The warmth from Zach’s shoulder seeped into Amy’s heart. How could he be so sure about everything? It was great that he wasn’t worried about what other people thought. But how was she supposed to stop? Especially when she’d seen firsthand how awful it could get? Of course, sitting here like this made it seem less problematic. Maybe she was making it harder than it really was.

“Can I ask you something?”

Zach pressed another kiss into her hair. “Always.”

“Are you really only at our school to pay back your college loans?”

“Basically. Why?” He scooted, angling so he could see her face.

Her heart sank. She’d hoped maybe she’d misheard him. Or that it wasn’t the full story. “So you don’t think you’re called to be there? To help those kids?”

He frowned. “I didn’t say that.”

“I don’t understand. If you’re only there because of Teach the City, that kind of rules out anything else.” And it opened up a whole new dilemma. Bad enough that she still wasn’t completely over her hesitancy with the difference in their race, but that didn’t matter nearly as much as not sharing the same mission.

“Does it? I’m not sure I see how. Just because I’m taking advantage of a program that can help me doesn’t mean I don’t want to help my students, that I don’t think they’re worthwhile.”

“You could say that about any student population though. I meant our kids. The kids in D.C. who aren’t the sons and daughters of Ambassadors and Senators, but the ones who, very likely, have had periods in their life when the only meal they’ve eaten was at school, where their backpack, school supplies, and winter coat were all donated by someone living on the other side of town or out in the suburbs.” Amy broke contact with him, scooting aside. “It’s important, Zach. These kids aren’t just any kids.”

He sighed. “Are there people who teach for more than a year, maybe two, without it being a calling? Would you have stuck through to your third year if you weren’t called to do it?”

What did that have to do with anything? “Probably not. And yeah, I get that’s why so many first and second year teachers leave. That and the fact that it’s a challenge to support a family on a teacher’s salary. So?”

“So can’t we agree that I’m doing what I feel called to do? And right now that means our kids. The ones at our school. In the area of D.C. that teeters on the edge of unsafe and has a bizarre mix of young professionals and generations-old residents who simply can’t afford—or don’t want—to go elsewhere.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “Isn’t that enough?”

Her head started shaking before she gave it conscious thought. That school—that neighborhood—mattered to her. A lot. “I grew up there, Zach. It’s more than just another school with too many students and too few resources. And yeah, I was one of the lucky kids whose family could afford heat and groceries, but that didn’t mean I didn’t understand what was going on. My teachers...I knew they were there and that they cared about us. We saw them in the grocery store or at church or just out walking the dog. Because they cared enough to live in our neighborhood and make a difference every day of the week, not just school days from eight to four.”

“That’s incredibly unfair.” He stood and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Commuting to work doesn’t make me less invested in these kids. Besides, I’m not the only teacher at our school who doesn’t live next door.”

“You’re the only one I’m dating.” She stood, squaring her shoulders, and faced him. “And maybe it is unfair, but it’s another part of my confusion. I like you, Zach. But how is there a future for us if you don’t understand, and share, the desire—the need—to be a part of these kids’ lives, to live in their neighborhood and understand what it means when they become the first person in their family to even think about applying to college?”

“You think I don’t understand that?” He paused and took a breath. The effort of keeping his voice calm was evident on his face. “You think I don’t share that?”

“How can you? You zip in to the city, teach, and escape back to the comfort of the suburbs. You go to a big, rich church filled with other people who zip into the city and back out again without paying attention to the people who live there. Do you even know where people who live near our school get groceries?”

“Sure. There’s a Giant four blocks away or they can go to Mr. Sam’s on the corner. Of course, if you stop in there, you’re going to get an earful about the current state of the country, but that man’s got a pretty good read on the pulse of the nation. I keep trying to get him to run for office. He says he’s too old.”

He knew Mr. Sam? Had talked to him? “How...?”

“I’ve worked there two and a half years. You think I’ve never left campus?” He shook his head and sat back down on the front steps.

So...maybe she’d been a little unfair. “Sorry.”

He shrugged. “Just because I don’t live down there doesn’t mean I don’t care about the community. And just because I don’t, at this point, necessarily plan to stay at our school forever and ever doesn’t mean I’m not committed to the job while I have it.”

He wasn’t planning to stay. At least he’d admitted it. Though he probably didn’t realize he had. “All right. I should probably get going.”

“Are we okay?” Deep lines were etched in his forehead and around his eyes.

Amy forced a smile. “Yeah. Sure we are.”

He drew in a breath like he was going to say something, pressed his lips together, and shook his head. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Not if I see you first.”

He chuckled, but his eyes watched her. He had to know something was still off. He wasn’t stupid. But how did they fix it? Amy didn’t have an answer.

“Did you fix things with Zach?” Marisa slid a bowl of chili in front of Amy and nudged the tray of cornbread closer.

“I think I probably made things worse.” Amy took a thick, golden wedge from the pan and dipped it in her chili. “It started out positive...but then, I don’t know, Mama.”

Marisa perched on the other stool at the counter and hollered. “Devon, come in here, hon.”

“Mom. He’s watching the game, leave him be.”

“Honey, you know I love you, but I get tired of relaying the details to your Father.” She smiled as Devon entered the room, still looking over his shoulder at the TV in the den. “Your daughter is about to tell us how she made things even worse with Zach.”

“What?” Devon’s head swiveled around, his eyes boring into Amy. “How’d you manage that? That boy’s over the moon about you.”

Amy hunched her shoulders. “He’s only teaching downtown because of a loan repayment program.”

Devon shrugged. “And?”

“Really, Dad? I would’ve thought you’d understand, if anyone was going to. How many times could we have moved to the suburbs, or even into a better neighborhood, and you didn’t because you knew this was where God wanted you—us—to be? I feel the same way. So how do I get involved with someone who doesn’t feel that way?” Amy mashed the cornbread into the chili, thickening it into a grainy, stew-like concoction.

“By understanding that commuter trains, and roads, for that matter, run both directions. If God calls him to the suburbs, that doesn’t mean he can’t still come see you. Or that he couldn’t live downtown and commute out.”

Marisa placed her hand on Amy’s, stopping her from mashing the chili. “And by understanding that what your Dad just said isn’t something that has to be figured out until you’re married, anyway. It isn’t as if he lives across the country and it’d be a long distance relationship.”

Married. A chill worked its way down her spine. She loved the idea of marriage. Even more, the idea of marriage to Zach...when it was hypothetical. “But...”

Devon shook his head. “No buts. You’re over thinking this.”

“He said he loves me.” Amy’s hand flew to her mouth.

Devon shot Marisa a smug look. “I knew I liked that boy.”

“What did you tell him?” Marisa patted Devon’s hand, her gaze fixed on Amy.

Amy shrugged. “That it was a big word.”

“Oh, honey.” Marisa sighed.

“What was I supposed to say, Mom? I don’t know if I love him. I’ve never been in love before. I don’t even know how you know if you’re in love. I see you and Dad and I want what you have, not something that comes ‘close enough’. So how do I know if that’s where we’re headed before I waste time and energy on something that isn’t the real thing?”

Devon wrapped his arms around Amy, pulling her to his chest. “Bambina, love doesn’t have guarantees. You make a choice that you’re going to love and then you work, every day, to be true to that choice. Some days it’s easy. Other days it’s not. You simply have to decide if Zach is worth the effort.”

“You look rough.” Terri reached for the coffee carafe as Amy slid it back onto the burner.

“Didn’t sleep.” Amy dumped three packets of sugar into her coffee and started a long stream of powdered creamer.

Terri frowned. “You having any coffee with cream and sugar?”

Amy huffed out a breath. “Do you need something, Terri?”

“Touchy.” Terri chuckled and stirred in a single sugar substitute before taking a sip from her mug. “I was wondering if we could start thinking about the program booklets. Maybe spend a couple minutes at lunch or during my free period working up a design?”

Programs. Right. ‘Cause she didn’t have enough else on her plate right now. Though, to be fair, that wasn’t really the problem. Zach was the problem. Zach and his “I love you.” What was he thinking?

“Earth to Amy? Programs for the program? Or should I ask Zach?”

Amy growled. “Don’t...” She paused, took a breath, and started over. “You don’t need to do that. Maybe tomorrow? We need to hammer down the solos and special numbers this afternoon at rehearsal.”

Terri’s eyebrows lifted. “Trouble in paradise?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t even know if we’re in paradise. What kind of ridiculous question is that, anyway?” Amy grabbed her coffee and strode from the faculty lounge toward her office.

Terri’s footsteps slapped on the tile floor behind her. “Hey, hold up.”

Amy stopped and crossed her arms, waiting for Terri to catch up. “What?”

“You tell me. What’s going on?”

Amy blinked against the tears burning the back of her eyes. “Nothing, okay? Just. Nothing.”

“I’m not buying it.” Terri touched Amy’s elbow. “Come on. Spill it.”

“Let it go. Please?” Amy rubbed her cheek on her shoulder to wipe away an errant tear. “It’s probably nothing.”

Terri frowned. “All right. You’re sure?”

Talking about it with her parents hadn’t helped. What good would it do to talk to Terri? On the other hand, would it hurt? “It’s just a misunderstanding about priorities.”

“How so?”

She sighed. “Did you know there’s a program to repay college loans if you teach in the inner city?”

“Sure. That’s been around forever. It’s how I started out, actually.” Terri shrugged. “What of it?”

She blinked. Terri had been at their school since Amy was a student. “But...you stayed?”

“Yeah. I realized I loved the kids here. They’ve got fight in ‘em. And sure, sometimes I dream of the paycheck from the suburbs, but the fact of the matter is, this is where I’m supposed to be. Thankfully, my husband understands and doesn’t mind the longer hours with my commute.”

Amy drew her eyebrows together. “Your commute? But you shop at Mr. Sam’s. You go home for lunch. How...?”

Terri chuckled. “I shop at Mr. Sam’s because one of my first students was Sam’s grandson. Let’s just say it was a rougher introduction to the neighborhood than I’d expected. As for going home for lunch, I do go to a home, but not mine. Sylvia Dawson was the principal my first year. She retired half-way through my second year because her husband took ill. I visit her for lunch as often as I can. You should come sometime. But I live a little south of Springfield.”

That was even further out than Zach. How long must that take every day? “And your husband?”

“He’s the principal at the high school three blocks from our house, though he’s looking to retire in the next five years. For that matter, so am I.”

“But doesn’t it bother you? You’re here, making a difference for kids who need it and he’s...”

“Making that same difference for kids who need it just as much. Don’t mistake economic scarcity for some superior need, Amy. The struggles those kids in the suburbs have are different, absolutely, but they’re just as real and just as painful to them. And they need teachers who care every bit as much as the kids here do.”

“But...”

Terri shook her head. “Nope. No buts. And this is me, speaking as someone who realized that I was called to be here. Not everyone is. And that’s okay. You have to be faithful to your calling, not someone else’s. If you’re married—or serious about someone—then the key is to figure out a way that you can both do what you need to do and still have a life together. You’d better hurry, that first bell is going to ring in just a minute.”

Amy nodded absently, trying to make sense of Terri’s words. When she thought of teachers who embodied making the school their mission field, Terri was the first person who came to mind. She could never question Terri’s commitment. Even if she didn’t live in the neighborhood. Which might just blow her theory to bits.