The Good Girl. Christy Barritt

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СКАЧАТЬ smiled. “It’s a no. Why?”

      Because a ghost just might be haunting this place after all. I didn’t say that, though. Instead, I shrugged. “Just wondering.”

      “Maybe your friend opened the gate when he left last night.”

      All moisture vanished from my throat. My eyes. My entire head, for that matter. “My friend?”

      His smile disappeared, and he squinted, almost as if he were trying to read me. “I saw someone leave your porch, probably around eleven or twelve. He didn’t appear to be sneaking around or acting suspiciously, so I thought you’d had someone over.”

      My hand went to the fence. I had to hold on to something so I wouldn’t fall over from the fear that threatened to seize each of my muscles. Cooper must have thought I was a party animal like Lana. Not me. “I’m not like my sister, and I don’t know anyone in Minnesota.”

      His blue eyes remained on me a moment, again appearing like he was trying to figure me out. Finally, he nodded slowly and decisively. “Considering everything else that’s happened since you’ve been here, I’d be careful, Tara.” There was no tease or lightness to his voice. No, this man I hardly knew looked genuinely concerned.

      That realization caused chills to whiz up my spine.

      What if someone had found me here? What if they were trying to scare me off, to get me out of their safe little neighborhood? Was that what this was all about?

      I cleared my throat. “So this man...he just walked off my porch? Did it look like he came from inside?”

      “I couldn’t tell.” He shook his head sympathetically.

      My childhood fears seemed to come to life. “Okay, I’m sufficiently freaked out now. What should I do?”

      He tilted his head. “Get a security system.”

      I sighed. Cooper probably had just the right one to recommend to me, too.

      ~*~

      I’d spent most of the day catching up on my work as a virtual assistant. Since leaving the school where I’d taught, I’d been helping my father with his radio show and my uncle with his mission organization. I did things like Twitter updates, blog entries, and other online campaigns. The work had kept me out of the public eye, allowed me to earn some money, and gave me something to occupy my thoughts. I’d continue working while I was here in Minnesota.

      After I’d finished my work to-do list, I’d cleaned out Lana’s refrigerator, dusted the house, and swept her wood floors. I’d opened the windows and let fresh air flood inside. I’d done crossword puzzles and taken a shower.

      It was only five o’clock, and I was completely out of ideas of what else to do, so I sat at Lana’s kitchen table with a half-eaten peanut butter sandwich in front of me. Two dead yellow daisies had begun to wilt in a jar on the table, the sight strangely gripping. Sometimes I felt like those daisies. I’d once been cheery and bright, but the life was slowly draining out of me. I couldn’t bring myself to throw the flowers away when I cleaned. Instead, I slid one from the glass jar holding it and twirled the flower between my fingers.

      Had Lana’s boyfriend given these to her before they left? I hoped that she’d found someone who would make her happy, who would treat her right, because being treated poorly by a spouse ranked high on my list of the quickest ways to bruise someone’s spirit.

      I ran my fingers down the row of petals, causing a few to flutter to the floor. Gingerly, I plucked one of the yellow petals that had still been hanging on.

      “He loves me,” I whispered, dropping the delicate leaf to the ground.

      I plucked another one. “He loves me not.”

      I went through several more and then glanced down at the confetti-like petals at my feet. I didn’t bother to pick them up—not now, at least. I would in a few minutes because I was a self-professed neat freak who liked everything to be in place. I liked my house clean, my outfits neat, and my schedule planned.

      Peter had never understood my need for order. He said I just didn’t get it. In all truthfulness, I still didn’t get it. I didn’t get how we went so wrong so quickly. I didn’t get how the only thing I’ve ever failed at was the one thing most important to me.

      I plucked another petal. “He loves me.”

      All I’d ever wanted was to get married. I wanted to be a mom with lots of kids and a minivan. I wanted to clip coupons and sort through hand-me-downs.

      After high school, I’d gone off to a Christian university to get my degree in education. I’d had big dreams of meeting my husband there, and I figured he’d be someone like my dad—strong, committed, and respected. While in college, I began volunteering with a youth organization that promoted abstinence before marriage. That’s where I’d met Peter.

      He was a volunteer also. He was a business major at a secular university an hour away. He’d been introduced to Christ through a Christian organization at his school. God had turned his life around, and he’d jumped right into whatever his cause-of-the-moment was. It had worked to my advantage at the time because transforming himself from his old life of worldliness to a new life of purity had been Peter’s one goal.

      I’d embodied that purity as I’d been an outspoken promoter of saving yourself for marriage. Peter had never lived a wild life before he’d become a Christian, but he’d lived by a different set of values—values that led him to drink and begin keeping a list of all the women he’d ever been with. He’d turned himself around, though.

      We’d dated the standard year and had a respectable six-month engagement. I shook my head as I remembered our early days together. Peter wasn’t a bad person. He didn’t grow up with the same foundation I had. His parents had been divorced. They didn’t go to church. He’d never been shown what to do when the going got rough.

      Maybe I should have seen the signs. Just because we’d made so much sense on paper didn’t mean we’d actually work in real life. He’d always had a bit of a temper underneath his smooth exterior. He liked to jump around from job to job, from commitment to commitment. That should have given me a clue.

      No one ever thought that I would get divorced. I had a good head on my shoulders and a bright future ahead. Peter fit right into that future, and everyone said we made the perfect couple.

      I dropped a yellow piece of the flower to the floor. “He loves me not.”

      Then life had fallen apart. Until then, I’d always considered myself a little better than everyone else—the rule breakers. No, I never told them they were sinners or that they should have tried harder to do right. I never told them they were living halfheartedly with one foot on both sides of the fence. But in the secret room of my mind, I’d thought it. I knew God loved me just a little more because I followed all the rules. I was a good girl.

      I rubbed the velvety flower between my fingers. “He loves me.”

      Now I knew what people thought of me. I knew they thought they were just a little better than I was.

      I guessed they were, and I guessed I deserved every one of their judgmental thoughts. I dropped the final petal. “He loves me not.”

      No, СКАЧАТЬ