My Hope Next Door Page 3

  “Never knew one lousy bag could be this heavy.” Her father took two more steps backward toward the upper floor. A bead of sweat fell from his brow.

  Katie remembered the easy way Asher had hiked the bag up on his shoulder. “So, Dr. Mills sold his house?” She was sweating too, but not from the load. The upstairs was at least ten degrees warmer than the downstairs had been. But, thankfully, it smelled better. Which was sad, because it still reeked of mildew and wet cardboard.

  “Yeah. To the preacher’s kid, of all people. I think Dr. Mills did that on purpose as a final middle finger. Now I have to keep my blinds closed and pretend to be friendly every time I take a smoke. The kid’s always outside working on something. Waves at me too.”

  “Waves, huh? What a jerk.”

  He snorted. “Figures you’d change the hair, but not your lip. Those people are all the same. They pretend to be nice just so they can suck you into their cult and take all your hard-earned cash. Not gonna happen.”

  A weighted sigh fell from her lips. She knew her father’s stance on religion. She’d shared it most of her life. But she’d come to take a different view. She’d seen believers sacrifice for her and care about her. She’d experienced something beautiful.

  Problem was, she didn’t have a clue as to how to explain the difference to him, or whether she even wanted to. Her parents represented one world; her new faith, another. And if Katie had learned one thing about survival, it was to keep her life divided—the good and the bad clearly marked and separated. She’d broken that rule only one time, and it’d been enough to destroy her life.

  They deposited the bag in the hallway outside her old bedroom, and Katie wanted nothing more than to click her heels together and make the room disappear. It had been gutted of everything Katie had once cherished and filled with four years’ worth of bills, magazines, advertisements, and junk. Not even one picture remained.

  “Where’s all my stuff?” Her antique queen bed had been replaced with a cheap twin trundle covered in boxes.

  “Your ma donated most of it and put the personal stuff in the attic.”

  Katie knew what he wasn’t saying. That she’d abandoned them. That leaving without a word had hurt her mother enough to make her want to erase Katie from their lives.

  Her dad slid one stack of boxes away from the door and then did so with two other stacks, giving them a two-foot pathway to the bed. He scratched his head. “Couple of years ago, your ma had this harebrained idea about making money off eBay. Bought a whole bunch of wholesale stock but never really got around to sellin’ it. Being home from the bank means more buyin’, but the sellin’ stuff hasn’t really picked up.”

  Hearing the fatigue in his voice, she laid a hand on his arm. “It’s fine, Dad. This will work for tonight, and tomorrow I’ll get a plan together on how to start decluttering. Believe it or not, organizing is one of the few things I’m good at.” And she was. Cleaning and organizing houses had paid her bills since high school.

  Her dad studied the overstuffed room as if seeing it for the first time. He gripped the back of his neck. “Well, I guess I’ll let you get settled. I should probably go check on your ma anyway.” He shuffled back to the door, where he paused and placed a hand on the doorframe. Worried, tired eyes met hers. “I’m glad you’re home, Katiebug.”

  She could have sworn there was a slight catch in his voice, but she would never know. The Stones didn’t show emotion. And they certainly didn’t shed tears over sentimental nonsense.

  Katie sat on her duffel and eyed the stacks and stacks of junk. Her father was probably the only person in town, including her, who was happy she’d returned.

  Thomas Wolfe believed you could never go home again.

  Maybe he was right.

  CHAPTER 4

  It was ten o’clock by the time Katie had made her room livable. She’d stacked half of the boxes in the hall and the other half against her dresser. She wouldn’t be using the drawers anytime soon, anyway. Every one of them was stuffed with bills, receipts, and other papers too important to simply throw away.

  Her dad had gone to bed an hour ago, after getting her mom settled. She’d heard their muffled conversation drift up the stairs, and her mom’s sour tone confirmed he’d been right about waiting until morning.

  Katie ran a hand over the new curtains. Everything in her room was different. The walls were bare. Her stuffed animals and childhood treasures were only a memory. She should have felt upset by her mom’s drastic response to her leaving, but in a way she was relieved. It made forgetting easier.

  Floodlights from outside drew Katie closer to the window. She could see the pitched roof and wraparound porch of Dr. Mills’s house. She’d always coveted that porch. To her, it embodied peace and comfort, things she’d never felt in her own home. Dr. Mills would sit there for hours just rocking and rocking, sometimes reading but mostly just staring off into nowhere. She still couldn’t believe he’d sold the place.

  Asher hadn’t kept the wooden rockers. A love seat with cushions stood there instead, along with a two-person swing and three wicker club chairs.

  A strange curiosity pulled at her. What else had he changed about the place?

  She quietly tiptoed down the stairs, carefully avoiding the spots that creaked. She’d made a mental map as a teenager and could slip in and out of the house without making a sound.

  A warm breeze lifted her hair as soon she shut the back door. Sneaking out brought on an assault of memories. Laila giggling so loudly that Katie had to put a hand over her mouth. Chad telling her Come on, come on, you’re going to get caught in a whisper that was louder than Laila’s giggles. They’d been only thirteen. Innocent still, all of them.

  Katie squeezed her eyes tight and forced down the creeping sting in her esophagus. The deed was done. She couldn’t take back her choices. Another deep breath and the sting disappeared. She was in control once more, the past locked up again, where it belonged.

  The back steps were steeper than the ones in front, and two of them were cracked in the middle. She skipped down the stable ones and started toward her neighbor’s house. Her parents’ lawn was as neglected as their home. More weeds than grass, and the sharp contrast of Asher’s lush green Bermuda made the two plots look like a before-and-after advertisement for a lawn maintenance company.

  Seven wood posts marked the property line, with ten more lying on the ground at equal increments. She wondered if the fence was Asher’s idea or a rude suggestion from her father. Katie guessed the latter. Asher had always been warm and friendly. It used to make her uncomfortable, which is why she’d been especially cruel. His presence had provoked guilt and shame, even when he hadn’t said a word.

  She walked toward one of the posts sticking up from the ground, hoping to subtly get a better peek. Light spilled from several places around Asher’s roof, illuminating a half-finished deck off the back.

  The new addition was beautiful and grand enough to entertain at least thirty people. She stepped closer. Rounded corners, a vaulted roof, a decorative rail that ran horizontal to the ground. Spectacular.

  A rhythmic scraping sound from the corner of the structure halted her steps, as did the sight of the man on all fours, sliding his arm back and forth over the wood. He wore no shirt, and his back pulsed with a row of muscles that seemed impossible for a kid who couldn’t gain an ounce of weight in high school, no matter how many cheeseburgers he stuffed down at lunch.

  He sat back on his heels and ran a towel over his face and neck. His blond hair, now wet around his temples, was darker than she remembered. He set down the towel and stood, stretching his arms behind his back. Broad through the shoulders. Flat across the stomach. Asher Powell had turned into a very handsome man, and Katie’s treacherous eyes soaked in every single inch.

  “Did my sanding bother you?” His voice snapped her eyes back where they belonged. On his.

  “Um, no. Not at all.”

  His light-brown eyes had an I-can-see-deep-into-your
-soul quality as they wandered over her. It made her skin tingle. Made her pull on the edge of her shirt and think about the state of her hair for the first time all night.

  “Okay, good.” He pulled a T-shirt over his head. It didn’t help. The fabric clung to every hard line, and there were many.

  She inched closer, even as her mind told her she shouldn’t. This was the preacher’s kid. She’d called him names, laughed at his clothes, told dirty jokes in front of him just to see his cheeks turn red.

  “You’ve changed a lot,” she blurted out.

  His brows pinched together.

  “I mean, the house. You’ve changed a lot about the house. Since Dr. Mills lived here.” She pointed in the direction of the porch. “The rocking chairs are gone.”

  “Yeah, he wanted to take them with him. They reminded him of his wife.”

  She could sense Asher’s discomfort. But being the nice guy he was, he continued to stand there, waiting for her next awkward statement.

  She was at the edge of the deck now and needed only to walk up two steps to be level with him. “I didn’t recognize you.”

  “I figured.”

  His body language practically begged her to leave, but for some reason she kept moving closer. It was as if her soul sensed a kindred spirit. As if the changes she’d gone through in Florida put them on common ground. The old feeling of unrest had turned to comfort and safety. It didn’t make logical sense, this connection she felt to a practical stranger.

  “I never saw you after graduation,” she said.

  “I went to Georgia Tech. Worked in Atlanta for a while.”

  Wow. He’d gone to college. A hard college, too. She’d dropped out of community college after one semester. “Your parents must have been proud.”

  “They were, I guess.” He tilted his head as if trying to decipher hidden code. Like the rest of this town, he probably still remembered her as the girl who was more likely to pull a prank than actually have a meaningful conversation. “Listen, I stop the power tools at nine so I don’t disturb your folks, but if you need the light off, too, I can call it a night.”

  In other words, I’m not interested in talking with the girl voted Most Likely to Become a Felon.

  Anxiety crept up her spine. She was going to need to do something more than throw out one-liners if she hoped to ever change his opinion of her. Katie had spent a lifetime mastering an I-don’t-care-what-anyone-thinks attitude, yet this moment with Asher felt important, as if it were the first step to the new beginning she so desperately craved.

  “I guess it’s time to quit stalling.” She cleared her throat, wishing she’d grabbed a water bottle on her way out of the house. “I didn’t come out here to ask you a bunch of dumb questions. I, um . . .”

  Katie took a deep breath before spitting her words out in a rush.

  “I came out here to apologize.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Apologize.

  Typically a positive word. But from Katie Stone, it could mean a million things, not all of them good or even legal.

  “For what?” This new, vulnerable Katie had him feeling wary. He’d made the mistake of thinking she was soft one time their freshman year. He’d seen her boyfriend hit her, but when he’d gone to intervene, she’d already clocked the jerk. She’d warned she’d punch Asher too, if he ever told. He hadn’t, but she’d hated him all the same.

  Katie stood a couple of feet away, wringing her hands and sliding her slippered toe across his freshly cut grass. She wore SpongeBob SquarePants boxers and a yellow T-shirt that said “One in a Minion” on it. Her hair was pulled up into a high ponytail, and she looked way younger now than she ever had their senior year.

  “For all of it. I was terrible to you in high school. For reasons that had nothing to do with you. I’m sorry.” Her voice was hesitant, her eyes sparking with an unmet demand. And maybe that’s what she was doing. Demanding forgiveness. Redemption. He wasn’t in a position to give either, but at least he could ease her obvious discomfort.

  “That was eight years go. I haven’t really thought about it.” Well, he hadn’t until she showed up next door. Now he couldn’t get her out of his head.

  The sides of her mouth tilted up into a teeth-exposing smile. She looked gentle when she smiled. Almost friendly. Not remotely like the girl who used to kick his chair in class if he dared to make eye contact.

  “Really?” She let out a huge breath and climbed the last few steps to join him on the deck. Her gaze drifted to the roof he’d finished just last weekend. “And here I was sure you dreaded the idea of me being next door.”

  Maybe a little.

  A flurry of gnats bounced around the porch light while she trailed one hand along the rail. “This is really amazing. Did you do all the work yourself?” She leaned over, inspected the underside of the rail, then stood back up.

  “The hands-on stuff, yes. But my dad designed it.”

  She continued her walk around the edge of the deck, stepping over the electric sander he’d turned off an hour ago. Frogs croaked in a nearby pond, and crickets responded with echoes of excitement. He couldn’t share their sentiments. Katie was the first besides his parents to see his handiwork, and here she was, absorbing every inch with her touch. It felt too intimate.

  “It’s so different. Is it shaped like a . . .” She bit her lip while she studied the structure.

  “Turret,” he finished for her. “I’m following the same lines that are on the front of the house.”

  “‘Turret.’ Hmmm. I guess that’s better than the ‘tower thingy’ I was going to say.” She met his gaze with a smile that was both teasing and warm, and Asher’s skin suddenly felt too tight for his body. He rotated his shoulders to ease the sensation.

  “So what were you doing before I interrupted you?” She walked over to the area he’d been working on and picked up a scrap of sandpaper. “You sand all this by hand?”

  “I do after nine p.m.” Because the last thing Asher wanted was to give Mr. Stone more ammunition for his rude commentary.

  “That’s really thoughtful of you.” She ran her fingers over the fine grain. “Maybe I could help. I hear four hands are better than two.” She raised one hand and wiggled her fingers.

  Asher hadn’t moved since she had stepped onto the deck. Maybe it was the shock of seeing her so exposed. No deep line of makeup around her eyes. No mane of black hair covering half her face. No snarled lip hurling insults at him.

  Or maybe it was just her presence in the only place that held any joy for him. He’d spent months bleeding into this structure. It was more than a project. It was his escape, the source of his stillness. Hours spent here were the only time his heart didn’t ache with bitterness.

  Her company felt a little like an ambush.

  “I was just about to pack up and hit the shower.” As if to prove this true, he lifted the electric sander and began rolling up the cord in a tight loop.

  Katie dropped the scrap of sandpaper she’d been caressing. “Yeah, of course. It’s late. I’m sure you have to get up early for work and all that.”

  He didn’t correct her or admit he worked from home and had a mostly flexible schedule. Right then all he wanted was for Katie to disappear back into her house and take with her whatever voodoo magic was making him notice how ethereal she looked in the moonlight.

  Katie put a hand on one of the columns and spun around it like a seven-year-old. “Well, if you decide you want some help, I’m trainable.” She stared at the dimly lit house next door. “Besides, it’s ten times nicer out here than it is in there.”

  He thought that was her good-bye, but instead she sat down on the edge of the wood as if she couldn’t force herself to go back.

  His instinct said to let it go. Her issues were her own. Not his.

  But Asher found himself moving in her direction, then sitting down and scooting her way, until they were side by side, their thighs almost touching. “So, what did you do after high school?”

&nbs
p; “Nothing, really. I tried college. It wasn’t for me.”

  “Why’s that?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I’m not good at the committing-to-something-long-term thing.”

  He thought of Jillian. “Or maybe you just haven’t found the right thing to commit to.”

  She tilted her head as if she knew he was talking about himself too. “Maybe.” She went back to staring at the house next door. Her movements and voice seemed free enough, but a haunted sadness kept returning to her face, despite the plastered-on smile.

  “I heard about your mom,” he said.

  “Yeah, most people have. It’s a small town.”

  “Is that why you came back?” Asher reached down and pulled out a lone weed that was coming up through the wood.

  “Yes . . . maybe.” She lifted her gaze toward the sky. He followed her lead, and they both stared at the stars scattered across the darkness. “I came to help her. But I’m also hoping this illness will be a way for us to heal. Our relationship has never been . . . well, stable.”

  A feeling like being sucked into a storm washed over him. He didn’t know Katie or the Stones. They’d made a point of pushing him as far away as possible. But here she was, extending an olive branch. Offering him the kind of honesty he hadn’t seen in far too long.

  “Do you think people really get second chances?” she asked into the silence.

  Asher studied her profile, the slight slope of her nose, the elegant line of her neck, the shadow of pain in the tilt of her eyes, and he wanted nothing more than to believe she could. “I hope so.”

  She leaned back on her elbows and straightened her legs out in front of her. They were long and tan and legendary in Fairfield. Yet it wasn’t her beauty that struck him now, it was her uncharacteristic vulnerability. Tough, no-nonsense, wild-hearted Katie Stone. It was how he’d always known her. But that wasn’t the girl next to him.