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Authors: Kathryn Cushman
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about twenty years ago. He was a couple of years behind me in school, but I’ve known him all my life.”
“Where did you say you’re from again?”
“Sledge. It’s about fifteen miles south of here. Small town, a lot like Shoal Creek.”
Clarissa thought of Becky, probably planning even now the new yoga studio in the Lancaster Building. She thought of her father, drinking his way into another oblivion. She looked at little Miss Apple Pie before her and remembered Cory’s obvious attraction to her. What would it take to make something go right?
She knew the answer. It was always the same. Stay focused and work hard. It was the Richardson way.
chapter twelve
Dawn groaned at the beeping alarm. She should have left last night’s party a little earlier.
The snoring lump beside her remained motionless, his breath thick with stale beer and cigarettes. She poked his shoulder. “Jack, wake up. Time to get ready for work.”
“Hit the snooze.”
“I promised Paige I’d be on time today.”
“Like you care what she thinks.”
“Get up.”
He rolled toward her, his eyes still closed. “Call my boss and tell him I’m sick.”
“You promised you’d stop that. Come on.”
“Shut up and let me sleep.”
She shoved him so hard he nearly fell off the bed. “Nothing doing. I’m not working to pay your child support while you stay home in bed.”
He pulled the pillow over his head. “You are today.”
“You are such a loser.”
He flung the pillow at her, hitting her square in the face. “You should be more grateful. I’m the only one who would take you in after your parents kicked you out.”
She looked at the unshaven face and bloodshot eyes that had once seemed so charming. “Grateful? You’re the reason they kicked me out.”
He grabbed the pillow from her side of the bed and rolled away from her. “Hey, if you hate it here so bad, feel free to move on. I’m sure you’d be real comfortable living in your car. Now shut your mouth and let me sleep.”
“I hate you.” She meant every word. Mostly because he was right. She had nowhere else to go.
With no time for a shower, she stumbled forward and opened the closet door. It loomed before her like a cave: dark, eerie—and empty. Dirty clothes lay in small heaps across the dirty carpet. She bent to pick up a white shirt. A smear of ketchup marred the front, so she tossed it back to the ground. The second attempt, a green striped button-up, smelled of sweat and cigarettes. Finally, she picked up a short-sleeved blue pullover that didn’t look half bad—if you didn’t count wrinkles. It would have to do. Like everything else in her life.
Paige arrived on her fourth day ready to settle into her routine. She’d brought a coffee maker, and now that she had her keys, she wouldn’t have to wait at the door until someone else showed up. No, from here on out she could arrive a little after eight, brew a fresh pot, and spend some time getting ready for the day ahead. She set down the box at the pharmacy door, flipped through her keys, and unlocked the door.
As she bent down, she looked at the index card she’d set on top of the box. Maybe she had trouble memorizing Bible verses, but she kept hearing about the power of praying Scripture. Her mother needed the strongest kind of prayers right now, and Paige planned to do her part. She glanced at the card again. Acts 3:16—By faith in the name of Jesus, this man whom you see and know was made strong. It is Jesus’ name and the faith that comes through him that has given this complete healing to him, as you can all see. It was verses like this that she planned to pray and claim, over and over again, until she got God’s attention.
She swung open the door and punched the code in the alarm keypad. The empty darkness inside the store felt all too familiar. God, please help Mom. We do have faith, please make her well. We need her so much. And if You’re still listening, please send me a
“Where did you say you’re from again?”
“Sledge. It’s about fifteen miles south of here. Small town, a lot like Shoal Creek.”
Clarissa thought of Becky, probably planning even now the new yoga studio in the Lancaster Building. She thought of her father, drinking his way into another oblivion. She looked at little Miss Apple Pie before her and remembered Cory’s obvious attraction to her. What would it take to make something go right?
She knew the answer. It was always the same. Stay focused and work hard. It was the Richardson way.
chapter twelve
Dawn groaned at the beeping alarm. She should have left last night’s party a little earlier.
The snoring lump beside her remained motionless, his breath thick with stale beer and cigarettes. She poked his shoulder. “Jack, wake up. Time to get ready for work.”
“Hit the snooze.”
“I promised Paige I’d be on time today.”
“Like you care what she thinks.”
“Get up.”
He rolled toward her, his eyes still closed. “Call my boss and tell him I’m sick.”
“You promised you’d stop that. Come on.”
“Shut up and let me sleep.”
She shoved him so hard he nearly fell off the bed. “Nothing doing. I’m not working to pay your child support while you stay home in bed.”
He pulled the pillow over his head. “You are today.”
“You are such a loser.”
He flung the pillow at her, hitting her square in the face. “You should be more grateful. I’m the only one who would take you in after your parents kicked you out.”
She looked at the unshaven face and bloodshot eyes that had once seemed so charming. “Grateful? You’re the reason they kicked me out.”
He grabbed the pillow from her side of the bed and rolled away from her. “Hey, if you hate it here so bad, feel free to move on. I’m sure you’d be real comfortable living in your car. Now shut your mouth and let me sleep.”
“I hate you.” She meant every word. Mostly because he was right. She had nowhere else to go.
With no time for a shower, she stumbled forward and opened the closet door. It loomed before her like a cave: dark, eerie—and empty. Dirty clothes lay in small heaps across the dirty carpet. She bent to pick up a white shirt. A smear of ketchup marred the front, so she tossed it back to the ground. The second attempt, a green striped button-up, smelled of sweat and cigarettes. Finally, she picked up a short-sleeved blue pullover that didn’t look half bad—if you didn’t count wrinkles. It would have to do. Like everything else in her life.
Paige arrived on her fourth day ready to settle into her routine. She’d brought a coffee maker, and now that she had her keys, she wouldn’t have to wait at the door until someone else showed up. No, from here on out she could arrive a little after eight, brew a fresh pot, and spend some time getting ready for the day ahead. She set down the box at the pharmacy door, flipped through her keys, and unlocked the door.
As she bent down, she looked at the index card she’d set on top of the box. Maybe she had trouble memorizing Bible verses, but she kept hearing about the power of praying Scripture. Her mother needed the strongest kind of prayers right now, and Paige planned to do her part. She glanced at the card again. Acts 3:16—By faith in the name of Jesus, this man whom you see and know was made strong. It is Jesus’ name and the faith that comes through him that has given this complete healing to him, as you can all see. It was verses like this that she planned to pray and claim, over and over again, until she got God’s attention.
She swung open the door and punched the code in the alarm keypad. The empty darkness inside the store felt all too familiar. God, please help Mom. We do have faith, please make her well. We need her so much. And if You’re still listening, please send me a
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