Little Do We Know(4)

Mom had a strange look on her face. She bit down hard on her lip and looked out my window. Something was off.

I thought back to that night. Mom and Dad looked like they were about to burst with pride the entire time. They couldn’t have been faking it.

I started mentally piecing together the timeline, trying to figure out what had changed since then, if the money hadn’t been a problem back in December. It hit me like a slap. “It’s Aaron, isn’t it?”

The music director spot had been open for more than a year. In January, when Dad finally lured Aaron Donohue away from a huge mega-church in Houston, he’d said his prayers had been answered. His “dream team” was complete.

“Aaron has been a huge asset to the school, but he was an expensive hire.”

Aaron. The irony wasn’t lost on me. It would have been hilarious if it wasn’t so horrible. I moved for the door, more eager to get out of this room and this house and this town than I’d ever been before.

“Hannah.” I stopped. I looked over my shoulder, biting my tongue. “Everything will be okay. All we need is faith.”

Yeah, I thought, that’s all we need. Maybe I could just show up at the BU admissions office on the first day of school and say, “Hi, my name is Hannah Jacquard. I have no money, but here, take this. It’s a ton of faith.”

“God will provide, Hannah. You know that. He always does.”

I wished I believed that as much as I used to. My eyes narrowed on her. “Does He, Mom?”

She stared back at me, her expression a strange mix of shock and disappointment, and for a split second, a part of me wished I hadn’t said it. But a bigger part of me felt relieved that I finally had.

“Yes, I believe He does.”

“Well, He’d better get a move on,” I said. “Tuition is due in June.”

I stormed out of my room, down the hallway, and past Dad, who was still sitting in the living room, where we’d had our “family chat.” I heard him call my name.

I stepped back so I could see him through the archway. His face was blotchy and his eyes were red, and seeing him like that made me want to throw my arms around his shoulders and steal Mom’s words. That it would all be okay. That we just needed to pray about it. But I rooted my feet in place and didn’t speak.

“I’m so sorry.” Dad’s whisper cut through the silence. “I made a mistake. I’m going to fix this for you, I promise.” His voice cracked on the last word, and I couldn’t help it, I stepped toward him. He was my dad. I’d never been that angry with him, and I didn’t have the slightest clue how to do it.

The words It’s okay stuck in my throat, but I swallowed them back down. It wasn’t okay.

I opened the door and stepped out onto the front porch, my heart beating so hard I could feel it pounding against my rib cage. I took the front steps in a daze, and when I reached the walkway, I took a hard left, stepping over Mom’s flower bed, heading straight for Emory’s house. I was halfway across the grass when I stopped cold.

I stared at her house, feeling heavy and empty at the same time. I wanted to run inside and tell her she was right, not just about Dad, but about me, too.

Until three months ago, I would have.

But I couldn’t do that.

I turned and took off running in the opposite direction, bound for the foothills. I reached the intersection two blocks later, and I punched the crosswalk button so hard it made my knuckles throb. When the light turned green, I bolted across the street and through the parking lot, only slowing down when I reached the three metal barriers designed to keep bikes off the trail. My feet hit the dirt path, and I veered left and disappeared into the trees.

The money was gone. I knew Dad had been investing in Covenant Christian School’s performing arts program from his own savings, after he’d spent everything in the church budget and then everything the larger local churches had invested, but it never occurred to me that he’d dip into my college fund, too.

The path began to twist and climb steeply. I locked my gaze on the little wooden trail marker at the top of the hill, widened my stride, pumped my arms harder, and picked up the pace. I didn’t take my eyes off that sign, and when I finally reached it, I gave it a victory slap. Then I took a hard right and kept going, following the bends and curves of the narrow trail.

My parents had always talked about college like that was the natural next step after high school. A no-brainer. They always said they’d pay for it and never seemed to care about tuition costs or out-of-state fees. If only I’d seen it coming, I could have been prepared. I could have applied for scholarships or grants or something.

I needed BU. From the moment I opened that acceptance letter, it symbolized a whole lot more than a four-year college plan. It was my chance to live in a city where nobody knew me, and no one was watching or judging or analyzing my every move. For the first time in my life, I wouldn’t be Pastor J’s daughter. And that meant I could be anyone I wanted to be.

The path wound up and up, twisting past my neighborhood again before the trees obscured the view. Three miles later, I reached the series of boulders that marked the peak, and I climbed to my favorite rock—I’d always called it my praying rock, and more recently, my thinking rock.

I took a deep breath. And then I screamed as loud as I could.

The sound sent birds from their nests and squirrels from their homes, and it felt so good to let it all out that way. Tears streamed down my cheeks, mixing with the sweat dripping off my forehead, and I wiped the mess away with the hem of my T-shirt.