ABANDON ALL HOPE
M. J. Schiller
DEDICATION
For Maggie, Mitchell, Ryan and Hannah.
Thank you for your patience and the encouragement you offered when I was writing ABANDON ALL HOPE. My wish is that watching me reach for and work for my dreams will fuel you as you strive for yours!
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This book wouldn’t have come together without the contribution of my editors: Dani Crabtree, who did the first round; Carmen Ferreiro, my big picture girl and a fellow author; RT Wolfe, fellow author and friend, who held my hand, offered a listening ear, and taught me a lot about point of view; and, finally, Brenda Rothert, fellow author and friend, who was able to pay attention to detail where I couldn’t. I thank you.
I’d also like to thank the ladies & gentleman of Heart&Scroll, my local RWA chapter, who challenge me to become a better writer. My gratitude goes out to the members of Authors Helping Authors who retweet for me and help me to get the word out about my writing. And finally, to the Ladies in Red, who offer advice, encouragement, and support for their fellow writers.
CHAPTER ONE
Chase Hatton was bewitched by Hope from the start.
He was…ten…no, twelve. Definitely twelve, as he was playing American Junior League baseball that summer. There had been a break in the team’s schedule, so his mom had asked the new neighbor lady over for dinner, along with her twelve-year-old kid. He was told he couldn’t go over to Bobby McGraw’s to play catch. He was needed at home to entertain, of all things, the new neighbor’s daughter. A girl.
Chase sat on the back porch steps smacking a ball into his glove over and over. In his frustration, he dropped the ball. It hit the edge of the step, and ricocheted, rolling down the small slope of their backyard. He glanced up and saw them crossing the lawn.
Mrs. Creswell had on a dress; she had no doubt worn it to work and had just gotten home. Hope wore cutoff jean shorts and a blue, checkered, sleeveless blouse tied at her waist. She held a present, and as she walked, a long ponytail swished behind her in a somewhat mesmerizing rhythm. The sun was just beginning its descent behind the pair.
Chase held up a hand and squinted, wrinkling his freckled nose. The sun rays seemed to be shooting off the two, as if they, themselves, were the source of the bright light. Hope bent down and picked up his ball. He heard the familiar sound of the screen door opening behind him: his mom coming to greet their guests. She was probably wiping her hands on an apron as she descended the steps, blond hair swept up in a loose bun. The smell of her famous fried chicken wafted out the door and his stomach rumbled on cue.
Hope gestured as if to throw the ball back and he stood, holding out his glove. With amazing accuracy, and equally impressive velocity, especially considering she still held the present in her other hand, Hope zinged it into his glove. The adults greeted each other with that loud, grown-up hullabaloo, but their voices faded into the background as she approached.
She smiled at him. “Hi.”
“H-hey,” he stammered, his palms becoming sweaty. He was caught up by those stunning eyes, unusual in some way he had yet to figure out. Bangs curled over her forehead, and her face was clear and bright. Maybe entertaining the neighbor girl wouldn’t be so bad after all.
“Oh, this is for you.” She handed him the gift. He turned to set the glove and ball down on the step. The ball squeezed out of the mitt and rolled toward Hope again. She bent and scooped it up, tossing it back and forth as he tore open the wrapping paper.
“Oh, wow! Cool!” Chase gushed, unveiling a model airplane. An Albatros D.V. Diecast Model German Air Force Jasta 11, also known as “The Red Baron.” It was the sweetest model he had ever seen.
“And its propeller really works!” She tucked the ball back into his glove on the steps.
“Thanks,” he breathed.
“No problem.” She stuck her hands behind her back and rocked from heel to toe, beaming with pride.
He interrupted the adults’ conversation, eager to check out his new plane. “Mom, can we go put this together?”
“No, Chase.” She put a hand on top of his head. “It’s time for dinner. And after dinner, I want you to show Hope around.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” He and Hope exchanged a look of disappointment and shuffled into the house with the grown-ups. “You’re a pretty good throw, for a girl,” he stated flatly.
She seemed unsure of how to take his comment. “Tha-anks?”
When they entered the house, Chase’s father greeted the Creswells warmly. He had been upstairs changing from work clothes into khaki shorts and a polo. Greg Hatton was tall, with jet black hair and a gleaming smile. Though in his mid-thirties, he still retained his boyish good looks and was a lover of puns and corny jokes. Chase alternately laughed at his dad and groaned, shaking his head and rolling his eyes at Hope whenever the grown-ups weren’t looking. She seemed to take to his dad within minutes.
The dinner conversation was pleasant, the women having discovered a common love for card games and cozy mysteries. As they compared reading lists, Hope helped herself to generous portions of mashed potatoes and gravy, corn on the cob, and fried chicken.
“M-mmm. Your mom makes the best chicken.”
“She sure does.” He swiped another drumstick off the platter in front of him. “Does your mom cook?”
She leaned in conspiratorially. “If you can call it that,” she whispered behind her hand. “Last night, she made ‘Tater-tot Casserole’”—she wrinkled up her pretty little nose—“and it was de-e-e-sgusting!”
They both laughed.
“Hey, what are you two doing down there?” Chase’s mom asked with mock suspicion.
“Oh, leave them alone,” his dad answered. He gave her a light elbow to the ribs and subtly changed the subject. “Where’s Jeff tonight?”
“He’s having supper at Danny Calvin’s.”
“Ah. Our eldest son has quite the social calendar,” he commented to Mrs. Creswell with a wink. His eyes slid down the table to where Chase had polished off the chicken and pushed his empty plate away. He raised his eyebrows and chuckled. “Chase, would you like to be excused?”
“Yes, sir.” He grabbed his plate and glass and motioned for Hope to do the same. She glanced at her mother, and getting a nod and a smile, followed suit. It was mere seconds before the screen door slammed behind them and their feet pounded down the wide steps in unison.
“Wanna see our corn maze?”
“Sure,” Hope responded gamely. They headed for the wall of cornstalks edging the west side of the yard. In the fading light, she peered across the field connecting their two properties at her cracker box of a house. She turned to examine his. After a few minutes, she commented, “I like how your porch goes all the way around your house.”
Chase glanced back, reflecting, having never really considered this aspect. “Yeah, I guess it is kind of cool.”
Out of curiosity, his eyes followed hers between the two houses. Across the way, on a small, neat lawn, the Creswells’ tiny, white bungalow perched. A shallow porch spanned a portion of the front of the house, sitting low to the ground. The previous owners had torn up much of the landscaping for some reason, giving it a barren look, the foundation exposed by the lack of shrubbery. Still, it was homey, he surmised, and just the right size for Hope and her mom.
Turning his head again to look at his house, Chase tried hard to imagine what it must look like through Hope’s eyes. Physically, it was a white two-story with black shutters. The lawn rolled away from the house, sloping toward a wooded area. A huge oak tree shaded the whole right side of the house, its arms extending protectively over the roof. In short, it was the quintessential home every child drew as soon as he was able to hold
a crayon in his chubby, little fist, usually pictured under a rainbow.
Chase stole a peek at Hope. She was still gazing at his house, the corners of her mouth turned up, eyes dreamy. He knew she was not seeing those material aspects of the house he had just taken in, but was, instead, imagining the life within its walls. Looking through her eyes, it was easy for him to do the same. He heard the hum of family life when his brother was home, the two of them chasing each other up and down the stairs as their father hollered at them from the TV room and their mom clanged plates together, her arms elbow-deep in suds. As he stood there, Chase felt for the first time the overwhelming need Hope would always stir within him, the need to give her everything she longed for, to fill the emptiness he sensed inside of her.
His heart beating rapidly, he prayed she hadn’t noticed him staring at her. He stuck his sweaty palms deep into the pockets of his denim shorts as they turned back toward the cornfield. Hope fell into step beside him, mimicking his posture by sticking her hands in her pockets. As they ambled across the lawn, he watched her out of the corners of his eyes.
He didn’t think he had ever met a prettier girl. Her face was perfectly proportioned, and seeing her in profile now, he admired the way her nose turned up just slightly at the end. But it was the eyes that drew him in. Warm and inviting, they had a way of looking at you with alarming frankness, offering up all the feeling within Hope’s heart and seeming to see clearly into yours. The pair became submerged in an easy silence, like old friends rather than new acquaintances, both caught up in their own thoughts.
It was still warm, and in the distance they could hear the sound of a lawn mower’s gentle humming. The smell of the fresh-cut grass that hung in the air, carried to them by a soft breeze, was comforting. The August evening held a sense of fleetingness. It whispered in seductive tones to savor the summer before it was too late; stuffy schoolrooms waited just beyond the horizon.
Despite his heavy sense of contentment, after a while, Chase felt it was necessary to breach the silence. He turned around to walk in front of Hope, backward, so they could converse face-to-face. “So, how did you know to get me a model plane?”
“Oh. Your mom told me. I have five of them. When I grow up,” she said decisively, “I’m going to be a pilot. Or a photographer.”
Chase considered this. He had never put any serious thought into what he would be someday. “A pilot…or a photographer,” he said slowly. “They don’t exactly go together, do they?” A teasing grin played over his face, but Hope didn’t seem to notice.
“No, I guess not.” She shrugged, not worried by the observation. They entered the green tunnel weaving through the corn, the stalks just tall enough so they could not see out. “This is cool!”
“Yeah,” Chase returned in a self-congratulatory way. “My uncle owns all of this land, from here all the way down to the ridge. He lets me carve a maze every year.”
With a proprietary air, he tore a part of a husk from a stalk as they sauntered by. He rubbed it thoughtfully as they ventured on, still walking backward. He made sure he didn’t trip over the stubble covering the path in places, not wanting to look foolish in her eyes.
Hope reached out and grabbed the husk out of his hands, grinning at him. He smiled back, happy she felt comfortable enough to be playful and challenge him. He watched as she brought the green husk up to her nose and took a deep breath. He snatched another husk, and they both split and shred their finds into confetti-like pieces, their hands becoming sticky and sweet-smelling.
“So, where’s your dad?” he asked finally.
“My mom…left him.” Hope ripped carefully now, as if making straight edges had become imperative. “He was…” Her face contorted as she struggled to describe what she was thinking. “Not a nice man.” Her nose wrinkled as if she had gotten a whiff of something rotten.
Chase thought he saw a slight tremor in her hands as she worked them along the leaf, finally dropping it to wipe her palms on her shorts. She glanced up, but he pretended to concentrate on his own husk. She looked off to the side. He was certain he saw tears mounting in her eyes. It was the first time she had avoided making eye contact with him. He turned around to stroll beside her, though there was barely room for two to pass in the tall corn. He searched around for a change in subject.
“What was your old school like?”
“We weren’t there long.” Her voice was again subdued.
She stooped to pick up a piece of dry cornstalk. He wondered if she did it in order to have something to look at, so she could hide her telltale eyes. She rubbed it in her hands, and he listened to the crinkling sound the dead, crisp layers made. She deliberately shook her head, as if to physically cast off bad memories.
“But we’ll be here for a while,” she declared with what sounded like forced brightness. She paused, whispering under her breath, “Hopefully.” She stopped abruptly where another branch of the path opened up on her left. “What’s this?”
“Why don’t you find out?” Chase answered, an eyebrow raised in challenge. She took a few steps forward, and then turned back. “Aren’t you coming?”
He smiled mischievously. “Nope. I’ll just wait for you here.”
“O-okay.” She drug the word out, as if unsure of what he was up to, but certain he was up to something. She turned and continued down the path, which veered at a right angle after several yards, blocking out her view of the original path. Chase ducked into an adjacent trail. He heard her steps quicken. He had been right about her being curious about what lay ahead. He knew the path twisted and turned a number of times before she would end up in a wide, circular dead end.
“Chase?” she called out. “It just ended.” He made no reply. “Chase?”
As he peered between the stalks he hid behind, he saw her smile. She seemed to understand she had been suckered.
“Chase!” she shouted, but the corners of her lips turned up. Hope began to run back in the direction from which she had come.
With a loud cry, he jumped out in front of her.
Hope’s scream of terror hurt his ears. She stumbled backward, landing on her rump in some mud. She stared up from where she lay, resting on both elbows for a second. “You are so-o-o-o dead!”
“Oh, come on,” he responded amiably, ready to make peace. “I’ll help you up.” He reached his hand out to her. She stretched out to clasp it, but not before she had clutched a handful of mud.
“Ugg!” Chase, mud dripping from his palm, was unable to hide his delight at her deception. “Now you’re dead!”
She laughed but scrambled to her feet, pushing him off balance. She ran with wild abandon down the path. He waited, good-naturedly, until the count of ten, giving her a head start, and then took off. Although dusk was playing tricks on his eyes, it was easy to find her by listening to the laughter as she ducked into several of the side paths.
But abruptly her laughter ended, replaced by a loud thud and Hope calling out his name in fear and pain. Chase picked the path he thought she was on, and ran as fast as he could through the green walls hemming the trail. He turned a corner, and saw her up ahead. She was rocking back and forth, clutching her leg and moaning. As he got closer, he saw her white sneaker, despite the gathering darkness, wedged underneath a tree root. It snaked across the path where it had wound close to the edge of the field.
He raced up and crouched down beside her. Her face was contorted as if she were trying not to cry. “What happened?”
“O-o-o-h! It’s my ankle.” She spoke through gritted teeth, although unable to keep the tears in check now.
Chase looked from the ankle of her extended leg, which still had a sneaker on it, to the ankle of the leg she was hanging on to, whose foot was bare. It was clear, even to him, the latter was swollen considerably. Her foot also seemed to jut out at a strange angle.
“I’ll go get help.”
He was already halfway down the path when she called out, nearly hysterical, “Chase! Please, wait! Come back. C
ome back. Don’t leave me here!”
He returned to her side, where she was crying in earnest now, and squatted down, rubbing her back. She kept repeating over and over again, “Please don’t leave me. I don’t want to stay here by myself. Please don’t leave.”
“It’s okay, Hope,” he responded quietly, sitting down next to her. “I’m not leaving.” He put an arm around her and she leaned in, her tears dampening his shirt.
“It hurts! It hurts,” she whimpered.
“I know it does.”
He looked down the path, longing to return to the house for his dad. But the dark was falling quickly now, and he knew Hope would be afraid out in the cornfield alone.
He was torn, wondering what was the right thing to do, when, to his immense relief, he thought he heard his older brother calling out. Hope raised her head, too, as if she had heard it.
“We’re in here,” he called. “This way. Hope’s hurt!” He heard the sound of his big, football-playing brother tromping through the corn. With as much trouble as his brother gave him on a regular basis, Chase was surprised by how good Jeff’s voice sounded as he continued to call his name. “This way.”
Within just a few minutes, his brother appeared around the bend and hurried the last several yards toward them. A sophomore in high school, his build was different from Chase’s. Tall and muscular, with wavy blond hair and a brilliant smile, Jeff was the object of all the girls’ affection, and the envy of all his male peers. He wore a gray t-shirt that read, “Property of Lincoln High School,” the fabric taut across his expansive chest, and a pair of navy gym shorts.
He bent down, peering into Hope’s tearstained face. “Hi,” he said in a friendly manner. “My name’s Jeff.”
Hope lowered her eyes, voice soft. “I’m Hope. Hope C-creswell.”
“Hi, Hope. Wow!” He whistled with compassion. “Looks pretty painful. I’m going to carry you back to the house, all right?”
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