revolt.
Why did it have to be this house?
A gentle breeze stirred the curls of her ponytail, brushing them against her jaw. She closed her eyes and lifted her face to the warming rays of sunshine.
“Ready?”
She looked at him, pulling energy from the compassion warming his eyes. “Let’s get this over with.”
Ian opened the door and stepped back, ushering her to step inside.
Agnes stepped on the black welcome mat covering the stoop and tried not to scoff at the irony. She hadn’t felt welcome here in a long time. Steeling her spine, she strode inside and sucked in a breath.
A musty smell tinged with the faint odor of stale cigarette smoke tangled with the fresh air coming in through the front door. Pushing her white sunglasses on top of her head, she waited a moment for her eyes to adjust. “How long has this place been empty?”
“I think Alec said a year or so. Cliff Miller died last spring, and the family’s been trying to sell it since then.”
Flat beige walls pocked with nail holes added an air of despair to the barren room. Water stains marked the yellowed ceiling. A ratty calico rug covered a large portion of the parched wooden floor. A wide archway led into a smaller room.
What happened to the cream-colored walls and the gleaming wooden floor?
She had taken pride in making the house cozy and keeping it clean, even with their limited budget.
The thirsty floorboards creaked beneath their feet as they moved from the living room into the dining room.
Memories of a different life drifted up from behind every crack and crevice, threatening to buckle her knees.
Love had been a constant in the beginning months of her marriage to Bobby Levine, but those rose-colored glasses cracked before their second anniversary when she learned about his first affair. The beginning of broken promises, pleas for second chances...and thirds.
She’d spent ten years in this house until... Her eyes skimmed the staircase hugging the left wall.... No, she definitely wasn’t going there. She shifted her gaze and hurried through the archway into the kitchen.
Bracing her hands against the stained porcelain sink, she forced the shudder in her chest to calm. She stared out the cracked window to the backyard at the mangled rosebush and neglected flower beds.
“Red?”
She turned and nearly bumped into Ian.
Agnes ran a trembling hand along the counter dulled by decades of use. She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. “Sorry, I kind of just took off.”
“No need for apologies.”
The yellowed floral-printed wallpaper curled at the corners. She pressed the brittle paper back in place, but the moment she let go, the edges pulled away from the wall. She knew that feeling of continuing to hold on, wondering if hope had forgotten her.
“If your mama had chosen a different house, I’d have the first coat of paint on the walls already.”
“We can’t deal in ‘if only.’” He tucked a stray curl behind her ear, his hand lingering on her hair. “Given the chance, this house—and the women in it—can be redeemed. Sometimes it takes peeling away the layers to find the promise for the future. But if you don’t think you can do it—”
“I said I’d do it.” She stepped away from his touch and waved a hand over the kitchen. “It’s just a little tough being here again. That was a painful time in my life.”
“I know. If I could turn back time, I’d object to you marrying that jerk.” The muscle in his jaw twitched, and his hand balled into a fist.
“You had the chance. Why didn’t you?” The words slipped over her lips before she had time to think about what she had just said.
He turned away. “You chose him. I couldn’t stand in the way of your happiness.”
Angry tears threatened. Her happiness? The only man she had wanted to stand beside her at the altar saw her as a buddy, a pal.
No, she hadn’t chosen. She’d settled.
“I asked you if there was any reason why I shouldn’t marry Bobby. You said no.”
“I was your friend, Red. I couldn’t stand in the way of your future.”
She scoffed and shook her head.
Friend.
Right.
He faced her again, a scowl scrunching his eyebrows. “That creep and this house have drained you emotionally. Now it’s time for healing. Learn to let go and forgive. Leave the past where it belongs and focus on your future, Red.”
“I don’t know what the future holds.” She wrapped her arms around her middle.
“But God does. I’m here for you, too.”
“You’re a good friend, Ian. The best a girl could have.”
He shook his head and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Friend. Yes, seems to be my lot in life.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing. I’m proud of you, Red. Just so you know that.... You said you’d never step foot in this house again, and look where you are now.”
“Yeah, well, you were pretty convincing.”
He glanced at his watch. “I have an appointment soon, but first I want to check upstairs.” He grabbed her hand and dragged her out of the kitchen and into the dining room toward the steps.
Agnes tried to pull her hand from his grasp. “Wait, where are you taking me?”
He released her hand and gripped the nicked banister. “Just upstairs.”
Agnes’s eyes studied each step until they reached the top. She lifted a foot onto the first step. Her breath choked in her throat.
Ian scowled and said something, but the roaring in her ears drowned out his words.
Yelling. Accusations. Pleas. Broken promises jostled at a locked door in the back of her mind. Feeling that first step beneath her foot pried that door of memories loose, exposing past aches.
Her heart raced as her breathing quickened. She squeezed her eyes shut. She watched herself reliving the fall—every bone and muscle knocking off the steps—until she landed in a crumbled heap at the bottom, aching for what she had lost.
Those bones healed and the bruises faded, but Bobby’s role in her accidental fall tore away a part of her that could never be put back together.
Agnes wrapped her arms around her stomach. God, please...make it stop.
She shook her head, tears flooding her eyes. “I can’t go up there. I just can’t.”
Turning, she fled to the front door, wrenched it open and stumbled into the sunshine. Without checking to see if Ian followed her, she hurried down the sidewalk past his Ford Escape.
Ian wanted this house to bring his family back together, but how could they find hope when all she felt was pain?
* * *
As long as he lived, he’d never forget the look of torture that contorted Red’s pale face as she stared up at him from the bottom of the steps.
He wanted to gather her to his chest and protect her from her past. But that was impossible. All he could do now was help her to face it in order to heal and have the life God desired for her.
Palming the warm pizza on one hand, Ian rapped his knuckles against Red’s front door, praying she didn’t slam it back in his face.
A moment later, she opened it, giving him a wary smile. “If you’re