Page 37 of Tango
I smile. “It is.”
“Care to share?”
Chuckling, I take another fry. “The night of my thirteenth birthday, I snuck out of the foster home I was staying in. I was still in Sacramento at the time, so I took a bus over to the cemetery where my parents were buried.” I take another drink. “I remember just sitting there in the cool grass, crying my eyes out because I was so completely alone. Everything ached. My heart, my head from the crying—my legs from walking as far as I did to the bus stop. The things I’d seen while I was either with families or in the system haunted me.”
The memory is still clear as day to me, so as I sit back in the booth, it’s as though I’m watching it play out right in front of my eyes.
“At some point, I fell asleep. I’m not sure how long I was out for, but when I felt someone shaking me, it was right before dawn. The sun’s rays were just starting to sneak over the horizon.” I smile as I recall what happened next. “It was a man who woke me up. Mr. Samuel,” I say, recalling his name. “He asked me if I was okay, and I just started crying again. I don’t even know why, but the tears just wouldn’t stop. He sat down beside me and took my hand in his, then just held it. And as the minutes passed, my pain began to dissipate. My heart didn’t hurt as bad, my body didn’t ache, and the weight of everything just seemed less.”
Tucker is watching me carefully, absorbing every word I say.
“After I stopped crying, I realized he’d been talking the entire time. I asked him what he was saying, and he told me he was talking to God and asking Him to take my pain. I told him that I didn’t understand, and I asked him who God was and why He would care enough to want to take my pain away.”
“No one ever talked to you about God?” Tucker asks.
“Nope. I can’t remember my parents ever talking about Him—granted, I was young when they died—but none of the foster families I was in ever spoke about God.” I recall the warmth of the sun on my face as we sat in that cemetery, right in front of the stone bearing my parents’ names. “Samuel was kind. He told me that God is the Creator of the universe. That He formed each and every one of us with His hands then sent His Son Jesus here to save us. Naturally, I was fascinated. I asked him so many questions; I don’t even remember them all.” I smile as emotion wells up in my chest. “I just remember he was so kind, and he answered every question I had. We sat there as the sun rose over the horizon, and I hung on every word he said. Then he handed me a book and told me every answer I’d need for the rest of my life can be found in it.”
“The Bible.”
“The Bible,” I repeat. “It was old and worn, but I still have it. It’s actually one of the few things I grabbed from my apartment before I ran. Anyway, he told me that everything was going to be okay. That God’s timing is perfect, and He loves me more than anything. Samuel walked me to the bus stop, said goodbye, and told me that, if I ever felt lost, to pray. And that, as long as I stand on God’s Word, everything will be okay. That very same day, after the foster family called to have me sent to a troubled teen group home, I met the Sterlings.” My smile spreads. “And everything began to look up. So whenever I feel overwhelmed or consumed, I pray. And it’s by His grace I’m making it through everything I’m dealing with right now. Because if it weren’t for Him, I would have given up the second Ramiro’s life ended.” As I speak the words, the image of Ramiro lying dead on that floor pops into my head.
I can still feel the sting of my bullet wound.
Feel the heat of the server tower at my back.
The fear coursing through my veins.
I eat another onion ring, hoping the distraction will pull me back to the present. And thank God it does.
“God has gotten me through a lot too. All of us, really.” He takes a drink of tea. “I’m glad you’re leaning on Him.”
I nod in response. “About a year after I started living with the Sterlings, I asked to go back and see my birth parents’ graves. They agreed without hesitation, and when I got there, I asked around about Samuel. I figured he had to work at either the funeral home or the church nearby, but no one had heard of him. Honestly, I think some people thought I made him up. I mean, a man wandering a graveyard at dawn with a Bible, preaching to strangers?” I laugh. “They thought I’d dreamed him. But I know he was there. And not just because I have a worn Bible to prove it.”
Tucker smiles softly. “Maybe he was an angel.”
“I’ve definitely had that thought.”
“I believe God works in many different ways.”
I smile at him. “Amen to that.”
Chapter 13
Tucker
“My baby girl,” Jemma coos as she rushes out onto the porch the second we pull up in front of my parents’ farmhouse. The older woman wraps her arms around Alice, and her daughter does the same. They stand there for a few moments, completely silent, just holding onto each other.
The door opens again, and Fred steps out. Without a word, he joins in on the hug, wrapping his arms around both his wife and daughter. It’s a heartwarming moment to see family reunited…most of the time.
A familiar ache blooms in my chest, so I rub the heel of my palm against it in the hopes it’ll chase away the memories of the day we brought Dylan home.
“I just put a fresh pot of coffee on,” my mom calls from the still-open doorway.
“Thank you so much, Ruth,” Jemma replies as she takes her daughter’s uninjured arm and leads her into the house. “This is our Alice.” The Sterling matriarch is positively glowing with joy as she stands beside her daughter.
My mom smiles. “Alice, it is lovely to meet you. I’ve heard a lot of amazing things about you.”
“Thanks. It’s really great to meet you too, Mrs. Hunt.”
