Fifteen Minutes: A Novel (41 page)

He had breakfast scheduled on the front porch with Grandpa Dan.

ONE YEAR LATER

Z
ack pulled into the Kroger parking lot and killed the engine. It was his turn to make dinner—chicken and rice with steamed broccoli. One of the few meals he knew how to cook.

He had moved into the house at the back of the farm, but he still shared meals with his family. Their time together was more special now—the way it had remained since his time on
Fifteen Minutes
. Life had found a normal rhythm, something Zack loved. He and Grandpa Dan shared coffee nearly every morning, and after that Zack did most of his songwriting on the front porch. His father had hired a foreman to help run the horse farm, which was back in business and doing better than it had in years.

Every now and then Grandpa Dan asked Zack the question he dreaded most. “What do you hear from Reese?”

The answer was always the same. “Nothing, Grandpa.”

“Keep believing. She’ll come home someday.”

The conversation was part of their routine, but it made Zack sad. Believing Reese might be part of his life again was more difficult all the time. Clearly she had moved on. Whether he ever heard what happened to her, whether she’d fallen in love with someone in Europe, her silence spoke louder than anything she might’ve said. She wasn’t interested. Period.

Zack missed her still. Especially when he took AJ to the Lowell Center for her riding lessons. They’d hired someone to replace Reese, a guy with a decade of experience. AJ loved him, but even she brought up Reese once in a while. “She said she’d come back.” AJ remembered details like that.

Always he tried to explain. “Sometimes people change their minds.”

“Sometimes.” AJ didn’t stay sad long. She loved being around Zack, and she loved that he was leading worship for the youth group at church again. Now that she was healthier, his sister was in the front row every week.

Zack didn’t take a single day for granted.

He headed into the store and found a bag of broccoli and a few pounds of apples and bananas. He was trying to remember what else his mother needed when it happened.

He spotted her halfway down the canned-food aisle.

She had her back to him, but he would know her pretty dark hair, her graceful walk anywhere. For a moment he stopped, not sure if maybe he was dreaming. Could it really be? Was this happening? She was reaching the end of the aisle when he jolted into action. He couldn’t miss this moment. Not after a year had gone by.

“Reese!” He left his cart and jogged toward her. “Reese, wait!”

She hesitated before turning around. As she did, their eyes met and Zack froze. It was her . . . it really was. She had returned home and she was here at Kroger. As if no time had passed. As if she hadn’t spent the last twelve months in London. “You . . . you’re back.” He walked slowly toward her.

As he did, he saw something that gave him the slightest bit of hope. Her eyes looked damp. “Zack.”

“I . . . I can’t believe you’re here.” He went to her and slowly took her in his arms. The hug didn’t last long enough, but the feeling brought back yesterday. Maybe for both of them. He allowed distance between them again and searched her eyes. She looked different, more beautiful, if that were possible. The walls that had been there a year ago were gone now. And an alluring confidence shone from her soul. Zack wondered if he could even breathe, standing this close.

She spoke first. “You look good. I hear your song everywhere.”

He hesitated, not breaking eye contact. “It’s your song.”

She smiled. “Keith Urban’s song, right?”

“No.” He shook his head. He could feel a smile starting in his eyes. “It’ll always be yours, Reese. I wrote it for you.”

“Well . . . I think of you when I hear it.” She looked at the time on her phone. “I’m sorry. I have to be somewhere.”

Panic coursed through his veins. She couldn’t leave him again, not this soon. “When . . . when did you get back?”

“A few weeks ago.” She angled her head. “London was wonderful. I might move there for good.” She shrugged one shoulder. Everything about her looked irresistible. “I’m still praying about it.”

He wanted to shout that she could never move there. Not forever. Not when he still loved her. He had so much to tell her,
so much to know about her time away. But she needed to leave. So he did the only thing he could. “I have the same number.”

“Me, too.” Her eyes looked to the places in his heart that would never forget her. “We should get coffee.”

“Yes.” Zack felt dizzy with the first real possibility he’d felt since he left for Atlanta more than a year ago. “I’ll call you.” He took a step back toward his cart. “Tomorrow?”

She laughed. “Okay. Tomorrow.” Her smile faded. “Good seeing you, Zack.”

“You, too.” He watched her go and tried to remember to breathe. She was home and she was here and maybe tomorrow she would get coffee with him.

His heart soared ahead of him down the aisles of the store. The chance meeting here at Kroger was a start. The miracle he’d been praying for.

He could hardly wait to tell Grandpa Dan.

HIS TRUCK WAS
filled with groceries, but Zack wasn’t ready to go home. He couldn’t stop thinking about Reese. The look in her eyes, the way he could see all the way to her heart. Just like before.

He needed to sort through his feelings before driving back to the farm. Instead of getting on the freeway, he stopped at The Coffee House, the place where he and Reese once shared a hundred private moments. He parked his truck and went inside.

The host was a teenage kid Zack hadn’t seen before. He smacked his gum a few times as he walked up to Zack. “Can I help you?” The kid clearly didn’t recognize him, something Zack appreciated more all the time.

“Table for one.” Zack followed the guy to a booth and sat
down. He ordered coffee but when it came, Zack barely sipped it. He couldn’t believe what had just happened. There was no way running into her was pure coincidence. Not when he prayed for her and for the two of them every day.

Could it really be, God? Could we still have a chance?

No answer came, but a verse spoke quietly in his heart. The one from Jeremiah 29:11. God knew the plans He had for Zack and for Reese. Plans to give them a hope and a future. Whether together or apart.

But now . . . now Zack had to believe this was a beginning. Reese hadn’t made up her mind about moving permanently to London. There was still time to change her mind. Zack breathed in, happier than he’d been since before
Fifteen Minutes
. He could hardly wait for tomorrow.

The host was back at his table, bringing the check, but something had caught the kid’s attention. Zack followed his gaze and there on the nearby TV screen was a segment of entertainment news. An announcer was talking about
Fifteen Minutes
. “It’s that time of year.” He smiled into the camera. “Around the country hopeful singers are packing up and heading out to six major cities for the chance at being the next
Fifteen Minutes
winner.”

“That’s so cool.” The guy set the check on the table, his eyes glued to the screen. “Winning that show . . . that’d be a dream.”

“You sing?” Zack looked at him.

“Yeah.” He glanced at Zack and back at the screen. “I’m decent. I’ll probably audition next year. Gotta save up some money first.”

“Hmmm. Well, good luck.” Zack watched the guy go. He could only hope he wouldn’t see the kid on the show next year or any time after.

The segment was still playing. The announcer was talking about Zoey Davis. “Last year’s winner continues to grab headlines.” Images flashed across the screen, Zoey on
Ellen
and
The Tonight Show
, articles declaring that she was breaking record sales. “Of course,” the announcer said, his voice concerned, “not all news about Zoey Davis has been good.” They cut to a short video feature showing a different series of headlines about Zoey Davis. She was too thin or addicted to drugs or cutting herself. A few months ago she’d spent a week in rehab.

Zack felt his heart sink. He had only heard a quick thank-you back from her after his private Facebook message a year ago. Since then they hadn’t talked, though Zack followed her on Twitter. Last week Zoey had tweeted that she’d completed rehab for her “struggles with exhaustion.” Another of Zoey’s tweets appeared on the TV screen now.
Thanks for your prayers, everyone. I’ve learned how to pray. It helps. I may have finally figured out how to live.

The tweet made Zack smile. Maybe she’d had the talk with Jesus he had told her about. It was what he had prayed for. But the struggles and pressures of fame would remain, whether Zoey prayed or not. Like Chandra had told him, the prison of celebrity was unbending no matter who was trapped within its walls.

On TV they were showing contestants lined up in New Orleans, home of the first round of auditions. An on-site reporter spoke loudly against the backdrop of excited contestants. “I’m here in New Orleans where tens of thousands of hopefuls have gathered for the first round of
Fifteen Minutes
auditions.” He motioned for two teenage girls to join him. “What brought you here today?”

In unison the girls squealed. “We want to be the next winner of
Fifteen Minutes
!”

“There you have it.” He looked into the camera. “And so season eleven begins. Back to you in the studio.”

Zack had seen enough. He paid for his coffee, and as he headed out the door, the announcer on the TV kept talking. “In other news, one of America’s favorite teen actresses is back in jail after being arrested again for drunk driving. Prosecutors say this is her final strike in her ongoing battle with . . .”

Zack walked out and the door closed behind him.

He didn’t want to think about
Fifteen Minutes
or the upcoming season or the trouble with another teen actress. He’d lost enough time on such emptiness. Lost more than he ever could’ve dreamed the day he drove off to Atlanta. Chandra had been right about the cost.

But he couldn’t think about that now.

Instead, he walked across the parking lot, breathing in the sweet Kentucky summer air. He had groceries to put away and news to share with his family and a song to finish. Then tomorrow . . . maybe a coffee date with Reese Weatherly. And if God allowed a miracle to play out, sometime in the weeks ahead he might have something else.

A horseback ride at dawn with the girl he still loved.

Keep reading for an excerpt from Karen Kingsbury’s upcoming Bible study,
The Family of Jesus
!

A fictional tale of Jesus and his unbelieving brother, James

A
ll of Nazareth was in an uproar, and James was sick of it. He stepped outside his house and leaned on the doorframe. Craziness. Jesus was having dinner down the street, and even from this end of the block James could see the multitudes gathering around the dwelling, pushing their way inside.

“Jesus! Help us . . . Jesus, over here!”

“Let me through!” A man came screaming down the street, a child in his arms. “We have to get to Jesus! Please . . . let us through!”

James scowled. Ridiculous. This whole Jesus thing made absolutely no sense. James wiped the sweat off his brow and peered at the distant chaos. Five men were shouting at the followers of Jesus, telling them they were crazy. A long sigh rattled from James’s chest. Every time Jesus came through town, people picked sides. There were the sick, the lame, the down and out, clamoring for his attention, looking for healing or some sort of inspiration, jumping on the bandwagon. The other camp was just as loud. Family mostly, to be honest. Cousins, aunts, uncles. People who knew the truth about Jesus.

He was a carpenter’s son.

Not God in the flesh the way his crazy disciples seemed to believe. James should know. Jesus was his brother, after all.

He stepped back inside the doorway and rolled his eyes.
Maybe it was time to put an end to the madness. He had authority with the people in Nazareth, and he could get his mother and brothers to come along. His mother believed Jesus’s claims, or at least James thought she did. But she didn’t like hearing him mocked by the rest of the family. She would come along. And his brothers felt the same way he did. Jesus was embarrassing himself and worse, he was embarrassing the entire family.

A quiet chuckle came from James. The savior of mankind—the Emmanuel spoken of in Isaiah—a carpenter’s son? In a town like Nazareth? He grabbed a cup of water, downed it, and slipped his cloak on. Yes, it was time. Enough was enough.

He walked outside onto the hot, dusty street and shut the door behind him. Fifteen minutes later he had gathered his mom and three brothers and hatched a plan. They would stay in a tight group, push their way through the crowd to the front door of the house and tell the owner that Jesus’s family needed a word with him. Then with loud, dramatic discussion, they would fully and finally put Jesus in his place.

“It’s the only way,” one of his brothers agreed. “The kindest thing we can do for the people of Nazareth . . . and for Jesus.”