It was too late. A mob was after us. I heard the shouts and felt the surge of people who knew we didn’t belong. They were worked up enough to beat us to a pulp without a second thought. I grabbed on to Paul’s shirt to keep from losing sight of him, my hand clutching the fabric in my fist. Then suddenly, the floodlights went out and we were in darkness for a few seconds before the gigantic cross flared to life behind the stage, the flames cutting through the black sky. People applauded and shouted and whistled and I hoped the spectacle stopped whoever was after us. Everyone began singing “The Old Rugged Cross” as we continued our way through the crowd, twisting and turning until we were finally free. We ran for the road. With my eyes glued to the white of Paul’s shirt in the darkness, I didn’t see the ditch between the field and the road. I was down in an instant, the world a blank.
Chapter 26
KAYLA
2010
It’s time for me to have a serious talk with my father. I remember the way he’d acted when I first told him I’d met Ellie, the way he blew me off with a wave of his hand as if he hardly knew her name. Now to learn that they had once been a couple? And that letter he sent to Jackson! I still have no idea what to make of that.
I invite him over to dinner for that night, fairly late in the evening so Rainie will go to bed before he leaves and we can talk. When he arrives, he plays with Rainie and her Legos in the great room while I grill hot dogs on my new range and bake French fries in my wall oven. I’ve barely noticed the new top-of-the-line appliances I should be appreciating. Over dinner, he tells me he’s sold most of the furniture he’ll no longer need when he’s in the new condo and he has a firm move-in date a couple of weeks away. He doesn’t seem the least bit sad or nostalgic. He’s ready for a change and probably would have made it months ago if Rainie and I hadn’t landed on his doorstep. I feel sad about losing the safe haven of my childhood home. I loved knowing it was there for us if we ever needed it again, but I’m glad for my father. He already has friends in that condo complex. It’ll be a good change for him.
I can’t focus on his move right now, though. I’m too caught up in thinking about his letter to Jackson. I can’t figure out if I’m angry at him or not. If he had misgivings about Shadow Ridge, why didn’t he share them with me, too, instead of just writing to Jackson? And not telling me about his relationship with Ellie … that just seems weird to me, but who knows? He must have his reasons. I intend to find out what they are.
After dinner, I get Rainie ready for bed and Daddy reads her a story while I straighten the kitchen. Then I pour myself a glass of wine and sit down in the great room, Daddy’s letter to Jackson in my lap.
“Want a glass of wine, Dad?” I ask when he walks into the room. He’s smiling, no doubt from his time with his granddaughter.
“Sure,” he says. “Don’t get up. I’ll get it.”
I hear him in the kitchen as I think about how to begin this conversation. I feel almost like a snoop, having read the letter that was not meant for me. Daddy’s still smiling when he returns to the room with a glass of white wine.
“This house is gorgeous, sweetheart,” he says as he sits down on the other end of the sectional from me. “And Rainie loves her new room, doesn’t she? What do you call that wall color? Fuchsia?”
“She just calls it purple. Her favorite color.”
“It suits her.”
“Dad, I need to talk to you.” I set my wine on the table next to me. His smile disappears.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, but there are a few things bugging me,” I say. “You haven’t been honest with me, and I don’t understand why.”
His frown deepens. “What are you talking about?”
“First of all, I found this letter you wrote to Jackson.” I hold up the letter.
He raises his eyebrows as though he doesn’t quite know what I’m holding in my hand. Then it sinks in. “Oh,” he says. “My trying-to-dissuade-you-two-from-building-here letter.”
“Yes. You said the Hockleys will make sure their house is never demolished even after they’re dead, and—”
“I was exaggerating,” he says. “But I knew that the Hockley house could be an eyesore in this neighborhood for another twenty years. That’s before I learned that Buddy Hockley was so sick, of course.”
“And what were you talking about when you said the woods are haunted?” I have to laugh. My father is so grounded in reality. “Since when do you believe in ghosts?”