Chapter Thirty-Nine: Future Plans

Georgia listened with practiced patience as Daniel explained the procedures of law, what affidavits he’d need, the timeline for filing motions, what discovery would look like, and how long they might be dragging the city through the courts. He spoke in measured tones, careful not to overpromise. He’d done enough of that in his earlier years. Now, he spoke like a man who’d learned the weight of realism. He was hopeful, but it was a hope weighed down by expectations of the world.

She nodded where appropriate, asked sharp questions, and took notes with a fountain pen that looked older than both of them.

In turn, he listened to her. About the congregation. About what it meant to have a space for undocumented families to gather without fear. About the clinic volunteers, the food pantry that fed a hundred people a week, the after-school program some of the women ran.

About how this building wasn’t just a church, it was a sanctuary, a shelter, a second chance.

And he listened to her story.

She was from Norwich, and damn proud of it too, a Norwich FC scarf hung behind her office door, slightly faded, clearly well-loved. Her parents had split when she was young. Her mum was a nurse. Her dad drove lorries, sometimes. The church came later, after university, after travel, after Uganda and Baltimore and loss and finding herself again in the ruins.

“Ministry wasn’t the plan,” she said, the edge of a wry smile touching her lips. “I was supposed to be a financial analyst. But God, or trauma, or stubbornness had other ideas.”

Her voice had that rare quality of people who spoke plainly but carried depth. She didn’t dramatize the past. She simply placed it on the table between them, like the chipped mug she sipped from.

He quietly looked at her, leaning back in his chair, “You ever think of quitting?”

“Every Thursday.” She didn’t miss a beat. “Usually by 3 p.m., just in time for the food pantry rush. But then someone brings in a kid who needs shoes, or I get a hug from a woman who escaped a bad marriage, and suddenly quitting seems like a luxury.”

He understood that, the fire of hers. It was why he had gotten into law at first.

“How about you, counselor? You ever think of quitting?”

There was a long silence between them after she asked that. Daniel thought long and hard about that question.

“Yeah,” he finally answered.

She leaned in, not interrupting him, but wanting to hear the answer regardless.

“About a month ago, my wife cheated on me.”

Georgia didn’t flinch. She just nodded slowly, her gaze steady on him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and there was nothing performative in her voice. No reflexive pity, no overfamiliar tone. Just… sincerity. And Daniel liked that.

“She and her best friend … it was a …” he paused not wanting to give out all the details.

And Georgia to her credit didn’t ask for any.

“Well, let’s just say I didn’t take it well. And it led me to a dark place.”

“I can only imagine.”

He didn’t bring up all of it of course. Because he was still terribly ashamed of what he had almost made Olivia do. Olivia may have been a terrible person, but she hadn’t deserved that.

“Anyways, I thought about quitting. Just trying something else with my life. I felt …” he paused remembering what Marissa had told him before she left him in that hotel room:

“You hold it in. You carry too much. And you don’t talk until something cracks.”

“A friend told me I tend to hold things in.”

“Yeah, you’ve got that look about you,” Georgia said. “What happened between you and your wife?”

“We’re on a break.” It was said with the slightest hint of jealousy or malice, but with just enough sadness there. “Back to your original question I did think about quitting.”

“But?”

Daniel shifted a little uncomfortably. It wasn’t like he wanted to tell Georgia that a threesome between he, a senator, and federal judge resulted in them telling him to find the fire of old. To make himself into the man he used to be.

“I had a… strange night. A few weeks ago.” He left it at that. A very strange night. “Let’s just say that it opened my eyes, and I figured I could either keep sleepwalking through this job or try to show up differently. Actually fight for something again. Something that matters.”

She leaned back slightly in her chair, studying him. “And this church, this case… that’s your turning point?”

“I don’t know yet,” he admitted. “But it feels like a place to start.”

There was a quiet between them again. Not awkward, just full. Full of what hadn’t been said, of pain left implied, of grace still being earned.

She looked at her watch, then stood, stretching in that quiet, graceful way that didn’t ask for attention but inevitably commanded it. Her arms arched above her head for a moment before she rolled out her shoulders with a small sigh.

“I’ve got to get ready for our weekday service.” She walked around her desk searching for something before she looked to him. “Tell me the truth, do we stand a chance?”

Daniel looked to her, and he didn’t answer right away. But after a moment he looked up, “I can’t promise anything, nothing in life is guaranteed. But I’m gonna fight like hell, Reverend.”

She smiled, a bright smile that might have belonged to a younger woman filled with more hope than someone like her. “Please, call me Georgia.”