In that moment, Vanessa Jordan was glad her mother was dead.

“I’m going to lose the studio.” She tightened her grip on the canes and met Stephen’s reluctant gaze squarely.

“I’m afraid I’ve run out of options, my dear. The last of the potential buyers said there wasn’t enough equity in the business to justify the purchase. With the accident more than three months ago, most of the clientele have moved on.”

“Not the seniors. There were twenty in the gentle-dance class I started after Christmas. We were building wonderful relationships in the neighborhood.” She couldn’t let go of her mother’s legacy without a fight. “And how about the children? There were so many, we had to add a third class.”

He slowly shook his head, concern evident in the pinch of his wiry gray eyebrows. “The studio has been empty since January. Refunds for the cancelled classes put you in the red. No one is making inquiries about the spring schedule anymore.” He sighed. “I’m sorry to say, there’s no business left to sell.”

His words, though spoken kindly, knocked the air from her lungs. Her gaze drifted around the familiar room. The dance studio had been in this corner of the Minneapolis Uptown area for decades. These walls couldn’t be finished whispering encouragement to young ballerinas with Sugar Plum Fairy dreams or welcoming nervous beginners, reflecting warmth and love to all who spent time here. She owed it to her family to keep the studio running.

“What if I found some high school students to teach afternoon classes? I’m sure they’d do it in exchange for a free advanced ballet class.” But who would teach the advanced class? She couldn’t now.  “I don’t need much of a salary anymore. Just enough for the mortgage payment and a few groceries. I’ll think of some more ideas—”

“Vanessa.” Stephen’s gentle voice stopped the rush of words. “There’s no money to even pay the missed lease payments.”

“But Roger has been so kind in the past. I’m sure he’d be willing to wait a little longer until I get on my feet, so to speak, to get caught up. I’ll go talk to him right now.”

“The space is leased to someone else.”

A stinging charge shot through her. “What?”

He removed his glasses and wiped his face with a wrinkled hanky. “The Minneapolis Neighborhood Coalition moves in next week. Roger said he’s willing to forgive the missed payments. He sent his condolences and wanted me to tell you how much he admired your family.”

The tightness in her throat strangled any words of gratitude. If he meant it, he wouldn’t let them all fade into a memory. She turned away and ran her fingers along the wooden barre. At one time she’d had to reach up to it—when she was young and full of dreams.

“So.” Her voice echoed in the emptiness. She looked at the reflection of the man who’d been her mother’s friend and attorney for all of Vanessa’s twenty-four years. He’d always been kind to her and her siblings, like she imagined a favorite uncle might have been. This had to be hard on him too.

“So,” she said again, facing him with shoulders set. “Do I need to sign something?”

“Yes.” He moved to the counter to retrieve the envelope he’d brought. Pulling out a handful of papers, he sorted through them. “This one is from the bank. This one is from Roger. And this one too.”

As she scribbled her name on each, he considered the nearly empty room. “There isn’t much for inventory. Shall I try to sell the mirrors and the barres? You can take the coffee pot home. What would you like to do with the coat rack? And this desk… ”

His voice faded as decades of memories rushed over her. The wood floor was worn from years of pointe and tap shoes, the paneled walls faded in places where the morning sun had lingered. In the floor-to-ceiling mirrors, she could see the children making faces at each other, chattering as they waited for class to start. How many times had she wiped small handprints off the glass?

“Vanessa?”

She blinked. “I don’t want any of it. Sell it, donate it. Leave it for the Coalition.” Chin quivering, she pressed her lips together. Failure added an acidic bite to the bitterness of defeat. “If you get any money, give it to Roger for back pay.”

Stephen grasped her shoulders, frowning down at her. “My dear, this isn’t your fault. You know the studio was in financial trouble before your mother died.”

“But the accident—”

“Was an accident.” His fingers squeezed gently. “I know you blame yourself, but no one else does. Life is just really unfair sometimes.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. He was a kind man. Wrong but kind.

He released her with a sigh. “I’ll get these papers delivered. And I’ll drop you at home on the way.”

“I think I’ll stick around for a few minutes and then walk home.”

“You can walk that far now?”

“I’ll manage.” She put a hand on his arm. “Stephen, thank you for everything. My mother treasured your friendship and your counsel. So do I.”

He hugged her gently. “You’ve all been family to me. I miss them too.” Leaning back, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, his moustache prickly against her skin. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I will.”

He cast a doubtful glance at her canes then his footsteps faded into silence. Vanessa stood still in the middle of the room and breathed deeply, finding the familiar scent of rosin under the stuffiness. Eyes closed, she rose onto the toes of her good foot. Lifting her face, she tried to remember the magic of an arabesque, the freedom of spinning en pointe, the joy of a final bow.

The canes wobbled and she lowered with a thump. That was all she had now—fragile images of dancing, of her mother and Angie and Matt. Of life as she knew it. She found a scrap of paper in the wastebasket and a lone pen. She wrote the simple words slowly, wedged the sign in the window of the door and turned off the lights. The door shut with a final click and she pressed her fingertips to the glass, the letters blurring as she read the words that spelled the end of her dream. Thanks for the memories.

A disillusioned dancer and an ex-con who are building a safe haven for inner-city youth have their ministry and lives threatened by a man bent on revenge.

In one tragic moment, dancer Vanessa Jordan lost her family, her career, and her future. She blames God for destroying everything that mattered.

Kurt Wagner, an ex-con with a second chance at life and faith, aches to shed his past and see his dream of helping teens become reality.

The former dancer and the ex-con form an unlikely alliance to build River House, a safe haven for kids on the street. But when Kurt’s past threatens his dreams and his life, Vanessa becomes a target as well.

It will take a stubborn love, the grace of God, and one courageous teen to keep River House standing.