Composing Amelia by Alison Strobel Page A

cup of Coke upright. His neighbor in the center seat flashed him a nervous smile and gripped his bag of pretzels tighter. “Reason 243 why I hate flying.”
    Marcus laughed politely. “That’s a shame. I don’t mind it, though I don’t fly often.”
    “You’re lucky. I have to do it all the time.”
    “For work?”
    “Yeah. Salesman. How ’bout you?”
    “What, my job?” Marcus chuckled. “Right now it’s anything that pays the bills. But I just did an interview about an hour outside Omaha for a job, and I think it went well.”
    Really well, actually, even considering the bad weather. Before the plane had dipped, he’d been lost in daydreams about preaching his first sermon from the church’s intricately carved oak podium, Amelia and his parents beaming with pride in the front pew.
    “That’s great. What’s the job?”
    “Senior pastor.”
    The man’s face registered surprise. “Impressive.”
    “Thanks.” He couldn’t help smiling. “I’m pretty excited.”
    The man glanced down at Marcus’s hand. “Married? What’s your wife do?”
    “She’s a pianist.” His good mood faltered. “And she’s not quite as excited as I am about Nebraska.”
    “Ah.”
    “Yeah.”
    The man’s head bobbed in a slow nod. “My wife’s not crazy about my job, either. Takes me away from home too much. But in this economy you do what you can, right?”
    Marcus agreed and shifted his gaze to the window, where the Rocky Mountains stretched below them in snowcapped splendor. The man was right. In this economy, you took what you could get. Even better when what you could get was your dream job. Another reason why Amelia really should just accept that this was a good thing—no, a God thing.
    And it certainly wasn’t the only reason. There was the way he’d clicked with the elders, despite the disparity between his age and theirs, which averaged around sixty. The way he’d taken to quaint Wheatridge, which made him think of It’s a Wonderful Life’ s Bedford Falls. The way his heart had raced when they’d laid out the challenge the job would set before him—being not only a pastor but a spiritual doctor, helping the congregation heal from a decade under a toxic pastor. When Ed Donovan had given Marcus a tour of the church, they’d stopped for a moment in the pastor’s office, and Marcus had easily imagined himself sitting at the mahogany desk in conference with a parishioner. The whole feel of the place suited him perfectly. He never would have expected it, given the pull he’d felt to the trendier young churches that met in movie theaters and industrial parks and nightclubs in downtown LA. But his attraction to the small, traditional church had been surprising, and undeniable.
    And when Ed had offered him the job as they drove to the airport that afternoon, Marcus had almost accepted it then and there. In fact, had Ed not followed the offer with “We know you need to talk it over with Amelia first,” he probably would have.
    And now he really knew: He should never have made that promise to Amelia.
    The plane touched down at LAX, and Marcus and his neighbor wished each other well as they parted ways in the terminal. Having only his carry-on, Marcus skipped baggage claim and headed straight for the exit, where his eyes scanned the shifting crowd for Amelia’s face. It was the kind of thing she’d typically do: show up to welcome him home, even though they’d already made plans to meet up at their small group’s Sunday night community dinner at Jill and Dane’s. But after a few minutes spent swiveling in place as he searched in vain, he headed for the ground transportation exit to take the light rail, alone.
    It was a calculated move, and he knew it. Were he returning from any other trip she’d have been there; that’s just how she was. It hurt to know that she was still closed off to this whole thing. He took a seat in the nearest Metro car and thought over the things he’d brought back for her.