From The Ashes. Sharon Mignerey

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      She recognized what it was, and her heart lurched. Just the sight of it made her nerves dance. One part of her longed to reach for the cocaine even as memory after memory washed over her at the terrible things she had done in exchange for those fleeting moments of euphoria. Her mouth dried as she wiped her suddenly sweaty palms against her jeans.

      “You know it.” He smiled, drawing her attention back to his face. “And I know it.”

      “Go away, Tommy.” Her voice was pleading instead of commanding, and she hated herself for it.

      He looked toward the yard, and Angela followed his gaze. Brian was smiling at something Maisey had said, Maisey’s posture animated the way it got when she talked about training dogs. The woman meant everything to Angela, as much as Reverend Chester and her life-long friend, Rachel McLeod. Angela looked back at Tommy, a living reminder of the mountain of regret she felt for the dreadful things she had done.

      “Take your drugs and your innuendos and go.” She was proud of the firm tone in her voice. “As for calling the police, you can bet I will.”

      “This is me you’re talking to, doll face.” Tommy waved toward the dogs. “Don’t make threats you’ll never follow up on. Do you honestly think a convicted felon can withstand the kind of scrutiny that will come your way? It’s one thing to talk to a chamber of commerce and solicit a few puny donations for a good cause. But what about when a reporter comes around and does an in-depth story and discovers the truth about you?” He nodded toward Brian. “He’s here to donate to your little charity, I bet.”

      “What if he is?” she challenged, thankful Tommy didn’t know the real reason behind Brian’s visit.

      “I’ll make you a deal, and before you go shaking your head at me, you might want to know the terms.”

      “There’s nothing you can possibly say—”

      “Maybe you put the half million dollars into this business, so you’re a little short of cash—that means you have equity and you can get it. I need a stake—”

      “A patsy,” Angela said, remembering that he had somehow convinced her to take out a loan against Victorian Rose Antiques, the business she and her best friend, Rachel, had owned. Angela rationalized that she hadn’t known until later he had used the money to buy a kilo of cocaine…but deep in her heart she had, and she’d had the drug-induced conviction that she could make everything work out. She’d been wrong.

      “And you have the money—don’t even bother denying it because I don’t believe you.” He glanced toward Maisey and Brian, then back at her. “Get it, and I won’t dig up every piece of dirt that I can find on your famous new boyfriend. You know how the media just loves a juicy story.” He motioned as though reading a headline. “The Football Player and the Felon.” Tommy pressed the small packet into the pocket of her denim shirt. “Something to help you think.”

      He turned away then, walking around the side of the house toward his car with that I-own-the-world bounce in his step. In her pocket, the packet of cocaine—she knew that’s what it was, could smell it though it had no discernible odor—whispered seductively to her.

      She looked back toward Brian and Maisey. He was listening attentively, his fingers absently petting Jasper each time the dog butted his head against his palm. Angela watched them a moment longer, then went into the office where she sat down at her desk, despair wrapping its claws around her throat. She took the packet out of her pocket, her thoughts chaotic, her fingers trembling.

      With the bottomless pit where she’d once been firmly in mind, she marched into the bathroom and flushed the packet down the toilet. Then she washed her hands, feeling as dirty as she had the day she was arrested.

      Going back into the office, she sat down at the desk, placing her hands flat on the blotter. To her dismay, they were trembling.

      With that, she picked up the receiver of the phone and dialed the number of her lifeline. “It’s me, Angela,” she said after the familiar voice of Reverend Chester Holt said hello.

      “How are you?” he asked.

      Relief washed over her, and she sank back into the chair. “I’m good.” He wouldn’t let her get away with that for long, she knew, but for now just having the conversation with the man who’d been more like a father to her was enough. “I just wanted to hear your voice. How are Sarah and Andy—growing, I bet. And Rachel—”

      “Hungry for news, are you?” he said around a laugh.

      “You know it.”

      Wrapping the receiver cord around her finger, she felt the tension fall away while Reverend Holt told her about Sarah’s and Andy’s latest escapades and about the big celebration they’d had when Rachel’s new husband, Micah, adopted them. They were all happy and doing well. For that, Angela was thankful. She and Rachel still weren’t speaking, and Angela couldn’t blame her. Still, she longed to make up with her old friend, wanted it with all her heart, and knew that even though she had tried before, she hadn’t tried hard enough. The next step was up to her.

      Despite the rift between herself and Rachel, Reverend Chester had remained steadfast, visiting her every couple of weeks while she had been in prison, and providing guidance that had helped her grow into the person she was meant to be.

      “Now tell me about you,” Reverend Chester said.

      “I’m fine.”

      “Angela, girl, that’s the answer you give this old man when you’re anything but fine.”

      That fast, the tension was back.

      “The truth…” Her voice trailed away, and she dropped her head, tucking the receiver between her neck and chin, pressing her fingers against her eyes.

      The silence stretched painfully, and she knew he’d wait with all the patience in the world without saying a word until she did.

      “I’m scared, Rev,” she whispered.

      “Ah,” he said, his voice comforting with that single word. “Your faith is a little shaky today, is it?”

      “Yes.”

      “Tell me about the dogs,” he said.

      The abrupt change in topic was usual for him, and she’d been through the process often enough to know that she’d be rewarded with some insight. She focused her narrative on Checkers, who would soon go home with deaf, eighty-year-old Greg Proudie. The man’s wife had died about a year ago and his son had introduced the idea of a service dog. The dog was a perfect fit for Proudie, and Angela was proud of the work they had done.

      “He’s going to be great with his new owner,” she concluded, “who is participating in the last of his training.”

      “How do you know he’s going to be great?” Reverend Chester asked.

      “I just know—”

      “You have faith.”

      “Of course.”

      “No fear?”

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