Apprentice Father. Irene Hannon

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      Securing the pillow under his head with a firm shove, Clay fought off consciousness—and reality—as long as possible. A week and a half into his new role as surrogate father, he was sinking fast.

      The kids had been thrown out of day care on Friday because four-year-old bed wetters weren’t acceptable, so he had to come up with alternative arrangements by tomorrow. And he had a ton of work to do that he hadn’t gotten to last week, thanks to all the changes in his life.

      It was not shaping up to a be a good Sunday.

      And the sober faces peering at him when he finally pried open his eyes suggested it was only going to get worse. Emily and Josh were already dressed, he noted. In nice clothes.

      “It’s Sunday.” The pronouncement came from Emily.

      She said that like it was supposed to mean something. And Clay had the distinct impression that it did not include sleeping in.

      “I know.” He hoped she wasn’t heading in the direction he suspected.

      “Aren’t we going to church?”

      His hope dissolved. “Maybe we could skip this week.”

      Tears pooled in Emily’s eyes. “Mommy told us once that if she ever went away to be with God, we could talk to her in church on Sunday.”

      Clay was sunk. He could hold his own with hard-as-nails, give-no-quarter types. But these two little kids, who together couldn’t weigh much more than sixty pounds, melted his heart. Meaning his Sundays were about to undergo a radical change.

      Forty-five minutes later, as he approached the white church with the tall steeple that he passed on the way to work everyday, he hoped the lot would be empty. That way, he could rationalize that he’d tried to take the kids to church.

      But no, it was full. And he could hear the muffled sound of organ music. According to the sign in front, the service had begun ten minutes ago.

      He was stuck.

      Accepting his fate, he helped the children out of the truck, took their hands and headed toward a church for the second time in less than a week. Although he tried to unobtrusively slip into a row near the back, Josh foiled his plan by tripping over the edge of the pew and sprawling in the aisle. Clay was sure every head in the place swiveled their direction as he swooped to pick up the little boy.

      After climbing over three sets of feet and squeezing in between a woman with two teenagers and an older couple, all Clay wanted to do was slink out of the church and never come near the place again.

      The kids, however, were oblivious to his embarrassment. Emily’s hands lay folded in her lap, and Josh was jiggling his feet, which stuck straight out over the end of the pew. Noting that one of the youngster’s shoes was untied, Clay leaned forward to remedy the situation—and discovered another problem he couldn’t fix. Josh’s socks didn’t match.

      Risking a peek at the older woman beside him, he saw her inspecting Josh’s feet. A flush crawled up his neck. The fact that it had never occurred to him to check the kids’ clothes was yet more evidence of how ill-equipped he was for this job.

      The woman lifted her head, and Clay braced for disapproval. Instead he saw understanding and compassion in her eyes.

      “Kids are a handful, aren’t they?” The whispered comment was accompanied by a smile. “I had four. And I had that same problem on a few occasions.” She inclined her head toward Josh’s feet.

      Relief coursed through him. The woman wasn’t judging him. She wasn’t trying to make him feel inadequate. She was being kind. He hadn’t expected that.

      “I’m pretty new at this. I have a lot to learn.”

      “Don’t we all,” she commiserated with a quiet chuckle before turning her attention back to the sanctuary, where the minister was moving toward the pulpit.

      Clay’s tension eased. Most of the Christians he recalled from his childhood had been quick to criticize and censure. But this woman hadn’t done that. Nor had the members of Anne’s congregation. It was a new view of Christianity for Clay.

      This minister was also worth listening to. Mid-forties, with flecks of silver in his light СКАЧАТЬ