Finding Hope in Texas
Ryan T. Petty
Published by
Fire and Ice
A Young Adult Imprint of Melange Books, LLC
White Bear Lake, MN 55110
www.fireandiceya.com
Finding Hope in Texas, Copyright 2014 Ryan T. Petty
ISBN: 978-1-61235-840-6
Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published in the United States of America.
Cover Design by Lynsee Lauritsen
FINDING HOPE IN TEXAS
by Ryan T. Petty
How do you move on in your life after a horrible tragedy?
That's what Hope Kilpatrick must ask after losing her family in a horrible car accident right before Christmas. Unable to deal with the pain, she leaves the haunting memories of her New York home behind and escapes to Texas with an estranged aunt that is her only family.
Still reeling from her loss and the culture shock of her new home, she must also deal with a school bully that has set her sights upon her. Hope's only solace is the quiet girl at the vacant lunch table, an eccentric history teacher, and the introverted handsome young man she meets at a Texas parade. Finding Hope in Texas deals with the tragedy of loss, the sardonic struggles of teenage life, and the sanguinity in finding a special someone that will help her discover the strength to live again.
To my students, past and present
Table of Contents
"Finding Hope in Texas"
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
About the Author
Previews
Prologue
A winter chill had encroached upon New York. I watched the morning news as car accidents were reported throughout the city. Luckily, I lived close enough to school to walk. When I got out into the storm, I noticed that Christmas cheer had evolved into anger and frustrations from people I passed. Everyone was running late and tempers flared, thus giving into the theory of how New Yorkers really are. The holiday joy had been blown away by the bitter winds. I was running late too, being tardy for the first time all year and then late again getting home from orchestra practice. My teacher kept us longer to make sure we were prepared for the Christmas pageant coming up on Saturday. As I walked home I got a text from Mom explaining that they had left to see Tyler's game and would be back late that evening. I didn't mind. I knew they were coming to my recital the next day, and besides, I would have the house to myself for once. Mom called me one more time as they drove to the game.
“Are you sure you're going to be okay tonight, honey?” Mom asked me.
“Yes, Mom. Jeez. I’m not a little kid anymore.” I answered back coolly. “You just have a good time at the game with Dad. Tell Tyler he'd better get a double-double for me.”
“I will, sweetie. There are leftovers in the fridge when you get hungry. And hey, it’s Friday night. Call someone up or have a friend over. We trust you.”
“Okay, Mom. Thanks.”
“Bye, sweetie. I love you.”
“Yeah, me, too. Bye, Mom.” Why didn’t I just say I love you? Teenagers could be so stupid sometimes.
I made use of my night by reading a book and watching another Christmas special. This time it was Miracle on 34th Street, a homegrown, New York movie. I also sent a text to my friend about plans on Saturday: shopping at the mall to get gifts for the family. I lost track of time, though, and realized that they were running late.
“Tyler's game should have been over by now,” I said. “It must be this storm holding them up.” At first their tardiness didn't bother me. The storm, overtime, going out to eat—there was a number of possibilities. But as the TV shows passed the night away, I still had no word from them. I finally grabbed my cell and began to text.
Where R U? I sent it out to all of my family in a group text. There was no reply. I quickly took to actually calling Mom, something I rarely did. The phone rang and rang before finally being sent to voice mail.
“Hey, Mom. It's Hope. I can't get any of you. Call me as soon as you get this message. Thanks. Bye.” I hoped that it didn't show through, but there was worry in my voice in that phone call. My heart just wouldn't stop pounding.
I called again and again. All three of their phones. Nothing.
Two hours later there was a deep, penetrating knock on my front door. It startled me so much I jumped from the sofa and scrambled to the door, first checking through the glass to see who it was. Two uniformed police officers stood on my front porch. I immediately flung the door open.
“Are you Hope Kilpatrick?” asked one of the officers, a younger man, probably early thirties, tall with just a hint of gray in his sideburns. The older one stood just behind him, his eyes dark.
“What happened? Where is my family?” I asked loudly, already knowing this had to do with them.
“Miss Kilpatrick–”
“Where is my family?” I repeated, practically yelling at the officers this time.
“There was an accident,” the other officer finally said, a hint of grief in his words. I nodded my head to show that I understood, but for a moment I couldn't find the words.
Focus. Remain calm.
“Okay. Okay, then they must be at the hospital. Can you tell me which one so that I can get going?” My mind was whirling. I thought about stepping inside and grabbing the keys to Mom's car—or maybe they were here to take me? But the first cop stared deep into my eyes and ducked his head.
“I'm sorry, Miss, but–”
“No! You tell me where they are right now!”
The officer stepped forward and tried to place a hand on my shoulder to comfort me, but I pushed it away. I wasn’t going to accept it. I wasn’t going to accept their story. There had to be some mistake. This didn’t happen to people like my family. Not to them, not to me.
I swung around and went inside. I could hear them calling my name, but I wasn’t about to answer. I found my mom’s keys in the kitchen where she always put them. The police were in the entranceway when I made my way out again. The younger one threw his hands up in front of him, like he was trying to corral me.
“Miss Kilpatrick, stop,” he ordered, but in the slightest way. I wasn’t going to listen. I just wanted to get to them, to be by their side like they had been for me for so many years.
“Please, just tell me where they are!” I demanded back at him, but my voice trailed off and I could feel my eyes being engulfed by tears. He shook his head again. Why did he have to keep doing that? But for some reason, I knew the answer.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” his voice was about to break. “They’re not coming home, sweetie.”
Sweetie? You ring my doorbell and give this awful news and have the audacity to call me sweetie?
I went from frustrated sadness to anger in a heartbeat. I threw myself at him as hard as I could, pounding on his uniform, screaming the worst profanities I could before he restrained me up in his arms so that I could
n’t move. I just wanted to hurt him and I couldn’t even do that.
He didn't have to use the words “killed” or “no survivors.” I had figured it out on my own as I sobbed loudly against the officer. The man I tried to attack now held me like a child in his arms, as I could do nothing but weep. The drunk driver just couldn't stop on the icy roads and had slammed into my family’s car with such force that they were all killed instantly. There would be no criminal court to see the drunk punished. No trial or witnesses to make sure he lived the rest of his life in prison for killing three innocent people. He got off free by dying in the carnage he caused.
I just couldn’t stop crying as I held their picture. That wretched picture would always let me know what I once had, what was gone forever. It was such a big crossroads to encounter at sixteen years old and basically, alone.
Fate had looked me square in the face and punched me as hard as it could.
Chapter One
On December 28th, three days after Christmas and five days after the funeral, my Aunt Margaret arrived from Texas. The lawyers from dad's firm had thought it best that I have some sort of family and contacted her when they found her name in my parent's will. My parents asked her to take care of Tyler and me if anything should happen to them. She was also my only next of kin as my mom was an only child. I barely knew my aunt, though. Aunt Mags was what she liked to be called when she was in town. She had left the family estate years before I was even born and only visited a half-dozen times since. Dad was always kind when talking about his sister, saying she liked to be independent or how she enjoyed seeing the nation and not be tied down. Mom was more honest, blunt even, saying she was following one sorry man after the next, always looking for and believing she had found a good guy until he turned out to be a drunk, a cheat, or something worse. All I really knew was that Mags moved around the country, trying out different things, meeting new people. She had sent us many different items over the years, a small cactus from Arizona when she was with the banker, a chunk of cheese from Wisconsin when she was dating the farmer, some funky tie-dye shirt when she was on the beaches of California with the surfer. She couldn't seem to settle in life like her brother had done. Currently she lived just outside of Dallas and was coming off her fourth divorce.
That is where I found myself now, stuck in a small two-bedroom house that was no bigger than my living room back in New York. I figured maybe distance would work better than time. Maybe if I left everything behind I could try to find some normalcy in my life again. I’d hoped to find solace in Texas. Mags was my way out, that angel I needed, at least I hoped so. Texas would have to be my sanctuary. Mags had come up with the great idea to take me away from New York because it held so many memories of my family. It was true; everything I was surrounded by, from the house to the neighborhood to the entire New York area was consumed with the memories of my family. I had no chance to move forward with life with so much of my past wrapped up in my surroundings. That is why I agreed to go, away from the busy streets, for a new beginning in the Lone Star State. It may have not have been my best decision, but I had to go. It was the only way that I might survive. All of this would be waiting for me if I decided to return. Dad's partners at the firm set up a trust for the entire estate for me, and Richard accepted the responsibility to provide any funds that I needed to live.
“Don’t hesitate to ask for anything,” he told me. “I worked with your father a long time, so long in fact, I feel I’ve helped bring you up in life and watch you become the fine young lady you are today. Whatever you need, you can count on me.”
This was not just talk from Richard; his words were worth gold to me. He would secure everything for me and when I turned eighteen, less than two years from now, it all would be placed in my name. I, of course, would have been happy to give it all away, if just to see my family one more time.
I tried to pull myself together as I gazed at their picture. Like it or not, the day was starting and I had to be a part of it. New Year’s had already gone by in a haze of boxes, interstates, and warmer climates. It was the first day of school and if I didn’t get moving I was going to be late. I grabbed my backpack and headed down the hallway of our rented house towards the living area.
“Oh, good, Hope, you're up. I made you some toast with jelly there on the counter,” Mags said while preparing herself for work.
She continued talking as I sat down to bite into the miniscule breakfast. Everything I looked at reminded me of Mom and how she made breakfast every morning, with not only toast, but eggs, bacon and everything two growing teenagers would need. It was another thing I did not say “thank you” enough for when she was alive.
“I know you’re going to have a great day at school. Be sure to make a good first impression on your classmates and teachers and all,” Mags said and smiled.
“Okay,” I mustered.
“Do you have everything? I mean, did I get you the right stuff? Pens and paper and notebook, it’s all there, right?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, well, finish your toast and we can get going.”
“Okay,” I replied.
I wasn't much for talking to Mags. I know she was just trying to make me feel at home, but this was anything but. The small house was cramped before I even got here, so my new little bedroom was full of the few possessions I brought, plus her collection of stuff I wouldn't have given a dime for at a garage sale. Of course, to make matters worse was the fact that I hardly knew her. It was as if I was living with a stranger that just happened to share my DNA. So, if I seemed standoffish to her, I thought I was justified, since she had been aloof for as long as I could remember. Maybe it was a mistake to move down here on a whim. Maybe I should have just listened to what people were telling me and given it time. I choked down all the breakfast I could stomach and we were out the door. Time was not going to wait today.
The ride to school was long, as it seemed that going anywhere around Texas had to take at least twenty minutes. I would have much rather walked to school, but the seven miles was longer than the four blocks in New York. And Texas isn't really made for walking. You’d better have a car or a horse or you were out of luck to get anywhere. Even worse, I had nothing to say to my aunt. I hadn't even said “thank you” to her for taking me in as she did. Mags was the black sheep. She had taken her own paths in life, never worrying about her own future, but living for the day and in the moment. She was nothing like Dad, who set up his life early, working hard to get into Yale where he would meet his future wife, and then on to Columbia Law. It was the same path I had hoped for, until that day in December. Mags could have done the same thing, in fact, that is what her parents had wanted for her as well, to get some sort of education and excel at it. But that was not for her. Dad told me that she tried to make a go at the New York School of Art, but dropped out in her first year. The next year, she was off on her own with her first husband. And from where I sat, I guess I could see why she had been so popular with so many men. Her looks, although giving in to her age now, had once been beautiful. She was trim with the right set of curves, had a nice smile, and that red Kilpatrick hair that looked like our head was on fire and full of spunk. Luckily for him, my brother, Tyler had inherited mom's nice soft blonde look, but I was stuck looking like an extra for the Irish river dance contest.
Mags pulled her used compact car up to the sidewalk, its blue paint chipped away on the hood. “Alright sweetie, now be good and make new friends. I love you very much.”
“Okay,” I muttered, kind of blocking out the last words, grabbing my backpack and violin case, shutting the car door behind me, not even giving a wave.
She must understand why I'm being such a brat, doesn't she?
I turned to face the school, the oldest high school in town from what I had heard. It was a white brick building and named after the president from the time it was built, Jimmy Carter. I think he was the last Democrat to ever win Texas, and that was probably a miracle. The building was uninviti
ng, cold even. If you put bars on the small windows and wrapped the place in chain link, it would have made for a nice minimum-security prison. Either way, it was home for the next year and a half, the students were my fellow inmates, and the teachers, the guards.
I entered the high school mixing into a crowd of students in the foyer. Some of them glanced at me only for a moment before continuing their early morning conversation with each other about their holiday. New people probably entered their lives daily, so with the few that gave me a once-over, I was probably deemed a band geek with the violin case. Still, most paid no attention at all. I was a fly on the wall to them, nothing more. With a sigh, I wrapped my arm around the strap on my backpack and headed through the mass of people. Finding the administration office, I entered.
The room was hectic with back-to-school-after-Christmas activities. A couple of teachers were talking in the back of the room next to the coffee maker. Another stood making copies. I waited in a line to see the secretary who was handing paperwork to another student. After a few more, it was my turn.
“I'm Hope. Hope Kilpatrick” I said timidly. The secretary fumbled through some papers at her desk, not even looking up to see me; the name was enough. I waited for a few moments thinking it was rude that the secretary said nothing. Just before I was about to go and sit at a nearby bench, she finally came to life.
“Good, your parent and/or guardian already filled out your paperwork,” she said, pulling out a piece of paper and handing it to me. “That is your schedule. Don't lose it. You'll be in second lunch. The counselor is also going to see you in a few minutes. Go take a seat over there until she calls you in.”
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