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Soft morning light peeked through the curtains in Jake's bedroom. The sun ushered in the day in which the prodigal son would learn of his redemption—or not.
If he could have pulled the covers over his head and pushed today's events off until a time when he could be assured of a positive outcome, Jake would have. But with Sam Pennington continuing Johnny Peoples's tradition of spewing venom as far as Jake was concerned, that day might never come.
And Jake knew he couldn't stay in bed forever. Dressing quickly, he stopped his nervous pacing only long enough to make coffee and pour it into a travel mug. He wanted to be at the office early and lock the door.
He now knew he didn't have much of a chance, but he did know himself. Jake needed to spend some time alone putting together the final plan.
Arriving at the office before any other employees, Jake reflected on all the classes in law school that stressed the importance of thorough preparations before going into the final arguments in a trial. He'd stand in a boardroom today, not a courtroom, but Jake Peoples felt he had as much on the line as any death-row defendant.
The morning passed, a blur of spreadsheets and notes from past presentations. He only stopped when his stomach insisted on some food, then went right back to where he left off.
Jake notched another line on the notepad on his desk. Forty-one.
Jake had checked the time forty-one times since returning from a solitary lunch at the sandwich shop down the street. He put his head in his hands as he realized only ninety minutes had passed.
A muscle in his neck—right under the base of the skull—cramped. Jake needed to release some of the building tension. He pushed aside an open file folder full of papers on the condo project and laid his head on the one available vacant space he'd created on the desk.
The sound of three insistent raps on his office door jolted through him. Eyes still closed, he tried to ignore the commotion.
"Jake? Jake?" The door muffled the voice, but every repeat of his name came through more loudly. "Jake!"
He lifted his head, fingertips squishing into the cool leather arms of the soft executive chair as he pushed himself upright.
"Coming, Nana." Jake raised himself unsteadily, still fighting off the fog that lingered in his mind after he opened his eyes. He caught a glimpse of the clock as he walked by.
Fifty-six minutes had slid past. Jake hadn't meant to fall asleep. He assumed sheer exhaustion and stress had finally caught up to him after a night of tossing and turning. The numb center of his brain thawed long enough for Jake to hope Sam didn't have a hidden camera in the office. He knew his father's close friend would relish documenting the interim CEO sleeping before the most important meeting of his short and doomed career.
Diana Powell Peoples slipped in as soon as her only grandson opened the door just enough for her to fit through. Jake had always thought she looked younger than her seventy-four years, with very few wrinkles on her face. Today, though, every line etched into her skin seemed more pronounced. Could worry over this situation be aging her as much as he felt it was aging him?
"We need to talk, Jakey." Nana chose to pace instead of sitting. "Sam's arrived earlier than I thought he would. He's up in the boardroom, on his cell phone. We need to get up there. He won't be able to make hurtful calls with you and me sitting across from him."
"I hadn't planned on going upstairs quite yet."
"You don't have a..." Nana turned on the ball of her foot. "Jake?" She looked her grandson square in the eye. A few quick steps later, she folded Jake in her small arms.
Diana's birdlike stature did not affect her ability to give a bearlike hug.
"Nana..." He leaned into the relaxation he'd searched for all afternoon. "I just don't have a good feeling about any of this."
He never could lie to this woman who'd always believed in him. She patted his back, as she so often did decades before, when he'd been a little boy who had trouble getting back to sleep in the middle of the night.
"Me neither, Jakey. But we're going to get through this. No matter what happens in that boardroom, you're still my grandson, and I'm still glad you came back from Austin to try to make this company a better place. Let's sit for a second."
Jake followed his grandmother to the couch like a curious puppy. He needed these few minutes with Nana. He needed to admit to himself just how much it meant to him to be the family leader his father never trusted him to be.
"I want you to go up there and speak from the heart, Jake. You're just like all the men who've come before you—you like facts and figures. And I know you're proud of what you've put together in a short time on that condominium development over on Gulfview." She patted his hand. "But lots of people put together real estate and construction deals every day. I know that's not why you came back. Be honest with yourself and be honest with the board."
He could feel his breathing become less labored, something he hadn't observed since last night at Huarache's with Gracie. "But, Nana, how do I put something into words that I can't even explain fully to myself?" He exhaled strongly.
"I don't know. Only you know the answer to that. I've learned it's never a bad idea to pray." She stood up and squeezed Jake's shoulder. "I'm going to head up there and see what I can do before the meeting starts. Come up to the boardroom when you're ready."
The stately woman walked to the door and laid a light hand on the handle, then turned back to face her grandson. "No matter what, Jakey, I love you. Don't forget that."
Once she closed the door, Jake could hear only silence. Even his own thoughts fell to the wayside. He looked at his desk, covered in stacks of folders and reams of white rectangles with rows and columns of neat black ink. He wanted so badly to draw comfort from the sight of all his preparation. But instead, the view made his gut cramp, and left him more uncomfortable than at any time in recent memory.
Jake again took note of the quiet that surrounded him. John Edward Peoples IV stood alone. So very alone.
Echoes greeted the interim CEO as he took the first step off the elevator. The voices of the directors bounced off the polished marble flooring in the hallway to the boardroom. The amplified volume made it seem as though a hundred people crowded into the room, instead of the mere ten who would shortly be seated around the table.
Jake's stomach seized. He could feel the viselike teeth of fear clamping down. Never before, not even when he turned over his house key to help make restitution to his creditors as a part of his bankruptcy filing, did the acidic sea in his middle churn so violently.
The feel of a thousand ant feet blazing a trail buzzed over his skin. Gripping the pen and signing his name to the paperwork dissolving his law firm a few months ago hadn't made his hands tremble like this.
God, why did I come back? Why did I come back for this?
Jake had never directly questioned God in thirty-four years. And he didn't know why he thought God would answer him now. The Ruler of the Universe wouldn't have time to answer an off-the-cuff question from a perpetual mess.
God would spend His time with people who knew Him—people like Gracie. Gracie. Just thinking of her smile and her optimistic heart brought him a small measure of comfort. Facing the demise of her own business, Gracie never changed course. She showed him why her school was special, why her work was special.
And in doing so, she gained Jake's respect and support. If Gracie could do that, surely Jake could pull off a similar feat today with the board. Nana implored him to give honesty. And even Jenna's words from a few days ago came back to mind—don't forget what's important. All he needed to do was convince ten business leaders why he'd come back.
Too bad God hadn't answered his question yet.
"I thought I heard someone in the hallway." Milton Brashear, the president of Port Provident Bank and Trust, greeted Jake at the door to the boardroom with a solid pat on the shoulder. "Ready?" Milton meant the gesture to be reassuring—Jake could sense that—but instead it underscored what remained at stake.
"Ready." A less-true syllable had never been uttered in Jake's life.
"Everyone, Jake's here. Let's take our seats."
Milton ushered the prodigal son into the room. The thud of the heavy doors shutting reverberated deep in Jake's bones. No turning back now. Nana remained standing after everyone took their seat. As the only member of the family on the board, she customarily started the meetings.
"Welcome, everyone. We only have one agenda item today, the vote to confirm John Peoples IV, as the official CEO of Peoples Property Group. This will fill the vacancy left by the unexpected death earlier this year of my son, John Peoples III. Jake will present an update on the Provident Plaza condominium project on Gulfview Boulevard, then we will take the vote."
The matriarch sat quickly, as though she hoped to move the meeting along as fast as possible. She would not prolong the uneasiness either for herself or her grandson.
Sam Pennington spoke, his words deflecting Diana's poised introduction like an Army missile. "Diana, I don't think we need to see a presentation. We've all known the boy for years. Let's just take the vote."
A mutter worked its way across the room. It sounded like a childhood round of the telephone game.
"Agreed." Bruce Patterson, a local insurance agent who had served as a groomsman at Jake's parents' wedding, spoke above the din. "I make a motion we move straight to the vote. Do I have a second?"
"Second." Sam raised his hand with a dismissive flick of the wrist.
Jake swallowed hard. A lead weight worked down his throat. He could feel the stretching and burning at every inch.
"We have a motion to move straight to a vote." Nana's voice fell flat. "Jake, do you have anything you'd like to say?"
"Diana..." Sam used the woman's name as a warning.
She turned in his direction with whip-cracking speed. "Hold your horses, Sam. He deserves a chance to speak. You just took his presentation time away from him."
"We've agreed to a vote, Diana. You can't just keep propping your boy up." Sam would not give an inch. Johnny Peoples died in January, but his spirit of rancor lived on in the board members he'd appointed during his lifetime.
"Since you want to play by the rules, I move that we give Jake an opportunity to make a statement before the vote. Do I have a second?" She never took her eyes off her son's lifelong friend, even though she addressed the entire board with her question.
"Yes. Second." Milton waded into the fray.
From his chair at the head of the table, Jake surveyed every other face in the room. No one moved. A few looked down, unwilling to make eye contact. Whether they were keeping their cards close to the vest or just made uncomfortable by the verbal tug-of-war, Jake couldn't tell.
He hoped for the latter. He knew his odds were better if he could play for sympathy.
Nana turned away from Sam slowly. Jake knew she was daring the troublemaker to make her bare her claws again. "Jake," she said deliberately. "The floor is yours."
The significance of the moment overwhelmed him. This very floor might never be his again. He needed words.
"Thank you, Nana." He paused.
Breathe. Exhale. Breathe again.
"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming today." Jake tried to stall with a little bit of introduction. "All of you knew my father, and most of you have watched me grow up, leave town and recently come back. For those of you who were surprised when I returned to Port Provident, I want you to know I arrived with the best of intentions."
Jake could see compassion in the eyes of many at the table, but only sharp daggers in Sam Pennington's cold stare. He resented every word out of Jake's mouth. "All of you work here in Port Provident, and you know what it's like to do business in a small town. Reputation is everything. And it seemed to me that Peoples Property Group had been coasting on our name instead of being at the forefront of shaping this town. I came back to change that."
Sam leaned forward and pointed straight at Jake, barging into the monologue. "No, you didn't. You came back because your own reputation got shredded in Austin. You're even more of a fool than I thought you were if you believe we're all going to buy your line, son."
Jake knew his father loved to spread stories about his naive mess of a son. He didn't realize how much his father's circle took them as the truth. Until now.
"It's not a line, Sam. I could have stayed to rebuild my career in Austin. I chose to come home to lead the family company after my father's death. I believed in my obligation to my grandfather and great-grandfather and the work they did here." He tried to keep his buttons covered up where Sam couldn't punch them.
"The family company? You're not really family. So, you can quit trying to—"
"You will not speak that way in my presence, Sam Pennington." Nana's gasp of breath came out more like a shriek. "Your last name is not Peoples, and you are not qualified to speak on who is or is not a member of my family."
The blood sprinted to Sam's face through the throbbing vein in his throat. His sallow skin turned crimson all the way back to the receding hairline. "Diana, I'm more than qualified to speak on who should run this company, and this boy isn't it. Jake's a fool who damaged Johnny Peoples's name before he was even born. I'm not going to stand by and let him damage Johnny's name in death. I could give my support to this company headed by a member of the family, but all Jake has is a big name he never should have been given in the first place."
Jake's heart rate increased to match Sam's. What on earth was the accountant talking about? He'd seen many sides of Sam, including pointed anger, over the years. But he'd never seen his father's best friend lose control.
He couldn't even hold a grudge over Sam's labeling him a lazy fool. Not until he found out what the rage-fueled speech truly meant. He'd had his suspicions for years. Now, he could know for certain—it was clear the same price would be paid no matter what.
"His mother was an alcoholic socialite who pawned her child from an affair off on my best friend. And how did Johnny get repaid? By a 'son' who rejected working at this all-important family company—until he botched his legal career." Sam banged on the table with his fist.
Jake swore the sound could have been his heart. Child of an affair? Not Johnny Peoples's son?
He'd often wondered if something like this would explain his father's coldness over the years, but no. It couldn't really be true.
Port Provident was the quintessential small Texas town. Gossip edged out high school football as the number one pastime. If Sam's allegations contained even a shred of truth, surely the information would have reached Jake's ears over the years.
Through all the questions and the doubts, he'd clung to the fact that no one had ever confronted him to his face with that ugliest of suspicions.
"Your name may read John Edward Peoples IV on your birth certificate. But Johnny Peoples isn't listed as your father. There's a blank line there. Haven't you ever wondered why? It wasn't an oversight. He wouldn't allow your mother to insult him in that way." Sam slouched in his chair, spent. His words came out in a surly growl. "Let's just take the vote, Diana."
To his right, Ken Potter shook his head. His confusion mirrored Jake's own. "There's not going to be a vote," his words came out slowly, framed in disbelief.
"What do you mean?" Numbness overtook Jake. He couldn't feel his mouth and tongue moving, even as they spoke the words. "The bylaws state that a direct descendent of the founder, John Peoples, must be CEO. If Sam's allegations are true, and you don't qualify, then the board must look elsewhere in the family or change the bylaws, neither of which we're prepared to do today." Ken's eyes looked pleadingly at Diana.
"You're right, Ken." Jake heard his grandmother's heart break with three simple syllables. "I don't know why Sam's bringing up these allegations today, but..."
"Diana, you know I'm not lying." She backed her chair from the table and stood. "There's no vote. Meeting adjourned."
Her voice trailed out on a heavy breath. Without another sound, Nana walked out of the boardroom her father-in-law, husband and son all had once dominated. Even her shoes didn't echo on the granite flooring.
Eight other members of the board followed quickly. No one dared to let out so much as a whisper. There would be time enough for hushed voices and gasps of surprise behind carefully shielding hands.
Sam Pennington stopped short of the doorway. He turned and looked at Jake. His mouth opened, stalled, then closed again. And then, the keeper of Johnny Peoples's legacy walked out the door, leaving only bitter memories—long past and brand-new—behind.
Jake stood alone in the boardroom over which he'd hoped to preside. The portraits lining the back wall dared to make eye contact with him. John Edward Peoples, John Edward Peoples II, and John Edward Peoples III all stared at Jake, unblinking. Swiftly, Jake grabbed the clear water glass from in front of him on the table. In his palm, it felt cool and smooth. Jake felt like neither.
He hurled the glass at the last oil painting with all the awkwardness of the young boy whose father would never play catch with him. He threw it at the canvas with all the rage of the young boy whose father would never say "I love you" to him.
Now he knew why. All those years of coldness. All those words of anger. All those instances without parental support. Johnny Peoples had never told Jake "I love you" because he couldn't.
Johnny Peoples had never loved Jake.
John Edward Peoples III took a direct hit just under the left eye. The tearing of the canvas as the painting in its gilded frame hit the floor, acted on Jake like the release of a grenade pin. Emotions exploded. Jake had lived a lie for thirty-four years. How could he ever trust anyone again? Fathers should protect their sons.
And so should grandmothers. Not only had he lost his family legacy today, the long-known-yet-buried secret caused Jake to lose faith in the one person he'd always thought he could trust.
––––––––
Gracie shuffled through the small pile of papers on her desk. Capping her red pen, she set aside the day's grading. She knew some teachers found paperwork like this tedious, but Gracie enjoyed the process. It gave her the opportunity to see the progress of her students. It always felt good to know she'd been able to help good people further their grasp of the English language as they sought to assimilate into this country, which had given them all—herself included—so much.
Now that she'd finished her work for the day, it was time to start thinking about tonight. She couldn't wait to see Jake and to hear about his presentation.
Normally, for a casual event like tonight's fund-raiser at the church, Gracie would just pull out a pair of cotton shorts and a casual, solid-colored T-shirt and pair it all with the official beachtown footwear: flip-flops.
But not tonight.
As she climbed the stairs, she mentally flipped through her small closet. She wanted to surprise Jake. She wanted to look like someone the CEO of an important local company would be proud to be seen with. She knew that, in spite of his doubts yesterday, the other members of the board would see through one man's vendetta and confirm Jake anyway.
Gracie pulled out her two favorite cotton sundresses and laid them carefully on the bed. She stared at them, brought over jewelry to match, then stared some more. Which would knock Jake off his feet? She giggled like a high schooler picking out a formal for a school dance, then realized she'd better watch herself. It was a casual church picnic with a friend. She'd attended hundreds of social events at the church— no need to treat this as anything other than what it really was.
Gracie decided on the teal dress with the flirty skirt, largely because she loved the chunky jewelry she could pair with it. Because accessories cost money she'd never had much of, she didn't own a lot of jewelry—but this set was a gift from Tía Elena, her mother's sister back in Mexico. Made of close to fifty pieces of deep-blue turquoise about the size of quarters, each minimally finished so that no two looked alike, the necklace made a statement. The sterling silver and red coral accents only added to the exclamation factor. She threaded the matching earrings through her ears, then added the bracelet and a ring that covered half her right ring finger.
"Ah, qué bella. Perfecto." Gracie stood back from the full-length antique mirror in the corner and let the wide grin on her face become the final accessory. She twirled on one sandal-clad toe, letting the dress swirl around her. The outfit looked beautiful. It had come together perfectly.
Now all she needed was a phone call from Jake's secretary, telling her when he would arrive.
In the bathroom, Gracie touched and retouched her lipstick until she wore a deep crimson-and-rose hybrid created from multiple tubes of color. She brushed her hair seemingly a hundred times, then decided to plug in her curling iron. She rolled each segment and styled the curls simply by running her fingers through them, finishing with a light squirt of hair spray.
What else could she do while she waited? She expected Jake's phone call by now, and the nervous excitement began to overtake her body.
She twitched.
She fidgeted.
She paced.
And then she heard a thump-thump-thump from the heavy brass knocker at her front door. Gracie raced down the stairs so fast the clatter of her sandals on the wooden stairs echoed throughout the entire house, from upstairs living quarters to downstairs school rooms.
"Jake! I thought you were going to call!" In spite of her earlier admonitions to herself, she couldn't keep the smile off her face or out of her voice when she opened the door. The tiny bubbles of carbonated excitement that had been percolating inside her at a feverish pitch for the last hour all popped in rapid staccato as she took in the state of his expression.
She searched for the emerald sparkle that always drew her in like a magnet. Instead, only a dull, mossy haze glazed over his eyes.
"Jake? What's the matter?" She pulled the door fully open and stepped aside. "Come in."
Wordlessly, Jake shuffled through the door. His shoulders slumped, obviously weighed down by far more than his cotton button-down shirt.
Gracie stopped, reached out and grabbed his shoulders. "Jake, say something. What's wrong?"
"Everything."
The few remaining bubbles inside Gracie fizzled. "I don't understand, Jake." She couldn't let go. She now needed him to steady her as much as she'd originally thought he needed her. "Did your father's friend vote against you?"
"There wasn't a vote." His voice sounded flatter than the surf on a hot morning.
"What about your presentation?" She needed to know what he meant. Gracie couldn't translate what Jake now said into anything that made sense. "There wasn't a presentation. There couldn't be a presentation or a vote because the bylaws state that a direct descendant of the company founder must be CEO." His vacant stare darted down and locked with hers for a brief pause, then pulled up and connected idly with the corner at the back of the hallway ceiling. "There isn't even really a Jake Peoples."
Gracie grabbed the collar on his shirt. Her fingernails slid across the starchy sheen. The cool slickness of the fabric contrasted with the white-hot need she had to shake the information out of him. "You're speaking in riddles, Jake."
"I'm not my father's son and I will never be the CEO of Peoples Property Group. Sam Pennington saw to it that in death, my father dealt the blow he never could in life." His cadence picked up speed and his tone increased in volume. "I told you last night your family wasn't like mine. It's because my family lived a lie. Every day for the last thirty-four years. A lie. My father hated me not because he thought I was lazy or because I didn't do what he thought was proper, as he always told me. He hated me because my mother made him claim someone else's son as his own."
He ripped his gaze from the far away corner and shook off Gracie's hands with one pounding step backward. "I don't even know who I am, Gracie!" Jake roared.
Each syllable sounded less like the utterance of a heartbroken man and more like that of a bleeding animal. Gracie had longed for Jake's explanation, but finally hearing it took away all her own speech.
What could she say? No condolence seemed appropriate to give for being robbed of one's birthright. Maybe words weren't necessary. Gracie knew she couldn't erase his past, but she could provide a soft landing for his present.
Her arms went around his neck, and she pulled tightly, trying to signal that he could lean on her. There were no butterflies in her stomach, no feelings of excitement as there had been just a few minutes before when she'd heard Jake's knock at the door. This wasn't a hug of emotion.
It was a wordless statement of friendship and support. And the gift felt completely natural to give, with no further expectation. What kind of father would be so cruel to a boy he raised? Parenthood wasn't just genetics. When Jake deepened the embrace, the shared connection caused tears to well up in Gracie's own eyes. As her tears free, Jake pulled back ever so slightly. He leaned his forehead against Gracie's and linked his fingers through hers. With her head tilted just slightly, she could watch the wet drops fall on the scuffed wooden floor that had supported the weight of broken hearts for so many years.
––––––––
The boisterous sounds coming from the church lawn scratched at Gracie's eardrums like a cat going after a carpeted post. After the silence in the car and the strained syllables at the house, it took her a moment to adjust to the fact that not everyone was dealing with the extreme emotions Jake faced.
For most people, this was just an ordinary Friday night with friends. Gracie held onto Jake's hand as they walked down the sidewalk toward the rows of tables covered with food and silent auction items.
Looking out toward the far corner of the church's property, Gracie could see a group of people holding "Save El Centro" signs and waving at oncoming traffic. Parked nearby was the same white TV van that had brought the news crew to El Centro earlier in the week.
She needed to find out what this was all about, but she didn't want to drag Jake over there and make him feel even worse about today's turn of events. A news crew might put a camera in Jake's face and take no prisoners. She had to spare him that further indignity.
Gracie stole a glance at Jake's profile. The tension made the muscle at the back of his jaw curl up. Maybe the other churchgoers wouldn't notice that Jake's usual smooth lines had been chiseled into hard edges, but she did.
But, in typical Jake fashion, not even a single hair was out of place. Nothing spoke to the turmoil within. Well, nothing but the silence between them.
"Jake! Graciela! It's good to see you both tonight." Marco Ruiz's face lit up when he saw them walk into the part of the yard cordoned off for the fund-raiser. Jake nodded.
Gracie decided to speak for them both. "Holá, Pastor. Jake even helped Mamí and Papí make the tamales for tonight." She gestured at the tables in the distance already covered with food. "Bien. That means you're one of the family, Jake. Juanita doesn't let just anyone into her kitchen." He gave Jake a knowing wink.
Gracie felt certain Pastor Ruiz couldn't possibly know why Jake flinched a little at the mention of the word family. But if he did, maybe he could help. She needed to find an excuse to give them a few moments together. She didn't know if Jake would open up, but the pastor always amazed her with his perception. It couldn't hurt to try.
"There's Gloria." She spotted her sister setting up the table for the tamales. The perfect opportunity. "She looks like she might need some help. Be right back."
She squeezed Jake's hand before releasing her fingers from between his.
Please, God, speak through Pastor Ruiz. Bring Jake some comfort.
––––––––
Jake couldn't get comfortable in his own skin. Ever since Sam Pennington's explosive allegations this afternoon, Jake hadn't felt like himself.
Whoever that was, anyway.
What if he never knew? His so-called father was in the grave. He hadn't spoken to his mother since he left Port Provident for college—when she, too, had left town. Jake sure didn't plan to degrade himself in front of Sam Pennington any further by asking for the dirty truth.
"Jake." Pastor Ruiz waved a hand in front of his face. "You're right here in front of me, but I can tell your thoughts are miles away. Do you need to get something off your chest?"
If he couldn't be honest with a man of the cloth, to whom could he come clean?
He knew Nana's etiquette books never would advocate unburdening oneself to a stranger, but he needed to talk to someone who didn't know him or his family—and wouldn't judge.
"Today should have been a good day. It should have been the day when I stepped up to the plate and finally took responsibility for my role in my family's legacy. I should have been named CEO of Peoples Property Group this afternoon. Instead, my late father's best friend used the opportunity to separate me from my family and my company."
The day's shame tasted bitter on his tongue.
"You never knew any of this before this afternoon?"
"I always knew my father didn't treat me like other fathers treated their sons. We definitely weren't Ward and Beaver Cleaver. I suspected something wasn't right, but I was always afraid to put a name on it." Jake couldn't hold the big question inside any longer. "If I'm not a part of my own family, Pastor Ruiz, where do I belong?"
Jake could hear the sounds of happy families in the distance, but the laughter couldn't fill the silent pause that lay between him and the pastor.
"Well, that's a question with an answer that is both simple and difficult." He stopped with deliberate thoughtfulness. "Your earthly family may have let you down. But your Heavenly Father knows you inside and out. He calls you His child, and He will not let you down."
Pastor Ruiz's dark mustache wiggled like a broom as he spoke. His words swept at the cobwebs of neglect and loneliness in Jake's heart.
Jake should have known this pep talk would come down to the same old tired Sunday school lesson. He decided to be blunt. "Of course a preacher would say that. I know that's how you see all this, but that's just not the God I grew up knowing."
Acknowledgment came in the form of a knowing nod. "Maybe so, Jake. But there's only one God. Not one for preachers and another for the people in the pews."
"Marco!" A slim woman with blonde highlights in her dark hair raised her voice above the din as she walked toward the grassy confessional.
Pastor Ruiz craned his head around to see the owner of the voice. "Holá, Tía Angela." He extended a beefy arm and waved. Jake looked more closely at the impending visitor. "Jake, do you know my aunt?"
Of course Jake did. Before him stood the wild card on the City Council who had staged that rally on the news and was likely responsible for the signs and TV camera he'd noticed in the distance tonight. He needed to keep his distance from that corner—and from Angela Ruiz's PR machine.
"Hello, Councilwoman Ruiz. You're the pastor's aunt?" Jake watched as Angela gave her nephew a quick peck of greeting on the cheek. Did everyone else have an open and loving family except him? So many friendly people surrounded him here—but he couldn't remember a time when he felt more in need of a friend.
"Sí. His younger aunt. Marco's father is my oldest brother. I'm the youngest of seven children. Marco here is five years older than me—it's been the running joke in our family for my entire life."
She smiled. Her relaxed joking and the happiness on the faces of friends and neighbors all around made Jake want to go home and sit in a corner. He didn't belong here. He didn't belong to his own family.
And he didn't belong to this "Heavenly Father" Pastor Ruiz talked about. If God did care about him, He wouldn't have let Jake live a lie for almost three-and-a-half decades. The numbness inside his mind slid away, replaced by the scarring lava flow of white-hot anger.
The muscles in his jaw clenched with a force that ground his back molars tightly together. "If you'll excuse me, councilwoman, I need to go find Gracie. Pastor Ruiz, thanks for your time."
Jake ducked around them and set out in search of Gracie. He knew he'd been abrupt, but if he didn't get out of here, he knew he was far too likely to explode on someone who wouldn't deserve that kind of treatment and the presence of the TV cameras scared him. He didn't want to talk to the media—he didn't even have the words to talk to Gracie. Jake needed to make his excuses to her. Her sister or parents would be able to take her home. He wasn't running away, but he knew she'd be better off without his baggage tonight.
––––––––
Gracie perched the last bag of tamales for the fund-raiser precariously on top of the pile covering the entire rectangular table. Although a small mountain of bags faced her now, at a price of only $ for a dozen, Gracie knew the bags would sell faster than snow cones at the height of summer.
Stepping back to admire her handiwork, she raised her eyes to scan the crowd but didn't see Jake anywhere.
"Oh, hermana—while I was at the post office today, I used my extra key and checked your mail for you. I think you've been waiting for this." Gloria lifted her purse off the ground and pulled out a slim envelope.
The faint nubbiness of heavy linen paper rubbed across Gracie's fingertips as she took the dove-gray envelope from her sister. Printed in a small black typeface in the upper left-hand corner were the words The Gulf Coast Educational Foundation paired with a downtown Houston address. She held its promise carefully in her hands.
"Aren't you going to open it?" Gloria prodded. "You've talked about this letter for weeks. Don't you want to know what it says?"
Gracie slid a finger in the space at the edge of the sealed flap, then stopped abruptly. "But, Gloria, what if it's bad news?"
"It's not going to be, silly. You've said all along how El Centro is the perfect candidate for this grant. It's going to be great news, and we're going to celebrate it here with everyone. Open it up or I will."
Gloria lunged forward, playfully reaching for the letter. Gracie ducked slightly out of her sister's reach and swiped her finger down the length of the flap, then up, popping it open. Gracie pulled out the letter, unfolding it with a slight tremble that she couldn't quite identify as fear or excitement.
She could see right away that below all the formal salutations, only a short paragraph made up the body of the letter. The Gulf Coast Educational Foundation got straight to the point of thanking her for her time in applying for the grant, but another recipient would receive this year's funding.
The letter fell from Gracie's hand. It tumbled downward, blown by the breeze like a lifeline bobbing away on the tide. She could see so many of her students across the churchyard—talking with friends, eating with family, playing with children. None realized the American dream had just become a little more difficult for them.
"What am I going to do, Gloria?" The worry on her sister's face compounded Gracie's hopelessness. "It's all over. I'm through."
"Through with what?" A deep voice broke through Gracie's melancholy.
"El Centro. I didn't get the grant, Jake."
"I'm so sorry. I'm the reason you're in this mess."
"You're not on the foundation's selection committee. You didn't do this," Gracie said flatly.
"No, but if I hadn't started everything in motion to get rid of nonprofits on Gulfview, you'd still have a building for a school and a home. You might not have your GED program, but it wouldn't matter that you didn't get the grant because you wouldn't need the money to move to a new location. This is all my fault, Gracie."
Less than twenty-four hours before, Jake had stood in her parents' kitchen and laughed and joked with her whole family. Now, she couldn't see even the smallest flicker of light in his eyes.
"Jake, you don't need to blame yourself."
"I do." He left no room for debate. "Gracie, I can't stay for the dinner. I'm sorry, but I need to go."
"Do you want me to come with you?" Maybe if they worked together, they could sort it all out. She wanted to hold on to the hope that not everything was lost.
"No. I just need to be alone. In fact, it's probably better for both of us if I just stay out of your life so I don't ruin anything else."
He let go and gave her one last look with hollow eyes. The first time he'd walked away from Gracie—when he notified her of the upcoming City Council vote— she'd been so sure she could change him. She remembered praying for the scales of judgment to drop from his eyes. Instead, working with her caused Jake to bring judgment upon himself. Why had that prayer been so misconstrued?
She'd prayed for a way to save her school. Why did all the doors continue to close?
And what about her prayers for a future with Jake? She'd always felt so certain that when she talked to God, a two-way dialogue occurred. Now, it seemed her prayers must sound to Him like a static-filled radio station.
Gracie didn't feel comforted by the thought of prayer right now. She felt alone. Abandoned both by the God who'd put the dream of El Centro in her heart and abandoned by Jake who—if she was honest—was beginning to steal a piece of her heart.
Jake lost the battle for his company today, but Gracie knew she had to keep fighting for hers—even as she now realized she'd have to do it all on her own. She squared her shoulders and took a determined step across the lawn in the direction of the protesters and the crew from KPPT-TV. She took a deep breath to clear her head and pushed toward the small crowd, where she could see Patti Cortez stepping out of the van, microphone in hand.
No Jake.
No grant.
No faith in her prayers.
She had to make a last stand with the only weapon she had left—the power of public opinion—or in a matter of days she'd have no home and no job, either.
