My Vows Are Sealed (Sealed With a Kiss) Read online

  My mom smiled indulgently, like Darla had suddenly morphed into a toddler. “Well, he should be around more kids his own age, anyway. It’ll be good for him.”

  Oh, really? Because as of yesterday, she was afraid of my poor, innocent young mind being corrupted by all the evils of this world as soon as I set foot on a public high school campus.

  Without even thinking about it, I pulled Darla into a hug.

  “You’ll still see me on Sundays and Wednesdays every week,” I promised her. “We’re not just going to stop being friends because I’m going to a different school now.”

  “Darla!” Pastor Jones’s voice boomed.

  Darla and I both jumped a little at the sudden noise. She flinched and, for a split second, cowered further into my arms like she was afraid of him before quickly pulling out of my embrace. Then we both turned to look at the doorway, where her father was standing with a scowl on his face.

  His large frame almost completely filled the entryway, casting a shadow on the whole room, and his long, scraggly, grayish-blond hair and thick-rimmed glasses almost reminded me of one of those crazy preachers you’d see footage of on TV. Like…oh, what was that guy’s name in Texas who’d been involved in that crazy shootout with the government a couple of years ago? David Kiddush? Carat? No, wait. Koresh. That was it. David Koresh.

  “Yes, Dad?” Darla said quietly, her voice trembling a little.

  “My office. Now!” he growled.

  Averting her eyes, she quickly rushed out of the room with her shoulders hunched and her head bowed. I watched her run out, wanting more than anything to run after her and ask her what was wrong, but I knew I couldn’t. Not right now.

  With a parting glare in my direction, Pastor Jones turned and walked away, and an uneasy feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. But I didn’t dare speak out against our pastor to my parents, who thought he’d hung the moon. Especially not here at church.

  “She’s a child, Brendan,” my mom scolded.

  “And?” I scoffed, snapping my head back to look at her. “She’s my friend.”

  “You need to be spending more time with people your own age. It’s wrong to allow her little crush to continue, and you know it,” she countered.

  I sighed. “Mom, it’s harmless.”

  “Whath a cruth?” Nathan asked, looking up at me.

  I picked him up and tickled him in the ribs, which made him squeal and giggle. I couldn’t help smiling. As weird as it was for me when my parents told me that they were expecting another child just as I was going into middle school, I loved this little squirt. He could always make me smile and laugh just by being in the same room.

  “You know how you love Treelo on Bear in the Big Blue House?” I said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, it’s kind of like that.”

  My mom gave me the stink eye, but didn’t say anything else.

  I had no idea what the hell my parents’ problem with Darla was lately, but it was starting to piss me off. We’d grown up together and I’d known her for pretty much my whole life. We used to spend tons of time together, but then, out of the blue, toward the end of school this year, my mom had decided that it was best for me if we didn’t spend any more time together outside of church and school.

  For the life of me, I couldn’t understand why a twelve-year-old girl’s private thoughts were such a huge issue all of a sudden. It wasn’t like she was throwing herself at me or acting inappropriate, and it wasn’t like I’d have encouraged that if she was.

  But I heard the message loud and clear: Darla Jones was off-limits.

  Part I

  Yours to Hold

  August-December 1997

  Chapter 1

  Darla

  Jesus Freak

  “‘But I say, walk by the Spirit, and you will not carry out the desire of the flesh. For the flesh sets its desire against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh; for these are in opposition to one another, so that you may not do the things you please,’” my father boomed as I sat at the breakfast table.

  I swore that ever since my mom’s multiple sclerosis got worse and she’d had to go on disability over the summer – which also meant that they’d had to withdraw me from the private school I’d been attending and enroll me in public school – my dad had gotten even more fanatical. It was like he was convinced that I’d turn into a juvenile delinquent the second I set foot on the Charleston High campus.

  “I know, Dad,” I murmured.

  The leather-bound Bible he always carried around like a security blanket landed a hard blow on the back of my head, making me see stars for a second. I bit my lip to muffle my yelp, knowing it would only make things worse. If I cried out at all, he’d tell me that I wasn’t allowed to be upset and that I needed to accept the discipline of the Lord so I wouldn’t stray from the path of righteousness, or whatever Bible verse he decided to quote to accompany the beating.

  “‘Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right!’” he growled.

  Seriously, was it possible for him to speak without quoting a Bible verse?

  But the thing was, he always forgot the second part of that passage. The part where it told fathers not to provoke their children to anger. Yeah, I knew the Bible too. Kind of hard not to when I’d grown up as a preacher’s daughter. Which meant that I knew all too well that he took the parts of the Bible that suited his needs and disregarded the rest of it. He seemed to really like the parts about children obeying and fathers disciplining their children when they didn’t obey.

  “Where was I not obeying?” I asked him. “I just said, ‘I know.’”

  He smacked his Bible on his palm right next to my ear, and I jumped so much that I ended up clipping my ear on the book.

  Why wasn’t I allowed to ask him a simple question? Why was just speaking while he was in the middle of a pointless rant enough to earn me his wrath? I didn’t understand what I’d done to deserve this. But then again, I never did understand it. It was just the way it was, and I had to accept it.

  “‘Hear, o sons, the instruction of a father, and give attention that you may gain understanding, for I give you sound teaching; do not abandon my instruction,’” he barked. “You’ll never glean true understanding of the Word if you don’t fucking listen and pay attention!”

  He whacked me on the head with his Bible again; again, I muffled my cries. I couldn’t let him hit me any more before I left. I didn’t want to have to explain bruises to my new teachers on my very first day of school. Today was going to be hard enough as it was.

  “‘Your word I have treasured in my heart, that I might not sin against You,’” I retorted quietly, my voice thick with the tears that I refused to let fall. “Just because I’m going to public school now, it doesn’t mean I’ve suddenly forgotten everything I’ve ever been taught, Dad. Why don’t you trust me?”

  “You’ve done nothing to earn my trust!” he exclaimed. “Don’t fucking question me! I’ll trust you when you prove yourself worthy.”

  I’d never understood how my father could quote Scripture to me one minute and curse at me in the next breath. None of the people we went to church with used that kind of language, and I’d heard him chastise a few of the men in the church for cursing, so why was he different? What made him special enough that using foul language was okay for him, but not for anyone else?

  I glanced at the clock and said a silent prayer of thanks when I saw that it was already almost time to leave to catch the bus. Because my father couldn’t be bothered to drive me to school. Funny how when I was in private school, he always did. He never asked my mom to do it, and he never complained about it. But now that I wasn’t going to be going to a school that taught about Jesus, he suddenly didn’t care whether or not I made it there on time.

  Grabbing the piece of toast off of my plate, I got up and slung my backpack over my shoulder. “I have to get outside, Dad. I’ll miss the bus.”

  “‘Then be afraid of the swor
d for yourselves, for wrath brings the punishment of the sword, so that you may know there is judgment,’” he recited. “Remember whose you are, Darla.”

  “I know. I’m an instrument of the Lord,” I said.

  “And you’re also my daughter. What you do reflects on this house. And don’t think I won’t find out about it, because I will always find out,” he threatened.

  Oh, how well I knew that. Over the summer, I’d been yelled at, whacked multiple times with a Bible, and preached at for an entire hour because someone told him I’d left the youth group room in the middle of a lesson. When I told him it was because I’d started my period and needed to get a tampon, I’d been whacked with his precious book even more for even mentioning my menstrual cycle. Apparently, it was unclean and not to be spoken of. Clearly the Lord didn’t mind my leaving for a couple of minutes to attend to my sanitary needs, though, or He wouldn’t have let me start my period right at that exact moment. But when I’d pointed that out to my dad, he’d just hit me again and told me the Lord was more important than getting blood all over my clothes.

  “Yes, sir,” I said as I left the kitchen, so quietly it was almost a whisper.

  I walked into the living room, where my mom was sitting on the couch watching a rerun of some Billy Graham special on TV. I could see the dark circles under her eyes and the pain and exhaustion written all over her face.

  “Can I get you anything, Mom?” I asked.

  She turned to look at me and gave me a weak smile. “Time to go already?”

  “Yep,” I chuckled.

  “Got your lunch money?” she asked. “And all your supplies?”

  “Uh-huh. Everything’s in my backpack already,” I reminded her. “We packed it all last night, remember?”

  “Oh, that’s right,” she mumbled. “Sorry. I forgot.”

  Memory issues and brain fogginess were symptoms of multiple sclerosis, at least on bad days. I was used to having to remind her of little stuff like this, especially since she’d gotten worse after a bad episode in April.

  “It’s okay. Do you need anything before I leave?”

  “No, I’m okay,” she said weakly.

  I went over to give her a hug and a kiss on her cheek. “Okay. Have a good day, Mom.”

  “You too. Good luck on your first day,” she told me.

  “Thanks,” I chuckled weakly. “I’ll see you this afternoon.”

  I rushed out the door to avoid any more Scripture quotes from my dad and went to stand in front of the house to wait for the school bus.

  Even though I’d already been to freshman orientation last week, walking through the front doors of Charleston High School for the first time was…intimidating, to say the least. I knew I was supposed to go to homeroom first, which was in room…darn it, what room was it again?

  I pulled my schedule and campus map out.

  Right. Room 316. Okay, so where was I right now? Um…

  “Fresh meat!” someone snickered, shoving my shoulder as they walked past me.

  “Get out of the way, freshie,” someone else goaded with another shove.

  I tried to move toward the wall so I could look at the campus map and get my bearings, and I got jostled a little more.

  Okay, so I was at the east gate right now…or was it the west gate? Oh, my gosh, I was so confused. Why couldn’t this map just have a giant red arrow with a YOU ARE HERE message above it? It would have been so much easier.

  “Darla?” I heard a slightly familiar voice ask.

  I looked up to find Heather Sullivan from youth group standing there, smiling kindly at me. She was a couple of years older than me, so at least she’d know where everything was.

  “Hi, Heather,” I mumbled.

  “Hey. I totally forgot you were coming here this year,” she chuckled. “Lost?”

  I nodded sheepishly, feeling heat rising to color my cheeks. “I came to orientation, but…”

  “But they tell you absolutely nothing and throw you to the wolves. I remember. Where’s your homeroom?” she asked me.

  “316.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Bailey’s awesome. I had her for English in my freshman year.” She took her backpack off and pulled a notebook and a pen out. “Let me see your map and your schedule.”

  I handed her both folded pieces of paper, and she put my map on her notebook and started marking all over it, glancing at my schedule every few seconds. A couple of minutes later, she handed both back to me.

  “Here. I marked where we’re at now and where all your classes are,” she explained. “Come with me. I’ll walk you to your homeroom. It’s the next hall over.”

  I breathed a huge sigh of relief. “Thank you so much.”

  “Hey, I was a freshman once. I remember my first day. I wish I’d had someone to show me around. You know, Brendan’s going to be so jealous that I caught you before he did this morning,” she chuckled, shooting me a wink as we started to walk.

  I was sure I turned the color of a tomato. Yeah…the crush on Brendan Carter that I’d been nursing since fifth grade wasn’t exactly a secret. Okay, so maybe it had grown into a little more than a crush, but it was pointless to even think about that, because he still saw me as a kid.

  Don’t get me wrong, I tried to keep it a secret, but my stupid fair skin had to go betray me every time he smiled at me or talked to me. But seriously, what girl with a pulse wouldn’t have a crush on him? He was cute, nice to literally everyone, and absolutely adorable with his little brother, Nathan. What was it about cute guys being good big brothers that made girls melt into a puddle of goo? Or was that just me?

  “Yeah, I doubt that,” I muttered.

  “Why?” Heather asked.

  “Um, because he’s a junior,” I reminded her. I might not have known much about how things worked at public schools, but one thing I did know was that upperclassmen didn’t hang out with freshmen.

  “So? He likes you,” she said.

  “He likes everyone,” I countered. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him not get along with anyone.”

  She smiled. “Well, you’re not going to see any different here. I swear, the guy has more friends than anyone else on this campus. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a soft spot for you, though.”

  A loud bell rang, announcing that we needed to start making our way to our homeroom classes, which made me even more grateful that Heather was showing me where I was supposed to go.

  “Well, you’re right here,” she said, stopping outside a door. “I’ll tell him you said hi. I’m in homeroom with him.”

  “No, don’t—” I started to say, but she just shot me another smile and walked away.

  I groaned as I walked into the classroom. Oh, my gosh, this was a disaster. He was going to think…I didn’t even know what he was going to think, but it certainly wasn’t anything good.

  “Hey, it’s the preacher’s kid,” I heard someone say.

  I looked over and saw a kid named Ethan Smith from my youth group staring at me and snickering. We’d never gotten along at church, but he’d never been mean. Then again, it was church. He knew anything he said or did would get back to his parents there.

  “No way, dude. She’s too hot to be a preacher’s kid,” one of his friends, who I didn’t know, sneered.

  “Yeah, she is,” he insisted. “I go to her dad’s church. Hey, Darla! Bring your Bible with you?”

  “No,” I mumbled.

  “Of course you didn’t, because you spend all your time memorizing it instead,” he scoffed. “Surprised Daddy let you out. The big, bad world might corrupt you.”

  “I’ll corrupt her,” his friend said. “Fifty bucks says I can nail her before the end of the year.”

  “Not if I nail her first,” he laughed.

  “Oh, it’s on.”

  Ugh. Seriously? Did Ethan’s parents know what a jerk he was outside of church? Or what kind of people he hung out with, for that matter?

  “Hey, honey, come sit over here,” I heard from the oth
er direction.

  I turned to find…I wasn’t quite sure if it was a boy or a girl sitting at a desk on the far side of the room. This kid had long, dark hair, a better makeup job than most of the girls I knew could pull off, and was wearing a tight-fitting baby doll tee and tight, sparkly jeans that flared at the bottom with heeled boots. But their features looked a little more masculine, especially their jawline. And their voice seemed a little too deep to be a girl’s voice, although I could have been mistaken.

  “It’s okay. I promise we don’t bite…hard,” the kid said.

  “Ashton Washburn! Behave!” the dark-haired girl next to them chuckled, playfully smacking them as she smiled at me. “I promise, we really don’t bite. You can come sit with us.”

  I snorted uncomfortably as I went to sit at a desk in the next row over from the two of them.

  “I’m Kate,” the girl said. “Kate Frye.”

  “And, as you just heard, I’m Ashton,” the other person – whose gender I still couldn’t figure out – supplied.

  “I’m Darla. Jones. Nice to meet you,” I mumbled.

  “Are you really a preacher’s kid?” Ashton asked.

  “Yeah,” I mumbled. “My dad’s the pastor at First Baptist.”

  “How come we didn’t see you in school last year?” Kate asked.

  “I went to St. Bishop’s until last year. But my mom went on disability and we couldn’t afford it anymore,” I blurted out without even thinking.

  Geez, share my whole life story, why didn’t I?

  “That sucks. What’d she go on disability for?”

  “Um, she has multiple sclerosis,” I explained. “It’s getting worse, and it’s hard for her to work. She used to be a nurse in the ER.”

  “Aw,” Ashton said sympathetically. “My grandma has MS. It sucks watching someone you love go through that.”

  “Of course Miss Goody Two-Shoes is sitting with the gays,” I heard Ethan sneer. “Wonder how Daddy’s going to feel about that.”