HEARTFELT LIES
A HEALING LOVE NOVEL — BOOK 1
ALEXANDRA CHRISTOPHER
Contents
Prologue
1. Ella
2. Kohl
3. Ella
4. Kohl
5. Ella
6. Kohl
7. Ella
8. Kohl
9. Ella
10. Kohl
11. Ella
12. Kohl
13. Ella
14. Kohl
15. Ella
16. Kohl
17. Ella
18. Kohl
19. Ella
20. Kohl
21. Ella
22. Kohl
23. Ella
24. Kohl
25. Ella
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
HEARTFELT LIES
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any form, including printed, electronic, photocopying or recording without the author’s written permission.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is solely coincidental and not the intent of the author.
Copyright © 2019 Alexandra Christopher
Cover Design by Vanilla Lily Designs
Editing by Amy Briggs, Briggs Consulting, LLC
To my daughter,
My biggest cheerleader, my most encouraging supporter.
Thank you for reminding me to chase my dreams… and
for always believing in me, even when I don’t believe in myself.
Prologue
Ella
“I can’t believe you’ll be living seven hundred miles away by this time next week. Things will be so different—it just doesn’t seem real,” I remark pensively while staring out the car window.
“I hate that I’m leaving you Ella. You won't have anyone to call when you need help. I’m letting you down,” he grumbles.
“Don’t you dare say that, Reed! You’ve stuck around here this past year, going to a local college, when you should've been at Auburn this entire time. I’ve held you back long enough. Don’t think for one minute that you’re letting me down, you never have.” I turn to him with tears in my eyes. “You’re the best person I know,” I whisper.
Reed reaches across the console and takes my hand, his touch soothing as he slowly rubs circles across the top of my fingers. He's always had that effect on me. We've been best friends for as long as I can remember. He’s the one constant positive in my adverse world and I’m terrified of losing him when he goes off to pursue his college dreams.
“I’m scared though,” I admit. “I’m anxious about being all alone with her when you leave. I know I’ve depended on you too much over the years and I’ve always felt guilty for it. I know I take and take from you but don’t have much to give in return. I know I shouldn’t, but I keep taking because you’re the only real thing I have in my life, the one person I can depend on. The thought of losing you terrifies me. I don't know how to exist without you by my side.”
“You won’t lose me, Ella, I promise. We may not see each other every day but we’ll still call and text… Facetime, whatever it takes. You’ve always been a part of my life and no amount of distance will ever change that. Have a little faith, Ella Faith.”
I glance at his smirking face. “You know those dimples don’t work on me, dork.”
Reed throws his head back laughing. He’s used to getting his way from that smile alone. He’s gorgeous and well aware of it. His perfectly chiseled face, brown shaggy hair, and whiskey colored eyes keep the girls vying for his attention. His body is perfection as well, but the best thing about Reed is his heart. He’s everything good in this world.
“Are you sure I can't convince you to come party? Come on, Ella, celebrate with me," he pleads, giving my hand a squeeze. "All you ever do is work and sit home. It would do you some good to let your hair down and have a little fun for once.”
“Thanks, but no. Sitting around and listening to drunken idiots all night doesn't interest me.” After all, I get my fill of that at home. “Tell your parents thanks again for dinner, I really appreciate it.”
I dread walking into my house. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I reach for the door handle with a sigh. Before I can step out, I’m yanked across the Jeep and wrapped in the solace of his strong arms.
“Don't worry, Ella. I promise it’ll all work out,” Reed whispers into the top of my hair.
“I know it will,” I pacify him before walking into my house.
“Mom!” I yell, shutting the front door behind me. “Mom, are you home?” She was invited to Reed’s going away dinner but politely declined Mrs. Masters’ invitation to join us. I haven't spoken to her in hours.
An uneasiness strikes me as I step into the living room. I don’t know why and have no real explanation, but I sense something is wrong. Looking toward the hall I see a soft glow coming from my mother’s room. With my heart racing and stomach churning, I slowly approach her door.
Coming home to the unknown isn’t anything new for me. I can’t count the times I’ve had to call Reed to help me lift my unconscious mother off the floor, clean her up and put her to bed. Tonight, is different however, I can feel it in my bones. The air is heavy as I draw in fast, shallow breaths. I round the bed and stop just outside her bathroom door.
My eyes are glued to my hand as I reach for the white painted wood, and slowly push the door open. The sight before me brings me to my knees.
“Mom! No! Please, God! No!”
1
Ella
The past couple months have been the most difficult of my life. Losing my mother is the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through. She wasn’t the most attentive mother and certainly had her faults, but she was still my mom and the only family I had. Or so I thought.
I’ll never forget the morning Mrs. Masters woke me up, telling me I had a visitor. It had only been two days since I found Mom on the bathroom floor in a pool of her own blood.
The last thing I imagined was descending those stairs to find a grandmother I never knew existed. I had no idea who she was at first, but when I stared into her bright blue eyes, a perfect reflection of my own, I knew she was a part of me. I had gone to bed an orphan, all alone in this world, to waking up happy that I belonged with someone, like a part of something again.
My Gram, Ann Marie Jones, has been my saving grace from that moment forward. She swooped in and helped me with all Mom’s arrangements. She insisted on paying for it all, too. And I let her. I didn't want to, but I honestly had no other choice.
I was prepared to use what I had saved for cosmetology school and plead with the funeral home to let me pay out the rest monthly. Gram insisted on paying though, she said that she couldn’t bear the thought of me suffering the stress of how to cover the cost. She said Mom was the love of her son’s life and he would have wanted her to have a nice service.
That was another revelation I wasn’t sure how to process. Mom had lied. She led me to believe I was the product of a drunken, one-time mistake and she didn’t have the first clue who my dad could be. Unfortunately, my heart broke all over again when I found out he had died before I was even born.
At this point, my whole life appears to be one big lie. Not only did my mom know my dad, but they were in love for years, high school sweethearts according to Gram. I just can’t wrap my head around it all. I keep asking myself why she would lie about such a thing. Was he a bad person? After meeting Gram and living with her these past weeks, I can’t imagine that being tru
e. There’s no way any son of hers could be anything but a good man.
I'm sure she felt the lies were justified. Mom was never in a good frame of mind. She had always told me she would die young. I don’t know if she sensed it or if it were wishful thinking on her part. She obviously felt deeply enough about it to leave a package with our landlady, instructing her to open it and contact Gram should anything ever happen to her.
Gram said she couldn’t believe her ears when she received the call learning of my existence. After reading the letter left for her, she explained to me that Mom had found out she was pregnant with me after my dad was already gone. On top of that, she’d kept her pregnancy a secret so Gram wouldn’t pressure her to move back.
She took off soon after my dad’s funeral. Hopped on a bus and left and was always moving from one place to another after that.
I guess that’s what she was used to. Having grown up in foster care, I know she moved a lot. My dad and his parents were the only stable attachments she had, and she spent as much time as she could with them.
Gram told me Mom would call and touch base with her here and there, but she always refused her invitation to come home. After a few years, she called one day to tell Gram it would be the last time she'd hear from her. She said it was too hard, hearing her voice and being reminded of all she had lost over and over again. She wanted a new start, to put the past behind her and settle down somewhere.
I’m guessing that’s when we moved just outside of Dallas. It ended up being the only home I ever knew. I don’t remember much about my life before we moved there. I figure I was just about old enough to start school, so she realized the need for a permanent residence. That’s what I’d like to believe anyway, that she wanted to give me the lasting home she never had growing up.
Whatever her reason, I’m thankful for that small dose of stability in my life. I can’t imagine having to pack and repack every few months or transfer from school to school. These same thoughts have been plaguing my mind the past few weeks.
On my bed, I reach over and grab the shoebox that’s been tormenting me since arriving at Gram’s. It’s stared me in the face day after day, but I haven’t dared touch it. I know what lies inside the unassuming barrier. I've been avoiding it since I left Texas. I inhale a deep breath, slowly releasing it as I peek under the lid. The sunny yellow envelope stands out amongst the collection of contents. Plucking the envelope from the box, I note its bright cheerful color and wonder why Mom chose it when she was anything but bright or cheerful.
It turns out, Mom didn’t just leave Gram a letter with our landlady. She left me a letter inside the package as well. I haven’t opened it yet, I’m not ready. I don’t know that I’ll ever be. Questions run through my mind as I spin the envelope in my hands. I want some answers, and maybe she left me some, but I’m too afraid to find out.
What if the note doesn’t hold any answers at all? What if it does and they’re too hard to accept? What if it’s full of more lies and I’ll never know her reasons for running from the only family we had left?
A part of me wants to tear it open, but I can’t take that risk. Not yet. I don’t think my heart could survive the added pain right now. One day I think I’ll have to know. But, today just isn’t that day. Carefully returning my letter to the box, I replace the top and slide it under the bed as far as my reach allows. Out of sight out of mind. Isn’t that what they say? I don’t know if it'll work, but I figure I’ll give it a try anyway.
I ponder, a frown marring my face and I don’t know what’s more depressing, the fact my childhood fits in a shoebox or that I can’t stop thinking about it, trying to piece together some semblance of the truth.
There’s not a lot to decipher in that small rectangle box. The only time Mom cared about taking pictures or collecting my artwork was during the short periods of time she would attempt to sober up—those were few and far between.
I'm not sure when Mom turned to alcohol and pills to numb her pain, but it’s all I’ve ever known. I’m thankful she cared enough about me to not partake during her pregnancy at least. Guilt tightens my chest as that thought crosses my mind. I know she cared about me in her own way. I just don’t think she was strong enough to care about herself.
Pushing my intrusive thoughts aside, I decide a little space and fresh air would do me some good at this point in my struggles and doubt.
Pulling my new laptop across my legs—an early birthday present from Gram—I flip it open and start scouring the local online paper for help wanted ads. I plan to save as much money as I can, so I don’t have to hold down a job once I start the twelve-month program at Images School of Cosmetology late this fall.
I saved as much as I could over the years from my part-time waitressing job. There usually wasn’t a lot left after helping out with the bills. I’ve made decent progress this past year though, after graduating high school and working full-time.
Gram insists I don’t need to get a job, but I’ve never been one to sit idle and not earn my keep. We agreed to compromise. I'll only work until school starts. I can live with that, I just need to be productive, it's how I remained sane all these years and how I intend to stay that way.
I began earning my own money when I was twelve years old. Sure, it was just cleaning our neighbor, Mrs. Jensen’s, house for a little cash each week but I still felt a sense of accomplishment. I know I didn’t do the best job at first, but she kept me on. I cleaned her house every week until I turned sixteen and got my first official job as a waitress. I think she suspected I didn’t have the best home life and wanted to help out in whatever small way she could. I know she cared about me, she used to bring me plates of food when Mom was “working” late.
Scanning through the online paper, I find that jobs are limited in the small town of Gale, Kentucky. I’m not surprised. With a population of just over four-thousand people, the help wanted ads would be sparse.
However, I think I’ve found one that will be a perfect fit for me. Just Wing It is needing a full-time waitress and I just so happen to have close to three years of experience under my belt.
I close my laptop totally motivated. Wanting to appear my best, I decide this limp hair and bare face just won’t do. It’s time to hit the shower, then I’ll dig out my make-up bag and get to work.
I'm confident by the time I'm done and walking into the kitchen.
“Well, you're about the prettiest little thing I've ever seen. Where are you headed?” Gram asks.
“Awe, thanks, Gram. I thought I would head downtown, I found a job I want to apply for. After that I think I’ll do some exploring. I figure it’s time I see what this little town has to offer.”
I’ve been living here several weeks now, only leaving the house the few times Gram guilted me into helping her grocery shop, so I think it’s high time I crawl out of my self-imposed confinement.
“Here, take this,” Gram says, passing me forty bucks from her purse.
“What? No! You don’t need to give me money.” It doesn’t seem right taking anything more from her. She’s already feeding me and giving me a place to live free of charge.
This is another first for me, having a stable guardian isn’t something I’m accustomed to. I’m used to being the responsible one in the household, having someone to depend on and asking my whereabouts continues to prove to be an adjustment.
“Sweet Pea, take the money. Let me treat you a little. You don’t know how many years I’ve longed for a grandchild. Besides, a little spoiling never hurt anyone. Come on now, take it," she says, waving the money between us. "Make this old heart happy.”
I consider her smiling face and there’s no way I can deny her. I swear I can see happiness shining from her eyes and it's legitimately good to know I put it there. “Ok, Gram, but only if you’re sure. I just don’t want you to think you have to. I don’t want to be a burden.”
“Ella, you could never be a burden to me. Don’t you see? You’re a blessing, not a burden sweet girl. Now,
come give your Gram a hug and you can be on your way.”
I give her a tight squeeze before heading out the door. Hugging Gram is like second nature. We’ve developed a strong bond in the short time we’ve known each other. She’s full of love, laughter, and great advice. Something else that’s foreign to me, but something I’m grateful for.
As I make my way down the sidewalk, I can’t help but appreciate the beautiful weather. It’s such a change from what I’m used to. The end of May in Texas is sweltering. My face would’ve been covered with a fine sheen of sweat within minutes. Here, it’s just above eighty, overcast, with a pleasant breeze blowing through my long brown locks. I could come to appreciate this. Especially after the hour I just spent applying my make-up to perfection. I think I'd make the girl in the YouTube tutorial proud.
My mind drifts as I make my way downtown. After finding Mom on Saturday, her service was held on Wednesday, and arrangements were made to have her transported to Kentucky to be buried beside my dad. Gram and I arranged for what little belongings I had to be packed up and we were on our way back to her house by Friday morning. The only home I had ever known was empty, after we donated any items worth saving to a local charity. The only car we had was broken down in the driveway as per usual, so Gram had it towed to a scrap yard. It probably wasn’t worth much more than the tow bill anyway.
My life has transformed completely in the span of a few weeks’ time. And for the first time in my life, that change is promising.
Heartfelt Lies Page 1