Fifteen Minutes: A Novel (15 page)

When he turned it on again he would be in New York.

T
he hot piercing sun sliced through the wooden siding of the barn at the Lowell Therapeutic Equestrian Center. Ten in the morning and already temperatures were well past ninety degrees. Reese’s attention was taken entirely by six-year-old Toby, the little boy in the saddle. Which meant for the first time all week she was thinking about someone other than Zack.

Twenty minutes later, the lesson ended. For the first time since Toby arrived she checked her phone. Zack had been in New York for a week and they’d only talked once. His reason remained the same. Too busy. Always too busy. Reese tried to understand. What choice did she have?

Now, though, there were three texts from Zack. The first only told her hello and that he was thinking about her, praying for her. She smiled and clicked on the next one. It was much longer.

Baby, I know this is crazy but I’m leaving New York on a flight in two hours. I’m headed to the airport now. A film crew connected with some people at church got the okay to come tonight and film me leading worship. See? Crazy, right? Talk about last-minute.

Reese closed her eyes and imagined his arms around her. He was coming home! He’d be here today! She felt like she was dreaming.
Thank you, God . . . You know how much we miss each other. Thank you.
She found her place and kept reading.

Anyway, we’re going to my parents’ house first. They know I’m coming—but just for an hour. The producers know about the farm being broke. Long story. My parents and Grandpa Dan are okay with it. Then we’ll go straight to church. I can only stay for worship and the interviews. We have a ten o’clock flight out tonight. Just wanted you to know. I love you. Can’t wait to see you—even for a few minutes.

Reese moved around the barn to the back where she could be alone. Then she clicked Zack’s number and waited while it rang. He answered it immediately. “Yes! I caught you!”

“This is amazing!” She closed her eyes and leaned against the barn wall. “I can’t believe you’re coming home!”

“I know. I’m flying out on their private jet. A few other contestants, too.”

“So you can’t stay overnight?” She hated the thought of him leaving so quickly.

“No. They’ll take off from Kentucky around ten and head to Nashville for the crew who’s going there. Every minute is planned. Seriously.”

“It’s fine.” Her tone was soft, the sun on her shoulders. It
was the most tender moment between them in too long. “I wish you could’ve seen Toby today. He’s doing great.”

“What about AJ?”

“She hasn’t been by. She’s still sick.”

“I’m worried about her.” Zack sounded tired. “My parents are dealing with a lot.”

“They are. I’m sorry.” She moved to a more shaded area. The signal between them was breaking up. She wiped the back of her hand over her forehead. “Zack . . . are you there?”

“I am. I can hear you now.”

She held the phone a little tighter. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too. So much. I can’t wait to see you. We need to catch up. I . . . I haven’t had any time.” His words cut out again.

“Zack?” She moved again. “What’d you say?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

The sound of his voice made its way through, soothing the anxious places in her heart and calming her doubts. “I’m proud of you. Really.”

“Thank you.” Relief flooded his tone. “Baby, I gotta go. I’ll text you when I land.”

“Should I be at your parents’ house?” She held on, waiting for his answer. Instead three beeps sounded. She checked the screen. Call failed. She breathed in slowly and smiled. Communication was bad, but it would get better. Today or a month from now. Nothing would change Zack Dylan. She knew that in the core of her being. If they couldn’t talk much now, so be it. One day soon Zack would tell her every detail, all the moments she’d missed. But today she was off work at three in the afternoon. If there was one moment she wasn’t going to miss, it was this.

Being at his parents’ house when Zack arrived that afternoon.

THE FLIGHT FELT
wonderful, every minute of it. It was the first time Zack had sat still since he arrived in New York City. There were times in the last week when he wondered if he’d feel dizzy forever. Not that he was complaining. The experience was a constant rush of highs; the old château where they were staying in New York City was a palace of granite and marble and soaring ceilings, the sort Zack had only imagined. But the pace was beyond anything he’d known. And during the downtime he was constantly with the talented, compelling team of twenty contestants. A team that included Zoey. There were four groups of twenty at this stage of the competition. They were preparing to perform in groups of five, fully aware that only two groups from each team would survive the weekend.

When eighty contestants would quickly become forty.

Everyone talked about who was going to make it through the next round and who would struggle. In theory everyone had the same chance, but the producers clearly knew something the contestants did not. Because only a fourth of them had been asked to shoot a produced piece on their lives. Those headed out today and tomorrow were the favorites—there was no getting around that. What gave the other contestants hope was that there were favorites in every one of the sixteen groups of five. When a group went through, everyone passed to the next level. So in that sense they all had a chance. At least for one more week.

Zack sat by himself, another first in the past several days. The two other contestants on his flight were from Tennessee and
had stories among the best this season. William Gaines had moved back a few rows and now took the empty seat beside Zack. He wasn’t smiling.

Gaines was a tall, thin black man in his forties with a neatly trimmed goatee and an air of perpetual scorn. He didn’t only look nervous. He walked nervous and talked nervous and sounded nervous as he directed the contestants into groups and practice sessions. He had a way of making everyone around him nervous, too. Zack was no exception. He sat straighter, wide awake.

“Hi, Zack.”

“Sir.” He turned so he could make eye contact with the man.

Gaines looked forward, in no hurry. Something was coming. Something big. Zack clenched his fists and waited. After a week in Manhattan, Zack had figured out that though Samuel J. Meier was the producer, the judges were the talent, and Kip Barker was the recognizable host, the success of the show landed squarely on the shoulders of William Gaines. The contestant coordinator. His work took place behind the scenes, and if he did not organize a dramatic, heartfelt, talented show backstage where no one was looking, the acts who took the stage wouldn’t keep the ratings. In many ways, William Gaines was the show.

Finally the man faced him. “We like you, Zack.” He stroked his goatee. “America is going to like you.” He smiled, proof that he was able to do so. “You’re very good.”

“Thank you, sir.” Zack waited. There was more. He was sure.

“The thing is you have two stories. Two ways America can relate to you. Understand?”

“Uh, well . . .” Zack felt heat in his cheeks. “I guess I see it as one.”

“The horse farm.” Gaines loosened his tie and held up one
finger. “Your great-grandfather raised a Kentucky Derby winner. The farm’s been in your family for over a century. Now it’s facing closure. You’re trying to save it. Willing to walk away from your private life on the farm, willing to travel the world using your gift of song so that no one would ever think of closing it. Willing to make enough money to help your sister with Down syndrome.”

“What?” Zack felt his stomach slide to his boots. “How do you know that?”

“I know everything about my contestants.” Gaines’s tone was condescending. “That’s my job. The farm and your sister . . . that’s a great story. You become America’s next Keith Urban, a young Elvis. Your dad can go on working the farm, and one day when the music runs out you’ll take over. All that land paid off and owned by the Dylan family.” He paused, searching Zack’s eyes. “You follow me? That’s the story we like.”

Zack tried to look confident. “My faith. That’s what you don’t like, right?”

“See, it’s not your faith that bothers me.” Gaines waggled his finger at Zack, his eyes narrowed. “It’s just that I have too many contestants with the
same
faith. It’s not interesting.”

“Huh. Okay.” Zack paused. He wasn’t going to make it easy for the man. “So what do you want from me?”

“I want you to focus on the horse thing. Talk about your sister. Your family. That sort of story.” He didn’t blink. “Talking about Jesus . . . that’s cliché, you know? America is looking for something sincere. Something tangible they can get behind.”

Zack leaned over his knees. He clasped his fingers at the back of his neck and rubbed his thumbs into the knotted muscles there. Was this really happening? The contestant coordinator for
Fifteen Minutes
was telling him his faith wasn’t interesting? He
breathed deep and held it. Then he sat up and stared at Gaines. “Here’s the problem. My life on the farm . . . it’s linked to my faith. I can’t separate them.”

Frustration deepened the lines at the corners of Gaines’s eyes. “I’ll make it more clear. Once we move past this weekend we’ll assign new Twitter accounts to everyone who remains. Just before the show goes live a week later. That goes for everyone.” He sounded suddenly weary. “We’ll ask you to suspend your personal account and we’ll assign you one with
Fifteen Minutes
as a part of your name. Our legal department is drafting a document everyone will have to sign. A promise that you won’t use the Twitter name we give you for issues of religion or politics.” He leveled his gaze at Zack. “It’s not optional.”

This was news to Zack. He felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. First the fact that Gaines knew about AJ, and now this. “What if we keep our old Twitter accounts?”

“Not possible if you make it through this weekend.” His tone left no room for negotiation. “We want everyone on board. It’s easier for the viewers that way.” He settled back in the seat. “We have nothing against religion. We just want to avoid topics that divide.”

Zack nodded and after a few seconds he turned his gaze out the window. Was this really happening? Could they do this? A rush of questions cornered him, but they were nothing compared to the next thought. How could he sign the document? He could turn to Gaines and tell him to forget it.
Don’t film the piece in Danville, don’t meet my family, don’t ask the kids at church tonight how much they love me.
He could get off the plane and never get on it again.

Zack gritted his teeth, but before he could open his mouth, Gaines leaned closer. “You’ll sign it. You can’t quit.” He leaned
back in his seat, his eyes locked on Zack’s. “You want your chance. Same as everyone else.”

His words slapped at Zack’s face. Not because they were intended to mock him or offend him, but because they were true. If his Twitter account were censored, monitored, could he stay on the show and be a light? He might win a recording contract and help the farm. But could he be true to the God who meant everything to him?

Gaines was waiting for a response. Zack turned to the window for a long time and then back to the contestant coordinator. “Thank you. For making me aware.”

“Do I have your word? You’ll do things our way?”

“I’ll try. I can’t promise anything. My words are my own.” Zack didn’t want to sound disrespectful. But they really couldn’t tell him what to say or not say on Twitter, right? “It helps. Knowing what you expect. Knowing the rules.”

Gaines studied him. “I’ll be watching, Zack. Don’t hurt your chances.” He smiled and patted Zack’s knee. “You could win the whole thing.”

With that the man stood and returned to his seat at the front of the plane. Zack watched him go. Surely he didn’t mean for Zack to cut God out of his story. He meant he wanted Zack not to go overboard, not to preach at people or polarize them. Zack had talked about his faith from the beginning, after all.

If he toned things down now was that a compromise?

Lord, I want to represent You. People need to see You when they see me singing on that stage. Help me know what that looks like.

My son, stand firm. Always be prepared to give an answer for the hope that you have. Speak all things with gentleness and respect
.

The words sounded as clearly to him as those Gaines had
uttered a few minutes earlier. Zack looked around and felt his heart fill with a peace he hadn’t known in the last week. He hadn’t heard God speak to him like this before, but that’s what just happened. It had to be. He’d read that section from 1 Peter earlier today. Now it was coming back like a direct message from God.

If he was going to shine brightly in his
Fifteen Minutes
run, it was a message he would have to hold on to with every breath, every fiber of his being. Starting tonight. He wasn’t letting anyone film or interview AJ. She didn’t deserve that. And Zack wouldn’t be ashamed of the Gospel. His faith was everything to him. He couldn’t hide it from others. And when it came to Twitter, no one could tell him what to say.