As the lights dimmed and the video played, I held my breath and turned my gaze on the residents and volunteers instead of the screen. And even without the visual, emotion knocked against my ribs as I heard the sniffles and watched the tears being blotted from dozens of cheeks. I’d been confident it would have an effect, but this moment added even more fuel to the fire that burned inside us.
When the video was over, our residents hugged and fist-bumped and the volunteers applauded and stood as if the last four minutes and forty-seven seconds had been a Broadway production. The room buzzed with excitement and purpose.
Pride bloomed in my chest as Wren and Monica took their cue on stage, giving out Wi-Fi codes and the step-by-step instructions on the posting and sharing protocol we’d gone over early this morning. My eyes trailed to the screen above the fireplace, staring at the red train car on the donation tracker. As soon as it reached the destination, the color would change to black.
It was strange how different things felt on this side of things. I had a sudden image of the fundraising thermometer I’d seen a hundred times as a kid while my parents retold passionate stories of lost souls being saved in some of the poorest communities in America. Their testimonies had stirred the hearts of many, empowering a cause they believed in: opening church doors in economically challenged areas to reach underprivileged communities.
I placed a hand over my heart. Maybe I wasn’t quite as different from them as I once believed.
“Hey, sorry I’m late.” The familiar voice had me twisting to throw my arms around my brother. Like usual, his entrance had been perfectly timed.
“Hey, hey.” Miles patted my back awkwardly. “Are you already emotional? I thought you’d be thrilled that you already have twenty grand showing up there. That’s a great start. I need to hire you to do this for our missions teams. Of course, I can only pay you in apple fritters.”
“I am thrilled.” I beamed up at him and pushed away. “I’m just so happy you came.”
“You know I’d never miss this.”
I did know that.
A tap on my hip had me redirecting my attention from Miles to Tucker. He held up his iPad. “Look. My principal in Alaska just sent me this message after I sent her my mom’s video.”
Sure enough, there was a message waiting from a Mrs. Schultz with a donation of three hundred dollars. “Tucker, that’s awesome. Good job sharing!”
Miles scrunched his eyebrows and inclined his head toward the nine-year-old in question.
“Oh, Tuck. This is my brother, Miles. He’s my twin.”
Tucker looked Miles up and down before reaching out his hand to shake. “Do you like baseball?”
“Not much. Do you?”
“Not at all.”
Miles schooled his expression into focused concentration. “Do you like . . . basketball?”
“Still no,” Tucker said matter-of-factly.
“Wall ball?”
“Never played it.” Tucker’s dry wit was intense.
“How about . . . the rodeo?”
Tucker’s countenance brightened. “How’d you know?”
Miles shrugged, his eyes hovering on Tucker’s cowboy hat. “Lucky guess.”
I gave Tucker’s hat a pat and pointed to the stage as Monica gave the all clear to start posting and Devon took the stage with his guitar and two buddies to provide ambiance as every participant in the room shared the campaign. “Hey, we’re starting now, Tuck, so I need your help to watch and listen for questions, okay? Just like we talked about this morning.”
He tipped his hat to me. “You got it.”
Miles watched the boy march off with his iPad tucked up under his armpit. “Who is that kid?”
I narrowed my eyes at him, wondering how it could even be possible that I might have forgotten to mention the surprise arrival of my best friend. “Tucker is Val’s son.”
He rolled this news over in his brain. “Val, as in . . . Video Val?”
I swatted my brother’s arm. “Yes, Video Val. And stop calling her that. She’s real, and she’s been an absolute saint since she arrived. I’m secretly hoping she forgets to go back home.”
His eyes roved the room, and I grabbed his chin to redirect him to the petite woman sitting in the most Val-ish spot ever: a soundboard in the back corner of the room, surrounded by laptops and remote controls for various pieces of tech equipment I didn’t even know the names of.
My brother said nothing as his gaze lingered on the target, yet something curious climbed into my subconscious at his silence. What if . . .
“Oh, I have something for you,” he said, breaking my moment of wonder as he reached into his pocket and took out a piece of paper. “Here.”
It was obviously a folded check. “Miles, is this—”
“It’s not from me. Open it.”
And when I did, I brought my hand to my mouth and squeezed my eyes closed, releasing a sob I had zero chance of concealing. It was a check written to The Bridge from John and Karen McKenzie. For $2,500.
“Stop that,” Miles said. “You’re gonna make my allergies start up.”
I gawked at the figure, which to my parents was a sacrifice beyond my comprehension. “They can’t afford this.”
“They believe in what you’re doing here—what you’re all doing.”
It was a sacrifice sown in faith . . . and in love. One I’d never, ever forget. “I’ll call and thank them.”
“I’m sure they’d like that.” He smiled and looked around the room. “Now, where should I set up? I’ll be posting the video to the church’s platforms, as well.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep. And hopefully a good amount of
