Kept (39 page)

Dillan never said how terrifying it was to trust God with everything. It had been so much easier to accept Kendall’s offer, so much simpler to invite Mark in for the night. So much easier to live on her terms.

Closing her eyes, she leaned against the window. “I need a new job. I can’t edit these books anymore. And that hurts because my entire life has been stories and—” She wiped fear from her eyes. “This is
me
, God.
Me
.” She clenched her fists. “I can map out my life in books. How can it be wrong to edit? What else am I supposed to do?”

Nothing happened.

Where was the answer? How long was she supposed to wait? When would she know that he’d heard? Or hadn’t?

She opened her eyes. Treetops called for her to enjoy their shade.

But she couldn’t. She had work to do. She’d already contracted with Melissa and another publisher to edit three books. She’d finish those jobs, and then she’d…

She’d what?

“I’ll quit editing for them.”

It was the right thing. But what about after that? How was she supposed to live?

She lifted her chin. She’d figure it out later. That’s what. For now, she needed to escape, and a run through Grant Park sounded perfect.

Late July in Chicago didn’t get nicer than this. Temps in the low eighties, a breeze off the lake, and just enough clouds for occasional shade. Why work in a white, windowless bedroom when all of this was outside?

Dillan checked his watch. He’d been sitting by the fountain for an hour, but he’d made good progress on his Sunday School class. He cross-referenced a verse and found himself reading words that had caught his attention after he’d kissed Miska—the list of people who wouldn’t inherit the kingdom of heaven.

The last verse in the section had become his favorite.
Such were some of you; but you were washed, but you were sanctified, but you were justified…

The verse had initially hit him because of Garrett—then because of himself. He couldn’t believe how he’d treated Miska, but enough time had passed for it to make sense. He’d looked at her as trash. He had. He’d viewed her as without value.

All he’d cared about was making sure he looked good.

Today, though, the verse made him think of Miska. A month ago she wouldn’t have inherited the kingdom of heaven. Now her sin was gone. Like the verse said, she was washed, she was sanctified, she was justified.

Garrett had bugged him about asking her out before Cam—or someone else—did. The thought was tempting. There had always been something about her that drew him, even when he knew the worst. But she was still a baby Christian. If he barged in now, he’d never know how real of a change God had made in her.

Not that she had to prove herself to him. Not if she truly was saved. And the early evidence pointed to that. He smiled, remembering her expression when she’d told him she’d become a Christian. How she’d gone running later than usual because she’d wanted to read her Bible.

In the weeks since, she’d routinely come out later. Either she was sleeping in or…

How tempting to move his run back half an hour.

But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He’d vowed he’d never force a relationship. If God wanted him with someone, then God would have to bring them together at the right time.

He just wished it were soon.

He looked up from the page he’d been staring at.

A tour group on Segways rolled past the fountain, and Miska headed his way, dressed in gray shorts and a pink tank top.

He straightened. What was she doing, running in the afternoon?

Her ponytail bounced from side to side as she ran, seemingly unaware of the people she passed, like the two college guys who stared after her. Her gaze swung in his direction. Her eyes connected with his, and Dillan felt it through his chest.

She veered his way. He closed his Bible and commentary and set them on the yellow notepad beside him. She slowed to a walk and blew away strands of hair around her forehead.

“You always run in the afternoon?” he asked.

“No.” She glanced at the empty space beside him. “Am I interrupting?”

“Nope. Have a seat.”

She sat down and blew out another deep breath, staring at the fountain. “Well.” She wiped her fingers across her forehead and swiped them on her shorts.

Her legs caught his attention, and he made himself look away. He set an ankle on his knee and tugged free a loose piece of his sandal’s sole.

“What are you up to?” she asked.

“Just work. Got tired of staring at four white walls. You?”

“I needed to think. It looked so gorgeous out here that I was sure I’d figure things out if I went for a run.”

“And?”

She sent him a rueful look. “Nothing yet.”

He nodded, fighting the urge to ask.

“Dillan, how do you know if God hears you?”

Verses filtered through his mind. “Well, we know if there’s sin in our life, sin we’re entertaining, he won’t hear us. But other than that, if we pray, he hears.”

“What if you were sinning and didn’t know it?”

What was she thinking of? Mark? Someone else? He hoped not. “If you realize you’re involved in something wrong, then you stop it, ask God for forgiveness, and move on. Replace it with something right.”

She held his gaze as if rolling the words around in her mind.

“You want to share?”

“Yes. I guess.” She fiddled with her nails. “I just realized, like you said, that I’m involved in something wrong. I want to stop, but it leaves this huge hole.”

He waited for her to elaborate.

She didn’t.

“Are you talking about Mark? Or—”

“Oh, no. No way. That’s over.”

Good. Great.

“Anyway, I prayed about it just now. I asked God to show me what to do, and—nothing.”

“Ah. You didn’t hear from him, no writing on the wall. Got it.”

She cocked her head. “Sometimes he writes on the wall?”

He couldn’t help laughing. “No. That’s—no.” He shook his head. “Sorry. I’ll explain that one later.”

She shrugged, her smile saying she didn’t mind his laugh. “Okay. So?”

“We know God hears us if we’re right with him, but answers don’t always come immediately. Sometimes we wait. Sometimes we wait awhile.”

She slouched against the bench. “I don’t have awhile.”

“Why? You going somewhere?”

“Maybe an overpass. Maybe Lower Wacker Drive.”

He frowned at her mention of the two-level street. “What’s going on?”

“You know I do freelance editing, right? Well, the book I’m working on is pretty—” She blew upward, and hair fluttered around her forehead. “One of the lines I edit for is erotica. You know what that is?”

He tried to hide his surprise. “I’m familiar with it. With what it is, I mean.”

The corner of her mouth turned up. “I realized today that I can’t keep doing that. I can’t work on fiction that’s got sex scenes all over the place and people…” She waved a hand. “You know. So much fiction has that, even if it’s not erotica. So how am I supposed to make a living? I prayed about it. I asked God what to do, and—” She held up her hands. “Nothing.”

“Have you told them you’re done working for them?”

“No, but I’m going to. I thought about what you said, about God being big enough for our problems. I figure there’s no better time to find out than now, right?”

Wow. She’d changed.

“I’ve considered moving to the non-fiction side, but that means connecting with editors who don’t know me or my skills. It’s doable, but it’ll take time to rebuild my client list. Time I don’t have.”

He picked up the commentary he’d been reading and looked at the publisher’s name. “Have you checked with Christian publishers?”

She stared at him. “With what?”

He turned the spine toward her. “Christian publishers. This one’s in Chicago.”

She grabbed the book. “Are you kidding me?”

A smile spread over his face. Here was her answer. How cool was this?

She flipped the book open a few pages. “I’ve never heard of these guys.”

“They’ve been here forever.”

“Seriously?”

“And there’s another Christian publisher in the suburbs.”

“And people work for them? Like fulltime? With benefits and everything?”

He shrugged. “I would imagine.”

“Do they do fiction?”

“Some do. I don’t know about this one.”

“Oh, wow.” She hugged the book to her chest. “I can’t believe this! Why didn’t I think of that? When I moved to New York, I heard there were Christian lines, but when you work in erotica, you roll your eyes. I’d completely forgotten.” She ran her hand over the burgundy cover. “Are there many publishers like this?”

“I’ve got an office full of books. You’re welcome to look.”

She gave the book back. “Now?”

He laughed. “You mean this second?”

“Come on, Dillan. I’m about to be homeless. Help a girl out.”

He set the book on the notepad. “I don’t know,” he drawled.

“Dillan—”

“It’s really nice out. Tomorrow’s supposed to hit ninety.”

She smacked his arm. “You’re messing with me.” She dramatically pooched her lip. “Please? I need to see those books.”

Grinning, he stood. “All right, all right.”

She jumped up, hands clasped beneath her chin. “Thank you, Dillan. So much.”

“You’re welcome.” Afternoon light warmed her cheeks. “You realize what this means?”

“What?”

He chuckled. She was so new to this. “God answered your prayer. Right?”

She covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh, Dillan, he did.” Her eyes filled. “Oh, Dillan.” Tears raced down each cheek. She ducked her head, but her shoulders shook.

Her emotion hit him, and he pulled her close, there beside the fountain, and held her while her tears soaked his shirt. God had answered her prayer, and, even better, he’d let him be a part of it.

And why not? They were both washed. They were both sanctified. They were both justified.

And he’d never forget it.

Miska was a new woman.

Jogging beside her, Dillan couldn’t get over it. She looked the same, but everything else—what she said, the giddiness in her speech—was completely different.

They’d spent an hour in his office the previous afternoon, Miska looking through books and writing names of publishers. That had led to her flipping through titles that caught her eye, and when she left, she’d taken five books and a list of twelve publishers.

She’d grinned like never before.

This morning, when they found themselves heading outside at the same time, Miska confessed that she’d gotten up earlier than usual to read one of his books.

He’d shaken his head and smiled.

Different woman indeed.

They jogged toward the fountain. “Got any leads?” he asked.

“You have no idea. The two Chicago publishers?”

“Yeah?”

“Editorial openings at both.”

“Really.”

“I found a dozen houses that publish fiction. Sent resumes to four. Looked at their books online. Ordered eight—”

“Not bad for an almost homeless woman.”

She flashed him a smile. “I know, right?”

“Now what?”

“I finish the books I’m contracted for and pray one of these places hires me fast.”

“When will you resign?”

“Did it last night.”

Holy cow. He slowed to a walk, then doubled over and held his thighs, chest heaving. Miska barely looked winded. “What will you do until then?”

Her smile vanished. “I’m gonna sell.”

He straightened. She’d move?

She eyed him. “You don’t look happy.”

He forced a dry laugh from his throat. “Just surprised. Where would you move to?”

“Somewhere in the ’burbs where I can buy a house and live off the remains of the sale. It’ll need to be close to church and hopefully one of the publishers here. Oh—and close to Tracy’s job.”

“Tracy?”

“We’re going to be roommates—if I stay in the area.”

She’d even leave Chicago? “Sounds like you’ve got it all worked out. I’m happy for you.”

“Are you?” Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t look it.”

“It’ll be weird not having you next door.” He forced another fake chuckle. Man, he was getting good at those. “Who will I run with in the morning?”

“You mean you’ll miss me?”

“Of course.” He ignored her faint smile and wide eyes. “It’s been fun, seeing how you’ve changed.”

“I have changed, haven’t I?” She looked around the park. “A month ago I couldn’t bear leaving, and now I’m fine with it. It’s like—” She froze. “Dillan.” She stared into the trees north of the fountain.

Dillan followed her gaze. “What?”

“It’s Mark.”

“Where?” Beneath trees beyond the Fountain Café stood three people, two tugging a leashed dog, the other looking their way. Dillan craned his neck, trying to make out the figure’s face. “You sure?”

“Yes.” Her voice hushed with fear. “What’s he doing here? Why is he just standing there, watching?”

The man slid further back into the shadows, mostly disappearing behind the building.

Whatever his reasons, they weren’t normal, weren’t safe. Dillan clenched his jaw. “What do you want to do?”

Her fingers traced her collarbone. “I should talk to him. Act normal, you know?”

“Not by yourself. I’ll go with you. You’re not going anywhere alone with him, okay?”

She swallowed. “Agreed.”

She led the way toward the cluster of trees. The shadowy figure straightened as if debating what to do, then took a step closer.

Dillan caught his breath. It
was
Scheider.

He wore a weathered hat with the curved brim pulled low, but the thick, blond beard did the most to hide his identity. Khaki cargo shorts hung to his knees, as if he’d lost weight, the faded retro Mountain Dew T-shirt too big.

Hands buried in his pockets, Scheider took a step closer, his gaze locked on Miska.

Dillan kept his features hard. The guy needed to know he’d step in if needed.

Miska stopped well out of reach. “Why are you here?”

“I came to see you.”

“I told you no.”

“Now I know why.” Scheider focused on Dillan, anger heating his eyes. “Sure explains why you were so quick to save her from Sullivan.”