Wilde and Harold Davis realized there was a need for something like this in our community.”
The need for boys to have male role models in their lives.
The reminder scraped against Emma’s soul. She was doing her best to raise Jeremy. He was all she had left in the world. After Brian’s death, her son’s presence had warmed her heart like a tiny flame, keeping her emotions from growing cold. Over the years, Emma had tried to make sure Jeremy didn’t feel as if he were missing out on something, and yet now he wanted to spend time with a mentor. A stranger.
“I’m not sure it’s the right thing for Jeremy,” Emma said stiffly. She didn’t want to offend Abby but she needed to make it clear that she hadn’t made a decision whether or not he could join the program.
“Then I’m glad you came to check it out.” Abby didn’t look the least bit ruffled by her honesty. “And I’ve been hoping for a chance to talk to you. One of my guests asked for your business card last weekend.”
“I don’t have a business card,” Emma murmured, trying to keep track of Jeremy as he bounded ahead of them.
Abby gave her a playful nudge. “I know you don’t, silly. That was a hint.”
“The number for the library is in the phone book.”
Abby’s laughter caused several heads to swivel in their direction. “You’re so funny, Emma. And humble, too. I’m not talking about the library. Gloria Rogers saw the mosaic table in my perennial garden and she couldn’t stop raving about it. Of course—” Abby’s smile turned impish “—I might have mentioned that even though Mirror Lake Lodge has an exclusive contract with the extremely gifted artist who crafted the piece, you might be persuaded to take on more commissions.”
“Abby!” Emma didn’t bother to hide her shock. “It’s a hobby, something to pass the time. It’s not a business. I already have a job.”
Abby looked smug rather than repentant. “That’s exactly what I thought when I was sneaking into the hotel kitchen at midnight to make raspberry lemon tarts.” She made a sweeping gesture with one arm that encompassed the refurbished lodge and cabins. “Look where that ‘little hobby’ took me.”
But, Emma wanted to argue, that was different. Raspberry lemon tarts were meant to be shared. The mosaics she created had sprung from a need to fill long hours and hold painful memories at bay. And like her grief, she’d tried to keep that part of her life private. But in a town as small as Mirror Lake, word had gotten out.
“You can’t compare what we do,” Emma murmured. “You have a business degree. Experience. I don’t have any formal training.”
“You have a gift.” Abby’s tone left no room for argument. “And when God gives you a gift, it’s part of His plan.”
Doubt flared from the embers of Emma’s grief, snuffing out the unexpected flicker of longing that Abby’s words stirred in her heart. There had been a time in her life when she had believed it—before she began to wonder why, when it came to her, did God seem to take away more than He gave?
When she’d met Brian, he had swept her off her feet. She had become a wife at nineteen. A mother at twenty. But Emma’s dreams had encompassed a lifetime. They would make a home. Raise a family. Grow old together.
And then she’d lost him.
If all that had been part of God’s plan, it seemed safer to keep her distance from Him, too.
“Why don’t you and Jeremy find a table and I’ll get you both a glass of fresh-squeezed lemonade?” Abby offered.
“All right.” Emma looked around but there was no sign of Jeremy. Anywhere. “I don’t see him.”
“He must have found someone to play with,” Abby said.
“Jeremy doesn’t care for sports.” And was often teased because of it. Tension cinched the muscles between Emma’s shoulder blades as she scanned the faces around her.
“Maybe he went down by the lake. Some of the boys were fishing from the dock earlier.”
Abby’s words, meant to calm her fears, had just the opposite effect. “Jeremy doesn’t know how to swim.”
Emma felt a pang of guilt at the quickly veiled surprise she saw reflected in Abby’s green eyes. She knew what the other woman was thinking. What parent, who lived in a town built on the shore of a lake, wouldn’t insist that their child learn to swim?
Emma tried to swallow the knot of panic forming in her throat as Abby gave her arm a comforting squeeze. “I have an idea,” she said. “There isn’t a boy—or man, for that matter—who will ignore the sound of a dinner bell. I’ll give it a ring and I guarantee that you won’t have to find Jeremy—he’ll find you.”
“Thank you.” Emma gave Abby a grateful look but didn’t wait to see if her idea would work.
She headed down to the lake.
Jake heard the clang of a bell, rallying the troops for lunch, and knew he was running out of time.
The team of mentors would be introduced right after Abby served the meal. If he wanted to let Matt know that he would be more comfortable volunteering in another area of the ministry, he had to do it soon.
Jake had come to the conclusion that he wasn’t mentor material only minutes after he’d shown up for the picnic. He had rusty social skills and rough edges his newfound faith hadn’t had time to hone. And to top it off, he didn’t know a thing about kids. Call him crazy, but wasn’t being able to relate to kids an important qualification when it came to being a mentor?
He had taken a walk down the shoreline to think. And to pray.
You know I’m willing, Lord, but I don’t think I’m cut out for this. Guys like Matt are better at it. Kids love him—I’d probably scare them away. You must have something else in mind for me, so let me know what it is and I’ll do it.
Maybe the prayer team could use another volunteer. He had as much experience in that area as he did interacting with kids, but at least the chance of doing any significant damage remained smaller.
As Jake turned to go back to the lodge, a movement farther down the shoreline caught his attention. He paused, wondering if the flash of color had been a red-winged blackbird searching the cattails for something to eat.
Until he heard a splash.
Knowing how mischievous boys could be, Jake doubted that Matt had given them free rein of the premises for the picnic. The pastor and Quinn O’Halloran, a local businessman and member of the congregation, had planned a variety of games, part of an ingenious strategy for deterring them from creating their own entertainment. If it were boys from the picnic who’d wandered out of sight.
Off duty or not, Jake had no choice but to check it out. He’d received several complaints earlier in the week from some of the local fishermen, who claimed their vehicles had been broken into while parked at the boat landing. Jake couldn’t prove it—yet—but he had a sneaking suspicion that whoever was responsible for breaking into the summer cabins had decided to broaden the playing field.
Jake bypassed the trail and created his own route, one running parallel to the marked hiking path that curved around the lake. As he reached the shore, he saw a boy standing knee-deep in the water, tugging on a rope attached to a makeshift raft bobbing in the waves. He was in no immediate danger that Jake could see, but because the kid’s frame looked as thin as one of the reeds growing along the shoreline, Jake decided to lend a hand. “Hold on!”
At the sound of Jake’s voice, the boy turned to look at him.
Jake, who’d always prided himself on keeping his emotions in check, felt his jaw drop in disbelief.
There was no mistaking that pair of serious blue eyes and unruly hank of sandy blond hair.
Jeremy Barlow