My Hope Next Door (12 page)

CHAPTER 21

F
airfield’s only coffee shop was located two buildings down from Home Wares, where Asher had just dumped a few thousand dollars on new outdoor furniture.

Furniture he’d picked out alone.

It had taken him almost a year to delete the bookmarked page of his and Jillian’s dream, but the burst of freedom that came with that simple click was confirmation that he was finally ready to move on.

Asher dumped another sugar packet into his coffee and stirred as the creamer turned the dark color a light brown. Katie had been right. He’d spent months rolling around in the agony of his mistake. Months feeding on hatred and grief. It was time to let go. Let go of the “what ifs” and the “if onlys.” It was time to allow that painful chapter to close.

A bell jingled over the door, and he glanced up.

“Hey.” Katie’s expression held as much surprise as his.

Man, she was cute. Her hair bounced around her shoulders, and her shorts fell just high enough on her thigh that he had to actively stop himself from staring at the sheer perfection that was Katie’s legs.

“Coffee after seven? I thought I was the only night owl,” he said.

The door closed behind her, and she joined him at the counter. “I was in town anyway, so I figured why not?” She eyed his pressed khaki shorts and polo. “You?”

“Picking out furniture.” He pulled the folded catalogue page from his pocket and handed it to her. “Should be here next week.”

She backed up to an empty table and stared at the glossy sheet, turning the page to examine it from different angles. “It’s exactly what I pictured.”

Asher’s chair scraped loudly on the floor as he pulled it out, causing the lone other patron to glance their way before returning to his book. “Yeah? You don’t think the fire pit is a little much?”

“Not at all. I mean, it’ll be a while before you use it, but come December you’re going to be glad it’s out there.” She carefully folded the sheet in half and handed it back to him. “You have great taste.”

“Thank you.” He stood. “What do you want? My treat.”

She pressed her lips into a mischievous smile. “Hmmmm. Well, if it’s your treat, I want the large triple espresso java latte with extra caramel.”

Asher furrowed his brow. There was no way he could recite back the description of that monumental mix of sugar and caffeine. “Say that again, slower.”

She kicked his shoe with her sandal. “I’m just kidding. A small coffee is good. I have moral issues with spending six dollars on a drink.”

“A small coffee, coming right up.”

The young girl behind the counter swiped Asher’s bank card and handed him the warm cup. He turned and watched for a moment as Katie scraped at something on the table. Her nails were unpolished, short, and chewed, but she didn’t hide them like other girls would. In fact, when he came back to the table, she reached out her hand for the coffee like an impatient two-year-old.

Katie was real and raw and so beautiful it sometimes knocked the wind right out of him.

The decision that had seemed so muddy in his head at the drive-in felt wonderfully clear tonight. The ghost of Jillian was gone.

Katie took a small sip through the slotted lid. “You will never guess where I’ve been.”

“Yeah? Where.”

“That home group Annie invited me to.”

He eased back in his chair. “You’re kidding.” He couldn’t read her mood. She didn’t appear to be upset but didn’t seem especially happy either. “When did you decide to go?”

She studied the top of her lid. “I had an explosive dinner with my parents and went driving. A few minutes later I ended up at her house.” He sensed there was more to the story, especially since her fingers were trembling as she lifted her cup for another sip.

But the why didn’t matter as much as the result. He wanted to tell her how proud he was that she’d turned to people for help. That she’d chosen a healthy outlet. But it sounded condescending, even in his head.

“How was it?” he asked instead.

“Interesting.” She paused, and a small V appeared between her eyebrows. “Okay, so explain to me why Christians have to use such gigantic words. I mean, seriously, these questions had at least three five-syllable words. Isn’t there an easier way to say ‘sanctification’?”

She went on spouting out terms he’d known his entire life.

“It’s like you have to learn a foreign language just to have a conversation.” She ended her rant with a deep sigh. “I’m sorry. It’s just that for some of us, our history alone makes it hard to feel comfortable. Add in the fancy terms, and I don’t know . . . it’s like I have a banner on my head that says:
I don’t fit in here
.”

“Don’t worry about the vocabulary words. You fit in because you share a common belief.” Asher paused. “Did they make you feel like you didn’t?”

“No. Just the opposite. They were all really nice and friendly. Almost everyone was a transplant, so none of them knew my dirty little past.”

“I think you’re missing the point. Home groups are where you’re supposed to share the ghosts from your dirty little past. It’s meant to be a place for accountability.”

She extended her hand like a game-show hostess. “And the six-syllable-word prize goes to . . . Asher Powell.”

He laughed. “Sorry. They help you to not repeat your mistakes.”

“I have no intention of repeating my mistakes.” She went silent and was too pensive for his liking. Their normal banter was there, but something was different. He sensed an underlying sorrow that hadn’t been present in weeks.

He lowered his head and scratched above his eyebrow, searching for the words that would somehow get her to open up to him. Unfortunately, the bell above the entry rang at that moment, and a group of loud, chatting women plowed in like clucking hens.

Katie smirked, and he could practically hear the running commentary in her head.

“Asher Powell?” A high squeal pulled his focus away from his tablemate.

A brunette with hair piled high on her head in a messy bun stood over him. He recognized her immediately. “Michelle?” In one swift motion, he stood and embraced his old friend. They’d been in band together for three years before her parents split up and she moved away the summer before their senior year. “How are you?”

“Good. Really good.”

They released each other, and her smile faltered when she noticed Katie seated at the table. She tilted her head as if to make sense of who Katie was but gave up, turning her attention back to Asher. “So, how is your family?”

“Exactly the same. Are you living in Fairfield again?”

“I am. I’ve been taking classes at the community college. Only three more to go.” She glanced at her entourage with humor and affection. “Our final is tomorrow, so we’re loading up on caffeine.”

The women at the counter laughed among themselves, more interested in the glass display of desserts than in Asher’s conversation.

Michelle studied Katie again, her eyes widening.

“Well, it was good to see you,” Asher said. “You should come by Fellowship. It’s grown a ton in the last couple of years.”

But she didn’t hear him; she was too busy gawking at his neighbor. “Katie Stone? You went to high school with us.” Then her gaze darted from Katie to him and back to Katie. “Wow, are you two . . .”

“Friends.” Katie smiled graciously, even though Asher could tell she had no idea who Michelle was. It didn’t surprise him. Katie’s circle had been small and very exclusive.

Michelle pulled out a chair and sat, seemingly forgetting Asher was standing there. “You probably don’t remember me. I was kind of a band geek with Asher here. So, wow, how have you been? How’s, um, what’s-her-name? The blonde girl you were so tight with . . . um . . . Laila. I heard she ended up being homecoming queen the year after I left.”

“Runner-up,” Katie said in a monotone.

“That’s right.” Michelle let out a string of snorting giggles, and the sound took him right back to band practice. She had a kind heart but had always been painfully awkward in social situations. Time hadn’t cured her of this. “I remember that time in gym when you and Laila protested because the guys were able to go shirtless while we had to wear those horrible scratchy cotton uniforms.” She glanced Asher’s way as he sat back down. “Were you there? Katie came out in her bra and said she’d put a shirt on when the guys did too. Three more girls took off their shirts then. Not me, of course. I was way too shy, but gosh, the horror on Coach Foster’s face! Priceless.”

“I was suspended for three days.” There was no inflection in Katie’s voice. No humor. No victory.

“Yes, but the guys had to wear shirts, so you won.” Michelle grabbed a sweetener packet and passed it between her fingers. “I just thought all of you were so cool. I even had the biggest crush on Chad Richardson. All that leather and bad-boy vibe.” She peeked at Katie through lowered lashes. “Wonder what he’s up to now? Are you guys still super close?”

Asher took Katie’s flinch as his cue that it was time to end this trip down memory lane.

“Michelle, I think your friends are waiting on you.” He stood and offered her a hand that she accepted with a smile.

“Right. Yes. Anyway, it was so neat to run into you. Both of you.” Her eyes flickered between the two of them again, as if she still couldn’t believe they were having coffee together. “I’ll see you around.”

Moments later, Michelle and her friends left in a swirl of chatter and laughter, and he was sure he heard Katie’s name dropped at least twice in muffled whispers.

Katie turned her head sideways, fixing her eyes on the now-vacated doorway. “I bet Michelle thinks she just saw pigs fly. Here I am, the queen of darkness, having a cup of coffee with Holy String Bean.” There was a heavy, dead sound in her voice, as if someone had ripped all the fight out of her.

“I hate that nickname. Both of them.”

Her gaze whipped back to him. “I was just teasing.”

Was she? If anyone could hide truth behind a joke or useless small talk, it was Katie.

She spread her arms wide. “Well, I guess our secret is out.” He didn’t like her sarcastic tone or the way her jaw muscles jumped. Being seen together wasn’t a bad thing. They weren’t in high school anymore. There were no barriers or cliques to deal with.

“I never considered you a secret.” And it bothered him that she had.

“I know. It’s just weird to think people are going to be analyzing us now.” She gulped down the rest of her coffee and traced her finger over the logo on the cup.

She was shutting down, closing him off. He reached across the table and took her hand in his. He needed the contact, and the way her shoulders relaxed told him that she did too.

“You shouldn’t care what people think.”

The switch in her expression was immediate. Proud Katie suddenly appeared. Fighter Katie. The only Katie he’d known before this year. She rolled her eyes and pulled her hand away. “Trust me, I have way more practice at tuning out rumors than you’ll ever have.” She rose, made three furious strides to the trash can, and dumped her empty cup. With her back still to him, she placed her palms on the counter and just stood there for five agonizing seconds.

He hated it, but stayed seated in the chair. There was still so much to learn about her. When to act. When to wait. When to force her out of the ridiculous shell she lived in.

She finally turned, calmer now, and returned to the table. The frown lines in her forehead had deepened, but her eyes had lost the earlier spark of anger. She was the one to reach out this time. To take his hand in hers.

“I’m sorry.” She sighed. “It’s just . . . I’m not worried about what they’ll say about me. I’m worried what they’re going to say about you.”

CHAPTER 22

I
t was nearly five p.m. on Friday when Katie pulled up to the first pawnshop on her list. The tiny town was located twenty miles north of Fairfield, but the drive had given her time to gather enough courage to actually step out of the car when she got there.

The run-down metal building was sandwiched between a title-loan office and a used-car dealership. All three had bars protecting the windows and shared a parking lot so beat up that most of the asphalt was marred by potholes and spiderweb cracking. A large red sign flashed
METRO PAWN
on a green metal overhang, inviting patrons to sell off their valuables for quick cash.

Taking one last stabilizing breath, Katie marched forward and pulled on the door handle. Inside, a long glass counter held the jewelry for sale, and seemingly endless shelves along the back wall held guns, computer equipment, and several guitars.

“Can I help you, miss?” An elderly gentleman with droopy eyes that appeared sleep-deprived stood behind the counter.

She approached the glass slowly, browsing past the necklaces, earrings, and watches. The far left corner housed the rings, in four different velvet cases. Katie’s gaze slipped over each of them while her heart slammed in her chest. Engagement rings of every size, shape, and color sat in row after row. But not one resembled the vintage emerald ring she desperately wanted to find.

“I was looking for a ring. It’s an older one. A rose-type gold, with a flower design. There is a round emerald in the middle.” She hesitated. “It’s kind of ugly. I know that sounds harsh. But looking at it, you wouldn’t be especially impressed.”

He rubbed his chin. “Hmmm. Sounds like an Edwardian ring. That style was real popular in the early nineteen hundreds. Rose gold was too.”

She inhaled sharply. He knew vintage rings. Surely he’d know if one had come in here. “It would have been about four years ago. Do you remember anything like that being pawned?”

The man scratched his wiry white hair. “Nah. I’d remember a ring like that. Especially if it was in good condition. Those rings can pull a hefty price online.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, ma’am. But I can take down your name and call you if I come across something similar.”

She jotted her name and number on the back of a business card he passed to her. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

The man carefully placed the card into a drawer. “Any time.”

The grim reason for her scavenger hunt came rushing back as she dropped into the driver’s seat. There was no way she’d find a ring that had been sold four years ago. She slammed the back of her head against the headrest and squeezed her eyes shut.

Lord, this would be a good time to give me that miracle I’ve been begging for.

But no ring magically appeared when she finished her plea, only the red glow from the storefront sign.

Katie’s defeat made the trip back to her parents’ house long and frustrating. Worse, her engine had started making a high-pitched squealing sound every time she idled the car. Her father had given her the old Toyota six years ago, and it’d been the only truly reliable thing in her life. Now, even it was falling apart.

She hadn’t spoken to her mom since the fight they’d had at dinner two days earlier. Their silence was mutual, reminiscent of the way they’d spent most of her senior year of high school.

Katie made the last turn into her driveway and felt a desperate urge to curse. Four trucks were parked haphazardly, each pulled into the field of weeds that was their front yard. Yet only one triggered the fight-or-flight sensation.

Cooper.

Tired, and done with his badgering, she slammed the door of her sedan and strongly considered fleeing to Asher’s house. But the last thing Katie wanted was to pull Asher into the tornado of her past. Nor did she want anyone else in town gossiping about the two of them. Perry at the Goodwill station hadn’t even tried to be subtle that morning.
“Asher Powell is a hottie. Can’t blame you for tryin’, but go easy on the kid. He’s had a rough patch this year.”

Her denial had been dismissed with a hand wave.

Katie walked toward the front door, dragging her feet. She could hear loud music and aggravated shouts through the cracked weather stripping around the door and prayed the guys would be too absorbed in the game to notice her. Her father loved poker. A hobby, he claimed, but a win or loss could dictate his mood for a week.

As quietly as possible, Katie opened and closed the front door and tiptoed toward the stairs.

“Katiebug? That you?” Her father’s voice reverberated down the hallway, and the slurring sound told her one sure thing. He’d broken his two-beer limit tonight. How long had it been since Katie had seen her father drunk? Ninth grade?

Guilt gnawed at her insides. It was the conversation about selling the house. She’d only wanted to give them options. Make life easier. Instead, she’d hurt his pride. Questioned his ability to care for his family.

“Katiebug!”

“Yeah, Dad, I’m coming.” She tugged on the ends of her hair and forced herself to put one foot in front of the other until she reached the opening to the living room.

Five men lounged around a six-sided portable poker table. Blue, white, and red chips were piled in the middle of the green felt. Two sets of cards had been turned over, while the others remained clenched in the players’ fingers. Cooper’s eyes were the first to meet hers, and the triumphant spark implied he held more secrets than what was in his poker hand.

“There she is: my Katiebug. Came all the way from Florida just to help her old man.” Her father lifted his beer can in the air, and the other four men cheered and toasted her as well.

“And we mightily appreciate it,” said her father’s old friend Clarence. He seemed to have aged ten years since she left. Deep grooves made parentheses around his mouth, while his cheeks sank in with each breath. They’d worked at the factory together for twenty years, and he’d spent more than a few nights at that very poker table with her father. “We haven’t been able to fit this table in here for years. Been forced to cram down in my basement.”

Katie’s lips tightened. She hadn’t spent two days cleaning and organizing the living room just to see it get trashed by half-toasted party guests. “Where’s Mom?”

A man with red hair and a missing tooth slapped the armrest of his chair. “The girls are having their own fun tonight.”

“Where?” Did this party house have handicap bathrooms? Would the ladies be able to help her mother if she fell? A chill shot down Katie’s spine. Would her mother get drunk?

Her dad was still sober enough to shoot Katie a warning glare, and she bit back any further questions. Once again he was denying the obvious truth—that their life could never again be what it once was.

Cooper obnoxiously patted his knee. “Come here, Firecracker. You can be my good luck charm tonight.” He wasn’t drunk—Katie could tell that in an instant—but his smirk was calculated.

She forced herself not to cringe. “Why don’t I make you guys some snacks?” It was an excuse to flee to the kitchen, but also a chance to get some food in her father’s stomach.

The other men lifted their drinks to her in loud agreement, and her father demanded they finish the hand.

Katie tried not to slam the cabinet doors as she pulled out chips, crackers, and nuts. She couldn’t identify exactly what she was feeling. Concern? Disgust? Judgment? Who was she to dictate what they could do on a Friday night? Hadn’t she been a far worse offender just a few months ago? At least their substances were legal.

She pulled a container of sour cream from the refrigerator and plopped its contents into a bowl, stirring with a pent-up aggression that wouldn’t subside. She added a packet of onion soup mix and whipped the dip until it was a dull gray. Hoping to help curb the excessive drinking, she filled the kitchen table with a display of bottled water.

“Nice spread,” Cooper said from the doorway. He leaned a broad shoulder casually against the frame, and his alert gaze followed Katie as she put a stack of paper plates next to the dip bowl.

“Since when do you play poker with my dad?”

He shrugged. “About three years now. You leaving gave us something in common.”

Katie froze. She’d picked up hints that Cooper had weaseled his way into her family, but his inclusion in poker night was a sickening confirmation.

He scooped up a fistful of the peanuts she’d just poured into a serving dish. “There’s been a lot of chatter about you lately,” he said before popping a few into his mouth.

“All very glowing, I’m sure. Let me guess: you added your own observations to the bunch.”

“Nope. Just listened. I’m trying to figure out your angle.”

She clutched the top of the chair. “There is no angle.” She knew her words didn’t matter. Cooper wouldn’t believe her. Every action he took had an ulterior motive behind it.

“Really? Fairfield’s notorious atheist is all of a sudden a churchgoer?”

“I was never an atheist. I just didn’t care one way or the other. Now I do.”

“I see. So having coffee with the pastor’s son is just an added perk?” His eyes trailed the length of her, as if checking every inch would help him figure out her evil scheme. “Or maybe . . . he’s your new target.” He clapped his hands twice, slowly. “Bravo. I knew you hated Pastor Powell, but this is genius. There’s no better way to take down a legend than to destroy his kid.”

“I never hated Pastor Powell. And I would never hurt Ash . . .” She stopped herself. Cooper didn’t need an explanation. He’d just distort whatever she said anyway. Turn something pure and beautiful into something ugly. “Don’t you have a hand to play in there?”

“I folded. Come on, Firecracker, we were always better as a team. Let me in on the plan.”

“Give up the conspiracy theories. Asher and I are friends.”

“You already have friends.”

Katie fled to the sink, pumped the soap container twice, and let the cold water calm the raging heat only Cooper could unleash.

He moved in behind her when she turned off the faucet. “Laila and Chad got divorced. Did you know that? Happened about a year ago, after Chad left rehab for the third time.”

She swiped a towel from the rack, ignoring him, and frantically dried her hands. He maneuvered around until she was forced to acknowledge him.

“You remember Joe? You know, the guy who used to bail you out of every sticky situation you’d manage to find yourself in?”

Her glare was lethal. Of course she remembered Joe. He was more than the town bartender. He’d been her confidant and mentor, sometimes the only person who truly understood her. She went back to meticulously wiping each finger.

Cooper jerked the towel from her hand. “Did you know he asks about you every time I go in there?”

“Stop it.” She’d wanted to see Joe, but Laila worked at his bar, and avoiding her former friend had been her top priority. Plus, Joe would never understand why Katie needed her distance.

“Stop what? Giving you the truth? Making you see how much you’re hurting everyone with this ridiculous charade you have going?”

She scrubbed her hands over her face and tried to lower the volume in her voice. “It’s not a charade. It’s not a con. I just don’t want that volatile, broken life anymore.”

“You can’t possibly think I’m stupid enough to accept that explanation. You ran off without a word for four years and now you’re back, pretending to be a saint? You forget: I know you. I know you well enough to know that you could never change this dramatically.”

“I’m done with this conversation.” Katie shot toward the back door. “Could you tell the guys the food is ready? I’m going to take a walk.”

“I’ll go with you. It’s getting dark.”

She spun around, her hand still on the knob. “Are you hearing-deficient? How many different ways do I have to tell you to leave me alone?”

Cooper was at her side with lightning speed and, before she could protest, had pulled her out the door and onto the porch.

“Let go of me,” she hissed.

His fingers bit into her arm, and despite her struggles, he didn’t soften his hold until they were a good ten feet from the house.

With a final jerk, she broke free and stood there, shaking violently. She hated this. Hated him. Every detestable instinct she’d been trying to quash was balled inside her chest, glowing hot and red.

Cooper threw his hands into the air. “Is this what you were hoping for?” he hollered. “You want to see me lose it? You want to push me until I turn into the monster you keep accusing me of being?”

“Your temper is not my fault,” she spat back.

He stepped forward, his eyes burning into hers. “You know my buttons and yet you push and push and push. Just like that weekend you vanished.”

“You locked me in a room!” Her anger was alive now, making her feel dizzy and sick. She used to welcome the rage, but now it caged her in, pulsed under her skin like a virus that couldn’t be cured.

“Because you were crazy tripping. I grabbed the keys from your hands five times. And you kept swinging at me. Do you even remember that night, Katie? Do you? Because somehow I’ve become the villain in this scenario, when
you
were the one who bought the drugs.”

For a second she couldn’t get enough air. Spots danced in her vision. Yes, she remembered that night. Every single horrible moment of it. She was the addict. The criminal. The devil. Cooper was right.

She had no one to blame but herself.