Natalie’s internship, career, and dreams depended on a story about a sick penguin.
She frowned at her notes for a mother’s group devotional talk spread across Jem’s kitchen counter on Thursday morning. Sam had been understanding on Monday when she’d told him that she’d been unexpectedly delayed by work. They’d swapped her practice run to today instead. Mommy Time was a church event, not a Wildfire one. But Sam wanted to see her people skills in action this week, and there weren’t any more Wildfire events planned till next. Since Steph worked for both organizations, they’d managed to arrange this for her audition.
If her mini sermon at Mommy Time went well today, Steph made it sound like the internship was hers. But if not . . . She pushed the thought from her mind. Three days of preparation, and she’d still been up half the night writing her talk. And it was nowhere near ready.
Now her eyelids weighed fifty pounds, and her concentration went AWOL when the first twinge of cramps shuddered through her abdomen. Was it monthly pain that made her want to vomit or the thought of public speaking?
She needed a distraction. She needed caffeine.
She slid from her stool and walked to the pantry at a pace only grandma sloths achieved. “Jem, where’s the coffee?”
Excited baby squeals emerged from his bedroom door. From the thumps and occasional crash in the last fifteen minutes, it sounded like Jem was on the floor again, chasing the baby on all fours. Olly couldn’t quite walk yet, but his crawl set land-speed records.
Natalie dug through the pantry, the cupboards, even the fridge—she’d found the saltshaker in there yesterday—but no luck.
She dragged herself over to Jem’s door and knocked. “Jem?”
A pause, a shhh, a giggle, and the door swung open. “Yes?”
Jem and Olly both wore Daffy Duck underwear on their heads. The room behind them had been hit by a tornado, with clothes and sheets scattered across the floor. Oliver’s cheeks flushed pink, and he kicked and squealed in Jem’s arms.
“Where do you hide the coffee?” She spoke as if they looked totally normal.
Olly burst into uproarious laughter and clapped his hands. He pulled the undies off Jem’s head and tried to eat them.
Jem looked her up and down and smiled. Natalie’s insides quivered. The room might have been a wreck, but Jem was not. If anything, his tousled hair and rolled-up shirt cuffs made her mouth go dry.
She needed coffee bad.
“Don’t have any, sorry.” Jem leaned against the doorpost. “That stuff’ll kill you. But I do have OJ.”
She dragged herself back to the kitchen. “Are you the only person on earth who hates coffee? I can’t believe parenthood hasn’t driven you to it.”
“I bought juice with pulp,” Jem called out.
She swung around, but his bedroom door closed.
Jem had pulp orange juice? His teenage rants about the disgustingness of pulp reverberated in her memory. She quickened her pace and pulled open the fridge.
Two juice bottles rested side by side. Pulp. No pulp.
Jem’s door squeaked again, and a moment later he appeared by the fridge. Dropping a final kiss on Olly’s cheek, he handed her the baby. “Ready for your talk yet?”
He’d seemed surprised—actually, his jaw hit the ground—on Tuesday when she’d told him her internship involved regular public speaking. Then he’d looked impressed at her determination to trump this irrational fear.
Not that his opinion mattered.
She groaned in response to his question. “Having to talk in front of people is bad enough. But right now, I can’t even get this thing written, let alone say it aloud. And if I screw it up, it’s all over, red rover.” That thought was far more terrifying than her aversion to speaking before a crowd. She had one shot. One.
The corner of Jem’s mouth quirked. “‘All over, red rover’? One of your dad’s Aussie expressions?”
She nodded.
“Why don’t you ask him for help? He’s the expert.”
“My notes are a mess, I only have two hours, and I came on my bike. And he might be asleep.” Unless the inspiration fairy paid her a visit, she was in serious trouble.
Maybe it would be better to just end things now rather than make a fool of herself and lose the internship anyway.
Jem fished in his pocket and pulled out his keys. “Take the car and head over there. I’ll ride the bus to work. Lili and I have been planning to walk to the bus stop one morning anyway.” He set the keys on the countertop, stepped around Natalie, and rapped on his niece’s door. “Lili? You ready yet?”
Natalie looked at the keys, then Olly, then the back of Jem’s head. “Are you sure? What if you have to go somewhere?”
“I’ll take the work car.”
Lili’s door cracked open and she staggered out, clothed but eyes still shut.
“Come on, sunshine. We’re walking today.” Jem held the front door open for Lili as she shuffled forward.
Natalie turned back toward the fridge, and the front-door hinge squeaked. Jem’s face poked through the doorway.
“Tell your dad I’ll pop by tomorrow for a visit. And good luck today. I’ll be praying.”
He disappeared and the door clicked behind him.
She looked at the baby. “Why does he have to be so sweet? How am I supposed to focus now?”
Olly leaned forward and planted a slobbery kiss on her face.
“That used to be his answer too.” She looked at her notes again and sighed. She needed more than two hours to fix this. Had her chance at the internship ended already?
* * *
By the time Natalie pulled up at Mom and Dad’s house, she had a wedgie, a stain on her shirt, and Edward Scissorhands doing the salsa in her uterus.
Mom’s face appeared in the front window as Natalie pulled Olly from his car seat. By the time she got the car locked, Mom was coming down the drive, cheeks glowing—or was it the neon-pink sweat suit reflecting on her face? Nothing could keep Mom from her morning power walk, even if her duties caring for Dad meant it was on her treadmill by the living room window instead of outside.
“I’m glad you’re here.” She kissed Natalie’s cheek and plucked Olly from her arms. “Dad’s not having a good day.”
The wedgie didn’t seem so bad anymore. “Do you want us to go?”
“No, he’d love to see Olly. Just not for too long.”
“Okay.”
Natalie followed Mom into the house and through the hall. She twisted her notes, dripping with red pen and orange juice, in her hand.
Mom pushed open the bedroom door. Natalie clenched her molars and pushed her lips into a smile.
Dad lay propped on pillows, the bed facing the window so he could see the sun—and the small TV in the corner playing back-to-back James Bond movies. The lines etched into his face were even deeper than usual, and his skin held the yellowish hue of jaundice.
They said he was in remission.
She had her doubts.
He turned his head as they entered, and ten years fell away in his smile. “Nattie! And you’ve brought the little bloke. Help me up, Karen.” He gripped the handle that hung over his bed but only lifted his body an inch before he sagged back against the pillows.
Natalie tugged a chair closer. “Don’t worry, Dad, I’m not planning to sit up.” She slouched in the seat and propped her feet against the edge of the bed to prove her point.
Mom sat on the other side of the bed, next to Dad, and let him play with the baby. It was a perfect distraction while Natalie swiped a thumb under her eyes.
After several minutes Mom said Oliver was hungry and took him into the kitchen. Dad’s eyes followed them out the door, and he sighed. “I wish he could stay longer, Nattie, but I’m all tuckered out.”
She slipped her fingers into his hand. “It’s okay, Dad, you can rest. I’m staying for a while.”
“Good. I . . . wanted . . .” His lids drooped, but he fought the drowsiness. “I wanted to ask if you got the internship.”
Natalie nodded, mute, and he closed his eyes. He’d wake before she left for the church, probably, but in this state he wouldn’t be able to help her today.
Her internship was doomed. And with it her best chance of carrying on his legacy.
She let her gaze wander the room, desperate for a diversion. Two of Mom’s patchwork quilts covered Dad’s bony limbs, despite the unusually warm September morning. They were the brightest thing in the dim bedroom, which was barely big enough for a nightstand and the chairs next to the bed. But it wasn’t the quilts’ bold colors that held her attention. It was the walls.
Photographs hung so thick, it was a wonder the plaster hadn’t crumbled beneath the weight. The pictures were ordered by year, the earliest a fifty-four-year-old snapshot of Mom at sweet sixteen, sitting on Dad’s lap and laughing. Back then they weren’t Mom and Dad, they were Karen and Phil, a dairy farmer’s daughter and the son of a minister.
The next photo showed them three years later, Dad in a suit and Mom in her white satin dress, standing out in front of the old Margaret Street church in Toowoomba, Australia.
They’d probably expected the next shot would be of Mom with a big belly, but first there was a brick house with Mom pointing to a Sold sign. Then an airplane: their big move to America. Had Dad not had his “come to Jesus” moment at a Billy Graham rally in his early teens, that move would’ve been to Hollywood for him to pursue his passion for filmmaking. But he’d felt called to preach instead, and the next half a wall boasted shots of him with all different kinds of people—orphan children from his trip to India, a Virginian governor or two, families from the churches they’d started, and dozens of crowd shots from meetings and revivals. Forty years of itinerant ministry and church planting now summed up in fifteen square feet of wall space.
Then, next to the cupboard door, came the big surprise: Natalie. Pregnant for the first time at forty-four, no one was more surprised than Mom when Natalie was born healthy, happy, and pink.
The rest of the room was basically the Shrine of Natalie. Everything from her first loose tooth to her first pimple displayed for all to see. The biggest pictures, with the shiniest frames, were those of her and Dad together at church camps, her running a small youth group Bible study, even delivering her first—and as yet, only—church talk at a youth rally in South Carolina.
That one was her favorite. Dad had traveled to preach so much when she was little, but when he convinced her to give that talk they’d spent so much time together. Drafting her speech. Traveling together to the rally instead of her staying home with Mom. She’d been shaking with fear before she went on the stage, but afterward, when Dad hugged her and told her how proud he was, it’d all been worth it.
That had marked the start of her traveling with Dad on all the trips she could talk her parents into. She avoided public speaking but acted as his gopher and eventually started booking their accommodations and organizing the trips. They were a team.
“I love that wall.” Dad’s voice spoke beside her.
She jumped, dashed a hand under her eyes. “Even that shot of me swallowing a fly?” She grimaced at the holiday photo of a family trip to her grandparents’ farm. Her freckled face had contorted in a disgusted gasp as Mom clicked the shutter. She shuddered. “I don’t know how Mom survived growing up on a dairy farm. She’s tougher than me.”
“You’re plenty tough.” Dad’s voice thickened.
Natalie squeezed his hand and followed his gaze to the corner of the wall—a spot where Dad never let Mom hang a photo. Even in the old house, he’d kept the place reserved. “Leave some room for Natalie. She’s not done yet,” he’d say. “Who knows what she’s going to do next?”
Then the sickness came, the bills, and eventually the monotony.
They stared at the empty space.
“I—I’m so sorry, Nattie.” Dad’s voice trembled. “I wish I hadn’t been a burden. I wish you’d been able to finish college, make some more memories for the wall instead of taking care of this old codger.” He lifted a weak hand toward the empty space.
“Shush, Dad. I’m right where I want to be. Next to you.”
His grip on her hand tightened, and he cleared his throat. “I’m glad you’re getting this chance with Samuel Payton now. It makes me feel better, you know? To be able to go knowing that you’ve finally got your opportunity. I always knew God meant you for great things. You’ll fill the rest of that wall up in no time.”
Hope unfurled in her chest, even as her heart shredded. Maybe it wasn’t too late to make him proud . . . even if his time was running out.
“You’re not going anywhere,” she croaked out, even though it wasn’t true.
Dad faded in and out for the next half hour. He retold the story of her first day at school, which she didn’t think was that memorable—the fire she’d started was quite small—and by nine twenty he’d talked himself to sleep again. Natalie kissed his whiskery cheek and stole out of the room.
She made up her mind. There was only one thing she could do. She’d have to wing it.
Mom sat at the kitchen table when Natalie entered, Olly asleep against her shoulder with a cake crumb on his plump cheek.
“Mom, have you been feeding him junk food again?”
“I seem to remember you grabbing an entire cake and shoving your face in it.”
“That was a whole month ago.”
Mom grinned, then indicated the baby. “Do you want him back?”
“Let me grab a soda first. I’m in desperate need of caffeine.” Natalie’s palms sweated at the thought of public speaking in—she checked the clock—fifteen minutes’ time. She was probably going to embarrass herself in a major way. But she had to at least try, for Dad.
“I know you have to go, but we need to talk later about Dad’s birthday party. I want this one to be special.” Mom didn’t need to explain why.
Natalie nodded as she grabbed a can of Coke from the fridge. She’d been the party planner of the family since forever. “He’d get a kick out of a Crocodile Dundee theme.”
Mom snorted a laugh as Natalie cracked the tab on her Coke. Brown liquid sprayed across the front of her white blouse.
“Mom!”
“Sorry, I just did the groceries, and they shook up on the trip home. Um, let me get you a cloth.”
Natalie dumped the can in the sink and pulled her now-ruined shirt away from her skin. “I don’t think a cloth is going to cut it. My shirt’s totally see-through.”
“That’s okay, darling, there’s not a whole lot there to see.”
“That’s the pot calling the kettle black, Mrs. A-Cup-Till-Forty.” At least Natalie was a B.
“Don’t worry. I’m sure I have a shirt that will fit you.” Mom scuttled down to her bedroom, Olly still snug against her shoulder, before Natalie could protest.
Fantastic. She was about to do the most important talk of her life dressed like her seventy-year-old mother.