After the meeting, Wren had been the one to jog after me, her voice as tender as the hug she offered. “Please don’t feel bad, Molly. We all know how much work you put into this for us.” I’d nearly buckled under her kindness. I didn’t deserve it. Not when I’d been the one to lose the scholarship and the matching grant.
“You’ve all put in just as much work as I have . . . it deserved to be seen, to be shared and celebrated with the world. I hope you know that. I so wish . . .” I’d clamped my mouth closed, breathing through the warning tingle in my nose. “I wish I could have made it happen for you all.”
Now, nearly twenty-four hours later, as I strolled through the east lawn alone, crunching over fresh pea gravel and taking in the beauty of yellow daffodils surrounding a stage that should have been the backdrop to a history-changing event for The Bridge . . . I allowed my heart to grieve in full. For what had almost been. And for all that had been lost.
While Silas had spent the better part of the morning making calls to the organizers of the Murphey Grant to ask for an extension on the August thirty-first deadline, I’d made some calls, too. Canceling the rental furniture, place settings, sound equipment, and catering. Every call ripped off another layer of failure, especially when I’d called Val.
She’d been horrified over everything that had transpired—not being able to stop Ethan from freezing my accounts when she’d gotten wind of it, the cease and desist order, the loss of the brand we’d built together. All things neither of us had any control over. Despite her adamant refusal, I’d sent her funds to reimburse the cost of her trip out here. There simply wasn’t a good enough reason for her to spend the money or the time to fly out here now, not when The Event had been canceled, and not when I couldn’t offer her a replacement job at Makeup Matters with Molly . . . seeing as there was no more Makeup Matters with Molly.
Disbelief clouded my mind as I looked to a sky swirling with muted pastels and streaks of sunlight. In a past life, I would have taken a selfie in this spot. I would have studied my phone screen, filtering the colors into the most eye-catching shades and then summarizing the moment with a vague inspirational quote no lengthier than 140 characters.
And by the time I’d finished, I would have missed it all. The regal bow of a lowering sun, the brilliance of an unfiltered horizon, the palpable depth of a sensation no single hashtag could ever describe.
A light breeze tickled the hair at the nape of my neck, and I turned my head toward the manor, feeling it again: the strangest desire to give up, to let go. Not only the dreams I’d once envisioned for my own life, but the dreams I’d had for this house, for this program, for a fundraiser that should have been a breeze given my platform and influence.
And yet . . . my efforts hadn’t been enough.
Rarely did I sit in the tension between my plans and God’s, between my wants and His, my way and His. Instead, I’d become an expert at throwing all my best efforts at problems bigger than myself and finding detours of escape without ever stopping to ask for guidance.
“I’m listening now, God.” Now that I have nothing left to give and nothing left to offer anyone. My burdened shoulders sagged under the weight of that truth. “What do you want for this program? And what part am I supposed to play in it now?” I swallowed against the tightening in my throat, wishing I could go back in time and ask that of Him weeks ago.
Months ago.
Years ago.
Fresh humility fell over me as I rotated to view the entire property, silently pleading for God to intervene.
“Molly?”
I jumped at the sound of Glo’s voice coming up behind me.
I whipped around and she put her hands up. “Sorry, hon. Didn’t mean to startle you, but we’ve been trying to track you down for nearly an hour. Finally had to resort to our security cameras.”
“Have I really been out here for that long?” That didn’t seem possible, and yet the sky was now a deep shade of violet, the grass shadowed in dusky gray and taupe.
“Not sure how long you’ve been out here.” She smiled, something like mischief twinkling in her eyes. “But I do know your presence has been requested in the fireside room for a meeting with some very important people.”
The levity of her tone and the hand she extended toward me came with a peace I’d been craving since the moment Ethan showed up at the front door. As I linked my arm through hers, I couldn’t help but glance up at the darkened sky, begging God to tune my ears to whatever He was up to now.
As I walked down the hallway toward the fireside room with Glo, Silas wasn’t far behind us. Apparently, he’d received the same summons. He followed on the heels of a subdued Diego, his inquisitive expression much like my own.
Silas inclined his head to me. “You know anything about this?”
“Not a thing. Any luck on getting an extension on the Murphey Grant?”
He gave a resolved shake of his head, confirming what we both knew. We were out of time and out of options. Silas took my hand and lifted it to his mouth, sealing it with a kiss before letting it drop as our escorts walked ahead of us and entered the room. All sounds of shuffling feet ceased, and the hushed voices we could hear from the hallway dropped to a soft murmur.
The instant we cleared the doorway, we stopped, frozen in our tracks at the sight awaiting us.
Shoulder to shoulder, lining the entire back wall, were all twenty-two residents at The Bridge, each of them holding
