“Makes sense. I didn’t sleep at all either. It took everything for me not to go into your room and check on you. I’ve been so worried.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said even though I wasn’t certain I’d be okay, but I had faith. At least enough to get me to every next breath. “Everything always works out, right? Don’t worry about me.”

“You’re my sister, my heart, Grace. I’m always going to worry about you.”

I believed her. The same way she worried about me was the same way I worried for her.

“I just wish I could do something for you. I wish I could take away all your hurting. I’m just really sorry,” she told me, so truly sincere, “for what they did to you.”

We stood there staring out into the morning light, and as my hand rested on the porch railing, my sister placed her hand on top of mine. I didn’t know why, but her gentle touch made tears fall from my eyes as we stared out at the waking sun. For a moment in time, I felt less alone. Maybe that was the whole point of family—to make you feel less alone in a lonesome world. Sometimes, family got it wrong; sometimes, they said and did the wrong things because they were, after all, only human. Yet then there were those moments when they were right on time with their sparks of love.

Home is healing.

“Did you bring clothes for church service?” Judy asked, yawning again. “Or do you want to borrow some of mine?”

“I don’t think I’m gonna go. I’m not really in the small-town church mood today.”

Judy laughed, tossing her head back, and then when she stopped giggling, she looked at me and her jaw dropped. “Wait, you’re serious?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Grace. You’re the daughter of the pastor, and you’re back in Chester. Everybody already knows you’re back. Do you know what it would do to Mama if you didn’t show up? She’d have a heart attack.”

“Mama will be okay,” I lied. I knew she wouldn’t.

Judy cocked an eyebrow. “I can already hear Mrs. Grove badgering Mama with questions of why you weren’t at service, which would lead to Mama badgering you. Do you really want to deal with that?”

I sighed. I didn’t, but I wasn’t certain I was ready to talk to anyone, really. I hadn’t even been able to look in the mirror without tearing up. Plus, I’d already been receiving text messages from the townsfolk who saw me at my lowest of lows with Jackson yesterday. They kept asking if I was okay, and it was all so much. The idea of facing the whole church seemed so unbelievably overwhelming.

Judy must’ve noticed my hesitation because she squeezed my hand. “Don’t worry about it. Mama can be a bit peeved for a minute, but that’s nothing new. The most important thing right now is taking care of you and that heart of yours, okay? I’ll cover for you and tell everyone you weren’t feeling well.”

I laughed. “You’d lie in the church for me?”

“I’d do anything for you, Grace. Anything.”

“Even help me hide a dead body?” I joked.

“Only if it’s Finley James’,” she replied.

That made me smile, but then I felt guilty for thinking about Finn being dead.

It was sometimes hard to be God’s follower when the Devil’s whisperings sounded more satisfying.

We went back to staring at the horizon, and every now and then, I took a few small breaths.

8

Grace

Only a handful of people in town didn’t make it to church service on Sunday mornings, and Josie Parker was one of those individuals. Her mama, Betty, opened the doors of The Silent Bookshop a few years back after her husband, Frank, lost his hearing in a freak car accident. For a long time, Frank struggled with depression, but the only thing that kept his head above water were the words in the novels.

Each night for months, Betty sat beside her husband, holding a book in her hand, and they’d silently read the words together, flipping the pages as their fingers brushed against one another.

Whenever you saw them in town, they were either holding hands or holding a book. Their haven lived between their love and their novels, and when the idea of opening a bookstore where the one and only rule was complete and utter silence, Betty dived right in.

I spent many of my teenage years inside that store, sitting in the back corner and falling in love with men and women from faraway places. It was because of that shop that I knew I wanted to become an English teacher. I wanted to teach children the importance of words.

Words had the power to transport a small-town girl to worlds she’d never imagined. When I turned sixteen, it was that same bookshop where I received my first job, too. Sometimes, that place felt more like home than my actual home.

As I walked into the shop, I could smell them all—the adventures hidden behind the covers. The heartbreaking stories. The heart healing ones. The stories of love lost and found. The stories of self-discovery. The stories that made you feel less alone in a lonely world.

There was no better feeling than falling in love with people you’d never truly meet, yet still, they felt like family.

The bookshop was set up in such a unique way. When you entered, you walked into the front lobby where you could speak. A coffee area was set up with countertops and bar stools. On the countertops were crossword puzzles that changed each day, and as you drank your beverage, you’d fill in the puzzles and chat with the barista about the latest gossip in Chester.

To the left, you’d find a set of doors carved out of wood—made by Frank—that had handwritten famous first lines from classic novels. Over the doors, a sign read, Behind these doors, the story begins. Once you stepped foot inside that space, dozens and dozens of novels surrounded you. The bookcases touched the high ceilings, and ladders scattered throughout the area allowed you to climb high to find that one certain read you hadn’t even known you’d been searching for.

Tables were set up throughout the space where people could sit and read. The only rule was complete silence, like a still bear sleeping through the depths of winter. The only sound ever heard was people tiptoeing through the space as they searched for their next book.

I loved the solitude that The Silent Bookshop offered. It was a safe place where the only drama allowed was found within the stories.

“Well grand day, if it isn’t Gracelyn Mae returning home,” Josie remarked, using sign language to speak as I walked into the shop. She always signed her words as she spoke. It seemed like a first language to her, and every sign I knew was because she taught it to me. Her blond hair sat in a bun on top of her head, and she still had that deep dimple in her right cheek that always appeared whenever she smiled—and Josie Parker was always smiling.

We’d graduated high school together, and she was hands down the class clown. Yet outside of that, she was also a good person. Her comedy never came at the cost of others. She’d make fun of herself before another person, and I always adored her positive outlook on the world. Plus, in town, she was one of the only souls I trusted to keep my secrets. She was the girl who allowed me to step out of my perfect persona to be free for a bit of time. When we were kids, Josie would bring me Diet Coke with a few splashes of whiskey, and we’d sit in the park people watching while tipsy.

Mama would’ve killed me if she knew I was drinking whiskey in high school, but I never had to worry about that with Josie by my side.

With her, my secrets were always safe.

Maybe that was why I wandered her way. Maybe I was hoping she’d be able to shine some light on some of my dark days.

“It’s been too long,” she said before pulling me into a hug.

“I know. I’ve missed this place. Everything about it, I’ve missed.”

“Well, it misses you too, but we understand you getting out of this small town. Following Finn for his dream was a noble thing, but I’m glad to hear he’s working at the hospital now, which means you’re here, too, yeah?”

“Yeah, but only for the summer, though. I still have my teaching job back in Atlanta.”

“Oh? So you are doing the long-distance thing?”

“Well…”

My bottom lip quivered, and she noted it. “You know what? No need to answer my questions. I’ll shut up real quick.” Something about Josie just warmed up hearts. She was such a positive energy and such a genuine heart. “Now come on. Sit down. You still drinking coffee over tea?” she asked me.

“Yes, sure am.”

She shook her head in disappointment. “One day, I’m gonna make you a cup of tea, and you’ll be forever changed. But for now, I’ll make you a nice cup of joe.”

I snickered. “You studied abroad for a few months in England and came back a changed woman.”

“I also married a British boy from those studies and dragged him back to Chester. So, the least I can do is drink tea.” She grabbed the largest mug in the shop and poured the coffee to the brim, then she sat it in front of me. “So how does it feel to be back in Chester?”

My eyes watered over, and my stomach knotted, but I did my best not to cry.

She frowned. “Are you okay?”