The Carpenter's Daughter (29 page)

A paid site drew my attention.
Find People
. Lucky for me, I knew tons of personal info about my dad, including his DOB and his social security number. Taxes. I was that girl, and it was going to pay off.

I entered the information and slid my debit card from my clutch thingy that I was still carrying around for no apparent reason.

Who needed a real detective?

Dale James Sharpe. Graduated from Minden High School in 1993. Basketball scholarship to Kansas University, revoked.
(That was news—I’d have to find out why later. I doubted it was relevant to my cause). Marriage…now we came to it.
Married
:
1993 to Cassandra Holtz. Children: Sarah Jane Sharpe, born 1993. Divorced
1994.

Cassandra Holtz. Cassie—that was what Darcy called her.

I cleared the Google field.
Cassandra Holtz, Minden, Nebraska
.

The search brought a barrage of photos. Like a gazillion of them. All of the same woman with dark hair and vivid blue eyes.

The woman in all of those professional, model-type photos looked a little like me. Only way prettier. And her name…Cassandra von Holtzhausen. I clicked on the first link. It took me to a magazine article.

Cassandra von Holtzhausen, A-list bombshell model famous for her ever-revolving relationships, edgy lifestyle, and most notably, her striking blue eyes, was found dead in a rat-infested house…

Dead.

I stared at the computer, not seeing anything but the letters D-E-A-D.

Dad hadn’t been lying. My mother was dead.

Sarah

One should cry when she finds out a relative was gone, shouldn’t she? My eyes remained so dry that they itched. Anger had scorched away all possibility of tears. I glanced back to the top of the article, searching for a date.

June 2003.

My mother had died when I was a child, and my dad didn’t think I should know that? Why would he hide that from me? What did he have to lose if I knew my mother—apparently a runway model—had died of a drug overdose in some scumbag, roach-infested, bottom-feeder house?

I picked up my phone, stabbed at it until Dad’s number floated to the screen, and hit Call
.

He barely had a hello out before I laid into it. “How could you not tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

I whipped the computer screen so that I could see it from my standing position and began to read. “Cassandra von Holtzhausen, A-list bombshell model famous for her ever-revolving relationships, edgy lifestyle, and most notably, striking blue eyes, was found dead—”

“Where did you find that?” His voice sank low and hot, and he barely paused before he continued. “Did your aunt show you that?”

“No, Dad.” I slapped the laptop closed. “I Googled it. Wasn’t that hard. How could you hide that from me?”

“It’s not your business. I told you to leave it alone.”

“She was my
mother
!”

“Was, Sarah.” His voice moved from hot and livid to dark and cold in one breath. “Was. And she wasn’t a good one. We were better off without her—you were better off. There’s no reason you needed to know then, and no reason to talk about it now.”

I couldn’t think of an argument. But I wanted to know. “What happened? Please, Dad, just talk to—”

“No!”

The stillness after his shout made me dizzy. I shut my eyes against the spinning reality of my life.

“Never again, Sarah.” Dad’s tone sent an icy chill over my arms. “Don’t bring her up ever again.”

Silence returned, followed by the empty click of a dropped call. He’d given me an ultimatum. If I wanted a Dad, I’d have to forget I’d ever had a mother.

Jesse

Shane supplied a crew, and we made a lot of progress in little time. The listing would go up on Monday, but I didn’t need to be there for it. That meant I could wrap things up in a few days and head north. Now…to concoct a reason to do that.

I had a reason, right there in Omaha. The evening spent with Avery, Ken, and Sharon flitted through my mind. Ken’s brother-in-law had a job for me. A big one, and it was the kind that Sarah would be amazing at. Perfect. We’d go tackle the job together and work on the other stuff between us too. One phone call, and the wheel would be rolling.

Finding my phone in the kitchen where I’d left it this morning, I saw I had two new texts.

I grinned. Both from Sarah.

9:54 a.m.
Jesus loves me…I believe.

Air rushed from my lungs with such force that it hurt. I leaned back against the counter, my eyes closed. She believed.
Thank you, Jesus…

My hand clutched the phone—of all days for me to not have it on me, it was this one. I couldn’t wait to talk to her, to find out what happened, and to be sure she meant what I thought she’d said. My fingers actually trembled as I moved to call her.

But there was another text. Right.
Read that first.

4:26 p.m.
My mother is dead.

Oh no. How did she go from
Jesus loves me
to
my mother is dead
in less than twelve hours? My heart squeezed hard. What was God doing?

I tapped her number and hit Call, wondering how to start this conversation. Did I want the good news first, or the bad? Did the bad news negate the good news?

“Hey.”

Her defeated tone sealed a decision. I didn’t need an excuse to go north. I’d leave first thing in the morning. Or right after I got out of the shower that night.

Sarah

Jesse:
Where are you now?

I was pretty sure it was rude to text in church. But Jesse’s message distracted me, and I couldn’t help myself.

Me:
At church. With my aunt. Shouldn’t you be in church somewhere?

Jesse:
Yes. If I wasn’t driving. Which church?

Driving? Air caught in my lungs. Where was he driving to? Determined to look casual, I turned over the folded paper thingy I’d been given when I passed through the entry doors. Bethany Bible Church of Omaha. Shifting my attention back to the pastor, the argument ensued in my head. Texting right now was like carrying on a conversation during class. So rude. How long did church last? Jesse could probably wait.

My phone vibrated again.

Jesse:
Sarah, I need an addy.

Oh, an addy too? He was coming… It was wrong how adrenaline raced through my whole body at the thought of seeing him. Today. Soon. Friends didn’t physically respond that strongly, did they? Yeah, that whole
friends
deal was becoming foggier with every text.

Me:
Where are you?

Jesse:
South side of Omaha. Need to know which direction to go. Addy please?

Me:
You’re texting while driving? Bad call.

Jesse:
Voice command.

Me:
Still a bad call. Pull over.

Jesse:
Give me an address and I’ll stop bothering you.

Me:
Pull over and I’ll give you an address.

My phone stayed still for a few moments, during which I glanced to my cousin. Adam’s eyebrows lifted, and his mouth moved in a knowing smirk. Eavesdropper.

Peachy. Not only was I completely distracted, muddled by the fact that Jesse, my
friend
, had apparently spent the night driving to Omaha, but judging by the wave of heat that just washed over my skin, I was beet red as well.

Adam shifted, taking the bulletin I’d balanced in between the folds of my dress, which I’d worn for the first time ever that day of all days. With one hand he held it tilted so I could see, and with the opposite index finger he traced the address to the church.

My eyes darted from the words to his face. He grinned and then leaned to whisper. “It’ll probably take him twenty minutes to get here. We’ll be about done by then.”

Focused on his eyes, I let the silence ask the questions rolling in my head. What did I do? Would Aunt Darcy be okay if I invited him over? Would Adam and Jeff take him in?

Adam’s smile softened, as if he understood all of those fears. “YouTube guy, right?” he whispered again.

I nodded.

He slid my phone from my hand and tapped against the screen, sending Jesse the address. When he was done, he set it on the space in between our seats and then squeezed my shoulder. “Mom wanted to meet him.”

As I was drawing a long breath, my phone vibrated again. I didn’t pick it up, but I could read Jesse’s message anyway.

Be there in twenty.

Jesse

Sunday mornings in Omaha left the interstate system fairly quiet. Good thing, because I really couldn’t focus on the road.

With one fist wrapped around my lukewarm coffee and the other gripping the steering wheel, I let my mind traipse over the past week. Or rather, over the summer that had nearly passed behind me.

There were some seasons in life that redefined you.

The summer my parents died, for example. I’d suddenly realized how amazing I’d had it after that truck took them away. And in that, I found a paradox of comfort and agony. Their legacy was a gift, and somehow, without realizing it, I’d twisted it into a burden.

Funny, five years later and nearly to the day of that transformational moment, I bumped into a woman who would once again shift my life’s paradigm. God had interesting methods, I guess.

Like that change half a decade before, I couldn’t make out the next steps ahead of me. I knew what I wanted the future to look like, which was like a lifting of the fog I’d drifted through over the past few years, but this moment—these upcoming days? Not a clue.

Maybe once I saw her, everything would become clear.

Take ramp to 680 north on right.

Good thing Garmin kept track of where I was. I’d have ended up in Lincoln before I realized I’d missed my exit.

I glanced to the hand that was white-knuckling the steering wheel. When was the last time I’d been this tied up?
Be anxious for nothing
… Did that include Sarah? Tough call, because not only was I in love with her, but I had no idea what to expect from her. Talk about a roller coaster. Was she still on the ride, with those steep highs and deep drops, or had this last chunk of news she’d uncovered kicked her to the ground? The answer would be nice to know, because her ride had become mine, and I didn’t know if I was supposed to buckle up or prepare to carry her through.

Maybe both.

Garmin chirped another direction in her computerized, know-it-all voice, and as I took the designated exit, a large church building appeared in the horizon. Destination ahead.

Deep breath.

Sarah ahead.

Stop shaking.

Future on the horizon.

Please, God, let that be the truth
.

Guess I was about to find out.

As I pulled into the large parking lot, a steady trickle of Sunday best-dressed people seeped from the front doors, which meant service had just let out. Placing the cup I’d been clenching into my cup holder, I parked in a far corner and took up my phone again.

Me:
Garmin says I’m here. Are you?

I scanned the scene beyond my windshield, searching for a raven-haired beauty in jeans. Plenty of young women milled around the front sidewalk, but none had the definitive solid-yet-feminine build of my Sapphira.

My Sapphira.

I tried to chide my own thinking—we still had some things to work through. My thoughts wouldn’t listen. She was mine. My heart declared it. My thoughts seconded it. Now, to carry the motion…

The phone buzzed in my palm.

Sarah:
Yes. Getting ready to go. Where are you?

A grin moved against my cheeks.

Me:
I’ll find you.

Grabbing my keys and leaving my coffee, which hadn’t been any good anyway, I stepped from the truck and across the blacktop, still searching for a woman with short black hair, straight posture, work-molded shoulders, and dark-blue jeans.

A small group emerged from the door, an ebony head between two solid young men. Teenagers, more accurately. Maybe. The taller of the two looked to be twentyish. The cluster stopped to talk to a man in a tie—the pastor, most likely—and the woman stepped back enough so that I could get a clear view.

Dark hair, cut like I remembered. Square shoulders, solid arms.

And a teal dress.

I squinted. Definitely Sarah.

In a dress. Huh. No. Wow.

Without consciously deciding to, my pace doubled. All I could think about was my hunger for those blue eyes. My focus stayed solely on her, as if blinders to everything else had draped over my vision, until a masculine hand fell to her lower back.

Tall guy tugged her forward, his hand still resting where it had landed.

No.

He turned to the pastor-looking man, clearly making an introduction. He looked at her with a proud smile when the pastor moved to shake her hand.

No! No, no, no.

I jerked to a stop fifteen feet from the scene of a nightmare I didn’t know I’d had before. I could actually hear my pulse, which was painful as it surged blood unnecessarily fast through my hot veins.

The man dropped his hand—finally—and Sarah drifted away from the loose circle again. Her attention lifted, and she began scanning the people beyond.

This was my deer-in-the-headlights moment. I was too close to hide, running would only draw more attention, and I most definitely did not want to meet whomever she was with.

Why hadn’t she said something about another guy?

Why would God tease me like this?

Why…

I ran out of time for empty questions. The sapphires I’d been starving for landed on me, piercing my heart with a new and horrible kind of ache I’d never experienced before.

My Sapphira.

Didn’t she know?

She had to know. I wasn’t that discreet.

Was this another Troy she’d picked out to torture me? I hadn’t done anything this time.

Not. Fair.

Our silent stare must have caused a scene. Suddenly I was aware of Tall Guy’s attention on me. He took me in, eyebrow hiked, before shifting to look at Sarah. A smirkish grin spread over his face as he turned back to me.

Punk.

Panic gave way to pure irritation. I wasn’t some passerby with a sudden infatuation. I knew this woman—her heart, her pain, her wanderings…

Her future.

Who was this guy to interfere? To smirk at something of which he knew nothing? Sarah was mine—should be mine. He was nothing.

He leaned down to speak to her, which flushed a fresh wave of heat over me. Sarah glanced up to him, her shy, sweet smile tightening the knot around my heart. She was supposed to look at me that way.

And then she did.

Hold up, what happened? Tall Guy, with his dang hand on her back again, guided her my way, and Sarah’s smile landed on me.

“So you’re the roofer.” Tall Guy’s hand left her body and stretched toward me.

The roofer? She didn’t even give me a real name?

His grin widened. “Jesse, right?”

Oh. My lungs expanded. Air. Breathe. “Yeah, I’m Jesse Chapman.”

Again, he looked from me to Sarah and back again. “We were hoping we’d get to meet you. I’m Adam—Sarah’s cousin.”

Cousin. One word, and my world shifted right side up. I mentally stepped outside of myself, witnessing my reaction. Crazy jealous. Psycho guy. Hopefully, I hadn’t blown this first impression, because I was already on the blacklist with her dad.

And the reality was that Sarah wasn’t really even mine.

Yet.

Sarah

My stomach wouldn’t stop fluttering as I climbed into Jesse’s truck. Climbed…not the right word. What a day to wear a dress for the first time in my whole life.

Had he noticed?

I shifted on the bench seat, much like I had when I sat down at the beginning of church, wondering if everything that should be covered was, and if I looked like madame troll, ruining a perfectly good dress.

I should have worn jeans. Much more comfortable, much more me. Except, maybe Jesse noticed.

With a sharp intake of air, I glanced to him as he settled behind the wheel. He met my gaze, and a half smile tugged on his mouth.

“That was quite a scene.”

My heart squeezed and then dropped. I looked ridiculous, then.

He chuckled. “Your cousin must think I’m psycho.”

Wait, what?
“Adam?”

Jesse shook his head and inserted his key into the ignition. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

Uh, what were we talking about?

“I should have called you first.” He started the truck and shifted into drive. “I decided last night that I’d come.” We eased to a stop at the intersection where the lot would dump onto the main road, and he looked at me again. “I was worried about you.”

Melt into those green eyes and hope he would forgive me, or look away.
Those were the options. I took the second, because I remembered how awkward things had gotten after our bowling incident.

“Thanks.” I brushed my cheek with one hand, feeling the feverish heat and agonizing that he could see it coloring my skin. “I’m okay though.”

A horn blipped from the car behind us, a little nudge forward because, hey, it was lunchtime, and the rest of the world was hungry.

My stomach had wound itself too tight to even think of food.

Jesse guided the truck forward and held quiet for two blocks before he spoke again. “I hope I’m going the right way. I lost track of your cousin’s car.”

Directions. Right. A perfectly sane and legitimate distraction. I squared my shoulders, kept my eyes trained on the road ahead, and hoped that he was too busy driving to notice that I was avoiding visual contact while I issued driving orders.

As we neared the final turn to my aunt’s house, Jesse veered off course, cutting into a large parking lot at a busy grocery store.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m southern.”

“What does that mean? Southern guys don’t know how to follow directions?”

He parked and then reached across the cab, tweaking my nose. “You’re so cute.”