The Truth About Hope

She inched farther away from him. She couldn’t go through with it if she could feel him next to her, touching her. His nearness made her resolve waver. Her heart was racing, and there was a terrible constriction in her chest that made breathing almost impossible, but she tried to keep her voice unaffected. “I’m going to live with my father in California.”

Luke jumped off the rock. Bracing his arms on either side of her legs, he caged her in. “Your father? The man you can’t remember? The man who practically destroyed this town?”

“He’s still my father.”

Luke shook his head, but kept his eyes, intense and angry, on hers. “What kind of sick joke is this?”

Hope broke eye contact, focusing on a spot over his left shoulder. She couldn’t continue, if she had to keep looking into his furious gaze. “It’s not a joke.”

“You’re not making sense. Why would you do that?”

“Because he asked.”

Luke turned, picked up a large stone and heaved it into the water, where it landed with a splash. He watched the ripples spread before turning back. His voice was more controlled when he spoke again. “Hope, what’s this all about? You don’t want to live with your father.”

He knew her too well. She nearly shrieked that, no, she didn’t want to. She almost begged him to make it all go away. Instead, she nodded slowly. “Yes. It is what I want.”

“It makes no sense. Why?”

She slid off the rock and threw up her arms. “I’m tired of living in a place that’s so small everyone knows your business. I’m tired of not being able to buy a new pair of sneakers or go on a school trip because I can’t afford it.” More calmly now, and with full honesty, she added, “And I can’t impose on Aunt Clarissa. I can’t expect her to move here and give up her life to take care of me.”

“She’d do it. She loves you. Or you can live with us. Mom won’t mind. Travis would love it.”

“No, Luke. I’m leaving,” she said emphatically. And with finality.

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_e5415133-e07c-5018-821a-04cc401bfcdd)

IT WAS HOPE’S first time on a plane. With every passing minute, she was inexorably transported toward an uncertain and terrifying future. The distance between her and everything she knew and loved increased. Far below, the ranches formed a patchwork quilt of greens and browns. The occasional ribbon of blue water haphazardly transected the rectangles of varying textures and sizes. Gauzy white clouds drifted by.

Hope leaned her forehead against the cool window and thought about her mother as she watched the ground rush by. It still didn’t seem possible that she wouldn’t see her bright, vivacious, loving mother again. When reality did come crashing down on her, the weight of it seemed too much to bear. Her reflections turned to her father, what she’d known and what she’d learned over the past week.

Jock Wilson had left her and her mother when Hope was barely two. She wasn’t aware of the details because her mother never talked about it. Aunt Clarissa didn’t know much either or, if she did, she wouldn’t say. Her father had taken off to make a fortune with the internet. Hope had no idea if he’d wanted them to move with him and her mother had refused, or if he’d simply left without giving them a choice. Hope wondered if he’d enlighten her, but did it really matter?

Her father had owned and operated a computer components manufacturing plant in Canyon Creek. He was reputed to be one of the most successful businessmen in the area at that time. Evidently it hadn’t been enough for him. She and her mother hadn’t been enough.

Manufacturing was a huge contributor to the Texas economy, and a lot of people in Canyon Creek had earned their living at her father’s plant. His company had been one of the largest employers in town. As a consequence, her father’s leaving—or more accurately, the closing of his plant—had created considerable hardship. Nearly everyone in Canyon Creek had been negatively affected.

Hadn’t Luke thrown it at her when he’d mentioned her father’s having destroyed the town? Many people had lost their jobs, Luke’s father among them. The impact on the local economy was still talked about fifteen years later.

Hope had heard, too, that her father’s employees wanted to buy the business from him, but he’d refused their offer. Instead he’d closed the plant.

She would’ve thought he’d want the proceeds from the sale of his business, either to his employees or a competitor. Aunt Clarissa told her it had to do with some sort of financial advantage folding the company would create for him. Apparently he wanted to show he’d lost money on it. One thing she understood about her father was that he was a shrewd businessman. It must have made sense for him from a business perspective, if not a human one.

The building had sat empty for years until it was finally torn down. Now there was a Taco Bell and a gas station where the plant had been.

After Jock Wilson left Canyon Creek, no one heard from him again, as far as Hope knew. If he’d had any contact with her mother, Hope was unaware of it. Her mother had received some sort of financial support, but again the details were sketchy, and it couldn’t have been much. Hope speculated that might be part of the reason her father had wanted to show a business loss, to decrease the amount of support he’d have to pay.

Whatever the circumstances behind her parents’ split, it had obviously been acrimonious. There hadn’t been a single picture of her father in their home. The only images Hope had of him were those she’d found on the internet.

He was a tall, distinguished-looking man, slender, with short, slicked-back hair. She guessed the color of his hair would’ve been close to hers at one time, but now it was streaked with gray. His eyes weren’t anything like her deep brown ones, though. They were a piercing slate gray. There was no warmth in them, judging by what she could see in the pictures. Even when he smiled, it never touched his eyes. She pulled a picture from the side pocket of her backpack to refresh her memory of the man who was her father.

Examining the picture, Hope resented the guilt she felt every time she remembered what her father had done. But was she any better? Here she was, leaving Canyon Creek, too. As far as everyone was concerned, her reasons weren’t very different from her father’s—and she was the one who’d convinced them of that.

A few days after her run-in with Suzie, Hope had come to appreciate the significance of her impulsive actions. She’d been prepared to endure the move to San Jose, with the expectation that when she turned eighteen, she’d come home again. But what she’d done—what she’d said—made that impossible.

With the pretense she’d created, there was no way she could return. The dynamics had already shifted during the week since her “revelation.” People treated her differently.

What she had done weighed heavily on her. Aunt Clarissa had urged her to tell everyone the truth, but Hope couldn’t bring herself to do it. She just didn’t have the strength or the energy to set things right. Still believing that moving to San Jose was her decision, Luke had tried to change her mind until the very end. She couldn’t forget the look of hurt and anger—and astonishment—on his face when she’d seen him that last time. When she’d told him there was nothing left in Canyon Creek for her. In some respects that was true. Her father had made all the arrangements to settle her mother’s estate, what there was of it, and sell their small house and its contents. She was on her way to her father’s with nothing more than a few suitcases and no idea what lay ahead.

Usually she looked forward to summer. Being out of school, working with her mother at the garden center where she was a manager and being with Luke. But now the months without classes stretched unnervingly ahead of her.

The plane was soaring higher, shrouded in dense white clouds. She put in earplugs, laid her head back against the seat and closed her eyes—until she suddenly jolted awake. Confused, she glanced outside and saw that they were on the ground and the tarmac was rushing past at an alarming speed. She clasped the armrests to steady herself and wondered where they were. Hadn’t they just taken off? Checking her watch, she was surprised to find that she’d been asleep for over three hours.

The plane slowed and pivoted, and the terminal building came into view; they were at the gate in minutes.

As soon as the flight attendant announced that it was safe to do so, Hope gathered her belongings. Having been seated in business class, she was among the first passengers to deplane. She made her way to the baggage carousel, searching for her father.

There was no tall, slender, silver-haired man that she could see. A hint of panic shot through her. Then she noticed a man in a dark blue suit walking toward her. Surely this wasn’t her father. He couldn’t be. He was shorter than she’d imagined, had a stockier build, and his hair was thick and black. Most significantly, he couldn’t have been much older than thirty.

But he was definitely headed in her direction. She took an involuntary step back as he reached her.

He swept his gaze over her. “Are you Ms. Hope Wilson?”

She wanted to take another step back but resisted. “Yes.”

He nodded. “I’m Mr. Wilson’s chauffeur, Morris. I’ll take you to his home.”

“Oh” was all she could say. It came out as a squeal. Here she was, leaving her life behind, and her father couldn’t meet her himself? She didn’t think she could’ve been more disappointed, but she’d been wrong. And the chauffeur hadn’t said “your father.” Or “your home.” She hadn’t realized that she’d nurtured some small kernel of hope that maybe—just maybe—her father wouldn’t be as bad as she dreaded. That he’d welcome her and they’d be able to find some common ground.

Instead, he’d sent his chauffeur. Hope had an overwhelming urge to run back up the bridge, back on the plane. But that wouldn’t have accomplished anything.

With a sinking heart, she knew her only option was to go with this Mr. Morris, to a house that wouldn’t be her home, to a man who’d be a father to her in name only.

She wouldn’t let them see her pain and disappointment. She straightened her spine. “Thank you, Mr. Morris,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster.

“It’s just Morris, miss,” he clarified, as he took her backpack and arranged for a porter to carry the rest of her luggage to the sleek, silver limousine waiting at the curb.

Soon they were driving through a residential area with gated properties, pristine lawns, tall hedges and sprawling gardens. As Morris signaled a turn into one of the entrances, Hope shifted forward to get a better look. Black wrought-iron gates opened smoothly to let them pass and they drove along a textured concrete surface intersecting areas of brilliant green, perfectly trimmed turf. Rows of towering palm trees marched along on either side. As they rounded a curve and the house came into view, Hope sucked in a breath. It wasn’t a house. It was a mansion.

Grand and imposing, it had turrets and balconies and iron railings. The walls were warm, butternut-yellow stucco, the roof deep-red clay tile and the wood of the doors, shutters and trim a rich coffee brown. Flowering shrubs abounded. Although it was just early evening, lights glowed cheerful and inviting.

Morris pulled up adjacent to a set of wide stone stairs leading to the front portico and ornately carved double doors.

Hope was so stunned by the magnificent mansion her father called home that she sat motionless, even when Morris held the car door for her.

“Miss,” he prompted, and she glanced up, having almost forgotten he was there.

She exited the car, grateful for the hand he offered. She moved toward the trunk, but Morris forestalled her. “I’ll take care of your luggage. You go on in.”