Always Watching by Brandilyn Collins Page A

me. I thought I’d lost everything. I
had
lost everything — on this earth. But in my senior year of high school, I found the most important thing. I realized that Jesus loves me, and I will always have him, no matter what I have to face. After that I turned to him for guidance every day.”
    Have him?
Didn’t seem much good to me since you can’t even see Jesus. How do you turn to someone for guidance when you can’t see him?
    “If Jesus loves you, why’d he let all those things happen?”
    Carly sighed. “Baby, I don’t know. I figure I’ll understand when I get to heaven. But I do think it’s the wrong question to focus on. We
know
this world can be hard to get through. The right question is, what are you going to do about that? If you were on a long, hardtrip, wouldn’t you want a map to guide you? If you wanted to put a model car together, wouldn’t you read the instructions? God
created
this world, including us. Jesus is our map, our instruction booklet. If we go it alone, we’re bound to have a much harder time.”
    I trailed a painted fingernail across the bedspread. “Did things get better for you after you turned to God?”
    “No. Not for a while. I fell in love with a man who cheated on me. He broke my heart. Then I lost a couple of jobs and practically had to live on the street.” She shook her head. “Life was tough. But with God’s help I
did
get better at handling things. I began to see he had a purpose in allowing me to go through hard times. Those times brought me closer to him, because I had to rely on him more.”
    It sounded good. I wanted what Carly had. I wanted to
believe
in something bigger than myself. Bigger than my circumstances. Especially after the circumstances of that day. But something in my heart balled up like the wet tissue in my hand.
    What little energy I possessed evaporated from my limbs. I shivered and crossed my arms.
    Carly surveyed me. “You’re tired, poor thing. Have you eaten?”
    My lips twisted into a sick expression. I glanced at Brittany. “No.”
    “Well, honey, you need to do that. Order some room service. Put some meat on those bones, as my grandmother would say.”
    Her mouth curved. I gave her a tiny smile back.
    “Thanks, Carly.” I hugged her. “You’re the best.”
    She pushed off the bed. “Call me if you need me now, hear? Any time.” She looked from me to Brittany. “I’ll see you tomorrow on the way to the airport, if not before.”
    We had a ten a.m. call to meet the limos. Our flight to Denver was at 11:55.
    “Okay. Thanks again, Carly.”
    She slipped out the door.
    Brittany gave me a tired smile. “Carly’s nice.”
    “Yeah. The best.”
    We looked at each other, saying no more. But I knew she was wondering about the Jesus thing, as I was.
    I checked the digital clock on the night stand. Its red numbers said 7:45. I was so tired. This day felt like a thousand hours already.
    Brittany rubbed her flat stomach. “I’m starved. Can you eat something?”
    “I’ll try.” As I walked over to the desk for the large black binder that contained the room service menu, my mom’s voice flashed through my brain.
    You’re not the only one who knows about the rose.
    I fingered the pages of the binder. Who else knew? And how?

27
    T he shrimp and pasta Brittany and I ordered was delivered by a young waiter with thick black hair and ice-blue eyes. He looked like he belonged more on the movie screen than pushing room-service carts. He set the covered plates and drinks on a table by the window.
    “There you are, Miss O’Connor.” He dipped his head to me, then Brittany.
    “Thank you.” I nudged a five-dollar bill into his hand.
    “Appreciate it.” He raised his cool eyes and gazed at me.
    The moment stretched out, and still he looked. Electricity danced up my nerves. I pulled back, tensing. “What?”
    He gestured toward my hair. “I like you better without the wig.”
    Abruptly he swiveled toward the empty cart and pushed it