Faking Faith by Josie Bloss

something from when you were with your family last week, dear,” suggested Mrs. Dean with an encouraging smile. “I’m sure there was a time when you stumbled.”
    “Um,” I said, my mind racing, and spoke without thinking it through. “Well … I suppose that, at times, I’ve wondered if I’m the daughter that my father wanted.”
    I looked around the room. There were a lot of confused, furrowed brows.
    “And in my heart, I’ve wished that I could make him more proud. And that maybe he would … uh … be a bit more attentive. To me.”
    Abigail was giving me a sad look, like she couldn’t feel more sorry for me.
    “So what do you think the Lord would want you to do differently?” asked Mrs. Dean.
    I cringed. “Be a better daughter, I guess?” I suggested.
    She nodded encouragingly. “And perhaps you could reach out to him? Let him know that you need more direction from him. Not framed in a critical way, of course … no one likes a demanding, opinionated girl. But gently and lovingly ask for more guidance, because you value his leadership and his place in your life so much.”
    “Right,” I said. “I suppose I could do that.”
    “I’m sure that he is proud of you, Faith,” Mrs. Dean said. “Some men just don’t remember to express it. Their minds are too wrapped up in other, more important matters. But sometimes we need to ask for what we need.”
    I couldn’t argue with her there.

FOURTEEN
    T hings had gotten awkward with Asher.
    There was just no other way to put it. Over the few days I’d been there, I’d caught him looking at me several times. Sometimes he would smile, sometimes it was as if he didn’t see me, and other times he would look irritated and stormy, as if my presence bothered him.
    The last one, at least, I was used to.
    He rarely talked to me, except for obligatory things like “Excuse me” and “Please pass the salt.”
    I had no idea what to think about him, especially since Abigail had told me about his past. I wondered if he was still in love with that girl, or if he actually believed he’d acted wrongly.
    I really couldn’t accept that I’d come all this way just to crush on a confused fundamentalist Christian boy who would despise me if he knew who I really was—a crush that could lead to nothing but trouble and heartbreak. Perhaps even more trouble and heartbreak than Blake had rained down. Hadn’t I learned anything at all?
    Plus there was the fact that I didn’t want him to get in trouble by interacting with me too much.
    The safest thing to do was be as cold as possible and pretend he was just another face in the crowd, I decided. No matter how sweet and upsettingly attractive he was.
    . . .
    The day after the luncheon, Abigail and I were sent out to gather eggs from the chicken coop by the barn. I found this chore to be particularly traumatizing—sneaking through the straw and hunting for eggs felt like I was stealing from the mama chickens or something. And their beaks and jerky bird movements made me nervous.
    I much preferred to get my eggs out of a carton. From the air-conditioned store.
    So when Abigail was called inside to help her mom with something, I snuck over to the far side of the barn and stopped working. Though it smelled like manure and was littered with rusty old farm implements, at least I was hidden from the house. If anyone caught me I could say I was taking a break.
    Though I didn’t expect Asher to be the one to find me.
    “Good haul today?” he asked, from right over my shoulder, scaring the hell out of me.
    “Oh! Um, yeah!” I said brightly, holding out my basket so he could see the eight eggs inside.
    As he looked into the basket and then smiled at me, I tried not to notice the way his sweaty gray T-shirt was glued to his chest or the way his hair damply stuck up in all directions. He’d obviously been working hard.
    I found my mind drifting to wondering what it would feel like to have those arms around me, pulling me close …