Acknowledgments
For my dedicated Beta readers, critique partners, editor and writers who helped birth this book, thank you for your support, time and efforts. A book is written not by one writer but by a team of people who love reading and books. A special thank you to all my Facebook friends who put up with my angst during this entire process. You are the best!
CHAPTER 1
She was perfect. Exactly what the Trainer needed. Wide hips, supple curves, and a country girl. Not a city girl. He’d tried a city girl before. Never again. It had been disastrous. She hadn’t understood his plan for the perfect life. The perfect—it didn’t matter. She hadn’t been the one and would never be. Only a stand-in.
He moved closer. Loved the way this one selected her vegetables from the local market. She squeezed the plump tomatoes and ripe peaches, unable to make up her mind. Then she gave a graceful shake of her head, bouncing those soft curls into her eyes.
He groaned. A streak of heat coursed through his body. He wiped sweat from his forehead. Studied her again. He didn’t need to squeeze the merchandise. He could make up his mind with no effort.
A few basic rules and they could both be happy. Like in those fairy tales he’d heard as a child. The ones his father read him after his mother passed out on the sofa.
Harlot.
Yes, life could have been sweet if only . . .
He hated unhappy endings. Hated the way they made him feel.
She spun around, her skirt hiking up her sculpted thighs. Another sigh surged through his body.
Yes, her story might start a little rocky, but in a few days, maybe a few weeks, she’d come around. It was his plan, after all. His purpose.
He pinned on his suitor’s smile, hooked a shopping basket on his arm, stepped forward.
Showtime.
CHAPTER 2
Kate Song checked her watch as she repositioned herself on the hard bleachers. She’d already clocked in forty hours this week. The little league play-offs. Did she care who won?
Not an ounce, but a job was a job.
The batter glanced behind him as a fresh roar of thunder exploded over Hunlock Creek park. One more pitch and he’d walk to first. Good. The game would end before the storm arrived.
“Did you get a good shot of Trevor? Can’t believe Coach let him play third today after he’s missed so many practices.” Jackie, Trevor’s proud mom, tapped Kate’s knee. “He’s grown so fast.”
“Hard to believe he’ll be eleven soon.” Kate zoomed in on Jackie’s only child. If she had children, would she be as proud? Of course, but the likelihood of her bearing children was about the same as winning the Power Ball. Zilch.
Whack! The ball streaked across the field, striking the first baseman in the leg. That was it. Kate packed up her camera, crushed her soda can. “See you Saturday. Tell Trevor good job.”
“Don’t forget to bring your brownies. I’m off my diet.” Jackie pulled out her Detroit Tigers umbrella then shouted to her son who trotted off the field.
Kate waved good-bye and limped toward the parking lot as the first drops of rain threatened to soak her and her gear. Halfway there, a firm hand clamped down on her left shoulder. She spun around, expecting Jackie with another reminder.
Instead a podgy, middle-aged man with a camera drooped around his neck swayed before her.
“Aren't you the Miracle Girl of the Canton bomber? I’ve been looking for you.”
His question tore into her like a round-nosed bullet. “Sorry. You’ve got the wrong person.” She twisted from his grip, veered toward the stream of parents. When she reached her car, she dove into the driver’s seat, pressed the locks, and fumbled with her keys. The ten-year old engine sputtered, refusing to start. “C’mon!” she begged as her pulse surged. She cranked it again. Another time. When it finally turned over, she shifted into gear and craned her neck to scan the packed parking lot. Then she tore out onto the road.
Kate gripped the steering wheel hard, steadying her racing thoughts.
She glanced into her rear-view mirror as she skillfully maneuvered the back streets of Loreen, certain no one followed her. As the Sun’s photographer, she had memorized all the streets. Now she’d have to quit her job again. Move away.
At thirty-two, she was tired of running.
The driveway of the apartment building loomed before her. She searched the lot for strangers. Anything out of the ordinary. One mistake and . . .
She wiped her clammy palms on her jeans.
It would take only a few hours to pack. She’d become somewhat of a pro over the years. Her own private disappearing act.
Kate stashed her camera gear in the foyer corner, and rested her back against the locked door, her bad leg throbbing. The smell of last night’s lasagna still lingered in small pools of spicy scent around her. She scanned her home. Too bad she’d fallen for this apartment. High ceilings with ornate moldings. Something out of her dreams. She should have known better.
She pushed off. Enough memories.
First she dug for an envelope from the box she kept stashed in a kitchen drawer. A final rent check. Then a letter of resignation.
After packing her meager closet of clothing, she pulled out a box she’d kept stored for this particular day. In it she placed her knick-knacks, art work, and other memorabilia she’d collected over the years—items that reminded her she had a past before the running began. She picked up the pocketknife her father had always carried on him. The pearl handle soothed her soul.
She slipped it into her jean’s pocket.
Once she packed her apartment, she opened her computer and uploaded the ballgame photos. Because she planned to run from her job, didn’t mean she couldn’t finish her work. She’d send her editor the photos and the write up first. She wasn’t a total loser.
Her mouth curved upward as she flipped through the shots. She had been careful to include as many players as she could. She’d also taken a team picture to present to the coach at the picnic on Sunday. Hopefully, Mark would see he got it.
Kate propped her elbows on the kitchen table while memories whirred. Jackie had become as close to a friend as she had ever known. They’d clicked the first time Kate showed up at a school event where she’d taken photos for the paper. Next thing she knew, she was attending all the games with Jackie and her husband and cheering on Trevor like she was his aunt. He was a good kid, always trying to please his parents.
Another photo. Her last one. Trevor, glove in position at third base.
No! Her throat clogged, as though someone was choking her from behind. She lunged for a gulp of water at the sink, tipping over her chair in her haste.
Her hands shook as she stared at her computer. Not again. She should shut it down now. Slam the lid. Walk out the door and forget this town. The people. Her life.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Is that who she’d become?
Swallowing hard, she forced herself to return to the picture of Trevor, forced her eyes to focus. Trevor blurred, then cleared. His prepubescent body squatted, ready for action. His mother’s blue eyes peered from beneath his cap. The dimple that Jackie swore came from his dad, filled his right cheek.
A handsome child. A child full of life.
Kate blinked. Touched the screen. She couldn’t deny the truth that screamed to her.
The faint white glow. It had returned. Again.
This time the aura surrounded a little boy whose only dream was to become a big league ballplayer.
She gagged, turned her head away as hot bile rose to the back of her throat.
She hated that glow. What it meant. What it promised.
Certain death.
Not Trevor. A primal ache erupted from a place deep inside of her heart. She remembered the cough. The one Jackie said h
ad kept her up for a month of Sundays. The visit to the town doctor who declared it a cold, nothing else.
She glanced to her phone. How could she not say something? She punched in her friend’s number, hoping Jackie wouldn’t pick up. A message. A short message and that would suffice. Then she’d run to another town where she would know no one. Where she might never see the aura again.
The phone rang three times. Each ring pounded into Kate’s ears like a sledge hammer. Don’t let her pick up.
“Hey, did you make it home without drowning? Trevor and I are soaked.” Jackie’s velvety voice answered.
Kate clutched the phone to her ear. Ordered herself to breathe normally.
“Listen, I’ve been thinking about Trevor and his cough. Why don’t you take him to a specialist in Lansing for me? I had a friend once who had a cough like his. I don’t want to scare you but I would take him again. Make them run more tests.”
“Now look who’s worrying.”
“Please?” Kate turned back to her screen. Slammed down the lid.
“Okay. I wanted to anyway but I didn’t want to come across as overprotective. I’ll call tomorrow.”
Kate’s stomach dropped into place. “Thanks. Oh, and I found out I need to leave town awhile. An emergency. My aunt. She fell and needs my help.”
“I’m so sorry. Can I do anything while you’re gone? Get your mail?”
“No, no. I’ll put a stop on it. Just take care of Trevor for me, okay? Kiss him bye.”
“Sure, I’ll do that. Kate, take care of yourself. I’ll miss you.”
“Me too. I’ll miss all of you.” She clicked off. Dropped her head into her hands.
She could deal with the running. The leaving. The hiding.
What she couldn’t deal with was much worse—being the person who predicted death.
CHAPTER 3
A sense of hopeless gloom permeated the air.
Bend, Pennsylvania. A pimple on the map. The place reminded Kate of the dismal battle pictures she’d seen while visiting Gettysburg with her parents. Drooping store fronts decayed from too many years of poor upkeep. Skinny hounds rooting for a sliver of shade or a handout. A spattering of tired-old men in bib overalls and women dressed in drab forgotten colors following one step behind.
She toyed with the idea of turning around as she consulted the GPS on her phone.
When Kate had called about the job, the editor warned he couldn’t pay much, but he had an opening. She would cover social events and funerals. Shoot photos and write short copy. If she wanted the job, those were the terms. Apparently the other reporter covered everything else.
She wanted work and her choices had run out.
Running was no longer an option. She needed to eat.
She continued south through town, crossed a rickety bridge and slowed as she neared the address for her new home. The real estate agent called it a fixer upper. A gross understatement.
Egg-shell blue paint had been used to hide a rotting front porch. A tin roof patched with rust spots topped the deteriorating building. Windows like gloomy eyes stared at her, dared her to enter. But it was in her price range. Plus, towering oak trees bordered the property so she would not easily be detected.
She parked by the back door. Hoisted her suitcase and box through the back door.
Time to check out the rest of the place.
A prickly horsehair couch dominated the living room. Not exactly her style. Or anyone’s, she guessed. The one saving grace—a comfy looking chair with a three-legged stool in front of it. She quickly toured the bedroom and antiquated bathroom and found it livable. After she stashed her groceries into one of the two kitchen cupboards, she collapsed on the front porch in a high-backed rocker that wheezed from age.
Her new job started tomorrow. She’d meet Tim, the editor, for the first time. He’d agreed to hire her using only Skype. An added bonus when she’d been holed up in a motel in Ohio, searching the online want ads.
Her first assignment: an event being held at the Brickhouse Church on Spencer Street. Tonight. Everyone in town would be there, he'd said. Make a few friends. Snoop out a few stories.
She didn’t want to make friends again. Or be seen in public any more than necessary, but it was part of her job. She couldn’t be alone forever. Or could she?
She thought of Jackie and how devastated she would be when she learned of Trevor’s illness. How she could never explain how she knew.
Even she didn’t fully understand.
Her gift, her grandmother called it. More like a thorny curse. A curse to remind her of the day her life changed forever.
She gave the rocker a hard push. She would start over. She’d chosen this town. Not her curse.
###
Two hours later, Kate drove through the dismal town again. The BC, as Tim had called the church, sat on a sizable hill on the other side of town. She found it easily as it appeared everyone was headed in the same direction. She followed a dented, blue Ford truck and parked next to it in one of the few remaining open spaces.
Her stomach twisted as she unhooked her seat belt. Second thoughts gripped her. She should have skipped this meeting, waited to meet her coworkers first. She hated crowds, preferring to remain in the background. She exhaled. This was her job.
She watched as women and children clustered near the front entrance. Long skirts for the girls, ties for the boys. Kate groaned and brushed the lint from her best pair of jeans. Why hadn’t she worn her black skirt she used for interviews? She’d stick out like a pickle in a plate of olives.
At least she’d dabbed on makeup. She checked her face in the mirror one last time and slid from her car.
“Evening, ma’am.” A cherub-faced boy who looked close to ten spoke as he passed.
“Evening to you too.” Kate smiled at being called ma’am. Cute kid. Like Trevor. She hooked her purse over her shoulder and followed him up the walkway toward the country church, being careful to mask her limp.
Stale air like moth balls blasted her senses as she entered. Up front, the organist played a tune she vaguely remembered from her youth. “Bringing in the sheaves, bringing in the sheaves. . .” The forgotten words tested her tongue and then fell off. Another time.
She veered around a hunched over gentleman, steadied only by a cane, and selected the last pew, sitting next to a matronly-looking woman with sparkling blue eyes. “I’m Ethel,” the woman offered, as Kate settled beside her. “Can’t wait to hear Brother Earl speak. We need change in the Bend. Can’t come too soon.”
“Kate. It’s nice to meet you, Ethel.” Kate grasped her hand, shook it, then turned her attention toward the front. Already the townspeople had filled the church to the bones, the music working overtime to energize them. A large wooden platform occupied the center of the church. The sturdy podium on it resembled the one Kate once stood behind as a child in school. A speaker. That’s what Mrs. Bing said she would become.
Her sixth grade teacher had gotten that wrong.
“Find your seats, please. We’re ready to begin tonight’s program. Gentlemen, corral your wives and children.” The balding spokesperson, whom she assumed was Brother Earl Foreman, anchored himself behind the podium, his fingers gripping both sides as he swayed as though on his own ocean. His bushy mustache curled to his chin.
“Do you mind?” A man closer to her age, slid in on her other side, blocking her only means of exit—something she always planned for when she went out. A habit that gripped her still.
Kate eyed her seatmate. Pressed khakis. A Polo shirt with a pen tipping out of the breast pocket. His sandy hair had been cut tight and when he smiled at her, he showed bleached white teeth. He also cradled a floppy notebook in his arms.
Kate eased closer to Ethel.
“I don’t have cooties.”
Kate’s cheeks burned. “I was making more room,” she said. “That's all.” She steered her attention once more to the front where Brother Earl spoke in tones that grew increasingly louder.<
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“We own this community, don’t we? We own the Bend because we are its people. Our goal is to make this a town we are proud to raise our children in. Even if that means giving up some of those creature comforts you thought you couldn’t live without. A town where we respect family values. Respect the men and women who created this town. A town where men and women live how God intended them to live. Not how the world intends. Not how the world is corrupting us.”
The crowd cheered at his words. An electric charge shot around the room, forcing Kate to take notice of the rapt expressions on the faces nearest to her. Ethel practically glowed. The man in front of her whistled through his teeth.
A wave of uncertainty swept through Kate. Brother Earl’s message struck a flat chord.
“Tonight we're taking a stand. Fighting the devil right at his doorstep. Clutching our crosses and saying, “No more!” He shouted the final two words in a thunderous voice.
Kate took a deep breath. Clamped her jaw together. Told herself to relax. This was the Bend, after all. Not Canton.
Beside her, Ethel raised her arms and added her loud amen to the choruses. Kate had been to revivals in the past, but something about this one told her it wasn’t a revival of faith but a revival to save the town.
From what? Who were they standing up against? The world? She dug into her purse and pulled out her notepad. Tim might want the scoop tomorrow. She should get her camera and take Brother Earl’s picture too. Her editor would see her potential and move her to meatier stories. She’d finally earn enough money to make a decent living. Perhaps she could settle down in a place like this, far from the rest of the world.
Brother Earl’s voice escalated, yanking her from her hopeful thoughts.
“Movies are for the dead! You won’t get to heaven watching movies, dear people. Nor will your children find that perfect mate by going to theaters. No they won’t. We need to demolish movies and DVDs and anything else that will destroy our precious community and distract from the good this community offers. We need to put our feet down and refuse to be mollified by the present trend. We need to stand up for good! It’s the only way!” At Earl’s final thrust of words, the people vaulted to their feet and cheered.
The Bend Page 1