Return To Love. Betsy St. Amant

days were all but over. Church crowds didn’t react quite the same way to his music.

      “Sacrifices are never simple.” Andy nodded. “You had a big one to make.”

      “Funny thing is I don’t miss it.”

      “Not even a little?”

      Carter shrugged. “Maybe a little.” He’d been lead singer of Cajun Friday for years. He never would have thought a high school band could have lasted so long and gained so much popularity in college and beyond. But if he was serious about honoring God with his life, he was more than willing to start from scratch and do things right this time, do something big and meaningful with his future as his parents always hoped he might—even if his dad wasn’t around to see it happen now. Bitterness clogged his throat and he coughed.

      “I can’t wait to hear you play again.” Andy edged the recliner back a notch and stretched out. “Those kids wear me out, but they’re pretty awesome. Some of them have come in off the street with the hardest hearts you can imagine, and done complete one-eighties.”

      “I’ll bet.” The description sounded like Carter himself not too many years ago. “I hope I’m able to reach them.”

      “I’m sure you will. Don’t sweat it.” Andy pointed toward the ceiling. “That’s His job, right?”

      “Right.”

      Silence stretched across the room, save for the ticking of the coffee mug shaped clock on the living room wall. Could Andy tell he was still thinking about Gracie? Carter shifted on the couch, not sure whether to bring up the past on his first evening in New Orleans or let it ride for now. He pressed his lips together.

      Andy made the decision for him. “Okay, I’ll take one guess and then leave you alone. Is this about Blue Eyes?”

      Carter’s breath caught. His nickname for Gracie in high school, after that wide, naively alluring gaze—not practiced, as most of the women who kept him company—and the inspiration behind one of his band’s hit songs. If she wanted nothing to do with Carter now, that was her choice, and an understandable one—a few years ago, he would have felt the same. But the swells of pride and stubbornness had washed him away from what his heart knew to be right, tugging him further out to the sea of bitterness and denial. How could he have been so blind to what was right before his face for literally a decade? But he’d ridden that circular method of thinking for years now, with no more clarity than before.

      He needed to answer Andy’s question, though he was sure by then his friend could read the truth on his face. “Yes.”

      “Then here you go, man.” Andy tossed the remote at Carter from across the room. “That’s all you had to say.”

      On Wednesday morning, Gracie poised her pencil over the paper in front of her, wrote a figure, then erased it. She grimaced. It was no use. Regardless of what she scribbled in the margins, the money simply wasn’t there. The gala budget was already stretched to the max, and she had yet to fund the decorations.

      You have to spend money to make money. The words of her boss, curator of birds Michael Dupree, echoed in her mind from last week’s meeting. That might be true, but she couldn’t create something from nothing.

      Gracie kneaded her forehead with her knuckles. The framed picture on her desk of Ernie and Huey caught her eye and she grinned in spite of her circumstances. They were waddling toward the camera, chests puffed out and beaks open as if smiling. “Guys, remind me why I volunteered to head this fund-raiser again?”

      But the photo was evidence enough in itself. She was doing this for the penguins upstate who wouldn’t have a home come March. The Louisiana Aquarium, after struggling to recover financially from the results of Hurricane Katrina, would be shutting its doors in the spring. Because the other aquariums in the state were at full capacity, the Aquarium of the Americas was the only possible solution for the little birds that would soon be homeless.

      If she could raise the money. The board of advisors firmly stated they were willing to expand the current exhibit if the funds were provided. It wasn’t in the yearly budget otherwise—not after their own financial hit from the storms.

      Gracie tapped her pencil on the sheet before her. She would have to call in some favors unless she could move money from another category. But most of what she needed had already been purchased, or required a set amount she couldn’t budge. For instance, the caterer and the band. If she was better at begging, she might play up the charity angle and attempt to get a price cut from either—but at the moment, she simply didn’t have that much moxie.

      She sighed. Two weeks ago, before the budget was finalized, she felt prepared, capable and ready to take it all on. Then she started receiving quotes from the seemingly endless list of vendors necessary to pull off the gala, and her hopes dwindled almost as fast as the cash in the temporary account.

      “I’ve got to make this work.” The penguins in the picture didn’t respond.

      Gracie rolled back in her chair and closed her eyes. Not only was the destiny of a group of innocent birds counting on her, but in a way, she felt pressure even from beyond the grave. Carter’s father—Reverend Alexander—was the one who had secured her job at the aquarium. The penguin exhibit had been one of his favorite places in America—hence his generous annual donations. She had fought to have this new wing named in his honor. If she failed the penguins now, she failed Carter’s father—the one man in her life who’d been a constant. He deserved better than that, especially after the way Carter had treated him. She had to figure something out.

      The office door opened and Lori flopped into the chair across from Gracie’s desk. She tossed her a rubber penguin keychain. “Here, we got a new shipment. From the blue cloud gathering outside your office, I thought you might need cheering up.”

      “Am I that obvious?” Gracie squeezed the belly of the penguin. A light shone from its open beak and she laughed.

      Lori crossed her legs. “So it’s not going so great, huh?”

      “It was going great until I realized our money ran out and we still need decoration funding, not to mention extra advertising dollars.” Gracie rested her elbows on the desk. “What kind of Christmas gala is it going to be if no one hears about it, and there’s all this great food and entertainment in a completely bare, boring room? We want to wow the people so that they’ll donate money to fund the new exhibit.”

      “What if I did it?”

      “Did what?”

      “Decorate! You know I went to design school for a few years. I majored in creating on a low budget.” Lori winked.

      “Did you minor in creating on no budget?”

      “Hey, in college—same difference.”

      Gracie squinted, trying to envision the possibilities. Maybe her friend was on to something.

      “My stepmother loves this aquarium. I bet she’d donate a bunch of poinsettias for the cause, and I can go to the dollar store and load up on lights and ornaments for a tree.” Lori’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “And you know those wreaths in our attic I usually hang on the windows at Christmas? I can let you use them for the gala instead.”

      “That might actually work.” Hope sprung for the first time in hours.

      Lori tossed back her long hair and tilted her nose toward the ceiling. “Of course. I’m a genius.”

      Gracie’s cell phone rang next to a stack of papers on the desk. She flipped the cover, still smiling at her friend’s generosity, and said hello.

      “Ms. Broussard?”

      “This is she.” Gracie didn’t recognize the voice. She picked up a pencil and grabbed a pad of sticky notes in case it was fund-raiser-related.

      “This is John Stevens with the Creole Boys band.”

      “Yes?” A knot stuck in Gracie’s