House Of Secrets

by Tracie Peterson

  Start Reading

  © 2011 by Tracie Peterson

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  www.bethanyhouse.com

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan

  www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

  Ebook edition created 2011

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  ISBN 978-1-4412-3383-7

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  The lyrics to “Tear Down These Walls” by Becky Milesnick are used by permission. Becky Milesnick © 2010 www.worshipprojectfoundation.com. All Rights Reserved.

  Scripture quotations are from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 Biblica. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved. www.zondervan.com

  Cover design by Andrea Gjeldum

  Cover photography by Chris Strong Photography, Chicago

  Any internet addresses, email addresses, and phone numbers in this book are accurate at the time of publication. They are provided only as a resource; Baker Publishing Group does not endorse them or vouch for their content or permanence.

  With thanks to Angie Breidenbach for her help and willingness to share.

  You are a wonderful author, teacher, and friend,

  and I love how God put us together at just the right time.

  http://www.AngelaBreidenbach.com

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Tear Down These Walls

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Discussion Questions

  About the Author

  Back Ads

  Back Cover

  TEAR DOWN THESE WALLS

  by Becky Milesnick

  Tear down these walls.

  I need to see what’s been hidden

  By this pain, this hurt

  This fear, this brokenness.

  Only You can take this away,

  Only Your presence

  Can lead me to say

  It’s all in the past

  I’m moving on

  Forget what’s behind me

  I’ll look to Your throne.

  Remove all these stains

  Wash me in love

  Restore my innocence

  Breathe life from above.

  www.worshipprojectfoundation.com

  Chapter 1

  At twenty-seven, it feels silly to admit that my biggest fear in life is getting a certain phone call. You know the kind I mean—where someone announces they’ve arranged for your family to be on one of those hideous daytime television talk shows. Screaming, yelling, family secrets upchucked for all the viewers to see. What’s worse, our family is a trash TV dream-come-true.

  I would like to tell you I’ve exaggerated, but I can’t. As the oldest of three girls, I’ve long been the headmistress in our strange house of secrets.

  My sister Geena turned twenty-three last February. She’s always been the genius in the family; she devoured college like a two-year-old with a bowl of sugar-laden cereal and moved right on to a main course of law school. She also is model thin and a bit taller than me, which irritated me to no end when I hit my teens and people thought she was the oldest. All three of us have brown hair, but Geena’s is more a dark blond, almost a burnt gold, and long. Mine is a deeper brown, and I usually grab it back in a clip to keep it out of my face.

  Our little sister, Piper, graduated college last month. At twenty-one she’s all moodiness and distraction. Petite and delicate and pretty, Piper has always had hauntingly elfish features, with dark brown hair worn in a stylish bob. She also grew into the spitting image of our dead mother. I often wondered if it unnerved our father as much as it did me, but of course, I would never ask that question aloud.

  In the Cooper family, we learned early to never ask questions. Those only stirred up conflict, and conflict was unacceptable.

  Then there’s me. Being the eldest, I fit the stereotype—conscientious, responsible, a workaholic . . . probably more than a tad dull. Which may be why I found myself sitting in a rather old-fashioned, stuffy conference room listening to a barrage of reasons for why I should immediately accept the job being offered.

  The vice president of the company, Ron Delahunt, leaned forward on the polished oak table. “We have been pleased with the work you’ve done, Bailee. A full-time position with Masters and Delahunt Publishing is yours if you want it.” I’d been working for just over three years in my current position as a freelance editor, so the fact that I was being offered a job heading up the freelance editorial team was quite an honor.

  I gave a sidelong glance at Mark Delahunt—Ron’s son and my immediate supervisor. Not to mention the heir apparent to the throne. Mark was yet another difficult part of my life. My brain kept telling me he was everything I could want in a man—if I would only allow myself to want one. Given my history, however, I was determined to go through life solo. It would have been something akin to cruelty to force anyone else to endure what the Cooper family had to offer. Don’t get me wrong; I’d tried to have a boyfriend. When I was younger I convinced myself not once but twice that I could overcome the past and all the ugly issues that surround my family. But just as I started to give my heart—began to believe I could actually trust another person—something happened and I retreated to my fortress of solitude. Twice, as I mentioned.

  The other day I figured I’d spent something like four hundred hours in therapy to learn that I’ve got trust and abandonment issues. I could have figured that out on my own, saving myself time and my father a great deal of money. Mark’s grin drew me back into the present.

  “I need to consider your offer,” I said trying hard to sound nonchalant about the entire matter. It wasn’t every day that an offer of this magnitude came along, and frankly it would be the answer to a lot of my problems. However, it would also cause problems. For instance, I would need to leave Boston and move to New York City. That would mean leaving my sisters.

  “Take as much time as you need,” Ron said, getting up from the table. His assistant, Madge, quickly gathered the papers he’d left and got to her feet. Madge had been working here nearly as long as the publishing house had been in operation. Rumor held that she would retire at the end of the year, but as we’d seen with numerous sports figures who retired only to reappear the following season, I didn’t believe Madge was going anywhere.

  “Mark can further explain the benefits,” Ron said as he moved to the door. “I have a four o’clock across town and need to leave. Good to see you again, Bailee.”

  And just as quickly as he’d entered the room a half hour earlie
r, he was gone. I saw Mark’s assistant, Sandy, peek into the room. “You two want any coffee? I’m making a run.”

  I smiled. “A skinny latte sounds great.”

  “Make mine a mocha latte,” Mark declared.

  Sandy nodded. “Be back in a jiff.”

  Once the door was closed, I turned to Mark. “Did you know he was going to do this today?”

  He smiled and ran his hand through his wavy brown hair. “I did. I suppose I should have mentioned it, but I thought you might prefer to be surprised.”

  “You know I hate surprises.” I leaned back and studied him for a moment. Mark and I had a history that went back several years. And in the course of that time, I’d never failed to appreciate his rugged good looks.

  “Well, you know these opportunities are few and far between. You’d be in charge of all the freelance projects and represent those editors at the editorial meetings.”

  “I know, Mark. Believe me, I feel rather honored that your family would take a chance on someone as young as me.”

  “Well, we kind of like you around here.”

  Which in and of itself complicated matters. Mark liked me, and I liked Mark. Maybe too much. He had the heart of a poet, the mind of Einstein, and the face of . . . well, let me just say the man was definitely dealt a fair hand in the looks department. Several business magazine covers featured his impish grin and smiling blue eyes, and rumors buzzed that a top fashion magazine wanted to cast him as the spokesperson for the hottest new clothing line aimed at career-minded women.

  “Look, why don’t you stick around the city this weekend?” Mark leaned toward me. “You can stay at the apartment Dad mentioned—the one you’d be offered if you take the job. You can get a feel for it and see what you think. You and I could take in a show—maybe do some sightseeing or go to the art museum. Then on Sunday you could go to church with me.”

  And there was the other reason I needed to be careful where Mark Delahunt was concerned: He had all these nicely arranged beliefs in a God who cared and loved him enough to intercede when bad times threatened. That was a god I didn’t know—didn’t believe existed.

  “I need to get home. I shouldn’t even wait for the coffee.” I got to my feet and gathered my things. Opening my case, I stuffed them inside without worrying about the order of things. “I have people counting on me, as you know.”

  “Your sisters?”

  I met his raised-brow expression and doubting tone. “Yes. My sisters count on me. They always have.”

  “Don’t you think it’s time you focused on your life—what you need and want? You can’t even consider this job without first weighing the consequences to them. That hardly seems fair—or healthy.”

  “Look, it’s just the way it’s always been. Our father has been . . . well . . . busy building his empire. We girls rely on each other. That’s just the way it is.”

  “So how will that work when you start pairing off? Getting married?” he asked with a grin.

  Shaking my head, I headed for the door. “This isn’t open for discussion. I have too much on my plate right now to let you distract me.”

  He was at my side in four quick strides. Reaching out, he took hold of my arm. “Bailee, at least have dinner with me. You can catch the late train.” His eyes all but danced, as if amused at my discomfort. Was it wrong of me to think he rather enjoyed making me feel aflutter in his presence? On the other hand, maybe he didn’t realize the temptation he presented.

  “Please. Just dinner.”

  “I can’t, Mark. I need to get back.” I hurried from the room, knowing that if I didn’t I might well give in.

  My weekend in Boston didn’t turn out like I’d figured it would. Piper refused to go shopping on Saturday, telling us that she had a splitting headache and just wanted to sleep. Geena and I quickly grew bored with checking out sales and headed instead to my condo in the city. We both ended up taking a nap and before we realized it, the day was gone—a complete waste. I ended up going back to the family house in Newton to spend the night, unable to stop thinking about what my Saturday might have been like had I stayed in New York.

  From the time we girls hit our teens, Sunday had represented nothing more than the day we were to head back to our boarding school—if we even came home on the weekend. This morning I slept late and then tried to interest my sisters in going out for brunch, but neither of them wanted to bother. I felt listless, roaming around my family home, so I soon found myself working on a manuscript and thinking I should just head back to my condo. Something was happening to the three of us, and I didn’t know quite how to take it. All of my life—at least as far back as I could remember—I’ve felt responsible for Geena and Piper. Part of that came from my mother’s encouragement. She always said that as the oldest sister, it was my job to set an example and keep watch. For most of our lives, we three girls have been close—either bound by our secrets or the uncertainty of our future—and so we stuck together. Now, however, that was all changing.

  “I’m going to meet some friends,” Geena announced after spending most of the day on the phone.

  “I thought we were going to get some dinner together—maybe catch a movie.” I looked at Piper for confirmation.

  She shrugged and seemed to mold herself even more tightly in the confines of the leather chair where she’d curled up to read. “I don’t feel like doing much of anything,” she replied. “You two go ahead if you want.”

  “I didn’t think we had firm plans,” Geena said, looking rather annoyed.

  Sighing, I gathered my things. “I’ll walk to the T with you.” And that was my weekend. The weekend that was so important that I turned down the chance to spend time with Mark in New York City. Maybe Mark was right. Maybe it was time to break away—start fresh.

  So on a rainy Monday evening, I considered the pros and cons of just such a move. The logistics were on my side for once. In New York I would be able to sublet an apartment owned by the publishing house. I’d have a good job in place—people who cared about me. I would receive a substantial raise, acquire new benefits, and move ahead in my career. It seemed like the decision should be an easy one.

  But there were nagging cons that kept me from taking the position. My life in Boston was fairly regimented. I had a routine that was long established. Our father was so often gone that I’d taken it upon myself to be both mother and father to my sisters. Not that he’d ever really asked me to, but after our mother died it seemed that in his absence it was my only choice. Of course, if this last weekend proved anything, it was clear that my sisters didn’t feel the need to have a guardian anymore. And who could blame them? They were grown women. I had no right to direct their lives.

  My stomach clenched at the thought that they no longer needed me.

  “So why not take the job?” I asked aloud. Just be bold and forget about everything else and take the position in New York City. It was what I wanted. It was what I’d dreamed of. So why was I so afraid?

  I knew the answer, but I didn’t really want to voice it. It was impossible to move forward with the future when I couldn’t seem to let go of the past. I carried the past around like a set of luggage that, though shredded and ugly in appearance, still managed to contain my things. I didn’t really want to keep it. But I felt guilty about casting it aside.

  Spying the clock on the wall, I pushed aside those facts and fears and settled into my work. I’d been given a rapid-turnaround project to edit—some governor who hoped to one day run for president had written a book timed to coincide with the next saga of campaign hoopla. Fortunately, I was nearing the end. Most of the book was written like a frat boy tasting his first spoonful of success. A braggart at best, and an out-and-out liar at worst. The project bored me to tears, but I’d taken it on as a favor to Mark. It would also be a nice piece of change in my pocket.

  The standard ring of my cell drew me back to task. I’d assigned specific ringtones to my family and my therapist, so I knew this had to be either w
ork or a total stranger. I hoped it was Sandy, Mark’s assistant. She was supposed to get back to me and let me know about my next editorial project.

  “Bailee Cooper,” I answered in my professional voice.

  “Hello, Bailee. It’s Mark.”

  I looked at my phone again. It wasn’t his usual number, and that kind of surprised me. Shrugging, I jumped right in. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you, but since you called, I’ll let you know that this project is clearly one of the lamest I’ve ever worked on. This man is positively full of himself. To hear him tell it, he’s single-handedly nearly put an end to hunger, disease, and war. A job for everyone and a chicken in every pot.”

  Mark laughed. “I felt the same way when I gave it a quick read, but Dad is good friends with the man and believes he’ll one day be president of the United States.”

  “I hope the man loses his fondness for Speedos by then.”

  “I hope you edited that part,” Mark said, sounding serious now. “Readers aren’t going to want to read ten pages on the virtues of swimwear.”

  I nodded and made a note. I hadn’t been entirely sure how much of a free hand I had on this project.

  “But, Bailee, that’s not really why I’m calling.”

  I steeled myself. I knew very well why he was calling. At least I had a pretty good idea. I said nothing.

  “Bailee, you still there?”

  “I am. Just waiting for you to tell me why you called. Something to do with my next project, I hope?”

  “In a sense. I want to know if you’ve thought about the job.”

  I rubbed at my temples. “Of course I’ve thought about it. I just haven’t made up my mind. I hardly think one weekend is time enough to make a decision that will affect the rest of my life.” I knew this wouldn’t be what he wanted to hear, but I couldn’t help it.

  “I thought you and I might discuss it in more detail tonight.”

  I frowned. What more could he tell me about the job than what we’d already been over several times?

  “Bailee?”