Serenity

SOME THINGS YOU just know without being told. Like, you passed the math final (or you didn’t). Your boyfriend isn’t into you anymore and wants to break up. Vanessa Talbot has decided that since you’re the New Girl, you have a big bull’s-eye on your forehead and your junior year is going to be just as miserable as she can make it.

Carly once told me she used to wish she were me. Ha! That first week at Spencer Academy, I wouldn’t have wished my life on anyone.

My name is Lissa Evelyn Mansfield, and since everything seemed to happen to me this quarter, we decided I’d be the one to write it all down. Maybe you’ll think I’m some kind of drama queen, but I swear this is the truth. Don’t listen to Gillian and Carly—they weren’t there for some of it, so probably when they read this, it’ll be news to them, too.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. When it all started, I didn’t even know them. All I knew was that I was starting my junior year at the Spencer Academy of San Francisco, this private boarding school for trust fund kids and the offspring of the hopelessly rich, and I totally did not want to be there.

I mean, picture it: You go from having fun and being popular in tenth grade at Pacific High in Santa Barbara, where you can hang out on State Street or join a drumming circle or surf whenever you feel like it with all your friends, to being absolutely nobody in this massive old mansion where rich kids go because their parents don’t have time to take care of them.

Not that my parents are like that. My dad’s a movie director, and he’s home whenever his shooting schedule allows it. When he’s not, sometimes he flies us out to cool places like Barbados or Hungary for a week so we can be on location together. You’ve probably heard of my dad. He directed that big pirate movie that Warner Brothers did a couple of years ago. That’s how he got on the radar of some of the big A-list directors, so when George (hey, he asked me to call him that, so it’s not like I’m dropping names) rang him up from Marin and suggested they do a movie together, of course he said yes. I can’t imagine anybody saying no to George, but anyway, that’s why we’re in San Francisco for the next two years. Since Dad’s going to be out at the Ranch or on location so much, and my sister, Jolie, is at UCLA (film school, what else—she’s a daddy’s girl and she admits it), and my mom’s dividing her time among all of us, I had the choice of going to boarding school or having a live-in. Boarding school sounded fun in a Harry Potter kind of way, so I picked that.

Sigh. That was before I realized how lonely it is being the New Girl. Before the full effect of my breakup really hit. Before I knew about Vanessa Talbot, who I swear would make the perfect girlfriend for a warlock.

And speaking of witch . . .

“Melissa!”

Note: my name is not Melissa. But on the first day of classes, I’d made the mistake of correcting Vanessa, which meant that every time she saw me after that, she made a point of saying it wrong. The annoying part is that now people really think that’s my name.

Vanessa, Emily Overton, and Dani Lavigne (”Yes, that Lavigne. Did I tell you she’s my cousin?”) are like this triad of terror at Spencer. Their parents are all fabulously wealthy—richer than my mom’s family, even—and they never let you forget it. Vanessa and Dani have the genes to go with all that money, which means they look good in everything from designer dresses to street chic.

Vanessa’s dark brown hair is cut so perfectly, it always falls into place when she moves. She has the kind of skin and dark eyes that might be from some Italian beauty somewhere in her family tree. Which, of course, means the camera loves her. It didn’t take me long to figure out that there was likely to be a photographer or two somewhere on the grounds pretty much all the time, and nine times out of ten, Vanessa was the one they bagged. Her mom is minor royalty and the ex-wife of some U.N. Secretary or other, which means every time he gives a speech, a photographer shows up here. Believe me, seeing Vanessa in the halls at school and never knowing when she’s going to pop out at me from the pages of Teen People or some society news Web site is just annoying. Can you say overexposed?

Anyway. Where was I? Dani has butterscotch-colored hair that she has highlighted at Biondi once a month, and big blue eyes that make her look way more innocent than she is. Emily is shorter and chunkier and could maybe be nice if you got her on her own, but she’s not the kind that functions well outside of a clique.

Some people are born independent and some aren’t. You should see Emily these days. All that money doesn’t help her one bit out at the farm, where—

Okay, Gillian just told me I have to stop doing that. She says it’s messing her up, like I’m telling her the ending when I’m supposed to be telling the beginning.

Not that it’s all about her, okay? It’s about us: me, Gillian, Carly, Shani, Mac . . . and God. But just to make Gillian happy, I’ll skip to the part where I met her, and she (and you) can see what I really thought of her. Ha. Maybe that’ll make her stop reading over my shoulder.

So as I was saying, there they were—Vanessa, Emily, and Dani—standing between me and the dining room doors. “What’s up?” I said, walking up to them when I should have turned and settled for something out of the snack machine at the other end of the hall.

“She doesn’t know.” Emily poked Dani. “Maybe we shouldn’t tell her.”

I did a fast mental check. Plaid skirt—okay. Oxfords—no embarrassing toilet paper. White blouse—buttoned, no stains. Slate blue cardigan—clean. Hair—freshly brushed.

They couldn’t be talking about me personally, in which case I didn’t need to hear it. “Whatever.” I pushed past them and took two steps down the hall.

“Don’t you want to hear about your new roommate?” Vanessa asked.

Roommate? At that point I’d survived for five days, and the only good things about them were the crème brulée in the dining room and the blessed privacy of my own room. What fresh disaster was this?

Oops. I’d stopped in my tracks and tipped them off that (a) I didn’t know, and (b) I wanted to know. And when Vanessa knows you want something, she’ll do everything she can not to let you have it.

“I think we should tell her,” Emily said. “It would be kinder to get it over with.” “I’m sure I’ll find out eventually.” There, that sounded bored enough. “Byeee.” “I hope you like Chinese!” Dani whooped at her own cleverness, and the three of them floated off down the hall.

So I thought, Great, maybe they’re having dim sum today for lunch, though what that had to do with my new roommate I had no idea. At that point it hadn’t really sunk in that conversation with those three is a dangerous thing.

That had been my first mistake the previous Wednesday, when classes had officially begun. Conversation, I mean. You know, normal civilized discourse with someone you think might be a friend. Like a total dummy, I’d actually thought this about Vanessa, who’d pulled newbie duty, walking me down the hall to show me where my first class was. It turned out to not be my first class, but the teacher was nice about steering me to the right room, where I was, of course, late.

That should’ve been my first clue.

My second clue was when Vanessa invited me to eat with them and Dani managed to spill her Coke all over my uniform skirt, which is, as I said, plaid and made of this easy-clean fake wool that people with sensitive skin can wear. She’d jumped up, all full of apologies, and handed me napkins and stuff, but the fact remained that I had to go upstairs and change and then figure out how the laundry service worked, which meant I was late for Biology, too.

On Thursday Dani apologized again, and Vanessa loaned me some of her Bumble and bumble shampoo (”You can’t use Paul Mitchell on gorgeous hair like yours—people get that stuff at the drugstore now”), and I was dumb enough to think that maybe things were looking up. Because really, the shampoo was superb. My hair is blond and I wear it long, but before you go hating me for it, it’s fine and thick, and the fog we have here in San Francisco makes it go all frizzy. And it’s foggy a lot. So this shampoo made it just coo with pleasure.

You’re probably asking yourself why I bothered trying to be friends with these girls. The harrowing truth was, I was used to being in the A-list group. It never occurred to me that I wouldn’t fit in with the popular girls at Spencer, once I figured out who they were.

Lucky me—Vanessa made that so easy. And I was so lonely and out of my depth that even she was looking good. Her dad had once backed one of my dad’s films, so there was that minimal connection.

Too bad it wasn’t enough.

jolie.mansfield L, don’t let them bug you. Some people are
threatened by anything new. It’s a compliment
really.

LMansfield You always find the bright side. Gahh. Love you,
but not helping.

jolie.mansfield What can I do?

LMansfield I’d give absolutely anything to be back in S.B.

jolie.mansfield

LMansfield I want to hang with the kids from my youth group.
Not worry about anything but the SPF of my sun
block.

jolie.mansfield It’ll get better. Promise. Heard from Mom?
LMansfield No. She’s doing some fundraiser with Angelina.
She’s pretty busy.

jolie.mansfield If you say so. Love you.

Copyright © 2008 by Shelley Adina

chapter 1

Top Five Clues That He’s the One

1. He’s smart, which is why he’s dating you and not the queen of the snob mob.

2. He knows he’s hot, but he thinks you’re hotter.

3. He’d rather listen to you than to himself.

4. You’re in on his jokes—not the butt of them.

5. He always gives you the last cookie in the box.

THE NEW YEAR. . . when a young girl’s heart turns to new beginnings, weight loss, and a new term of chemistry!

Whew! Got that little squee out of my system. But you may as well know right now that science and music are what I do, and they tend to come up a lot in conversation. Sometimes my friends think this is good, like when I’m helping them cram for an exam. Sometimes they just think I’m a geek. But that’s okay. My name is Gillian Frances Jiao-Lan Chang, and since Lissa was brave enough to fall on her sword and spill what happened last fall, I guess I can’t do anything less.

I’m kidding about the sword. You know that, right?

Term was set to start on the first Wednesday in January, so I flew into SFO first class from JFK on Monday. I thought I’d packed pretty efficiently, but I still exceeded the weight limit by fifty pounds. It took some doing to get me and my bags into the limo, let me tell you. But I’d found last term that I couldn’t live without certain things, so they came with me. Like my sheet music and some more of my books. And warmer clothes.

You say California and everyone thinks L.A. The reality of San Francisco in the winter is that it’s cold, whether the sun is shining or the fog is stealing in through the Golden Gate and blanketing the bay. A perfect excuse for a trip to Barney’s to get Vera Wang’s tulip-hem black wool coat, right?

I thought so, too.

Dorm, sweet dorm. I staggered through the door of the room I share with Lissa Mansfield. It’s up to us to get our stuff into our rooms, so here’s where it pays to be on the rowing team, I guess. Biceps are good for hauling bulging Louis Vuittons up marble staircases. But I am so not the athletic type. I leave that to John, the youngest of my three older brothers. He’s been into gymnastics since he was, like, four, and he’s training hard to make the U.S. Olympic team. I haven’t seen him since I was fourteen—he trains with a coach out in Arizona.

My oldest brother, Richard, is twenty-six and works for my dad at the bank, and the second oldest, Darren—the one I’m closest to—is graduating next spring from Harvard and going straight into medical school after that.

Yeah, we’re a family of overachievers. Don’t hate me, okay?

I heard a thump in the hall outside and got the door open just in time to come face-to-face with a huge piece of striped fiberglass with three fins.

I stood aside to let Lissa into the room with her surfboard. She was practically bowed at the knees with the weight of the duffel slung over her shoulder, and another duffel with a big O’Neill logo waited outside. I grabbed it and swung it onto her bed.

“Welcome back, girlfriend!”

She stood the board against the wall, let the duffel drop to the floor with a thud that probably shook the chandelier in the room below us, and pulled me into a hug.

“I am so glad to see you!” Her perfect Nordic face lit up with happiness. “How was your Christmas—the parts you didn’t tell me about on e-mail?”

“The usual. Too many family parties. Mom and Nai-Nai made way too much food, two of my brothers fought over the remote like they were ten years old, my dad and oldest brother bailed to go back to work early, and, oh, Nai-Nai wanted to know at least twice a day why I didn’t have a boyfriend.” I considered the chaos we’d just made of our pristine room. “The typical Chang holiday. What about you? Did Scotland improve after the first couple of days?”

“It was fre-e-e-e-zing.” She slipped off her coat and tam. “And I don’t just mean rainy-freezing. I mean sleet-and-icicles freezing. The first time I wore my high-heeled Louboutin boots, I nearly broke my ankle. As it was, I landed flat on my butt in the middle of the Royal Mile. Totally embarrassing.”

“What’s a Royal Mile? Princesses by the square foot?”

“This big broad avenue that goes through the old part of Edinburgh toward the queen’s castle. Good shopping. Restaurants. Tourists. Ice.” She unzipped the duffel and began pulling things out of it. “Dad was away a lot at the locations for this movie. Sometimes I went with him, and sometimes I hung out with this really adorable guy who was supposed to be somebody’s production assistant but who wound up being my guide the whole time.”

“It’s a tough job, but someone’s gotta do it.”

“I made it worth his while.” She flashed me a wicked grin, but behind it I saw something else. Pain, and memory. “So.” She spread her hands. “What’s new around here?”

I shrugged. “I just walked in myself a few minutes ago. You probably passed the limo leaving. But if what you really want to know is whether the webcam incident is over and done with, I don’t know yet.”

She turned away, but not before I saw her flush pink and then blink really fast, like her contacts had just been flooded. “Let’s hope so.”

“You made it through last term.” I tried to be encouraging. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?”

“It made one thing stronger.” She pulled a cashmere scarf out of the duffel and stroked it as though it were a kitten. “I never prayed so hard in my life. Especially during finals week, remember? When those two idiots seriously thought they could force me into that storage closet and get away with it?”

“Before we left, I heard the short one was going to be on crutches for six weeks.” I grinned at her. Fact of the day: Surfers are pretty good athletes. Don’t mess with them. “Maybe it should be, ‘What doesn’t kill you makes your relationship with God stronger.’”

“That I’ll agree with. Do you know if Carly’s here yet?”

“Her dad was driving her up in time for supper, so she should be calling any second.”

Sure enough, within a few minutes, someone knocked. “That’s gotta be her.” I jumped for the door and swung it open.

“Hey, chicas!” Carly hugged me and then Lissa. “Did you miss me?”

“Like chips miss guacamole.” Lissa grinned at her. “Good break?”

She grimaced, her soft brown eyes a little sad. Clearly Christmas break isn’t what it’s cracked up to be in anybody’s world.

“Dad had to go straighten out some computer chip thing in Singapore, so Antony and I got shipped off to Veracruz. It was great to see my mom and the grandparents, but you know . . .” Her voice trailed away.

“What?” I asked. “Did you have a fight?” That’s what happens at our house.

“No.” She sighed, then lifted her head to look at both of us. “I think my mom has a boyfriend.”

“Ewww,” Lissa and I said together, with identical grimaces.

“I always kind of hoped my mom and dad would figure it out, you know? And get back together. But it looks like that’s not going to happen.”

I hugged her again. “I’m sorry, Carly. That stinks.”

“Yeah.” She straightened up, and my arm slid from her shoulders. “So, enough about me. What about you guys?”

With a quick recap, we put her in the picture. “So do you have something going with this Scottish guy?” Carly asked Lissa.

Lissa shook her head, a curtain of blonde hair falling to partially hide her face—a trick I’ve never quite been able to master, even though my hair hangs past my shoulders. But it’s so thick and coarse, it never does what I want on the best of days. It has to be beaten into submission by a professional.

“I think I liked his accent most of all,” she said. “I could just sit there and listen to him talk all day. In fact, I did. What he doesn’t know about murders and wars and Edinburgh Castle and Lord This and Earl That would probably fit in my lip gloss tube.”

I contrasted walking the cold streets of Edinburgh, listening to some guy drone on about history, with fighting with my brothers. Do we girls know how to have fun, or what? “Better you than me.”

“I’d have loved it,” Carly said. “Can you imagine walking through a castle with your own private tour guide? Especially if he’s cute. It doesn’t get better than that.”

“Um, okay.” Lissa gave her a sideways glance. “Miss A-plus in History.”

“Really?” I had A-pluses in AP Chem and Math, but with anything less in those subjects, I wouldn’t have been able to face my father at Christmas. As it was, he had a fit over my B in History, and the only reason I managed to achieve an A-minus in English was because of a certain person with the initials L. M.

Carly shrugged. “I like history. I like knowing what happened where, and who it happened to, and what they were wearing. Not that I’ve ever been anywhere very much, except Texas and Mexico.”

“You’d definitely have liked Alasdair, then,” Lissa said. “He knows all about what happened to whom. But the worst was having to go for tea at some freezing old stone castle that Dad was using for a set. I thought I’d lose my toes from frostbite.”

“Somebody lives in the castle?” Carly looked fascinated. “Who?”

“Some earl.” Lissa looked into the distance as she flipped through the PDA in her head. Then she blinked. “The Earl and Countess of Strathcairn.”

“Cool!”

“Very. Forty degrees, tops. He said he had a daughter about our age, but I never met her. She heard we were coming and took off on her horse.”

“Mo guai nuer,” I said. “Rude much?”

Lissa shrugged. “Alasdair knew the family. He said Lady Lindsay does what she wants, and clearly she didn’t want to meet us. Not that I cared. I was too busy having hypothermia. I’ve never been so glad to see the inside of a hotel room in my life. I’d have put my feet in my mug of tea if I could have.”

“Well, cold or not, I still think it’s cool that you met an earl,” Carly said. “And I can’t wait to see your dad’s movie.”

“Filming starts in February, so Dad won’t be around much. But Mom’s big charity gig for the Babies of Somalia went off just before Christmas and was a huge success, so she’ll be around a bit more.” She paused. “Until she finds something else to get involved in.”

“Did you meet Angelina?” I asked. Lissa’s life fascinated me. To her, movie stars are her dad’s coworkers, like the brokers and venture capitalists who come to the bank are my dad’s coworkers. But Dad doesn’t work with people who look like Orlando and Angelina, that’s for sure.

“Yes, I met her. She apologized for flaking on me for the Benefactors’ Day Ball. Not that I blame her. It all turned out okay in the end.”

“Except for your career as Vanessa Talbot’s BFF.”

Lissa snorted. “Yeah. Except that.”

None of us mentioned what else had crashed and burned in flames after the infamous webcam incident—her relationship with the most popular guy in school, Callum McCloud. I had a feeling that that was a scab we just didn’t need to pick at.

“You don’t need Vanessa Talbot,” Carly said firmly. “You have us.”

We exchanged a grin. “She’s right,” I said. “This term, it’s totally all about us.”

“Thank goodness for that,” she said. “Come on. Let’s go eat. I’m starving.”

RStapleton I heard from a mutual friend that you take care of people at midterm time.

Source10 What friend?

RStapleton Loyola.

Source10 Been known to happen.

RStapleton How much?

Source10 1K. Math, sciences, geography only.

RStapleton I hate numbers.

Source10 IM me the day before to confirm.

RStapleton OK. Who are you?

RStapleton You there?

BY NOON THE next day, I’d hustled down to the student print shop in the basement and printed the notices I’d laid out on my Mac. I tacked them on the bulletin boards in the common rooms and classroom corridors on all four floors.

Christian prayer circle every Tuesday night 7:00 p.m., Room 216 Bring your Bible and a friend!

“Nice work,” Lissa told me when I found her and Carly in the dining room. “Love the salmon pink paper. But school hasn’t officially started yet. We probably won’t get a very good turnout if the first one’s tonight.”

“Maybe not.” I bit into a succulent California roll and savored the tart, thin seaweed wrapper around the rice, avocado, and shrimp. I had to hand it to Dining Services. Their food was amazing. “But even if it’s just the three of us, I can’t think of a better way to start off the term, can you?”

Lissa didn’t reply. The color faded from her face and she concentrated on her square ceramic plate of sushi as though it were her last meal. Carly swallowed a bite of makizushi with an audible gulp as it went down whole. Slowly, casually, I reached for the pepper shaker and glanced over my shoulder.

“If it isn’t the holy trinity,” Vanessa drawled, plastered against Brett Loyola’s arm and standing so close behind us, neither Carly nor I could move. “Going to multiply the rice and fish for us?”

“Nice to see you, too, Vanessa,” Lissa said coolly. “Been reading your Bible, I see.”

“Hi, Brett,” Carly managed, her voice about six notes higher than usual as she craned to look up at him.

He looked at her, puzzled, as if he’d seen her before somewhere but couldn’t place where, and gave her a vague smile. “Hey.”

I rolled my eyes. Like we hadn’t spent an entire term in History together. Like Carly didn’t light up like a Christmas tree every time she passed a paper to him, or maneuvered her way into a study group that had him in it. Honestly. I don’t know how that guy got past the entrance requirements.

Oh, wait. Silly me. Daddy probably made a nice big donation to the athletics department, and they waved Brett through Admissions with a grateful smile.

“Have any of you seen Callum?” Vanessa inquired sweetly. “I’m dying to see him. I hear he spent Christmas skiing at their place in Vail with his sisters and his new girlfriend. No parents.”

“He’s a day student.” I glanced at Lissa to see how she was taking this, but she’d leaned over to the table behind her to snag a bunch of napkins. “Why would he be eating here?”

“To see all his friends, of course. I guess that’s why you haven’t seen him.”

“Neither have you, if you’re asking where he is.” Poor Vanessa. I hope she’s never on a debating team. It could get humiliating.

But what she lacked in logic she made up for in venom. She ignored me and gushed, “I love your outfit, Lissa. I’m sure Callum would, too. That is, if he were still speaking to you.”

I barely restrained myself from giving Vanessa an elbow in the stomach. But Lissa had come a long way since her ugly breakup with a guy who didn’t deserve her. Vanessa had no idea who she was dealing with—Lissa with an army of angels at her back was a scary thing.

She pinned Vanessa with a stare as cold as fresh snow.

“You mean you haven’t told him yet that you made that video?” She shook her head. “Naughty Vanessa, lying to your friends like that.” A big smile and a meaningful glance at Brett. “But then, they’re probably used to it.”

Vanessa opened her mouth to say something scathing, when a tall, lanky guy elbowed past her to put his sushi dishes on the table next to mine. Six feet of sheer brilliance, with blue eyes and brown hair cropped short so he didn’t have to deal with it. A mind so sharp, he put even the overachievers here in the shade—but in spite of that, a guy who’d started coming to prayer circle last term. Who could fluster me with a look, and wipe my brain completely blank with just a smile.

Lucas Hayes.

“Hey, Vanessa, Brett.”

My jaw sagged in surprise, and I snapped it shut on my mouthful of rice, hoping he hadn’t seen. Since when was the king of the science geeks on speaking terms with the popular crowd?

To add to the astonishment, the two of them stepped back, as if to give him some space. “Yo, Einstein.” Brett grinned and they shook hands.

“Hi, Lucas.” Vanessa glanced from him to me to our dishes sitting next to each other. “I didn’t know you were friends with these people.”

He shrugged. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“That could change. Why don’t you come and sit with us?” she asked. Brett looked longingly at the sushi bar and tugged on her arm. She ignored him. “We’re much more fun. We don’t sing hymns and save souls.”

“So I’ve heard. Did you make it into Trig?”

“Of course.” She tossed her gleaming sheet of hair over one shoulder. “Thanks to you.”

I couldn’t keep quiet another second. “You tutored her?” I asked him, trying not to squeak.

He picked up a piece of California roll and popped it in his mouth, nodding. “All last term.” He glanced at Vanessa. “Contrary to popular opinion, she isn’t all looks.”

Oh, gack. Way TMI. Vanessa smiled as though she’d won this and all other possible arguments now and in the future, world without end, amen. “Come on, Lucas. Hold our table for us while Brett and I get our food. I want to talk to you about something anyway.”

He shrugged and picked up his dishes while she and Brett swanned away. “See you at prayer circle,” he said to me. “I saw the signs. Same time and place, right?”

I could only nod as he headed for the table in the middle of the big window looking out on the quad. The one no one else dared to sit at, in case they risked the derision and social ostracism that would follow.

The empty seat on my right seemed even emptier. How could he do that? How could he just dump us and then say he’d see us at prayer circle? Shouldn’t he want to eat with the people he prayed with?

“It’s okay, Gillian,” Carly whispered. “At least he’s coming.”

“And Vanessa isn’t,” Lissa put in with satisfaction.

“I’m not so sure I want him to, now,” I said. I looked at my sushi and my stomach sort of lurched. Ugh. I pushed it away.

And here I’d been feeling so superior to Carly and her unrequited yen for Brett. I was just as bad, and this proved it. What else could explain this sick feeling in my middle?

Two hours later, while Lissa, Carly, and I shoved aside the canvases and whatnot that had accumulated in Room 216 over the break, making enough room for half a dozen people to sit, I’d almost talked myself into not caring whether Lucas came or not.

And then he stepped through the door and I realized my body was more honest than my brain. I sucked in a breath and my heart began to pound.

Oh, yeah. You so don’t care.

Travis, who must have arrived during dinner, trickled in behind him, and then Shani Hanna, who moved with the confidence of an Arabian queen, arrived with a couple of sophomores I didn’t know. Her hair, tinted bronze and caught up at the crown of her head, tumbled to her shoulders in corkscrew curls. I fingered my own arrow-straight mop that wouldn’t hold a curl if you threatened it with death.

Okay, stop feeling sorry for yourself, would you? Enough is enough.

“Hey, everyone, thanks for coming,” I said brightly, getting to my feet. “I’m Gillian Chang. Why don’t the newbies introduce themselves, and then we’ll get started?”

The sophomores told us their names, and I found out Travis’s last name was Fanshaw. And the dots connected. Of course he’d been assigned as Lucas’s roommate—he’s like this Chemistry genius. If it weren’t for Lucas, he’d be the king of the science geeks. Sometimes science people have a hard time reconciling scientific method with faith. If they were here at prayer circle, maybe Travis and Lucas were among the lucky few who figured science was a form of worship, of marveling at the amazement that is creation. I mean, if Lucas was one of those guys who got a kick out of arguing with the Earth Sciences prof, I wouldn’t even be able to date him.

Not that there was any possibility of that.

As our prayers went up one by one, quietly from people like Carly and brash and uncomfortably from people like Travis and the sophomores, I wished that dating was the kind of thing I could pray about.

But I don’t think God has my social life on His to-do list.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2008 by Shelley Adina

This article is used with the permission of Hachette Book Group and Shelley Adina. All rights reserved.

Day One
In Tune with God’s Purpose

God’s love is meteoric, his loyalty astronomic, his purpose titanic, his verdicts oceanic. Yet in his largeness nothing gets lost; not a man, not a mouse, slips through the cracks.

—Psalm 36:5–6, The Message

Reflection

When I was twelve years old, I attended a program at my school that significantly impacted my life’s story. A speaker asked people to come forward if they felt God leading them to give their gifts and talents to Him. I felt led by God to respond and ask for His direction in discovering His will and purpose for my life. It was that same year that God began to lead me into music. At age thirteen, I released my first album in Australia. It was a worship album titled Refresh My Heart. I’ve been asked a number of times, “What do you feel most called to do?” I feel that my God-given purpose is to encourage people to stand for God, to live radically for Him, and to live a life of worship. The roots of this began when I responded to God at age twelve.

This devotional journey is all about seeking purity of mind, body, and spirit. And to seek after purity, we must begin in our minds. One definition for pure, when used in the sense of a musical tone, means “free from harshness or roughness and being in tune.”1 God has a purpose for every one of our lives, and He invites us to get in tune with His plan. To be pure is to seek His purpose first and foremost in our lives. If we want our lives to have an impact, that begins and ends with discovering and living out our God-given purpose. Without purpose we have no clear direction, and we may not know which decision to make when we’re at a crossroads. Purpose gives us focus to discern what is important. And purpose gives us the strength to do what we need to do. One of this world’s greatest tragedies is a life lived without discovering one’s God-given purpose. We need to be careful to not just go through the motions without knowing our life purpose. We aren’t really living unless we know why we’re alive.

Looking Further

Since the beginning of time, God has made everything “on purpose.” He created the sky for a reason: to separate the water of the earth from the waters of the heavens (see Gen. 1:6-8). He made the land with a purpose: so there would be dry ground between the seas for us to live on (see Gen. 1:9-12). He designed the sun and the moon with a plan in mind: to mark off seasons, days, and years (see Gen. 1:14-18). And as the crowning glory of creation, He fashioned human beings in His own image (see Gen. 1:26-27). If He thinks highly enough of you and me to put His fingerprint on us, we can be assured that He has a purpose for every one of us. The apostle Paul put it this way:

Everything, absolutely everything, above and below, visible and invisible . . . everything got started in him and finds its purpose in him. He was there before any of it came into existence and holds it all together right up to this moment. (Col. 1:16-17, The Message)

Living It Out

Are you in tune with God’s purpose for your life? In order for your dreams and His plan to live in harmony together, you have to cooperate. If you are not on the same page with Him, ask God to show you what He has in mind and to give you the courage to follow His plan. He wants to make the journey with you toward finding the purposeful life for which He destined you.

Day Two
Who Determines Your Worth?

What’s the price of a pet canary? Some loose change, right? And God cares what happens to it even more than you do. He pays even greater attention to you, down to the last detail—even numbering the hairs on your head! So don’t be intimidated by all this bully talk. You’re worth more than a million canaries.

—Matthew 10:29-31, The Message

Reflection

Several years ago I embarked on a five-week life-changing experience in Switzerland. I needed spiritual, emotional, and physical recuperation, and I found it at L’Abri (which means “shelter”), a community study center where Christians and non-Christians can seek honest answers about God and His purposes for their lives. It was there that the Lord spoke to me of my God-worth to the point that it began replacing my selfworth. Before this experience I don’t think I had ever really discovered the sense of wholeness in God that I felt there.

One of the things I had to confront in my life was the issue of perfectionism. When you are a perfectionist, you tend either to push yourself all the time to be better or to go into failure mode and give up, believing that you’ll never succeed. My tendency was to live with a sense that God was disappointed in me—that I was not good enough. Through study and prayer and time alone with Him, the Lord assured me that I am loved and secure. I know that I’m His princess, accepted and cherished.

Because many people spend much of their time trying to please others, they’re uncomfortable in their own skin and don’t know who they are. Unfortunately, they derive their sense of worth from what they do or don’t do for others. It’s all based on a false and conditional love. We can get so wrapped up in our selfishness that we can’t see beyond ourselves to find our worth in God—who we are in Him.

Looking Further

If you’ve read The Lord of the Rings trilogy by J. R. R. Tolkien, or have seen the movies, you’re familiar with the creature Gollum and his obsession with “my precious,” the ring. He was willing to do anything to keep it, and went to great lengths in an attempt to reclaim it. Ultimately, his selfish fascination with the treasure cost him his life. Unlike Gollum, God’s love for us is purely selfless because He was willing to give up what’s most important to Him—His only Son—to redeem you. He cherishes you as His precious creation. The apostle Paul put it this way:

Christ arrives right on time to make this happen. He didn’t, and doesn’t, wait for us to get ready. He presented himself for this sacrificial death when we were far too weak and rebellious to do anything to get ourselves ready. And even if we hadn’t been so weak, we wouldn’t have known what to do anyway. We can understand someone dying for a person worth dying for, and we can understand how someone good and noble could inspire us to selfless sacrifice. But God put his love on the line for us by offering his Son in sacrificial death while we were of no use whatever to him. (Rom. 5:6-8, The Message)

Living It Out

How much time do you spend in the morning thinking about how others will perceive you based on what you look like each day? How could you spend some of that time contemplating your worth in God’s eyes? Look in the mirror and realize how precious you are to Him.

1. Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary, 10th ed., s.v. “pure.”

Copyright © 2008 by Rebecca St. James

Matt Rogers

A Heavy,
Sinking Sadness

Embracing the World That Is

One

Lately I’ve been walking in the evenings. I tend to do that when stuck on a question. Maybe I’m trying to walk it off. On days when I have time, I drive out to Pandapas Pond in Jefferson National Forest to be in nature. Once there, I set off through the woods or slowly stroll along the water’s edge, deep in thought or prayer.

Most days, because of time, I have to settle for the streets around my home. I can quickly climb to the top of Lee Street, turn around, and look out over Blacksburg, the Blue Ridge backlit by the setting sun. From there, I can see much of Virginia Tech. The stately bell tower of Burruss Hall rises proudly above the rest.

On nights like tonight, when I get a late start and the sun is already down, I head for campus. At its center, separating the academic and residential sides of the school, sits the Drill Field, a wide-open grassy space named for the exercises that the Corps of Cadets practices to perfection there. After dark, old iron lampposts, painted black, blanket the ground in overlapping circles of light.

It was here on the Drill Field, the day after the shootings, that students placed thirty-two slabs of gray limestone rock — Hokie stones, as they’re called — in a semicircle in front of Burruss Hall, to commemorate the lives of loved ones lost. Thousands of mourners descended on the place, bearing with them a flood of condolences, a mix of bouquets, balloons, and poster-board sympathies. They came sniffling, clinging to tissues and to one another, and lifting their sunglasses to wipe tears from their tired, red eyes. The world came as well, vicariously through television, watching us, kneeling with us in grief.

I also came, revisiting the stones day after day, and sometimes at night, drawn to them by a need to connect with the dead whom I never knew. Always there was something new here, some trinket that had been added. At times the items seemed odd: a baseball for every victim, an American flag by every stone, though some of the dead were international students.

People took their time passing by this spot. There was no need to rush; there were no classes to attend. It would be days, dark and long, before there would be any distractions from the pain. For a time, there was no world beyond this place.

By day, soft chatter could be heard around the memorial. After sunset, no one spoke a word. During daylight, masses huddled near the stones, peering over shoulders to read the notes left there. At night, however, mourners passed by in a single-file line, waiting their turn, patient with the people in front who wished to pause at every name.

The masses have since receded. The Drill Field now is vacant (except for these stones) and silent. The semester has ended, most of the students are gone, and only the sounds of insects disturb the stillness of the summer evening air. If I close my eyes and take in the quiet, I can almost imagine nothing happened here.

Almost. Except for the stone reminders that lie at my feet. On one is written a simple, anguished note.

Jeremy,

We love you.

Mom and Dad

These stones are more than rocks. Each is all that remains of a son, a daughter, a husband who will never come home again. I picture my mom and dad, heartbroken, kneeling by a stone for me, had I been among the dead. Moreover, I imagine myself by a stone for my dad, had he not survived his fall.

This is a summer of mourning. I am grieving the world as it is. And I am asking, “If I embrace the world as it is, in all its sadness — if I refuse to bury my head in the sand, pretending all is well, but rather think and speak of the world as it actually is — can I, then, still know God as good? Can my experience of him be more consistent than my circumstances, which alternate between good and bad?”

Is this too much to expect?

Before I can know, I must face the world at its worst.

Get on the Bus

One of my favorite authors and speakers, Patsy Clairmont, tells the story of when her son was about six years old. Because they lived out in the country, she walked her son to the bus stop every morning. One day, early in the school year, before she got back to the house, she heard the footsteps of her son running up behind her.

“What in the world are you doing?” she said to him. “The school bus will be here any minute.”

“I’m quitting school,” he said, looking her straight in the eye.

“You can’t quit school,” she replied. “You’re only in first grade. Why do you want to quit?”

“Well, it’s too long, too hard and too boring,” he said.

“Son, that’s life,” said Patsy. “Get on the bus.”

* * *

Have you ever wanted to give up?

There’s a worthy goal ahead, but to reach the goal takes time, effort and focus. When you run into obstacles, your first inclination might be to quit. That’s when the best thing you can do is square your shoulders, set your lunch kit firmly under your arm and get on the bus—in other words, take one simple step toward your goal.

If you’re reading this book, chances are good that you have a worthy goal in mind—you want your life and health to change for the better. Maybe you haven’t fully articulated the goal, but you know that you can’t stay the same. You know that something has to change in your life because parts of your life—perhaps all parts—aren’t what they could be right now.

What’s the most obvious part of your life that needs to change—is it your weight?

Being overweight is an obvious catalyst that invites you to open the door to positive change. It’s easy to admit to a struggle with weight when the mirrors, the scale and the clothes closets in your house don’t lie. Being overweight is noticeable—to you and to others. You can’t ignore it. It never lets you forget its presence.

• Maybe you feel the extra weight in your heart and lungs. It’s difficult to climb stairs. It’s difficult or impossible to play with your kids or grandchildren. You dread your annual physical checkup because you already know what the doctor is going to tell you.

• Perhaps buying clothes is distressing and embarrassing for you. You see the clothes you’d like to wear, but nothing fits or feels right. You dread wearing shorts. You detest wearing a swimsuit, and you might even refuse to participate in any activity that requires your wearing a swimsuit.

• Maybe you sense a subtle discrimination at work. You are passed over for a promotion and wonder if it has anything to do with your weight. Maybe your sales would be higher if you looked fit. Maybe you’d get more respect if you weren’t packing on the pounds.

• You dread social events, such as a class reunion, where you’re with people who haven’t seen you for a while. You hear people say good things to others, but no positive comments come your way. Maybe people give you pointed stares. Maybe they even joke that your spouse’s cooking must be really good.

• Weight affects your pocketbook. Your grocery bill is higher. Your life insurance premiums are elevated. You spend more on medical deductibles. Maybe you have paid a lot of money for weight-loss programs and related books.

• You fear the severe repercussions of being overweight. One of your grandmothers suffers from diabetes. An uncle died of heart disease. Another had a stroke. You’re about the same age and condition as they were when their bodies became diseased. What will be your fate?

The reasons why you are overweight are numerous. You may have struggled with weight forever. You’ve always been the “fat kid,” the one picked last in gym class, the girl without a date at prom or the tubby guy who’s always good for a joke. You blame the weight on your genes, the way you were raised or the fact that your mother always cooked with butter. But it doesn’t matter—in the end you’re overweight because you’ve always been that way.

Some people struggle with weight only after a major life change—the pounds came on after marriage, after reaching a certain age, during pregnancy. You remember what it was like to be fit, but that was definitely yesterday’s body. You see pictures of yourself taken a few years ago, before you gained weight, and wonder if you’ll ever look like that again.

Some of us wrestle with weight because, in our most honest moments, we know it acts as a cocoon. If this is your reason, perhaps you gained weight because something terrible happened years ago. Maybe your father died when you were young and you’re still grieving his loss; you were date raped as a teenager and it has taken years to overcome the tragedy; you went through an ugly divorce and are still scarred and wounded. The extra pounds feel like a protection. You believe your weight hides you from a hurtful world. Food is a refuge that always seems to make you feel better.

Some people struggle with weight because age or other health conditions hinder ease of movement. If this is your story, you long to be fit and healthy, but most mornings when you wake up you simply feel miserable. It’s hard to get off the couch, much less walk around the block.

Others struggle with weight because life moves too fast. You’ve got to work all day and pick up the kids after soccer practice and get dinner on the table and make phone calls for the committee after dinner and on and on and on—how can you possibly take time to focus on your health?

Whatever the reasons, you know one thing for sure: The pounds are there, and you wish they weren’t. You long for a better life—a vibrant, healthy life. Deep down you long to be the kind of person whose life is characterized by balance and satisfaction.

You can glimpse the better goal of being fit and well, but to reach that goal, you know it will take time, effort and focus. Obstacles will come up—they’ve come up every other time you’ve tried to lose weight, and when this happens, the temptation is always to quit. You know that you need to take one simple step at a time toward your target. But how do you do that?

The Place to Begin

There is hope for your future weight loss, and it’s found in a place you may have never imagined. The easy thing would be for me to give you another diet to follow. But statistics tell us that 95 percent of people who lose weight gain it back again.1 The simple fact is that another diet is not the solution you’re looking for.

I repeat: If all you’re looking for is a quick way to lose weight, then this book will disappoint you. That’s not what First Place 4 Health is all about. Besides, I won’t give you a quick fix that will take the pounds off only to have them come back on a short time later.

I want to give you a lasting solution that addresses not only the number you see on a scale but also your whole person—spiritually, mentally, emotionally and physically. It’s the plan that helps you lead the life you were meant to live—a good life filled with hope, purpose and health.

If that kind of life is something that interests you, I want to let you in on a little secret. The hope for your future weight loss begins with this simple fact:

God is good.

That’s where the First Place 4 Health program begins. Does that statement sound so simple that you feel like dismissing it? “God is good” is one of the most far-reaching principles of the Bible, and it affects your life in ways that you may never have imagined. Let’s take that one fact and unpack it a bit.

Imagine for a moment that you lived a few thousand years ago. You’re in a community of people loved by God, but you have all made mistakes over a long period of time, and you find yourself conquered, captured and carted off to Babylon by order of King Nebuchadnezzar.

In this new land, nothing feels the same and nothing looks the same. Obstacles are all around you. You’re a stranger in a strange land. But you get a letter from one of your “pastors”—the prophet Jeremiah—and the letter lays out the very words of God.

In the letter, God says that He knows everything there is to know about you, including the events of your life that have led you to this place of exile. God knows the mistakes you have made, but He offers you His grace. The Lord declares these simple yet profound words:

I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future (Jer. 29:11).

That’s the simple fact: God has good plans for you, plans to give you a hope and a future. In other words—God is good.

God is the same yesterday, today and tomorrow. Even though He wrote those words through the prophet Jeremiah, to a specific group of people at a specific place and time, His righteous character is still the same toward us today. Whenever we turn to the Lord and ask for His help, He extends His hand of grace to us.

Nahum 1:7 repeats that thought:

The Lord is good, a refuge in times of trouble.

He cares for those who trust in Him.

That’s the real answer to your goal of losing weight and becoming healthy. Start with the fact that God is good. He cares for you. The answer you’re looking for encompasses not just taking off pounds, but also living the life of purpose and hope you were meant to live. This is the life God calls you to live. And that life is well within your grasp. This book will show you what it’s all about.

Do the Next Right Thing

To begin learning about this new, healthier lifestyle, you need to start right where you are. That means taking whatever positive step is right in front of you; or, in other words, “do the next right thing.”

I want to share with you part of a letter I received from one of our First Place 4 Health group leaders. She has chosen to show up to life every day. She takes small steps. She makes ordinary decisions for positive change. But she is walking the path of balance that leads to total health.

I have battled depression most of my life. When I became a Christian, that battle did not go away. In 1990, when I weighed 220 pounds, I prayed that God would deliver me from my addiction to food. One week later, I learned about First Place. (First Place has been a lifesaver for me. I have been a First Place leader off and on since 1991.)

When my mother came to live with us, and I became her full-time caregiver, I dropped out of First Place and my weight went up to 273 pounds. I am disabled and live with chronic pain on a daily basis. During this time there were days when I only got out of bed to take care of my mother’s most basic needs.

When she went home to be with the Lord in 2002, I chose to have gastric bypass surgery the next year instead of returning to First Place. I lost 90 pounds the first year and then stopped. I have since realized that there’s no magic cure for weight gain. Even with gastric bypass surgery, the answer is to eat less and exercise more.

I wanted so badly to start leading First Place again, but since I’d had weight-loss surgery, I felt that I couldn’t justify leading the class. I prayed and sought the Lord and called your office and was encouraged to share with the class and go forward. I have done that now for the last two years.

All of this leads up to why I am writing. I have battled depression since I was a very young girl. God has helped me so much since becoming a Christian, but it is a battle every day, and some days I lose the fight. One of my First Place assistants brought a copy of the April 2007 First Place Newsletter to class for each of our members. That newsletter has changed my life.

We all have Aha! moments in life when one word or one Scripture reaches us and the light bulb turns on. For me it was one line from that newsletter. “When there are times when all I can do is the next right thing, then I do the next right thing.” Wow! I thought. Maybe I can do that. So I typed up this saying and placed it on my bathroom mirror. The very next day I woke up in great pain, not knowing how to begin doing all the things

I needed to do, and with no energy and no desire to do anything. Then I remembered the saying—Do the next right thing. I read it out loud, and I read it again. And then, I did the next right thing. All day that day, if I got confused or overwhelmed or sad, I went back to the bathroom and read that statement and then did the next right thing.

My husband can’t believe the things I have gotten accomplished. My house is cleaner; my laundry is done (folded and put away); I go to bed earlier and get up earlier. I have started swimming at the YWCA. I have become interested in reading and doing crafts again. Previously, I just wanted to stay in bed until noon; but now I tell myself to just get up and do the next right thing.

The words “Do the next right thing” have completely changed my life. Do I still battle depression? Yes. Maybe I will for the rest of my life unless the Lord chooses to heal me. Am I still in constant pain? Oh, yes. I need surgery, and maybe now I will find the courage to go ahead with that. But I don’t have to worry about that—I just have to do the next right thing.

In the pages ahead, you will see more specifically what taking positive steps looks like. Together we will examine the model of the foursided person and explore what it means to live a balanced life mentally, spiritually, emotionally and physically. You are invited to make foundational shifts toward positive habits that will help you along your new journey. Through the power of God, you can decide to live a healthier life, and you can experience lasting positive change.

When I think of a person who has succeeded in this area, I think of my friend Deborah, a woman in my First Place 4 Health group.

Deborah had a number of strikes against her. At 5′8″, she weighed more than 200 pounds. She had been in an emotionally and physically abusive marriage and was in the process of getting a divorce. She had custody of her two preteen girls and was tired a lot. After suffering from chronic depression for years, Deborah was on several medications.

When Deborah came to her first meeting, all she did was sit. She sat through an entire 12-week session and didn’t lose a pound. She signed up for another 12-week session. She came and sat, and didn’t lose a pound.

So she signed up for a third 12-week session. On the day the session was to start, she sent me this email: “Carole, please take my name off the roll. I’m just dragging the group down.”

I knew that Deborah wasn’t doing her Bible study. I knew that she had not learned the food plan. I knew that she was convinced that all she was able to do was sit. And I knew that she had reached the point where the pain of not changing was forcing her to move beyond the lies and make a choice. Her choice was that she needed to make a choice.

I replied to her email message with one line: Deborah—just come today.

That day, when Deborah arrived, I hugged her, and she started crying.

That was her moment of choice. From that moment on, she started responding to the program. She began doing her Bible study and memorizing verses. She started walking around her neighborhood with her girls. She started eating according to the Live It plan.

Soon, she had lost 60 pounds.

Previously hidden aspects of Deborah’s personality began to shine through. She was fun! We learned that she was a talented photographer. In fact, in March 2006, she went to Israel with a tour group arranged by First Place 4 Health. She took pictures for the group and walked up and down the rocky terrain. I had never seen her like that—so vibrant and full of action. She had just been so squashed down all of her life.

“Deborah,” I said, a while ago, “tell me what finally happened for you to make a choice.”

“Carole,” she said, “you believed in me. You believed that I could do it. Nobody ever believed in me before.”

What she said is true. I believed in her. And I believe in you. I believe that you can do it. Even if no one has ever believed in you before, know that someone believes in you now. With God’s help, you can change. It’s your choice. And you have the power to do it.

As you take your next steps toward positive change, keep in mind that you must choose to change before change will begin.

First Place 4 Health is not a diet; it’s a lifestyle shift.

People often believe that if they can just get on the right diet, all their weight problems will be solved. That’s an easy mistake to make, because the latest, greatest diets are always marketed as the solution we need. Yet First Place 4 Health is much more than a diet; it’s a change in how to approach life. The good thing about the First Place 4 Health food plan is that it’s not restrictive like a diet would be. We invite you to explore all the wonderful world of food choices the Lord has provided.

• First Place 4 Health is not about rigid rules; it’s about helpful invitations. We used to stress commitments—which is a good concept. We wanted people to be dedicated to pursuing health. But we have found that people sometimes looked at commitments as laws, and if laws were broken, then guilt and rigidity set in. Instead, we are inviting you to make a number of positive changes in your life. No one does them all perfectly, all of the time. So relax. There isn’t just one way to live a healthy life. Develop the plan that works best for you, and give yourself grace to make mistakes and adjustments along the way.

• Get involved at your own pace. When it comes to living a healthy, balanced life, success will look different for different people. Some people lose 100 pounds the first year they’re involved in First Place 4 Health. Other people lose 20 pounds and keep it off for 20 years. For others, success is found in not gaining any more weight. You are welcome in First Place 4 Health regardless of where you are with your current level of health. We encourage you to do no more than what you are ready for. Yet we do encourage you to take a first positive step as soon as possible.

• Your invitation starts right now. Any change requires some sort of adjustment. Your invitation is to jump in to this new life today. Just begin. Get on the bus. Make the choice to give yourself wholeheartedly to this new season in your life—a season that will hopefully stretch into a lifetime of healthy living. Have fun exploring new ways to grow in your faith and in your understanding of health. Develop new friendships by getting involved in something good for you. Don’t be satisfied with standing on the outside—come on in! Be courageous and take the next step in living a balanced life.

What Keeps You Going?

The formula for lasting change:

A worthy goal reached through time + effort + focus

When obstacles to meeting your goal come up, your first inclination may be to quit. That’s when you take the next step toward your goal— just one simple step at a time.

It helps to have a clear idea of what a worthy goal looks like. You may not have articulated more than the words “to lose weight.” While this is a worthy goal, it usually breaks down when obstacles come up, because you need a greater understanding of the motivation behind your goal. When you remember why it is that you wanted to lose weight in the first place, that knowledge keeps you heading toward your goal.

People lose weight for all sorts of reasons. The Bible provides the foundational motivation, and it’s as simple as this: God is interested in your health. The motivations are shown in two passages of Scripture.

Check out Romans 12:1-2:

Therefore, I urge you, brothers, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God—this is your spiritual act of worship. Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.

In other words, you are urged to present your body—your actual flesh and blood and bone and skin—to God as an act of worship. How you take care of your body is a reflection of what you think about God. It’s honoring to the Lord to take care of the body He has given you.

When your body is presented to God, He invites you to use your life in service to Him.

Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your body (1 Cor. 6:19-20).

The benefit here is yours. To live for the Lord God of All is an incredible privilege. God’s invitation is to an abundant life full of purpose and hope. A foundational motivation for weight loss and total lifestyle change is to give your body to God.

It seems strange to think about it, but if you have accepted Christ as your Savior, then you have the actual Spirit of God living inside your body. It doesn’t make you a god. It means that your body houses the spirit of God, and that He works in your life by faith.

So what are the foundational motivations for losing weight and living a life of balance?

First, God wants you to. God is interested in your health.

Second, when your life is in balance, it’s much easier to be a leader in your family and a role model for your children and spouse. It’s difficult to lead people where you have never been yourself. Many children are overweight and need encouragement from their parents. Many of the weight problems of our children would evaporate if we led by example.

I’ve experienced this truth in my own life. When I first started to exercise, my oldest granddaughter, Cara, loved to walk or jog with me. Would she have done it on her own? No way! Yet in a heartbeat, she came with me at my invitation. Children love being with their family members.

Third, weight loss can also expose the true needs in our hearts. I’m talking specifically to those of you who need emotional healing. A weight gain is often a symptom of a deeper issue. For instance, women and men who have been emotionally or sexually abused often attempt to hide their pain by eating.

But whatever motivation is speaking to your heart, just take a moment now to get on the bus.

In the space on the following pages, jot down some ideas about the reasons you want to lose weight. It can be very beneficial to see your goals on paper. When obstacles come (and they will), you can refer back to this to gain encouragement.

Sometimes it helps to record a positive goal as well as its negative extrapolation of what might happen if you don’t do anything. Sometimes it can help to imagine your life in 5, 10 or 15 years. What will happen if something changes? What will happen if nothing changes?

Take some time to think through the following declarations.

I want to lose weight because . . .

I want to lose weight so that I can . . .

and be a good example to . . .

If I lose weight, then in the future I can see myself . . .

If I don’t lose weight, then in the future I can see myself . . .

There is no correct way to word your goal. What matters is that you know your goal, remind yourself of it often and keep in mind that your goal is reachable. With God’s help, you can do it.

Congratulations! You’re on Your Way

God never promised us that life would be rosy and without difficulty. Instead, the Lord promises to carry us through any situation and trial. God already knows your goals. He knows that you desire a better life filled with purpose, health and hope. And He knows the obstacles you will encounter that tempt you to quit the journey. Don’t give up! You can make it!

Remember, you have already taken the first step by reading this chapter. And it wasn’t that hard. Now you’re on the bus! You’re on your way to a whole new you.

Checklist for Success

• Acknowledge the truth that God is good and that He offers you a hope-filled plan for your life and future. Your success begins with this simple fact.

• Run from quick fixes—they never provide you with the lasting change you need. First Place 4 Health is a lifestyle change that affects your whole person—mentally, spiritually, emotionally, physically. It will take time, but it’s worth it.

• Accept the invitation to give your life to God. He is interested in everything about you—including your physical health.

• Write down the specific reasons why you want to become healthy. Refer back to your declarations often for motivation. Remind yourself why not doing anything isn’t an option.

• Start today. Obstacles and excuses will come up, but quitting isn’t the answer. Do the next right thing!

Note

1. This statistic is frequently cited in weight-loss journals and health-related articles, for example: http://preventdisease.com/fitness/weightloss/articles/carbs.html (accessed January 23, 2007).

“Make them like tumbleweed, O my God,

like chaff before the wind. As fire consumes the forest or a flame

sets the mountains ablaze, so pursue them with your tempest

and terrify them with your storm. Cover their faces with shame

so they will seek your name …”

– Psalm 83:13-16

A passion redeemed

Prologue

Boston, Massachusetts, The Day After Thanksgiving 1918

Patrick O’Connor stirred from a deep sleep at the feather touch of his wife’s breath, warm against his neck. “Patrick, I need you …”

Her words tingled through him and he slowly turned, gathering her into his arms with a sleepy smile. He ran his hand up the side of her body, all senses effectively roused.

“No, Patrick,” she whispered, shooing his hand from her waist, “I need you to go downstairs—now! There’s someone in the kitchen.”

Patrick groaned and plopped back on his pillow. “Marcy, there’s no one in the kitchen. Go back to bed, darlin’.”

She sat up and shook his shoulder. “Yes, there is—I heard it. The back door opened and closed.”

“It’s probably Sean after a late night with his friends. He hasn’t seen them since before the war, remember?”

“No, he came home hours ago. It’s three-forty-five in the morning. I’m telling you, someone’s in the kitchen.”

Marcy jerked the cover from his body. Icy air prickled his skin. Both of her size-six feet butted hard against his side and began to push.

He groaned and fisted her ankle, his stubborn streak surfacing along with goose bumps. “So help me, woman, I’ll not be shoved out of my own bed …”

She leaned across his chest with pleading eyes. “Patrick, I’m afraid. Can’t you at least go downstairs and check?”

Her tone disarmed him. “It’s probably just Faith, digging into Thanksgiving leftovers. She didn’t eat much at dinner, you know.”

“I know, and that’s what I thought, too, but I just peeked in her room, and I’m sure she was under the covers.

“One of the others, then—”

“No, they’re all sleeping. I checked. Please, Patrick? For my peace of mind? Won’t you go down and see?”

He sighed and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Yes, Marcy, I will go down and see. For your peace of mind.” He swiped his slippers off the floor and yanked them on his feet. “And for mine.” He started for the door.

“Wait! Take something with you. A shoe, a belt—something for protection.”

He turned and propped his hands low on the sides of his tie-string pajamas. “Shoes. Yes, that should do the trick. Newspaper editor bludgeons intruder with wing-tips.”

Marcy tossed the covers aside and hopped out of bed. “Wait! My iron. You can take my iron. It weighs a ton.” She padded to the wardrobe in bare feet and hefted a cast-iron appliance off the shelf. She lugged it to where he stood watching her, a half-smile twitching on his lips. “Here, take it. And hurry, will you? He could be gone by now.”

He snatched the iron from her hands. “And that would be a good thing, right?” He turned on his heel and lumbered down the hall, stifling a yawn as he descended the steps.

“Be careful,” Marcy whispered at the top of the stairs, looking more like a little girl than a mother of six. She stood biting her lip, barefoot and shivering while golden hair spilled down the front of her flannel nightgown. He waved her back and moved into the parlor, noting that Blarney wasn’t curled up on his usual spot in the foyer.

Patrick stopped. Was that a noise? A chair scraping? He tightened his hold on the iron while the hairs bristled on the back of his neck. He spied the shaft of light seeping through the bottom of the kitchen door and sucked in a deep breath. Heart pounding in his chest, he tiptoed to the swinging door and pushed just enough to peek inside.

A husky laugh bubbled in his throat. He heaved the door wide, pinning it open with the iron. “I trust this means you’ve made up your mind?”

“Father!” Faith jerked out of Collin’s embrace while Blarney darted to the door and speared a wet nose into Patrick’s free hand. His daughter faltered back several steps and pressed a hand to her cheek. Her face was as crimson as the bowl of cranberries on the table. “I … I was just giving Collin Thanksgiving leftovers.”

Patrick smiled. “Yes, I can see … starting with dessert, were you?”

“Patrick, who is it?” Marcy’s frantic whisper carried from the top of the stairs and he grinned, turning to call over his shoulder. “It’s Faith, Marcy, getting a bite to eat. Go back to bed. I’ll be right up.”

Collin took a step forward. His face was ruddy with embarrassment despite the grin on his lips. “Mr. O’Connor, I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you again. When I’d heard you were killed in the war …” His voice broke and he quickly cleared it, his eyes moist. He straightened his shoulders. “Well, when my mother told me you were alive, I hitched a ride anyway I could just to get here from New York.” He took another step and held out his hand. “Sir, despite the fact that you could take me to task for kissing your daughter, I thank God you’re alive.”

Patrick grinned and pulled him into a tight hug. He closed his eyes to ward off tears of his own at holding this man who was more like a son. He cleared his throat and pulled away, waving the iron at Collin’s chest. “So, the chest wound all healed up? Good as new, despite the war?”

Collin smiled and tucked an arm around Faith. “Better than new, Mr. O’Connor. You might say I’m a new man.”

“So I’ve heard,” Patrick said, scratching his forehead with Marcy’s iron.

Collin stifled a grin. “Uh, sir, did we wake you up … or were you catching up on your ironing?”

Patrick chuckled and set the iron on the table. “Marcy’s idea, I’m afraid. She’s a light sleeper.” He reached over and popped a piece of turkey in his mouth. “So, Collin, you haven’t answered my question. Have you made up your mind?”

Collin glanced down at Faith and swallowed hard. “Yes, sir, I have. I’m in love with Faith. I want to marry her.”

Patrick assessed the soft blush on his daughter’s cheeks as she gazed up at the man who had once been engaged to her sister. Her eyes shimmered with joy, and he had never seen her so happy. He snatched another piece of turkey. “And Charity? You’ve discussed all of this with her, I suppose? As your former fiancée, she has a right to know of your intentions with her sister.”

“Yes, sir, I agree and wrote her immediately before I came home from the war.”

“And she’s fine with it? No heartbreak?” Patrick chewed slowly, studying the pair through cautious eyes.

“No, sir, no heartbreak, I can assure you. Actually, she was more than fine with it. As I told Faith, it seems she has a new love interest.”

Patrick stopped chewing. “A new love interest? Who in blazes could that be?”

Collin and Faith exchanged looks before Faith took a deep breath. “Father, we think she’s after Mitch.”

Patrick blinked. “Your Mitch?”

Collin’s lips pulled into a scowl, and Faith squeezed his hand. “Father, please, we’re not engaged anymore, so he’s no longer ‘my’ Mitch. And yes, we think he’s the one Charity’s after.”

“Saints alive, the man is practically old enough to be her father! And after the stunt she pulled in Dublin, trying to break you and Mitch up, does he even like her?”

Faith bit her lip and glanced up at Collin. “I don’t think so. But you know Charity. Once she gets an idea in her head, it’s there to stay.”

“Yes, yes, I know Charity.” Patrick exhaled a weary breath. “Faith, put some coffee on, will you? Then you let that man sit down and eat. I suspect your mother won’t be able to sleep anymore than I will, so we may as well talk. We’ve got a lot of praying to do—about your plans for the future, your wedding, and your wayward sister in Dublin.”

Faith grinned and scooted to the stove to make coffee. “Yes, sir. Want a sandwich too?”

“May as well. Looks to be a long day, and I’m going to need all the energy I can get.” Patrick started to leave, then turned with his hand braced on the door. He squinted at Collin. “You’re home to stay, I hope? No more New York?”

Collin shot him a grin and reached for a hefty drumstick. “Yes, sir, home to stay. I hope that’s good news. Except for your grocery bill.”

Patrick chuckled and pushed through the kitchen door. Thank you, Lord, for bringing that boy home safe and sound. With a bounce in his step, he mounted the stairs, anxious to share the good news with Marcy. His thoughts suddenly returned to Charity, and his pace slowed considerably. She was the daughter who puzzled him the most. Beautiful, stubborn, wild—and so hard to reach. He fought a smile and made his way down the dark hall, shaking his head as he entered his room. God help Mitch Dennehy!

Chapter One

Dublin, Ireland, October 1919

Poor, unsuspecting Mitch. The dear boy—well, hardly a boy—doesn’t stand a chance.

The thought coaxed a smile to Charity O’Connor’s lips as she entered the smoky confines of Duffy’s Bar & Grille. The aroma of boxty cakes and sausage bangers sizzling on the griddle reminded her she’d been too nervous to eat. Her escort held the heavy wooden door while she stepped in. The brisk night air collided with the warmth of the cozy pub. Her eyes scanned the room, past the long serpentine bar crowded with patrons, to the glazed mahogany booths lining the mirror-laden walls. Disappointment squeezed in her stomach like hunger pangs.

He isn’t here!

With a lift of her chin, her gaze shifted to the sea of tables occupied by lovely lasses and well-to-do gentlemen fawning over their food and each other. In a cozy corner, a flute and concertina harmonized, the sound of their lively reel laced with laughter, off-key singing and the hush of intimate conversations.

“Charity, if this is too crowded, I know a quiet place we can go—”

She whirled around. “No, please. I see a table in the back.”

Her breathy tone and eager smile produced the desired effect on Rigan Gallagher. His hazel eyes softened. Slacking a hip, he notched his straw boater up with one thumb to reveal an errant strand of dark hair, giving him a boyish look despite his thirty years. His lips pulled into a wicked grin. “Aye, Duffy’s it is. But it’s fair to warn you, Miss O’Connor, you can’t avoid being alone with me forever.” He pressed his hand firmly against the small of her back and guided her to the one unoccupied table at the rear of the room.

Every nerve in her body tingled with electricity, but not from Rigan’s touch. Charity took the seat he offered and draped her shawl over the back. Her eyes flitted to the booth she had shared with Mitch Dennehy over a year ago. The memory washed over her like the candlelight flickering across the crisp, white tablecloth before her, its flame dancing high and hot.

A tall, gangly waiter approached and Charity looked up, fixing him with a radiant smile. He must be new, she thought; she hadn’t seen him before. A lump the size of a persimmon bobbed in his throat while two pink splotches stained his cheeks. He handed them each a menu, his bony fingers fumbling the parchment sheets. “G’day, miss … sir. What can I get for your pleasure?”

Rigan opened the menu. “I daresay the most important thing would be a liter of your best wine, my good man.”

“Yes, sir, very good, sir.” The waiter wagged his head and darted away.

Rigan perused his menu, absently reaching across the table to twine Charity’s hand in his. “Suddenly I find myself quite ravenous.” He looked up, a twinkle lighting his eyes. “But then you always whet my appetite, Miss O’Connor.”

Charity bit back a smile and slipped her hand from his. “Rigan, you are incorrigible. Behave … or I shall never accompany you again.”

He leaned back in the chair with a low, throaty laugh. His gaze assessed her from head to waist, finally lingering on her mouth. “Oh, I think you will. I’ve been told I’m irresistible.”

“Mmmm … to the right woman, I suppose.” She studied her menu and decided on the shepherd’s pie. She looked up, eyes blinking wide in innocence. “Tell me, Rigan, did they happen to mention anything about being a rogue?”

He clutched at his chest with a pained expression. “Charity, you wound me. The moment I stepped into Shaw’s Emporium, I’ve only had eyes for you.” He leaned forward, his manner suddenly serious. “Charity O’Connor—you, only you—take my breath away.”

She fidgeted with the filmy sleeve of her lavender blouse to deflect the intensity of his gaze. For the hundredth time, she thought what a pity it was she was in love with Mitch Dennehy. With money, looks and reckless notoriety, Rigan was a catch for any girl. But alas, for her, that’s all he was. A catch—the perfect man to “catch” the eye of a certain editor from the Times.

Rigan removed his hat and placed it on the table. He returned to his menu, his manner confident as he relaxed in the chair. That maverick strand of ebony hair fell across his forehead in an unruly fashion—like the man himself—providing a mesmerizing contrast to the umber hue of his eyes. His nose, no doubt once straight and strong, now sported the slightest of bumps, as if broken in a brawl. Probably over a woman, Charity mused, given what her friend, Emma, had told her about Rigan Gallagher III.

“Too handsome for his own good, that one,” Emma had whispered on the fateful day he entered the shop where Charity worked. “And too handsome for the good of any lass, if you ask me.” Dear Emma had rolled her eyes in such a comical way, Charity had to stifle a giggle. “Aye, and too rich as well. But that won’t be stopping Mr. High-and-Mighty once he sets his eyes on the likes of you, I’ll bet me firstborn.”

The waiter returned with a bottle and two glasses. His hands were quivering as he poured the wine. Suddenly a stream of port splashed over the edge into Rigan’s hat. Rigan jumped up with a shout. He snatched his hat from the table and shook it out. “You clumsy oaf! It would take two months of your wages to replace this hat!”

Charity shot to her feet. “Rigan, please,” she soothed, “it was just an accident, and it’s only a dribble of wine.” She blotted the table with her napkin, chancing a peek at the waiter. The poor man appeared to be having trouble breathing as he gasped for air. Charity chewed on her lip. Oh, my—she had never seen a redder face! She laid a gentle hand on his arm. “Don’t mind him,” she whispered, “It could happen to anyone. Why, my first week on the job, I broke an expensive bottle of perfume and the shop reeked for days.” She patted his hand and smiled. “But after that, the place smelled rather nice.”

The fear faded from his eyes and he nodded. “Thank ye, miss, you’re a kind lady, ye are.” He turned to Rigan and clicked his heels. “Forgive me, sir, for my clumsiness. Please allow me to tidy your hat …”

Rigan waved him away. “No, the lady’s right. It’s only a dribble of wine.” He glanced at Charity with a sheepish grin. “Although I’d prefer it dribbled down my throat rather than my hat.”

“Yes, sir,” the waiter said with another blush. “I can bring a fresh bottle if you wish …”

“No, no, just see to our food, my good man, and we’ll call it even.”

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir.”

Rigan ordered their food and dismissed the waiter. Charity watched as he poured their wine and put the bottle down. He propped both arms on the table and leaned forward, slowly twiddling his glass. He fixed her with a probing stare. “So, Charity, tell me. Why are we slumming in Duffy’s again when there are nicer places I could take you?”

Her cheeks grew warm. “No reason. I came here once and liked it, that’s all.”

Rigan eyed her with frank curiosity. “With Dennehy?”

Charity drew a quick breath. It lodged in her lungs, refusing to budge.

Rigan’s laugh was harsh. He grabbed his wine and downed it. “Really, Charity, how big of a fool do you think I am? The moment you discovered my father owned the Irish Times, you were more than willing to go out with me. Of course, that was fine with me—you certainly wouldn’t be the first woman after my money.”

“Rigan, you’re being ridiculous. I couldn’t care less about your money …”

“Or me.”

“Well, no, not when you behave like a fool.”

He poured himself more wine and lifted his glass in a toast. “To the ‘fool’—a part I suspect I will play more than once when it comes to you.” He took a drink and settled back in his chair. “So … what is Mitch Dennehy to you?”

She fingered the silk ruffle of her V-necked blouse, careful to avoid his eyes. “I already told you. He was my sister’s fiancé. He’s like a member of the family.”

Rigan snorted, idly tracing the rim of his glass with his finger. “How is it that I don’t get a ‘brotherly’ feeling?”

Another rush of warmth invaded her cheeks, stiffening her jaw. “What you ‘get’ or don’t get is of no concern of mine. Nor are my relationships any concern of yours.”

He slanted forward with a low growl. “They are if I intend to go on seeing you.”

Charity pushed her wine glass away and reached for her shawl. “Very well, perhaps you’d better take me home.” She stood in a rush and swiped a strand of hair from her eyes. Take that, Mr. Gallagher!

He rose and blocked her exit, straw boater in hand and a smile on his lips. His thumbs stroked the nubby rim of his hat. “I can do that, but I don’t think that’s what you want. I think you would much rather stay and enjoy a plate of Dublin coddle with a charming—albeit notorious—scoundrel.” He bowed slightly, his boater clutched to his chest. “Especially a scoundrel with a knack for boiling the blood of Mr. Mitch Dennehy.”

Charity drew in a quick breath. “What do you mean?”

Rigan pressed close, his low laugh warming her ear. “I mean, who better to enlist in turning the head of the man you love than the one he can’t abide?”

“Oh, Rigan, you’re utterly impossible. I’m not in love with anyone.”

He cocked a brow. “Maybe not, but for some reason I have yet to ascertain, you desperately want to catch his eye. Of course, I hoped you were interested in me. But regrettably, I do believe I detected an increase in your ardor once you learned of my connection with the Times. Tell me, Charity, did you think I wouldn’t notice your subtle queries about him? And now this—” He waved his hat toward the pub, “your curious obstinance to continually have dinner in a middle-class bar frequented by Times employees?”

Charity thrust her chin out. “Are you suggesting I’m using you?”

Rigan lifted a curl fallen loose from her topknot. He fondled it with his fingers as he studied her. A hint of a smile played on his lips. “I am … and most happily so. I must admit I was disappointed it wasn’t my charm that wooed you. But alas, I will take you, Charity O’Connor, anyway I can. If I am to be the bait to entice some hapless suitor, so be it.”

Charity sank to her chair. “You would do that? Whatever for?”

Rigan returned to his seat. “Call me a hopeless romantic. Or maybe I’m counting on you falling in love with me in the process. Either way, I’m willing to play the fool—for a price.”

Her gaze narrowed. “What price?”

The waiter interrupted with steaming plates of shepherd’s pie and roast mutton before dashing off again. Charity felt her stomach rumble. She picked up her fork. “What price?” she repeated, stabbing into her food.

Rigan sipped his wine. He took his time while he watched her over the rim of his glass. He finally set it down and relaxed back in the chair, assessing her through hooded eyes. “The taste of your lips—anytime, anywhere.”

Charity’s fork clattered to her plate. Her hand flew to her mouth to stop the nervous laughter from bubbling up. Impossible! It rolled from her lips in unrestrained hilarity, bringing tears to her eyes and discomfort to her cheeks. The rogue! He couldn’t be serious! She dabbed at the wetness with her napkin and took a deep breath, a shaky hand pressed to her chest. “Really, Rigan, I have a mind to leave right now and never see you again. You can’t be serious.”

He never blinked. “Quite.”

Charity quickly reached for her wine, desperate to diffuse her shock. Her lips rested on the edge before sipping it while thoughts of Mitch Dennehy clouded her mind. She stared at the scarlet liquid glazing the glass and fought back the hint of impropriety that nettled her nerves. No! She couldn’t do this … could she? She swallowed hard and slowly looked up, careful to place the glass back on the table with steady fingers. Her chin lifted with resolve. “My lips? And nothing more?”

She could feel the heat of his gaze from across the table.

“Nothing … until you beg.”

Heat flooded her cheeks. Dear Lord, what was she doing? She picked up her fork and forced a smile she didn’t feel. At least the tantalizing smell of the food, if not Rigan, had her salivating. She took a deep breath to dispel her discomfort and strove for a show of confidence. “Not a likely scenario, but I won’t ruin your fun.” She closed her eyes for her first taste of the pie, fighting the urge to emit a soft moan as she rolled it across her tongue. Opening her eyes once again, she hoisted her glass with a nervous grin. “Absolutely delicious … and far, far better than the taste of my lips, I assure you. Nonetheless, feed me, kiss me and turn a head in the process, and we, my good man, shall have a deal. After all, I’m a woman who usually gets what she wants—a trait I also admire in others.”

Rigan tipped his glass in a toast. “Well then, my dear Charity, I daresay, if admiration were love, we’d be well on our way.”

***

Mitch Dennehy glanced at the clock and groaned. He plowed his fingers through his short, cropped hair, then stood from his desk to stretch. “Come on, Bridie, I’ll buy you supper. It’s the least I can do after keeping you so late.”

Bridie O’Halloran looked up, and her gold-brown eyes reflected the fatigue of a long day. She slumped back in the chair and blew a wisp of silver hair out of her face. “Sweet angels in Heaven, I thought you’d never ask! I’m no good dead from starvation, you know.” She held up the latest edition of the Times and wagged it in the air. “Read all about it. Fifty-year-old Dunkirk woman perishes at the Irish Times.”

Mitch laughed and reached for his coat. “And I’ll do better than Brody’s. How does Guinness Stew and fresh-baked soda bread sound, hot out of the oven?”

Bridie rolled her eyes in obvious ecstasy. “Like the gates of Heaven itself … or otherwise if you’ll throw in a pint of ale.”

Mitch retrieved her coat and held it while she slipped it on. “Well then, Duffy’s it is. Nothing but the best for my slave labor.”

Bridie grunted. “Keep that up and I’ll be ordering scones and lemon curd as well.”

Mitch laughed and ushered her through the newsroom and into the lobby, nodding at those who worked the second shift. He opened the door, and a rush of cold air assaulted their faces. With it came the fumes of the city, from its gas lamps and motor lorries and faint whiff of manure. Bridie shivered as he led her around the corner to Duffy’s, a favorite haunt he’d once frequented. Shouldering the heavy, oak-carved door, Mitch pushed it open and allowed Bridie to enter before him. One foot on the threshold, and the onslaught of boisterous laughter and tempting aromas assailed his senses. The reaction in his gut was immediate. Everything—from the pungent smell of spiced beef and crubeens simmering on the stove, to the scent of lemon oil gleaming the bar and booths to a high sheen—all of it, dredged up memories he’d rather forget.

Mitch slammed the door behind him. His lips stiffened in a frown as he surveyed the room, hunting for an empty booth or table, to no avail. What? They giving food away now?

“Saints above, has it always been this busy?” Bridie asked, searching the room for some sign of an empty chair.

“Didn’t used to be. But I haven’t been here in a while.”

Bridie wheeled to face him. “Aw, Mitch, I’m so sorry. I completely forgot—this is the place you and Faith—”

Mitch pushed past her, hooking her elbow on his way to the bar. “Yes, it is, but it doesn’t matter. It’s been over a year and by thunder, if I want to eat in Duffy’s again, I will.” He glanced behind the bar, catching the eye of a portly, red-haired waitress toting a tray of foaming ales. At sight of him, her mouth tilted into a toothy grin. She passed the tray off to another waitress and hurried over, her blue eyes sparkling.

“Well as I live and breathe, if it isn’t the man of me dreams.” Clutching fleshy arms around Mitch’s waist, she squeezed with a teasing groan. “Where on this fair isle of ours have you been keeping yourself, Mitch Dennehy? We’ve missed you! The rest of us thought maybe Duffy poisoned you.” She grinned at Bridie. “Nice to see you too, Bridie.”

Mitch laughed and returned the woman’s hug with one of his own. He chucked her double chin with his thumb and grinned. “Truth be told, Duffy told me ol’ Harry finally proposed. Near broke my heart, it did. Enough to stay away and nurse my wounds.”

Sally blushed. The folds of her full cheeks dimpled in delight. “Aw, go on with you now, you silver-tongued rake.” Her smile faded. “We heard about Faith, Mitch. No tight lips in a place like this, you know. I kinda wondered if maybe that was why we hadn’t seen ya. You okay?”

Mitch sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, Sal, I’m okay.” He leaned forward, ducking his head. “But I’d be a sight better if we had a booth.”

Sally tossed her head back in a giggle, causing her short, puffy curls to bob. “Well now, I can’t toss customers out, even for a heartbreaker like you.” She inclined her head with a saucy sway. “But I’m not without my influence. Why don’t you and Bridie sit at the bar and get yourselves a pint. I’ll see you get the very next one.”

Mitch planted a kiss on Sally’s glowing cheek. “You’re the best, Sal. Tell ol’ Harry to treat you right or I’ll hunt him down.”

Mitch steered Bridie to the nearest empty stool where she sank against the bar with a low groan. “Never again will you talk me into working this late. I’m starving. Hope you brought lots of cash.”

He gave her a wry grin. “I always bring lots of cash when I feed you. What’s your pleasure?”

She perked up and squinted her eyes at the rows of bottles behind the bar. “I believe I’ll have an extra stout porter.”

Mitch signaled the bartender and ordered a Guinness for Bridie and a ginger ale for himself. He turned and leaned back to survey the action.

She swiveled on the stool and puckered her brow. “Ginger ale? You’re reduced to ginger ale?”

He frowned. “Lay off, Bridie.”

The bartender delivered their drinks. He gulped his like it was pure corn liquor, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

Bridie shook her head. “I’ll lay off when you get back to normal.” She took a swig of her beer, eyeing him over her mug. “When you gonna get on with your life?”

“Lea