“Aunt Tweet!” She pushed everything aside and shooed the dogs out of the way and climbed into the bed. Rachel hugged Aunt Tweet as tight as she could without crushing her. “You’ve got to stop scaring me. Hungry? I got you some Monell’s. But you’re probably thirsty.” She scrambled off the bed more than ready to do her aunt’s bidding, then realized she hadn’t yet thanked God for answering her prayers.

  Shaking her head, Aunt Tweet pointed to the flat screen where Rachel had played countless movies for them to watch together, but her aunt had a fascination with one video. It was a keepsake of her niece’s nuptials. The wedding video had captured raw emotion on Tabitha’s and Marcus’s faces that would make a skeptic believe in love.

  Rachel had a bargaining chip. She rested her hands on her hips and shook her head. “Only if you drink and eat something—please.” After a few rounds of stubbornness on both sides, Aunt Tweet consented in a weak voice to bottled water and toast.

  She propped Aunt Tweet up so she was sitting in the bed and fed her. When her aunt became combative about the wedding tape, Rachel conceded. She had force-fed Aunt Tweet enough—half the bottled water and one of two pieces of toast.

  If Aunt Tweet stayed awake, Rachel would give her a small snack in a little while. Rachel made herself comfortable, then started the video. Holding Aunt Tweet’s hand, they watched in silence as if they had never before seen Marcus dabbing at one of Tabitha’s tears in an emotional moment, or Marcus’s brother, Demetrius, handing Marcus a hankie to wipe the sweat off his forehead, or Aunt Tweet yelling, “That’s a whopper,” in response to the bride and groom’s passionate first kiss.

  Somehow, the reruns of Tabitha’s wedding sparked a happy place within Aunt Tweet that she had never shared with her nieces. They did know Aunt Tweet was briefly married, then divorced before the Knicely girls were born. Her aunt seemed content without a significant other in her life, but her love for watching the one-hour-and-twelve-minute video seemed to challenge that.

  A mystery man’s name always surfaced on her aunt’s lips, Randolph, and sadness would wash over her face. The longing was unmistakable, and Rachel wondered if her aunt had missed out in love despite men’s attraction to Aunt Tweet like flowers to the sun.

  Not only did Rachel inherit Aunt Tweet’s sass, fashion sense, and other mannerisms, she knew she had the physical assets to capture a man’s eye too. To date, none had captured her heart, at least not the way her brother-in-law had her sister Tabitha’s.

  Despite the revolving door of men she allowed into her life, briefly including Demetrius, Marcus’s older brother, Rachel never trusted a man to want her beyond her looks, so she had resolved herself not to expect it.

  “Listen to me.” Her aunt called her by name and pulled Rachel out of her reverie.

  Some days, Aunt Tweet seemed unsure of Rachel’s identity, but when she heard her name, her heart warmed. She gave Aunt Tweet her full attention.

  “Make sure you don’t let love pass you by, you hear?” She waggled her finger as if Rachel were a little girl again.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Rachel grinned. The nourishment, although very little, had given her aunt renewed energy.

  “A good man isn’t always the best looking. He’s got to have a good heart too.”

  “Okay.” Rachel agreed, but waking up to an ugly man every morning would be a test in any marriage.

  Aunt Tweet seemed to become more sentimental after each viewing of the wedding video.

  “Make sure he holds your hand…prays for you…feeds you…loves you.” Her voice drifted off. Oh no, her aunt needed to eat some more, but right before her eyes, Aunt Tweet dozed off, and within seconds, Rachel heard a light snore. Not good at all.

  The next morning, Rachel woke and stretched. From her place on the chaise, she glanced at Aunt Tweet, who seemed to be in the same position as yesterday. Had Rachel dreamed their conversation, or had it really taken place? She spied the remote on the bed and knew it hadn’t been a dream.

  Was there a subliminal message in that wedding tape? If her aunt was hinting that Rachel would be next, then Aunt Tweet would be disappointed. Rachel had no prospects, time, or desire to be anybody’s wife. She was only twenty-nine. Maybe at thirty-five, she would look at her options. Until then, it was business as usual.

  Chapter 3

  Fear. Nicholas had sensed it yesterday from Rachel. He hoped that praying together on her aunt’s behalf provided the niece comfort.

  As he drove home Thursday morning from his overnight shift, Nicholas wondered if Rachel would request another prayer visit, which would be more for her own peace. Priscilla Brownlee was in God’s hands whether Nicholas returned or not. He had never witnessed life leaving a person before, but from the looks of the woman in the bed, he doubted she could stay in that state much longer.

  Why was that home visit still on Nicholas’s mind twenty-four hours later? Maybe he had never seen a disheveled woman look so beautiful.

  Attraction was far from Rachel’s mind and for good reason. Her aunt was dying, and ironically, as a man who ministered to countless families, Nicholas had no personal experience with that within his own close-knit family. He was grateful the Adams family had been free of tragedy. Thank you, Jesus.

  There was more to Miss Knicely than what he saw on the surface, because he couldn’t stop thinking about the aunt and her niece during the short drive home from the Nissan Smyrna plant to his brick ranch house on Nautical Street. He pulled into the two-car garage where his other car, a Nissan Infiniti QX60, was parked.

  The upside of living four miles away from his job was it was a great community, a good investment, and a time-saver when he worked overnight. The downside was he lived a good half hour from the Believers Temple Church in Brentwood and twenty minutes from his parents and his brother’s family in Antioch.

  He yawned as he strolled through the garage door to the kitchen and disarmed his alarm. He glanced around his humble dwelling—not bad for a bachelor. It wasn’t pristine like Rachel’s condo, but it was comfortable, with a spacious master bedroom, another one reserved for when his twin nephews visited, and a third bedroom that was part home gym/storage room/computer room/whatever he needed it to be at the time.

  He had done enough thinking for one morning, so he grabbed a bottled juice, then headed for his bedroom to get some rest. He prayed, then slid under the covers, sighed, and closed his eyes, ready to succumb to blissful sleep.

  Nicholas felt a nudge that stirred him from his sleep. He strained to open his eyes as his body protested the interruption. Did someone touch him? Nicholas scooted up and glanced around the room before blinking at the clock to bring the time into focus: 11:00 a.m. What? His body demanded five more hours.

  Pray for Rachel. The thought came unbidden. Nicholas blinked and immediately became alert. She’s going to need comfort. Be there for her.

  His heart sank. Was Rachel’s Aunt Tweet passing so soon? There was no question the two had been on his mind. He swallowed his sorrow for them and slid to his knees to pray. Almost an hour later, Nicholas climbed back into bed, but this time, sleep didn’t come so easily.

  * * *

  Rachel couldn’t wait to tell her sisters the latest on Aunt Tweet’s condition during a Skype call. “All this talk about death got in my head. My friend Jacqui had mentioned about a family priest giving the last rites for a relative, then my dear sister”—she squinted at Tabitha—“summoned a minister to my doorstep without giving me forewarning, not to mention Aunt Tweet’s doctor discussing the symptoms of the latter stage of Alzheimer’s. It was too much.” She shivered.

  “I know, Sis, I know,” Kym said. “Anything encouraging going on?”

  “Well, yeah.” Rachel nodded. “Aunt Tweet woke last night wanting to see the wedding video again.”

  Tabitha rocked her head from side to side, blushing. “It was romantic. Did she eat?”

  Rachel’s shoulders slumped. “Not much. I fed her some water and toast. I feel so cheated.”

  “Why?” Tabitha and Kym asked in unison.

  “My quality time with her isn’t what I had hoped for or expected when we agreed to the caregivers pact.”

  “None of us knew what to expect,” Kym explained.

  “Well, I’m not trying to be a drama queen…”

  “But you usually are.” Kym lifted a brow and laughed, and so did Tabitha.

  “Okay, you got me.” Rachel chuckled, then sobered. “You experienced the Aunt Tweet we knew and loved during your six months as a caregiver. Tabitha, you shared Aunt Tweet with Marcus to create memories…” She patted her chest. “Me? Aunt Tweet has been either combative or withdrawn. It hurts. I had imagined us bonding during long walks and her sharing life lessons like she used to. Last night, she mumbled something about prayer and hand-holding. I want to do more for her,” she admitted in frustration, “and with her. What’s my purpose in her life now?”

  “Maybe it’s just to hold her hand,” Kym said and shrugged.

  “You know, she said something like that to me,” Tabitha said. “‘You never know whose hand will give you that last piece of bread.’” She shivered. “Whenever she talked like that, it scared me.”

  Rachel crossed her arms against her chest. “I don’t want it to be my hand that feeds her her last meal or my eyes that watch her take her last breath. We agreed to take care of Aunt Tweet, not watch her die.” She started tugging on her hair until she tangled it in a curl. “Even the doctor said she could live a long time in this stage. I just need to get her healthy.”

  “Sis, prayer strengthened her. Maybe that’s what she wants now. Why don’t you ask Minister Adams to add her to a rotation for prayer?” Tabitha suggested. “You need it too. Prayer brings about peace.”

  Rachel was silent. The fact that Aunt Tweet asked for prayer troubled her spirit. She couldn’t get the priest and the last rites thing out of her head. “I don’t have his number.”

  “Let me give you the number to the church,” Tabitha said, then repeated it slowly, waiting as Rachel tapped the number into her phone.

  “Okay, I’ll call,” she agreed hesitantly. “At least this time, I’ll be expecting him and won’t look a hot mess.”

  “You?” Tabitha screamed and laughed. “Since when are you a hot mess? Even going to bed, you dress up in pajamas and head wraps as if you’re about to do a photo shoot for lingerie.”

  “Not as a caregiver. Flannel pj’s and socks have been my sleepwear. My nightly beauty regimen is on hold. Thank you very much.”

  “And what would Aunt Tweet say about a disheveled appearance in front of a gentleman? I’m just trying to lighten up the mood here.” Kym joked, but Rachel didn’t laugh. “A gentleman like Minister Adams. Was he old, young, a big guy?”

  Rachel didn’t want to think about a man, not at the moment, but her mind had other plans. Nicholas Adams was very attractive. It had been a while since she had seen a man look that handsome. He reminded her of actor Daniel Sunjata, but she wasn’t going to tell her sisters that. “My mood is tentative. It will change to upbeat if I can get Aunt Tweet to eat more.”

  “Hey, Marcus is making too much noise in the kitchen. Got to go. Remember to call the church!” Tabitha said and ended the call.

  “I’ll talk to you later too. Love you, Sis. Give Auntie a kiss for me,” Kym said and was gone too.

  Rachel’s emotions remained unsettled. Was she ready for a repeat of yesterday? Aunt Tweet mumbled, “Prayer,” so Rachel had no choice but to do her aunt’s bidding. She would make the call, but first she had to take another look at a client’s requested change so she could email her team. Whether she was at home or at the firm, it was still a workday.

  While Aunt Tweet rested, Rachel powered up her work laptop and switched to work mode. She bounced back from her 3-D program, trying to create a visual and input math formulas in the STAAD.Pro program for analysis. She had been so focused on the project that she had forgotten to eat lunch. Going into the kitchen, Rachel made a veggie sandwich, checked on Aunt Tweet, then called the number Tabitha gave her.

  “Good afternoon, Believers Temple Church. This is Mrs. Eloise Emerson.”

  Rachel cleared her throat and explained the reason for her call. “Hi, this is Rachel Whittington. Is it possible for Minister Adams to come and pray with my aunt, Miss Priscilla Brownlee, again? I know it’s too late for today, but hopefully tomorrow, Friday morning. The sooner, the better.”

  “I’ll get this message to him,” the woman said.

  “Thank you.” At least this time when he arrived, she would be awake and presentable.

  That night, Rachel played Tabitha’s wedding video, hoping it would coax Aunt Tweet to awaken. It didn’t, so after a few minutes, Rachel turned it off and opened her laptop. She was determined to give the client what they wanted, but as a structural engineer, her focus was on ensuring the design and construction of any walkway tunnel was sound and not subject to collapse. She had to review documents before she scheduled an early morning conference call.

  She was starting to feel the pressure of being on top of her game at work and an attentive caregiver. If only I could be cloned, she thought as she drifted off to sleep.

  Seven a.m. came too soon when Rachel was operating on five hours of sleep. She stood and studied Aunt Tweet. She moaned a little as if she was about to wake, but her eyes never opened.

  Rachel didn’t know if she could describe her current feelings: flustered, discouraged, scared. Every night, she prayed, but to be honest, she didn’t have confidence in her prayers. At least she looked forward to Nicholas’s visit to pray. She liked the sound of his soothing voice. His prayer had changed things. Rachel had no timeframe for when he would come, so she hurried to her bedroom to shower, noting the time for the conference call was within forty minutes. If he came during her conference call, at least she would be presentable.

  After the shower, she dressed in slacks and a sweater, then combed her long hair into one braid and twisted it on the top of her head. Her beauty enhancement was pink lip gloss.

  “Sorry, Aunt Tweet, this is the best I can do,” Rachel whispered to her reflection. In the kitchen, she prepared a bowl of fruit and oatmeal, gave thanks, and nibbled. If she had time between the conference call and Nicholas’s visit, she would freshen up Aunt Tweet and her bed, even though it was Friday and Clara would come to do those tasks.

  With a few minutes to spare, Rachel set her laptop on the dining room table with her handwritten notes on one side. She had several windows open on her computer. By 8:00 a.m., she was patched into the conference call with her boss, two team members, and the client.

  “Good morning, Mr. Thomas,” Rachel began. “We’ve had a chance to review the addition you requested for the common ground play area. Although the tunnel might enhance the overall appearance, the area is prone to flooding, and that would compromise the physical integrity of any walkway tunnel.”

  She listened as her colleagues offered suggestions as they emailed design options. An hour and thirty minutes later, the call ended with a plan to review building codes and sewer locations. The easy way out was to tell the client no, he had agreed on the plans, but her company didn’t do business by telling clients no.

  Rachel tugged strands of hair out of the braid—a childhood habit she still did when she was baffled about a problem or situation. Her doorbell rang. Nicholas. She had momentarily forgotten he was coming.

  She opened the door with a cordial smile, then blinked. The person standing before her wasn’t Minister Nicholas Adams. The woman was as thick as the huge Bible she carried and was dressed in white from her bonnet to her stockings and shoes. Did Tabitha call for a hospice nurse? Did the agency send a different home health aide besides Clara? Who was this stranger?

  “May I help you?”

  The woman lifted her chin. “You called the church for a prayer warrior, and I’m here. Mother Jenkins, sugar. May I come in?”

  Rachel frowned and stepped back. “I…I was expecting Minister Adams.”

  “Mm-hmm,” she mumbled, “they all do.” Then, with a no-nonsense expression, she asked, “Now, where is Mother Brownlee?”

  What does that mean? Rachel wondered as she closed the door and led the way to the loft. Where Nicholas’s tone was soft and smooth, this Mother Jenkins’s voice boomed as if she were about to sing a song loud enough to raise the dead. Rachel cringed at the pun, but in this case, if it would prevent her aunt from dying, Rachel welcomed it. “She’s my aunt, not a moth—”

  “Oh, praise God,” Mother Jenkins said when she saw Aunt Tweet, then she glanced over her shoulder and held her hand out to Rachel. “Aren’t you going to join us for prayer?” The side-eye she gave Rachel conveyed that there would be no opting out.

  She came to the bedside, and Mother Jenkins clutched her hand. The woman had such a strong grip that when she yelled, “Jesus,” she practically crushed Rachel’s fingers.

  Rachel cringed and bit her lip to keep from crying out in pain.

  “Lord, we come boldly to Your grace, where we may obtain mercy and favor for our dear sister here, Mother Brownlee…”

  Rachel picked her battles. She wasn’t about to attempt to correct her again that Priscilla Brownlee was an aunt and never a mother. However, the woman’s body language took “hold your peace” to a whole new level.

  “In Matthew 8, we know that if You speak Your word and we believe Your word, Mother Brownlee can be healed, according to Your will… This is all about You, Jesus!” Mother Jenkins prayed with such power, Rachel trembled as she whispered her requests. Soon, the prayer ceased, and silence filled the room.

  Rachel opened her eyes to see Aunt Tweet smiling. Rachel sniffed. It wasn’t as if she didn’t believe in prayer, but to see instant results was amazing. Yes, Tabitha was right: adding Aunt Tweet to a prayer rotation schedule was much needed, whether it was Nicholas or Mother Jenkins. “Thank you,” she whispered.