I crossed my arms. “I never noticed a change. How did you manage that?”
“His journals. He told me a lot of stories about you. Some of the emails were lifted directly from them. It wasn’t that hard. But I did recognize that I couldn’t do that forever. So I brought you here this summer so that I could explain things to you. It took so long for you to open up to me and then when you finally started trusting me, I realized that telling you could ruin it all. It was stupid. I should’ve told you right away.”
I nodded and once again realized that I had acted rashly before understanding the full details.
“Can I still live here until I graduate?”
He smiled.
“Of course, longer if you want.”
“No more emails, okay. Just talk to me.”
“No more, except this one.”
He handed me an envelope.
“Your Dad told me to give this to you at the end. I don’t know what it says.”
I opened the letter and read it out loud.
Dear Savannah,
As I write this, you are asleep in the room next to me. We are going riding today for the last time. I need you to understand. Life has been hard for me. I don’t function the way most people do. Reality is really hard for me to find. I know that today will be my last and that brings me a peace that I’ve never felt before.
I want my last minutes to be my happiest, and I can’t think of a happier moment than riding coasters with my favorite person in the whole world. I love you more than anyone and I want my last second alive to be with you.
Ride on,
Dad
Grant was silent for a few seconds.
“Do you still feel guilty?”
I shook my head. “It was still selfish of him. He didn’t think about how it would affect me.”
“No, he didn’t.”
I closed my eyes and felt the guilt and the pain melt away. I was letting them go.
It was time for me to move on.
I was alone in my hospital room when a woman wearing a stiff button up shirt and pencil skirt came to visit me.
“You are Savannah Ray?”
“Yes.”
“You are eighteen, yes?”
“Yes.”
“I’m afraid there has been a problem with your insurance. You moved out of your parents’ home and are no longer considered their dependent. The insurance company is refusing to pay for your care. I’m afraid you’ll have to pay the bill yourself.”
I blinked.
“How much will my bill be?”
She handed me a piece of paper. “It’s just an estimate. You’ll go home this evening and then the bill will be finalized.”
The amount was within a hundred dollars of what I had in my bank account. So much for Eurochocolate. Maybe next year. It was time for me to support my family anyway. I assured the woman that the bill would be paid and thought for a second that I would hate her job.
After she left, I picked up my phone from the small bedside table. I found the number I wanted. The phone rang twice.
“Savannah, how are you?”
“Hey Gina, I’m fine. Hey listen, I was wondering if your offer was still open.”
“To be part of the wedding? Of course. I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too. I’m sorry I’ve been so withdrawn, I’ve been having trouble dealing with my dad’s death. I’m happy that you’re getting married again.”
She sighed.
“Thank you. I’ll call you next week and we’ll talk about the dresses.”
“Love you.”
“Love you too.”
A WEEK LATER, just after the park closed, most of the Demon Drop crew huddled around the control booth. Becca and Angelica weren’t there, but I didn’t miss them. Dallas and Julia joined us. There was some argument over who was going to operate. Finally it was decided that grumpy Jeff could run the ride.
I called shotgun and Grant sat next to me. I wore a bright red t-shirt that I bought the day I got home from the hospital. Dallas and Julia sat right behind us. The rest of the crew filled about half the train.
Grant smiled. “You ready?”
I put my arms up as the train climbed the tracks.
Ride on, Dad. Ride on.
Four years ago my father took his own life. Not quite as dramatically as Savannah’s father. But he still killed himself and that has left a hole in my heart that I don’t believe will ever be filled. Every time I think that maybe I’m getting over it, something reminds me of him or I find myself in a situation where I long to talk to him. Suicide is different for families than any other kind of death because even though it is a disease, there is still some element of choice.
Half of the profits from this book will go directly to various charities that focus on suicide prevention. Every few weeks I will pick a different charity to donate to. There are so many out there, all with slightly different missions but all focused on one thing—preventing suicide.
If you are suffering from depression and are having thoughts of suicide, please get help. Even if it feels like no one loves you, I assure you that people do and you will be missed. Depression and those suicidal thoughts are lying to you. Get help so that someday you’ll be around to help those you love when they are having a hard time.
Please also consider making a donation to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. They have prevented many suicides and helped countless families deal with their loss. You can make a donation here:
afsp.donordrive.com/campaign/bittersweet
This is a fund I set up in honor of my father.
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The Thorn Chronicles: Kissed
Trapped in a dark cult, sixteen-year-old Naomi Aren has lived a quiet, albeit unhappy, life nestled deep in the hills of the Ozarks. With uncut hair, denim skirts, and only roses for friends, Naomi seldom questions why her life is different from other kids at school. Until the day her abusive father, who is also the cult’s leader, announces her wedding. Naomi must marry Dwayne Yerdin, a bully who reeks of sweat and manure and is the only one person who scares her worse than her father.
Then she meets Kai, the mysterious boy who brings her exotic new roses and stolen midnight kisses. Kisses that bring her a supernatural strength she never knew she had. As the big day approaches, Naomi unearths more secrets of about her father’s cult. She learns she has power of her own and while Kai may have awakened that power, Naomi must find a way to use it to escape Dwayne and her father—without destroying herself.
Chapter 1
Birthdays are supposed to be special like my Kaiser Wilhelm rosebushes. They bloom once a year, huge violet and crimson cups full to bursting with petals. When I part the petals with my nose and inhale, I go weak in the knees from the fruity perfume. But my birthdays are more like the daisies that grow alongside the roses. Ignored.
The sink looked odd next to our front door. My mother had it installed after I kept tracking in dirt and fertilizer from my green house. I washed the soil off my hands with the warm water and used a file to clear the dirt out from under my nails. Then I exchanged one dirty pair of ugly tennis shoes for a pair of clean ugly tennis shoes and made my way into the kitchen. Mother didn’t allow a speck of soil from my greenhouse to dirty her home.
Paint on the cabinets peeled away in white curls. A single light bulb gave enough light to cook but not enough to read a recipe. My mother stood by the tiny window, her bottle blond hair twisted in a bun
on the back of her head. She wiped her hands on her apron then smoothed a stray hair from my braid. I knelt down to tie my shoes, anything to avoid her touch. Physical touch burned, even something as little as a finger brushing my forehead.
“Wash your face. We have guests for dinner.” My stomach knotted. I tied and untied my shoes three times, wondering how to respond. Years ago, my father had closed our home to visitors. No one crossed our threshold. I was allowed to leave only to go to school and to church. Well, if you want to call it that. I’ve watched movies in school and I went to the Baptist church until I was eight. Our new church, Crusaders of God, was a bigger shock than no more pants. But Mother and Father called it church.
“Why?” I asked. My curiosity overrode my memory of the last question I asked when Grandma died and I wanted to know why I couldn’t go to the funeral. I stood and waited for the slap and a lecture.
Instead, she smiled like she was hiding something important.
“For your birthday. They’re friends of your father’s from church. We have a big surprise for you.”
Of course. Friends of my father. Nothing ever happened in our house unless he was the center of attention. Even on my birthday. At least they remembered. The surprise concerned me though, as the last surprise they announced turned out to be a drastic lifestyle change complete with long denim skirts and strict obedience. Oh, and no more birthdays. Until now, apparently. Maybe the surprise would be that my father finally found his sanity. That would be an amazing birthday present. I doubted I’d get that lucky.
Dinner took place in the dining room. The cheap chandelier struggled to fill the room with light as two of the bulbs were out and nobody bothered to replace them. Our mysterious dinner guest turned out to be familiar. And not the good kind of familiar either.
Dwayne Yerdin sat at the table. He was a senior at my school but ended up in quite a few of my classes even though he was two years older. I probably shouldn’t judge him. But with his heavy lidded, half closed eyes, buzzed head, and classic bully laugh, I had disliked him the moment I saw him. Perhaps he would prove my judgment wrong tonight. Seated next to him was a pudgy man in a suit. He wore a tie, but his neck was too thick to fasten the top button. He had the same heavy lidded eyes as Dwayne.
My father, a tall thin man with thick blond hair, saw me waiting in the doorway.
“Naomi, it’s about time. Come and meet Dwayne and his father. They go to church with us. Here, sit.”
My father indicated the chair next to Dwayne, but I sat across from him instead. My head buzzed with the act of disobedience and the air smelled faintly of wisteria. I almost smiled. A look of irritation passed over my father’s face, but he didn’t say anything. Next to my father, the pudgy man stared at me with piercing gray eyes.
My mother served us all pot roast and baked potatoes. She piled every plate high but hers and mine. Hunger kept me humble. And skinny. I focused on my food most of the dinner, not wanting to meet the pudgy man’s gaze. Or Dwayne’s. His eyes shifted rapidly around the room as if he were looking for the nearest exit. But when his eyes met mine he smirked, like he knew something I didn’t.
My father and Mr. Yerdin talked of politics and religion, not once acknowledging that anyone else sat at the table. Of course, I shouldn’t have been surprised since more than one sermon had been preached about the place of women and children. We were inferior and didn’t deserve an opinion that differed from our husbands’ or fathers’, so it was best that we just didn’t say anything at all. As the conversation turned to the medical experiments Dad performed on the dog that had been dumped in our yard last week, I tuned out and tried to think of what I would get if I crossed an Iceberg rose with a Sunsprite. A nice pale yellow and only a few thorns. Could be interesting. If Grandma were still alive, she’d appreciate it.
A quick glance at the clock told me they’d only been here forty-five minutes, but it felt like days. After another excruciating hour, Mother presented the cake. The carrot cake (my father’s favorite) had sixteen candles on it. I had not had a cake with candles since my eighth birthday. On that day, the cake was chocolate, my favorite, but that was before Father went insane. I missed those days, the ones before he went crazy. When he would come home and take me canoeing and fishing. When we would wake up early on Saturdays and go to breakfast at Sheila’s Café. I blinked back tears thinking of the father he used to be.
After the cake, I moved to help my mother clean up, but Father put a hand on my wrist, a signal to stay seated. The skin burned where he touched it.
“See,” my father said, “she’s obedient.”
Mr. Yerdin grinned. “Yes, of course she is. I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, Dr. Aren. Dwayne, what do you think?”
Dwayne shrugged and shifted his eyes. Me, I kept my mouth shut and listened for the words that weren’t being said.
Mr. Yerdin eyed me up and down. “Well she certainly has the required blond hair and blue eyes.”
“And she’s a virgin.” My father spoke this a little too loudly and I flinched. My mother paused before picking up Mr. Yerdin’s plate. She met my father’s eyes and nodded. Then the corners of her mouth turned up ever so slightly.
My stomach sank at the thought of what my birthday surprise would be. Although part of me did not want to hear the rest of the conversation, but to escape back into the quiet world of flowers and dirt, another part of me needed to know what my future held, where being a virgin was important.
I cleared my throat. Dwayne smiled a wide toothy smile and my father glowered like I’d done something wrong. Which, of course I had, but it would be worth the punishment if I got the answers I needed.
“Could someone please explain?” There. I asked the question. So out of character for me and yet satisfying in a strange way, like the way I felt when a teacher praised me for a good job. I bit my bottom lip and tasted butterscotch, which was weird because the cake we had, contained nothing of the sort. While I knew asking questions was not an act of disobedience, I also recognized the power in the asking. As if I was taking control, even if that control was small. I took a sip of my water. Father hesitated for a moment and then frowned. He looked up and saw my mother standing in the kitchen, her eyes boring into his. He didn’t look away from her when he answered me.
“You’ll be marrying Dwayne.”
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This book was incredibly hard to write. There are still parts that I can’t read without tearing up because I drew from my own emotional journey of grief for my own father. I have so many people to thank who helped me take the mess and make it a book.
Thank you Katya for being a rock star editor. You truly are amazing.
Robin, the cover is amazing. Thank you.
A big thanks to the Renegade team at Valley Fair. That summer was awesome, thank you.
Mandy, Karen, and Kristin. Thank you will never be enough to express my gratitude for you three. You’ve supported me more than I could ever imagine.
Heidi, thank you for reading the first draft. You are an amazing critique partner.
Thank you to my awesome beta readers: Patience, Stephanie, Kristina, and Shelby, and Amanda.
Virginia, once again I have no words for how grateful I am for your support. You deserve a medal or something for all that you’ve done. Love you!
Gina, thank you for being an awesome stepmom when I needed one. I wouldn’t be who I am today without you.
Tina, thank you for loving my dad. I believe he lived as long as he did because of you. If not, I would’ve lost him years earlier.
Karl, Darlene, Allen, Becky, Amanda, Samantha, Kristin, Larry, Christine, Kari, Joe, Yvonne, Larry, Joshua and anyone else that I’ve forgotten who loved my dad. Thank you for your love and support.
Mom and Matt. Thank you for being awesome parents. I love and miss you guys so much.
Tiffany, I couldn’t ask for a better sister. Thank you for your support.
Xandi and A.J., you kids are the best. I love you to pieces. Thank you for your love and support.
Will, thank you for love and support. I couldn’t do this without you.
Dad, I miss you. Thank you for all you did for me. I’m grateful you were there for me when I needed you. Also, thank you for leaving me your parking karma. That’s been helpful.
Kimberly Loth can’t decide where she wants to settle down. She’s lived in Michigan, Illinois, Missouri, Utah, California, Oregon, and South Carolina. She finally decided to make the leap and leave the U.S. behind for a few years. Currently, she lives in Cairo, Egypt with her husband and two kids. She is a high school math teacher by day (please don’t hold that against her) and YA author by night. She loves romantic movies, chocolate, roses, and crazy adventures. Bittersweet is her third novel.
Table of Contents
Bittersweet
Dedication
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
chapter 26
chapter 27
chapter 28
Author's Note
More From Kimberly Loth
Sneak Peek Into The Thorn Chronicles: Kissed
Bittersweet Page 19