Vince didn’t know how to respond to the wordless boy. Cass’s son.
“Ask him to high-five,” Sophie said.
“High-five, Tibo?” Vince held his palm in the air.
Tibo slapped it, a proud smile gracing his features.
“Thank you.” Vince mouthed to Sophie as he stood. “And how old are you?”
“Fifteen.”
That old? A shot ran through him. He didn’t dare ask her birth date. He looked at Sophie’s dark hair, then Tibo’s sandy blond. Neither donned the red curls of their mother. Suddenly, Vince wanted to know what Tim, Sr. looked like. But he couldn’t ask. “Have you gone to our youth services yet? They’re really cool.”
“She’s a little shy, Pastor Vince.”
“Grandma.” Sophie peered up from behind her long bangs.
“We’re still trying to get her accustomed to all the changes.”
“She might find the service more energetic and the sermons easier to follow than my ramblings.”
Mrs. Hessing chuckled. “Oh believe me, Sophie follows. She could probably write a few herself. She’s a bit on the mature side.”
“Grandma.” Sophie’s plea was more emphatic this time. Something about the girl’s expression was familiar. More than Cass’s features. Like something he’d seen a thousand times before.
“Is that so? Well, then you really need to go to youth services. You can mentor some of our other students.”
Sophie harrumphed. “Yeah, like that would make me a lot of friends.”
He patted her shoulder. “I guess you’re right. Maybe you should just get to know them first.”
~*~
“Is it really true you were a drug dealer?”
“Sophie!” Grandma had that exasperated tone, but Sophie wanted to know.
Pastor Vince only laughed. “It’s okay. It’s not a big secret.” His eyes got all serious. “Yes. It’s true. Not a time I’m particularly proud of.”
She checked the guy out, from his wavy black hair to his leather loafers. “You don’t look like a drug dealer.”
His blue eyes sparkled. “What’s one supposed to look like?”
Tibo twirled and twirled beside them.
Sophie shrugged. “I don’t know. Just not like you.”
The man sucked in a big breath. “My supplier used to think that was an advantage.” His expression got heavy. “That I could move in richer circles because of it. People who could afford more of what I had to offer.”
“That didn’t happen?” Something tugged at Sophie’s heart.
The pastor shook his head. “Oh, I sold to them all right. But I don’t think I’d say I traveled in their circles any more. Once I became their dealer, I became less and less a friend.”
She wanted to know more. “My father used to be a collector of testimonies.”
Pastor’s eyebrows shot up. “A what?”
Grandma corralled Tibo. “Tim always had a story about people he met who came to know Jesus in extraordinary ways. He loved to share these stories to inspire people. We called him ‘The Collector of Testimonies.’”
“Is that so?”
Sophie studied the funny smile encircled in a black goatee. “Yes, what’s yours?”
“Sophie!”
Pastor Vince held up a palm. “That’s okay, Mrs. Hessing.” He turned to Sophie. “So you plan to carry on the title?”
Something about that idea felt warm like melted chocolate in her mouth. “I guess.”
“I bet you have a picture of your dad in your wallet.”
Where’d that come from? “I do.”
“I’d love to see it. You obviously loved him very much.”
Sophie reached into her bag, and pulled out her wallet. “This is a picture of the two of us when I was three.” It felt strange showing it to him. No one had ever asked to see it before. People mostly avoided the topic of her dead father if they could. Little did they know how much she loved to talk about him.
His eyes narrowed as he glanced between the picture and her, as if to find a resemblance. Only there wasn’t much of one. Sophie had more of Mom’s physical qualities than Dad’s, but her mom said she made up for it in
“Ask him to high-five,” Sophie said.
“High-five, Tibo?” Vince held his palm in the air.
Tibo slapped it, a proud smile gracing his features.
“Thank you.” Vince mouthed to Sophie as he stood. “And how old are you?”
“Fifteen.”
That old? A shot ran through him. He didn’t dare ask her birth date. He looked at Sophie’s dark hair, then Tibo’s sandy blond. Neither donned the red curls of their mother. Suddenly, Vince wanted to know what Tim, Sr. looked like. But he couldn’t ask. “Have you gone to our youth services yet? They’re really cool.”
“She’s a little shy, Pastor Vince.”
“Grandma.” Sophie peered up from behind her long bangs.
“We’re still trying to get her accustomed to all the changes.”
“She might find the service more energetic and the sermons easier to follow than my ramblings.”
Mrs. Hessing chuckled. “Oh believe me, Sophie follows. She could probably write a few herself. She’s a bit on the mature side.”
“Grandma.” Sophie’s plea was more emphatic this time. Something about the girl’s expression was familiar. More than Cass’s features. Like something he’d seen a thousand times before.
“Is that so? Well, then you really need to go to youth services. You can mentor some of our other students.”
Sophie harrumphed. “Yeah, like that would make me a lot of friends.”
He patted her shoulder. “I guess you’re right. Maybe you should just get to know them first.”
~*~
“Is it really true you were a drug dealer?”
“Sophie!” Grandma had that exasperated tone, but Sophie wanted to know.
Pastor Vince only laughed. “It’s okay. It’s not a big secret.” His eyes got all serious. “Yes. It’s true. Not a time I’m particularly proud of.”
She checked the guy out, from his wavy black hair to his leather loafers. “You don’t look like a drug dealer.”
His blue eyes sparkled. “What’s one supposed to look like?”
Tibo twirled and twirled beside them.
Sophie shrugged. “I don’t know. Just not like you.”
The man sucked in a big breath. “My supplier used to think that was an advantage.” His expression got heavy. “That I could move in richer circles because of it. People who could afford more of what I had to offer.”
“That didn’t happen?” Something tugged at Sophie’s heart.
The pastor shook his head. “Oh, I sold to them all right. But I don’t think I’d say I traveled in their circles any more. Once I became their dealer, I became less and less a friend.”
She wanted to know more. “My father used to be a collector of testimonies.”
Pastor’s eyebrows shot up. “A what?”
Grandma corralled Tibo. “Tim always had a story about people he met who came to know Jesus in extraordinary ways. He loved to share these stories to inspire people. We called him ‘The Collector of Testimonies.’”
“Is that so?”
Sophie studied the funny smile encircled in a black goatee. “Yes, what’s yours?”
“Sophie!”
Pastor Vince held up a palm. “That’s okay, Mrs. Hessing.” He turned to Sophie. “So you plan to carry on the title?”
Something about that idea felt warm like melted chocolate in her mouth. “I guess.”
“I bet you have a picture of your dad in your wallet.”
Where’d that come from? “I do.”
“I’d love to see it. You obviously loved him very much.”
Sophie reached into her bag, and pulled out her wallet. “This is a picture of the two of us when I was three.” It felt strange showing it to him. No one had ever asked to see it before. People mostly avoided the topic of her dead father if they could. Little did they know how much she loved to talk about him.
His eyes narrowed as he glanced between the picture and her, as if to find a resemblance. Only there wasn’t much of one. Sophie had more of Mom’s physical qualities than Dad’s, but her mom said she made up for it in
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