Shadows of Hope Read online

  © 2018 by Georgiana Daniels

  Print ISBN 978-1-68322-545-4

  eBook Editions:

  Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-68322-547-8

  Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-68322-546-1

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.

  Scripture taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design: Kirk DouPonce, DogEared Design

  Published by Shiloh Run Press, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., 1810 Barbour Drive, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.shilohrunpress.com

  Our mission is to inspire the world with the life-changing message of the Bible.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Epilogue

  DEDICATION

  To my daughter Mallory, who knows what it means to follow God in the darkest hour.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Many thanks to the team at Barbour for taking on a newbie and making this a great experience. I’m so happy to be part of the Barbour family!

  To my super agent Tamela Hancock Murray, your loyalty and belief in me have made all the difference.

  Becky Yauger, writing partner extraordinaire—thanks so much not only for helping me with this book in the early stages, but for cheering me on through the duration!

  So much credit goes to my family, especially my husband, Troy, who walked with me through all the hard parts in order to get to the good stuff.

  Last, but most importantly of all, I’m ever grateful to the Lord Jesus Christ for holding my hand and abiding with me daily.

  CHAPTER 1

  Marissa

  Seven dollars was a small price to pay for a latte and a little conversation. The rustling of newspapers, the quiet clack of computer keys, and the smooth jazz piped over the speakers were a daily ritual that soothed my anxiety.

  “You okay, Marissa?” Tristan Hart dipped his head to meet my eye in a way that showed more concern than that of a typical business partner.

  “Fine.” The lie slid past my tongue. “It’s still a little early.”

  “If we bought a coffeepot for the office—”

  “We wouldn’t have to meet at the crack of dawn.” I finished his sentence, though it wasn’t really the crack of dawn. This close to summer, the Arizona sky lit up well before our standing morning meeting at The Bean.

  Buy coffeepot—my burgeoning mental checklist took another hit. The aroma of beans and the gurgle of the espresso machine provided a backdrop to the soft chatter surrounding us. The foamy latte warmed my throat. Caffeinated fortification was exactly what I needed before powering through another day at the pregnancy resource center. The exponential expansion of our client list kept Tristan and me, along with our scant staff, busy.

  As if reading my thoughts, Tristan pulled notes from his folio and checked off item one. “How are you coming along on hiring a receptionist?”

  “The applications weren’t impressive.”

  He removed his reading glasses—a new addition to his army of accessories since he turned forty. According to him, they gave him a look of gravitas that put clients at ease during their counseling sessions. Despite being a man—a fairly handsome one with thick brown hair and an inviting smile—he had the ability to make women in crisis spill their guts to him like he was their big brother or their best friend.

  He’d had that effect on me for years.

  Tristan set his glasses on the coffee-stained table. “You know, we’re not looking for a rocket scientist. We need someone to answer the phones and update the files. Maybe you’re getting a little picky.” He pinched his fingers together to emphasize his point.

  “We need a good fit.” By good fit, I meant someone willing to work for a pittance. Those candidates were few and far between, especially if I added compassion as a qualification.

  “Can you call the temp agency?”

  “Done. Didn’t you see the girl they sent yesterday?” I cringed.

  His forehead wrinkled. “No.”

  “That’s because I sent her away an hour into her shift.” I took another swig to drown out the renewed irritation I felt at the temp worker sending a potential client to the women’s clinic down the street just because I was out of the office for a few minutes.

  “Can you continue to handle the workload without hiring another person?”

  “That would be a resounding no.” I added Place ad online to my mental checklist, right after Buy coffeepot.

  Tristan offered his pen, but I waved him off. “If you’d write everything down like me, you’d get more done.” How well he knew me, even more than my own husband.

  Tightness gripped my stomach. I pushed the uneaten buttery croissant away, knowing I’d regret it in about an hour. God’s got this, God’s got this, God’s got this. Repeating the phrase kept me sane. I forced a laugh that belied my anxiety. “You take enough notes for the both of us.” Since college, in fact, when he was knee-deep in his PhD and I was a late-blooming undergrad. I’d been relying on Tristan, his trusty pen, and his open ear for a big chunk of my adult life.

  Concern flickered in his amber eyes, but he let my glib comment stand without probing. More than likely he sensed I was ready to snap, and The Bean was not the proper place for a meltdown. Neither was our pregnancy resource center, New Heights, but at least there he trusted my professionalism to override my personal life.

  Or what was left of it.

  “Have you heard back on the grant proposal?” I glanced at my smartphone to make sure I hadn’t missed an email. “The extra money would be handy. That way I can hire someone who will stick around and hopefully really appreciate what we do.” There had been a summer influx of pregnant women in crisis that was straining our budget, but no one was ever turned away—except by the incompetent temp—from our center.

  “Still waiting. Funds seem to be tight everywhere.” He grim
aced and rubbed his forehead. “But we’ll rustle something up,” he added with an extra dose of cheer that almost had me convinced. Then he pointed his pen straight at me. “In the meantime, you don’t need to be shelling any more money out of your pocket.”

  What about the coffeepot? I wanted to ask but didn’t. “Won’t make that mistake again. Colin still hasn’t forgiven me for my last round of spending.” What I’d thought was a stealthy movement of money from my personal account turned out to be yet another point of contention with my husband, but the chance to pitch in to buy a quality used ultrasound machine was too good to pass up. I’d been so excited about the possibilities that I hadn’t really considered the consequences. According to Colin, I tended to do that.

  At the thought of my husband, I once again checked my phone, unsure whether I really wanted to see the email icon lit or not.

  “Speaking of—”

  “We’d better get to work.” I scooped up my purse, purposely cutting Tristan off before he could talk about my husband. The last thing I needed were red-rimmed eyes to start the day. I had to be one hundred percent present and focused on the clients. They were the ones who mattered. My personal life could be sorted later.

  Tristan closed his folio and capped his pen, then folded his napkin and rose to leave. “I’ll meet you there.”

  Relief swelled inside me the moment he walked out the door. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath, anticipating the moment our conversation would turn from work to my home life. In all the years Tristan and I had been friends—only friends—I’d valued his input. Enjoyed mulling over situations from his perspective as a friend and as a psychologist. But not now. Definitely not now when I’d have to confess that he’d been right. Right about my decisions, right about my future.

  Right about Colin.

  I wrapped up the croissant and stuffed it inside my purse.

  “Hey, Marissa, do you need a refill to go?” a familiar voice called to me from behind the counter.

  “Yes, thanks, Kaitlyn.” I handed my cup to my favorite barista, which she rinsed before adding plain coffee. “I didn’t realize you were working.”

  “I got here late. Overslept.” Her haphazard ponytail and unusual lack of makeup spoke for themselves. Though she offered a gracious smile, the usual lilt in her voice was absent. Kaitlyn had been happy—so very, very happy, in her words—all semester. Busy with college life, work, and a new boyfriend. Apparently one of the plates she’d been spinning had crashed.

  “Late-night study session?”

  “No, I’m just super tired,” she said pensively. “Thankfully my boss let it slide.”

  A goateed man with an apron shot her a playful elbow. “This time. Next time you’re out of here.” He hiked his thumb over his shoulder.

  Kaitlyn didn’t return his spirited comment. She doused my coffee with cream and secured the lid before handing it over. “Here’s some coffee to go with your cream.”

  I stuffed the tip jar and toasted her with the cup. “Just the way I like it. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Unless I remembered the coffeepot, which seemed like a bad trade considering how much I enjoyed coming to The Bean.

  Kaitlyn offered a feeble goodbye then busied herself behind the counter, wiping at a stain that didn’t seem to exist. “I’ll be right back,” she told her boss before stepping into the back room.

  Man troubles—definitely man troubles. Poor girl. I didn’t have the heart to warn her that it never really gets better.

  The summer breeze kicked up my hair the moment I stepped outside. Just as I reached my car, a buzz in my pocket signaled an incoming email. My stomach clamped. This was what I was waiting for, wasn’t it?

  I climbed into the car and set my coffee into the cup holder. Dropped my purse onto the passenger seat and turned on the ignition. Pulled out the phone.

  Maybe it was nothing.

  Or maybe it was everything.

  My marriage was disintegrating long before I’d admitted it, and only in the last few months had I begun to acknowledge, even to myself, exactly how troubled it was. I never expected much, but after ten years of marriage I at least wanted some comfort and companionship. A little love and someone to snuggle. Someone to enjoy the late-night news with at the end of a long day.

  A baby would be an unexpected bonus.

  But reality had doused our fiery passion years ago. I’d tried it all, read the books, watched the television programs that promised that yes, even I could have a great relationship in just five easy steps. The problem was that nothing came easy. Nothing with Colin ever had.

  The phone vibrated in my hand.

  I wanted to know, right? Wasn’t that why I’d gone to the trouble to ferret out the password for his university account and set it up to come to my phone? Tristan had expounded on the myriad of reasons why that was a bad idea. And yet I’d forged ahead, just like I had with the marriage even though I knew the reckless love Colin and I shared would only result in heartache.

  Casting a furtive glance around the parking lot, I tapped on the mail icon. It wasn’t like he’d know. Colin wasn’t savvy when it came to electronics. And besides, experts recommended that couples know each other’s passwords and have access to all online accounts. Never mind that it was supposed to be with the other partner’s permission.

  Request a Meeting.

  If I read it quickly and then marked it unread, I could go about my day, at least until another message landed in his inbox ten minutes from now.

  I leaned against the headrest and let the air-conditioning wash over my face. Why was I doing this? Tristan was right—I had a penchant for hurting myself. Nothing good could come of this, because even if this email was okay, and the next one and the next one, I’d always be waiting for one that screamed, “Infidelity!”

  If only Colin didn’t disappear for long periods of time and turn his back while texting, or if he hadn’t lost his wedding ring that he never had time to replace. Maybe then I wouldn’t be so suspicious, dissecting his body language and filling in the blanks because of all the things he didn’t say.

  Or maybe suspicion and paranoia were just my nature and I was fighting a losing battle.

  I steadied my nerves and opened the email.

  I need to see you. Urgent. Thanks!

  What kind of meeting with a professor was urgent? The sender was PinkBunny91—odd, considering all the other messages he received came from accounts with real names. I reread, trying to parse out clues that clearly weren’t there. Urgent. The word turned over in my head as I stared at the screen. A car honked, jolting me from my thoughts. Quickly, I marked the message unread.

  Like so many things lately, this clue wasn’t really a clue. Off, but not suspicious in and of itself. Guilt pressed over me. I’d violated my husband’s trust. I wanted to uninstall his email account from my phone—I needed to, for my own sanity.

  Yet I left it alone and braced myself for the next notification.

  CHAPTER 2

  Kaitlyn

  Getting knocked up was not on Kaitlyn Farrows’s to-do list. Neither was getting a D in biology, but she had evidence of both stuffed at the bottom of her book bag in her work cubby.

  Knocked up. Even the words made her dizzy.

  No—pregnant, she reminded herself. Not knocked up. That phrase implied that the father wouldn’t claim the baby and the woman was alone in the world. No one to turn to, no one to care. That wouldn’t be her. Colin would find a legitimate way for them to be together.

  She wiped down the front counter at The Bean for the umpteenth time, thankful the morning rush had ended. Although now that she thought about it, she needed the distraction.

  The clandestine relationship she and Colin shared was understandable. His position at the university depended on their secrecy—something he’d sworn her to early on. And she never broke a promise.

  But the secrecy would come to an end when she told him about the baby. They would be a real family. Everything would be all rig
ht.

  It had to be.

  “You’re gonna scrub a hole in it.” Jake nudged her and flashed an uncertain grin from underneath his unkempt goatee.

  “Sorry, Jake.” She stopped the vigorous circles and tossed the rag into a bin hidden under the counter.

  “Something’s got you bugged.” He folded his arms across his skinny chest. “Spill it.”

  “I got a D in biology.” Half true, at least. Jake didn’t need to know the other half—that the professor most likely scored her low to avoid the appearance of favoritism. Giving her a C would’ve sufficed. In fact, it was probably a typo. Colin wouldn’t do that to her. He knew how much she valued her education, despite the fact she’d spent more time mooning over him than learning the life cycle of a cell. But once he saw her “urgent” email—one she’d sent from the account she’d started as a teen rather than her university account that could potentially incriminate them both—he’d realize his mistake and fix it, just like he’d fix everything.

  “That’s a bummer.”

  “My parents are going to have my head.”

  “Only if you tell them.” He nodded to a customer at the pastry counter then turned back to her. “I don’t let mine see. It’s definitely a don’t ask, don’t tell situation.”

  “Don’t tell, for me, would mean I had to pay for it all myself.” And if she could, she would, since at twenty-six she was an older sophomore who, by all accounts, should be taking full responsibility for her finances. Thankfully, her parents had been generous, if grudging, about paying for college. It never failed to surprise Kaitlyn just how many strings were attached to the tuition payments. “The Danishes are extra creamy today,” she said, turning her attention to the customer who approached the counter. “Would you like to try one?”

  The guy smiled in recognition—a fellow student in Colin’s class. Her face grew hot, and she hoped he didn’t notice. No wonder she’d stopped attending class regularly. She knew she couldn’t count on herself not to give her feelings away. After she fulfilled the order, she started wiping down the espresso machine. The scent of the beans and the rhythm of her motions calmed her. Just stick to her routine, and life would be fine.