insley sat along the far wall in Pancho’s Village, an oldstyle Spanish restaurant located in the heart of Parkville, a close-knit community five miles north of downtown Kansas City. The aroma of cilantro and steak fajitas surrounded her with warmth. Breathing deep, she leaned back in her chair and watched pedestrians pass her window, heading to or from one coffee house, shop, or boutique to another.
How many afternoons had she and Deborah spent here over the years, eating enough tortillas to produce a bellyache? When done, they’d meandered through the stores and galleries, pausing to nibble on chocolates and to smell the handmade soaps and candles.
Ainsley’s favorite was the Parkville Antique mall, a 500-square-foot building filled with vintage furniture, hand-sewn lace dresses and satchels, and wicker baskets. She loved sifting through old black-and-white photographs, imagining the stories behind the pictures. Lives long forgotten except by those whom they had touched.
She wrapped her hands around her coffee mug and breathed in the rich aroma. Things might have been rough growing up, but God had been faithful. He’d provided so many people to help her along the way. So many moments of joy and peace.
Footsteps approached, and she glanced up to see Deborah dressed in her familiar red jacket and yellow clogs. She wore her hair short, the ends flipped out. Her circular reading glasses balanced precariously on the tip of her slender nose.
“Hi.” Ainsley rose to meet her.
“My sweet girl.” The woman embraced her, the scent of cherry-blossom lotion filling Ainsley’s nostrils. Grabbing her hands in her own, Deborah stepped back. “You look as beautiful as ever, although,” she cocked her head, forehead creased, “you’re not sleeping well, are you?”
Ainsley shrugged and gave a sheepish smile. “Well, you know. Failing miserably at my job, dealing with my slightly insane mother, and breaking off a five-year relationship months before my wedding has a way of keeping one up at night.”
“A lot to process, I’m sure.” She shucked her jacket and purse, draped both over her chair, and sat. “Mmm . . . She reached for a chip and dipped it in the guacamole Ainsley had ordered, “I’m starved. Oh, I almost forgot. I brought something for you.”
She rummaged through her purse and pulled out a pink, pocket-sized book. She handed it over. The title read: Daily Nourishment for a Woman’s Heart. “I discovered this little gem a few days ago. Bought one for both of us.”
They made small talk until their order had been taken and the chip basket emptied. That was Deborah’s way. She never dove into the meat of their discussion until they’d had a chance to build a buffer. That used to drive Ainsley insane, back when she was an impatient and highly emotional teenager. But now she cherished every moment.
“So,” Deborah folded her hands on the table and leaned forward, her blue eyes centered on Ainsley’s. “Enough about my dying blue spruce, overgrown vegetable garden, and plantar fasciitis.” She smiled and patted Ainsley’s hand. “Tell me about you and Richard. How did he take the news?”
Ainsley traced her finger along the rim of her ice water. “Not as well as I’d hoped; but if I’m honest, no worse than expected.” She picked at a loose thread in the tablecloth. “We both know how bullheaded he can be.” She paused. “And how indecisive I can be.”
“And yet, I suspect you have a very good reason for ending the engagement.”
Ainsley nodded and told her friend everything—from the passage she’d read to Richard’s evasive behavior every time she asked about his faith walk. “Obviously, we’re headed in different directions. Our marriage would’ve been a mess.”
“Believe me, I know. I’ve seen way too many endure the pain of living with an unbelieving spouse. A growing number of ladies today don’t appear to consider that most important piece until after they’ve made a lifelong commitment.” She shook her head. “They must not realize what a big deal marriage is. In Scripture, we’re told through marriage, two people become one. It’s a beautiful thing and a powerful representation of Christ’s love for us, His followers. But when couples aren’t united spiritually . . . Marriage is hard enough.” She patted Ainsley’s hand. “I’m just glad you listened to God before Richard slipped a ring on your finger.”
Ainsley’s cheeks heated, and her gaze fell to the table. In truth, she’d spent very little time praying about this engagement, or her and Richard’s relationship at all, until things started getting tense. But not anymore. From now on, Christ would be the center of all her decisions.
Deborah opened her mouth as if to say something, but was interrupted by the waiter. The girl, maybe seventeen years old, had wispy, blonde hair pulled into two side braids. After delivering a steaming, cheese-covered enchilada to Ainsley and a taco salad with extra sour cream to Deborah, she left.
She held out her hands. “Shall we pray?”
Ainsley nodded, and, with their hands clasped, bowed her head.
“Holy Father, what a blessing it is to watch Ainsley grow spiritually and to see her seek after You and Your wisdom. We know You have a plan for her—a wonderful, glorious, fulfilling plan. Not only for her, but for her future husband as well. Thank You for making Your will clear to her in regard to her relationship with Richard. Please continue to guide her, and above all else, stir within her a passionate love for You, Your truth, and Your redemptive mission.”
Deborah dropped her hands and reached for her napkin, which she opened and placed on her lap. “Now, what is it you’re concerned about?”
“Besides the fact that Richard could very likely turn hateful on me?” His cold expression and icy tone the day she broke their engagement came to mind, causing her stomach to tighten.
Deborah raised an eyebrow. “Oh? You aren’t frightened he’ll harm you, are you?”
“Not physically, but financially, maybe. He has a lot of connections. If he wants to, he can make life miserable for me.”
Deborah pulled on the loose skin under her chin. “I suppose that is a concern. And yet, there’s not much you can do about that, except perhaps pray.” She shrugged. “Then trust God to work it all out.” She speared a tomato with her fork. “Where do you see yourself in ten years?”
“To be honest, I have no idea. I’d like to think I’d be working as a pharmacist with a national chain, or maybe . . .” She exhaled, rubbing her temples. “Right now I’m just trying to pay the bills.”
“God wants so much more for you, my dear. So very much.” Deborah moved her glass aside. “If you could do anything, knowing God would stand behind you 100 percent, what would that be?”
She thought of the boy and his mother, and his mother, of the countless women and children like them, and a searing pain shot through her heart. With a quivering voice, she said, “I’d share God’s love with hurting children. Hurting families.”
“Hurting kids, like you once were.”
Tears pricked her eyes. The emotion surging within her surprised and scared her. “I hadn’t realized how much I long to do that until this moment.”
She spun a thick string of cheese around her fork then set it down. “You know that kid from the apartment? The one who lives next to Marie Nelson?”
Deborah nodded, her smile fading. “Yes. Little William. I pray for him often.”
“Do you think I should reach out to him?” There had to be a reason she couldn’t shake the image of the child staring at her from that third-story apartment window. “To him and his mom?”
Deborah looked at Ainsley for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice was soft. “They’re gone, sweetie. The landlord evicted them over a week ago. Threw out all their belongings.”
“What?” She croaked the word out, her throat suddenly dry. “Where’d they go?”
“I don’t know. I wish I did.”
With the radio turned to her favorite Christian station, Ainsley headed home. Halfway there, her phone rang. Gina’s number flashed across the dash.
Ainsley answered the call through her car’s Bluetooth system. “Hey. What’s up?”
“You OK? Because you kinda sound like your best friend died, and I’m still kicking.”
“Got a lot on my mind is all.” She reached the Missouri River and one of her favorite architectural designs in Kansas City, the Christopher S. Bond Bridge. Massive cables extended from a delta-shaped pylon that rose 315 feet above the river to the end of the bridge on either side. At night, the structure lit up, casting silver light on the velvet water below.
“How’d lunch go?”
Ainsley told Gina all about it, including William and his mother’s eviction.
“Wow. What are you going to do?”
“What can I do? I certainly can’t track them down. The child could be anywhere.” Stuck in foster care, with his mom in some other section eight apartment, maybe even on the streets. Or running with gangs. Kids like him were a perfect targets for drug dealers. “All I can do is pray. And, hopefully, figure out what all this means. I know God has a plan in this, an action plan. A way for me to do something.”
“I get it, and I’m sorry, Ains. On another note, what’s the latest with the Richard drama? Has he told his mom yet? She’s shucked out thousands of dollars already, hasn’t she?”
Ainsley groaned. “I hadn’t even considered that. Oh, I hope she hasn’t. I feel like such a jerk.”
“Sounds like you could use some retail therapy. I hear Dillard’s is having a sale.”
“No. More like a night in. With a giant tub of chocolate chunk ice cream. What do ya say? You free Friday?”
“Um . . . sure. Let me just . . . yeah, no problem.”
“You have plans, don’t you?” Ainsley stopped at the entrance to her neighborhood to let two elementary aged kids cross on their bikes in front of her.
“Um . . . sort of. I set up a bowling thing with Chris. But I’ll totally cancel. You’re much more important.”
“No. Go. No reason both of us should be miserable this weekend.”