Faking Faith by Josie Bloss Page B

house. But he hesitated in front of me and looked down at my face. I looked up at him, at his sad and tormented eyes, and without thinking further I reached out and took ahold of his ankle, my hand clutching his dusty jeans.
    I couldn’t stop myself. All I wanted to do was touch him, comfort him, and somehow assure him that he wasn’t an awful failure as a human. That just because he’d liked a girl who wasn’t parent-approved, it didn’t mean he was damaged.
    And I wanted to tell him how I knew what he was going through—that I’d also made a mistake that had embarrassed my family and made me an outcast. And that I knew exactly what that sort of humiliated regret felt like.
    But I couldn’t say anything. I could only hold his ankle. Which was kind of a weird thing, I know, but it was all I could think of to do. I didn’t even mean it in a seductive way, especially since the idea of that still freaked me out. I just wanted to connect with him somehow.
    Asher’s eyes went wide at my grasp. I squeezed gently, looking him straight in the eye, trying to communicate through my fingers that it was okay. That I understood and accepted him.
    “You … you … you really shouldn’t do that.” His voice was husky. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead and landed in the dirt next to my shoe.
    “I know,” I replied. “I’m sorry. I … can’t really help it.”
    He made a strangled sort of sound and gently shook my hand off his leg.
    “Please, Faith,” he said. “Don’t make my mistake. God is always watching.”
    And with that, he walked quickly away.
    I hugged my knees up to my chest and watched him go, more confused than ever.

FIFTEEN
    I was helping Abigail wash dishes after breakfast when her mom came up and put her arms around the two of us.
    “Exciting news, girlie girls!” she whispered in a baby-talk voice. “Daddy just told me we’re expecting special company for dinner.”
    I still wasn’t used to how she referred to her own husband as “Daddy.” Yuck.
    But I smiled at her and carefully set the plate I was drying in the dish rack. “That’s great!” I said.
    Abigail was looking down at the soapy water, her eyes wide.
    “Who’s coming?” she asked.
    “Well, Rachel and Elijah and the baby,” said Mrs. Dean. Abigail’s twenty-year-old sister had gotten married just over a year ago and had a two-month-old little boy. “Along with Elijah’s brother, Beau. You remember him, right, Abigail? Such a nice, godly young man.”
    I glanced at Abigail again, and it looked like she wasn’t breathing.
    “You’ll just love to meet Elijah and Rachel,” Mrs. Dean said to me, squeezing my shoulder. “Samuel is a darling baby, and Rachel is such a sweet little mama! Elijah just adores her. It’s been such a blessing to see young people living out the example of a good, Biblical marriage.”
    As she chatted about the visitors, I kept shooting looks at Abigail. She’d started washing dishes again but was going much slower, her heart clearly not in it. Her face was tense and for once I could see the physical similarities between her and Asher.
    “I’d just love it if they came over more often,” Mrs. Dean said, nudging Abigail with her hip. “Wouldn’t you like to see more of them, too? Especially when they bring a certain someone?”
    Abigail dropped the glass she was holding and it shattered all over the sink.
    “Goodness, Abigail!” snapped her mother, the coy-conspiratorial voice gone. “Don’t be so careless! Clean that up!”
    “Sorry, Mama,” Abigail said, starting to pick up the pieces.
    “Honestly,” Mrs. Dean said as she flounced away toward the living room. “Sometimes you wouldn’t know you’re almost eighteen. Try not to cut yourself, for Heaven’s sake.”
    I watched Mrs. Dean go, shocked at her sudden turn, then started to help Abigail pick up the glass out of the sink.
    “Are you okay?” I asked softly.
    “Oh, except for my clumsiness, I’m fine!” she said, with