Where Hope Begins Read online

  Acclaim for Catherine West

  “Peeling back the curtain that shrouds life’s messy corners, Catherine West has written a story that we all need. Where Hope Begins will take your breath and quite possibly your heart. West reminds us that even in the midst of heartbreak and loss, hope is never out of reach. Where Hope Begins will linger long after you close the last beautiful page.”

  —PATTI CALLAHAN HENRY, NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR

  “Catherine West gracefully braids together grief, humor, and longing in her newest book. Where Hope Begins is a beautiful and heartrending story of a marriage and the two people who must decide if it is worth saving. A story for anyone who’s had to start over—and those who wonder where others find the courage and strength to do so.”

  —LAUREN DENTON, USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF THE HIDEAWAY

  “Catherine West has quickly become my favorite contemporary author, and this novel seals the deal! She is a master of writing vivid, haunting settings that are as much characters in her stories as the hero and heroine. Where Hope Begins had me rushing through the pages even while wishing the story would never end. Another wonderful novel on an already stellar list from this author.”

  —DEBORAH RANEY, AUTHOR OF THE CHICORY INN NOVELS SERIES AND REASON TO BREATHE

  “Emotionally gripping and stunningly honest, Where Hope Begins is a moving story that breaks the heart, then masterfully puts it back together, somehow fuller than it was before. Have a box of tissue on hand, Readers, and well done, Catherine West!”

  —KATIE GANSHERT, AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR OF NO ONE EVER ASKED

  “From its first indelible line, Where Hope Begins swept me away through the deepest grief to hope restored. This stirring story of second chances and redemption will linger long in my heart.”

  —LIZ JOHNSON, AUTHOR OF THE RED DOOR INN

  “Where Hope Begins is a beauty-from-ashes story full of authenticity and emotion. With relatable characters, gorgeous prose, and a depth many stories lack, it captured me from the first page.”

  —LINDSAY HARREL, AUTHOR OF THE HEART BETWEEN US

  “Seamless and elegant, yet brimming with raw and robust emotion, this trip to wine country pulls out all the stops on the scenic route of great fiction. West has cultivated another poignant story of hope and healing all tangled in the vines with a second chance love story you won’t want to miss. One to be breathed and sipped and savored to the last drop!”

  —AMY LEIGH SIMPSON, AUTHOR OF WHEN FALL FADES AND FROM WINTER’S ASHES, ON THE MEMORY OF YOU

  “Overall, it’s an engrossing and ultimately moving novel, filled with mystery, romance and drama.”

  —RT BOOK REVIEWS, 4 STARS, ON THE THINGS WE KNEW

  “A beautiful exploration of the bonds that tie us together as family and the secrets that sometimes unravel those threads. Catherine West builds a world worth entering and characters that linger long after the last page is turned.”

  —JULIE CANTRELL, NEW YORK TIMES AND USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF THE FEATHERED BONE, ON THE THINGS WE KNEW

  “Smartly written and highly engaging, Catherine West’s The Things We Knew dazzles, piercing the shadows of a family’s tragedy with the light of love.”

  —BILLY COFFEY, AUTHOR OF THE CURSE OF CROW HOLLOW AND WHEN MOCKINGBIRDS SING

  “Displaying an understanding of the conflicting dynamics of family relationships, Cathy West deftly weaves together the tumultuous storylines of the Carlisle and Cooper families. In The Things We Knew, she wrestles with how secrets can hide the truth of the past and cloud the future.”

  —BETH K. VOGT, 2015 RITA FINALIST, AUTHOR OF ALMOST LIKE BEING IN LOVE

  “A poignant, multifaceted novel that pulled me in deeper with every turned page, The Things We Knew so adeptly explores the power of truth and its ability to set us all free. I can’t wait for readers to fall as hopelessly in love with Nick and the Carlisle family as I did. Well done, Catherine West!”

  —KATIE GANSHERT, AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR OF THE ART OF LOSING YOURSELF

  “Catherine West’s debut, The Things We Knew, is a beautifully readable exploration of family secrets and their continuing effects on both those who know and don’t know them.”

  —CHRISTA PARRISH, AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR OF STILL LIFE AND STONES FOR BREAD

  “The Things We Knew is a remarkable story, and author Catherine West is truly a wordsmith.”

  —KATHI MACIAS, AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR OF RED INK

  “Intriguing setting, realistic characters with all-too-familiar tensions, and a tangle worth tracing to its source make The Things We Knew as satisfying as a Nantucket sunrise.”

  —CYNTHIA RUCHTI, AUTHOR OF AS WATERS GONE BY AND SONG OF SILENCE

  “Dynamic and lovely. This is a story that will capture your heart from the first page.”

  —ALICE J. WISLER, AUTHOR OF RAIN SONG AND UNDER THE SILK HIBISCUS, ON THE THINGS WE KNEW

  “Integrally woven, fast-paced, and hard to put down. Loved the setting and loved the characters. Great book!”

  —CELESTE FLETCHER MCHALE, AUTHOR OF THE SECRET TO HUMMINGBIRD CAKE, ON THE THINGS WE KNEW

  “Winner! Cathy West’s latest novel takes us on a journey into the heartache of aging parents, regrets, and sibling issues in ways that are both penetrating and infused with hope. Well-written, painted with emotional battles, addictions, and romance, West gives us poignant moments that stay long after the final page is turned.”

  —JAMES L. RUBART, BESTSELLING AND AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR OF THE FIVE TIMES I MET MYSELF, ON THE THINGS WE KNEW

  Other Books by Catherine West

  The Things We Knew

  The Memory of You

  Where Hope Begins

  © 2018 by Catherine J. West

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Christian Publishing, Inc.

  Published in association with Books & Such Literary Management, 52 Mission Circle, Suite 122, PMB 170, Santa Rosa, California 95409–5370, www.booksandsuch.com.

  Thomas Nelson titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail [email protected].

  Unless otherwise noted, Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com. The “NIV” and “New International Version” are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™

  Scripture quotations marked KJV are taken from the King James Version. Public domain.

  Scripture quotations marked NASB are taken from New American Standard Bible®, Copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission. (www.Lockman.org)

  Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: West, Catherine (Catherine J.), author.

  Title: Where hope begins / Catherine West.

  Description: Nashville : Thomas Nelson, [2018]

  Identifiers: LCCN 2017061000 | ISBN 9780785217435 (softcover)
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  Subjects: LCSH: Married people--Fiction. | Adultery--Fiction. | GSAFD:

  Christian fiction. | Love stories.

  Classification: LCC PR9680.B43 W479 2018 | DDC 813/.6--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017061000

  Epub Edition April 2018 9780785217442

  Printed in the United States of America

  18 19 20 21 22 LSC 5 4 3 2 1

  For my brave friends who have been through

  the fire and come out the other side.

  Not unscathed, not unchanged, but refined,

  stronger, and even more beautiful.

  You are so, so loved.

  For I am confident of this very thing, that He who began a good

  work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus.

  Philippians 1:6

  CONTENTS

  Acclaim for Catherine West

  Other Books by Catherine West

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  A Note from the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Discussion Questions

  About the Author

  CHAPTER 1

  “The heart will break, but broken live on.”

  —LORD BYRON

  My husband is leaving me.

  The thought, the reality, presses against my throat as I stand outside and take in the view from the back patio of our home. Beyond the copse of Scotch pines that stand sentry at the boundary of the perfectly manicured lush green lawn, a patchwork of fields stretches north. Frost-covered fields that will soon be white with snow. Clean. Pure. Unblemished.

  Beyond the horizon line I imagine another world. A world far from the Boston brownstones and skyscrapers less than an hour away. A world of warmth and sunshine, golden sands and sparkling oceans and second chances.

  I imagine standing with one foot here, on this hard, cold, and unforgiving ground, the other hovering over an invisible marker that separates winter’s edge and what lies beyond. And I wonder . . .

  The back door slams. His boots clomp down the wooden steps, hit the stone deck, and thud into silence a few feet behind me.

  I cannot bring myself to turn around.

  Tears warm my cold cheeks and I raise a trembling hand to swipe them away. Breathe. In and out. Forced effort. A sudden wind whips up and makes me shiver.

  “Savannah . . .” His sigh is heavy, but not quite reluctant. “I’m going now.”

  I nod and slowly turn to face the truth written on his face.

  Our bedroom was barren last night when I arrived home from dinner with friends. Only my clothes remain. Naked hangers swing in silent accusation. He took most of his things then and hauled the remainder out the front door moments ago. His hands are empty.

  I inhale again and find my voice. “Did you leave the keys?”

  “The keys?” He sounds surprised. I can’t for the life of me imagine why.

  “For the house.” I shiver again. “You won’t need them.”

  “I should have one for emergencies.” He clears his throat and his eyes narrow. “Don’t you think?”

  Emergencies.

  Yes. Of course.

  Sirens wailing, screaming through the silence.

  Anxious faces peering, stricken, speechless.

  Bathroom tile cold against my cheek. Warm liquid pooling around my wrists.

  Those kinds of emergencies.

  I lock eyes with this man, this man I have known for twenty-four years, lived with for twenty, and promised to love forever. This man who gripped my hand while I cursed him through contractions. Three times. This man I have laughed and cried with, shared silly jokes with, and given all of myself to. This man who stood beside me, trembling and broken, as we watched a tiny casket being lowered into the ground.

  This man I don’t know at all anymore.

  “Do what you want, Kevin.” You always do.

  “I think it’s best. I won’t . . .” He looks away. His normally vibrant blue eyes seem oddly dull and his jaw quivers just a bit. “Look, Savannah—”

  “Don’t.” I hold up a hand. The wind picks up speed and rustles through his dark hair.

  At forty-two, Kevin is aging well. Not aging at all, actually. Runs for miles, eats what he wants, and doesn’t put on a pound. I have just turned forty and find it hard to look in the mirror. Lines that were not there yesterday appear today. Gray hairs grow overnight. Weight does not come off as easily as it used to.

  “I might go away.” The thought slips out and startles me.

  “What? Where?” He cannot contain his astonishment. His eyes shift, uneasy under my stare, and I know what he’s thinking. I have not taken a trip alone in years. Have not been alone in years. How will I survive?

  “I don’t know where.” I grip my elbows and watch a few flakes of early snow descend from the sky. They rest on Kevin’s head, as if a silent blessing from above. I give no such blessing. At this moment I abhor him.

  “Let me know.” He sounds tired. Looks tired. I don’t know where he’s been the past month, although I can imagine. No. That’s not entirely true. I do know. He has not been in our bed. My bed. Even when he was there, I know now his mind was elsewhere.

  “I’ll tell Zoe.” I fiddle with the zipper of my green down jacket and survey the lonely patio. Empty gray clay urns and neglected flower baskets testify to my horticultural failures. Snow bounces on the black tarp covering the pool. “We’re supposed to get two inches tonight. Crazy, huh?”

  “You want to discuss the weather?” He’s incredulous, perplexed. “Zoe isn’t talking to me.” Now he’s annoyed.

  “Isn’t she?” What a shocker.

  Our daughter, our eldest, but not our firstborn, is stalwart and loyal to a fault. She hates him now, but I hope for both their sakes she will forgive him. Eventually.

  I don’t know if I will do the same.

  I stiffen as I stare at him, stuffing down the overwhelming need to end this conversation. This miserable moment. Instead, it feels freeze-framed. Forever cemented in memory—this one defining moment in my life when I realize all I’ve done, everything I’ve poured myself into, has been for naught.

  Memories meld together in a mosaic of children’s activities, women’s luncheons, and boring business dinners. Car pools and car washes and carnivals to raise money for whatever charity the school or church picked that year. A life now divided into three compartments: Zoe in college, Adam away at school, and me here. Where I’ve always been. With my other half about to step into his shiny black Mercedes-Benz and drive away.

  “I’ll text you then,” I offer. “If you insist on knowing where I am.”

  “You don’t text.” One side of his mouth lifts in a half smile that fades too soon. I can’t remember the last time I saw my husband really smile.

  “Maybe I’ll learn.” I step aside to give him room. He won’t go back through the house. Not with Adam there. And I don’t want him to. “Well.” I need to let him go. “Mustn’t keep her waiting.” She has apparently been waiting for this day for quite some time. And I never had a clue.

  Kevin runs a hand down his face, lifts his shoulders under the heavy cashmere coat he wears. A soft
plaid scarf hangs around his neck. It’s new. I notice he no longer wears his wedding band. Three weeks ago, when I last saw him, he still did.

  “I’ll need to get in touch, Savannah. There’ll be papers to sign at some point.”

  “Christmas.” Visions of a decorated tree and stockings strung along the mantel skip across my mind. “What will we do for Christmas? Thanksgiving?” Why am I asking these things?

  Kevin shrugs again. “Adam has his ski trip over Thanksgiving. Christmas . . . I don’t know.” His phone vibrates from a pocket in his coat. “They’re not little kids anymore.”

  No. They are not. But they are still kids.

  Our kids. And he has broken their hearts.

  Not to mention mine.

  “Good-bye, Kevin.” It’s all I can say now. As much as I’d like to tell him how I really feel about what he’s done, as many times as I’ve thought of telling him where to go, today the words won’t come. Besides, I am already there.

  In hell.

  It is not big enough for us both.

  And some days I still believe I deserve this agonizing pain even more than he does.

  Adam sits at the kitchen table, his sixteen-year-old lanky frame huddled over a half-eaten bowl of Cheerios. I lock the back door and try not to flinch at the sound of Kevin’s expensive car engine revving. Tires peel off in a soul-shattering screech.

  He can’t get away fast enough.

  Adam lifts the end of his spoon and lets it clatter against the bowl.

  Over and over again, until I want to snap at him to stop. But I don’t.

  I shrug out of my coat, hang it up, and notice the array of shoes along the rack by the door has diminished in size. I kick off my loafers and forget where I put my slippers, so I walk across cold travertine tiles and return to the sink. Kevin arrived as I was doing the pile of dishes I’d ignored all week.

  The water has gone cold.

  I grab the plug, yank it upward, and watch reluctant soapy suds swirl toward the eager drain. As I pick up a glass to load in the dishwasher, it slips, shattering against the white ceramic sink.

  “Why do you need a sink that looks like a bathtub?” My mother’s first question once her inspection of our newly built home was complete.