All Our Tomorrows. Irene Hannon

      Stifling a frustrated sigh, David nodded. “Understood. But unless we offer this program to those who need it most, we’re doing a disservice to our mission.”

      “David has a point.” All heads swiveled toward Reverend Steve Dempsky, one of the charter board members. “If we play this too safe, the program loses its meaning. Let’s not forget that we were heading in that direction under our former director. We brought David in to give the program some punch, to make it more dynamic and cutting edge. I don’t think we want to tie his hands at this point. We need to trust his judgment and have confidence he won’t take undue risks that put Uplink in danger.”

      As the board digested the minister’s comments, David sent him a grateful look. Steve had been his college roommate, and they’d never lost contact. In fact, Steve had been the one who’d told him about this job and recommended him to the board. He appreciated not only his friend’s confidence, but also his willingness to put himself on the line over an issue that was stickier than David had expected.

      “Your points are well-taken, Reverend.” Mark turned to the other members of the board. “Do we need any further discussion on this?” When those seated around the table shook their heads, Mark nodded “All right. I’ll see you all next month, same time, same place.”

      The rustle of paper, muted conversation and the scrape of chairs signaled the end of the meeting. David stood, gathered up his notes and made his way toward Steve.

      “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he told him.

      The sandy-haired minister flashed him a smile and spoke in a low voice. “Just don’t blow it. Or we’ll both be out on our ear.”

      A wry smile tugged at the corners of David’s lips. “That makes me feel real secure.”

      The other man laughed and put his hand on David’s arm. “Just kidding. I trust your instincts. But if you need a second opinion about any of your candidates, I’ll be glad to talk to them, too.”

      “I may take you up on that.”

      “Will I see you at services Sunday?”

      “Have I missed a week yet?”

      “No. You’re very faithful. I just wish I could have convinced you years ago to give religion a try.”

      “The timing wasn’t right, I guess.”

      “Well, I’m glad you finally saw the light. Listen, call me some night next week and we’ll go out for pizza. Monica will be in Chicago for a conference, and I’ll be scavenging for food.”

      “You could learn to cook.”

      “My friend, I have been blessed with a number of talents. But cooking is not among them. My culinary forays have been a disaster. In fact, Monica has banned me from the stove and the oven when she’s home. Trust me, she’ll be glad if I eat out instead of messing up her kitchen. So call me, okay?”

      A chuckle rumbled deep in David’s chest. “You’ve got a deal.”

      “And don’t worry about today’s meeting. The board has always tended to err on the side of caution, but the members are working on that. Intellectually, they realize that nothing worth doing is accomplished without some risk, but it will take a little time for that understanding to reach their hearts. In the meantime, follow your instincts.”

      Another board member claimed Steve’s attention, and David turned with a wave and headed toward the door. Despite Steve’s parting words, he wondered if he was pushing too hard. Yet he prayed for guidance every day, and he was convinced God had led him to this place for a reason. He was also sure the Lord wouldn’t want him to take the easy way out.

      But the board’s reaction was unsettling. If he made a wrong step, he could be ousted—just as his predecessor had been. And for a man who until recently had put a high priority on financial security, that was a scary thought. Growing up in a blue-collar family, where times had always been lean—and gotten even leaner when their father died too young and their mother had to take a job as a cook in a diner just to make ends meet—David had vowed to find a career that provided an income high enough to eliminate financial worries. He’d achieved that—in spades—in his former job. But over time he’d felt a call to do something else, something that made a difference in lives instead of balance sheets. Steve’s call six months ago, alerting him to an upcoming opening at Uplink, had seemed almost providential. David had prayed about it—had even prayed that God not ask him to apply for it—but in the end, the call had been too strong to ignore. So he’d put his trust in God and taken a leap of faith. He just hoped he hadn’t leapt into unemployment.

      But as Steve had just reminded him, nothing worth doing was accomplished without some risk. And even if he failed, he would be able to take some comfort in knowing that he’d followed God’s call and done his best.

      David reached for the receiver, hesitated, then let his hand drop back to his desk. He wished he hadn’t volunteered to contact Caroline about a story for the Chronicle. Seeing her once had been hard enough. Now he had to call and ask for her assistance. At least it was for a larger cause and not a personal favor. Still, it made him feel uneasy. And unsettled. In fact, he’d been feeling that way ever since his encounter with her the week before.

      And he knew exactly why.

      For one thing, their meeting had dredged up memories of the tragedy that had robbed his brother of his life. Had made him recall the day he’d been pulled out of a major negotiation session to take an urgent call that his usually efficient secretary hadn’t seemed able to handle. He remembered muttering, “This better be important,” as he swept past her with an irritated glance. He’d still been annoyed when he’d picked up the phone. Until he’d heard Caroline’s almost hysterical voice on the other end of the crackling line, telling him between ragged sobs that Michael was dead.

      David’s gut had twisted into a hard knot, and he’d sagged against the desk, almost as if someone had delivered a physical blow to his midsection. He’d been too shocked to comprehend much else of what she’d said. And when she’d hung up, he’d sat there in stunned silence, until at last his secretary had knocked on the door to remind him that the high-powered group assembled in the next room was waiting for him.

      It had been a nightmare day. And the two weeks that followed had been just as horrendous. He’d decided not to tell his mother, who was slipping away day by day, fearing that the news—if she even understood it—would strain her heart, which was already weak. So he’d stood alone at the funeral. Caroline had been beside him physically, but she’d been as unreachable as the distant peaks he’d spotted on his trek in the Himalayas last year. And looking at her devastated face, watching the way her hands shook, had only exacerbated his own pain—and guilt.

      Seeing her again had brought all those memories back. So he shouldn’t be surprised that the incident had unsettled him. Nor should he be surprised that the thought of contacting her again made him uneasy.

      But he knew it was more than that. Knew that his feelings reflected something far deeper and less obvious, something he’d fiercely suppressed since the day Michael had escorted Caroline through the door of his mother’s apartment and introduced her as his fiancée.

      The fact was, from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her, David had been smitten. There was no other word for it. Nor any basis for it. He was an adult, after all. He’d been thirty-four when they met, not some teenager whose hormones could be whipped into a frenzy by the mere sight of a pretty face. In fact, he’d been so stunned by his unexpected reaction to her that he couldn’t even recall much about that first meeting. He supposed he’d managed to sound coherent, because no one had acted as if he was behaving oddly. But he’d been so thrown that for the rest of Caroline and Michael’s three-day visit, he had made it a point to avoid one-on-one conversations with her. He was afraid his tongue would get tangled up or, worse, that it would sabotage him and say something inappropriate. Such as, “I know you’re engaged to my brother, but would you marry me, instead?”

      That,