Hometown Girl

by Courtney Walsh

  He finally turned toward her but kept his eyes down, like someone with something to hide. He’d heard them talking about the case more than once yet never said a word. Was he protecting someone? Protecting himself? What if he’d been the reason Jess went missing? What part had he played in her disappearance, and likely, her death? Was that why he’d been so silent?

  And if he was guilty—then why was he here at all?

  “Did you have something to do with her disappearance?”

  His face went pale, his skin white. “You can’t be serious.”

  Beth paced across the room, trying to piece it together. “Was it an accident? Did you hurt her? Is that why you told the police you couldn’t remember?”

  “I can’t believe you’d even ask me that.”

  She spun around. “Then tell me.” She held up the photo, a copy of the one they’d found in Jess’s closet. “Tell me what happened that day.”

  The air thickened between them.

  She dared a step toward him. “Drew, you were a kid. A young kid. If you did something that led to her death—they wouldn’t have held it against you.”

  Slowly, he lifted his gaze to hers, and for a moment, she thought he might actually explain. Instead, he looked away. “I’ll go.”

  Her stomach dropped. “You’re leaving?”

  His face fell. “I can’t stay here if this is what you think about me.”

  “Tell me what to think. For once, just tell me the truth.”

  He looked at her then, his eyes steady but so sad. Her heart broke for the pain she saw there, years of bottled-up angst with nowhere to go but in. Whatever had happened that day clearly still haunted him.

  Could she blame him if he couldn’t talk about it?

  He took her hands, brought them to his lips and held them there for a long moment. “Please know I never meant to hurt you. That’s the truth.”

  “Drew, please.” A lump formed at the back of her throat as he let go of her hands.

  “And I didn’t hurt Jess,” he said. “I would never hurt anyone.” His blue eyes had gone distant.

  “I know you wouldn’t.” Her words came out as a whisper, too quiet and too late.

  He stayed still for a while longer, then headed down the stairs. Beth watched through tear-filled eyes out the second-story window as Drew Barlow exited her house, duffel bag slung over his shoulder and German shepherd close on his heels. He threw the bag in his truck, let Roxie in the front seat and pulled away.

  Sobs overtook her body, and she sank to her knees, still holding the photograph of a little boy with the same kind eyes as the man she loved.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The emptiness of the farmhouse seeped into the loneliest parts of Beth’s soul. After too many long minutes crying on the floor of the hidden room, her phone rang, forcing her to pull herself together. A number she didn’t recognize showed up on the caller ID.

  “Hello?”

  “Beth? It’s Dina. I just got your email about the barn sale.”

  Beth had sent that email weeks ago.

  “It got lost in our server—long story—anyway, I had my team work something up. A logo, a website and an ad campaign. Look it over and send me the names of the vendors so I can put the finishing touches on it and make it live. I would say send me your changes, but the sale is in just a couple of weeks. We should probably just go with it as it is.”

  “Dina, you shouldn’t have gone to all that trouble.” She thought about the gossip she’d heard and wondered if it was true. And if Harrison was leaving her, how was Dina handling it?

  Her own heart ached at the thought of losing Drew—and their relationship had barely begun.

  “I told you, I think it’s brilliant what you’re doing. I want to help if I can.”

  “Well, thanks. I haven’t had much time to put anything like this together.”

  “You want me to handle it?”

  Beth straightened. “Handle?”

  “All the advertising. The whole thing. I’ll get the word out for you. We’ll pack that place.”

  Beth didn’t know how to respond. She wasn’t good at asking for help—especially from someone like Dina.

  “It would mean a lot to me if I could help with this, Beth. No charge.”

  She heard the sadness in Dina’s voice. She needed something to keep her mind occupied—to help her stop thinking about her impending divorce.

  Beth’s thoughts turned to Drew, the way he’d worked around here as if his life depended on it.

  And maybe it did. Maybe he needed this place as much as it needed him.

  Had she taken that from him?

  “Beth?”

  “What? Oh, sorry. I would really appreciate your help, Dina. I’ll look at what you sent over, and if you could get the word out, well, we’d be really grateful.”

  “Anything for Fairwind Farm. I mean it. Think of me as your in-house ad agency. I’m here whenever you need me. Once you guys get up and running again, we can discuss pricing and I’ll work with your budget, I promise.” Dina sounded happy—and Beth had to admit, genuine. “Thanks, Beth.”

  The words hung between them—simple, yet so full of meaning.

  “No, thank you,” Beth said.

  After she hung up, she set her phone down and walked outside. The day had turned gray. Clouds hung low and dark in the sky.

  Good. Rain was just what the ground needed.

  A clean, fresh start would be good for them all.

  She did a quick survey of the barn. They’d made so much progress. The new and improved Fairwind Farm Market would be a huge success. They might even open this fall. All thanks to Drew.

  And she’d driven him away.

  She trudged through the open field toward the little chapel at the back of the property, turning over unwanted thoughts in her mind.

  Why hadn’t Drew just been honest from the start? Why couldn’t he have told her who he was instead of waiting until she’d found out, searching in the old man’s closet?

  It was humiliating that he didn’t trust her when she’d shared so much with him.

  Life had her head all turned around. What was she doing here? How could this be the “more” she’d been looking for? How could an old run-down farm be her “why”?

  Birdie was wrong. Beth didn’t belong here at all. She wasn’t a hometown girl.

  Why am I here at all, Lord?

  She unlocked the chapel with the little key above the door and went inside just as a rumble of thunder made its way across the vast midwestern sky. Beth closed the door and inhaled a deep, lonely breath.

  Why had she come here? What did she hope to find waiting for her? Birdie’s words filled her mind:

  “There’s something deep down within us, isn’t there, that just wants to be known?”

  She sat with the memory for a moment.

  Had she ever let anyone know her?

  She’d been too afraid. All this time, she’d hidden the truth from her family the same way Drew had hidden it from her, because she didn’t want them to think less of her. She was ashamed, and she didn’t want to admit any of it to the people she’d hurt. But even before that—had she ever let anyone know her for who she really was?

  I know you.

  The words welled up from the depths of her soul.

  You are known.

  He knew her. He knew her and He loved her anyway.

  “Having a ‘why’ isn’t the same as having something to prove.”

  Birdie’s words echoed in her mind again.

  “You can’t earn love. Or forgiveness. Or grace. Those things are gifts. You just have to reach out and take them.”

  Beth opened the prayer journal and turned to the last page, where Sonya had written the most stirring prayer about her daughter, about the peace she’d found in spite of her circumstances. Beth had asked for that peace, and she supposed she’d expected God to wave a magic wand over her, granting her wish.

  What if Birdie was right? W
hat if peace and forgiveness and love really were gifts? What if God had been waiting for her to reach out and take them this whole time?

  Could it really be that simple?

  Beth stared at the blank page near the back of the journal. Did she even know how to accept something she hadn’t earned?

  She picked up the pen tucked inside the worn book. Somehow, adding her own handwriting to this precious journal made her nervous. Like she didn’t deserve to be part of the group of women who’d already breathed their hearts’ desires onto its pages. She poised the pen over the paper.

  Heavenly Father,

  She’d start her prayer the same way the women before had started theirs. Had Sonya stopped at this point, taken a moment to breathe in the weight of her own prayers?

  I’m not like the other women who’ve sat in this little chapel and shared their prayers on the pages of this sacred book. I’m much more flawed. I realize now, in my thirtieth year, that I’ve wasted so much time on things that have no real value. I’ve worked and strived and tried so hard to become who I thought I was supposed to be, but really, in doing those things, I lost myself.

  I know peace and unconditional love—they’re gifts You’ve given us.

  She stopped and stared at the words she’d written, pen still at the ready. She crossed out the word us and changed it to me, then read the last sentence aloud.

  “I know peace and unconditional love—they’re gifts You’ve given me.” She paused to let the words permeate her soul. Tears sprang to her eyes, as if she’d realized the statement’s value only in that moment.

  She continued to write:

  Help me receive the gifts You’ve given without feeling so unworthy all the time. I want to be known. I want to know that I’m loved. And I want to give love as freely as You do, without expectation. Genuine and real.

  Her pen stopped moving, as if on its own.

  She didn’t know how to receive love, and she didn’t know how to offer love as a stringless gift. Look at how she’d driven Drew away. She’d been so selfish, she hadn’t even seen his pain.

  Pain that had been so evident from the first day he’d started working at the farm.

  He’d been looking for the same thing she had been—a second chance. He’d felt, like she had, that he could do more.

  And now he was gone. Because of her.

  Lord, let me love the way You’ve loved me. Even in my ugliest, darkest moments. Even when I don’t deserve it. Show me the way to offer that kind of love.

  Show me my “why,” Lord. I have a feeling it’s not at all what I thought it was. Maybe I am meant to be here—at least for now—living a simple life and connecting people. Is that what You want from me? For Fairwind?

  My life is Yours. This beautiful farm is Yours.

  Help us to make it what You want it to be.

  Amen.

  As she put the pen back inside the book, the thunder rolled outside, the storm approaching much more quickly than she’d expected. Rain pounded on the chapel roof, and Beth sighed, knowing she’d have to wait it out or get soaked. She opened the door, leaning over for a glimpse of the driveway, but hers was the only car she could see. Everyone else had gone.

  The wind kicked up, yanking the door out of her hand. She grabbed it and pulled it closed. The room that had felt like a sanctuary now felt like a prison.

  Maybe she wasn’t finished here.

  She sat down on one of the wooden pews. As the trees behind the church brushed across the windows, Beth whispered a prayer for Drew. He hadn’t been able to talk about whatever it was he’d seen that day, but she understood a little bit better now. Like her, he’d been working for the one thing that had already been given—forgiveness.

  “Use me to help him see that, Lord.”

  Beth closed her eyes, listened to the rain and let peace wash over her, believing for the first time ever that everything just might be okay—whether she worked for it or not.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Drew sat in a folding chair across from Bishop’s desk at the Willow Grove Police Station, waiting for the officer to return from patrol.

  Four desks were positioned in haphazard fashion around the room, and he was pretty sure the woman who’d escorted him back here still stared at him from her desk at the entrance, but he pretended not to notice. She seemed to think Bishop would be right back, but Drew had already been waiting fifteen minutes, and there was no indication Bishop even knew he had a visitor.

  Every so often, the police scanner came to life. In the time he’d been sitting there, he’d heard reports of a stray dog running down the highway and the ice cream truck’s new route. This place likely never saw much excitement, but he supposed that’s how most of the people who lived here preferred it.

  Outside, the sky had grown dark, no trace of blue underneath the thick gray clouds.

  “Hope your windows aren’t down,” the woman called back. She stood at the front window.

  Drew joined her just as big, full drops of rain started to hit the pavement. Roxie stood on the front seat of his truck, barking out the partially cracked window.

  “Someone doesn’t like storms,” the woman said, watching the dog.

  Drew sighed. He never should’ve stopped here. It wasn’t like Willow Grove had a sketch artist anyway.

  Behind them, garbled voices sounded on the police scanner, and the phone rang.

  “People get so upset whenever there’s a storm.” The woman plodded back to her desk. “You wouldn’t believe what they’re like when it snows.”

  She picked up the phone. “This is Nancy.”

  Nancy. He’d forgotten her name, too distracted by the hive of red hair atop her head.

  “Slow down,” Nancy said into the receiver. “Are you sure?”

  The scanner went off now in a steady stream, like audible commotion. Drew listened more carefully.

  “A tornado has touched down just west of Willow Grove. I repeat, a tornado has been spotted on the ground just west of Willow Grove.”

  Drew glanced at Nancy as the color drained from her cheeks. She hung up the phone. “We need to take cover.”

  Outside, a tornado siren went off.

  “Get your dog, and let’s go to the basement,” she said. “They’re going on the airwaves now to tell everyone to get underground.”

  Drew’s thoughts spun back to Fairwind. He’d left in such a hurry, he hadn’t cleaned up any of the rotted wood outside the barn where he’d been working earlier that day. If the winds were strong enough, those beams could destroy the main barn.

  Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he’d been honest when he’d said he was invested now. Not only because of all the time he’d spent on the place, but because he’d fallen hopelessly in love with its owner.

  Beth. Did she even know about the tornado?

  He fished his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed her number. After five rings, it went to voice mail.

  “We should go.” Nancy stood near a door at the back of the station.

  “You go ahead,” Drew said. “I need to go check on someone.” Fairwind was on the east side of town. If he hurried, he could beat the storm. Maybe.

  “Are you crazy? This isn’t a drill. We have a confirmed twister on the ground. It’s headed straight for town.”

  “I know.” Drew hit “Redial” on his phone. “I need to hurry. Thanks, Nancy.”

  Still no answer on Beth’s phone. Where was she? This wasn’t the best time for her to be stubborn and refuse his calls.

  He rushed out to his truck and pulled himself inside, rain dripping off the ends of his hair and onto his jeans.

  Roxie barked, riled up from the thunder.

  “I know, Rox. We’ve gotta hurry.”

  He drove the now-familiar highway toward Fairwind, trying not to think about the fact that Beth could still be sorting through clothing and linens on the second floor of the farmhouse. She could be in the yard, pulling in the lawn chairs. She could be in real da
nger. And it was possible she had no idea. Out there, she wouldn’t have heard the tornado siren.

  He mentally beat himself up for leaving the way he had as he listened to her outgoing voice-mail message for the third time.

  Rain came down in sheets now, forcing him to slow down. Behind him, the sky had turned an ugly shade of green, the color of an old bruise.

  And it didn’t look good.

  “Come on, Beth.” He dialed again as Roxie whined in the passenger seat. Beth hardly ever went anywhere without her phone. What if something had happened to her? What if she’d gotten hurt and there was no one there to help?

  He tried not to think the worst and focused instead on the dark road in front of him. When he finally made the turn that led to Fairwind, his heart kept time with the frantic windshield wipers.

  Maybe she’d lost service. That was possible. He glanced at his own phone and saw four bars. His heart dropped.

  Beth’s car still sat in the driveway, the same place it had been when he’d left earlier that day. Maybe she’d taken cover in the cellar? Drew pulled his truck alongside Beth’s Audi and killed the engine. He pulled his hat down lower and turned to Roxie.

  “Ready, girl?”

  As he opened the door, the rain, which now came down diagonally, instantly drenched him on one side. He hurried the dog out of the truck, slammed the door and ran toward the farmhouse, the wind whipping torrents of rain against his face and body.

  He raced to the porch and pushed open the front door, slamming it closed behind him. He ordered Roxie to stay in the entryway—no sense in both of them drenching the place.

  Inside, the house stood quiet.

  “Beth?”

  No answer.

  “Stay here,” Drew said to Roxie as he started checking every room of the house, calling Beth’s name in each one. In the master bedroom, he tried not to replay the conversation they’d had earlier that day.

  He’d hurt her—and then he’d left, like the coward he was.

  When will you ever do the hard thing?

  He opened the door of the hidden room, just to be sure. Beth’s phone sat on the table, displaying several missed calls. He took it, then checked the dusty old basement in the hope that she’d been smart and taken cover.