Page 13 of Wait For It

I’d taken my mother’s advice and run, only to prove that Tristan had been right all along. The world was full of evil people, and, given where I was now, it was clear they’d wasted no time in bleeding the last bit of hope from my veins.

Chapter Three

Ariana

“Sometimes the Bible in the hand of one man is worse than a whisky bottle in the hand of (another)... There are just some kind of men who’re so busy worrying about the next world they’ve never learned to live in this one, and you can look down the street and see the results.”

-Harper Lee,To Kill A Mockingbird

Once upon a time,I believed Tristan James had hung the moon. Although he’d been a mostly absentee parent while Mama was alive—leaving us to care for her while he jetted off to promote his latest book or fill in as a guest pastor at another church—I’d adored him.

While he was away, I would sit with my nose almost touching the television screen, mesmerized by the sound of his voice and the way he always seemed to know just what to say.

I guess I thought if I studied his mannerisms and the way he spoke, I might see something to help me defuse the bomb before it exploded. Knowing how to read his moods was a skill I became convinced would prove useful in the long run.

Disillusionment didn’t happen overnight. It was a gradual shift, occurring when I realized Tristan’s views didn’t necessarily line up with my own. He preached year after year about the flawed and sinful nature of the world, and the pedestal I’d placed him on tipped forward a little more, eventually toppling completely.

I knew there was evil in the world.

I’d seen it with my own two eyes, after all.

Nothing—not even a car wreck—could take away the image of a boy being dumped off a dock like a piece of garbage. But as I confronted the details of my experience, I was forced to admit that had I not witnessed it, I likely would have missed what followed.

People had a tendency to overlook the little, everyday miracles when their lives were going well. It was only in moments of absolute darkness that they looked around long enough to appreciate the positive. Maybe it wasn’t right out in the open, but I was a firm believer in seeking out goodness wherever it happened to exist.

That was the fundamental difference between the two of us.

In Tristan’s mind, a person fell into one of two categories. You were either a sinner, or you were a saint. He couldn’t seem to separate himself from his rigid and unyielding beliefs long enough to consider that a person, or world, might be both and still worthy of saving.

He ruled over his kingdom like a dictator, where differing opinions were seen as credible threats to his ministry. The world was always watching, so there was no room for error.

To me, the pursuit of perfection was draining.

It hadn’t always been like that, though.

There was a time when each girl within the church community was allowed to spend three days in the city upon turning eighteen.

Urban Missionhad been established as a safe way of giving us a snapshot of the world. My grandmother was certain once we’d seen the sinful way in which people lived, we would better appreciate what my father had built for us.

There were twelve months between us, and year after year, I watched as each of my sisters headed into the city, accompanied by one of the church elders and his wife. Each returned home looking more than a little shell-shocked, seemingly confirming my grandmother’s suspicions.

My eldest sister, Aubrey, had worked in the kitchen at the mission, serving food to a homeless population clothed in little more than rags. A few begged her for money, and one woman had gone as far as offering up her body. Before the trip, Aubrey had planned on enrolling at a nearby Protestant university for the fall semester. Instead, she’d stayed and married Brother Caleb’s son, Lucas, in a lavish October ceremony.

Anastasia was next, followed by Avery and Autumn the following years. Each one readily gave up their plans for a college education in favor of a wedding and home within the community.

I’d devoured their stories, ravenous for even the smallest crumb from their travels. Without fail, I eagerly prayed night after night that they might bring back news of the boy with blue-gray eyes.

When Ashlynn turned eighteen, everything changed. She was the sister I was closest to, and the only one to give an honest account of her experience. The night she returned, I’d waited until everyone was asleep before sneaking into her room.

My older sisters had arrived home and slowly drifted up the stairs like balloons in need of helium before collapsing onto their beds in exhaustion.

Not Ashlynn.

She’d feigned disappointment as she told our father of the trip during Sunday dinner. Still, I’d seen the excitement reflected in her eyes. Brother Jakob and his wife, Sister Hana, hadn’t been as pleased with their time in the city and had retired to their hotel room early one evening.

“I met someone, Ari,” she’d whispered as I slipped beneath her bedcovers, no longer hiding her pleased grin. “I snuck out and walked to an all-night diner. He bought me a cup of coffee before sitting down, and we just—we just talked for hours. His name is Matt, and he just enlisted with the Army, but gave me his unit’s information so I can write him letters.”

She’d paused before admitting, “So Matt walked me back to the hotel, and then he—he kissed me. He kissed as if we were the only two people in the world. And instead of stopping it, I kissed him right back. I felt like maybe I could have kissed him forever.”

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