“Did you ask your parents?”
“We discussed it. They wanted me closer to home but tried not to let their emotions get in the way. In the end, they left it up to me. That’s probably easier to do with a son than a daughter.”
“My parents allowed me to make my choice this summer.”
“Good for them. Anyway, I rode the black motorcycle into the mountains so I could spend time praying about the decision. I took a tent and sleeping bag so I could spend the night.”
“Alone?”
“Except for the bears and mountain lions. The old cabin was built on land purchased by the state to include in a park. It was okay to camp there, but I couldn’t build a fire. Just before the sunset I was reading in Acts about the fellowship the early Christians enjoyed in Jerusalem.”
“When they had all things in common?” I interrupted.
“Yes, only the part that touched my heart was the phrase ‘fellowship of believers.’ In my family, relationship with other Christians stood at the center of everything. I knew if I took one of the other jobs, I might make more money, but that the fellowship of believers waited for me in Savannah.”
“Where are these people?” I asked, feeling excitement rise up inside me. “I could go to church with you tomorrow.”
Zach shook his head. “I’m not sure I’ve met them. I’m part of a church that meets in a house on the north side of the city. It’s a great group, but as I’ve continued to pray about the verse, I think it may be more personal than corporate.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The best fellowship often happens one-on-one with another person, not in a crowd of people.”
I swallowed. “Are you talking about male/female fellowship?” I asked.
Zach laughed. “With everything shared in common. You’re already good at cross-examination.”
“Why are you telling me this? You’re not talking to me as you would a summer clerk.”
“That’s right. You’re the type of girl who deserves the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. I want to be completely up front with you. I’m interested in getting to know you better, but only with your permission. If you say no, I won’t bring it up again, and there won’t be any hard feelings on my part.”
It was the most flattering, pure-hearted invitation I’d ever received from a male.
“I’ll need to talk to my parents about it.”
“Sure. You can talk to Joe Carpenter if you like. I’m not suggesting we date or agree to anything beyond getting to know each other in a transparent way.” Zach gestured with his hand across the expanse of the marsh. “Without the distractions of phony barriers.”
I stared at the marsh for a few moments. My heart beat a little faster. “I’ve never had anyone approach me like this,” I said.
Zach pulled on his ponytail. “And I’d bet you’ve never met a Christian lawyer from California with long hair who owns two motorcycles.”
17
DURING THE RETURN TRIP TO MRS. FAIRMONT’S HOUSE, THE SUN climbed higher in the sky. The artificial breeze created by the speed of the motorcycle kept me outwardly cool, but inside I felt flushed.
I barely knew the young lawyer, but he’d already shown the ability to get behind my defenses. No one, not even the boys at church who’d known me all their lives and shared the same religious convictions, ever came close to relating to me as a person. The novelty of the ride in the sidecar couldn’t compete with the new thoughts racing through my head. I spoke into the microphone.
“How long have you been thinking about what you said to me on the island?”
Zach glanced sideways. “Is this a good time to talk about that question?”
“Yes.”
“Since the first time we met.”
“Was it the homeschool connection?”
“It was everything. Put yourself in my shoes. How hard is it to meet people whose main goal in life is to love and obey God?”
We stopped in front of Mrs. Fairmont’s house. I handed him the helmet. “Do you want to come in for a few minutes?” I asked.
“No, I’m going to the office.”
“Thanks for the ride.”
As I reached the front door, I heard Zach pull away from the curb. I couldn’t resist stopping to watch him ride down the street until he was out of sight.
Flip greeted me at the door. Mrs. Fairmont was sitting in the den with a book in her lap. Her eyes were closed. I quietly walked over to her chair. The book in her lap was a biography of Abigail Adams, wife of John Adams. I wondered how many pages she’d read before falling asleep or losing the ability to concentrate. She stirred and opened her eyes.