Page 93 of Relentless

“Praise God,” Harris sighed. Flopping back in his chair, he took Vera’s hand. “It’s over.”

“It’s all for the best,” Vera nodded, with false sympathy edging into her tone, “foreveryone.”

“Um, okay?” Harper’s eyebrows drew together at their unexpected response. “She’s upstairs, and she’s not looking so good.”

“Everything happens for a reason,” Harris recited. “I’ve always said that.”

“You have,” Vera acknowledged, giving his hand a firm pat. “And you’re so right, honey.”

“It’ll take some time, but now she’ll be able to rebuild her reputation,” Harris stated. “I already have the sermon title,From the Ashes: Transforming Tragedy into a Testimony.”

“Darling,” Vera gasped, clasping her pearl necklace. “It’s wonderful.”

Now that her sister was apparentlyback in the fold,Harper couldn’t help but wonder what her role would be. “I’m sure the church will be stronger with both of us back on board,” she weakly suggested.

Her mother raised a skeptical eyebrow as she picked up her knitting once again.

“Ministry isn’t for you, dear,” Vera assured as if speaking to a toddler. “We’ve known that for a long time.”

“I know — ” Harper stuttered. “I know I’m not yourfirstchoice but —”

“First choice?” Harris mocked with a callous chortle. “Harper, you weren’t even the third choice.” His smile evaporated as he rose from his chair. Stepping into her space, he jabbed his finger so closely she could feel it brush the tip of her nose. Her heart raced as his proximity caused a surge of trepidation.

“How can you be so stupid?” he spat.

Flecks of saliva showered her face, triggering memories of that awful night.

“You’re the last person on earth I’d choose,” he muttered. Plopping back into his chair, he unfolded his newspaper. “Get it through your thick skull, Harper,” Harris snarled. “You were never in the running.”

His words hurt more than if he would have actually just hit her again. She took a moment to search him for any flicker of compassion, but came up empty. The kindness and affection she had allowed herself to accept was now replaced with the same old disdain for her very existence.

“I — I could have done it,” she whispered, finding the nerve to speak out. “I could have made you proud.”

Her mother rolled her eyes at what she always considered to be Harper’s theatrics.

“God always works everything out to the good, dear,” Vera chimed. “You’ll see.”

The weaponized sanctimonious words were her mother’s specialty, and felt like a kick to her sternum. They were so sharp that she could nearly feel herself bleeding out from the invisible wounds they had caused. She realized then that she had simply been a temporary solution, their last resort to maintaining a foothold in the growing ministry. No matter how hard she tried, Harper would never be worthy to carry on the family legacy.

Her eyes flicked to the corner of the room, and she remembered her sister. “I’m going to check on Maeve,” she mumbled.

She went back up the stairs, her mind turning over every hurtful word. Clasping the railing, she came around the corner, expecting to see Maeve waiting in their usual spot in the hallway.

“Maeve, you’re not going to believe this,” she exclaimed, stopping short. Her eyes scanned the darkness.

No Maeve.

The hallway was empty.

Going next to Maeve’s room, she rapped her knuckles on the hardwood door. Harper began to worry, wondering if her sister was actually going to be okay.

She was bleeding. I shouldn’t have left her alone.

“Maeve, I’m checking on you,” she announced impatiently. “I’m coming in.”

Thrusting her shoulder into the door, she burst into the room.

Harper’s eyes went wide.

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