LITMIR.BIZ

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was the second evening the three angels had hovered over the Wilcoffs’ living room while Dean and Roy played two-handed poker. Granted, Dean and not Julie had invited him tonight, since they’d both enjoyed the previous poker game. But Julie hadn’t objected. And she’d even made dinner again—black-bean soup, corn bread and a salad. Chatting as he dealt, Dean picked up his two cards for Texas Hold’em and set the deck on the coffee table between them.

      Roy looked over his cards and quickly placed his bet. Mercy, a serious student of cards, peered down at his hand.

      “Should I help him with the deal?” she whispered.

      “No,” Goodness cried. It was exactly this sort of intervention that got them in trouble. “Roy can win or lose this game on his own. Besides, I think it would do him good if Dean beat him again.”

      “Oh, come on,” Mercy pleaded. “Don’t be such a spoilsport.”

      Shirley sat atop the light fixture and sighed expressively. “Have you ever noticed how the game of poker is a lot like Roy’s life just now?”

      Goodness and Mercy stared at her. Sometimes Shirley came up with the most bizarre pronouncements.

      “In what way?” Goodness was already certain she was going to regret asking.

      “Notice how willing Roy is to fold,” Shirley said, pointing to the six and the three, one a spade and the other a heart.

      “Well, yes, but if I was dealt those cards in Texas Hold’em, I’d fold, too,” Mercy told her. “He doesn’t have much opportunity to make anything of it, and Dean has something better.”

      “Roy’s done the same in life,” Shirley said. “He’s cast his father and Aimee aside. His inability to forgive them, as Anne has done, is a blight on his soul.” She shook her head. “Forgiveness is hard, and most people tend to hold on to their hurts, to take some kind of perverse satisfaction in them. I don’t understand, but it’s the way of humans.”

      “Roy needs more time,” Goodness murmured. Angry and bitter as he was, any positive relationship with his father was impossible. Every effort Burton had made toward reconciliation with his son, Roy had rejected. He wasn’t anywhere close to finding forgiveness for either his father or Aimee.

      “Perhaps,” Shirley agreed, but reluctantly.

      “He’ll get a better hand next time,” Mercy said, watching as Roy shuffled the deck.

      “He needs what humans call luck, and we both know there’s no such thing as luck, only God,” Goodness reminded them both, but no one seemed to be listening. Both her fellow Prayer Ambassadors were intent on the game.

      “Roy needs all the help he can get,” Shirley said. “That’s why we’re here.”

      “Did you lend him a little heavenly assistance?” Goodness asked when Roy came up with a pair of kings.

      First Mercy and now Shirley. The two of them were out of control. Goodness was the only one with a sense of mission, a sense of purpose. They had important work to accomplish, and her fellow Ambassadors weren’t taking it seriously. They seemed more interested in this card game. Not that Goodness was averse to poker, of course, but unlike her colleagues, she did have her priorities straight. Pouting, she folded her wings, crossed her arms and tapped her foot.

      Mercy looked up, surprised at this uncharacteristic display of temper. “I didn’t have anything to do with him getting that pair.”

      “Me, neither,” Shirley said with an expression of such innocence that Goodness had no choice but to believe her. “I’m just saying Roy could do with a good turn of the cards, but I wasn’t responsible for that one.”

      “Oh, all right,” Goodness muttered. She was tired of policing her friends. And at least they seemed to be realigning their priorities….

      The phone rang. “Who’s that?” Mercy asked.

      “Quiet,” Goodness said. “Julie’s answering it.”

      Both Shirley and Mercy flew around while Goodness hovered in the kitchen doorway, listening in on the conversation. “It’s Anne,” she said excitedly.

      “How’d she get Julie’s phone number?” Shirley asked.

      “I don’t know.”

      “Probably the phone book,” Mercy suggested.

      “What does she want?”

      “Shh,” Goodness cautioned. This was wonderful! She beamed at her friends. “Anne’s inviting her to lunch.”

      “When?”

      “Saturday.”

      “She’s having dinner with Roy on Saturday,” Mercy said with a worried frown.

      Goodness motioned for them to be quiet, fast losing her patience. This was hard enough without the two of them pestering her. Mercy held both hands over her mouth, while Shirley whirled about the room like a hamster on a treadmill.

      “Well?” Shirley said when Goodness left the kitchen doorway.

      “They’re meeting on the Seattle waterfront.”

      “I love the waterfront,” Mercy said.

      Goodness looked at her. “Promise me you won’t start throwing those salmon again.”

      “I’m not making any such promise.”

      “Need I remind you that we’re on a mission?”

      Shirley nodded sternly. “A very important mission.”

      Goodness noticed how Mercy glanced longingly at the deck of cards and the piles of chips. She found it far too easy to get distracted. Maybe her priorities weren’t quite in order yet.

      Julie gathered the team of junior-high girls around her. Huddling close together to ward off the December-afternoon cold, her soccer team radiated energy and enthusiasm. Each girl thrust her right arm into the center of the huddle and gave a loud cheer.

      The first string raced onto the field for the opening kick, and the others returned to the bench. As Julie started down the sideline, she glanced into the stadium. A number of parents had already arrived. More would come later in the game, depending on work schedules. The girls appreciated the support and so did Julie.

      She had several talented players. Most of the girls had been involved with soccer from the age of five, and they knew how to play as a team. At halftime, they were ahead three to two.

      Their audience had grown, Julie saw as she sent her girls back onto the field for the second half of the game. Darkness descended earlier and earlier these days, and the field lights came on automatically. As they did, she saw a lone figure standing by the chain-link fence at the far end of the field. It couldn’t be. Roy Fletcher? Surely she was mistaken. Why would he attend one of her games?

      Julie felt the blood rush to her face and then just as quickly drain away. He’d been to the house for dinner two nights in a row, and played cards with her father both times. He’d apparently enjoyed the meals, although she’d never thought of Roy Fletcher as the kind of man who’d appreciate a bowl of black-bean soup and buttery corn bread. He’d surprised her by accepting and then eating two big bowlfuls, all the while praising her cooking skills. He’d been equally enthusiastic about Wednesday’s Crock-Pot stew. Now he’d shown up at her soccer game.

      The two teams were tied in the third quarter, but Abraham Lincoln managed to pull off a win with a last-second goal, ending the match with a score of four to three. Julie went into the locker room with the team, but she didn’t expect Roy to be waiting for her when she finished nearly an hour later, after the girls had showered, changed and cleaned up.

      Locking the room, she carried the soccer balls to the equipment area, then headed toward the faculty parking lot. As she stepped from the building and into the darkness of late afternoon, she saw Roy silhouetted

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