in the jungles and the ghettos, to the outcasts and the hopeless and the poor!’”
John Burkhart was a dynamic speaker with an extraordinary gift for capturing an audience, but he had the bad habit of always ending his talks with a rising crescendo that bordered on comical. I laughed at Trey’s only slight exaggeration.
“Everything okay in there?” came Dana’s voice from the other room.
“We’re fine, Dana! Trey’s just feeling the spirit and channeling Billy Graham.”
“So,” Trey said, his face serious again, “you’re not going to the jungle, are you?”
“Not exactly.”
“Well, as long as whatever it is is within a twenty-mile radius from here, I’ll allow it.”
“That’s the problem. Trey, I think Shayla and I may be moving to Germany.”
Trey’s face looked like the bottom had dropped out of his stomach. I saw him swallow—hard—and take a steadying breath. “Germany, huh?”
“The land of Beck’s beer.”
“You going for the beer?”
“No. To try something new. With Shayla.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment. “Did you ask her?”
“Dana told me to wait awhile. See how she adjusts in the next few months.”
“You’ve got a good job here. And now a daughter to raise. You’ve got me, too,” he added, and I could tell there was something fragile bending in his heart. “Why are you going, Shell?”
It was the question I had dreaded, but only because I didn’t really have an answer. Why was I going? Because it felt right. Because I could. Because I needed to. Because . . .
“Because I can’t raise Dad’s daughter on Dad’s turf,” I said.
Trey nodded like it made sense. “What’s in Germany?”
“A school. For missionary kids. In English.”
“So you’ll be teaching?”
“Maybe doing some synchronized swimming on the side.”
“And they’ll pay you well?”
That made me laugh. “They won’t pay me a dime. I’m going to be a modern-day John Burkhart, ministering to the tribes and ghettos of Deutschland.”
“A missionary?” He was having trouble with the concept.
“I blame it on the guy who taught me to say prayers.”
“I had to. You couldn’t sleep if you didn’t.”
“I still can’t. My life is too . . . messed up to sleep without prayers. And it’s not getting any simpler.” I paused. “Is it really the God thing that’s bugging you most?”
“You know, even when we were little, I wondered how you could believe in God with Dad screaming loud enough to scare off the Holy Spirit.”
“That’s just it. Dad screamed and ranted and raved and cursed, but God never left. He stuck around to hear it all.”
“He didn’t spare us.”
“No. And I still don’t get that. But when I think of what it would have been like if I hadn’t known he was there when I said my prayers at night . . .” I didn’t know how to put it into words. “I really want to do this, Trey. I think I need to. For me and Shayla. But if you don’t think we should . . .”
Trey filled the silence with nervous little tics like scratching his ear, rubbing the back of his neck, and shifting from foot to foot. When he spoke again, it was with a sort of reluctant capitulation.
“Don’t you have to raise money or something?”
“My church is helping me. And the rest will come from the Jim Davis Atonement Fund.”
“How long before you go?”
“School starts in August, but they said they’d cover for me if I had to get there a little late. They know the circumstances are . . . unusual.”
“They know about you and Shayla?”
I comforted a sigh with a piece of mille-feuille. “They know. And they’re concerned—think I should probably take more time to adjust before launching into work over there, but . . . two of the English teachers they were counting on just fell through, so they’re a little desperate.”
“They might be right about you needing time to adjust.”
“They might. But they’ve assured me that my commitment is dependent on Shayla doing okay, and if she doesn’t, we’ll pack up and come home.”
“Sounds fair.”
“I’m sure it’s not a normal arrangement, but they’re out of options and I’m willing and eager, so . . .”
“You should take my half of Dad’s money back.”
“I’m not taking it.”
“You should. Shayla’s going to be growing up. She’ll need things.”
“We’ll be fine, Trey. I’ve talked it over with my money guy and we’ve worked it all out.”
Trey smirked. “Your money guy.”
“Yup. I got me a money guy. How un-me is that?”
Another silence settled like static electricity over the kitchen and I wished we’d been able to