“What was that you said about engineering?”
“This is the best part, Ruthie.” He chuckled. “I’m going back to school with you and Grady, to get my bachelor’s in engineering. Tech agreed to let me work part-time in the math department for now, and when I start my master’s, I can probably teach a few freshman-level courses.”
It was almost too much information to get my mind around. “Dodd, that’s … that’s amazing. I don’t know what to say.”
He laughed. “Say you’ll register.”
Momma remained shut up in her bedroom, bumping around in there noisily, and I stared at her door, searching for an answer.
“Hey,” Dodd said softly, “I listened to your advice. The least you can do is listen to mine.”
He was right. I could take college classes. I could study the Bible. I could date the preacher. I could do whatever I wanted. And suddenly I knew what I wanted to do. What I was ready to do. What I needed to do.
Placing my palm against his jaw, and ignoring the tears in my eyes, I said, “I want to go to church with you, Dodd.”
He melted. “All I asked for was a few college classes.”
“I know, and I’ll do that, too.”
He squinted his eyes softly, and I knew he was afraid to ask the next question. His voice was so light, I wouldn’t have heard him if I hadn’t been looking.
“Why?”
I leaned back against the couch cushions. “Well, it’s complicated. First of all, I love you, and because I love you, I want to experience life with you and make you happy. But that’s not the real reason.” I raised my hands slightly before letting them fall back to my lap. “It’s just that I love God, too, and He wants me there. He wants me at worship, even though the people are a faulty, ugly, sticky mess.” I sighed. “I have a feeling He thinks I’ll fit right in.”
Dodd stared at me, and in his crinkly blue eyes, I saw pride. And peace. He gently leaned in, wrapped his arms around me, and nestled my head against his shoulder.
And it felt so good.
He rubbed his hand up and down my back, then ran his fingers through my hair, and I didn’t care if he ever stopped. “What was that first thing you said again?”
I laughed out loud and popped him on the chest.
Neither of us heard Momma come out of her room, and we were startled when she dropped a small cardboard box on the coffee table in front of us. “I suppose I might as well get this out of storage now.” My heart raced from the hollow thump the box had made on the wooden table, and I wasn’t sure what to say to her.
She barely paused before hurrying to the kitchen. “Glad you came, Dodd.” She grabbed the dish detergent with urgency, and then spoke again without turning around. “You should come again.” She reached toward the windowsill and flipped on the CD player to drown out any further conversation.
Dodd and I watched her back as she ran dishwater into the sink. Momma had just made some kind of paradigm shift that we could feel but couldn’t quite touch. We looked at each other and shrugged simultaneously, and then I remembered the box.
It was old and worn, with a thin layer of dust on top. I pulled it toward me and opened the flaps. They gave way easily, as though they had been opened many times over the years. What I saw inside made me gasp.
It was my daddy’s old Bible.
Just as I remembered it. Large, with an ornately decorated Western cover and leather cording laced through holes on the edges.
“A rectangular saddle,” Dodd said.
He eased it out of the box and laid it across my lap, opening to the book of Genesis. He kissed my temple as I fingered the worn pages. Dodd knew. He understood as well as I did that Momma had just opened a door.
She was setting me free.
… a little more …
When a delightful concert comes to an end,
the orchestra might offer an encore.
When a fine meal comes to an end,
it’s always nice to savor a bit of dessert.
When a great story comes to an end,
we think you may want to linger.
And so, we offer ...
AfterWords—just a little something more after you
have finished a David C Cook novel.
We invite you to stay awhile in the story.
Thanks for reading!
Turn the page for ...
• Note to the Reader
• Acknowledgments
• Book Club Discussion Guide
• A Sneak Peek at Book Two: Justified
• About the Author
Note to the Reader
Some books are designed for entertainment, some to send a message, others to influence or change the audience. I honestly can’t say why I wrote Jaded. What started out as a light romance five years ago evolved into a painful story that continues to tear at my heart.
I hope it tears at yours, too, in a good way. I hope you find yourself somewhere in its pages and grow because of the journey you’ve taken with Ruthie and the Trapp congregation. Not all hearts are as hard as hers, but we all have room for improvement. And certainly not all congregations are as bitter as hers, but as long as we’re on earth, the church will be filled with humans who have real-life flaws and opinions. I pray we have the humility and strength to forgive each other’s sins until we reach heaven, where everything will be so, so much easier.
Trapp, Texas, is a fictitious town created from a blend of places I’ve lived and visited. It sits approximately in the same location as Post but undoubtedly shares characteristics of my hometown, Grandview. However, the culture and geography in Jaded are not quite true to either, and I apologize for any inaccuracies in my memory and research.
And just for the record, the Trapp congregation—bless their hearts—exists nowhere on Earth. Or maybe it exists in every town; you be the judge. Either way, Neil Blaylock and the other characters are figments of my imagination, and any resemblance they may have to members of your local congregation is purely coincidental.
Soon you will be able to find the sequel, Justified, which continues the story through the eyes of Ruthie’s former friend, Fawn Blaylock. In the meantime, feel free to contact me online at varinadenman.com. I’d love to hear from you.
Thank you for reading,
Varina
Acknowledgments
It’s truly unfair that only one person’s name is on the cover of this book, because so many more have contributed. Listing them here, at the very back, hardly makes up for the injustice, but it’s all I’ve got to work with, so here goes.
Thank you to my husband, Don, for never doubting the dream. For helping me laugh at the rejections and tears, and for patiently explaining my characters’ motivations when I couldn’t figure them out on my own. How do you do that? But more than anything, thank you for being stubbornly determined to keep me home with our children and not minding that I wrote a book while I was there.
Thank you to my daughters, Jessica, Jillian, and Janae, for your suggestions about what should happen next, and how it should happen, and whether or not Dodd needs muscles after all. And thank you to my sons, Drew and Dene, for recognizing I was writing … something … and being proud of me. And to all five of you for allowing me to ignore you for long stretches of time—you seem to have turned out all right regardless. And to Colton and Kelsea, who joined us after the madness began—thank you for marrying into our family anyway. I promise I won’t always have a deadline … maybe.
Thank you to Marci for reading, rereading, and re-rereading. And for showing me the spots where “something’s just not working here.” Those words are a treasure map for a writer to follow.
Thank you to all the friends and family who supported and encouraged me the past five years. Especially those who read my original manuscript and refrained from telling me it was
terrible (when it clearly was)—D’arci, Teddy, Anna, Mom, Jackie, Jill, Paula, Lance, Hannah, Kelsey, Karla (and the girls at her office who passed around a notebook copy). Your graciousness gave me courage to keep going.
To Sudona, Paula, Kathy, and Connie for propping me up during the frenzy of publication and for praying me through several bouts of temporary insanity.
Thank you to Mary and the Storytellers, for being a gentle source of praise.
Thank you to Anne Mateer and Candace Calvert, two of the most gracious, knowledgeable, and encouraging mentors a new writer could ask for. And to Nicole Deese and Amy Matayo for their empathy, their brainstorming sessions, their laughter and tears.
Thank you to Jamie Chavez and Julie Gwinn for your patience as I learned to work with professional editors. I appreciate you butchering my manuscript, teaching me the craft in the process, and inviting me to the full-on party happening in the margin notes.
Thank you to Jessica Kirkland, not only my agent but my cheerleader, adviser, spokesman, therapist, editor, fellow plotter, nutrition consultant, and sweet friend. I don’t know where you find the time to do all that you do, but I’m certainly glad that you do it. By now, I owe you a truckload of gluten-free cupcakes.
And a huge thank-you to all the folks at David C Cook who took a chance on a debut author and brought Ruthie Turner to life. Thank you to John Blase for finding Ruthie and me. To Ingrid Beck for answering what I’m sure were the most remedial publishing questions ever asked. To Amy Konyndyk for going the extra mile for the perfect cover. To Jennifer Lonas for polishing the manuscript until I could see my reflection in it. And to the entire team at David C Cook, including Nick Lee, Helen Macdonald, and Karen Athen, for the care you have shown to Ruthie, Dodd, and the Trapp congregation.
And last but not least, thank you to Chris for loaning me ten minutes of your life story and allowing me to twist it beyond recognition. This book is for you, and for me, and for others who wish the church was just a little bit different.
Book Club Discussion Guide
1. When the story opens, Ruthie Turner has been an outsider in her own hometown for thirteen years because of an event that happened when she was just seven years old. How has her seven-year-old perception of what happened colored her adult attitudes? Do you blame her? How could things have been different?
2. Have you ever witnessed judgmental behavior by Christians? Regardless of where you stood in the situation, how did it make you feel?
3. Why do you think Lynda Turner keeps her daughter in the dark for so long? If she’d told Ruthie the truth—at some point—how might their lives have been better?
4. Being the only child of a single parent who also suffers from depression can’t have been easy, but Ruthie develops coping mechanisms to make the best of a bad situation. How do these methods of coping help or hinder her personal growth? In what ways does Ruthie seem mature for her age?
5. Early conflict in the story is based on assumptions and misunderstandings—and all of the characters seem to be affected. What are Ruthie’s assumptions—about Dodd, about JohnScott? What are Dodd’s assumptions—about his congregation, about Ruthie?
6. Ruthie and her mother are quite bitter toward the church. Do you think their attitudes are justified? What emotions do you feel toward those two characters?
7. When Dodd Cunningham first moves to Trapp, he doesn’t recognize the judgmental attitudes among his congregants or the corruption in the leadership. How does his innocence/naiveté help or hurt the situation? What do you think he learned from the situation?
8. When Clyde Felton visits the small congregation, the members react in fear and defensiveness. Why would Christians behave in such a way? When might such a reaction be warranted?
9. Consider the character Emily Sanders. She is described as a follower. Do you view her as such? How does she appear weak? In what ways does her faith seem stronger than some of the other characters’?
10. What do you think of the Picketts’ behavior compared to the behavior of the Blaylocks? One family is in church three times a week and the other is not, but which family seems more Christlike? Why?
11. On several occasions, the Cunninghams exhibit Christian love to Lynda Turner. Why might she have trouble accepting their love? Describe a time you have been on either side of this scenario.
12. Toward the end of the book, Fawn Blaylock’s parents learn she is pregnant and throw her out of their home. What emotions did you feel when this happened to her? What do you think will happen to Fawn now?
13. Neil Blaylock, the villain of the story, is depicted as evil even though he is an elder in the church. This scenario demonstrates the use of irony for literary purposes. What might the author have been trying to show? How does this character make you feel? What do you hope happens to Neil by the end of the series? What do you hope happens to the other elders?
14. In the middle of the story, Ruthie wants to date Dodd, but she is afraid of what her mother will do. Do you approve of her decision to hide her relationship? When, if ever, would it be appropriate to conceal your actions for the sake of your loved ones? How did this work out for Ruthie?
15. At the end of the book, Ruthie cries out to God after she takes a shower. Have you ever experienced a vulnerable time when you needed to reach out to God in such a personal way? Have you ever been unable to do so? Explain.
16. Ruthie Turner must forgive her parents, friends, Christians, the church, and God. In what order is she able to forgive them? By the end of the book, do you feel she has completed the process?
17. The closing scene has Ruthie declaring she is ready to go back to the small-town congregation. Do you approve of her decision? What would you do in her place?
18. By the end of the story, we see a change of heart in some of the members of the congregation. What do you think the overall reaction will be when Ruthie walks into church? How would you hope to treat her yourself? How might she perceive your actions?
A Sneak Peek at Book Two:
Justified
Varina Denman
Chapter One
My world shattered in the second week of December. A hairline crack formed, and my life perched on the edge of an abyss, set to topple at the slightest breeze. But instead of a breeze, I got a whirlwind—in the form of a positive pregnancy test.
Of course, that wasn’t supposed to happen. Not to me. But when my world finally ceased its roiling, nothing was left right side up. I barely recognized myself—or my thoughts and feelings—because my new life had become an inverted image of what it was before.
Now I sat on the hood of Velma’s old maroon Chevy, waiting for the sunrise, and rubbed a palm across the curve of my stomach. “Don’t worry, little guy, it’s not your fault.” I say little guy because I had the sonogram. Saw the picture. And it figures I’d bring another man into the world. Even though I wanted this child more than I imagined possible, I prayed he wouldn’t be like his daddy. Or mine.
My new rental house was perched fifty yards from the edge of the Caprock Escarpment, a chalky bronze declivity dividing the flat-as-a-board tableland of the Llano Estacado with the rolling plains hundreds of feet below. I could see for thirty miles, and I drank in the unbroken terrain as it transformed from shadows to sunshine.
And I tried to figure out my life.
I’d been trying for almost eight months, and so far I’d determined three things. I could survive without my parents’ help. My heart wouldn’t break if I never saw Tyler Cruz again. And I could and would make a home for my child.
I shifted on the car and peered down at the fading streetlights of my hometown. In a few minutes, the glow of dawn would eclipse the artificial light, and Trapp, Texas, would momentarily disappear. Good riddance.
Already the horizon glowed orange, and I sipped my iced coffee, letting its bitterness relieve the effects of the smothering heat. August had
always been a source of pleasure with its parties and cookouts, but now that I had no central air-conditioning or ceiling fans or swimming pool, fall looked better all the time.
I opened the Bible app on my cell phone and read my new favorite verse. Children are a blessing from the Lord. I whispered it into the warm air, reminding myself that even though I hadn’t followed the proper timeline, even though I disgraced my family, my church, my community, even though this baby turned my life upside down … my little man was a blessing.
It had taken me quite a while to accept that fact. I cried the entire first trimester and threw tantrums the second, but now that the baby could kick some sense into me, I realized that for the first time in twenty-one spoiled-little-rich-girl years, my life would have purpose.
The good Lord—cranky as He was—had gifted me with a mission I hadn’t thought to ask for. Not that He was rewarding my sin. On the contrary, I felt the sting of His punishment daily when people in town greeted me, then discreetly turned away. Last week my only remaining friend, Ruthie Turner, told me I’d get used to all that. But I wasn’t so sure.
The ever-brightening sky continued to pull the sun above the ground, illuminating miles of uneven pastureland and revealing all its browns and greens, gradually appearing from the blackness. The wind whipped past me, slacking as though an oscillating fan had turned from high to low and causing my hair to hover above my shoulders before falling weightlessly down my back. I breathed deeply, inhaling the scents of cedar and sage, and waited for the sunshine and wind to erase my insecurity.
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