CHAPTER FIFTY

Jenna

I STAGGER OUT of the building and onto the sidewalk. A cold wind slaps me in the face. I pull my coat close, turn into the wind, and walk.

And walk.

I weave between people crowding the sidewalk, and step off the curb to cross the street in an attempt to escape the masses. Cars honk as I dodge them. And someone yells, telling me to watch out.

I don't know where I'm going. I don't care. I just need to get away—away from Brigitte. Away from her control.

My relentless pace matches my racing thoughts. How did she find out about the blog? How long has she known? What has she read? How much did I reveal? And the thought that repeats over and over: Stop writing the blog and inherit millions.

Does she really think she can buy me?

Of course she does. I've never given her reason to believe otherwise.

Stop writing the blog and inherit millions.

But that wasn't all. I stop on the sidewalk, close my eyes, and picture the agreement. There were three points, but I was so stunned by the fact that she knew about my blog that I just scanned the rest of the agreement. I try now to recall the second and third stipulations.

Ah, yes, of course.

The second stipulation was that I live with Brigitte for the remainder of her lifetime.

But what was the third stipulation? I continue walking, cutting through alleys and down side streets. It didn't register when I read it. My mind shuffles and again I picture the agreement and I see, in my mind, Matthew's name.

The wind whips my hair, the ends sting my face as they hit.

No further contact with Matthew MacGregor.

That was it.

Anger pummels me like a pounding fist.

I swallow the scream rising in my throat and wipe my face—rain mingles with my tears. When did it start raining? I slow my pace and look around. I have no idea where in the city I am. Heat from my exertion radiates from under my coat and I strip it off, drape it over my arm, and walk to the next corner where I can see the street signs.

Then I dig in my purse until I find my phone.

"Ahsan, I need . . . a . . . ride."

"Mrs. Jenna?"

"Yes."

"Are you all right?"

I hesitate. "No . . . no I'm not."

"Where are you?"

Still breathless, I give him the names of the streets.

"Mrs. Jenna, I will call another cab. I cannot be there soon. It will be at least twenty-five minutes."

"No, Ahsan. I want . . . I . . . need you . . . to come. I'll wait."

"But Mrs. Jenna—"

"Please, please come." I choke back tears.

"I will be there, Mrs. Jenna. I will be there."

WHEN AHSAN ARRIVES, I'M soaking wet and shivering. I'd put my coat back on and waited under an awning, but I was wet to begin with. He pulls up at the curb, gets out, and leads me to the front passenger seat.

I slide into the cab and he closes the door for me. Then he goes around the back of the car, opens his trunk, slams it closed, and comes back and gets into the driver's seat. He hands me a towel. "It is clean."

"Thank you."

He reaches for the console, turns the heat up, and makes sure the vents are pointed in my direction. His simple acts of kindness cause my tears to flow again. I put the towel to my face and wipe my eyes.

Ahsan reaches over and places his hand on my shoulder. "Mrs. Jenna, what has happened?"

"Oh, Ahsan . . ." I tell him the whole story as we sit in the warmth of the cab, rain thrumming on the windshield as I talk. Ahsan is attentive, his turbaned head nodding as he listens.

"Ahsan, what did you mean the other night when you said I've run the race well, but now the course changes?"

"The courses of our lives change, but if our focus remains on Jesus, then we remain steady. He makes our paths straight."

I stare out the window into the gray afternoon. "Has He done that for you?"

"Yes, Mrs. Jenna. My course changed when God led me to America. I had to leave my family, people I care for and who depend on me. And not all agreed that I should go. My father and my wife were very angry. But my eyes were on Jesus and this is where He led."

"Why? Why did He lead you away from your family?"

"He did not lead me away from my family, He led me closer to Him."

I take the towel Ahsan gave me and dry the ends of my hair as I ponder his words. "But how did you know? How did you know for sure that you were to come here?"

"I did not know for sure. We must walk in faith, Mrs. Jenna, which means being uncertain of where we go, but certain of He who goes with us."

His gaze holds mine, and I read compassion and understanding in his eyes.

"Now that I am here, I see more clearly. In America, I am free to worship my God, to live a life of dignity, to provide for my family. But the way is still uncertain. I do not know when God will bring my family here. I do not know many things. But I know Him." He points his finger heavenward.

As I listen, my soul settles and peace envelops me. I reach out and put my hand on Ahsan's arm. "Thank you, Ahsan. You offer God's mercy this afternoon."

He nods and smiles. "You are tired, Mrs. Jenna. I will take you home now?"

I look out the front windshield, through the pouring rain, and then nod my head. "Yes, take me back to the house."

It is not my home.