Chapter Forty-Five: Late Nights

Daniel was still at the church, working late long after the last parishioner had gone home. The lights of the old church had mostly gone dim, he could see a few still in the main area where Georgia and Rosa were busy cleaning up.

He was hunched over in Georgias office, sitting at the sofa and coffee table. It was the only spot in the whole church that got decent wi-fi. His sleeves were rolled up, tie loosened around his neck, and jacket off.

A stack of paperwork lay in front of him, housing assistance forms, legal aid intakes, donation requests, all in varying degrees of incomplete.

Anything to help him try to stop the city from enacting eminent domain.

This reminded him of the old legal aid work he used to do. For immigrants, both legal and not. That’s why he was doing this now, because he’d gotten sick of all the corporate culture. Gotten sick of making them money just for the sake of making them money.

He heard footsteps—familiar, unhurried ones—and glanced up.

Rosa stood in the doorway, unbothered as ever. Her hair was twisted into a low, lazy bun that looked effortless but somehow perfect. She wore a faded City College zip-up and the same beat-up pair of Jordans she always did—like she was daring someone to judge her priorities. Under one arm, she carried a thick bundle of old newspapers, pages curled and yellowing at the edges.

She was framed by the dim hall light, holding a bundle of old newspapers under one arm. She had the kind of expression that made it seem like everything was happening exactly as it should. Always did.

He’d gotten to know Rosa since he’d been coming here, she was a smart kid, twenty years old, had gotten a scholarship to Princeton, but her mom needed help wrangling three younger brothers, ever since their dad had walked out.

It was a familiar story. One that Daniel knew all too well.

“Rev said you wanted these?” she asked, lifting the stack.

“Yeah, thanks,” Daniel said reaching over and grabbing them.

“Some of those are, like, ten years old. You sure they’re gonna help?” she asked, eyebrow arched.

“Maybe,” he replied, noncommittal.

She didn’t even blink. Just stared at him like a cat watching a human try to open a can. “That’s a lawyer answer if I’ve ever heard one.”

He sighed. “Listen the land registry is a mess, I think the paper trail there will tell us more than the city wants to let on. But just in case it doesn’t help to try to score some sympathy points?”

“Sympathy points?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Get in front of the judge, show him what an impact this church has made on the community. Sympathy points.”

She stared at him blankly, “Being a lawyer seems so much cooler on TV.”

“That’s because they don’t show you the hours of shifting paperwork. Or the million motions you have to file just to get a hearing date changed.”

“Or the lines slowly growing on your face.”

Daniel looked up, Tori and Rosa. Why did twenty year olds insist on roasting him?

Rosa looked at her smart watch, “I’m gonna head out of here soon. Rev said to tell you she made too much soup and if you don’t eat some, she’ll assume you’ve died in here.”

Daniel chuckled softly. “I’ll be out in ten.”

Rosa tilted her head. “Make it five. She’s not bluffing.”

He laughed and Rosa left leaving him alone. Alone with the silence, the paperwork, and the quiet weight of purpose. He pulled the newspapers closer, set his coffee on top of a zoning appeal letter, and got back to work.

After a few minutes, he leaned back with a groan, stretching long limbs until his spine cracked. His body ached like it used to after ten-hour pro bono shifts, the kind he used to tell himself meant something.

He rubbed his eyes and stood, slowly, feeling the late hour settle into his bones. He glanced around Georgia’s office. It wasn’t much, bookshelves crammed with theology and tax codes, a dusty filing cabinet. He walked over to her desk, just trying to walk for a moment.

He drifted over to her desk. Not out of nosiness, really. More boredom and mild curiosity. The kind that creeps in during long nights and too much paperwork. The kind that makes you glance around someone’s workspace just to understand them a little better.

Along the back edge of Georgia’s desk sat a neat row of framed photos: snapshots of a life lived with intention and just enough recklessness to be interesting. There was the usual: Graduation pictures, family pictures, and memories. And also those less usual. Trips around the world on missions and helping people.

But one photo stood out.

It was taken somewhere warm and far away—Africa, maybe. The ground was the color of rust, the air looked thick with sun. Georgia stood just off-center, younger, her expression softer than usual. She wore a loose linen dress and a grin that wasn’t quite a smile, like someone had just cracked a joke she wasn’t ready to admit was funny.

Next to her was a tall, light-skinned man with light brown hair and a ridiculous, movie-Star smile. He had one arm slung around her waist, loose and familiar. His other hand held up a peace sign, like he was daring the camera to take him seriously.

Daniel leaned in slightly. The guy radiated charm and mischief, with just enough arrogance to suggest he’d been loved a lot and forgiven even more.

“Snooping much?” came Georgia’s voice, dry as communion wafers.

Daniel straightened so fast he almost knocked the photo over. He turned to find her leaning against the doorframe, one eyebrow cocked with devastating precision.

She’d clearly just come from the shower. Her hair was damp, tied into a loose, messy ponytail, and her face was flushed with residual heat. Gone was the clerical collar. In its place: grey leggings, an oversized Durham University T-shirt, and a stare that could bend steel.

He scratched the back of his neck. “Sorry, was just… stretching my legs.”

She smirked. “Your legs always stretch directly into other people’s business?”

“Only when they’re tired.”

She snorted softly and stepped further into the room, barefoot, casual, but never careless. “Relax. I’m just messing with you.”

She wandered toward the desk and glanced at the photo he’d been examining. “That was Ghana,” she said, tone softer. “Village called Nkonya. Summer after undergrad.”

Daniel looked at her, still curious still unsure. “And the guy?

Her mouth twitched and then she smiled. “A mistake. A dumb, tall, blonde American mistake named Ben,” she reflected picking up the frame.

He laughed quietly, “Ben sounds like a mistake.”

“I was a mess. Fresh out of college, full of half-baked idealism and zero direction. Didn’t know what I wanted, just knew I wanted to help people.” She looked at the picture again, the edges of her expression hard to pin down. “So I joined this interfaith mission group. Aid work. Health clinics, education, water access, it was noble stuff on paper. I thought I’d find meaning out there in the red dirt and humidity.”

“And instead you found Ben.”

“Oh, Ben found everyone,” she said, placing the photo back down with exaggerated care. “Other aid workers. A few locals. The wife of the NGO director. That man treated foreign service like it was Tinder with a budget.”

Daniel blinked. “Jesus.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Ben tried that line too, once.” She chuckled, low and wry, and set the frame back on the desk. “But he was nice, you know. Once you got past the chaos and the savior complex, he had this weird, tender charm. Narcissistic as hell, but… comforting. Maybe I had to find Ben just to walk away from him. Maybe leaving was the real point.”

Daniel nodded. “I think it’s normal to mistakes after college. We’ve got to. It’s how we figure out where our line is.”

She raised an eyebrow, “Oh yeah?” She leaned in a little closer, “Who was your mistake?”

He laughed nervously, “Who said I made a mistake?”

“You’ve got guilt written all over that pretty face of yours barrister, come on when’s the last time you did confession?”

“Not long enough,” he shot back.

She smiled and looked at him, she forgot sometimes how nice it was to just laugh and have banter. “C’mon, there’s leftover soup. And I know you haven’t had anything to eat yet. I’m not letting you out of my sight until I see you eat. Work can wait.”

He snorted, “You’re one to talk.” But he started to follow her out. He felt his phone buzz and he stopped to look at it.

She turned, “Important?”

The message was from Marissa. And it read:

Hey … been a while.
Want to meet up?

“Maybe?” He answered Georgia.