The Carpenter's Daughter (28 page)

“Why are you being psycho all of the sudden?” I bolted around the counter, catching my dad by his elbow before he stomped out of the room. “Where is she? At least tell me that.”

He stared hard at the wall opposite me, his features cold, his lips set like iron.

“Come on, Dad,” I thundered. “I deserve to know where my mother is. You owe me that much.”

His eyes shifted, pouncing on me. The fire in them burned my heart, nearly melting my courage.

“She’s dead.” His voice, flat and cold and heartless, made me wilt. He ripped his arm from my grasp and moved toward the hall. After stopping just outside his bedroom, he returned that awful death stare to me. “Your mother is dead, Sarah.”

The trembling started in my chest and radiated outward. Was he lying? Did my dad just look me in the eye and lie? My hands shook violently as I brought them over my ears. Truth. I desperately need the truth. And it wasn’t here.

But I was pretty sure I knew where I could find it.

Jesse

I stood at the front door of my parents’ house and surveyed the progress. We had the damaged room stripped to the studs, and the roofers were finishing up the last of the shingles. It’d all be okay.

Everything in my life was going to be okay.

Per usual, my mind shifted to Sarah. I hadn’t heard from her that day. She’d gone home the night before, which apparently hadn’t gone well. Surprise. What kind of grown man gave the silent treatment?

It hurt her, more than she knew how to put into words. Her whole world for her entire life had been that man.

An angry knot hardened in my chest.

But other than that, everything was going to be okay. Sarah was believing—starting to believe—that she was loved by God. That was huge. And it changed things for us. Me.

Impulse pushed fiercely through my veins. What I would give to skip this project and head north. Drawing a long breath, I smothered the longing with logic. A few more days, a week at the most, and I could do just that.

I pulled the front door shut and set the lock with my key. Shane had recommended a Realtor, and I was supposed to meet with her in the morning. So many balls to juggle in this letting-go business, but it would all be worth it in the end. I finally saw a future that was worth releasing the past. And more and more, it included a blue-eyed carpenter girl whose tough exterior belied a fragile heart.

Could I take care of that heart the way she needed?

After hopping behind the wheel of my truck and shutting the door, I let my eyes slide closed. I was way ahead of myself. And no, there would be times that I would fail. That was why she needed Jesus first.

Help me to be patient…

Even while the prayer lifted from my mind, I reached for my phone. Sarah’s number sat first on my list, and I hit Call instead of Message.

“Hey.” Ache saturated her voice.

I sat up straighter, gripping my steering wheel with my free hand. “What happened?”

She delayed, and I could hear her breath waver. “Another blowout. I’m in Omaha now.”

Omaha? Wasn’t that like a two-, three-hour drive from Minden? This running away thing of hers—where’d she get that? “Sarah…” How did I go about this? “Did you talk to him at all?”

“I tried,” she clipped, irritated.

“Tell me about it.”

“I asked him about my mother—what happened. He locked down until I demanded to know where she was.” She paused, clearing her throat. “He said she’s dead and then stormed away.”

Oh boy. So many wounds festering in this. I was in way over my head. “So…you left?” I kept my voice soft, hoping she wouldn’t read accusation in my question.

“I need the truth, and he’s not going to tell me.”

Ah…her aunt lived in Omaha. The one who was like me. “What did Darcy say?”

She seemed to calm, her voice settling back to normal. “I haven’t talked to her about it yet.”

I studied the dashboard of my truck, not really seeing it, trying to sort through what I should say. “Are you okay?”

Of course she wasn’t, but I couldn’t think of anything else.

Her voice came soft and uncertain again. “I don’t know what to think. Or what to do.”

That impulse to leave that instant, point my truck northwest and make my way to her side, surged over me again. I ached to hold her, to whisper against her ear that it’d be okay, that we’d figure it out together.

But we weren’t there yet, and God had me here on purpose.

Why was that again?

Focus on the reality of the moment.
“What do you mean when you say you don’t know what to do?”

“I can’t live there anymore. I’ve got to figure out a future for myself that isn’t dependent on him.”

True. Except for the running away part, because severing her relationship with her dad wouldn’t bring the peace she was looking for.

“I’m not disagreeing with you, Sarah, but don’t shut him out. He is your dad, and that’s important.”

Bitterness gripped her words. “Apparently not to him.”

Sarah

Dad was lying. I was sure of it. He didn’t want me to look for my mother—to find her.

Frustration boiled inside me. Talking to Jesse hadn’t helped, because he was disappointed in me. Well, he wasn’t there, so he didn’t know, couldn’t understand. I couldn’t stay in the same house with my dad when every second had become a thunderbolt of anger. I wasn’t going to live like that. And I wouldn’t live with a liar.

Inhaling a long, steady breath, I worked to calm my irritation. Time to think about something else.

My phone still in hand, I scanned through the pictures I’d snapped earlier that day. The brick two-story house looked creepy in its deplorable condition, and the property was overgrown. Some kind of vine almost completely covered the north side of the structure—hosting who knew what kind of vermin. Native grass and weeds stood tall and thick across the three acres of property.

Not a lot of hope in that scene—if I wasn’t willing to look for it. But I was looking. The house had been a solid build, once upon a time. Brick exterior, covered front porch, which would need to be replaced but was architecturally appealing. The foundation didn’t seem to sag too much, and the windows were all still in place, offering hope for the interior.

The little red rectangle sign posted in the front yard had snagged my attention as I’d left town earlier that day. For Sale by Owner. I’d snapped a picture of that too, because it had the owner’s phone number.

It’d be daring. Where would I stay while I made the place livable? Located just outside of Minden, if Dad and I were on friendlier terms, it’d be easy to work on it in the evenings and weekends while I continued living with him. But that didn’t sit well in my stomach at the moment. I wanted out. Immediately.

Uncle Dan lived across the road from the shop. Maybe…

That would probably cause a big rip between him and Dad. I wasn’t looking to damage my father’s life, only to get out from under it.

My mind shifted back to the conversation I’d had with Jesse. He disapproved. He was being cautious about it, trying not to offend me, but he disapproved. Because I wasn’t honoring my dad, probably. That made me want to scream. Dad was being mulish, Jesse was being subtly pushy, and I was lost as to what to do next.

Emotion whirled through my head, making me feel dizzy and frightened. I couldn’t handle this anymore—feeling alone.

You are not alone
.

Whoa. That voice…not really a voice, yet words pressing into my heart, clear and strong. My eyes slid shut as I yearned to hear—or feel it again. It didn’t come, but the impression remained deep. It had been there, spoken. I wasn’t crazy.

My attention moved back to the phone in my hand, and I switched the app to my texts. It took three breaths before I found what I was looking for, and a few more before the link loaded onto my screen.

I am not alone.

Those words sank into my soul. I eased back against the pillow on Darcy’s guest bed, shut my eyes, and held the phone against my chest.

Please, let it be true.

A tear seeped out of the corner of my eye, trickled over my cheekbone, and soaked into my hair. I lost myself in the music. The depth of those words and the singer’s rich voice carried me to a different reality.

Or maybe it was to the true reality.

My world shifted, as if the life I had been living had been a gray shadow of the life I’d been intended to live. Living, but not alive. Taking in oxygen, but not really breathing. Like watching an old
Andy Griffith
that had later been imposed with color—I thought my life before had the various shades of reds and blues that were natural and normal. Now I could see—I’d been shown what real color was. Bright. Vivid. Saturated color that came from the inside out.

Not alone. Alive from the inside out. How did I hold on to this reality?

The song ended, and the other one picked up a few seconds later.

I stayed where I was, afraid to move, because if I did, this beautiful place would dissolve, and I’d be back in the superficial zone of black and white smeared with false colors.

Jesus, He loves me…

I looped the words in my heart, wanting them to plant there. Take root and grow.

“Good song.” Darcy’s voice, soft and a little amazed, drifted from the doorway.

I blinked, and more tears dropped from my eyelashes.

Darcy passed through into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. I watched her, somehow feeling exposed by my display of raw emotion, and yet safe. That was new—and amazing.

Her hand fell to my socked foot, and she squeezed. “How did you come across that?”

I glanced down to my phone and tapped the Pause button. “A friend sent it to me.”

“Good friend.” She smiled.

“Yeah. He is. I met him while working with Homes For Hope. He’s a roofer.”

I stared at my hands as discomfort intruded into the sliver of peace I’d enjoyed moments before. The words continued playing in my mind…
He loves me
… I was desperate to know if it was so. The question grew, my longing inflating it like a balloon until I could no longer keep it inside.

“Is it true?”

“That He loves you?”

My lips quivered, and I was afraid to speak again. I nodded.

“The truest thing you’ll ever know.” Darcy scooted closer and reached for my face. Her thumb brushed away the fresh tear that had escaped my lid. “He. Loves. You.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, pushing away every doubt that threatened to smother the words.
If You love me, I want to be like Darcy, like Jesse. I don’t know how, but I want what they have…

“Just believe, Sarah.” Darcy spoke as if she knew my thoughts. “Believe that He is God, that He died to save you, and that He’ll keep you. Believe that He loves you.”

“I believe.” I did. I believed.

Arms surrounded me. Darcy’s. And somehow I knew Jesus held me too. Because He loved me. That changed everything.

Dale

Dad, I’m in Omaha. Please stop being mad. We need to talk.

It had been three hours since Sarah had texted me—and I ignored it. How did a guy—a dad—stop being mad when his daughter kept running off like some…

Never mind.

I squeezed my eyes shut. They burned with exhaustion. I hadn’t slept since she left yesterday morning. Glossy images printed on tabloid pages kept surfacing from my memory and antagonizing me every time I’d closed my eyes.

They’d released Cassie’s final photo shoot two weeks after she’d been found dead. Grotesque. That beautiful girl I had married straight out of high school had been chewed up by a monstrous world and spit out for the paparazzi to mock. Her shallow face, sunk in with the hollow trademarks of a meth addict. Her blue eyes—the very eyes that had made her famous—sucked into the sockets, still open, glazed over, and lifeless. Scars littered her body. Cutting, most likely, although definitely some from needles as well. And abuse. Certainly many marks left from a man’s brutal hand.

Her final cover story—sad, hopeless.
And, dear God, if You’re actually real at all and You aren’t the awful monster Cassie’s dad believed in, please don’t let it be the prelude to Sarah’s life.

That was what killed me. Those images from the magazines burned into my mind, except they morphed until it was no longer Cassie lying dead in that junk house. In my mind, it was Sarah.

My beautiful, talented, hardworking daughter. Used. Abused. Trashed.

Dead.

How could I get past that image? From all I could see, she was slipping down that path, and she wouldn’t listen to me.

We need to talk…

That line froze my heart. It almost never came before anything good.

But maybe this time she’d listen.

Dropping into my recliner, I thumbed the remote waiting for me on the side table. I tugged my phone from my belt. One more chance. She’d have to listen. If I had to shout it into her head, I’d get through to her.

Select. Call.

She had to hear me…

Two rings.

“Hello?”

“Sarah.” I cleared my throat.

She hesitated. “Hi, Dad.”

My tongue seemed to swell. Where did I begin? “What are you doing in Omaha?”

Her sigh rustled the air. “I’m staying with Darcy.”

“That guy there?”

“What guy?”

Playing stupid? Anger began to swell. “Don’t act dumb. You know what guy.”

“Jesse?”

“I don’t know his name.”

“Dad.” Sarah stabbed my name. “Why is that your first question? Am I okay? Yes, just in case you were actually wondering, I’m fine. Will I come home? Eventually, but we need to discuss that. But no. Your first question is, am I with a guy? No, Dad. Jesse’s not here. He had to go back to Tennessee. And even if he was here, he’s not the kind of man you’ve pinned him as, and I’m not the kind of girl you’ve decided I’ve become.”

Her snappy tone hammered against my ear, busting that balloon of anger. “I have no idea what kind of girl you’ve become. You keep running off, so what am I supposed to think?”

“You’re supposed to trust the daughter you raised, and ask real questions, not ones laced with accusations.”

“This is why you texted me?” I slammed my fist against the table, sending the remote flying across the room. “So you could sass your old man over the phone? What are trying to prove?”

“I’m not trying to prove anything.” Though heat tinged her voice, it cracked. “I’m trying to make things okay. Why can’t you see that? Why won’t you try, Dad?”

The emotion in her voice tugged hard at my chest. I shut my eyes, and those magazine images surfaced.
God, please, no…

“Dad…” Her voice, now soft, cut through those silent omens. “Please, please, hear me. Or talk to me—for real. What are you afraid of?”

My core trembled. If I spoke, she’d hear me break. Men didn’t break. Dads didn’t break.

She sighed again. “It’s about my mother, isn’t it?”

Not her. We couldn’t talk about her.

“Who is she—what did she do?”

Sarah didn’t ever need to know who gave her those blue gems. Didn’t need to know the fate that had been laid out for her.

“Dad…”

I drew a deep breath. “I told you not to bring her up.” My fingers squeezed hard against the phone. “Don’t ask, Sarah. Not ever again.”

Silence vibrated between us, though I could hear the muffled sound of her breath. Not good enough.

“Do you hear me, Sarah Jane? Not. Ever. Got it?”

“Sure.” She paused, and then her voice became cold and distant. “Nice talk, Dad. Have a good night.”

Once again, she wasn’t listening.

Those magazine pictures continued to taunt me long after she’d hung up.

Sarah

I glared at the wall beyond my bed. Knowing Jesse would call tonight, that he would ask if I’d talked to my dad, and that if I hadn’t, Jesse’d be disappointed in me—knowing all of that, I’d talked to my dad.

Jesse couldn’t understand. His parents weren’t around to make him feel like a failure or a reject.

Not so. He’d just told me the other day he’d been afraid he’d never live up to his dad’s reputation, and that hadn’t been his father’s fault. Were all parent-child relationships doomed to friction?

A question I couldn’t answer—and was fairly irrelevant anyway. Nothing had doomed my relationship with Dad outside of Dad himself. He’d gone control-freak psycho with this stuff about my mom. I wanted to know where she was, who she was, so I would know where I came from. What did I have from her besides blue eyes? Was my physical build Sharpe, or was it from her? Did I do anything that she did? What if she was a house designer? She could teach me how to plan a kitchen, what trends leave a lasting impression. Or she could be a businesswoman. She could show me how to structure a plan to set out on my own and succeed.

So many possibilities. Dad must have known. There had to be a reason he wouldn’t tell me—and it didn’t seem probable that whatever that reason was, it was a good one.

Maybe my mother had wanted me, and Dad kept us apart.

Would he do that?

Secrets. They were never good.

Fueled by a new conviction that my dad had betrayed me, I whipped off the bed and snagged my laptop. My anger built as I waited for the screen to light up. Google knew everything. Dad couldn’t keep his secrets forever.

My home screen lit up, and with a quick move of the mouse, I became Sarah Sharpe, private investigator.

Dale Sharpe.
I stabbed the letters of his name on my keyboard, taking my anger out on the little buttons. A long list floated to the first page. Common name, which meant this could get tricky.

Dale Sharpe, Minden, Nebraska.
The new search narrowed the field. Dad’s construction company came up, along with his cell phone number.