Author and Novelist Glynn Young
“I was afraid, Dad,” Jason said, “if I said what had happened, then you or no one else would have wanted to adopt me.”
“My son,” Michael said, “while it may have shocked us to know, I don’t think it would have changed our minds.”
“I think I know that now, Dad,” Jason said, “but I was afraid you’d make me leave.” He paused. “Sometimes I feel I don’t deserve you and Mom.”
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“It’s Michael’s voice that’s remarkable,” said Father John. “He seems rather soft-spoken in everyday conversation, but his voice carries fully in the sanctuary. You can hear him as plainly in the back as the front, even without the microphone. It resonates with humility and sincerity. You hear him speak, and you know he believes what he says, you know you can trust what he says and that he speaks with authority. It’s a gift that very few ministers or speakers have.”
The archbishop of York had had enough. “What the bishop is trying to say, Michael, is that it’s been decided that you will be assigned to St. Anselm’s Anglican Church in San Francisco.”
Michael sat, outwardly composed but inwardly reeling. San Francisco?
“You can take the time you need to think this over,” the bishop of Norfolk said. “We know this is a surprise and not what you expected. So feel free to consider and pray about this.”
“I accept it, Father Stanton,” Michael said.
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“No one’s home,” said an elderly woman standing on the porch next door. “She left early this morning with a suitcase, so she must have been going out of town. Robert and his chum left a little while ago. They should be in school at this time of day.”
Michael said a short prayer of thanks for busybodies. “Did you see which way they went?”
The woman nodded. “To your right, likely for the square at the end of the block. Do I know you? You sound familiar but my eyesight isn’t the best.”
— From Dancing Prophet
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As Michael entered the dorm lobby with his bike and backpack, the housemaster stopped him. “Mr. Kent, you’ve got a visitor. She’s been waiting a good two hours.”
It was Sarah Hughes.
She stood, clutching a large artist portfolio. He stood still, gripping the bike, as she walked to him.
“I came to tell you how sorry I am,” she said. “After my outburst yesterday, I felt terrible and tried to apologize, but you were gone. I said terrible things, and there was no excuse. If you can’t forgive me, I understand. I just want to die. I felt so badly I couldn’t sleep last night—” Tears rolled down her cheeks. A few students stopped to watch, and the housemaster was definitely captivated.
“Would you like a coffee?” Michael said.
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“Josh,” Zena said, “there’s something in Michael that speaks to you, and I suspect speaks deeply. He thinks the world of you, but it’s about who you are. He’s grateful for what you’ve done and what you can do, but it’s more about you as a person. He likes you, Josh. You’re not used to having someone who simply likes you as a friend.” She paused. “And you may have to ask yourself what your new faith means in the context of government politics.”
Photograph by Dominik Vanyi via Unsplash. Used with permission.
An award-winning speechwriter and communications professional, Glynn Young is the author of three novels and the non-fiction book Poetry at Work.
