against the door and waited for Charlie to jump up from between two pews, as he’d done hundreds of times before during hide-and-seek.

“He won’t come out, Mom,” Alex said. “You know how he is when he’s scared.”

“He has to be around here somewhere.” Brooke took one more look outside. She picked her son up and stepped back into the church, letting the door close behind them. “We have to find him fast, Alex.”

She walked along the length of the back pew and stopped when they hit the center aisle. Brooke could see the push sweeper lying on the floor up near the pulpit. Charlie had obviously abandoned it when he heard the first crack of thunder.

Brooke put Alex back on his feet and tried to listen for Charlie.

She looked back at the main entrance. It had clearly gotten darker, and beyond the door’s plated glass, lightning flickered gently, as if God were flashing the porch light for someone who had just missed his driveway.

“Charlie!” Brooke yelled again.

“Charlie!” Alex echoed.

They turned and slowly made their way up the main aisle, taking turns calling Charlie’s name and looking for him in the darkness between the pews.

“Maybe he did make it down to the house,” Brooke said, glancing back at the front doors. The sky had gone from green to black.

They both flinched at the thick volley of thunder that coincided with a flash of lightning, like an X-ray of the church’s front lawn.

“I don’t like this,” Alex said, sounding on the verge of tears.

“It’s okay,” she said, still staring at the front doors. She held her hand out behind her for Alex to take. He didn’t.

“I’m over here,” Alex whispered.

Brooke turned around and could barely see him. He was nothing more than a small shadow kneeling in the pew. “What are you doing?”

“Praying we find Charlie.”

Brooke kneeled next to him and struggled to slow her breathing. Please, Lord, keep us safe. She put her arm around Alex and pulled him closer. She could feel his heart pounding against her palm.

Alex squeezed her arm and closed his eyes as she pulled him closer still. She kissed the top of his head as a violent peal of thunder boomed directly over the church.

“No!” Alex cried.

“Let’s go,” Brooke said, taking his hand. As they rose, she thought she heard something over the rain. It was dark, but she could vaguely make out some of the shadows around them. The pews. The dim outline of windows. A stack of rarely used folding chairs against the wall. They stepped into the aisle, and Brooke proceeded to look mechanically to her left, and then to her right, her head’s slowly shifting movements like a low-end security camera.

She saw little, but she definitely heard something. Charlie. He was crying. But the sound of him was drowned out by thunder so loud it reverberated in her chest and the wind that had returned with a vengeance.

“Make it stop!” Alex begged, grabbing hold of her leg again.

She turned to comfort him and a flash outside caught her eye. Another finger of lightning darted across the grounds, and Brooke flinched as the entire front lawn disappeared in a brilliant flash of reddish-orange light. It was gone before she could shield her eyes, and the deafening blast that followed shook the building, sending them both instinctively to the floor. She draped her arms around Alex. He was trembling, but she didn’t blame him. Whatever had just happened outside was unlike anything she had ever seen or heard. They needed better cover—to get out of this big space.

“Charlie!” she yelled, standing, then picking up Alex. “Where are you?”

There was no response.

“What if he’s hurt?” Alex cried.

“What in the world?”

“Do you see him, Mom?”

Brooke squinted at the glass of the front doors.

Something was on fire outside. Flames seemed to float about ten feet in the air, then rapidly weakened under the assault of the constant rain.

“What’s that?” Alex asked. As he spoke, the last of the fire went out.

“I think it was the cross.”

“Oh no,” Alex said, like a concerned old man. He leaned his head on her shoulder. “Please, let’s hurry. Let’s find him.”

She raised her finger to her lips. As they waited and listened, all Brooke could hear was the tapping of the rain on the windows.

“A car’s coming,” Alex said. Headlights made their way up into the parking lot of the small church.

“It has to be Shirley and Pastor Jim,” she whispered. A clicking sound came from the other side of the building, restoring the power.

Only two of seven lights were on in the sanctuary, offering them no real improvement in their ability to see Charlie, but they both breathed a little easier.

“I like that better,” Alex said.

“Me too, little man.”

They heard a humming sound coming from somewhere in the building and looked at each other.

“What’s that noise?” Alex asked.

“I think it’s the vacuum cleaner over in the fellowship hall. I must’ve left it on when we lost power.”

Alex smiled and she kissed the top of his head again. There was more thunder, but it seemed to be fading. The storm was easing away, and now Brooke was sure she could hear Charlie.

“I hope the dumb lights stay on this time,” Alex said. “I wish they—”

“Shh,” Brooke said, moving slowly toward the front of the church. One dome light cast a soothing glow over the altar, the old Wurlitzer piano and the hand-carved pulpit.

She tilted her head and lifted her hand. She definitely heard someone sniffle.

“We need to find Charlie,” Alex said, as if she’d forgotten.

“We just did.” Brooke ran her hand through Alex’s bright red hair. Charlie was up in the nave, lying down between the last two pews, where the choir sat. All she could see of him was the white, size twenty-one tennis shoes on the carpet, sticking out past the end of the bench.

Brooke carried Alex up to the choir stalls and stepped into the row in front of Charlie’s hiding spot. She lowered Alex to stand on the seat cushion above Charlie, and they both leaned over and looked down.

Charlie Lindy was perfectly still, flat on his back, with his eyes closed and his hands over his ears.

“There you are, big guy,” Brooke said. “It’s okay, Charlie.”

Alex started giggling. “You big fraidy cat, Charlie!”

“It’s okay, Charlie,” Brooke soothed. “The storm is about over.”

Charlie opened his eyes and looked up at them. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and he immediately shut them again.

“It’s all right,” Brooke said. “It’s going away.”

Charlie reluctantly opened his eyes again, and they darted from side to side. He slowly sat up and lowered his hands from his ears. He smiled at Brooke and pointed at the light switch behind her.

“You got it, big guy,” she said.

“You’re a big fraidy cat!” Alex laughed, jumping up and down while holding out his arms for Charlie to take him.

“I think we were all afraid,” Brooke said as she turned to switch on more lights.

“No!” Alex yelled, his voice echoing off the church’s white brick walls.

Brooke spun around and found herself staring straight into Charlie’s barrel-like chest. His right arm extended firmly out to his side like a thick branch. At the end of that limb, two feet above her head, Alex dangled helplessly facedown as Charlie’s mammoth hand held him by the backside of his tiny Levis. She smiled and put her hands on her hips.

“Okay!” Alex shouted, followed by a playful giggle. “Okay, Charlie! You’re not a fraidy cat!”

Charlie grinned and effortlessly flipped Alex upright to sit on his enormous shoulders. Alex balanced himself by hanging on to one handful of the giant man’s cropped blond hair and another handful of his left ear. Charlie’s oversized fingers wrapped carefully around the boy’s thigh to hold on to him. His other hand slowly lifted, opened, and then revealed a single TicTac, which Alex snatched up.

Brooke was giving Charlie a thumbs-up when Shirley Lindy came through the door. Shirley wore a plastic blue poncho and pulled out a tissue to wipe away the small beads of water on her wire-rimmed glasses.

“Hello there, Alexander,” Shirley said, looking up at him.

“Hi, Mrs. Lindy,” he said. “We couldn’t find Charlie and he scared me!”

“Me too,” Brooke said. “Where is Pastor Jim?”

“I left him out front,” the older woman replied.

“What’s he doing out there in the rain?” Brooke asked.

“We have a little problem.” Shirley reeled in her right index finger, silently inviting them to come and see.

Brooke was the first outside as Shirley held the door for a ducking Charlie, who still had Alex saddled on his shoulders.

A fog had rolled onto the property, and the storm had been reduced to a misty drizzle. Brooke’s breath clouded before her mouth and nose. But her eyes were on Pastor Jim.

“Oh no.” She sighed. “I saw this happen.”

Brooke slid her arms around Shirley’s shoulders as Alex lowered his chin to the top of Charlie’s head.

Pastor Jim knelt in a shallow puddle with his head down and hands resting on the top half of the large wooden cross that lay on the ground.

Lightning had struck.

TWO

Thirty-six-year-old Kaitlyn Harby sat on a corner barstool at The Pilot Inn. She was halfway into her first Bacardi and Coke and wished she could smoke a cigarette. She took a deep breath and ran her finger slowly down the side of her glass. She hadn’t had a smoke in over five years and knew the craving wouldn’t last long. It felt kind of good to be in control of something, at least.

Despite being one of the area’s most popular watering holes, the storm had made it a slow night at The Pilot. The sticky smells of stale beer that usually haunted the hundred-year-old bar and diner were minimized by both a light crowd and a splintered mop handle that propped the back door partially open, allowing rain-fresh air to waft through. Only one of the televisions was on, making it a little darker than usual, and The Guess Who’s “No Time” was playing a little too loudly from the corner jukebox. Kaitlyn wasn’t sure why she only liked listening to old songs. She guessed that they made her think of her father and the short amount of time she’d had with him.

She shook it off. This wasn’t going to be another one of those nights where the promises she had made to herself once again ended up in small pieces scattered all over the floor of the bar. The song ended to the sarcastic applause of an overweight man in his midfifties. A trucker? A construction worker? His fat, sausage-like fingers held a bottle of Bud Light as he slammed four quarters down on the edge of the pool table, securing his rights to play the current game’s winner. He glanced back at Kaitlyn with eyes as gray and worn as his face, giving her the once-over. It didn’t bother Kaitlyn. Men had always looked at her. Though the cigarettes and booze hadn’t been kind to her appearance, she took a fair amount of consolation in her ability to still turn heads.

She rested her chin on the palm of her hand and then looked up. In the long mirror that ran the length of the wall behind the bar, she could see one of her only real friends, Lila, The Pilot’s owner, walking through the saloon doors that separated the two halves of the bar and diner.

It was good to see Lila, all six feet and two-hundred-fifty pounds of her. They had known each other for over fifteen years now and Lila had spent the bulk of that time not just bartending, cooking, and bouncing, but also doing a pretty solid job of limiting whatever Kaitlyn drank at The Pilot. This helped Kaitlyn keep the secret part of her life bottled up. Enable was the word Lila liked to use, even though it bugged Kaitlyn.

“I had a feeling I’d find you here,” Lila said, taking off her coat as she stepped behind the bar.

“Not sure how to take that,” Kaitlyn said.

“You can take off if you want, Vince!” Lila shouted to the far end of the bar, letting the bartender know she was here. She grabbed the fountain gun and filled a glass with water before turning back to Kaitlyn. “That was some kind of crazy storm, huh?”

“It was somethin’,” Kaitlyn said, tapping at the side of her glass with a fingernail. “Let’s have another rum and Coke. And before you ask, it’s only my second.”

Lila dropped her elbows on the bar and then pointed toward the pool tables. Kaitlyn turned her head and caught the eye of a man over by the jukebox, staring hard at her. It wasn’t the kind of look she was used to, the soft perusal of a would-be lover. It was like his eyes drilled into her. Saw her. Knew her.

“I think you’ve got a fan,” Lila said, stepping back and grabbing a bottle of Bacardi from behind the register.

Kaitlyn nodded toward the man. He was a little too thin for her liking, had wavy brown hair, and appeared to be in his early thirties. Jeans. Navy pea coat. And boots that told her he was but another construction worker out to blow off some steam. He had a pool stick in one hand and what looked like an apple in the other. And he continued to stare. Though Kaitlyn wouldn’t consider him to be an eye-catcher, he had, for whatever reason, caught her eye.

“Why is he looking at us?” Kaitlyn asked, turning back around. “And why would he bring an apple in here?”

“He ain’t looking at my old bag of bones,” Lila said.

“I’m gonna get him to come over here.” Kaitlyn flashed him the little smile that never failed.

“Just don’t leave with him.” Lila gave Kaitlyn a warning look.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kaitlyn asked, poking at Lila’s shoulder. “I’m gonna behave.”

“Looks like we’re gonna find out. Here he comes.”

Kaitlyn watched the man lean the pool stick against the wall and put the apple in the front left pocket of his coat. He didn’t break her gaze the whole time, and even though she was burned out on construction types, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. He sat a few seats down, nodded at Lila, and then resumed his examination of Kaitlyn, making her even more curious.

Something seemed different about this guy. His eyes were a soft green, yet cast subtle hints of authority. Even though he hadn’t shaved in what looked like a couple of days, his grittiness came across as clean and pure. She had never seen anyone quite like him.

“He certainly has your attention,” Lila whispered. “Don’t be so obvious.”

“He is beautiful,” Kaitlyn said.

Lila laughed. “Beautiful? I’ve never heard you say that about a guy before. He doesn’t seem like your type. Too skinny. Too … average.”

“Look at him. He’s unreal.”

“What are you talking about?”

Kaitlyn leaned forward, and then shifted toward him.

“Hi there,” she said softly, in open invitation.

She waited, but he didn’t say anything.

“Strong, silent type,” Lila whispered.

Kaitlyn took a sip of her drink. She didn’t like being ignored. The least he could do was reply. “Why are you staring at me?” she asked, this time a little louder.

The man didn’t move.

“Why don’t you just take a picture?” Kaitlyn said, waving her hand back and forth in front of her.

“Are you talking to me?” the man asked calmly.

“Oh my goodness!” Kaitlyn said. “You can talk!”

“You want me to take a picture of you?” he asked, a hint of a smile bending the corner of his mouth.

“No,” Kaitlyn said, her voice changing from the curious to the more playful one that she had more confidence in. “I just wondered why you were staring at me.”

“I’m not staring at you,” he replied.

“Oh yes you are,” Kaitlyn said. She winked at him and hoped Lila didn’t catch it.

He gave a little shrug. “No, I’m not.”

“Then what are you looking at?” Was he mental? Or was this part of his game?

The man lifted his hand off the bar and pointed his pinky finger right at what Kaitlyn thought was her head. “The TV.”

Behind Kaitlyn, against the far wall on a flat screen television, a magician was attempting to crawl through a solid piece of glass that served as the front window of a department store. Kaitlyn tried covering her face with her hand as she wished she could steal the magician’s thunder by disappearing into thin air.

“I am such an idiot,” she mumbled, dropping her hand and ducking her head.

“Sorry,” Lila said to the man, putting her hand on Kaitlyn’s arm. “Please excuse her. She’s a little tipsy.”

“No, I’m not,” Kaitlyn said. “I told you I’m only on my second drink. Two more is my limit.”

“Relax,” Lila whispered. “I just saved you.”

“That’s okay,” the man said, as if he understood. “It happens.”

“Jukebox time,” Kaitlyn said, standing and looking down at the floor. It was the first excuse she could think of to get off her stool and out of the man’s sight. She knocked on the bar top. “Get me and our new friend a shot of Jäger.” She was hoping that maybe the drink could serve as an apology to the man.

“Okay,” Lila said.

Kaitlyn stood a few feet behind the pool table and fed a pair of dollar bills to the jukebox. She laughed out loud. The only time I really want a guy to look at me, and he isn’t. She ran her hand through her hair and peeked back toward the bar. Lila was pouring the shots, and the guy with the apple was still staring—at the television—when she felt a hand settle on her back.

“Need help picking out some real music, sugar britches?”

Kaitlyn turned around, and the fat trucker coughed out a syrupy laugh right in her face.

“Excuse me?” she said.

“Who taught you how to pick out music?”

So he didn’t like her taste in songs. She ignored him and scanned the jukebox for some more oldies. Maybe she could pick out another classic—something that would stick real well in Truckerman’s fat head. She made her final selection and as she headed back to the bar, Kaitlyn gave the fat trucker a look that suggested pool wasn’t the only game he’d lose tonight.

“I’m gonna step to the other end of the bar and get out of your way here,” Lila said.

“You gonna leave me alone with this guy?” Kaitlyn asked, tilting her head toward the man at the bar.

“He seems all right,” Lila whispered. “And by the way, he didn’t want the shot.”

“I’ll change his mind.”

“Just behave.” Lila leaned her forehead toward Kaitlyn’s and lifted a delicate brow in silent warning.

“I will,” Kaitlyn said, rolling her eyes. “I’ll yell if I’m feeling naughty.”

“You do that.”

Kaitlyn sat back down and quickly polished off one of the shots. Apple man was still glued to the TV when she turned to him.

“I think I owe you an apology,” she said. “I thought you were looking at me and I guess I kind of wanted to talk to you.”

He didn’t respond again. He just kept staring.

Kaitlyn knocked on the bar and raised her voice over Foreigner’s “Dirty White Boy.” “Will you quit staring at that stupid television? I’m trying to apologize to you.”

He carefully crossed his arms. Kaitlyn found it difficult to take her eyes off of him while silently wondering what it was about him that she was drawn to.

“I’m not staring at the television anymore,” he said. “Now I’m staring at you.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” he said. “And I have a feeling you know why.”

Kaitlyn felt a tiny chill dance across the side of her neck and stop just under her chin. She ran her palm along where she’d felt it and tried to look back at the man. But she couldn’t.

“It’s not like you to be bashful, is it?” he asked.

She didn’t like the way he asked the question. If it was flirting, it wasn’t fun. He hadn’t moved, but somehow he seemed so much closer. Too close.

“You have never been the shy type,” he said.

The way he said it was calm and with no emotion, but some of that authority she sensed in those green eyes had underlined all seven words. She tried to look at him again and couldn’t, but now she knew why. She looked down and closed her eyes. He knew her, knew about her past. She heard the legs of a barstool pushing back. There was a pause, then evenly paced steps.

He sidled up next to her.

“Tell me why I was staring at you,” he whispered.

The man had found a way to take a lifetime of indiscretions and balance them neatly on the point of a needle. Each time she tried to look at him, it poked at her, exposing everything about her, while injecting paralyzing doses of shame.

“It’s okay,” he said.

No, it isn’t. It’s another bad day, and I’m kidding myself about ever quitting drinking. A four-drink limit was a nice start, but it will never be enough to drown it all out. I’m going to get drunk tonight. And by tomorrow, I will have forgotten about how my conscience let me believe that this guy …

Kaitlyn opened her eyes. “Look. I don’t know who you are or what you want, but let’s go back to silent staring. Okay? Better yet, let’s just go our own ways.”

She edged off the stool and reached out to pick up the other shot. But as she did, she felt his warm hand gently take her wrist. That little chill raced across her neck again and moved into goose-flesh that crossed her shoulders and spread down her back.

“That’s enough, isn’t it?” he asked, guiding her hand and the drink back to the top of the bar. “You’re okay.”

As he gradually let go of her wrist, for the first time in her life, she felt like she really was okay. But that made no sense. She shivered. A tear slipped down her cheek, and Kaitlyn closed her eyes. She couldn’t deny it; she was at complete peace. The bar had gone quiet, and she could feel him standing next to her. The tear dripped off the side of her chin, then more quickly followed. She couldn’t stop them. She didn’t want to. Everything was okay. No, perfect. Even though she was weeping.

“I would like to show you something,” he said.

Kaitlyn opened her eyes and the man leaned against the bar and reached into his coat pocket. He pulled the apple out and placed it in front of her.

“What do you see in this?” he asked.

Kaitlyn couldn’t speak.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Tell me what you see.”

She was mesmerized by the fruit’s immaculate shine. She had never seen one with such a perfect shape, and its bright red color looked as if it had been painted on. It even had a tiny leaf attached to its green stem. It almost seemed fake—as if it belonged in a dining room display at a furniture store. She hesitantly picked it up and held it, confirming that it was, in fact, flawlessly real.

“Tell me,” he repeated kindly. “Tell me what you think of it.”

She turned it slightly in her hand, and part of the man’s reflection appeared in it. Her arm fell to the bar, and the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she looked at him. She wanted to say more, but only managed three words: “It is beautiful.”

He tapped on the side of the apple and looked right at her. “What do you think would happen to this beautiful apple if it had a worm inside of it?”

She paused for a moment, wiping away her remaining tears, leaving smudges of eyeliner on her shirtsleeve. “I don’t know. It would eat it up?”

“Yes, it would,” he said, placing his hand directly on top of hers. “Forgive.”

“Forgive?” she whispered.

“Kaitlyn, I want you to learn to forgive.”

He turned and slowly walked away from her, making his way out the back door.

Kaitlyn picked the apple up off the bar and hurried after him, staring out the window to the rear parking lot. She watched him climb into the cab of an old Ford F-150 and pull away. But one question rang in her mind, above the rest.

When did I tell him my name?

THREE

Let’s just turn around and go back,” Brooke said as she and Shirley stood in the center of the heavily wooded Church Road, a half-mile passage of sand, pea gravel, and white stone that didn’t make it on most maps. Beyond the arrivals and departures of Brooke and the Lindys, the only other traffic the road saw was from the few who came to church on Sunday or the occasional jogger looking for a shortcut into the park that ran along Lake Erie.

Shirley turned back to Brooke. “I’m sorry, honey. My darn arthritis is working overtime this morning.”

“No worries,” she said. “I’m not in the mood to walk this morning anyways. I’m freaking out about Alex.”

“He’s going to be just fine,” Shirley said. “You’re just being a good mother.”

“He got another bloody nose last night after everyone went to bed.”

“Poor baby. Isn’t that the third or fourth in the last two weeks?”

“More like seventh or eighth.”

“Maybe they’ll have answers for us this morning at the hospital.”

“We’ll see,” Brooke said. “But why would they want us to come back for blood tests?”

Shirley glanced at her watch. “What time are we supposed to be there?”

“Seven forty-five.”

“I’m sure the tests are just part of a normal routine.”

“Routine for what?” Brooke closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. She didn’t like the way it sounded. “You think it’s something bad?”

“Not at all,” Shirley said, putting her arm on Brooke’s shoulder and pulling her in for a quick hug.

Brooke forced a smile.

They made a right into the narrow driveway that led through the trees and to the twenty-acre patch of land, all St. Thomas property. At some point, church members had probably hoped they’d one day need to expand, build a larger sanctuary, a huge parking lot. Sadly, there was little need for that. But Brooke was still glad it was here and that she lived there with her adopted family. With the rolling hills, the deep forest, the little church and cozy house, it always made her feel at peace. Like she’d discovered someplace secret, sacred, hers. Whenever she heard someone say “God’s Country,” she thought of St. Thomas Church and the land surrounding it.

And then the cross came into view. Or what was left of it. She had to look away.

“I know Alex is going to be fine,” she said. “But the cross won’t be. Look at that thing.”

“Don’t worry about the cross,” Shirley said. “It can be replaced.”

“With what? Our good looks? We don’t have the money to fix it.”

Shirley didn’t respond and neither of them said a word until they reached the end of the driveway near the house.

Shirley pulled an envelope from her pocket. “I forgot to put this in the mailbox, and if I don’t do it now, I’m liable to forget again.”

“Let me take it back down there,” Brooke said.

“I may take you up on that,” Shirley said with a smile. “See you in the house in a few minutes.”

Brooke glanced at the envelope, an electric bill, and ran down and put it in the mailbox. When she made it back up the driveway, she went up on the porch and stopped, looking through the front window. Pastor Jim was sitting in the old La-Z-Boy with his braille Bible in his hand. She suspected he was rehearsing his sermon for Sunday.

Brooke smiled and glanced back up the hill toward the church, thinking of him in there, preaching one of his sermons. Her smile faded and she looked back through the window at Pastor Jim. For the first time ever, she was glad he was blind; she didn’t want him to see the wreckage on the hill.

She took a step back on the porch and remembered the way the cross had been. It stood so tall, and there was something about its polished wood and placement on the lawn that left her feeling safe, protected. Pastor Jim always told her that it was her choice to go to service, and every Sunday morning, it was impossible for her to not stop and stare at the cross before she walked in.

But now it’d been blown in half, with the bottom part still sticking out of the ground. Most of the top of the cross lay facedown in the wet sod. A separate piece was a few feet away.

She blew a puff of warm air into her hands and grabbed the door handle. It was never locked, so she turned the knob and stepped inside.

“Hey, hey,” she said, closing the door behind her.

“Hello, kiddo,” Pastor Jim said, pivoting the chair in her direction. He was wearing an old T-shirt that fell over a pair of flannel pajama bottoms. He closed the Bible and brushed his salt-and-pepper hair back with his hand. “That was a short walk on this bright and early morning.”

“We’ve got to get ready to take Alex to the hospital.”

“I offered to drive, but the idea didn’t go over too well with Alex.”

“Ha-ha,” Brooke said, shaking her head. The pastor hadn’t been allowed to drive for years. “By the way, since when is seven in the morning bright and early for you?”

“Seven is pretty early.”

“She knows as well as anyone in this house that you’re the first to rise,” Shirley said, entering the living room from the kitchen. Brooke noticed the limp had gotten worse. Arthritis must be really bothering her today. Shirley leaned over and kissed Pastor Jim on his forehead. “This man wakes me up every single morning. I can’t remember the last time he slept past five.”

Pastor Jim stood and hiked his thumb in the direction of Shirley’s voice. “I figured she would be used to it after all this time. You think she’s getting ready to trade me in, Brooke?”

“I would, if I were her,” Brooke said.

“Don’t tempt me,” Shirley said with a teasing lilt to her voice.

“Never gonna happen,” Pastor Jim said, holding out his arms for a hug, which Shirley was quick to give. Brooke wished she had someone in her life to hug her like that. The look in Pastor Jim’s eyes was usually hard to read, with the gray film that covered them, but right now they said loud and clear, I cherish my wife.

“Where’re Alex and Charlie?” Brooke asked.

“I think they are downstairs,” Pastor Jim said.

Brooke stomped a couple times on the floor and then walked over to the closet to retrieve her son’s coat. “Let’s go, Alex!”

A series of little footsteps scurried up the stairs. The door opened, and Alex skipped over and hugged his mother’s leg. “Hi, Mom!”

“Hey, buddy,” she said.

Alex proudly lifted his chin as he let go of her leg. “When blood came out of my nose yesterday, it didn’t even hurt.”

“I know,” she said, pinching his cheek. “How did you get so brave?”

His hazel eyes squinted, and the freckles that had been sprinkled around his little nose seemed to hunch together. “I don’t know, but you said I can get some chocolate milk from the store today.”

“That’s right,” Brooke said, holding open his Detroit Tigers jacket. Alex backed into it and put his arms through the sleeves, which were about three inches too short.

“Looks like somebody needs a new coat,” Shirley said. “Maybe Santa will bring you one.”

“No,” Alex said. “He’s getting me a bike that doesn’t have baby wheels on it.”

Charlie dipped under the top of the door as he came up from the basement. He smiled and waved at Brooke.

“Hey, Charlie,” she said.

The big man walked over and handed Brooke Alex’s matching Tigers baseball cap.

“Thanks, Charlie,” Brooke said. She stopped buttoning halfway up the coat and put Alex’s cap on the way he liked it, backward. “We need anything else from the store?”

“Just the Pop-Tarts and two gallons of milk,” Pastor Jim said.

“Okay,” Brooke said. “We’ll be back in a few hours.”

“I think maybe Charlie wants something,” Shirley added, nodding at her son.

Charlie was holding his TicTac container up in front of his face. He stared at it for a few seconds like he had never seen it before. There were two left.

“I think you are right,” Brooke said.

Charlie opened the lid and poured out the two candies into his other hand. He reached down and gave one to Alex, and then leaned his head back and dropped the last one in his mouth. He held the empty container back up in front of his face, then slowly turned to Brooke.

“TicTacs, Charlie?” Brooke asked, smiling.

Charlie took a step toward her and stopped. The top of his head was just under the edge of the ceiling fan. He stuffed two fingers into his front pocket and then took another step toward her. He held out his hand and gave her a nickel and three pennies. His eyes began to blink quickly as a broad grin slowly stretched across his face in what could only mean Yes, please.

“Let’s bolt,” Brooke said.

Brooke held the screen door and waited for Shirley as Alex walked outside. She glanced up at the church and then turned back to the three Lindys, who were standing next to one another in the center of the living room. Shirley was smiling at her with eyes that were much easier to read than Pastor Jim’s. Despite having a blind husband and a seven-foot, three-hundred-fifty-five-pound son that hadn’t spoken a single word in his life, her eyes were sending a message that was loud and clear.

I’m the luckiest woman in the world.

“We’re gonna be so late,” Brooke said, leaning her head against the window.

“They will understand,” Shirley said. “Quit worrying.”

“Easier said than done. But I’ll do my best.”

“Thatta girl,” Shirley said.

“You okay back there, buddy?” Brooke asked.

“He’s out,” Shirley said.

“But we just left.” Brooke turned and looked in the backseat. Alex was sleeping with his head turned to the side, making his red eyelashes look extra long. He was snoring lightly, and he held the rubber SpongeBob he scored with his Happy Meal the week before.

“How late were you guys up?”

“Too late,” Brooke answered, closing her eyes and shooting up a quick prayer for good news at the hospital.

It was normally only about a ten minute ride from the Lindy house to downtown Carlson, but they were stuck behind a train on Old Gibraltar Road, a county-neglected minefield of potholes, gravel, and oily sand. Despite its horrendous condition, the wooded two-mile stretch was the shortest and most commonly used route to North Jefferson Avenue and the city’s two banks, one gas station, and string of mom-and-pop businesses that were separated by unoccupied buildings.

At the tail end of North “Jeff” was the hospital and Carlson’s number one producer of unemployed people, a partially functional assembly plant, now operating under the tax-friendly pseudonym of “Auto Trust.” Brooke did a couple year stint there before moving on to become a nail tech at the Downriver Mall in Lincoln Park. Even though the three hundred a week she earned was less than half what she had made at the plant, she liked doing nails, and the time it gave her with Alex—as well as less need for childcare.

“Pastor Jim hasn’t said a single thing about the cross,” Brooke said. “Not one word.”

“How many times have you ever heard him complain about anything?”

“Like, never,” Brooke said. “What’s the plan with it, then? What are we gonna do?”

“Not sure,” Shirley said, taking her turn to look back at Alex. “James said that everything happens for a reason and that regardless of what it is, God is with us and will make something good come from it. But you are right. James isn’t exactly the type to ask why it happened or why us.”

“Of all the places for lightning to hit,” Brooke mumbled, glancing up at the flashing red lights that were attached to a pair of worn-out posts that looked like they were about to fall over. This crossing is in serious need of a gate. It’s a miracle nobody’s ever gotten creamed by a train. Not that this particular train was going to get anybody. It was dead stopped. She let out a long breath of frustration. She looked at what had to be Detroit gang signs scratched repeatedly on the side of one of the boxcar doors, then read one of the painted tags. “Guess what, Shirley?”

“What?”

Brooke pointed at the train and read words spray-painted in purple and underlined in black. “HUBBA IS ALL DAT.”

“Oh yeah?” Shirley laughed. She pointed to their right and read huge gold letters. “BOBBY IS A … uhh …” She glanced at the sleeping child behind her. “Something really bad.”

“I knew that,” Brooke said casually, “but more importantly, THE NURSE IS EASY.”

“KAITLYN IS HOT,” Shirley said as they waited for the train to pass. And then she sighed. “I don’t appreciate women being called that. I wish young men would be more respectful nowadays.”

“Good luck with that,” Brooke said, lifting her hand back toward a different train car. “Maybe you need to GET HIGH IN JULY.”

“Never touched a marijuana cigarette,” Shirley said as the dinged-up freight train began to pick up speed. “Check that one out, Brooke. One of our graffiti guys must have taken an art lesson.”

Against a colorful backdrop, painted in perfect block letters, were the words: ONLY BELIEVE.

“Wow,” Brooke said. “I wonder how long it took to do that.”

“Don’t know. Had to be awhile.”

Brooke turned around and smiled. Alex was rubbing his eyes and finishing a yawn. “Hey, buddy, that was a short nap.”

He fumbled for his SpongeBob and then looked right at her. “What does it mean that Kaitlyn is hot?”

“Nothing, buddy.” Brooke smiled, put the car in drive, and as they made their way over the tracks and headed up Old Gibraltar, she turned the stereo up and sang “Magic Man” along with the radio.

FOUR

Macey Lewis strolled into the waiting room of the free clinic on the first floor of East Shore Community Hospital. It was always busy down here, but today it was packed, even at this early hour. She guessed that the forty seats were a couple dozen shy of what was needed.

Since she wasn’t in a rush, for once, she took a place in line in front of the receptionists’ window and waited to drop off her file. She didn’t mind hanging out here; standing in a room full of colds and sprained wrists practically felt like a vacation, compared to her normal life.

She looked down and smiled at a little redheaded boy standing in front of her. He hid behind what was probably his mother’s leg and then peeked back out at her.

“Hi,” she said.

He kept smiling. She guessed he was about five or six, and she’d seen his brand of shyness a thousand times before.

She turned around and perused the room. Grandparents, parents, teenagers, and children talked and thumbed through year-old issues of Time, National Geographic, and Highlights. Over in the corner, a school of minnow-sized fish were gliding back and forth in an aquarium, casting a hypnotic spell upon a handful of onlookers.

There was a tap at her hip. A little girl, maybe a year older than the redhead, was looking up at her. She had thick, curly brown hair and matching brown eyes that did more than hint she wasn’t quite feeling like herself. Her cheeks were red and raw, and Cheetos residue accented her chapped lips and runny nose.

“How did you get so pretty?” Macey asked.

“I dunno,” the little girl said with a tiny voice and shrug. “I like your shoes.” The girl knelt down and tapped on the light blue logo of Macey’s brand-new Nikes.

“Why thank you, sweetheart. I just got them yesterday. I like yours too.”

A large woman, wearing a Detroit Pistons sweatshirt, abandoned what appeared to be her two other children and hurried over to apologize for the little girl. “I am so sorry.”

“No worries,” Macey said. “She sure is a cutie.”

“Thank you,” the woman said. “She can be a handful, though.”

The redhead came out from behind the other woman’s leg. He was another cutie. Actually, all the kids in the clinic were cuties, but she hoped to never see any of them again. The boy stepped up next to her and pointed his index finger at the girl and her mother as they walked away. “She has boogers in her nose.”

“Alexander!” the woman said, turning around and picking him up. Yep, that’s his mother.

“She really has boogers in her nose, Mom.”

Macey quickly exchanged smiles with the mother, who shook her head in what seemed like a mild form of parental embarrassment. “They tell it like it is, don’t they?” Macey said.

“Particularly this one,” the woman answered, tugging on the bill of her son’s ball cap. She looked like she was going to say something and then stopped.

“Our cross got hitted by thunder,” the little boy said.

“What, sweetie?” Macey asked.

“He’s talking about the storm last night,” the mother said. “Do you mind if I ask you something?”

“Go for it,” Macey said.

“How long does it take to become a nurse?”

“Oh, I’m not a nurse,” Macey answered, holding up a manila folder. “I’m only down here dropping this off. But I think it’s a little over four years.”

“Thanks,” the woman said. “I thought you looked a little bit young to be a nurse. My bad.”

Macey was used to hearing that. She smiled back, knowing full well that with her ponytail and no makeup, she didn’t look a day over eighteen. If she had a dollar for every time someone said they thought she looked too young, her student loan balance would probably be half what it was. Wearing the same, comfortable, bright orange scrubs the third-floor nurses would be wearing that day, she figured she probably did look a little bit young to be a nurse.

“It was on fire,” the boy said. “I didn’t see it, but it was.”

“What was on fire? The cross?”

“Yeah,” the mother said. “It’s in front of our church. It got struck by lightning.”

“It got whacked in half,” the boy said.

“A cross got hit by lightning?” Macey asked.

“And it smells funny,” the boy added. “Mrs. Lindy says we can’t ’ford to fix it.”

“That’s not her problem,” the mother said. “Shh.”

“It’s okay,” Macey said. “You know it’s really none of my business, but the church’s insurance will probably cover that. You should check.”

“Yeah,” the mother said. “We don’t have many people at our church. We kind of don’t have that much insurance anymore.”

A cross they can’t afford to fix? What were you thinking, God? I don’t understand you. But one thing she did understand was not being able to afford things. Been there, done that.

“I want to help you fix it,” Macey said. The words hadn’t made it off her lips before she regretted it.

“Really?” the mother asked, her eyes wide.

No, not really. I don’t have to be the one that fixes everything. I don’t have the time and wouldn’t even begin to know how to help you.

“You can fix it?” the redhead asked, his eyes lighting as if she were going to orchestrate a miracle for him.

“I’m not sure,” she said, smiling and not sure why it was impossible to say no. “Why don’t we find out?”

Dr. Zach Norman leaned over the edge of the third-floor nurses’ station and dropped a stack of folders on the desk. “Will someone please tell me when that noise is finally going to end?”

Kaitlyn knew his question was directed at her, sitting behind the nurses’ desk, updating patient records by inputting notes from the rounds into the computer. “If I had to guess, Zach, I’d say the noise will stop when the job is finished.” She paused for a few seconds, confident that it wasn’t her sarcasm that bothered him. It was the fact that her eyes had never left the pile of charts. She could feel his irritation across the counter.

The noise that Zach referred to was created by the construction workers—working on the hospital’s new $28 million administration wing. It was in its twenty-second of twenty-four scheduled months, and Kaitlyn knew it had been the bane of the doctor’s ability to concentrate—the relentless tapping and pounding of hammers, the humming and buzzing of dull saws and worn-out drills, and the painful screech of metal ladders unwillingly dragged from the steel beds of trucks. He needed to get over it. It wasn’t that bad, even when you drank seven days a week.

“Seriously,” he said, snapping his fingers and still waiting for her to look at him. She didn’t. “How can you work with all that racket?”

“I ignore it. Try concentrating on your patients, Doc, and quit being so fussy. We’ve got a ward full of kids today. Let’s think about them instead of you for a change, huh?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him cross his arms. “You know, Kait,” the doctor said under his breath, as another nurse left the station, “I’m really not in the mood today. And by the way, in the halls, I think it’s best if you refer to me as Dr. Norman.”

“I apologize for questioning your authority, Doctor,” Kaitlyn said. Her eyes left the chart, and she stared straight at him, exercising a greater authority only the two of them could understand. “If you want to play that way in the halls, you can refer to me as Nurse Practitioner Harby.”

He sighed, lifted his hands in surrender, and dropped his elbows on the counter. “Sorry. I’ve got a rippin’ headache. Let’s start over. Would you care to join me for lunch, Nurse Harby? My treat.”

You’ve got a headache?

“I think I’ll pass, Doctor,” she said calmly, picking up the top chart again.

“C’mon, Kait.” He sighed. “For Pete’s sake, now we can’t even go to lunch?”

“Looks that way.”

“Isn’t today pizza day?”

“Yep.”

“You are turning down pizza?”

She studied him. She should steer clear of him, but she was starving and she did love the cafeteria’s pizza. And she had been a little hard on him, if he had a headache. “Okay. Give me fifteen minutes to check on two patients and I’ll join you.”

Kaitlyn wasn’t sure which decision was worse—hers to join Zach for lunch or the cafeteria’s to serve baked beans with pizza.

She rolled her eyes as he fidgeted with his napkin. Of course, pizza in itself was beneath “the great doctor.” She watched as he took another bite out of his salad before washing it down with a tidy sip of the four-dollar bottle of imported water that he had brought with him.

Everything was beneath Zach. Beneath him and his Mercedes convertible, his Rolex, his eight-thousand-square-foot house, and his seven-figure brokerage account.

It was going to be impossible for her to get through this lunch without explaining for the umpteenth time what had happened to “them” and why she didn’t want to be with him anymore.