My Hope Next Door (16 page)

CHAPTER 29

A
ttending Fairfield Fellowship had been terrifying that first Sunday, but nothing compared to the dread churning in Katie’s stomach when Asher parked outside his childhood home. The small one-story brick house with hedges, bright flowers, and two large trees was located in the center of the Whispering Pines neighborhood and only four miles from the church.

Katie had passed the sign to this neighborhood plenty of times but had never actually turned in. It was filled with middle-class family homes, families with two point four kids and smiles and happiness. These were the families she used to detest, mostly because she envied that kind of stability. And Asher’s had been one of them.

“You ready?” he asked when she didn’t move.

“How many people will actually be here?”

“Probably twelve to fifteen. Mom always invites the deacon of the week and his family, any new couples that come to church, and whoever else she thinks needs a home-cooked meal.”

“Your mother is a saint.”

“Yes she is. Although she’d correct you pretty quick if you ever said that to her.”

He opened his door, but Katie stayed as if glued to the leather. “I can’t go in there.”

“Try it for ten minutes. If you feel uncomfortable, we’ll leave.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“Okay.” Katie found a way to make her body move. Found the strength to open and shut the car door and even enough courage to walk around the vehicle and go stand by Asher.

He offered a hand, but she only stared at it. “I don’t want them to get the wrong impression.”

“What impression would that be?”

“That we’re more than friends.”

“We
are
more than friends.”

“I’m not ready for everyone to know that yet. I’m barely used to the idea myself.”

Asher tucked his hand into his pocket. “Right.” She sensed frustration in his tone but wouldn’t let herself feel bad. She had way too many complications in her life already.

They started down the sidewalk, having to duck under a low-hanging branch to get to the front door.

“I need to trim that tree one day. I keep forgetting,” he muttered, cutting the now weighted silence.

The door opened before he could grab the knob, and suddenly his five-foot-nothing mother stood in front of them. Her graying blonde hair was sprayed firmly in place, while splotches of red sauce marred her
Best Cook in the South
apron.

“Hi! Come in, come in.” She moved out of the way and let Asher and Katie through the door.

Asher kissed his mother on the cheek, then peeked into the kitchen. “Where is everyone?”

“I decided to just keep it small today.” She smiled at Katie. “Crowds can be overwhelming.”

There was a flash of emotion in Asher’s eyes. “Thanks, Mom.”

She reached out and squeezed his hand, her eyes glassy. “I heard about your phone call.”

Katie’s interest piqued. Asher hadn’t said a word to her about any call.

He shrugged. “It was past time.”

“I’m still very proud.” Mrs. Powell released him and waved a hand in front of her face as if the motion would make her tears retreat. “Well, show Katie around. I’m just going to get the food set out so we’ll be ready when your father gets here.” She disappeared through the door.

“That must have been some phone call, to make your mom almost burst into tears,” Katie said.

“Actually, it doesn’t take much. A good TV commercial, a hug from a little kid, or a kind word, and my mom is Niagara Falls.”

“Is that your way of telling me it’s none of my business?”

He took her hand. “No. Although it is something I’d rather share with my girlfriend and not just some cute neighbor.”

“Point taken.” She focused on her feet. As much as she wished she could rush unashamedly forward with their relationship, she couldn’t shake the feeling that a guillotine hung just above her head.

Asher led her down a hallway lined with photos of him from birth to college graduation. It was a timeline of smiles sandwiched between family photos at various vacation spots. Katie recognized Disney’s Cinderella Castle, Mount Rushmore, the White House, and other landmarks.

She stopped to admire the last photo. In it, Brian and Laura Powell flanked their son and a very smiley Jillian. Beside them was a sign indicating they’d climbed Pikes Peak.

“That was taken almost two years ago.”

“You look happy.”

“I was.” There was no hidden meaning in his tone. Just matter-of-fact truth.

“I’m surprised you didn’t take her picture down.”

“Forgetting the good memories would only deepen the tragedy. At least when I looked at this photo, I could convince myself the pain was worth the journey.”

Asher stared at the snapshot in silence, and Katie wanted to reach out and touch him, to pretend she could understand his loss. But she couldn’t. There’d never been a time when she’d felt that kind of joy, not for an extended period, anyway, and never with her family. “Your life was very different than mine,” she said instead. “Same town, same school, but very, very different lives.”

He shifted, not just his attention but also the lilt of his voice. “So tell me about yours. What was it like growing up in the Stone family?”

“Cold. Unstable.” She picked at a loose thread. “When I was a kid, my mom and dad worked a lot. And when they weren’t working, they were off doing whatever it was they spent their time doing. I really don’t know. By thirteen, I pretty much took care of myself—and them, too, when they’d overdone it.” Katie remembered the shouts and the alcoholism. The threats and the multiple suitcases packed and unpacked. “When I turned fifteen, my dad quit drinking. Just cold turkey. Not sure what happened, but he stopped for a year. Then it was two beers a day and never an ounce more.”

“Did things get better at home after that?”

“Probably. But by then I was too angry and independent to care. Mom and I have never really clicked, but it got worse when I was in high school. I never officially moved out, but I can say that since graduation this summer is the longest stretch of time I’ve ever consistently stayed at my parents’ house.” Katie pointed to the picture. “Family vacations: they didn’t happen.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. You don’t miss what you never knew existed.” She took in the dated decor. The carpet was worn, and the walls needed a fresh coat of paint, but still the house exuded warmth and family.

“I took it for granted,” he admitted, leaning a shoulder against the one spot on the wall without pictures. “That vacation—the Disney one. It was a gift. I was seven and I guess I told someone my dream was to go to Disney World. We had been saving up for it at the time, but it was a slow road. Two weeks later, there was a card on my father’s desk that included our tickets and itinerary. I still don’t know who paid for it.”

“Wow.”

“I know. This past year all I’ve thought about is the negative. The downside of being in ministry. But the truth is, up until the fallout with Jillian, this church had only loved me.” A hint of regret echoed in his tone, a feeling Katie understood all too well.

She thought of Laila. “Sometimes one bad moment can destroy a lifetime of memories.”

“Yeah. But it shouldn’t.” He said the words firmly. “That’s what the phone call was about. I called Jillian’s dad.”

Katie rubbed at the goose bumps on her arm, fighting a slow creep of jealousy. “How was it?”

He barked a short laugh. “Awkward. Very, very awkward. But good. We both apologized.”

“What could you possibly have to apologize for? They’re the ones who lied and turned against you.”

“I hurt his little girl. And though Jillian isn’t absolved from blame, I can’t say that I was completely honorable in that relationship. I wasn’t.” Asher brushed his thumb across her cheek. “And with that last ghost put to rest, I can focus entirely on you.”

Her skin burned beneath his touch. Once again, he’d made her feel wholly precious. But fear soon followed. They’d been together less than a week, and the relationship had already become more serious than all her previous ones combined. “Asher . . .”

“Come on. Let’s go test your coffee-table theory.” His hands landed on her shoulders and he pushed her toward the kitchen as if he could sense her hesitancy. She welcomed the distraction.

The Powells’ kitchen was the biggest room in the house, with a large stainless-steel oven being the predominant feature. Its wide gas burners were covered with a basin of pasta, a loaf of bread, and a bubbling pot of sauce. A brown salad bowl filled with spinach leaves and vegetables sat on the island next to bottles of various salad dressings and all the paper goods and silverware.

At the other end of the room, Laura fussed with a centerpiece, lighting two votive candles. “Your father just texted. He’s on his way,” she said without stopping her task. “Katie, what would you like to drink?”

“Oh, water is fine. Thanks.”

Asher continued to push her forwa
rd, past his busy mom and into the living room. Her gaze landed on the wooden table in front of the couch.

“See? Normal.”

Katie smiled, surprised he remembered their conversation in the park. She picked up a two-inch-thick book with a picture of the Parthenon on its hardback cover.

“My dad loves architecture. Especially ancient structures that have survived for centuries.”

She ran a hand over the sleek exterior. “He designed your deck, right?”

“Yep. Every detail.”

Laura walked up behind them, wiping her hands on a towel. “Oh, good. Asher told me to set that out weeks ago. I finally remembered. Are you into design too?”

Katie raised an eyebrow while Asher found something else in the room to focus on. “Organizing, more than design. So, what was out here before?” She kept her eyes on her sneaky neighbor, holding in the laugh that pressed against her chest.

“Oh, just his father’s old Greek Bible. Nothing anyone could translate anyway.”

They heard the front door open and shut. Laura patted Katie’s shoulder. “That’s Brian. I’ll be right back.”

She waited until Asher’s mom was out of sight, then smacked him in the arm. “You are so busted! It doesn’t count if you manipulate the scene.”

Asher rubbed at the spot she’d hit, his face beaming with a smile that mirrored the one in the photograph. It sent a flush of joy through Katie to know that she, too, could make him so happy. “He already had that coffee-table book. I simply reminded them to put it out.”

“It still doesn’t count.”

“Yes, it does.” He stepped closer, his eyes challenging hers with a humor that felt both electric and sensual.

She narrowed her eyes and stepped in too. “No, it doesn’t.”

His breath fanned her face, his smirk a promise that he could do this all day. “It does.” Mint mixed with the underlying spice of his cologne seasoned the inches that separated them. The room grew hotter. She’d become too used to kissing him, because she could almost feel his lips touch hers.

A throat cleared behind her and she turned abruptly, scrambling not to drop the book in her hand.

Pastor Powell stood next to his wife, his eyes flicking between her and Asher. Katie set the book down in haste. She felt sixteen again, trapped between his cart and the exit of Marty’s drugstore, a stolen tube of lipstick in her pocket. He hadn’t said a word back then, just motioned toward the aisle she’d exited. It had worked. She’d put the stolen lipstick back. Katie may have been a troubled, cocky teen, but even she knew when to back down.

“Hi, Katie. It’s nice to see you again.”

Her trembling hand shook his. “You too, sir. Thanks for having me.” She let go as soon as she could and tried to breathe normally.

“Of course. You’re welcome here anytime.”

Silence engulfed the room.

After a beat, the pastor clapped his hands. “Well, I’m starved. Let’s eat.” He followed his wife back to the kitchen, chatting with her about the service and the music that morning. They filled the last of the glasses, working in the kind of unison that came from years of living together.

Hot breath tickled her ear. “You haven’t moved,” Asher whispered.

“I know.” She couldn’t seem to get past the intimidation. Pastor Powell wasn’t like Reverend Snow. The old minister had only known the changed Katie. The one who’d come to him broken, seeking answers.

But Katie felt sure Asher’s dad knew more about her sins than almost anyone.

What had she been thinking, coming here? She was that egg no one found during the annual Easter hunt. The one that made the park smell for a week. She didn’t belong inside this beautiful, pristine family with their matching Disney shirts and homemade spaghetti sauce.

And she certainly shouldn’t be dating their son.

Asher knew the minute Katie began to doubt herself. She had a “tell” he’d noticed the first night they spoke. It wasn’t her voice. She could control its sound better than anyone he knew, her words remaining silky smooth despite whatever anxiety she felt. Even her shoulders would relax as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

But her hands told a different story. They were the one part of her body she constantly fought, the Achilles’ heel of a girl who could stare down a dragon without blinking. And those hands were now clenched behind her back, trembling.