TWENTY-THREE

At some point over the weekend, the job at Redeemer had become immensely important. If she got it, the next time Autumn sat down with a spouse or a child or a parent or a friend of a victim from Tragedy on the Tracks and they asked what she did, she would have a better answer.

And so, when Autumn walked into the room where Pastor Mitch and the entire elder board waited for her, she swallowed every one of her nerves, gave each man a firm handshake, and put on the performance of her life.

When it was over and she was walking down the hallway toward the front exit, she felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time—a thrill of accomplishment.

A girlish laugh greeted her as soon as she stepped into the office lobby. It belonged to the same woman who had welcomed Autumn on her way in—a blond, bright-eyed, perky girl who barely looked old enough for high school but was in college. Autumn knew because of a Moody Bible Institute coffee mug. It had been sitting on the welcome desk, by the girl’s hand, and when Autumn asked if that’s where she wanted to go, the girl had laughed and said she just finished her third year.

Currently, a man was leaning his elbow against that same desk, one leg crossed in front of the other, and judging by the starry-eyed way the young woman looked up at the man, he was probably cute.

Autumn lifted her hand in a polite, nonintrusive wave and was just about to let herself out when the change of angle had her pausing. There was something recognizable about the man’s shoulders. For she had set her sights on them three weeks ago on Lakefront Trail.

The young, enamored receptionist was chatting with Paul Elliott.

Autumn’s breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t let him see her. He would think she was stalking him again. She ducked toward the door, but before she could slip away unnoticed, the receptionist returned Autumn’s wave, and Paul turned around.

She cringed, expecting his eyes to widen. His countenance to darken.

But Paul didn’t look surprised at all.

Brooding? Yes.

Shocked? No.

“Hi,” he said.

“What are you doing here?” she replied, cringing all over again at the note of accusation weaving around her words. This was Paul’s church. She was the intruder.

“I needed to talk to Mitch. He mentioned something about you coming here for a second interview.” Paul pulled a plastic bag off the top of the desk and held it in his hand. “Do you mind if we talk for a second?”

Autumn’s confusion multiplied. “Um, sure.”

He said good-bye to the young woman and led the way out of the office lobby into the bigger church lobby—the one everybody congregated in before and after weekend services.

Paul glanced over his shoulder, as if to make sure they weren’t being watched or followed. His eyes were strained. The muscles around his mouth—tight. For one illogical second, she imagined him pulling out a gun. For one illogical second, she envisioned the headlines.

Tragedy on the Tracks Widower Snaps: Miracle Survivor Shot Dead

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I saw the job opening, and it’s so close to my apartment. I wasn’t going to apply because, well…My sister convinced me that I needed to try. I’m really sorry.” Her face was officially on fire. She needed to stop apologizing to this man. He obviously didn’t want to hear it. He made that clear on the bike path.

“Autumn, it’s fine. I didn’t come here to give you a hard time.” He pulled a package of Tootsie Pops from his bag and handed it to her. “For your recovery.”

Autumn took them. “From what?”

“The interview. They can be pretty nerve-racking.”

She turned the package over in her hand, disproportionately touched by the gesture. He had remembered her passing, forgettable comment about candy.

“Reese found your letters.”

“What?”

“I was going to return them, but she tore them up.”

Autumn blanched, imagining the scene. Reese Rosamund Elliott stumbling upon the familiar lined paper, recognizing her own handwriting. The confusion she must have felt as she riffled through them, the sense of rising betrayal.

“You did the right thing,” he said, as though reading her mind. “I needed to know what she wrote.”

“She must hate me.”

“She doesn’t hate you.” He rubbed his jaw as though he were trying to loosen it. It was a nice jaw. Strong and symmetrical. “She read the article in the paper—about the tribute.”

Autumn held her breath. Surely now he would rip into her.

“She really wants to help you.”

“Oh.”

“It’s not good for kids her age to fixate on death.”

“But we’re not fixating on their deaths.” That was the whole point. These people were more than victims of some meaningless tragedy. They’d lived real lives before it happened, and those lives had been cut short. Those lives deserved to be known. “We’re focusing on their lives.”

“Right.” Paul didn’t look very comforted. In fact, he looked pained. Like someone was forcing him to swallow a mouthful of tacks. He scrubbed his face, then dragged his hand through his hair. That was nice too. Paul Elliott was a handsome man. Vivian Elliott had been a handsome woman. Together, they looked like the kind of couple that deserved space in a celebrity magazine. “Is there a way for Reese to be a part of it?”

She blinked, momentarily stunned. Did he just say what she thought he said?

He raised his eyebrows.

“Of course. I’d love for Reese to be a part of it.” The first interview had been a bust. Not only had Autumn frozen after Ina May asked her the most basic of questions, but Seth had gotten held up with a client. By the time he made it through traffic, Autumn’s allergic reaction to the invisible cats was in full throttle and Ina May had to leave for an appointment at the hair salon. She wasn’t frazzled or annoyed or inconvenienced at all with the prospect of rescheduling. She actually seemed quite happy about it. “I’ll get out the photo albums,” she’d said, patting Autumn’s arm.

“We have an interview lined up for tomorrow evening. The woman’s name is Anna Montgomery. She has two small kids, and she hasn’t been able to find anyone to watch them. It’d be great if Reese could keep them entertained.”

“Like babysitting?”

“If she’d rather help with something else, that’s fine. I just thought—”

“No, that’s great. That’s perfect, actually.”

“Good.” Autumn’s thrill of accomplishment expanded. He was going to let Autumn help his daughter. When all this was said and done, maybe she and Reese would finally find some understanding where there didn’t seem to be any. “I should probably get your number.”

“Right.”

She pulled out her phone and entered his contact information, hiccupping for a second over his name. Paul Elliott. She was putting Paul Elliott’s number into her phone in the lobby of Vivian’s church. She shook her head. This was way too bizarre.

“Are you okay?”

“Y-yes. I’m fine.” Autumn forced her thumbs to move.

“We could have a reception, with coffee and tea and cake.”

Autumn found herself surveying the large space. Perhaps Ina May’s idea was worth looking into. Maybe Pastor Mitch would consider opening the doors of Redeemer for such an event.

Paul was falling with nowhere to land. Even worse? His daughter was falling alongside him. He walked down the office hallway, stewing over his decision as he approached Penny—Mitch’s long-time assistant—sitting at her desk.

She was straightening a stack of church bulletins, a big yellow feathered pen tucked behind her ear. The first time Tate met her, he mistook her for Big Bird. Quite loudly, in fact. He’d been three years old and Penny had been wearing a canary-yellow dress. Paul had closed his eyes in embarrassed horror, but Penny just laughed, then proceeded with a very impressive Big Bird impersonation.

“Hello, you,” she said, the feather on her pen fluttering like giant eyelashes. “What brings you in on a Monday morning?”

“I was hoping to catch Mitch before he left.” His friend didn’t typically work on Mondays. Most pastors didn’t. Unless, of course, there was an elder crisis to deal with or a job position to fill. “Did I make it in time?”

“The last I checked, he was still in there.”

“Thanks, Pen.”

She gave him a wink.

Paul knocked on the half-opened door of Mitch’s office and poked his head inside. He was on the phone, squeezing a stress ball. Before Paul could duck away, Mitch waved him inside and mouthed the words It’ll just be a second.

He slid onto one of the chairs and propped his elbows on the armrests, replaying the look on his daughter’s face as she tore up the letters. He couldn’t scrub it away.

Ten years counseling others, but what did it mean when it came to your own child? He knew depression, anxiety, and other mental health issues could be in her genes. What if this was just the beginning for Reese—the top of a slow downward spiral, like his brother? He wondered, with all his training, if he had the same abilities that Pop did—to bring someone back from the edge. But Reese wasn’t just a person, she was his person. His baby. It scared him to his core, knowing that despair could swallow her, knowing that he might be powerless to stop it.

Just as he’d been powerless to stop Vivian.

Mitch hung up the phone and tossed the stress ball from one hand to the other. “Hey, man.”

“Hey.”

Mitch gave the stress ball another toss. “What are you doing here?”

Paul scratched the fabric of the armrest. Despite Pop’s advice, he was as conflicted as ever about the marriage campaign. He had a demon on one shoulder and an angel on the other. One kept insisting that he follow through on his commitments. He promised to do the conference a long time ago. He should be a man of his word. The other wouldn’t stop screaming the word hypocrite. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out which one was which, no matter how hard he prayed. “I’ve been thinking about the marriage campaign.”

“You and me both.”

“How are things going?”

Mitch’s mood lost some of its buoyancy, as if Paul had just reminded him that he should be squeezing the stress ball, not tossing it back and forth. “We’ve reached out to a few speakers, but the fees are pretty steep.”

And there was Paul’s answer.

He was so sick of the confusion, so tired of waiting for Mitch to broach the topic again, that he decided to come in today and kill two birds with one stone. Talk to Autumn about the tribute, and talk to Mitch about the campaign. If he’d already found someone to take over, great. That would be his answer. If not, that would be his answer too. “I’m willing to do it.”

“Seriously?”

“I thought about what you said, and I’ve been praying about it, and I think I feel that same nudge.”

He did, right?

That’s why he couldn’t stop thinking about this, wasn’t it?

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Paul expected Mitch to look relieved. Instead, he looked hesitant.

“Unless you don’t want me…”

“No, it’s not that.” He exchanged the stress ball for a pen, which he waggled between two of his fingers. “We’re going to offer the communication position to Autumn. If she accepts, she’ll be a part of the campaign. And if you’re in charge of the conference, that would mean the two of you would be doing some work together.”

Paul leaned back in his seat.

“Look, man. If that’s too hard, I totally understand.”

“It should be fine.”

Mitch didn’t look convinced. It was obvious that if the roles were reversed, Mitch wouldn’t have been fine working so closely with the woman he saw lying in a hospital bed where his wife should have been. But then, Paul’s marriage to Vivian had been nothing like Mitch’s marriage to Lisa.

Not even close.