Wildflowers from Winter

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BONUS CONTENT

The Cast

• Behind-the-Scenes with Bethany
• Behind-the-Scenes with Evan
• Behind-the-Scenes with Robin
• A Romance Blossoms (Contains Spoilers)

Discussion Questions:

• When you first met Bethany, what was your immediate impression? How did your opinion of Bethany change throughout the novel?

• As an architect, Bethany longs to design new, innovative projects, rather than overhauling older buildings. How is this desire central to her character?

• Which character do you relate to more: Bethany or Robin? Why?

• Bethany and Evan have fairly different goals and interests. Do you think this benefits them as a couple, or provides challenges? What advice might you give them for maintaining at good relationship?

• Why do you think Dan left the farm to Bethany, but the farmhouse to Evan?

• A younger Bethany talks to the reader in first-person narratives throughout the novel. What does the reader learn from her story?

• Bethany and Robin’s friendship plays a big role in the story, despite the years that have lapsed when they weren’t friends. What, do you believe, draws them together? Have you experienced a similar friendship in your own life?

• Discuss Pastor Fenton. What were your feelings about him throughout the story? What kind of relationship does he seem to have with his congregation?

• Pastor Fenton attributes Bethany’s father’s paralysis to unconfessed sin in his life. Have you experienced teaching and spiritual guidance like this before? What is your response to it?  In light of what happens at the end of the novel, discuss whether you think Pastor Fenton’s views on suffering will change.

• Ruth’s faith seems to diminish her. Robin’s faith strengthens her, but they both call themselves Christians. How do you explain such different responses?

• The Bible tells us God reveals Himself through nature. In this novel, we learn that snowy winters produce an abundance of wildflowers later in the year. What truth is God revealing here? Have you seen this truth in your life or in the lives of people you know?

• Bethany reunites with Robin, only to be put in the difficult position of comforting her friend during a time of seemingly endless grief. Can you identify with either character in this situation?

 

CHAPTER ONE

Maybe it was the angle or the proximity, but Bethany Quinn had never felt so tempted to give Jeff McKinley’s hairpiece a good nudge. At the very least, an innocuous brush with her elbow. It didn’t help that he was waving a powdered doughnut over the sketches she had worked on for the past week, leaving a sugary dust behind. She gripped the back of his chair and looked over his shoulder. “What don’t you like about them?”

He gestured with the doughnut, sliding his free fingers across her drawing of the floating ceiling tray. “It’s a little elaborate.”

She let go of his chair and straightened. “So?”

“I was under the impression this particular client was looking for something more…practical.”

“They never said practical. They said cheap.”

“Same thing.”

“It’s not a warehouse, Jeff. We’re renovating one of downtown Chicago’s most popular ballrooms. Fancy doesn’t have to be expensive.”

“If you want it to look good, it does.” He set down the rest of the doughnut and folded his hands behind his neck. His hairline shifted higher up his forehead. “How much time before we meet with them?”

Bethany’s back pocket buzzed. “We scheduled the meeting for three,” she said, pulling out her cell phone. Her mother’s number lit up the screen.

She furrowed her brow. Why in the world would her mother be calling at ten o’clock on a Monday? Mom knew better than to bother her at work. Bethany sent the call to voicemail, her mind rabbit- trailing to her brother, David.

“Let’s see what else we can come up with before then. It’d be best to give them several options to choose from, don’t you think?”

Jeff’s words floated in her ear, but thoughts of her brother bounced around inside her head and made it impossible to concentrate. David left for Afghanistan three weeks ago. And now her mother was calling.

“We’re in no position to lose clients right now. With all this talk about downsizing, that wouldn’t bode well for any of us.”

Bethany nodded. 

“Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah. I just… I have to take this call.” Her knees wobbled as she grabbed the sketches and made the short trek to her work station. She set them on her desk and spotted the flashing red blinker of her office phone. When the caller ID showed her mother’s number, Bethany shut her eyes and sent a hopeful thought into the cosmos.

Please don’t let this be about David…

She might not believe in a loving God who listened to prayer, but sometimes she caught herself bargaining with the Universe—sort of like a bribe, only she didn’t have anything to offer. She dialed voicemail and waited until Mom’s worried voice filled her ear. “Bethany, it’s your mother. Call me, please.”

She pulled the phone away from her ear and glared at the receiver. That was it? No details? No hint of why she called? No Hey, Bethany, don’t worry; this isn’t about your brother?

The ambiguity of the message tightened the muscles in Bethany’s shoulders. Her mother’s brevity left her with no other option but to call back. She picked up the office phone, dialed Mom’s number, and fiddled with the lid on her half empty Starbucks macchiato. The cup tipped, spilling lukewarm liquid over the mahogany desktop and soaking her sketches. Sucking in a sharp breath, she righted the cup and swiped up her work.

She tore a clump of tissues from the box near her computer and dabbed at the sheets. It was no use. The spilled coffee had turned the pristine white pages into a mottled stack of brown sogginess.

“Bethany? Is that you?”

Bethany grabbed the phone with both hands. “Mom? Why’d you call? Is it David?”

“Are you at work?”

“Where else would I be?”

“It’s just that it’s Monday, and I didn’t think—”

“Mom, tell me what’s wrong. Is it David?”

A brief pause. “Oh no. Your brother’s fine.”

Bethany’s tension deflated. She sank onto her chair and pinched the bridge of her nose. She hated this. Worrying about her brother. Freaking out every time her phone rang. How was she supposed to cope with it for an entire year?

“It’s not David. It’s Robin.”

Pieces of memory stirred at the sound of that name, rousing from a ten- year hibernation. Why in the world was Mom calling her at work about Robin?

“Did you hear what I said?”

“I heard you.”

“Don’t you want to know what’s wrong?”

The question poked her stomach. Say yes and spend the next thirty minutes listening to Mom’s hysterics. Say no and sound like a royal jerk. She didn’t have time for the first or energy for the second, so she picked up a pen and toyed with the bloated puddle creeping toward her pencil cup, the short- lived relief over David melting into a dull ache in the center of her forehead.

Silence stretched along the phone lines.

She gazed at the blueprints on her drafting board. Her boss needed specs for the River Oaks project on his desk by four o’clock, fake- haired Jeff McKinley wanted to brainstorm “practical” ideas for the downtown ballroom, and Mom wouldn’t give up until Bethany let her spill whatever news she had about Robin.

“She was your best friend.”

Was. Past tense.

“Every time I see her, she asks about you. If you like Chicago. How your job is going. If you’re happy…”

“Of course I’m happy.” The words came out too fast. Almost defensive. Bethany rubbed circles into her throbbing temples and let a drawn-out sigh escort the inescapable question.

“What’s the matter with Robin?”

A throat cleared loudly behind her. She swiveled around and found her boss, his mouth curved in a frown. She hung up the phone and stood, heat creeping into her ears. Mom’s news would have to wait. “Is everything okay?”

“Brainstorming session for First State at ten. Did you forget?”

Her stomach twisted. Mom’s cryptic phone call had jarred her out of focus. “No, of course not. I was just on the phone with”—she fingered the blueprints on her drafting board—“marketing about River Oaks.”

Martin grunted, eying the mess on her desk.

An uncomfortable laugh bubbled past Bethany’s lips. She stepped in front of him and fished a file from one of her desk drawers. “I drew up some ideas last week,” she said, motioning toward the hallway. “I’m right behind you.”

When she stepped into the conference room, she smoothed the front of her skirt and pushed the phone call from her conscience. Whatever problems Robin faced, she’d have to face them alone. Bethany didn’t see how she could help. Robin’s troubles didn’t concern her. Not anymore.

Her hands shook as she unwrapped a stick of Bubblemint gum and shoved it in her mouth. She crumpled the wrapper and leaned against the hood of her Audi, ruminating over her mother’s second phone call. For once Mom hadn’t been exaggerating. Bethany exhaled and watched her frozen breath escape like mist into the night sky.

Cold pricked her ears as she tapped her foot against the blacktop of the Walgreens parking lot and traced the outline of the sympathy card tucked inside the small paper bag. “Thinking of You ” emblazoned the cover in a large, looping font. Stark white painted the inside. A symbol of what her friendship with Robin had become. What had she been thinking, buying it? What could she possibly write that might take up so much space when there was nothing to say?

She pulled her keys from her purse and climbed into her car. Maybe she would go to Dominic’s, and when he came home from work, she could unleash her guilt. Maybe she could purge the thoughts rolling through her head and regain some equilibrium. She started the engine, pulled onto the street, and forced herself to focus on the news analyst discussing the struggling economy on her XM radio.

Thirty minutes later, Bethany walked in the door of Dominic’s apartment to lights and the aroma of Chinese takeout. After slipping off her heels, she found him hunched over the dining table in pajama pants and glasses, surrounded by a pile of papers, a half-eaten carton of General Tso’s next to one arm and a box of tissues next to the other.

She set her purse on the table by the door. “Are you sick?”

He started to answer but coughed instead. When the fit released him, he plucked a tissue from the box and blew his nose. “No, but Patrick sent me home anyway.” Dominic peered at her across the living room. “You’re done with work already?”

She glanced at the wall clock. It was half past seven. “I had a productive day.” This, of course, was a lie. But how would Dominic understand her obliterated concentration when she couldn’t explain it to herself?

She shuffled to the dining room, eased into one of the chairs, and reached for the white carton while he slid a thick manila folder from his briefcase and added it to the overflowing pile on the table.

“I wouldn’t eat that.” He stifled two sharp coughs in the crook of his elbow and, without looking up from his papers, jerked his head toward the refrigerator. “I got you lo mein. Chopsticks are on the counter.”

Her stomach rumbled in gratitude. She heated her dinner in the microwave, returned to the dining room, and started eating while Dominic shuffled through the stack of papers in front of him. Around the fifth or sixth bite, Bethany dropped her chopsticks and opened the fortune cookie.

Something you lost will soon turn up. 

She rolled up the white slip and huffed.

Dominic ignored her.

“What are you working on?” she asked.

“Contracts.”

“What kind of contracts?” She picked several cookie crumbs off the place mat and folded them in her napkin. When he didn’t answer, she fidgeted in her seat. “Dom?”

“What?” The single syllable snapped across the table.

Bethany raised her eyebrows and pressed her lips together.

He took off his glasses and ran his hand down the stubble on his chin. “C’mon, Bethany, I’m up to my ears.”

So much for unburdening her soul.

She snatched up his carton and pushed away from the table, the legs of her chair scraping against the hardwood floor.

Dominic groaned.

She stalked to the kitchen and dumped all the leftovers. Maybe she should go home. Sleep in her own bed and reconsider the long talk she and Dominic had over Thanksgiving—about moving in together once her lease expired at the end of the year. Why would she move in with him when he treated her like nothing more than a nuisance?

She closed the trash compactor and rinsed off a plate in the sink. If only memories could be as easily erased. If only a little water could wash them down the drain. If only she could send the stupid card and let this Robin thing go. She reached for a towel just as a pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist.

She stiffened.

He let go. “C’mon, Bethy, don’t be mad.”

The way he said her name loosened some of the tightness in her chest.

“I’m swamped at work, and I feel horrible. I hate being sick.”

She rolled her eyes. “I thought you weren’t.”

“I don’t want to be.” He took the plate from her and put it in the dish- washer. “You know how it is.”

She bunched the towel in her hand. Maybe now, with his work in another room, he would listen. “You know Robin Price?”

His forehead knotted.

“Robin from Peaks? She sends Christmas cards every year? Birthday and Easter cards too?” Something uncomfortable fidgeted inside her. Why hadn’t she ever responded? Sure, things had changed—Robin had changed— but was it really that hard to send a card?

“You know I’m no good at keeping track of that stuff.”

“She was my best friend growing up. We were practically inseparable.” He grabbed a tissue from the box on the counter and blew his nose.

“I guess her husband had some sort of aneurysm and now he’s in a coma.” She waited for a response, but the glassed-overlook in his eyes told her she waited in vain. She crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows at him.

“I don’t remember you talking about her.”

“We haven’t been close for a long time.”

He grabbed a wineglass from the counter and nudged her away from the sink. “So why are you so upset?”

“I don’t know.” She picked at the corner of the marbled countertop. “I sort of feel like I should go see her. Maybe take some time off work and go back to Peaks for a few days.”

Dominic’s hands stopped moving beneath the water. “Go back to Peaks?” He turned and looked at her. “I thought you hated Peaks.”

She laughed at the understatement.

“Why don’t you send her a card or something?”

“I was going to. But all the cards are just…I don’t know. None of them were right.”

“So let me get this straight.” He shut off the water and flicked the glass. Droplets sprayed the side of the sink. “You’re going to take an entire week off work, go back to a place you hate, just to spend some time with a woman who’s no longer your friend?” He took the towel and dried his hands. “I’m sorry, Beth. I don’t get it.”

Frustration stirred. She needed him to understand. Because until he understood the magnitude of her childhood friendship with Robin, his attempts to dissuade her from returning to Peaks wouldn’t cut it. And she needed to be dissuaded. “What if you heard Shawn was going through a hard time? Wouldn’t you feel compelled to do a little more than send a card?”

Dominic dipped his chin and looked at her from the tops of his eyes. “Shawn’s my brother.”

“I know. And Robin was like my sister. That’s how close we were.”

“If you were that close, then why don’t you keep in touch?”

“It’s complicated.”

He stared for a moment, his nose as red as Rudolph’s, then lifted his shoulder. “I mean, hey, if it’s something you think you need to do, don’t let me stop you. You can go to Peaks if you want.”

She blinked. Is that what Dominic thought this was about? Getting permission?

“So listen, I need to get this work done before I call it a night. You should stay, though.” He kissed her cheek and escaped to the dining room.

She stared after him, one hand on the countertop, the other dangling by her side until her ringing phone interrupted the thoughts swirling through her mind. She padded to the front door and reached inside her purse. For the third time in one day her mother’s number lit the screen. Bethany groaned. What more could Mom possibly have to say about Robin?

The screen went black.

She passed her phone from palm to palm, wondering if it would actually be about David this time, until her phone chirped and she dialed voice mail. If it was another ambiguous message, she might pull her hair and scream.

“Bethany, I know we just talked. And I hate to bother you. But I heard something this evening and thought I should tell you.”

Bethany’s heart quieted. The usual stain of worry in Mom’s voice had lifted, as if she’d doused her words in Clorox and scrubbed them clean. This couldn’t be about David.

“Dan was admitted to the hospital the other night. I guess he had a heart attack. He’s apparently doing fine. He’s going home in a couple days, so there’s really nothing to worry about. I just thought you’d want to know.”

Grandpa Dan? When was the last time she’d talked to Grandpa Dan? She rewound time, thinking back several months, when she called to wish him a happy birthday. Hearing his voice always brought back a slew of memories. Feeding the calves, watching him and his cousin Ray pitch hay in the barn, listening while he taught her how to groom, saddle, and ride a horse. Every time she talked to him on the phone, an inexplicable feeling of homesickness would sweep over her—like a cloud passing in front of the sun. Now he was in the hospital, and that same familiar feeling stole through her body. It didn’t make any sense. How could she be homesick for a place she hated?

She plopped onto the leather sofa and rested her elbows on her knees. She had her reasons for avoiding Mom and Robin. She had her reasons for shunning Peaks. But Grandpa Dan? She couldn’t shut him out of her life.

Bethany powered her phone off and rested back on the cushions, desperate to leave behind this headache of a day. But as hard as she tried, her brain would not rest. The idea of going to Peaks returned, stronger this time. She couldn’t ignore it. Just like she couldn’t ignore Robin or her grandfather. For whatever reason, Peaks wanted her back.

Three questions scrolled through her mind like sleep-repellent ticker tape, keeping her awake well past midnight. Should she go back? Could she live with herself if she didn’t?

Could she live with herself if she did?

 

CHAPTER TWO

Plowed fields, once rich with hay and corn, lay covered in patches of white, nodding off for a long winter’s nap. The beginning of December always brought a sense of lethargy to the countryside. Bethany yawned as the two-lane highway undulated before her, an occasional barn or silo breaking up the monotony in brief but consistent intervals. Whenever she passed one of those solitary structures, with nothing but a pair of leafless oaks to keep it company, a lonesome feeling would nudge up against her. A feeling she had known well as a child.

She shook away the encroaching memories, steered her car through a sharp bend in the road, and spotted a paint-chipped barn where three Shetlands had their heads bent low over a trough. It was the Masons’ old farm. And although the horses had changed, the milestone hadn’t. She was five minutes from Peaks.

She took a long, slow breath. One week. She could handle one week. Seven days to fulfill her obligations and get back to life in Chicago. Embracing the pep talk, she bent her head toward one shoulder, then the other, a poor attempt to release the stiffness that had accumulated during her three- hour drive into farm country.

Peaks’s water tower emerged over the top of an abandoned barn. Her right foot shifted from the gas to the brake as she approached a familiar four-way stop—the one with Jorner’s General Store on the corner. The sight of that old store sitting behind Peaks’ unchanged population sign stroked pieces of her soul that had lain dormant over the past ten years. The fatherless, trailer-park Bethany of her past threatened to resurface. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel and pushed that girl back down. That wasn’t who she was anymore.

Bethany turned off the main road. Gravel pinged against the belly of her car as Dan’s farmhouse peeked from behind a large machine shed. A glance in her rearview mirror showed two unfamiliar Border collies trotting alongside her rear tires. She shifted in her seat. The place was like an unaged photograph. She hadn’t laid eyes on it in ten years, yet it looked so much the same. Black shutters against white siding, floral curtains visible through second-story windows, the rocking chair sitting vigil on a wraparound porch. Even the tire swing Dan put up for her and David still hung from a bough of the elm tree out front. While time had its way with everything else, this farm had somehow escaped its snare.

She pulled up next to a black Ford Ranger, which sat in the spot where Dan’s rusted-out pickup used to be, and got out of her car. Beside her, a dirty Bronco decked with a bug-splattered grill hummed and hissed as though the owner had turned it off only a moment ago.

Unease settled in her stomach. When she’d called Dan yesterday, he hadn’t mentioned anything about visitors. She’d hoped it would be just her and Dan at the farmhouse while she stayed in Peaks. She had no desire to catch up with old acquaintances.

The dogs followed as she rolled her suitcase over the uneven ground. She stepped onto the porch, wiped her hands on her jeans one at a time, and raised her fist. Before she could knock, the door flew open and a man filled the doorway, looking over his shoulder toward something inside.

Bethany’s muscles jerked like a giant hiccup. Her hands flew out in case he lunged outside without seeing her.

The man turned his head and took a quick step back.

“Who are you?” They spoke at the same time, the deepness of his voice drowning out the surprise in hers.

He glanced down at her luggage, then back at her. Scruff covered the entirety of his chin and darkness circled beneath his eyes. The man looked like he could use three weeks of solid sleep followed by a long nap, and he still might not escape the exhaustion haunting his face. Blinking away her distraction, she stuck out her hand. “I’m Bethany. Dan’s granddaughter.”

His eyes flickered, then cleared. “So you really exist. How about that.”

She straightened her spine and moved to take back her hand, but he swaddled her palm with a callused grip. “Are you going to tell me who you are?” she asked.

“I’m Evan. I run the farm.”

The name sounded familiar. Dan must have mentioned him in one of their conversations, but she couldn’t remember.

He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. “Dan talks a lot about you and your brother. But ever since I started working here, I’ve never seen a trace of either of you.”

“David’s in Afghanistan.”

“And you’re in Chicago. Making it big as an architect.”

She leaned back on her heels to put some distance between them. She didn’t like this stranger knowing things about her when she knew nothing about him. She didn’t like his tone either.

“What brings you back to Peaks?” he asked.

“Dan had a heart attack.”

He scratched his chin and studied her, like he wasn’t sure he believed her.

“It’s cold out, you know.”

He swept his hand toward the foyer. “By all means, come on in.”

“Thanks for your permission,” she mumbled, tugging at her suitcase.

“It’s killing him.”

She stopped. “His heart?”

“No.” He reached out to help, but she didn’t relinquish her hold. She hadn’t asked for his help. Despite her refusal to let go, he moved the suitcase over the threshold with one easy lift. “Resting. He doesn’t like the doctor’s orders. Yesterday I caught him trying to carry the cattle corn buckets, and those things aren’t light.”

“Do the doctors think he’ll make a full recovery?”

“He’s seventy-five. He has high blood pressure and even higher cholesterol.”

“The farm’s kept him active, hasn’t it?”

“The farm’s also fed him meat and potatoes every day of his life since he was a kid. Not so great for a person’s arteries. ‘Evan must have sensed she was going to jump in and say something, because before she could get the words out, he held up his hands. “Don’t get worried. Dan just has to rest and cut back on the bacon, that’s all. The doctors say he might live twenty more years.”

He also might not. But Bethany swallowed the words.

“And he’s well taken care of here. So if this”—he twirled his hand in the air—“newfound sense of obligation you’re feeling is throwing a kink in your plans, you can go back to Chicago guilt free.”

Her mouth dropped open, but before she could bring shape to her thoughts, Evan stepped out onto the porch and tipped his head. “It’s been a pleasure.”

He gave a sharp whistle. The two Border collies emerged from behind the house and joined him as he walked down the driveway. He didn’t get in either of the vehicles. Instead, he headed toward the paddock, and on his way, thumped the hood of her Audi.

“Nice wheels,” he called over his shoulder. She didn’t miss the laughter in his voice.

* * *

The stairs creaked beneath Bethany’s feet. Whenever she crept up that twisted stairwell as a child, she imagined walking to a secret lair, where something magical awaited. She and David would climb the stairs and hide in a cubbyhole in her grandpa’s closet. They’d crouch in the corner and decorate the cobwebbed walls with bright, dancing circles from their flash- lights. As an adult, she felt that same sense of anticipation. Only this time she knew nothing magical awaited her on the second story.

Just Grandpa Dan.

Her throat closed tight as she tiptoed down the narrow hallway, past the peeling, rose-patterned wallpaper, and peeked through the crack in his doorway. Dan lay in bed, leaning on some pillows, flipping through muted television channels. Silver had crept up his temples and painted his once- brown hair a shiny gray. Weak sunlight outlined his profile, revealing the same prominent nose, the same cleft chin, the same wide forehead she remembered as a kid. It was the sight of his arm that made her suck in a silent breath. Once strong and tanned, it now hung deflated and pale, lax instead of taut.

She rapped her knuckle against the door frame. The sound must have caught his attention because he turned away from the television. His eyes flickered, cleared, then blinked several times. He gave his head a shake, as if she were nothing more than an apparition. Then his face crinkled into a grin—one that reached all the way up to his hairline.

“Bethany.”

It was just her name. Nothing more. But a flood of unspoken emotion rested behind those three syllables. Joy. Love. Relief. Invitation. All the anxiety swirling inside her chest—fears that ten years of neglect would sour their reunion—morphed into the overwhelming urgency to sit next to him, to place her hand over the steady thrumming of his heartbeat. Assurance that he was alive and well. She hurried to his side, took his hand, and in- haled the familiar scent of tobacco and mint.

Home.

He squeezed her hand. “It’s really you.”

“It’s really me,” she said.

She admired him for an extended moment, taking in all the things changed and unchanged. Although new wrinkles adorned his pale features, he was still her Grandpa Dan.

“How’s Chicago treating you?”

“Wonderful.” The automatic response stuck in her throat. Was it really wonderful? She had become an architect to design museums and hotels and skyscrapers. She hadn’t become one to make run-down facilities less run- down. She shook away the pessimism. She was only twenty-eight. With more time and hard work, she’d get there. “How are you feeling? Do the doctors—”

Dan waved his hand. “I’m fine. Healthy as a horse. If it weren’t for Evan, I’d be out there right now, fixing my tractor.”

“Grandpa”—she dipped her chin—“you had a heart attack.”

He brought the palm of his hand to rest over his chest. “This heart’s just fine. God was getting my attention, is all. Wanted to remind me not to take things for granted.”

“I’m not sure I agree with His method of attention-getting.”

Dan chuckled. “So is that why you came back? To check up on me?”

“I wanted to see you. Take care of you for a few days.”

“I love you for that, Bethany. I really do. But I don’t need taking care of.” He patted her hand. “You can stay as long as you like. As a guest, though. Not as my nurse.”

“I didn’t take a week off work to sit around and be a burden. I can clean. Or keep you company while you’re cooped up in this bed.” She almost laughed at the concerned lines rippling across his forehead—as if she were the one who had a heart attack instead of him. “Plus, it’ll give me an excuse to slow down.” And figure out how to approach Robin.

“I won’t argue with you there. But the last thing I need is another person around here mollycoddling me. Evan does enough of it.”

“Well, Evan won’t have to worry about that anymore. He can leave it up to me. It’ll give him more time to spend at home. With his family.”

Dan frowned. “Bethany, this is his home.”

“What do you mean?”

“Evan’s lived here for the past five years.”

 

CHAPTER THREE

Bethany pulled the quilt over her head and turned toward the wall, away from the shafts of sunlight filtering through the blinds. She hadn’t gone to bed until late. Very late. Earlier in the evening, Evan had cooked dinner. After the awkward meal, she’d spent her time with Dan, sitting in the worn-out recliner next to his bed, first talking, then watching black-and-white sitcoms he’d recorded over the years. I Love Lucy. Leave It to Beaver. The Andy Griffith Show. The box of tapes Evan fished from the cellar turned out to be the only thing that convinced her grandfather to stay in bed for the evening.

Although he fell asleep early, Bethany stayed curled up in the chair, staring at the screen, letting her mind take a much-needed respite from its constant motion. Until early turned to late, and late turned to the depths of night, when she could no longer resist the bed she lay in now. If Evan thought she was weird for watching five Andy Griffith episodes in a row, she really didn’t care.

She brought the covers to her shoulders and stretched. The kind of stretch that arched her back and brought her toes over the edge of the bed. She wanted to stay there, in that room. Outside was Peaks and everything that came with it. Her mother. Small-town gossip. Her looming visit with Robin. Inside was comfort. Peace. A calming familiarity.

A faint tapping filtered through the bedroom walls, creeping through the peaceful aura she’d cultivated upon waking. Bethany yawned and burrowed beneath the quilt. She let the heavy fabric encapsulate her in darkness and pretended she hadn’t heard the noise. But the knocking grew louder. More insistent. She snaked her arm toward her cell phone and peeked at the time. 10:00.

She swung her feet over the side of the bed, curled her toes against the cold floor, and rummaged through her suitcase, taking out a cashmere sweater and her favorite pair of Calvin Kleins. She dressed, pulled her hair back into a neat ponytail, and rinsed her face and mouth before tiptoeing down the steps. By the time she reached the door, the knocks had grown desperate. Wrapping one arm across her waist, she grabbed the handle and pulled.

Bethany hadn’t seen her mother in two years, and suddenly there she stood. On Grandpa Dan’s front porch, of all places. The color drained from Mom’s face. Her hand fluttered to her hat, her throat, then rested awkwardly by her side. “So it’s true. You’re in town.”

A groan took shape deep inside Bethany’s chest, but she clamped her mouth to prevent the sound from escaping and moved out of the doorway. She hadn’t been in town for twenty-four hours, and somehow Mom already knew she was here. And why should this surprise her? Perhaps ten years elsewhere had clouded her memory, but this was Peaks. There would be no hiding.

Mom hesitated before stepping inside, like the place had ghosts. “When were you going to tell me you were in town?”

Bethany kept her hand on the doorknob. “How did you know I was here?”

“Evan told me. Why aren’t you staying at home?”

“Evan? How do you know Evan?”

“He’s my mechanic.”

Bethany pointed to the floor. “I thought he worked here, on Dan’s farm.”

“He also fixes cars. Mine wouldn’t start this morning, so he jump-started it for me.” Mom leaned forward, as if she wanted to hug Bethany but wasn’t sure how to approach it. So instead, she bit her lip, her chin dimpling in several places. “He told me you were in town.”

“Mom, really, don’t take this so personally. Coming here was a last- minute decision. I was just about to call you when you knocked on the door.”

“So why don’t you come home and stay with me?”

Bethany would rather live with Dr. Nowels and his ridiculous toupee. She may have lived there for nine years, but that trailer had never been her home. “Because there’s more room here. And I want to take care of Dan.”

“He’s a grown man, Bethany. He can take care of himself.”

“He had a heart attack.”

“That’s because he’s never eaten a healthy meal a day in his life. It’s not your job to take care of him now that he’s suffering the consequences of his behavior.”

Bethany narrowed her eyes. “Did you steal those words straight from Pastor Fenton, or did you come up with that on your own?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The ‘consequences of his behavior’? Are you listening to yourself?”

“Dan’s body is a temple for the Lord, and all he ever eats is bacon and dough—”

“How would you know? You’ve barely spoken with him since I was nine.”

Mom’s spine stretched out in slow motion until she stood at least an inch taller. “I hardly think his eating habits have changed over the years.”

“So Dan’s just getting what he deserves? Like father, like son, is that it?”

“Your father was a good man.”

Bethany tilted her head back and laughed, zapping all traces of pigmentation from her mother’s face. “Absence really does make the heart grow fonder.”

“I loved your father.”

“You can keep saying that, but it’s not going to change anything.”

Mom twisted her hat. “What happened to him was not my fault.”

“Of course not. It was his fault, remember? He was suffering from the consequences of his behavior.” She put air quotes around her mother’s convenient phrase. “Did you and Fenton ever figure out what he did wrong?”

“Pastor Fenton was trying to help. That’s all he’s ever wanted to do.”

The edges of Bethany’s vision blurred. “Trying to help?”

“You don’t see it because your grandfather poisoned you against him.”

Her temper snapped. This was exactly why she left. Exactly why she couldn’t handle her mother. She would not stand in Dan’s foyer—in the house that should have been her father’s—and listen to Mom defend the man whose lies had torn apart her family. She yanked the door open. “Thanks for stopping by. But I can’t talk to you about this, Mom. I never could.”

* * *

A headache gathered in Bethany’s temples as she scrubbed the dish, working hard to scrape off the crusted oatmeal stuck to the sides of the bowl. No amount of scouring would wash away her mother’s words. She paused and looked out the kitchen window. Evan’s Bronco pulled down the long drive and parked next to her car. When he entered, she kept her back to him and focused on the hot water splashing against the bowl.

“Morning.” His one-word greeting sounded gruff, like he needed to clear his throat.

She shut off the water and set her hands on either side of the sink. “Good morning.” As soon as she gathered the nerve, she’d turn around and teach him a lesson in minding his own business. He had no right telling her mother she was in town.

He stomped around behind her, his boots squeaking on the linoleum, his keys hitting the counter. The refrigerator door opened and shut, something cracked open, and by the time Bethany spun around, Evan had tracked a trail of soggy snow through the kitchen she’d just cleaned.

She followed the mess into the living room where he sat with his head in his hands, a can of Pepsi in front of him on the coffee table.

“Why did you tell my mother I was in town?”

He ran his fingers through thick hair but didn’t respond.

“Did you hear me?”

He looked up from his hands, startled, as if seeing her for the first time. Somehow, his bloodshot eyes were worse today than they were yesterday.

“What?”

The anger she’d nursed since kicking her mother off Dan’s porch lost some of its steam. Did this guy have a drinking problem? “I wanted to know why you told my mom I was in town.”

He leaned into the cushion and dragged both hands down his face.

She stared, waiting, two seconds away from tapping her foot. And the longer she waited, the more time she had to replay the conversation with her mother. About Dan. Her father. Pastor Fenton. If a person wanted to believe in God, fine. But the minute the person used those beliefs to attack someone Bethany loved was the minute it stopped being okay. Her anger returned, in need of a target, and Evan just sat there, ignoring her. Like he had no intention of responding.

“Are you going to answer my question?”

“I mentioned your name because you’re her daughter. I thought Ruth knew you were in town. And it was something to talk about. By the time I realized my mistake, it was too late.” He studied her for a stretched-out moment. “It’s pretty normal to tell your parents when you come in town, you know.”

“My relationship with my mother is none of your business. You shouldn’t have said anything.” She grabbed a coaster from the end table and placed it under Evan’s pop can, more to escape his glowering stare than from any real concern about ruining the coffee table. She didn’t know why he was glowering. She wasn’t the one who’d done something wrong here. She snatched the afghan from the corner of the couch and shook it out. “She was upset this morning, and because of you, I had to deal with her.”

The springs in the couch squeaked. “Wow.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said, wow.”

She turned around and startled. Evan stood directly behind her— much too close—and underneath all that stubble, his face was ridiculously symmetrical.

“So sorry to inconvenience you,” he said.

Her pulse fluttered against her neck. She took a step back and covered the silly reaction with her hand.

“I have a lot on my mind.” It seemed like he wanted to say something more, like he might elaborate on whatever it was she didn’t understand or was supposedly doing wrong, but before he could, the front door opened and a gust of cold air swept through the room.

Dan wiped the slush and mud onto the welcome mat on the porch, saw the pair of them, and smiled.

“Where’ve you been?” Bethany’s question came out harsher than she’d intended.

“Fixing the tractor.” He stepped inside, rubbing his hands together. “It’s chillier than I thought out there. Going to be a long winter, I think.” He looked from Bethany to Evan, his smile stretching wider. “You two getting better acquainted?”

If that’s what he wanted to call it.

Dan came over and sat in the recliner, groaning as he sunk into the cushion. “Thanks to you two, I’m as stiff as a board. This old body isn’t meant to stay indoors.”

Neither of them responded.

“Any news?” Dan addressed his question to Evan.

Evan returned to the couch, leaving Bethany stranded in the middle of the living room. If she wanted to sit, the only spot available was next to him. She took the seat and brought the bundled afghan onto her lap, her stiff posture identical to her mother’s. Back straight. Fingers digging into the tops of her thighs. Only this wasn’t church. This used to be her haven. And Evan’s presence was throwing everything out of whack.

He shook his head. “Still the same.”

Dan’s face fell.

She searched for an excuse to get up and leave, so they could talk crops or cattle or whatever farm stuff they were discussing.

“Evan here sure knows an awful lot about you, Bethany.”

The comment snagged her attention.

Dan dug into his back pocket, pulled out a can of snuff, and started to pack it with the tap of his finger. “I told him all kinds of stories about you and Robin. The trouble the pair of you used to get into out here on the farm whenever you came to visit.”

Bethany crinkled her forehead. Why would Dan tell Evan silly stories about her and Robin? Why would Evan care?

Dan’s mouth pulled down at the corners. “So Micah’s not doing any better?” Micah. Robin’s husband. Only Dan didn’t direct the question at her. Bethany whipped her head around and stared at the man next to her.

“I just got back from the hospital.” Evan’s voice rattled. He cleared it and shook his head. “Robin doesn’t want to believe what the doctors are saying.”

She looked from one man to the other, her mind scrambling to put the pieces together.

“Are you sure the doctors are right? Isn’t there a chance?” Dan asked.

Evan stared at the carpet. “They wanted to give it some time at first. I think the doctors were hoping he’d pass on his own. “He drew in a long breath and let it back out. “His heart might be beating, but Micah’s gone. The only thing keeping him alive is the ventilator. We’re just waiting for Robin to make the decision. To send him home.”

Confusion bubbled up inside Bethany’s throat. “How do you know Robin?”

“Micah and Evan are brothers,” Dan said. “Didn’t he tell you?”

The room lurched. Puzzle pieces clicked together. Evan stared back at her, and she finally understood his cloaked animosity. Thanks to Dan, Evan knew she and Robin had been best friends. And thanks to her, Evan knew she hadn’t asked about Robin or her husband once since her arrival.

Guilt and shame rippled through her. Robin’s husband was in the hospital, supposedly not going to recover, and she was getting bent out of shape about an argument with her mother. She almost bit her lip. Almost. But she refused to turn into Mom at a time like this.

“We’re going over to see her this evening. Her dad left this morning. He had to get back to Ohio. So this is her first night alone.”

Bethany grabbed the armrest of the sofa and forced herself to think clearly. As much as her stomach twisted at the thought of seeing Robin again, she would have to visit her eventually. She came back to Peaks for Dan. But she came back for Robin too. Evan presented her with the perfect opportunity. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to come with you,” she said.

His head snapped up. “What?”

“I want to come with you when you go visit her.”

“You’re kidding.”

“That wouldn’t be a very funny joke.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why do you want to see Robin? You haven’t spoken in years.”

The incredulous look on his face sparked something inside her chest. “One of the reasons I’m back is because of Robin.”

“Give me a break. You came back because of you.”

His accusation hit too close for comfort. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know enough.”

She jutted her chin.

Dan came to the edge of his recliner, trailing bits of chaw onto the carpet.

Evan clamped his hands over his knees. “Look. Robin doesn’t need to deal with you or your little high school reunion right now. Not on top of everything else.”

“She won’t have to deal with me. I came to offer my condolences. She was my best friend—”

“So where have you been for the past ten years?”

His question stole all her air.

“I’m sure my brother’s collapse and Dan’s heart attack put a real crimp in your plans—”

Dan stood and held out his hands. “Now, just stop right there. The both of you.” He stepped forward. “Evan, I know you’re exhausted and upset about your brother. But I won’t have you two fighting like this in my living room.”

Evan melted into the couch, his shoulders slumped, and examined Bethany with tired eyes. “Can’t you take care of Dan for the week and leave it at that?”

His posture doused the fire raging in her chest, calming it to smoldering embers. Evan and Micah were brothers. How Would she feel if the person in the hospital was David? She shuddered at the thought—at the very real possibility.

Still, she came back to Peaks to offer her sympathy. She wasn’t going to get this far just to turn around and send Robin the card she bought last week. Evan might not trust her motives, but that didn’t mean he had the right to tell her what to do. “I have to visit her. If you don’t want me to come with you tonight, then I’ll find another time.”

He leaned his head against the cushions and stared at the ceiling. By the time he looked at her, his face was stretched and white. “I guess there’s nothing I can do, then.”

She met his stare. “I guess not.”

 

CHAPTER FOUR

Evan swung the ax, taking all his frustration out on the hunk of ice covering the water tank. With the heater busted, the cattle couldn’t drink. So he chopped away, hoping his aching muscles might distract him from his grief. He wound up and took another swing. The frozen block cracked and broke away. If only his pain would do the same.

He dragged his gloved hand across his forehead, wiping at the sweat beading above his brow. Searching for something else to swing at, he found a stack of logs next to the machinery shed and began splitting wood, trying hard to block out the image of his brother, a warm corpse surrounded by tubes and beeping monitors. And the image of Robin, knees tucked to her body as she sat watching Micah’s chest rise and fall with superficial life.

Gripping the handle, he raised the ax over his head and brought it down with all his might. The log splintered and popped apart. He was angry—the same kind of angry he felt in high school after a car accident stole the life of his friend. He could feel the familiar emotion expanding inside him now, poking around for an outlet. But this time he was fourteen years wiser.

And this wiser version of himself understood that death was like winter. Micah had better things waiting for him. An eternity of spring—new life. Evan knew all this in his head. His heart, however, was having a harder time with things. Life without one of his brothers didn’t make any sense. He swung the ax into the chopping block. The sharpened blade stuck in the wood.

He needed to put a blanket over Storm, Dan’s old mare, and get cleaned up before he went to Robin’s. As he walked toward the paddock, his mind wandered to Dan’s granddaughter, who apparently would be accompanying him.

Yesterday, Bethany stood on the front porch like a piece of glass pretending to be steel, hiding behind a designer coat and an expensive car. At first glance it was impossible to dislike something so unknowingly fragile, but his amusement turned sour over the course of the evening.

She hadn’t asked about Robin or his brother. Not once.

He walked into the horse barn, frozen dirt and hay crunching beneath his boots, and stopped. Bethany stood inside, lost somewhere in Dan’s over-sized parka, her chestnut hair pulled back from her face, her brown eyes wide, as if she’d been caught with a gun in her hand instead of a horse brush.

She brought the brush down to her side. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

Faint patches of red stained her cheeks. She tucked her bottom lip beneath her teeth but released it just as suddenly, like she’d made some sort of mistake. Like biting her lip was a completely inappropriate thing to do.

He cocked his head. Bethany didn’t strike him as the type who’d venture out in the cold to brush a horse. Come to think of it, she didn’t strike him as the type who’d venture out in any weather to brush a horse. He came closer and patted Storm’s Shoulder. “This gal likes the attention, I’m sure.”

Bethany stepped back just a little. “I used to ride her when I was a girl.”

Evan tried to picture it, but he had a hard time.

“You look like you don’t believe me,” she said.

“It’s not easy to imagine.”

“Why not?”

He glanced at her brand-name boots. “You don’t strike me as the farm- girl type.”

“I’m not.” She picked at the bristles, took another subtle step backward— the tiniest of shifts—and scanned the rafters, the strangest look passing across her face. Something soft and nostalgic. “At least not anymore.”

He wondered what she might be thinking, but before he could ask, the look disappeared. “What time are we going to Robin’s?” she asked.

“In an hour.”

“I can follow you over.”

“And get your car dirty?” Her eyes flashed.

He scolded himself for his rudeness. Whatever Bethany’s history with Dan and Robin, he had no right to make her his scapegoat. She wasn’t the one he was angry with. Not really. He walked into the tack room, grabbed one of the heavy blankets off a shelf, and draped it over Storm’s back. “We’re both going to the same place. There’s no reason we can’t drive together.”

She studied the ground, as if an excuse hid somewhere in the straw by Storm’s feet. When it was obvious she couldn’t find it, she ran her manicured hand down the length of the horse’s neck and left the barn.

Evan squinted after her, his muscles no longer knotted with anger.

* * *

Bethany reached for the door of Evan’s Bronco, but he beat her to it. He swung it open and swept his hand toward the inside, as if she were not capable of pulling on a handle and letting herself into his car. She climbed onto the passenger seat, her shoe knocking a crushed Pepsi can. Cold vinyl rubbed against her palms, then the underside of her thighs, as she scooted into place and brought the seat belt across her chest.

Evan’s door slammed shut. As soon as he started the car, music blasted from the speakers—an awful twang that scraped against her eardrums. She clenched her fingers and pressed her hands into her lap, frowning at the silver cross dangling from his rearview mirror.

“What? You don’t like Kenny Chesney?”

“Bleeding hearts and sexy tractors? No, thank you.”

Evan kept his left hand on the wheel and used the other to fish something from beneath

his seat. His hand reappeared holding a bulky CD case. He plunked it on her lap. “You pick something, then.”

She blinked at the gift. Somehow, she doubted she’d find anything that interested her.

“I promise they won’t bite.”

Scowling, she flipped open the case and rummaged through the CD jackets. By the time she reached the end, he was driving on a blacktopped road, the gravel no longer pinging against the car, her initial suspicions confirmed. “They’re all country.”

“So?”

“I don’t like country.”

He jabbed the Eject button and flipped his Kenny Chesney CD onto the case.

Silence filled the car. She pivoted in her seat and stared at the darkening landscape blurring past her window. Dirty gray snowdrifts covering muted brown fields. Why would anybody choose to live here? She fingered the case on her lap.

Robin had.

And now, after ten years, all that separated her from her former best friend was a short drive in Evan’s Bronco. She’d tagged along, determined to check this task off her to-do list, but now, bouncing in his passenger seat, about to face Robin, a cross dangling in front of her face… The irony was hard to miss.

She set the CD case on the floor while Evan pulled to a stop and turned onto Peaks’ thoroughfare—a two-lane road that knew nothing of stoplight. After her long absence, she expected something to look different. Perhaps a new restaurant or updated storefronts. But no. Nothing had changed. The same multicolored Christmas Lights wrapped around the same frostbitten trees growing up on both sides of the same boring street. Even the gaudy, light-up Santa waving from the lawn of Arton’s Jewelry Store was the same. The town wallowed in its sameness. Yet Bethany couldn’t be more different. Neither could her relationship with Robin.

She fiddled with the window button on her armrest, and the question she should have asked a long time ago tumbled from her lips. “How’s Robin doing?”

“Not good.”

The sudden desire to know everything, as if these morsels of information might arm her with the right words, welled up inside her. “You told Dan there’s no chance Micah would recover.”

“It’s been a week. Nothing’s changed.”

“And now you want Robin to take him off the ventilator?”

A muscle in Evan’s jaw pulsed. “He’d want to go home.”

“That’s the second time you’ve said that. What do you mean, ‘go home’?”

“Heaven.”

She huffed.

“You don’t believe in heaven?”

“If I believed in heaven, then I’d have to believe in hell.” She crossed her arms to ward off the chill. “I’d rather pass.”

Oncoming headlights spilled inside the car, bringing Evan’s face out of shadow. He looked at her, his eyes probing in a way that made her squirm.

“Sorry if I offended you,” Bethany said.

“No offense taken.”

“No?”

“It’s a valid concern. You’re not the only one to struggle with it.”

She studied his profile, trying to catch him in the lie, but his expression held nothing but honesty. The whole exchange tied her thoughts in knots. Threw her off balance. She scrambled to regain her equilibrium while Evan pulled into a cul-de-sac lined with two-story brick houses surrounded by manicured lawns. He stopped in front of one that was no different than the others and turned off the ignition.

They were here? Already?

Bethany squeezed the tops of her knees and closed her eyes, refusing to let panic swallow her. She could do this. A hug. Apat on the back. An empty promise to be there if Robin needed her, then melt into the background while Evan and his family held Robin’s hand. By tomorrow morning this would all be behind her.

Despite her internal pep talk, a shiver started at the base of her spine and took hold of her jaw. Her teeth chattered, tapping an indiscernible SOS that wouldn’t stop.

“Are you all right?”

A layer of sweat broke out over Bethany’s palms. She was really here. Not more than thirty feet from Robin’s front stoop. She tried to swallow, but the muscles in her throat wouldn’t cooperate.

Evan was talking. The muffled sound of his voice found her ears, but she couldn’t make out any of his words. What if this was a horrible mistake? What if Robin slammed the door in her face? What if she couldn’t think of anything to say? She inhaled, grasping at the composure seeping out her pores, and searched for the professional Bethany. The one who made goals and accomplish them. Because that’s all this was. Something to accomplish so she could go back to Chicago with no more distractions. Sure, she felt terrible for Robin, but there wasn’t anything she could do. So she’d perform the social niceties. A hug. A pat. And then she’d get out of there.

In and out.

The muffled sound of Evan’s voice stopped. He reached for his door handle. The motion sent her paralyzed synapses into fast-forward. She unclasped her seat belt and hopped out before he had the chance to open the door for her again. With her chin tucked to her chest and hands shoved deep inside her coat pockets, she hurried to the front door, a cruel wind whipping strands of hair around her face. Evan climbed the stoop and knocked while Bethany’s heart bruised her chest.

The porch light flicked on. She blinked against the flood of brightness. A lock unlatched from the other side. The door opened. Evan wrapped Robin in a hug and stepped to the side, no longer a barricade between them.

Robin’s fingertips flew to her mouth. Her eyes widened.

And Bethany’s plan? Her goal to get in and get out? Vanished. Disappearing among the million unsaid words exchanged in the brief seconds of Robin’s confusion. And behind the confusion? Pain. A haunting sorrow that filled her eyes. Bethany’s heart twisted, then rent down the seam. Her friend—her soul mate for so many years—looked like nothing more than a heap of grief, her haunted eyes two hollowed-out pits of despair.

Robin closed her mouth. Her chin gave the smallest of quivers. Her shoulders twitched, then heaved. Evan held up his hand, as if to grab her elbow, but Bethany stepped past him, past her hesitancy, and reached Robin before he had the chance. And as Robin crumpled beneath the weight of her tears, Bethany gathered up the broken pieces of her friend’s worn-out soul and pressed them against her body.

 

CHAPTER FIVE

Robin couldn’t have come into my life at a better time. The thing about living in Peaks, Iowa, population 1,539, according to the green sign on Jorner’s Corner, is that people talk. And anything remotely out of the ordinary drove the citizens of Peaks to a gossiping frenzy. When I decided to swim to the bottom of that pool, there were worse repercussions than watching Dr. Nowell scratch mysterious notes on his clipboard for sixty minutes each week.

My actions hurled me into an unwanted spotlight. The whispers followed me around every street corner. I came to expect those not-so-discreet, over-the-shoulder glances whenever I passed by a mother or a kid or—worst of all—an old lady. I say the worst because they were the ones who would follow up their glances with words. Like, “Hey, aren’t you Bethany Quinn? How could you do that to your poor mother? Hasn’t she been through enough?”

As if either of those last two questions could be answered.

Despite my infamy, it was a very lonely time. Debbie Carter, one of my classmates, turned thirteen in the fall, and Bobby Fenway and I were the only ones in our class not invited to her party. I could understand Bobby Fenway. He wiped snot on his shirtsleeves and blew spit bubbles as he sat in the back of the classroom. But me? Debbie had invited me to her twelfth birthday party. The one where her dad rented a riverboat for the day and hired a real live band. I couldn’t understand what had changed, other than the swimming pool fiasco.

My subconscious mind must have realized the significance of meeting Robin. Because the day we met became a snapshot I could forever pluck from my head and examine in detail. I remember everything about it.

As I stepped outside our trailer, ice and rock crunched under my boots and the frozen air turned the ends of my damp hair to icicles.

Mom was working to shove a bundle of dirty laundry into the backseat of our two-door, rusted-out Pinto. She paused only long enough to scold me. “Bethany Rachel Quinn, get inside! Your hair is wet.” Mom waved her hand toward our trailer as if she could shoo me back in. “You’ll catch pneumonia,” she added, using her boot to try to push the bulky bag past the passenger seat. Even through the layers of thermal underwear, jeans, long- sleeved shirt, sweatshirt, winter coat, and scarf, my mother’s frame was slight.

A stubborn leaf clung to a barren branch of the oak tree growing in our front yard. It fluttered several times, detached, and swirled off through gray sky. I looked at my mother, and I found myself wondering if the breeze swirled in just the right way, might it pick her up and blow her away too?

I shoved my hands into the deepest recesses of my coat pockets and scurried toward her. It was Saturday. My brother David was over at a friend’s house, leaving me alone. Trapped inside. A prisoner to the cold. Whatever errands my mother had to run, I wanted to go with her.

So I stepped beside her and assisted with the pushing. It was a big bag. And the front seats no longer folded forward the way they were supposed to. With one last heave, we stuffed the laundry into the backseat.

My mother straightened, out of breath. “I thought I told you to get back inside.”

I stood my ground as wind tousled frozen bits of hair around my face. The sight must have made my mother reconsider. Maybe she thought it was safer for me to jump into the warmed-up Pinto than run all the way back into the house. “Get in,” she said, her teeth chattering.

We drove to the Laundromat first. Although neither of us talked, the drive over was far from quiet. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the whole town could hear our car. The muffler had fallen off a week prior, and every time my mom started the engine, heat would bloom across my cheeks, creep down my neck, and flush toward my chest.

When we pulled into the Laundromat parking lot and turned off the ignition, the roaring in my ears stopped, and I let out my breath.

I really hated our car.

By the time we removed the bag of laundry from the backseat, it had started to snow. Silent, white flakes that floated in place against a backdrop of gray. I stuck out my hand, collecting a few on my mitten.

“Bethany.” The voice broke through my trance. Mom stood in the doorway, the opened door propped against her back, the bundle of dirty clothes sitting at her feet. “Come on.”

A warm whoosh of air greeted me as I stepped inside. I unzipped my coat, slipped off my mittens, and ran cold fingers through my hair, separating the frozen tangles. As I followed Mom toward the two rows of machines, my boots squeak against the gray-speckled linoleum. Peaks’ Laundromat wasn’t very big and hardly ever busy. It made me think we were the only ones in town without a washer and dryer.

But not today. I took a seat in one of the plastic chairs and spotted another mother-daughter duo in the opposite corner. They were strangers.

I wiggled my toes inside my boots. They tingled and burned as I studied the unfamiliar pair. The girl seemed to be around my age. Her dark hair hung like silk curtains on either side of porcelain skin. When she looked up from the book she was reading, the pale blueness of her eyes startled me. I would have looked away. It was a defense mechanism I’d developed since the summer. People stared, and as a reflex, I turned my cheek. But her smile was so instant and so genuine, that before I could catch myself, I was smiling too.

I strained my ears as she said something to her mother, whose hair was just as black and shiny, but the rumbling of dryers blocked out the girl’s voice. Her mother nodded, and the girl walked toward me, the same smile lighting up her features.

My heart thudded against my rib cage. I wasn’t good at conversation. Especially not with strangers. And most especially not with ones who resembled glass dolls. She was the type of girl Debbie Carter would kill to have at her party. By the time she reached my side of the Laundromat, my mother and I were staring like a couple of dumb fish.

“Hi,” she said, sticking out her hand. “I’m Robin.”

I mumbled my name and shook her hand.

“We just moved to town.” She plopped down in the seat next to mine, placed her hands beneath her thighs, and moved her legs like two pendulums swinging in opposite directions. “It isn’t very big, is it?”

I caught my mother spying. She looked over her shoulder at the pair of us, running her front teeth over her bottom lip, probing me onward with her eyes.

“Didn’t you see the sign?” was all I could muster.

For some reason, Robin thought this was funny. Her laugh sounded like Tinker Bell. “My dad warned me it would be a big change. We moved from Chicago.”

Her legs continued their swinging, and I stared at her boots, very conscious of David’s hand-me-downs adorning my feet.

“It was so crowded there, and the traffic was nuts. It took us practically an hour to get to school each morning. I think living in Peaks will be a lot nicer.”

I inspected her face to catch the fib, but her expression held nothing but sincerity

“What grade are you in?” she asked.

My mind started to thaw. I was slowly remembering what it was like to carry on a conversation with somebody who didn’t hold a clipboard. “Seventh.”

Robin’s eyes danced. “Me too. I start school on Monday. I’m really nervous.”

I wondered what a girl like Robin could possibly be nervous about. The kids in my grade would flock around her, probably fight over who could claim her as best friend. Come Monday, she’d learn the difference between the cool kids and the loser kids. Sadly, I belonged in the second category. Me and Bobby Fenway. She’d figure out soon enough that I wasn’t best friend material. Girls like Debbie Carter or Daphne MacComb would invite her into their club and explain everything.

But during those twenty-five minutes, while our clothes spun in separate washers, we formed some sort of mysterious bond. She asked me questions, all kinds. And I answered them without sounding like too much of a weirdo. Our lives were polar opposites. My family was poor. Her family was rich. The only reason they were at the Laundromat was because they hadn’t had time yet to buy a washer and dryer. In fact, her dad was doing some legal work for the local Alcoa plant by the river. The same place my mother worked—but not as a lawyer.

Robin was beautiful and eloquent. I was plain and awkward. She had a dad and a mom and a bulldog named Burger. My dad was dead, and the only pets I had were the calves at my grandpa’s farm. When the washers buzzed and my mom finished stuffing our clothes into a single front-loading dryer, she plugged it with quarters, turned to me, and said, “It’s time to go run your errands now, Bethany.”

I didn’t want to go. Robin must have felt the same way because she brought her mother over and introduced her to mine. She pivoted on her heels and looked between the two mismatched women. “Do you think Bethy could stay here with us? We’ll take good care of her. Won’t we, Mom?”

It was the first time anybody had ever called me Bethy. It made my arms tingle in a funny, light sort of way.

“We would be happy to watch Bethany, Ruth.” Robin’s mom placed her manicured hands on Robin’s shoulders. “My daughter’s been worried about making friends. I’m so glad we caught you here at the Laundromat. I know this will make her first day of school so much easier.”

That first day of school worried me. I didn’t want it to come. On Monday, Robin would find out everything. My summer mistake. My friendless existence. I wanted more time with her before that. I gave Mom a pleading look. The worried expression on her face wavered, and I smiled victoriously. When Mom returned an hour later, the laundry already folded, there was nothing to do but leave. I had the sudden urge to hug Robin. For one glorious day, I’d found a friend. I knew everything would change soon. The girls would fight over her. The boys would show off. And Robin, no doubt, would forget all about our morning at the Laundromat.

Only it didn’t quite happen like that. The first part did—the part about our classmates vying for her attention. The second part, however—the part about Robin forgetting all about me—never happened. For reasons I could never understand, Robin chose me. Not popular Debbie Carter, or athletic Daphne MacComb. For whatever reason, whether it was because she found me first or took pity on me or genuinely liked me, Robin chose me. And my life was never the same.

 

CHAPTER SIX

Bethany held on to Robin until something shifted, exposing emotions she had long since buried. She scrambled to cover them up, to regain her bearings, but Robin’s muffled cries mangled her concentration. The instinct to comfort and protect her old friend dug its heels in and declared war against her desire to pull away. And all Bethany could think, the only thought running through her scattered brain, was that she should have sent the card.

She forced herself to step away. To put some distance between her present and her past. Robin pressed her knuckles against her cheeks, rubbed over the darkness circling beneath her pale blue eyes, and blinked at Bethany as if she weren’t real. “What are you doing here?”

Blood pooled in Bethany’s hands, weighing them down with a heat that clashed against the frigid temperature. Robin had just asked the million- dollar question. The question Bethany couldn’t answer herself. “I—I wanted to…”

To what? Offer support? Get rid of this self-imposed obligation that fermented in her gut so she could move on with her life? She could feel Evan staring, as if he was just as curious to hear Bethany’s answer as Robin was. “I heard what happened.”

Evan placed his hand beneath Robin’s elbow and led her inside. Bethany followed and shut the door. The sudden warmth stung her ears. She stood on the rug while Evan sat Robin down on the couch.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, and with no explanation, he slipped off his shoes and disappeared down the hall, leaving a hulking silence in his wake. It stood in the center of the room like an uninvited dinner guest.

Bethany took off her hat and eyed the unlit Christmas tree situated in front of a picture window. Two stockings dangled from the mantel of a darkened fireplace. Holly and red-velvet bows wrapped around the banister leading up the wide stairs. All of it worked together to paint a depressing picture—not one of holiday cheer but of mocking joy. The holidays were a horrible time for tragedy.

“You look the same,” Robin finally said.

Bethany couldn’t return the compliment, if that’s what it was. Whether Robin had aged in the past week, or over the course often years, she didn’t know, but her once luminous friend had lost all her sparkle.

“I can’t believe it’s been ten years.” Robin’s voice cracked on the last word.

Bethany pushed away her descending guilt and focused on doing what she’d come to do. “I’m sorry about your husband.” The empty words sounded lame…not enough.

“I don’t know what to do. Especially now that…” Robin clasped her hands in her lap, fresh tears gathering in her eyes.

Bethany took a tentative step forward, but before Robin could continue, the front door opened. Four people slipped inside and shut out the cold. A tall gentleman with somber eyes. A young woman, with hair the color of Evan’s swept into a high ponytail. And an older couple—tan, considering the season—carrying a foil-covered dish. Bethany pressed herself against the wall as the foursome swooped down on Robin.

When the embracing ended, the older woman turned toward Bethany and held out a trembling hand. “I’m Loraine. Micah’s mother.”

“I’m Bethany Quinn…” Robin’s friend? Was that even true anymore? Unlike Loraine, she had no identifier. No reason for being there, partaking in this family’s grief.

“Robin talks about you sometimes. You two were friends?” Loraine dabbed at her eyes and placed the dish on top of the coffee table.

Bethany looked at her old friend, sitting with arms wrapped around her shins, lost in a world of grief. “Yes, we were.”

“I brought lasagna,” Loraine said. “I know we don’t feel like it. But we should eat.”

Bethany tugged at the collar of her shirt, which suddenly felt too tight. “Could you please direct me to the restroom?”

The younger woman pointed past the living room. “It’s just past the stairwell, on your left.” She placed her hand on her chest. “I’m Amanda. Micah’s sister.”

Bethany forced a polite smile, then hurried from the room, scrambling for air. Surely some oxygen and distance would push away the crowd of emotions pressing against her. She rounded the corner to the sound of a flushing toilet and stopped.

The door opened and light swept across the carpet. Evan stepped into its spotlight and stared at her, his eyes puffy.

She stared back, unsure what to say.

“That’s the first time I’ve seen her cry since Micah collapsed.” His words floated toward the ceiling, eliciting a compassion Bethany couldn’t afford to feel.

She pushed up her sleeves. Wondered if Robin had accidentally set her thermostat to ninety.

“Is my family here?”

She nodded.

Evan stepped past her, and Bethany lunged into the bathroom as if clarity might be hiding behind the toilet.

When she came out, the family had gathered in the kitchen, plates of untouched lasagna set in front of them. Lorraine spotted her in the doorway. “I prepared a plate for you,” she said, motioning to the empty seat between Robin and Evan.

Bethany tried to smile her thanks, but the gesture felt much too stiff. She shouldn’t have let Evan talk her into driving together. If she had her own car, she could give Robin one last hug and excuse herself. She didn’t belong here. But her car was at the farm. And they were all staring. So she sat in the empty spot as everyone around the table took hands and bowed their heads.

All the moisture in her mouth evaporated. They were going to thank God? Now? With Micah in the hospital, lying like a vegetable? Before she could put her hands in her lap, Evan grabbed one and Robin took her other—fire and ice. Blood whooshed past her ears. She pressed her lips together while Evan’s father finished the blessing.

He barely said his amen before Evan released her hand and reached for his water.

Silverware clinked.

Bethany forced herself to take a few bites.

Amanda pushed the steamy meal around her plate. “Is Gavin coming?”

“He’s not feeling well,” Loraine said.

Robin shoved her plate away, porcelain scraping against the wood table. She brought her hand over her stomach as if she might be sick, stood, swayed, then sat back down. Evan’s family shifted forward.

Bethany wanted to tell them to back off. To give her some air.

“I’m sorry.” Robin’s voice cracked. She looked up from her plate and faced Loraine. “I’m sorry for putting you through this. I’ll do it tomorrow. In the morning.”

Loraine covered her mouth with one hand and squeezed Robin’s with the other and melted into her husband’s waiting arms. Bethany studied Evan from the corner of her eye, but she couldn’t read his expression. He was losing a brother, and she had no idea how he felt about it. All she knew was that if the man in that hospital bed were David, she’d be wrecked.

“Bethany.”

Her skin prickled. Somehow, within the confines of her whispered name, Bethany knew what Robin wanted. Only she didn’t want to give it. Coming over to Robin’s house and offering condolences was one thing. Holding Robin’s hand while she took her husband off life support was another.

“Can you come?” Robin’s voice pitched and creaked—like the old stair- case in Dan’s farmhouse.

She wanted to tell Robin no. She wanted to tell her that too much had changed. That it wasn’t her place anymore. But the words fell away.

* * *

Dan greeted Bethany as soon as she stepped through the door of the farm- house, and for whatever reason, he wore his coat. She took in his attire and raised her eyebrows, but any questions she had about his plans fizzled before they could reach her lips. She slumped her shoulders, purse dangling by her side like a fifty-pound dumbbell. Evan came inside behind her. Dan shrugged off his coat while Bethany shuffled to the recliner and plopped down. She rested her head against the worn cushion and stared at the dusty mantel over the fireplace. Why had she agreed to go to the hospital with Robin? What had she been thinking?

Their reunion had formed a string—however thin—encircling Bethany’s heart and attaching to Robin’s. Bethany didn’t want that string. It tied her to Peaks. It tied her to everything she wanted to forget. She suddenly craved the coziness of her Chicago loft. A glass of the Merlot Dominic bought for Thanksgiving. The smooth, crisp feel of her arm sliding across paper as she sketched on the drafting board by her apartment window, the city pulsing beneath her.

Bethany sighed and kicked off her shoes. Despite their differences now, despite the distance between them, she could not dismiss the connection she and Robin had once shared. Robin had helped Bethany get through her Tuesday meetings with Dr. Nowels. Robin had helped her laugh off Pastor Fenton. Robin had convinced Bethany that everything he said, all the hog-wash he spoon-fed her mother, was nothing but lies. She assured Bethany that her father was dead—not burning for eternity in a pit of fire.

Robin had made life clear. She’d helped Bethany draw a line—with them on one side and Pastor Fenton and everything he stood for on the other. Bethany always assumed that line had been carved in stone, not drawn in sand. But that was before Robin decided to stay in Peaks and attend St. Ambrose University. That was before Robin met Micah Price, a handsome junior in her psychology class, from a town not more than fifteen minutes away. That was before Robin sent Bethany the e-mail—the one about Christ and forgiveness and salvation.

When Bethany read it, the words peeled back the bandages covering her past, exposing wounds still raw to the touch—wounds she’d endured at the hands of people who talked about Christ and forgiveness and salvation. Bethany’s only friend, her biggest ally, her sole confidante—the only person she had ever told the entire truth to—had switched sides. Robin had hopped over to Fenton’s. And their promises to remain best friends for life fell away. Those promises no longer mattered. Not when the rules had changed. Not when their lives were headed in such opposite directions.

Bethany inhaled and held the breath captive. She would be there for Robin tomorrow—but that was it. That was as far as she would go. Bethany would hold her hand. She would help her say good-bye. She would spend some more time with Dan. And then she’d head straight back to Chicago. She opened her mouth and let her breath run away, her shoulders relaxing with its escape.

“Has Robin made a decision?” Dan asked, hanging his coat on a hook.

Bethany pulled her gaze from the mantel and peeked at Evan, still by the doorway.

“She asked us to come to the hospital tomorrow. To say good-bye,” Evan said.

“How are you holding up?”

Evan shrugged.

Dan patted his shoulder and let his hand drop away. He flipped on the nine o’clock news and sank onto the sofa. Evan did the same. Bethany got up from the recliner and forced a yawn. She kissed Dan on the cheek and moved toward the stairs.

When she reached the first step, a familiar name sounded from the television, and her foot paused. She turned toward the screen. Pastor Fenton stared back at her, his chest broad, his posture straight, ready to speak into a microphone held by a reporter.

“So tell us, what does ‘Project MAC’ stand for?” the reporter asked, her gloved hand tucking strands of windblown hair behind her ear.

The duo stood in front of First Light, the church Bethany had been forced to attend as a child. “Make A Change. It’s a ministry I started to encourage the youth to reach out to the community and make a difference.”

The sight of him on that television screen dragged Bethany into her childhood. She tried to fight her way to the present, but Fenton’s stare pinned her to the stiff wooden pew of First Light’s sanctuary.

Bethany had loathed going to church on Sundays, especially after her incident at the swimming pool. Fenton would often find Bethany during the climax of his sermon, singling her out with a glare, as if she needed to listen harder than everyone else. When the service ended, Mom would stay behind. Which meant Bethany and David had to stay too.

Her fingernails would dig crescents into her palms, dreading the moment when Fenton would approach their still forms sitting in the empty pews. During those moments, while he walked toward them, her muscles would turn into tightly wound coils, ready to spring at the slightest touch. Her mother must have known, because she never touched her.

Pastor Fenton would talk in urgent yet hushed tones two pews ahead while David folded the bulletin into a paper airplane and Bethany looked down at her worn-out Keds. When they finished, she’d follow Mom out the arched doorway while Pastor Fenton’s stare trailed her down the aisle. Her mother tried and failed numerous times to convince Bethany to talk to him about what she had done. Whenever Bethany mustered up the courage to glance over her shoulder, the look on Pastor Fenton’s face told her all she needed to know. He didn’t want to talk to her any more than she wanted to talk to him.

“Oh, good grief.” Dan’s voice broke through her thoughts. She grabbed hold of his words and pulled herself free from the memories. “What a load of horse manure.”

Bethany returned her attention to the lit-up television screen.

“We’ve heard about the free basketball camp run by Peaks’ star athletes, Hank and Joe Tipton,” the reporter said. “We’ve also heard about the tutoring service started by some of Peaks’ high school students. What other ways do you encourage the youth to make a change?”

Fenton smiled.

Bethany squeezed the top of the banister.

“To be honest, the ministry has outgrown me. These kids are coming up with all sorts of things. From cleaning up trash by the Mississippi River to volunteering at the local children’s hospital.” His brown eyes sparkled. “The attendance at First Light has increased steadily ever since the ministry began. We’re getting attendees from Albine and even some from across the river. People are curious. They want to know what we’re all about.”

The reporter tucked more hair behind her ear. “In a time of economic strife, I’m sure people appreciate a helping hand. It sounds like you’re experiencing the aftereffects of the community’s appreciation.”

Fenton nodded. “We’ve seen the blessings God has poured out on our church since I started this ministry. It just goes to show, God will always bless the righteous.”

“Thanks for your time, Pastor Fenton.” The reporter turned to address the camera, holding the microphone beneath her mouth. “The mayor of Peaks will be honoring Pastor Fenton for his service to the community at Peaks’ annual New Year’s Eve ball. So if you’d like to meet the man behind the ministry, mark it on your calendars.”

The screen panned to the newsroom, where two unfamiliar anchormen sat behind a desk. Bethany’s eyes lost focus. Pastor Fenton’s words swept through her body, uncovering memories she didn’t want uncovered.

God will always bless the righteous.

Maybe his words sounded good, but the layers beneath them dripped with unsaid meaning. She’d witnessed the damage those words had inflicted on her father.

Bethany released her hold on the railing and slogged up the stairs. She knew a sign when she saw one. Peaks was honoring Pastor Fenton. The Universe wasn’t just telling her to leave. It was using a bullhorn.

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