Chapter Two

BRYAN SHAW HAD ALWAYS viewed Denver as a mid-tier city, smaller than the suburban sprawl of Los Angeles or the compact metropolis of New York, just large enough to offer the conveniences of urban life. But as he looked out the rear window of his Uber crawling through the gridlocked city, it felt as if he’d been catapulted into the distant future.

There were changes, of course. Development had sped along in his eight months away, building projects completed in his absence, others just beginning. But mostly it was his perspective that had changed. Colombia had crept into him —the countryside with its lush green foliage and relentless rainy season, the cities that were a shocking mix of old and new, the people with their welcoming attitudes and unhurried pace.

The city he’d grown up in felt slightly alien by contrast. But he couldn’t deny it was good to be home.

“You can let me out here,” he told his driver, pointing to the high-rise building ahead. The driver double-parked, something that would have elicited a barrage of horns in Bogotá, but here the traffic just flowed around them. “Thanks for the ride.” He levered the door open and climbed out, dragging his battered nylon backpack with him.

The familiar marble foyer felt equally strange as he punched the Up button to call the elevator to the ground floor. What did it mean that his first stop after a long absence wasn’t his home? What did it mean that he wasn’t sure where home was even located?

Bryan rode the elevator up to the fifteenth floor, where he emerged and knocked at one of the four penthouse suites. A minute later, the door swung open to reveal a tall, dark-haired man about Bryan’s age.

“Hey, Alex.”

“Bryan?” Alex Kanin blinked at him, momentarily stunned. “You’re back. Why didn’t you call?”

“Sorry. Is Rachel here?”

“No, that’s not what I meant. Come in.” Alex swung the door wider, still seemingly stunned. Bryan dropped his bag on the polished concrete as Alex shut the door. And then his friend pounded him into a hug.

“Okay then,” Bryan said, returning the gesture before carefully extricating himself. “It’s nice to see you too, bro.”

Alex laughed. He was Bryan’s oldest friend, practically a brother, especially considering Alex had lived with the Shaws their senior year of high school while his parents taught at a university in Russia. He was maybe the only person who knew who Bryan truly was. Suddenly, his destination didn’t seem so strange.

“Grab a seat,” Alex said. “Want something to drink?”

“I’ll take a pop if you have it.” He settled himself onto the hard, modern sofa while Alex retrieved a can of Coke from his refrigerator. He tossed it to Bryan, then sat in the adjacent chair and waited.

When Bryan didn’t volunteer anything, Alex said, “Are you going to make me drag it out of you? Where have you been?”

Bryan popped the top and took a long drink of his Coke before answering. “Would it be too dramatic to say I met Jesus in Colombia?”

“Coming from you, a little.”

Bryan turned the can around in his hand thoughtfully. “That’s kind of what happened, though. God got my attention in the most dramatic way possible.”

Alex just stared.

“Vivian came while I was climbing in Suesca, slept with me before she told me she was engaged to Luke Van Bakker, and then proceeded to almost kill herself on a route that was way out of her ability range. You’re a writer. You can probably extrapolate what happened next.”

“I can imagine Luke wasn’t particularly forgiving of either of you.”

“Enough to get Vivian home, I guess. Me . . . it didn’t take him more than an hour to email the notice of termination.”

“So what then? You became a yoga teacher in the mountains of Colombia? Joined a Benedictine monastery?”

“Not quite. I bought a coffee farm.” Bryan enjoyed the look of disbelief that crossed Alex’s face, the way he was trying to decide which question to ask first. He decided to end his friend’s suspense. “You ever hear of Café Libertad?”

Alex shook his head.

“They help coca farmers transition to coffee. I originally signed on temporarily as a translator, but then . . .” Bryan broke off while he figured out how to explain the change that had begun inside him. “All that quiet, it gave me a lot of time to reflect on my life and how far I’d strayed from my values, from God. It’s easy to creep away one step at a time . . . and then one day you realize you’re calling yourself a Christian, but no one would ever be able to tell the difference.”

Alex nodded thoughtfully. “What about climbing?”

“In the past now. I didn’t plan on buying a coffee farm, by the way. The owners were aging without family to take it over, and I didn’t want the land to revert to cocaine production. So I bought it.”

“So you’re what? A coffee farmer? An importer?” Alex seemed like he was having a hard time wrapping his mind around the situation, and Bryan couldn’t really blame him. The last time Alex had seen him, he’d been renting a room in a townhome with three other guys, month-to-month. The very idea of putting down roots or committing to anything more than a climbing clinic a few weeks ahead had been laughable.

Alex’s expectant expression made him realize he hadn’t answered the question. Not exactly. “The harvest will yield a few thousand pounds, and green coffee beans are a lot less lucrative than you’d think. We’d barely be breaking even if I wholesaled it.”

“So what then?”

“I’m opening a roasting company.”

Silence stretched a long moment, and then Alex cracked a smile. “You had me going there.”

“It wasn’t a joke. I just spent two months in Oregon learning how to roast. As soon as I get funding, I’m going to set up my operation. Hopefully before four thousand pounds of beans arrive on my parents’ doorstep; I had to use them as my permanent address.”

“I take it you haven’t told them yet?”

Bryan shot Alex a look.

“Right. I would love to be able to help, but my money is all tied up in these condos. At least until we sell Rachel’s place. Then we can pay off the loans for both units and start banking some cash.”

“I would never ask you to do that anyway,” Bryan said. And he wouldn’t. He was already putting his entire life’s savings at risk; he wasn’t going to ask his best friend to do the same, especially in light of his impending marriage. “How is Rachel, by the way?”

Now Alex’s face softened into a genuine smile. “She’s good. Busy with Bittersweet Café, her and Melody.”

“And planning a wedding?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure how much she’s actually doing. As soon as we set a date, Melody and Ana completely took over. Which is well enough, because Rachel has expanded the Saturday Night Supper Club to a weekly event at the café. They’re sold out through October.”

“Impressive,” Bryan said. He’d been at the café’s opening, but that felt like a lifetime ago now. He chugged the rest of the soda and set the can on the table. “Well, no more stalling. I guess I should go tell my parents I’m back.”

“Are you? Back?”

“Like it or not.”

“Good. Then you can be my best man.”

Bryan pushed himself off the sofa. “Naturally. I didn’t realize that was in question. Wish me luck.”

Alex walked him to the door. “Good luck. Hey, drop by the café for supper club tomorrow.”

“I thought you said it was sold out?”

“Friends-and-family night last Saturday of the month. I’ll even spring for your ticket since you’re a broke small-business owner.”

Bryan grinned. “Had I known it was that easy to get you to pick up the tab, I would have started a business years ago.” He hoisted his backpack and opened the door. “Don’t tell anyone but Rachel I’m back. I want to make a grand entrance.” Before Alex could reply, he gave a salute and strode to the elevator.

That had been easier than he’d expected. Then again, Alex had always had his back. He wasn’t so sure he would get the same reception from his parents.

* * *

Bryan grabbed his backpack from the backseat of his second Uber of the day and gave his driver a wave of thanks as he closed the door. Late-afternoon sunlight poured down on him, casting shadows across the brick pillars of the wrought-iron gate. When he’d left Colorado, it had been summer. Now, patches of snow clung to the wall in the shady spots, evidence of a winter that he’d missed and the newly minted spring that was about to start the process all over again. Eight months away. Eight months of climbing, making mistakes, and rebuilding his life into something new in Colombia and Portland. And now he stood just outside his parents’ Capitol Hill mansion, preparing to beg for forgiveness, for both the silent absence and the things that had caused it.

In all the years he’d read about the Prodigal Son in the Bible, he’d never really cast himself in that role. He could only hope that his father was in a similarly forgiving mood.

Bryan punched his code into the keypad by the gate and waited for the click of the lock to admit him to the manicured grounds. He’d grown up here, but the 1920s behemoth hadn’t always been a showplace —when his developer father and decorator mother had bought the property, the house had practically been crumbling to the ground. His earliest memories involved construction; he’d learned to write his ABCs in the layer of plaster dust that settled on every surface. Since then, Mitchell Shaw had become one of the biggest developers in Colorado and could easily afford a 10,000-square-foot estate in Cherry Creek, but they stayed here to demonstrate his dual commitment to preservation and revitalization.

His father wasn’t in the habit of casting off things that held personal meaning.

He was just stalling now. Bryan squared his shoulders and made his way up the circular drive, where he let himself in the front door. An empty foyer, punctuated by oriental rugs and a round table holding a flower arrangement, greeted him with silence.

“Mom? Dad?” he called. “Is anyone home?”

Nothing. And then the tap of footsteps in the upstairs hallway drew his attention to the staircase. His mother halted at the top of the steps, her expression as shocked as if she’d seen a ghost. “Bryan?”

“In the flesh.”

She scrambled down the steps and threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around him so tightly he could barely breathe. “You have no idea how much I missed you. And now that I see you’re alive and well, I’m going to kill you. Tagging me on Facebook every few weeks is not a replacement for a phone call!”

Bryan chuckled, even though he sensed it was not entirely a joke. “I missed you too, Mom. I’m sorry. I needed to get my head straight, and I couldn’t call until I did.”

“Then it must have been really skewed if it took you eight months to come home.” She stepped back and studied him closely. “I never thought I would say it, but the beard suits you.”

Bryan felt the bushy growth on his chin self-consciously. “Yeah, I haven’t decided whether to keep it or not.”

“I like it,” Kathy said. “I don’t, however, like the ponytail. You look homeless.”

“I kind of am, Mom. I let the townhome go while I was gone. Not even really sure where my stuff is, except for my climbing gear. I don’t suppose you might let me stay here for a while?”

“Do you have to ask?” Kathy tipped her head in the direction of the kitchen. “Come get something to eat. I’m going to call your father. He’ll want to know you’re back.”

Bryan nodded uncomfortably and followed his mom through the expansive living room into the equally large kitchen. Kathy bustled around, pulling bread from the pantry, deli meat from the drawer of the large Sub-Zero refrigerator. Only when she’d fixed an enormous sandwich and pushed it his way on a stoneware plate did she pick up the phone in the kitchen and dial his father.

“Mitchell, you need to come home. Bryan is back.”

He couldn’t hear his father’s response, but the wide smile on Kathy’s face made him think it wasn’t negative. “I know,” she said. “I’m feeding him in the meantime.”

He bit into the sandwich, aware of his mom’s eyes on him as she hung up, aware of all the questions lurking in her expression. She made it only a handful of minutes before she asked the only one that really mattered.

“Why?”

He carefully swallowed and put the sandwich down. “It’s a long story, Mom, and I’d prefer to tell it to both of you together if you don’t mind.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Did you hear that Alex is getting married?”

“I was there when he proposed, remember? He asked me to be his best man.”

The key rattled in the front door, followed by heavy footsteps on the wood floor. His dad must have dropped everything and raced home. When Mitchell entered the kitchen, Bryan braced himself. But his father wordlessly crossed the room and pressed him into a bone-breaking hug.

“I’m so glad you’re back, Son,” he murmured, his voice sounding suspiciously husky.

Bryan pulled back before his own eyes could get misty. “I’m sorry, Dad. I had some things to figure out and I couldn’t do it here.” He looked between his parents. “Maybe you should take a seat.”

Mitchell pulled up a stool beside Bryan at the island, and Kathy leaned against her husband so he could put his arm around her waist. Typical of his parents, presenting a united front.

Bryan cleared his throat. “I don’t know where to begin.”

“Start at the beginning,” Kathy said with an encouraging smile.

The beginning. Not of this disappearance, but where his life had gone off the rails. “When I left the last time, almost four years ago, I had asked Vivian to marry me. She said no.”

His parents exchanged a glance. This was something he’d never told them.

“I convinced myself I was over her. But you know what happened next. A lot of different women . . .” He trailed off, not wanting to go into detail about what they already suspected. “When I went to Colombia last year, I thought it would be good to go to Suesca and face those ghosts. Except Vivian saw my posts and came from Peru to see me.

“I thought she was back for me. And then she told me she was getting married. To Luke Van Bakker.”

“Your sponsor?” Mitchell asked.

“Yes. I’m not going to lie —it was a kick in the gut. They’d been together for over a year, and he never saw fit to mention it to me. Anyway, I was done. I intended to leave Colombia, but she insisted on climbing La Bruja, and I wasn’t willing to let anyone else belay for her. It went horribly wrong.” He told them how she’d zippered off the rock, the injuries she’d sustained. “I didn’t have any choice but to call Luke to get her home. He didn’t take the fact we were together very well, and he basically fired me.”

Silence from his parents, obviously unsure how to respond.

“In any case, a pro climber without a sponsor really isn’t a pro. And Luke is vindictive. Once he figured out that Vivian and I had —” he cleared his throat —“hooked up, he made sure no one would take my phone calls. So I guess we can safely say my climbing career is over.”

Mitchell sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, Son.”

“No, you’re not. You always told me that climbing was a short-term job, not a long-term plan, and you were right.”

“Do you need money?” Kathy asked, ever the practical one.

Bryan laughed, but even he could hear the absence of humor. “I do, but not for the reason you think. I know you don’t think I listened to anything you said, but I do have a business degree. I lived way below my means for years and invested every free cent. With the way the stock market has gone, I had a pretty big nest egg.”

“Then why do you need money?” Kathy asked.

He looked between the two of them. “Because I bought a coffee farm in Colombia.”

For once, the Shaws were stunned speechless. His mom regained her composure first. “What do you know about coffee?”

“Quite a lot, actually. I spent four months working alongside the farmers, learning how to plant, grow, pick, and process.”

He filled them in on the mission of the importer he was working with, how his farm gave high-paying employment to local workers, how he was part of a co-op with other farms that would leverage their collective bargaining power to make a living wage in the region. “For the first time in years, growing coffee is more lucrative than cocaine. The entire region is being transformed because of Café Libertad.”

Mitchell exhaled slowly. “That’s a lot to take in. I’m proud of you for choosing a new direction and seeing it through. But I still don’t understand why you’re here if your farm is in Colombia.”

“We don’t yet produce enough green coffee beans to turn a profit after expenses. So I’m importing my entire crop next month. I’m opening a roasting business.”

Mitchell seemed to be weighing his words. “Do you realize how difficult that’s going to be?”

“I do. I’ve spent the last two months working with a roaster in Oregon, learning the technique, studying his business model. There’s no guarantee of success in anything, Dad. But I’ve got a great story to tell, and it’s one I think people will respond to.”

His father nodded slowly. “It seems you’ve thought this through. If you like, I’ll take a look at your business plan.”

“Thanks. That really wasn’t meant to be a pitch, but I would appreciate a place to stay while I’m getting the business off the ground.”

Kathy jumped in. “Of course. You don’t even need to ask. Your old room is here any time you need it.”

“Thank you.” Bryan hopped off his stool to give them each a hug, then lifted his backpack. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to unpack and then see if I can track down the stuff I left in the townhome.”

He smiled and left the room, trying not to feel like a kid again as he returned to his childhood bedroom, trying even harder not to linger and overhear the inevitable conversations that would follow. His mom would be on his side, relieved that he’d turned from his “wild ways” and seemed to be focusing on having a normal life. His dad would be more skeptical, cite the business-failure figures, talk about how Bryan had shown no interest in business until his epiphany —all legitimate concerns. Both of them would wonder about the state of his faith.

The state of his faith? Shaky. The Prodigal Son story was a parable, an illustration of how God welcomed back the lost without holding their past wrongs against them. But what Bryan really could have used right now was what came after the feast, from the lost son’s perspective. The father was overjoyed, but no doubt the relatives sided with the older brother, maintaining their skepticism while rumors flew. How did the Prodigal earn back the trust of those who had written him off as a wastrel? How did he prove he’d truly changed and not just crawled home when he hit bottom?

More importantly, did the change actually stick?

Bryan climbed the stairs to his room, the first one on the left. It had been converted from his teen decor back to the elegant and traditional scheme of the rest of the house, but that didn’t kill the memories. He shut the door and began unpacking the few possessions he’d lived the last nine months with: an extra pair of jeans, three shirts, some athletic wear, a mess of climbing gear. It now seemed ridiculous to have toted thirty pounds of webbing and cams and carabiners when he had no intention of ever setting hand or foot on a rock again. Maybe he just needed to bring it back with him to come full circle. Once he’d inventoried what was left of his gear in his car, still parked outside his parents’ house where he’d left it, he would put it up for sale. Use it to fund equipment for the roastery. Move on to the next phase of his life.

He was about to take his pile of clothes down to the laundry room when a gentle knock came at the bedroom door. He opened it, expecting to see his mother, but his dad stood there instead.

“Can I come in for a minute?”

Bryan stood aside. “Of course.”

Mitchell looked around the room as if it were somehow unfamiliar and then seated himself on the wingback chair near the door. “I owe you an apology.”

Bryan cocked his head and sank down onto the edge of the bed. “For what?”

His dad sighed. “I knew you were going through something four years ago, but I never pushed. I didn’t interfere. Maybe I should have.”

“So my choices are your fault now?”

Mitchell looked at him in surprise. Bryan clasped his hands and leaned forward onto his knees. “I’m not sixteen years old, Dad. I’ve made my own decisions. Unfortunately, those decisions have landed me back at home. But that doesn’t mean you bear any responsibility for my actions.”

“But we raised you —”

“Right. You raised me. But it was my choice to pursue a climbing career. It was my choice to go off the rails after Vivian dumped me, and it was my choice to sleep with her when she came back. I’m basically reaping the consequences of that, just as you always warned me I would.”

Mitchell stared at him, sadness the only emotion showing on his face. “I’m still sorry.”

“I’m not.” Bryan pushed himself up. “It wasn’t until everything fell apart in Colombia that I took a good look at where I was headed. I’m turning thirty-six. I’ve been saying that climbing is my career, but it’s really just been a placeholder, an excuse to live entirely for myself. Not for other people. Certainly not for God. And for what? I wasn’t even all that happy.

“And then God put Café Libertad in my path, and I started to realize there might be something else for me out there. I just couldn’t come back until I had it figured out. Until I could prove that I’d changed. I hope you understand that.”

“I do.” Mitchell rose and put his hand on Bryan’s shoulder. “Whatever the reason, I’m glad you’re back.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Bryan watched as his father left the room, only then realizing what Mitchell hadn’t said. He hadn’t said anything about the viability of the business, hadn’t offered his help. Which was fine. The last thing Bryan wanted to do was to run back to Mitchell Shaw for help as he embarked on the first real challenge of his adult life.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to need help, though. He might know about coffee farming and roasting now, but his college degree didn’t mean that he knew anything about running a business. And he only had one shot to get this right.