One of my earliest memories is sitting on my mother’s knee, there in the first row at church, watching sunlight stream in from outside to halo my dad’s head as he gave his sermon. The beams were like little pieces of heaven, and I was convinced they came straight from God to bathe my father in his goodness.
Because in my young mind, my father was good and strong. He was the guy who hugged me as much and as often as I wanted. Kissed me on the nose and called me his sweets. He was the man who tucked me into bed and read The Velveteen Rabbit over and over and over again because I asked him to.
My dad was that guy. The man all my friends loved, the man who was bigger and stronger and smarter than anyone else I knew. His voice was love and his eyes were promise.
He was so handsome that a smile or a touch on the shoulder made most women giggle like little schoolgirls. My mom used to tease him about it. She called it the Pastor Factor. And she said that it wasn’t just his charisma and charm that filled our church each and every Sunday. It was his ready smile and the way he could make anyone feel special just by looking at them.
She had a point, but I always thought it was my father’s voice that drew people in. Like he had some magical quality that hypnotized and cajoled until you couldn’t help but agree and say amen and sing his praises.
He was good. He was better than good. I’d give him that. And up until a year ago, he had me fooled. The sad thing is that sometimes I wish I was still fooled, because there’s something safe about floating through life on a cloud of ignorance. It is, as they say, bliss after all.
Sometimes it felt as if my sanity was hanging on the edge of a tiny little crack, and every day that crack got a little bit bigger. And every day I wondered, is this the day that I’ll shatter? Is this the day that I lose it and ruin the perfect lie that is my life?
Turns out Sunday wasn’t the day for cracking and spilling. Nope. It had been no different from any other that I could remember. I’d gotten up early, gone for a run, had breakfast with Mom and Isaac, and after a quick shower, got dressed for church. I wore a pale pink skirt and a sleeveless white blouse, my hair pinned back and only a hint of gloss on my lips. Understated and proper, just like the girl I was supposed to be.
Dad always left early—said he needed time alone to go over his sermon—and we joined him half an hour before service began. I played the piano and sang a few hymns. He did his thing, and the people, well, they gave him their love and money and that was that.
But as I sat there beside my mother in the first row and watched and listened as my father talked about forgiveness and acceptance, I felt different. It wasn’t just that I felt betrayed and angry—I’d been feeling those things for months and months. No, it was something more devastating to me. I didn’t see sunbeams anymore—they’d disappeared along with my mom’s bright and easy smile. They’d been replaced by a darkness that seeped deeper into my family every single day, and there was nothing I could do about it.
Forgiveness.
Acceptance.
What. Ever.
I wanted my sunbeams back, and I totally didn’t see that happening anytime soon because I knew there were some things that were unforgiveable. Some things that the truth could never fix. And that realization was probably the saddest moment of my life. Considering I was seventeen, what did that say about my future?
So I was still pondering all of that stuff Monday afternoon as I sat in the library waiting for Trevor. Mrs. Henney came by and asked if Trevor was okay. I smiled and said he was fine, aware that the two girls one table over were listening closely. What else could I say? It’s not as if I knew anything, and besides, it felt weird discussing Trevor behind his back.
Mrs. Henney hung around a few more moments, as if waiting for me to offer something more, and when it was obvious that I had nothing, she cleared her throat and moved on.
Hailey was on her way home from her camping trip, and she’d texted me at least twenty times in the last half an hour. They were nauseating and super fluffy texts filled with happy faces and the name Link. I was happy that she was so into this guy, but I had to be honest, I was a little jealous as well. How could I not be? The texts. They were unending.
Hales: do you think love at first sight is real
Me: no
Hales: I think it’s totally real
Me: I think lust at first sight is what you’re talking about
Hales: you’re wrong
Me: then why ask
Hales: because you’re my friend and you’re supposed to agree with everything I say
Me: that I am and no I don’t
Hales: wow, you’re grumpy
Me: yep
Hales: so do you think Link is hot or what?
Ugh. Insta love is annoying.
It wasn’t until I read Hailey’s last text that I realized I’d been waiting in the library for nearly twenty minutes. I sent Trevor a text—he was super late—and waited another five before scooping up my bag. I was irritated.
I thought of that slow crooked smile and the way he’d looked at me. I was irritated, and—there was no other word for it—I was disappointed. For some stupid reason I thought we’d connected Saturday. We lay beside each other at Baker’s Landing for a long time, not touching, but somehow it felt as if I was wrapped up in Trevor Lewis. And that had felt…nice. No. Nice is too easy of a word to describe what it felt like, but for now, I guess it would have to do since I had nothing else.
Tossing my bag across my shoulder, I marched out of the library, wincing when I walked into the sunshine. I checked my phone one last time and muttered to myself as I took off down the sidewalk.
He could have at least called to let me know he wasn’t going to make it. That’s what you did so as not to inconvenience someone. And that’s what I was feeling. Very inconvenienced.
I’d taken maybe ten steps when something tingled along the back of my neck. Some invisible radar that made me hyperaware. Slowly I yanked the buds from my ears and glanced across the street toward the park.
A guy leaned against one of the big old oak trees, hands shoved into the front pockets of his jeans, a bag at his feet. His head was down so he didn’t see me, because his hair covered most of his face while his one foot tapped the ground furiously.
Trevor.
I must have said his name out loud, because he raised his head. Or maybe I hadn’t said anything at all and it was coincidence.
But as I stared across the street at him, I couldn’t deny the little bit of happiness I felt. Chest tight, I waved again and then lifted the hair off the back of my neck.
I felt like I was back in sixth grade, staring across the closet at this boy who was larger than life. A boy whose gravity pull was so strong, it was enough to suck me in.
He lifted his chin as if to say hey and gave a small wave.
I could have done one of two things at this point. I could have given him the sort of salute he deserved. You know, the big old bird salute. Or I could let his gravity work its magic and pull me in.
Two guesses as to which one won.
“Everly,” he said, a hint of gruff in his voice.
I’d crossed the street and stood a few inches away, wary of his pull and not entirely sure I’d made the right choice.
“You’re really late,” I retorted.
For a moment his eyes dropped, and I felt like a shit.
“Sorry, I just…” His voice trailed off as he stared across the street at the library. “I’ve been out here for almost half an hour. My dad dropped me off on his way back from lunch, but I just…”
A few awkward moments passed as I watched him, and it was then I knew.
“Mrs. Henney can be a little overwhelming. I get it.”
His eyes shot back to mine, and for the first time since we started this whole thing, I felt as if I was seeing the real Trevor Lewis. Sure, he looked like he had his shit together, but he was scared and kind of messed up, and I was pretty sure he didn’t want to talk about what had happened with Mrs. Henney. We both know as soon as she saw him, she’d be all over that.
“Do you want to study at my house?”
I did not say that. What the hell?
His eyes softened, and the way he tilted his head to look down at me had my heart leaping all over the place like a fistful of jumping beans.
“Are you sure?”
No. My dad was home, and being around him was about the last place I wanted to be. Pretending that all was shiny and happy in my world wasn’t exactly easy, at least not lately. But pretending in front of a crowd? That would be plain awful.
A slow crooked smile was making its way across Trevor’s face, and there went those jumping beans again.
Trevor Lewis might be damaged, but he was also dangerous, and I knew him well enough to know that his smile wasn’t exclusive. The power of that smile was legendary. I had to remember that even though a direct result of the power of said smile was a stomach full of butterflies, we were only study buddies. Nothing more.
Today, he was relieved that he didn’t have to face his demons. There would be no Mrs. Henney. No one staring or asking inappropriate questions.
I totally got that, and I knew his beautiful smile wasn’t one hundred percent for me.
As we slowly headed down the street to my home, I couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to be the girl on the receiving end of that smile and to know it was all for her.