The Men’s Group met on Tuesday evenings in the fellowship hall of the church. Nick arrived fifteen minutes early on his first time to join them. There was only one other vehicle in the parking lot when he got there, so he decided to wait in the truck. He turned off the engine but let the radio keep playing. During his recovery, contemporary Christian music had come to mean a lot to him. Listening to it calmed his more anxious moments. Whenever he went through one of his dark patches, the melody and lyrics brought him back to a place of serenity.
He closed his eyes and leaned against the headrest. Before long, his thoughts drifted to the previous Sunday and his short time with Samantha at her grandmother’s home. It wasn’t the first time they’d drifted in her direction. She’d said she was willing for them to be friends. He assumed that meant she’d forgiven him, although she hadn’t said so exactly. Then again, maybe the friendship she’d offered was only out of pity.
A thump on the door of his truck startled Nick from his deep reverie. Looking out the open window, he saw Derek.
“Coming in or taking a nap?” His friend grinned.
Smiling back, Nick answered, “Coming in.” He turned the key in the ignition the rest of the way off and removed it, grabbed his Bible, and opened the truck door. The two men walked into the church together.
The pastor, Adrian Vinton, had arranged folding chairs in a circle near the stage of the fellowship hall and was attending to the large coffeemaker as they entered the room. “Evening,” he called to them.
“Evening.” Derek motioned with his head. “You remember Nick.”
“Of course. I met him on Sunday. Glad you could join us.”
“Glad to be here.”
“Coffee should be ready soon.” Adrian stepped away from the table.
Derek gestured toward the setup. “Need help with anything?”
“Nope. Everything’s done.”
The three of them headed for the circle of chairs. A worn Bible, a small notebook, and a pen lay on the seat of one of them, and the pastor went to it. But before any of them could sit, other men began filing into the large room. Derek made it a point to introduce Nick to each. His head swam with names before those first minutes were over. Hopefully, he’d be able to remember most of them in an hour or two. Although he couldn’t count on it.
Nick’s memory had once been as sharp as a tack. He’d never forgotten names. He’d had a knack for meeting someone, looking in their eyes, repeating their name in his head, and never forgetting it again. Remembering wasn’t as guaranteed these days. But it could have been worse. It could have been much worse. And in those times when he grew frustrated with himself, he tried to remember that.
Once all the men were seated, Derek opened their time together with a prayer. Afterward, Justin Mathers—a math professor at Boise State, Nick had learned earlier—led a time of worship on his guitar.
“Amen,” Derek said softly at the end of the final song. Then he looked around at the group. “As most of you know, tonight we’re kicking off a new eight-week study. The video study guides are here—” Adrian got up and began to pass out the guides while Derek continued to talk. “—and if you haven’t read the book the video series is based on, I would encourage you to do that too. We’ve got a few extra on hand, just in case. See Adrian if you want one. All right, let’s dive in.”
An hour and a half later, Derek closed the evening with another prayer and the men began moving from their chairs toward the table with the coffeemaker. Several of them made sure to talk with Nick, to draw him into other conversations. It was obvious they didn’t want him to feel like an outsider, and he appreciated their efforts.
It was one more reason he believed God’s hand had been on his move to Idaho. At first it had seemed nothing more than an opportunity to continue working and to be out on his own again rather than living with his parents at the age of thirty-five. While he loved and appreciated his mom and dad and all they had done for him, especially after his accident, as his health improved he’d begun to chafe under their care. He’d needed to feel like himself again, as much as that was possible. Transferring to Idaho with Masters & Sons had provided that fresh start for him.
As for Samantha, so often in his thoughts—she seemed one more reason to believe God had orchestrated the move. How could Nick have imagined that she would also be in Idaho at this precise time in this very same small town? Only God could have made that happen.
Samantha was in the kitchen, enjoying her first cup of coffee on Wednesday morning, when Camila rapped on, then opened the shop’s door wide enough to poke her head in. “Oh, good. You’re up.”
“Morning, Camila. You’re here early.”
The woman stepped into the kitchen and closed the door, her expression worried. “Is there any chance you could help me with something?”
“I’ll try. What is it?”
“The recordkeeping for Sips and Scentimentals. From the day Ruth opened the shop, she’s taken care of all the bookkeeping herself. I am completely lost in that accounting software, even though I know the ID and password and all of that. I don’t know how the cash registers hook up to the software, but I think they do. There are the receipts and the deposits, and I know I must be missing something important. Can you look at it for me? I don’t want to trouble your grandmother. She needs to rest.”
Samantha almost laughed. She’d been half afraid Camila was going to ask her for help with something difficult. But accounting had been her life’s work since she graduated from the university. She lived with numbers and ledgers every day at work. Sometimes she dreamed about them. She almost breathed them.
“I would love to help you. Let me fix Gran’s breakfast. Then I’ll shower and dress and come find you.”
Relief washed across Camila’s face. “Thank you.”
A short while later, Samantha carried a breakfast tray into her grandmother’s bedroom. Gran was sitting upright, back braced by pillows. Her hair was arranged and she wore a bit of mascara, telling Samantha that she’d been up long enough to wheel herself into the bathroom to prepare for the day.
Gran smiled a greeting. “Good morning, dear.”
“Morning, Gran.” She put the bed tray over her grandmother’s lap, then kissed her cheek before straightening. “You’re looking chipper this morning.”
“I’m feeling much better today.”
“I can tell.”
“Did I hear Camila’s voice a while ago?” Gran reached for the fork and speared a cube of cantaloupe in a bowl of mixed fruit.
“Yes. She asked if I could give her some help with the bookkeeping in the shop. You don’t mind, do you?”
Gran’s eyes widened. “Mind? Good gracious! I would be thrilled. I’ll wager I’ve been doing something wrong from the get-go.”
Samantha laughed. “I doubt that.”
“Well, be on the lookout anyway.”
“Okay. I will.” She turned toward the door. “While you eat, I’m going to shower. I won’t be long.”
“Take your time. I’m fine.”
Samantha hurried up the stairs. In her room, she gathered clean clothes and took them with her into the bathroom. Half an hour later, she was all set. She’d always been what her friends called “low maintenance.” She liked to believe that was true. Still, the last glimpse at her reflection reminded her she needed to make an appointment for a haircut. That was where the low-maintenance label failed her. She was very particular about her hair. Would the local hairstylist know how to give her the cut she wanted? Or would she have to venture farther afield?
With a shake of her head, she left the bathroom and made her way down the stairs. In her grandmother’s bedroom she retrieved the breakfast tray and, as usual, asked Gran if she would like to spend some time in the living room. She’d grown used to a refusal, but this time her grandmother answered in the affirmative.
After getting Gran settled in Pappy’s recliner—pillows beneath the broken ankle, water glass on the side table, a half-read novel beside the glass, and an extra throw draped over the chair’s arm—Samantha made her way out to the shop. The place was busy this early in the day. Most of the tables had customers, and several teenagers stood in line for their beverage orders. They had to be cutting it close for getting to school before the bell. Or maybe they had a late start on Wednesdays.
The small business office of Sips and Scentimentals had been one of Pappy’s examination rooms, back when he was running his clinic in this addition to the house. With a desk and chair, computer, printer, and other equipment, it felt cramped, but it served its purpose, leaving the majority of the former clinic for the coffee-and-gift shop.
Samantha sat in the rolling chair and clicked the keyboard to awaken the iMac screen. She poked around for a while, looking at the installed applications and figuring out the filing system. It wasn’t difficult. Unlike her computers at work or at home, this one was used for little besides the business. At least it was connected to the Internet in case she needed to check the accounts via online banking. She was about to rise from the chair, in need of IDs and passwords, when Camila appeared in the office doorway.
“You probably have everything in order already,” the woman said.
“Not quite. I need the login information for the software and for the bank.”
Camila came around one side of the desk and opened a drawer. “We keep that information right here in this notebook.”
“Not exactly secure,” Samantha said with a slow shake of her head.
“That’s what Derek told your grandmother.”
“She should have listened to him.” Her brow furrowed in a frown. “What sort of security do you have on your Internet?”
Camila straightened. “I haven’t a clue.”
“Do your customers have access to your Wi-Fi out in the shop?”
Camila nodded. “Yes. But it’s separate somehow. Public. No password required.”
Samantha leaned back in the chair. “I hope it’s all right if I do more than look at the accounting.”
“Sam, I can say without hesitation that Ruth would be delighted with whatever you choose to do to get things running the way they should.”