From New York Times bestselling author Megan Hart comes an emotionally charged novel that explores the secrets and lies that can destroy a family…forever.
Home isn’t always the place you go because they have to take you in. Sometimes, home’s the place you can’t escape, no matter how far or fast you run.
Janelle Decker hasn’t been home in a long, long time. She ran away years ago, barely in front of the tragedy that rocked the small town of St. Mary’s, Pennsylvania. Only one other person knows the part Janelle played in what happened back then. One man who took the blame for himself.
Gabe Tierney stayed behind to face the terrible consequences of the accident that left one younger brother permanently disabled and the other doing whatever he can to avoid them all.
When Janelle returns with her twelve-year-old son to get her life in order and take care of her dying Nan, it should be easy for her and Gabe to rekindle their former friendship – except that Gabe can’t forgive Janelle for abandoning him, and Janelle can’t reconcile her part in what happened back then.
There is no moving forward until you stop yourself from looking back, but will Janelle and Gabe be able to face their lives ahead? Or will their secrets and the lies they told keep them prisoners of their shared past?
“A tense look at dark secrets and the redemptive power of truth.” – Kirkus Reviews
Book club discussion questions are included in the book.
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Home isn’t always the place you go because they have to take you in. Sometimes, Janelle Decker thought as she crested the hill and took that last, final slope toward the town she hadn’t seen in nearly twenty years, home was the place you couldn’t escape no matter how far or fast you ran. Her battered Volkswagon Rabbit pickup that had seen better days but so far, thank God, not many worse, drifted to a stop at the traffic light. She didn’t remember the fast food restaurant to her right or, just a bit further, the couple of hotels on the hill to her left, but she remembered the small white building beside them. Decker’s Chapel, one of the tiniest churches in the country.
“Look, Bennett. Over there.” Janelle craned her neck to stare into the backseat, where her son was bent over his new toy, the iPad her mother had bought him for his birthday. In seconds the light would turn green, and it had somehow become imperative she show him this sight. “Bennett. Hey. Hello!”
The boy looked up through a shock of red-blond bangs that fell over bright green eyes. His dad’s eyes, though Connor’s gaze had never, in Janelle’s recollection, been as bright and clear and curious as her son’s. Bennett looked out the window to where she pointed.
“See that little church?”
Janelle eased her foot off the brake and pressed the cranky clutch, hoping for the sake of the half a dozen cars lined up behind her that the truck wouldn’t stall. “One of my great, great grand-relatives built that church.”
“Really? Cool.” Bennett sounded underwhelmed. “Are we almost there?”
“Another five minutes, buddy. That’s all.” On impulse, instead of continuing on along the incongruously named Million Dollar Highway into town toward her grandma’s house, the endpoint of this seemingly endless trip, Janelle put on her left turn signal.
If there’d been traffic heading toward her in the opposite direction she might not have bothered, but the only traffic on the road was heading into town, not away from it. That seemed somehow meaningful, but she didn’t let herself dwell on that. Instead, she turned into the gravel-gritty drive that serviced both the two hotels as well as the chapel. She parked. She stared through the windshield.
Her arms ache from where he grabbed her, the bruises still so fresh they’ve barely darkened, though they will. She’ll wear them for weeks. Her hands on the wheel, gripping so tight her fingers hurt from it. Foot on the gas, foot on the clutch, the Rabbit truck bucks and sputters as she guides it to the side of the road. The parking lot of this tiny church is empty, thank God. There’s nobody to see her press her face against her hands, nobody to watch her break apart.
Nobody to watch her leaving.
“I thought we were going to Nan’s house.”
“In a few minutes.”
Bennett, her get-along-guy, her complacent child, let out a long, stuttering sigh of irritation. Janelle didn’t blame him. They’d been driving for hours with no more than a quick pit-stop break. Before that, other than the week they’d spent at her mom’s, they’d been on the road for what felt like forever.
“I want to go into this church, okay? Really fast.” Janelle looked into the rearview mirror. “Want to come in with me? Let me rephrase that. Come in with me.”
Her son looked a lot like his absent father, and that she understood. Genetics and all that. But sometimes, the kid acted just like his dad too, and that always floored her since she and Connor O’Hara had been finished before he even knew the night the condom broke hadn’t turned out to be, as he’d so valiantly and foolishly promised her, “okay.”
“It’ll be cool,” she told him. “Really. And if it’s not, you can add it to the list of things I’ve done to permanently scar you.”
This earned a small smile. “Okay. But I have to pee real bad.”
“Hold it just a little longer. Can you?”
“I guess so.” Bennett made a face that said he wasn’t convinced.
She’d never actually been inside the chapel. Built of white clapboard with a miniature bell tower and a single door in the front with a wooden ramp leading up to it, the chapel really was tiny. It had been built in the 1800s, she remembered that much.
Janelle got out of the truck, snagging her keys from the ignition but not bothering to actually lock the vehicle. They were in St. Mary’s, after all. Secluded, isolated, ninety-nine percent Catholic of the “attend Mass daily” variety. And they were just going inside for a minute or two, the way she’d promised. She couldn’t tell if her heart raced because of the daringness of leaving her vehicle unlocked with all her worldly belongings inside, or for a slew of other reasons that had been plaguing her for the past few months since she’d made the decision to come back.
The chapel was unheated. Bennett danced from foot to foot, having of course forgone his brand-new, heavy winter coat. Janelle herself blew a plume of frost on her fingers and rubbed her hands together to warm them as she walked slowly around the wooden kneelers, an altar and a votive display at the back, no candles burning. She thought about dropping a dollar in the slot and lighting one if only for the brief flare of warmth it would offer, but she hadn’t brought her purse inside and her pockets were lamentably empty.
“Do people get married here?”
“I don’t know. I guess they could.” Janelle looked at the map on the wall and the framed documents telling the Decker’s Chapel history.
She laughed. “Um…no.”
“How come? If you think it’s so cool and all that.” Bennett ran a finger along one of the half-sized kneelers and gave her an innocent look that didn’t fool her for a second because she’d seen it in her own reflection more than once.
Janelle rolled her eyes. “C’mon. Let’s go. I’m freezing.”
Back in the car, buckled up tight, she once again looked at her son in the rear-view mirror. He’d already bent over his iPad again, thumbing the screen in some complicated game, his headphones firmly settled in the tangles of his too-long hair. This was her boy. Her life for the past twelve years. She hadn’t messed him up too badly so far.
But there was still time.
“Whoa, look at the size of that Pepsi cap!” Bennett sounded way more excited about that landmark than he had about the chapel. He added a chortle to the end of his sentence that cracked her up. Like the kid had never seen a giant Pepsi cap on the side of a building before. Come to think of it, he never had.
It took a few more than five minutes to get to Nan’s house. There was a lot more traffic than Janelle remembered, for one thing, and the some of the roads had changed, for another. The Diamond, as the locals called it, ran in one direction only, and though she knew she had to get off on the first street, somehow she ended up going all the way around the circle of traffic again before she could.
“Big Ben,” she murmured as they passed the town’s snow-covered Nativity scene, still holding pride-of place in the square though it was already the day after New Year’s. “Parliament.”
Bennett, familiar with the joke though not the movie she was quoting, didn’t even look up. Janelle concentrated on getting off the Diamond and onto one of the side streets. G.C. Murphy’s, location of many a summer afternoon’s dawdling, was long-gone. Janelle felt a sudden pang of nostalgia for Lee Press-On Nails and Dep hair gel. Her car bump-bumped over the railroad tracks as she headed up Lafayette Street, pausing at the intersection to point out the Elk heads, antlers alight with bulbs, adorning the building on the corner.
“This place has a lot of weird things,” Bennett said matter-of-factly. “Maybe they’re in your app, Mom. We should check them off.”
He meant the application on her phone that listed the odd and offbeat attractions littering the American countryside. Biggest balls of twine and mystery spots, that sort of thing. They’d spent a good portion of their trip from California to Pennsylvania taking back roads to catch a glimpse of some forgotten storybook forest or an abandoned “Fountain of Youth” that turned out to be an algae-infested and crumbling well alive with frogs. In the past couple days though, busy with the holidays at her mom’s house and then the final portion of this journey, they hadn’t even checked to see what weird delights might await.
They’d already passed a dozen landmarks that had always marked off the distance between her mom’s house and this town like hashmarks on a ruler. The Mt. Nittany Inn, with its spectacular view. The child’s sneaker-shaped scooter attached for no good reason to a high fence that she could remember looking for during every trip to visit Nan. Janelle had thought about rallying Bennett to scream out “WEED” as they passed through the tiny town of Weedville, the way she and her dad always had, but knew he wouldn’t understand the joke — and nor did she want to explain to him the old comedy skit about a pair of stoners incapable of keeping their stash a secret upon being visited by the cops.
Now she spotted another landmark Bennett wouldn’t really “get” — the Virgin Mary statue in the corner lot she was passing. Common enough in a town named for her, not so much in any place they’d lived. Janelle slowed a little as she passed to give the praying Virgin a silent nod.
Janelle hadn’t been inside a church for years, but she still wore the Blessed Virgin medallion she’d had since she was eighteen. It lay against the hollow of her throat, warmed by her flesh. She wore it constantly; it had become as much a part of her as the small but genuine diamond in her nose and the shooting star tattoo on the inside of her left wrist. She never took it off unless she was getting dressed up to go somewhere and replaced it with her single strand of good pearls, and it had been a long damn time since she’d done that. She never thought much about it, in fact, unless she forgot to put it back on, and wasn’t that the way of things? You didn’t notice them until they weren’t where you expected them to be.
She traced the medallion with her fingertips, so familiar by touch, though honestly if you’d asked her to identify it in a photo she’d probably be unable. Mary’s features had become worn from the thousands of such touches over the years. The metal had tarnished. Janelle had replaced the chain twice that she could recall. It hardly looked like the same necklace that had been given to her so long ago.
Past Deprator’s Beverage, down one more street, one more turn. Her heart beat a little faster at the sight of the familiar green shingled house. She pulled into Nan’s driveway and let the truck idle for a minute or so before turning off the ignition.
Don’t be a stranger, Janelle. This will always be your home.
I know, Nan. I know.
Come back soon, Janelle. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.
I’ll come soon, Nan. I promise.
She’d had the heat going on the highest setting, but now the frigid air was finding its insidious way through the cracks and crevices. She told herself that’s why she shivered, why the hairs on the back of her neck rose, why her nipples pebbled beneath her multiple layers of clothes. She got out of the truck, one hand still on the roof, one foot propped on the running board. Her sudden chill had little to do with the actual weather.
“We’re here,” Janelle said. “We’re home.”