Read Online Truest by Jackie Lea Sommers - Free Book Online

climbed my front steps. “Finish it yourself.”
    â€œI thought you were coming over for WARegon! ” he complained.
    With the door halfway open, I turned around and gave him a blistering glare. “Put the supplies away before you leave.”
    Later that night, when I was almost asleep, I got a text from Silas, the first he’d sent since getting my cell number that week: Sorry.
    I wrote back: It’s fine.
    He texted: Sleep well. Then, a minute later: Are you really a cheerleader?
    I let out a laugh and wrote back: Not on your life.

eight
    I hated the dreary gray carpet of the church, the musty smell of old hymnals, and the social hour before the service, when old ladies crowded around my dad as if he were a rock star. I tried to dodge the chattering congregants on the way into the sanctuary, but it was nearly impossible.
    â€œWest!” said Mrs. Callahan, flagging me down. “In case I don’t get a chance to speak with him today, please pass along our thanks to your dad. He bailed us out on our mortgage last month. Not even from the benevolent fund—just wrote us a check! Such a good man.”
    â€œYes, of course, Mrs. Callahan. He was happy to do it,” I replied.
    Mr. Tennant, who lived alone with his troublemaker son, whispered to me conspiratorially, “I’m sure you’ve heard thatJacob got picked up for shoplifting last week. But Pastor Beck knew just what to say to him. I don’t know what we would have done without your dad. You’re one lucky girl!”
    â€œI really am,” I agreed with a painted-on smile. “Thanks for coming today.” My standard response.
    I steered clear of James and Rhiannon Raymond, who’d once had the impudence to tell me that my dad saved their marriage. Rhiannon had gotten teary-eyed, and I’d desperately wanted to cover my ears and say, “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.” I gave the couple a wide berth as I made it to the front row, where I sat between my mom and Libby, letting out a huge breath as if I’d just survived running the gauntlet.
    Beside me, Libby was giggling when someone in the row behind us kept sneakily tapping her shoulder. I glanced over my shoulder to see who it was.
    â€œHey,” said Silas Hart to me, finally getting caught by my sister. He winked at her.
    â€œYou came!” I said, a little surprised.
    â€œI said I would.”
    I looked down his row. His parents sat beside him; beyond them, his grandparents.
    â€œWhere’s your sister?” I asked, lowering my voice as the service music started.
    â€œAt the house.”
    Mom turned to me and Libs, put a finger to her lips, and gave us a look we knew well: Eyes forward. Set a good example. Iturned to the front where the worship leaders were crowding behind the pulpit.
    No Laurel. Maybe Lillian Mayhew—“Oma Lil”—had no power over her. Or maybe Laurel was, as I’d guessed, too sick to leave the house. I imagined her in Heaton Ridge, sitting on the wicker couch, staring straight ahead with those hollow eyes that had glanced off me like a rock skipping across the water.
    Behind me, Silas sang with conviction:
    â€œ It is well with my soul
    It is well, it is well with my soul. ”
    He wasn’t loud, drew no attention to himself, but I heard every note as if he were singing into my ear. His voice was a paradox—at once angry and brave, sorrowing and confident—and yet, the song spread over him like a blanket and rushed forth like an anthem.
    Laurel’s absence was like a secret that followed Silas, like dice that he jostled in his hand but never tossed onto the table. But Green Lake was a town of two thousand. I knew as well as anyone that you can’t hold big secrets in such a small hand.
    Agoraphobia, I thought at first—that anxiety disorder that keeps its victims chained to a safe, controlled space. But no. I felt pretty confident the move from