The Color of Hope - By Kim Tate Page 0,2

something else?”

Stephanie took a long breath and thought on it a moment. “This has been my safety net all my life . . . this church, my family, you. If I don’t know the answer—which is most of the time—you’re the first person I run to, no offense to Lindell.” Tears slid down her face. “I don’t want to live hundreds of miles from all of you. I need you.”

Cyd took her into her arms. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Why?” She sniffed on Cyd’s shoulder. “For being a first-class coward?”

Cyd took a step back and looked her in the eye. “I’ve watched my little sister go from a self-centered, overconfident, impetuous brat—”

Stephanie rolled her teary eyes.

“—sorry, but you were—to a reflective, prayerful woman who wants to follow God, whatever it might mean. It seems crazy, you’re scared, you have no idea what you’ll be doing down there—but you and I both know you’re still going.”

Stephanie pouted. “Can’t y’all just move there too? We can make room in Grandma Geri’s house.”

Cyd laughed softly. “It’ll be hard enough trying to find room in Grandma’s house for a few days this week.” Her phone was ringing, and she pulled her purse off her shoulder and fished around to find it. “I’m so glad you scheduled the move the same week as the family reunion. We get to road-trip with you all, help you get settled, and hang out a few days with family. It’ll be fun.”

“Yeah . . . until I have to say another round of good-byes Monday morning.” Stephanie gave a forlorn sigh.

“Oops.” Cyd stared at her phone. “Missed call from Libby.”

Stephanie’s phone rang in her hand. “Now she’s calling me. No need to wonder what it’s about.”

Cousin Libby, an event planner, had agreed to take over the planning of the Sanders family reunion, which for years had been handled by their parents’ generation. The closer they got to the reunion, the more they’d heard from her. And it was always urgent.

Cyd nodded. “Libby might be the only one with more ‘emergencies’ than you right now.”

Stephanie answered. “What’s up, Lib?”

“Why is your team the only one who has yet to post pictures on the reunion site? I hope you know Team Bruce is in last place.”

Stephanie gasped. “Last place? I’d better not tell Dad. He’ll never live it down if he doesn’t win—wait, what’s this again? Survivor or The Amazing Race?”

“See, that’s why I didn’t want to do this. I knew people wouldn’t take it seriously,” Libby said. “I work hard to come up with fun new ideas to get people involved, and all I get is grief.”

The Sanders family reunion was huge, with dozens of relatives beyond the offspring of Grandma Geri and Grandpa Elwood Sanders. But Libby had cooked up a team concept just for their branch of the tree to encourage participation. Stephanie’s dad, Bruce, was the oldest of Grandma Geri’s five offspring.

“Oh, ease up on the violins.” Stephanie was smiling. “You know I’m one of the ones who talked you into doing this. Would’ve posted pictures, but mine are all packed up.”

Cyd took the phone. “Mine are by the computer, ready to scan before we leave town tomorrow. Even got Dad to give me pics from when he was little. That’s more points, right?”

“Team Bruce trying to come from the rear!” Libby exclaimed.

Stephanie was listening and grabbed the phone back. “Team Bruce not only coming from the rear but about to pass your team, especially when we get points for the basketball game. Both our husbands are playing.” She cleared her throat. “No need to point out the obvious, but since you don’t have a brother or a husband—and Uncle Wood’s probably not playing—you’ll get zero points for that one.”

“Wrong.” Libby sang it. “Rules stipulate we can recruit team members for events, and Team Wood will have a b-ball player.”

“Who?”

“Travis.”

“Ooooh.” Stephanie’s eyebrows rose. “I won’t even dispute this so-called rule you came up with. I just want to know what’s up with Travis on Team Libby.”

“He’s on Team Wood, not Team Libby. And nothing’s up with that. I asked him and he said yes.”

“Mm-hm,” Stephanie said. “I see I’ve got a lot to catch up on. The picture’s looking a little different from when I was down there.”

“Okay, well, gotta make some more calls.”

“You can run but you can’t hide.”

Libby laughed. “When do y’all get here?”

“Loading up and hitting the road tomorrow. We’ll stop somewhere overnight. Probably get to Hope Springs late Thursday morning.”

“The move-in crew will