SaraSara wouldn’t let him see her cry, so she stormed off to her room like a coward. Ian had never upset her before, but there was a first time for everything now that she’d broken his trust.She heard him call her name—her old name—and she almost turned to him before a fresh sob choked her and urged her on. She needed a barrier between them, so she closed the bedroom door with too much force.Alone in the tomb she’d created for herself, she let the sobs break free. Once again, the decision she’d made to leave him behind hit her in the back like the sharp point of a knife. Why had she left him? In thinking that she was giving him the freedom he deserved, she’d bent a vital part of the man she loved—his faith. Any faith he had in her or the Lord was gone.She understood why he was angry with her, but not God. There had been times in her lonely years that her relationship with Christ had been her only comfort. How had Ian abandoned his faith after all they’d been through together as ki
IanIan sat in his truck outside of Rusty’s and read the letter again. It’d taken him over forty-eight hours to open Mr. Garrison’s last words, and Ian wished he’d waited longer. He wanted to crumple it up and throw the old coot’s sentiments out the window. Instead, he’d read it a dozen times since.He missed his friend. Mr. Garrison had been a constant in Ian’s life, and he wasn’t ready to let the old man go. They had lunch together every week, and he wasn’t sure what he’d do with his Tuesday afternoons now.But he did know. He’d be spending every hour of daylight at Sara’s place until further notice. His productivity floundered when she was close-by. He made rookie mistakes and had to redo more measurements than he had since learning fractions in grade school.He tossed the letter into the passenger seat and looked out the windshield at Rusty’s. The local bar and restaurant was family friendly until nine, and his friends liked to hang out here. Brian, Leah, Addie, and Lindsey were o
SaraSara spread out the curtains Ian had bought for the bedroom windows. They weren’t bad at all. She might have picked them herself, if she’d been able to shop. She rubbed the thin material between her fingers. The design was light gray with darker gray flowers and white accents embroidered in vertical rows.Maybe she wouldn’t have chosen these, after all. They looked and felt expensive. She would’ve certainly taken the price tag into consideration while shopping.Sara didn’t have expensive tastes. She wondered if Ian did or if he’d just thought she would like them. She did like them. The room was dark with its wood-paneled walls, but the gray was light enough to brighten the small space. They were also thin enough to let the sun shine through. She liked to wake at sunrise on days when she didn’t have to be at work.She missed her job. She’d been working for Memphis Mission before she’d gotten the phone call from Andrew. That call had changed the trajectory of the life she was livin
IanIan followed Sara into the house. She moved into the kitchen, and he followed her. She wore no makeup, and her hair hung loose over one shoulder.Everything he wanted to say to her had built up inside of him. He wanted to tell her he was sorry and that he loved her. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and kiss her like he should have done years ago.He tapped his knuckles on the table three times. Their code would have to change from touch to sound until she trusted him again.Sara gifted him a closed-lip smile and tapped her knuckles once on the counter.When he couldn’t hold it in any longer, he breathed, “I never wanted to let you go.”Sara nodded and bit her bottom lip. “Me either.”All the things he’d been dying to hear from her were meaningless. Those two words were enough for him.Ian fought to control his voice as he said, “Everything that happened between us—and everything that didn’t happen—feels like forever ago, but then, it feels like yesterday.”In truth, nothing felt
SaraThe next morning, Ian brought more than just a rug for the living room. He brought a few decorations and more groceries too. All of her favorite foods were pulled from grocery bags one by one, including more butterscotch candies.“You didn’t have to do all this,” Sara said.Ian glanced at her with a smirk. “Yes, I did.”She pulled the contents from the next bag. “You brought pancakes too?” The tray was from The Line, her favorite diner in town. He’d been stopping by there a lot this week.“Of course.”“You know I can cook, right?”Ian chuckled. “I know you’re a good cook. I just don’t want you to cook if you don’t have to.”She felt a rush of warmth in her chest. This was the Ian she’d known, and her heart didn’t ache so badly now that he wasn’t throwing darts at her. He knew that she’d spent her childhood taking care of a dad who hadn’t appreciated her. Cooking had always been a chore to her—something else that had to be done.They sat down across from each other at the small, w
Sara didn’t have to look far for the blankets. There was one on the couch and one on the bed that she’d been throwing over her feet at night.She stepped out the back door onto the porch to find that Ian was right. The wind was blowing, and the early spring breeze slashed at her cheeks like knives. She wrapped the blankets around her shoulders and surveyed the backyard. The trees were still leafless, and only faint patches of sky shone through the forest canopy.The rebirth of spring hadn’t taken hold here yet, but it would come in the next few weeks. Until then, she could brave the cold winds for this view. Surrounded by trees and far away from anyone she needed to hide from, the woods held a comfort she craved. Had Mr. Garrison played out here as a kid?Sara turned to examine the deck, and while it seemed sturdy enough, there wasn’t anywhere to sit. She stepped back inside and grabbed an old chair from the living area. It was wooden with scrolling arms and padding on the seat and ba
Twelve Years EarlierLiz finished scrubbing the pot she’d made the chili in earlier. She’d have plenty to freeze since Dad didn’t come home for supper and Ian was on vacation with his family. It didn’t look like anything was missing from the surplus she’d made.The old house was quiet, save for a few creaks here and there. Her phone dinged with a text, and she pulled it out of the pocket of her sweatpants as she passed the back door. Her dad’s filthy boots caught her eye, and she tucked the phone back into her pocket. It was Ian. No one else texted her. Right now, she needed to get those boots cleaned off and outside.She scrunched up her nose at the smell of chicken manure and grabbed the top of the boots as she opened the door. She kept a wire bristle brush by the back door, and she sat on the cinderblock step and held her breath against the stench to brush the bottoms.Mr. Garrison’s back porch light was on. He always left it on… for her. The old busybody knew she snuck over to Ian
IanIan’s insides churned as Sara continued her story. It took everything he had not to vomit in the bushes beyond the deck railing.Sara went on. “The cops came, and I remember hearing them at the door and screaming until my lungs hurt. They got my dad and Kenny, but Owen wasn’t there, and even with my testimony about what Trisha had told me, he wasn’t convicted. There wasn’t anything to tie him to what happened, except Trisha’s word.”Standing, Ian leaned against the deck railing to face her. He’d been quiet throughout the story, but every emotion warred inside him. Anger, rage, disgust, fear. What had happened to her was worse than he’d imagined.She was beauty from ashes, a flower rising from a crumbled ruin. She was resilience in human form, and it was a miracle that her small shoulders could bear the weight of the pain of her past.“The cops finally took me home after I gave statements, but I asked them to take me to Mr. Garrison’s house. I couldn’t go home alone.”Ian let his c