Summer 2017
Dear Friends,
We all need second chances. Sometimes third and fourth chances. When I think of all the diets I’ve tried over the years, I can easily lose count of the times I’ve had to start over.
It was thinking about second chances that made me realize I’d like to write a story along those lines. Readers often ask what inspired a book. I got the idea for Any Dream Will Do while in prison. It’s not what you’re thinking! I spoke at the Washington Corrections Center for Women (WCCW) a few months back. What I realized afterward was that these women were not all that different from you or me. They’d all made mistakes and they were paying the price.
About the same time as I visited the corrections center, our family became involved with Seattle’s Union Gospel Mission and Hope Place. My daughter Adele, who is my CEO, has gone out on several Search & Rescue missions serving the needs of the homeless. Several of my staff have since joined her on these nighttime sojourns, ministering to people living on the streets.
And so Any Dream Will Do was born. This is a story of redemption, of second chances, of learning from our mistakes, and of moving forward. I hope you fall in love with Shay and Drew the way I did.
This book is dedicated to our wonderful son-in-law Greg Banks. Over a year ago Greg was in a car accident, and the surgery that followed left him paralyzed on one half of his body. This has been a huge life adjustment for Greg and our daughter Jody. Their faith, love, and support of each other amaze me every single day.
Hearing from my readers is one of my greatest joys as an author. As I like to say, I’m downright friendly, so please don’t hesitate to contact me! You can do it a number of ways. The best place to leave me a note is on my website at debbiemacomber.com or on Facebook or Twitter. Or you can write me at P.O. Box 1458, Port Orchard, WA 98366.
Warmest regards,
Any Dream Will Do is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 by Debbie Macomber
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
BALLANTINE BOOKS and the HOUSE colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
Hardback ISBN 9780399181191
Ebook ISBN 9780399181207
randomhousebooks.com
Book design by Dana Leigh Blanchette, adapted for ebook
Cover design: Belina Huey
Cover photograph: Judie Long/Getty Images and Milles Studio/Stocksy United
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Contents
Cover
Author's Note
Title Page
Copyright
Prologue
Chapter 1: Shay
Chapter 2: Drew
Chapter 3: Shay
Chapter 4: Drew
Chapter 5: Shay
Chapter 6: Drew
Chapter 7: Shay
Chapter 8: Drew
Chapter 9: Shay
Chapter 10: Drew
Chapter 11: Shay
Chapter 12: Drew
Chapter 13: Shay
Chapter 14: Drew
Chapter 15: Shay
Chapter 16: Drew
Chapter 17: Shay
Chapter 18: Drew
Chapter 19: Shay
Chapter 20: Drew
Chapter 21: Shay
Chapter 22: Drew
Chapter 23: Shay
Chapter 24: Drew
Chapter 25: Shay
Chapter 26: Drew
Chapter 27: Shay
Chapter 28: Drew
Chapter 29: Shay
Chapter 30: Drew
Chapter 31: Shay
Chapter 32: Drew
Chapter 33: Shay
Dedication
Ballantine Books by Debbie Macomber
About the Author
“I need the money.”
My brother’s eyes showed a desperation I had never seen in him before.
“Shay,” he pleaded, “you don’t understand. If I don’t have it by tomorrow night they will kill me.”
“They?” I repeated. “Who are they?” But I knew.
Caden had been waiting for me outside my tiny apartment that I shared with three roommates, pacing in front of my door when I got off work at the bank. I hadn’t seen him in weeks, which was never a good sign. In some ways, I was grateful he’d stayed out of my life. This was my chance, the first real one I’d had, and my brother was trouble. “Tell me what happened,” I said as I unlocked my apartment. He followed me inside and rammed his fingers through his hair with enough strength to uproot several strands.
“It’s complicated…”
It always was with Caden. I’d been looking out for him nearly his entire life, but for once I had to think about myself. My gut was churning as I set the teakettle on the stove, afraid of what he was going to tell me. Caden had met a lot of his bad connections through me and one boyfriend in particular. I’d fallen in deeper with Shooter than I’d ever intended, but through a community program I’d managed to break away from that lifestyle. With the help of one of the counselors I’d landed a job, a good one at a bank. For the first time in my life I had a chance at making something of myself. I had a shot at getting away from the gangs and the drugs and the lifestyle that would eventually lead to either prison or death. I had a small taste of what the future could be if I stayed away from people determined to hold me down. I’d made mistakes. Big ones, but I was working hard to put that behind me.
I should have known it wouldn’t work. Not for someone like me. Caden was here to remind me I’d been living a pipe dream.
“Who’s threatening to kill you?” I asked again, already anticipating the answer. It was Shooter or one of his gang members.
My brother closed his eyes and gripped hold of my forearm hard enough to cause a bruise. “You know.”
“You’re hanging with the Angels again?” I’d repeatedly warned Caden to stay away from the gang, which was anything but angelic.
He didn’t respond, which was answer enough.
My hands trembled as I brought down two mugs and reached for the tea bags. My back was to Caden. “How much do you need?” I asked as I gritted my teeth. I’d managed to save a few hundred dollars. All I could do was hope that would be enough.
He hesitated before blurting out, “Five thousand.”
“Dollars?” I gasped. The figure stunned me to the point my knees felt weak, as if they were no longer capable of holding me upright. Caden had to know that amount was impossible for me. No way could I come up with that much. “I don’t have that kind of money.”
“Can you borrow it?” he pleaded. His dark brown eyes, so like my own, were wild, his voice frantic. “I’m not joking, Shay. If I don’t hand over the money by tomorrow I’m a dead man.”
Doing my best to remain calm, I looped a long strand of my auburn hair around my ear, racking my brain. No one was going to loan me that kind of cash. Working as a bank teller, I barely made enough to get by myself. Between rent and my accounting classes, I was already stretched financially. The few dollars I’d managed to save came from doing without lunch and eating ramen noodles for dinner.
Before I could explain that the possibility of a loan was hopeless, Caden tried again. “What about the bank?” he suggested, his gaze holding mine.
A tingling feeling started at the base of my neck and worked its way down my spine. Even before I answered, I knew what Caden was thinking.
My brother lowered
his voice as if he expected someone was listening in through the thin apartment walls. “Can you get the money from the bank?” he asked.
“You mean a loan? No, they aren’t going to loan me that kind of cash on what I make. I don’t have anything for collateral.” While I had a driver’s license, I used public transportation. No way could I afford a car. Not even a scooter. Caden knew that.
“Not a loan, sis. The bank isn’t going to miss it…at least not for a couple days. You take the money, and before anyone notices I’ll have it for you to replace, no one will even know.”
The knot in my stomach tightened to the point of pain. Surely Caden knew what he was asking me. I had hope for the first time since our mother died and now he was asking me to give it all up for him. The bank would miss that money and it wouldn’t take them five minutes to figure out I was the one who took it.
Stiffening my spine, I decided then and there I wasn’t going to throw away my future because my idiot brother had gotten himself into this kind of trouble.
“I can’t. The bank doesn’t work like that. The missing money will be discovered the same day.”
“Shay, please. You know I wouldn’t ask this of you if I wasn’t desperate.”
“I’m sorry…”
Caden slammed his fist against the tabletop. “Do you want me dead?” he shouted.
I flinched and shrunk back, half expecting him to hit me. It was what our father would have done. “I…”
“If you don’t help me, you’re signing my death warrant.”
The kettle whistled as the water started to boil. I removed it from the burner and noticed how badly my hands were trembling. Caden was my brother, my only living relative. I’d looked after him when our mother died and later after our father passed, although his death had been a blessing, as far as I was concerned. Despite everything I had sacrificed for Caden, I tried my best to help him. But it seemed he was determined to continue to make poor choices. I wanted to rant at him for being weak, but then I had been weak, too. I felt responsible for introducing him to the Angels.
“Where will you get the money to repay me?” I asked.
Caden paced the tiny kitchen and ignored the mug I offered him.
“People owe me.”
“Five thousand dollars?” I asked, unable to hide my doubt.
“I swear on our mother’s life. I’ll have the money by the end of the week.”
Our mother had been everything to us. Everything. Caden had never sworn on her life before. I wanted to believe him but remained uncertain. He’d let me down countless times and I wasn’t sure I should trust him. Not that it would matter. Even if I did replace the money, I’d lose my job.
Burying my face in my hands, I sank into the chair and closed my eyes. “Let me think.”
“While you’re thinking, the minutes are ticking away.” He sounded more angry than worried now, furious with me for not immediately agreeing to his plan. “I can’t believe you. I’m your brother. You could save my life and you need to think about it?”
I exhaled a staggered breath. “You’re the one who got into this mess, not me.”
Caden’s face fell as if I’d wounded him. He fell to his knees and pressed his forehead against my legs as he’d done as a child after our mother died. “I don’t know what else to do,” he cried. “They’re going to kill me, Shay, and when they do, it won’t be quick and easy. They’ll want to make an example of me. They’ll start by breaking all my bones, and then…” He started to cry, his shoulders shaking with fear.
I placed a comforting hand on his back. “Can’t the Angels wait a couple days until you have the money?” I whispered, hoping the gang would be reasonable if they knew it was coming. I wove my fingers into his hair the way Mom would have done. “Don’t you have some collateral to offer?”
Caden exhaled slowly. “I owe more people than the Angels…these people aren’t willing to listen to any more excuses. The collateral they’d want is either one of my arms or a leg.”
I gasped, wanting to weep that my baby brother had gotten involved with loan sharks. Men who were thugs and criminals. All Caden and I had in this world was each other. If I was desperate, the one person I could reach out to for help would be my brother.
“You said you can replace the money within a couple days?”
He raised his head from my knee, his gaze wide and hopeful. “I swear,” he said, gripping hold of my hand and pressing his lips to it.
“I hope you realize what will happen to me if I do this.” He had to understand the consequences for me. Best-case scenario, I’d get fired from a job I considered my only shot at a real future. Worst case, I’d be incarcerated, even if I did return the money. No way would that amount of missing cash go unnoticed.
“I promise you, Shay, you won’t go to prison,” he said. “No way would I let my sister end up behind bars.”
—
Two months later, I accepted the guilty plea for embezzling as recommended by my court-appointed attorney. From the Seattle cell, I was placed on a transport bus from King County jail and driven across the Tacoma Narrows bridge to the Washington Corrections Center for Women in Purdy, Washington.
When the prison door locked behind me, the sound reverberated in my head like a thunderbolt, shaking the entire room. I was locked away from any hope for a decent future. Any hope of making something out of my crummy life.
From any hope whatsoever.
My sentence was three years. I’d risked everything for my brother. I had no one to blame but myself. After giving the money to Caden, I hadn’t heard from or seen him since. His promise was empty. I’d known it at the time and had still given in. Deep down I accepted that my brother couldn’t be trusted. He’d never intended to fulfill his promise, and now I was paying the price.
Helping Caden had stolen my future and sentenced me to a life I had worked so hard to escape.
All was lost.
Any chance for a decent future.
All hope.
I don’t know what made me believe there would ever be anything else but struggles and pain for me. Even when I tried to do the right thing, I got kicked in the head.
Three years later
I was released from the Washington Corrections Center for Women in Purdy at midnight the first week of December. Apparently the state of Washington wasn’t interested in paying for my upkeep one minute longer than necessary. No one stood outside the prison gates to greet me. Any friends I’d made while working at Pacific Bank had been quick to disassociate themselves from me, not that I blamed them. My only living family was my brother, and he was the reason I’d gone to prison in the first place.
In all three years of my incarceration, I hadn’t received a single letter from Caden. The first letter I’d mailed him had been returned with a notice that he’d moved with no forwarding address. I shouldn’t have been surprised. For all I knew he’d taken that five thousand dollars and escaped to Mexico. One thing I could count on was the fact that he didn’t have a shred of guilt for what he’d done to me.
Bitterness ate at me, consumed me. I should have ulcers for all the nights I’d lain awake and replayed that final scene with Caden. What an idiot I’d been to let him talk me into stealing money for him. To save his life. Yeah, right. Caden had missed his calling. He should be on the stage. His acting ability was worthy of a Tony.
As much as possible I stayed to myself while in prison. I took accounting classes, although it was probably a waste of time with my record. I sincerely doubted any company would take a chance on hiring me. As for the dream of one day getting my CPA license, that ship had sailed. The best I could hope for now was working as a hotel maid or in a restaurant washing dishes. Whatever it was, I was going to need housing and a job, and I was going to need them immediately.
Right. Like that was going to happen.
I had information on the closest bus stop, walked there in the cold and dark, and waited until daylight. I sat, chilled to the bone, with th
e wind buffeting against me until I got on the first available bus that would take me to downtown Seattle, over fifty miles away. Everything I owned in the world was in one small suitcase. All I had on me was a few hundred dollars in cash. I was afraid to spend it on anything other than bare necessities, not knowing how long I was going to need it to last.
The one constant for nearly the entire length of my sentence had been letters from an elderly woman named Elizabeth. She was a retired teacher who volunteered for Prison Fellowship, the Christian organization started by Chuck Colson, another felon. In her letters, Elizabeth talked a lot about God and her own life.
I wasn’t particularly interested in either, but it was mail. I was desperate for any link with the outside world. While I was grateful, this old lady had no idea of what my life was like. She lived in a lily-white world that was the opposite of my own. I read her letters but basically ignored what she had to say. She seemed to consider it her duty to be hopeful for me, to encourage and inspire me. When I did write her back I pretended to believe her, but I knew better. It was far too late for me. I had no future. The poor woman was delusional. She didn’t have a clue. Not a single clue of what my life was like.
In my last letter, I explained that when I was released I would have no place to live, no job, no family to help me. I laughed when I read her reply. She wrote that I should trust God and that she’d be praying for me. Yeah, right, like it had worked so well in the past.
I quickly wrote her back with a page full of questions. Doubts poured out of me until the letter was an entire page, written on both sides. I vented about the injustices that had happened in my life, the unfairness, my anger and fears. My hand could barely move fast enough to keep up with my thoughts. The lead in the pencil broke several times as I pressed it hard against the paper and I blasted at her for being naïve.