"Your husband has been an inspiration to me." The man's boyish grin stretched from ear to ear when he shook her hand.

"Are you performing tonight?" Beth asked.

"No, just here to learn the ropes. I come from the ministry side of the business. This is all new to me." He stretched his arms wide and looked around.

Josh patted him on the back. "You'll do just fine. I've heard your music, man. Good stuff."

A few minutes into their conversation, Beth noticed Stacy Powers waving to Josh from a crowd of people. Beth nudged him, nodding toward the publicist. "I think you're needed," she said.

"Would you both excuse me for a minute?" Josh planted a kiss on Beth's cheek and suggested she wait for him in the artists' dressing room down the hall.

"Looks like I've been jilted at the altar." She laughed, already feeling somewhat comfortable with Crandall. "I have no idea where to find the dressing room."

"I can show you," Crandall said.

"Thank you. I'd love to sit down."

He glanced tentatively at her stomach. "When are you due? Is this your first?"

Beth felt the heat rise to her face.

"Sorry, I don't know when to shut up. That was personal, and I just met you."

"It's no problem," she laughed.

He offered his arm and escorted her toward the dressing room.

"You'll love being a parent. I have two," he said. "After we sit down, I'll bore you with photos."

Beth grinned. "That sounds great."

About thirty yards down the hallway, they stopped. Beth saw a handmade sign taped to the dressing room door. It read Artists Only.

"Is it okay for me to go inside?" She took a step backward.

"Absolutely. They're just warning the paparazzi to stay out." Crandall opened the door for her. "Isn't that what they're called?"

"I think so." Beth laughed, finding herself enjoying the man's company. "This is my first time at the Noah Awards. Thanks for taking me under your wing."

"It's a case of the blind leading the blind," he said, holding the door. "Like I said before, I'm just a minister. I'm still learning about the music business."

After stepping inside, Beth took a seat in one of the overstuffed chairs that lined the wall of the room. "Minister, as in divinity school?" she asked.

"Yes. I majored in music in college and then attended seminary. I pastored a small church for a while, but it was my music that seemed to touch people. I sidestepped into a youth pastor role, and we started a coffee house. Everything began happening from there."

"How exciting."

"We built a recording studio to encourage young people in the church, and . . ." He blushed. "I'm sorry, too much information."

"No, it's fascinating." She clutched her stomach and took a deep breath. "Ouch!"

"Are you okay?"

"Just a swift kick. I'm expecting a soccer player."

They both laughed.

"When are you due?"

"In June."

"Is everything okay?"

"Why would you ask that?"

"I don't know. I'm getting the strongest impression that I need to pray for you."

Beth stared at him.

"Do you mind?" Crandall's cheeks colored slightly.

"No, of course not."

"Is it okay if I lay a hand on you while I pray?" He walked to her chair, and his hand hovered over her wrist.

"Sure." The compassion in his blue eyes almost brought tears to hers.

"Lord, I've just met Bethany. We don't know much about each other, but you know her, and you know her needs. I ask you to provide them and to bless her."

He took a long breath and continued. "Bless my friend Josh, and especially their new family member. One who, as you reveal in Psalm 139, you've already known, since before conception. You've seen his or her face, Lord, even before we will be blessed to do so. . . ."

Tears streamed down Beth's face. The words soothed her like none she had heard since October. The idea that God knew her child-had seen his or her face-filled her to overflowing with joy. But how much did this Crandall guy know about her?

In a flash, the face of a child appeared in her mind's eye. His face was perfectly formed. Beth's heart raced. Was this the child she carried?

Or could this be the child she had aborted?

A chill ran up and down her spine. She shifted her hand from beneath the gentle touch of Phillip Crandall, who was still praying, and pulled her shawl closer around her shoulders.

Crandall continued to pray, asking for God's protection over Beth and Josh. "Close the gap, Lord. Between heaven and earth. Between our failures and our forgiveness. Between our prayers and your mercy. And between what you want for us and what the adversary tries to destroy."

He lingered between each request.

"Thank you, Father. Amen."

Phillip opened his eyes and looked into hers. They both had tears.

"God is so good," he said. "I believe he has a special blessing for you and your child."

"Thank you." Beth wiped her eyes and smiled. "All children are a blessing. I wish I had understood that a few years ago."

Josh cupped his arm lightly around his wife's waist as Stacy Powers led them through a dark, backstage tunnel and onto the main floor of the arena. They were one of the last couples to be seated before the opening music.

Cameramen dressed in all black hugged the sidewalls of the hall, ready to be called into action. A giant jib arm, which was controlled by an operator seated on the main floor, hovered over the front row of the audience. It would soon swoop in for a close up of well-known Contemporary Christian diva, Drew Harlan, who stood idly on stage smiling and waving at people she knew in the audience.

Less than a minute after they were settled into their seats, Harlan stepped to the podium to welcome everyone and begin the show, which would be broadcast live from coast to coast. She wasted no time in introducing the first performers, a girl band known as the Angells.

Josh watched dry ice filter out into the first few rows of seats, not quite reaching row six, where he and Beth sat.

The girls rocked the house. Audience members clapped and swayed to the music. And the first award, for songwriter of the year, went to Peter Thomas, a cowriter with Josh on his single "He Has Come."

"Way to go, man," Josh shouted when Thomas walked past him en route to the stage to accept his award. His friend smiled and nodded. A cameraman caught the action.

"That's great." Beth leaned into him after the cameraman turned away. She placed her small hand in his. "A good sign for you."

He reached into his left jacket pocket and fumbled for the folded piece of paper that held his acceptance speech. He had hardly imagined winning, but of course, he had prepared in case.

The applause died down.

"First," Thomas said, "I want to thank the Lord. He is the author and finisher of my faith and my songs." Applause. "And thank you to my wife, Victoria, and my family." He blew a kiss into the audience and smiled.

Josh glanced to Victoria Thomas. She sat smiling, with a tissue in her hand, in the row behind and to the left of him.

Thomas continued. "Thank you to the artists who have recorded my songs this year, and to my cowriters on various projects, Martin Williams, Wally Conway, and Josh Harrison, who helped give wings to my words." He scanned the audience trying to pick out each man as he mentioned him, finally setting his glance on Josh. "Special thanks to Josh Harrison. Your incredible witness to me has been an inspiration."

With that, Thomas waved his award in the air, smiled, and exited stage right.

"He mentioned you! That was so nice!" Beth said, bouncing in her seat.

"Yes, it was." Josh whispered into her ear. "I'm speechless."

"I hope not," she teased. "Drew is announcing that it's time for the New Artist award."

Two members of the Angells returned to the stage. Taking turns, they read the name of each nominee. "Alison Anderson . . . Lane Bronson . . . Crossover . . . David's Sons . . . and Josh Harrison."

Josh knew they were all more deserving than he. Josh reminded himself that being nominated was enough. All he could expect.

"And the winner is . . ."

"Josh! Honey!" Beth screeched over the applause that had erupted. "You won!"

34.

Present Day Two days later Josh secured a parking slot on the street in front of the Victorian home that now housed the offices of renowned publisher Dixon Mason. The red brick, two-story building had once been a family residence, like most of the structures on Music Square East. For half a decade, beginning in the 1950s, the street had been known as Sixteenth Avenue South, a main artery of Music Row.

Several rocking chairs beckoned from the large front porch when Josh approached. If the weather had been warmer, he would have enjoyed waiting for Clint Garrett there. Dixon's porch offered a grand view of the music business, or what was left of it. Record labels had gone through a lot of changes in the past few years, with more in sight. No one knew how it would metamorphose or where the bleeding would stop. Several companies had moved off the famed "Row." Others had closed their doors completely. For sure, the music industry had taken a dive, along with the general economy.

Josh's Christian music record label occupied offices in Brentwood, about twenty minutes south, so Josh rarely spent time in this neighborhood. Yet there was something about Music Row, the original hub of the Nashville music industry, that always reignited the fire of his desire for making it in the music business. Hundreds of thousands of dreams had been realized-or lost-on this street.

Josh opened the door and entered the reception area. A beautiful blonde girl sat at the large wooden desk. He guessed from her youthful appearance that she was an intern from either Belmont or Middle Tennessee State University.

"Hi! Can I help you?" The young girl's enthusiasm confirmed his intern hunch. Lifers were usually more guarded, and with good reason. Some unusual characters traipsed up and down Music Row.

"I'm here for Clint Garrett. I'm writing with him today."

"Josh Harrison?"

"Yes." He offered a smile.

"Clint called to say he's running a few minutes late. Please, have a seat." She pointed to a sitting area filled with antiques and wing-backed leather chairs. "May I bring you water, coffee, anything?"

"No thanks." Josh picked out a chair and a Billboard magazine to read.

Less than ten minutes later, Clint strolled into the room, having entered through the back hallway of the building. No doubt he had a reserved parking place in the back. He had made a lot of money for Dixon Mason during the past few years.

"Hey there." Clint grinned as he sauntered over to Josh.

"Man, you're looking good." Josh stood to shake his hand. Clint looked just as he remembered. A bit older, perhaps, and a little less cocky. But he was the same good-looking man who had captured the affection of country music fans everywhere. And he had retained that fascination, despite the decline of the music business and Clint's "bad boy" reputation. Most theories were that the latter had been a contributor to his success.

"It's great to see you." Clint slapped him on the back. "You've made quite a name for yourself lately. I saw the awards a couple of nights ago."

"Thanks." Josh's cheeks warmed. "You're not doing too bad yourself."

"I'm doing okay," Clint demurred. "I heard you got married."

"I did, a little over a year ago. We're having a baby in June."

"Congratulations, Bear."

Josh laughed. He hadn't been called by his nickname since he worked with Clint several years ago. It took him back to a less complicated time in life.

"Thanks. We're excited. So how have you been?"

"Let's go on into the writing room, and we can catch up there." Clint nodded down a long hallway. "That way."

Josh followed Clint through the corridor. A richly colored Oriental rug with hues of burgundy, navy, and dark green ran its length. As did dark, expensive-looking mahogany woodwork. Gold and platinum albums and BMI, ASCAP, and SESAC multimillion sales awards lined the deep green walls.

"Nice place." Josh ran his hand along the chair rail, as he followed his friend and former employer into a small but comfortable-looking room.

"Yeah, Mason has made some bucks in his days. I'm not sure he's enjoying it much now. He has cancer, you know." Clint's expression softened. "I hate it for him."