Lizzie would spend all day in English class if she could. She loved to read and write stories. For Mariana, English was tough, but she loved math. They were like two pieces of a puzzle that fit together perfectly. “My mom made me sit at the table last night and work long division problems for thirty whole minutes. What is it about grownups?”
Mariana smiled at Lizzie but the twinkle faded. Her mom had died a few years back. It was just her and her dad.
“Maybe we can have a sleepover this weekend.” Lizzie had been bugging Mom since the day she’d met Mariana to have her over. Mom hadn’t said no, but she was so busy that she hadn’t had time to make the arrangements. Or at least that was what she said.
“Really? That would be great. But I don’t know if my dad will let me. He doesn’t want me to go anywhere. I wish I had a mom like yours.”
“If you had my mom, we’d be sisters.” That would be perfect. Yes, Lizzie complained about her mother. But nothing was better than having Mom kiss her head each night when she went to bed. And knowing Mom would be there when she woke up in the morning.
“Your mom makes the best chocolate cupcakes.” Mariana kicked the ground and spun herself on the swing. “Do you think she’ll bring them to the next class party?”
Lizzie’s mom didn’t have much time to volunteer at school, but Lizzie had convinced Mom to help the teacher at the monthly birthday party so she could meet Mariana. Mom had agreed that Lizzie’s friend was awesome.
As Lizzie kicked her feet and pulled them back, inspiration struck. “Oh, my gosh, I’ve got a great idea.”
Mariana dug her heels into the ground and stopped her swing. “What? Tell me.”
“You don’t have a mom. If we were sisters, like we want, then my mom would be your mom…”
Mariana picked up on where Lizzie was going. “… and my dad would be your dad.”
“Wouldn’t that be great?”
Mariana’s face fell. “But my dad doesn’t even know your mom. They’d have to get married for us to be sisters.”
“Exactly. Isn’t that great? Not only would I get a sister, my mom would have a new husband.”
Mariana shook her head. “I don’t know. My dad works a lot. I don’t think he wants a new wife.”
“Sure he does. This is going to be great. Here’s what we have to do.” Lizzie whispered in Mariana’s ear. As Lizzie explained her plan, Mariana’s eyes widened. Soon, she pitched in with ideas of her own, and by the end of their conversation, Mariana’s head was bobbing up and down.
Perfect. Now they had a plan.
What happens next?
Don’t wait to find out…
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Read the first chapter of LOVE’S PRAYER, book 1 of the FIRST STREET CHURCH ROMANCES…
Ben Davis had once believed in God. He had once believed in miracles, fate, divine intervention, and all the similar lies people tell themselves to get through the day. Perhaps if he still believed, he wouldn’t find himself so tempted to never get out of bed—not even to eat—and to eventually die a slow, private death in the only place that still offered him any comfort at all.
On this day, a Thursday, he spent longer than usual blinking up at the ceiling and wondering if he should just end it all with a swift bullet to the brain. After all, that’s what his older brother, Stephen, had done seven years ago. He’d wandered into the town square and shot himself clean in the face for all of Sweet Grove to see. People still talked about it to this day, and those who didn’t speak of it definitely thought of it.
Like his mother, Susan. She waded through the memories, attempting to silence them with the bottle. But even though the liquor often ran out, her grief remained endless, unquenchable.
Ben wasn’t saddened by the loss of his brother. Even though he sometimes felt as if he should be. No, he was angry—rage was another unquenchable commodity in the Davis household. Stephen had selfishly chosen to end it all. He’d hurled his issues straight at Ben, who, ever since that day, had been tasked with paying the mortgage, tending to their mother who had spiraled down the dark path of addiction, and without an outlet to enjoy any of the things he had spent years working toward and hoping for.
He’d turned down his full-ride scholarship to college, because he needed to take care of things in Sweet Grove—things that only got worse the more his mother was left to grapple with her grief. Recovery remained a summit she just couldn’t reach, no matter how hard she climbed. So he’d turned the university down year after year, and eventually the admissions board had stopped asking.
Which left him here today, staring up at the popcorn ceiling above his twin-size bed, no longer bothering to wonder if life could ever be any different. At 6:12, he placed one foot after another onto the shaggy carpet and went to clean up for work. At 6:25, he was out the door with a piece of half-toasted bread in one hand and a banana in the other. He had five minutes to make the short walk from the quaint—and “quaint” was putting it kindly—home he shared with his mother to the local market where he worked as a bagger and delivery boy. Yes, even his job title suggested a temporary arrangement, a job better suited to a boy than the twenty-four year old man he had become.
“Good morning!” sang his boss, Maisie Bryant, as he tromped through the sliding glass doors. Each morning she arranged a fresh display of local produce and other seasonal specialties right at the front of the shop. As always, she took great pride in her work.
Ben hated that his boss was only a couple of years older than him. Maisie had managed to escape town long enough to earn a degree before returning to run her family’s grocery store. While he didn’t know the exact numbers, he could bet that the youngest Bryant child made at least triple what he did for the same day’s work. But that was life for you—or at least for Ben. Never fair, not in the least.