Emma was up to her wrists in wet cement when her cell phone rang. She managed to dry off her hands and wrestle the phone from the pocket of her jeans on the fourth ring, seconds before the call went to voice mail.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Barlow? This is Pastor Wilde from Church of the Pines.”
Emma’s fingers tightened on the phone.
She should have expected this. Jeremy had been drawn into the church’s fold by a colorful flyer he’d seen stapled to the bulletin board at the library, advertising a special weeklong children’s program. Emma had agreed to let him participate, assuming her son’s interest would end once the seven days were over. She hadn’t considered that Jeremy would want to start attending the worship services, but at his insistence they’d gone to Church of the Pines the past few Sundays.
For his sake, she’d endured the sermons that reminded her God loved her, and smiled politely at people while keeping a careful distance. But while Emma had ignored the little white cards the ushers handed out, asking for the name, address and phone number of visitors, she remembered that Jeremy had diligently filled one out each time.
Emma looked at the pieces of colored glass scattered on her work table, silently calculating how much time she had before the mixture began to set up.
“I’m right in the middle of something…” She paused, hoping the pastor would take the hint.
“When would be a good time to call back?”
The pleasant voice remained cheerful but firm, letting Emma know that her hesitance was only prolonging the inevitable. “I suppose I have a few minutes right now. What is it you wanted to talk about?”
“I’m calling people to let them know about the mentoring ministry picnic on Saturday afternoon. It starts at noon—”
“Mentoring ministry?” Emma knew it wasn’t polite to interrupt but she couldn’t prevent the words from spilling out. “I’m sorry, but I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Pastor Wilde.” And the last thing she wanted to do was get involved with Church of the Pines. Sitting through the Sunday morning services was proving difficult enough.
A moment of silence followed. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Barlow.” Pastor Wilde sounded a little confused. “There was a short write-up in the bulletin this past Sunday. Local boys from single-parent families are matched with men from the congregation who commit to spending several hours a week with them. It can be helping with homework, grabbing a burger or shooting hoops together. Whatever the pair decides to do. My job as the coordinator is to pray for any specific needs they might have and oversee the group activities once a month.”
Single-parent families.
There it was. No matter how hard she tried to be both mom and dad to Jeremy—to meet all his needs—their home fell into that category. It didn’t matter that they hadn’t had a choice. That Brian’s death had pushed them there.
“I doubt that Jeremy would be interested. He’s very shy and wouldn’t be comfortable meeting with someone he doesn’t know.” And neither would I, Emma added silently.
Pastor Wilde cleared his throat. “Ah, Jeremy is interested, Mrs. Barlow. In fact, he turned in a registration form already.”
The phone almost slipped through Emma’s fingers. “Are you sure it was Jeremy? Maybe it was his Sunday school teacher. Or another adult.”
Emma heard the sound of papers rustling.
“I’m, ah, looking at his signature right now.”
She released a quiet breath, unwilling to believe that Jeremy had signed up on his own. One of the older boys must have decided to play a practical joke on her introverted son. It wouldn’t be the first time. “I’ll talk to Jeremy. Thank you for calling.”
“Mrs. Barlow?” Pastor Wilde must have sensed she was about to hang up. “Attending the picnic on Saturday doesn’t mean Jeremy is obligated to join the program. Abby Porter offered to host the picnic at Mirror Lake Lodge and there will be an informal question-and-answer time after lunch.
“I should add that I’ve personally met with all the prospective mentors and they’ve had extensive background checks done. It’s a blessing we’ve got men who are willing to donate their time and energy to be positive role models.”
Positive role models to boys without fathers.
“It sounds like a good idea,” Emma murmured.
For someone else’s child.
She couldn’t imagine letting Jeremy spend time with someone she didn’t know, background check or not.
“Then we’ll see you and Jeremy on Saturday?”
“I’ll think about it.”
Emma hung up the phone. At least she hadn’t lied. She did think about it.
And the answer was no.
Why had she said yes?
Emma took one look at the people milling around the immaculate, beautifully landscaped lawn and almost turned the car around.
She glanced at Jeremy, who was already wrestling his seat belt off. Her son’s eager expression answered the question.
After that disturbing phone call from Pastor Wilde, Emma had waited until dinnertime to bring up the subject of the mentoring ministry, still convinced there had been a mistake—that someone else had turned in the registration form with her son’s name on it.
Jeremy’s whoop of excitement, however, had immediately proved Emma’s theory wrong. She hadn’t been prepared for his enthusiasm when he learned about the pastor’s invitation to the picnic…or his reaction when she told him they wouldn’t be able to go.
Emma winced at the memory.
He’d been crushed.
So Emma had explained—quite patiently she’d thought—the reasons why she didn’t think that being involved in the mentoring program was a good idea.
Jeremy had listened. And then her quiet, sensitive little boy had leaned forward, looked her straight in the eye and suggested a compromise.
A compromise!
“Mom, you’re always telling me that it isn’t a good idea to jump to conclusions, right? That a person should do some research before making a decision. I think we should go to the picnic and find out the facts. If you decide you don’t want me to do it, then I’ll be okay with that.”
How could she argue? Especially since it was obvious which member of the Barlow family was guilty of “jumping to conclusions” this time!
The request was fair. Reasonable. But now, watching a group of preadolescent boys zigzag across the lawn in hot pursuit of the one carrying a football, Emma was convinced she’d made a mistake.
“Jeremy—” The car door snapped the sentence in half.
Tension curled in Emma’s stomach.
There was no turning back now. Not only had Jeremy escaped, but Abby Porter had spotted their car and was making her way across the yard.
Somehow, the innkeeper managed to look stunning in faded jeans and a pale green T-shirt that matched her eyes. With her blond hair pulled back in a casual knot and a colorful apron tied around her waist, Abby looked far different from the sophisticated woman in velvet and pearls who had appeared in the ad campaigns for her family’s elite hotel chain in years past.
Emma, who’d chosen to wear a navy twill skirt and white blouse, felt positively dowdy by comparison.
“Emma!” Abby appeared at the window. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
Emma wished she could say the same. She slid out of the driver’s seat, resisting