“And your point is?”
“I don’t hear that same girl when we talk about law, so my question is this: Why don’t you stay and work at the bridal store if that’s what makes you happy? Because if you’re happy, I’m happy.”
Quick tears smarted in Tara’s eyes. She dashed them away, avoiding eye contact with the other people waiting for the bus. “Three years of law school and mega loans, for starters.”
“But if you had a choice,” Michelle pressed, and Tara was too tired and too bummed about Greg to argue. “If you were to choose, which would it be? To stay in Philly and help run the store? Or come north and represent crotchety neighbors and grumpy wives whose husbands forgot their fortieth anniversary?”
Tara knew which she’d pick, but she also knew there was no real choice. She’d made her decision three years before when she accepted the terms of entrance into Beasley School of Law. Now she had to pay the price, even if her heart was firmly tucked into Elena’s Bridal. “Moot point, Mom.”
Her mother laughed, then sighed. “It’s not. You’re stubborn, and you think you owe the world a good, honest lawyer. But the truth is you need to be true to yourself, honey. Leave the past in the past and forge ahead. Grab your own dreams, new dreams, and run with them.”
Tara longed to do just that. If she were to chart her dreams, they’d start with Greg Elizondo and end with living in Old City, raising some cute kids and running Elena’s Bridal with Kathy and the gang. But that wasn’t on the list of possibilities, so she kept her true wishes quiet. “I know what you’re saying, Mom, but it’s not that easy.”
“Easy has nothing to do with it,” Michelle declared. “Life’s too short to saddle yourself with a job you don’t like based on a decision you made when you were eleven. Did you know that over 15 percent of law school grads never practice law?”
“Is the tough job market supposed to make me feel better?”
Her mother laughed. “It’s supposed to make you see you’re not alone. Lots of people change career paths as they mature. Your bend in the road is just a little pricier than others.”
Tara started to reply, but her mother interrupted. “Don’t say anything now. It’s better to take some time, take it to God, and see what happens. You’ve got months before graduation, but if this isn’t what you thought it would be, if someplace or someone has drawn your focus in a new direction, then go for it, Tara. No one wants you unhappy. Just think about it, okay?”
“I will,” Tara promised. The bus pulled up, and she drew a breath and added, “And, Mom? Thank you.”
Her mother’s voice softened. “You’re welcome, honey. Love you.”
“Love you too.” She climbed onto the bus feeling lighter. Could she walk away from three years of rigorous education? Was that the height of stupidity or the common sense of growing maturity?
She wasn’t sure, but the thought that she might have a viable choice lightened her steps.
The lower Manhattan financial district surrounded Greg like an overgrown architectural maze. Tall, imposing buildings bracketed narrow streets. Coffee shops dotted the landscape like trees in a park. Wind-tunneled air bathed his face, the night chilling as dark descended.
The antiquated structure of Trinity Church rose before him on his walk, a blend of history and majesty. The historic graveyard lay tucked between the buildings, surrounded by a wrought-iron fence.
Weathered tombstones dotted the small plot, the dark night making the old dates indiscernible. At one point, this had been a neighborhood of people, places, and dreams, folks who worked together, worshipped together, and waited for their loved ones’ ships to come into the harbor below.
There was no neighborhood feel now.
Gorgeous, yes, in its own way. But when he envisioned life, a life so close he could almost reach out and grab it, it wasn’t here, in Manhattan’s cool, calm collection of high-rises.
It was in Old City, a niche where history was celebrated, not relegated. It was with Tara by his side, working, playing, shaping his mother’s store into a new millennium showcase. A place where their kids—two, he hoped, but maybe she could be talked into three—could romp and play among the other young families, rich in the past, alive in the present.
As he approached the hotel, bells from the church began to ring. He tried the church door. It opened under his hand. He stepped inside and slipped into a back pew.
He’d walked into the middle of a candlelit evening prayer service. Attendance was minimal but heartfelt. A couple of homeless people had claimed pews on the far side and were curled up, sound asleep, away from the cold city night.
When I was hungry you fed me. Naked, you clothed me.
The image of the two sleepers stirred his heart. God had already given him so much. What need did he have for more?