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WestBow Press - Erin Michael

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121 pages

English

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Have you ever felt abandoned by God? Follow one woman's journey back to faith, hope and love with the help of an old friend.
Megan Oliver has had a rough year, to say the least. Needing a new beginning, she returns to her hometown of Cedar Springs, Idaho where she purchases an old fixer-upper in the hopes the project will keep her occupied. She returns to find the dynamics of family and her group of close friends is an emotional journey she wasn't quite prepared for. Reed Sullivan is one of those friends and has known her for years. With the recent turn of events which affected them all, he wants to help her in any way he can. Besides, he made a promise and he intends to keep it. The trouble is, can their friendship survive the road ahead without history repeating itself? Can Reed prove to Megan that God is walking with her through it all? And so is he.

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Religious

Christian

Fiction

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Publié par	WestBow Press
Date de parution	19 octobre 2022
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781664276253
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0200€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

PIECE BY PIECE

ERIN MICHAEL

Copyright © 2022 Erin Michael.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

WestBow Press
A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.westbowpress.com
844-714-3454

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Scriptures taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com The “NIV” and “New International Version” are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.®

ISBN: 978-1-6642-7624-6 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-6642-7625-3 (e)

WestBow Press rev. date: 10/19/2022

CONTENTS
Chapter 1 Megan
Chapter 2 Reed
Chapter 3 Megan
Chapter 4 Reed
Chapter 5 Megan
Chapter 6 Reed
Chapter 7 Megan
Chapter 8 Reed
Chapter 9 Reed
Chapter 10 Reed
Chapter 11 Megan
Chapter 12 Reed
Chapter 13 Megan
Chapter 14 Reed
Chapter 15 Megan
Chapter 16 Megan
Chapter 17 Reed
Chapter 18 Megan
Chapter 19 Reed
Chapter 20 Megan
Chapter 21 Reed
Chapter 22 Megan
Chapter 23 Reed
Chapter 24 Megan
Chapter 25 Reed
Chapter 26 Megan

About The Author

Every word of God is flawless; he is a shield to those who take refuge in him.
—Proverbs 30:5

Chapter 1
MEGAN
This is a bad day. I knew it would be. Despite all my best efforts to the contrary, today has left me feeling hollow and emotional, the tears ready and waiting for any opportunity to let loose. I’m not holding out high hopes for improvement either, as the day is barely half over. When I woke up this morning, I felt as if the familiar dark haze that threatens to sweep me up almost daily was closer than it had been in months. It is my nemesis. But it is more powerful than I am, so there’s nothing I can do when it wants to make me miserable. Usually I am a happy, fun-loving, jovial person. Just ask anyone who knows me. But that’s not me anymore. How I miss those days. Honestly, I am tired of being sad. But as much as I hate the way life has turned me inside out, there seems to be nothing I can do to get myself turned right side out again. There is an old saying: time heals all wounds. So far, I have no evidence this is true. In fact, some of the initial numbness I felt has slowly abated, allowing pain and a sadness I can’t shake to seep deeply in its place. There is a heaviness in my heart today, a familiar, dull ache as memories I don’t want to remember play over and over in my mind.
I feel a cold, sticky, wet sensation on my fingers. My attention is turned from my wandering thoughts to the soft-pink paint that has dripped down the paint roller handle across the knuckles of my right hand. I have no idea how long I have been standing there staring at nothing at all with the roller left stagnant in midair. I can’t seem to stay focused. I wipe the errant paint onto my faded blue jeans and place the roller on the wall of my bedroom with a heavy sigh. I thought keeping myself busy all day would keep my mind and my emotions from running away on me. So far, the results have been lacklustre. I have to say despite that, my room is coming along nicely. I love pink, so I thought it was a fitting choice for my master bedroom. I realise it’s not normally a colour a grown woman would choose. A little girl? Sure. But I thought to myself, Why not? It was my room after all. Mine and mine alone.
My smartphone rings on the nightstand behind me. I watch my footing as I walk across the threadbare old sheet that is protecting my recently varnished hickory floor. Tripping and spilling pink paint everywhere is not on my to-do list today. I put down the roller in its pan and gingerly pick up the phone, careful to not spread paint onto the screen. I hesitate for a moment before saying hello when I see the name written across the front.
“Megan.” I hear my mother’s soft voice on the other end. “Are you sure you don’t want to come to dinner tonight?”
I roll my eyes only because I know she can’t see me do it. It’s about the tenth time she’s asked in three days. “Mom, I’m fine.” I try my best to sound chipper.
“Honey, I just don’t think it’s a good idea for you to sit in that dumpy old house all by yourself today. You should be around people who love you.”
I sigh heavily. “Mom, please. I just need to be alone today.” I’ve tried explaining this to her before, to no avail.
“We’re just worried about you, is all.”
“I know you are, and thank you for that, but I promise I’ll be OK,” I say, sounding far surer than I feel.
“Are you sure there’s nothing I can say to convince you?”
“Nope, nothing,” I assure her.
“OK then. Just come on over if you change your mind.” I hear her sigh in resignation.
“Love you, Mom,” I say.
“Love you too,” she says tenderly. I can hear the sadness in her voice. The sympathy. Which is precisely why I can’t spend the day with my family. They would all be staring at me from the moment I walked into my parents’ home until the moment I left. Their sad eyes, sympathetic looks, and gentle pats to my hand or shoulder at random times would all be in a hopeless attempt to provide comfort. I would rather wallow in solitude than try to act normal and as if nothing bad ever happened. And I definitely don’t need a concerned audience to witness my bad acting skills. It’s completely unappealing.
Maybe buying a house ten minutes from my parents wasn’t the smartest decision I have made to date. But at the same time, it seemed to make the most sense. My best friend, Cammie, who happens to be a real estate agent, found this place for me after suggesting a fresh start. She was right, as best friends generally are. I needed it. The project part, however, was my idea. I felt that if I could keep myself busy, I could move forward. And in a lot of ways, it has helped. I sleep far better; that’s for sure. The time I spend renovating this old house gives me both a sense of purpose and exhausts me to the point that sleep comes easily. The condo Dean and I shared held too many memories. Some good, some bad, but memories nonetheless.
I am almost done with the second coat of paint, and I am loving the colour. I take a step back for a moment to admire my work. Dean would have hated it. He was well put together, responsible. He liked clean, simple lines—nothing messy. I am the exact opposite. Not to say I’m irresponsible; I’m not. I have a job. Well, had a job. I left it of my own choosing. But I have been known to leave dishes in the sink overnight every now and then in lieu of a great movie or a night out with a friend. I even have a nasty habit of leaving the cap off the toothpaste. And being the rebellious person I am, not only do I have one junk drawer, but I have two. One holds the usual junk drawer items such as pens, elastic bands, and paperclips, and the other holds a random stash of junk food, mostly Junior Mints and gummy bears for my skip-the-dishes movie nights on the couch.
As I am finishing up the last corner, my phone rings again. It’s probably my mother again, or possibly my older brother, Matthias, as Mom’s been known to call in reinforcements when deemed necessary. I don’t even bother checking the screen.
“Hello?” I answer, squinting as I eye a spot I may have missed on the wall. I bend down to grab my paintbrush when a friendly male voice answers me.
“Meg? Is that you?”
I freeze. I would know this voice anywhere. He is not who I was expecting. A smile immediately escapes me. “Reed?”
His voice is warm and familiar in response. “Hey, how are you?” He seems to immediately regret what he said because he quickly follows it up with, “I mean, I could guess how you are. I just mean …”
My heart breaks a little for him. He’s always been so tender-hearted. “It’s OK, Reed. I’m all right.”
“Good, I just …” He trails off for a moment. “I’ve been thinking about you today. I’m sorry I’ve been out of touch the last few months. I didn’t mean to be. It’s just …” He trails off again. I know what he means to say, and I can hear the regret in his voice. He clears his throat. “I, uh, I ran into your mom at the grocery store a few days ago.”
My mother. Of course. “She asked you to call me?”
“No. Well, not really. She just said I should call you sometime because she was sure you would like to hear from me.”
“Well, she was right. A pleasant surprise.” I can almost see his bright blue eyes smile at my comment.
“That’s good too. I was just wondering if maybe, possibly, you could use some company tonight?” He pauses for a moment and