13. Trouble

Chapter 13

Trouble

Harper

H arper Underwood crumpled to the ground, shielding herself from the metal buckle flinging through the air. Feeling the sharp brass connect across the bare skin of her lower back, she couldn’t help but recall how Susan, the annoyingly emphatic wife of their church youth pastor, had scolded her about the modesty of wearing longer clothing.

Maybe that old shrew had a point.

Despite Harper’s father being a man of small stature, he held a formidable presence. She seemed to always bear the brunt of his fiery temper — and it hurt.

He always made sure of that.

“Harris,” her mother pleaded, daring to grab his arm.

What was worse than the purple welts rising to the surface, were her father’s words that trailed after her as she took her opportunity to escape up the stairs.

“She’s good for nothing, Vera!” he strained with the rage he only unleashed in the privacy of his home. “If we don’t take the strong will out of that girl,” Harris shrilled, “she’s going to ruin everything for us.”

“Your congregation respects you, dear,” Vera said in her usual placating tone.

Her mother constantly reinforced his fragile ego in a way that made Harper’s stomach turn molten. She ducked down the hall and into her room. Everything in her wanted to slam the door, but fear won out. Her temper usually only brought more wrath down on her bruised back.

Leaning on the door, she listened to her father’s angry tirade reverberating through the thin walls as though he were pacing just outside her room.

“The elders are talking about us,” he shouted. “It’s only a matter of time until it spreads through the congregation.”

The crash of something fragile smashing against the wall echoed up the stairs.

“They’re saying I can’t even control my own household, let alone a growing church.” he sputtered. “Thank God for Maeve because that little slut is making a fool out of me!”

Even Harper could admit that kissing Chet Davis behind the bleachers wasn’t her finest moment. The church and the small private school they attended were partnered so closely that it often made her feel like she was living under a microscope. Sometimes, it seemed like her parents had planned it that way — and she couldn’t help but push against the boundaries, stepping her toe over the line whenever she saw the chance.

Of course, it had to be Susan who caught them together. The middle-aged woman wore long flowing clothes to hide what she deemed shameful excess weight. Her hair was always in a tight bun, making her angular face seem harsh and her dramatic expressions even more intense.

The smarmy youth pastor’s wife had wheedled her way into the position of school counselor, and Harper appeared to always be on her radar.

She yanked Harper’s arm hard , dragging her all the way to the principal’s office.

“Susan, I made a mistake,” Harper yanked her elbow free, attempting to reason with the laser-focused, hard nosed woman. “Just give me a break for once.”

“And what would your father say?” Susan scolded, fuming at being addressed with such familiarity.

Harper mused about the many things said behind the closed doors of her household that she could never repeat.

Susan prattled on, pursing her lips together in a way that conveyed her every judgmental opinion. Pastor Underwood often made it a point that modesty mattered , and Susan consumed every word, frequently reinforcing the lesson to the young women in her influence.

“Just because you’re the pastor’s daughter,” she snapped. “Doesn’t mean you’re above the rules of propriety, young lady. ”

“Wow,” Harper dared to taunt. “That’s one I’ve never heard before.”

Susan glared, and Harper knew the woman was hellbent on making her pay.

There was no point in defending herself to the principal of the school. The thin-lipped, flimsy little man prided himself in being Pastor Underwood’s best friend. He held the same stern lack of mercy for anyone who sidestepped from their rigid box of righteous standards. Harper knew every detail of her rebellious insolence would be relayed directly to her father. The church felt like an exclusive club, and there would be no exceptions — especially for her.

She climbed into her bed, hesitant to even flip on the light at the risk of again catching her father’s fury. Hot, angry tears stung her eyes as she brought her fists down on the soft mattress.

When I take over the ministry, the school will be the first to go.

She savored the thought of mercilessly firing them all, but it was shortlived. Her lack of closure created a lump in her throat, and her mind began to cycle through everything she wished she would have said that day but couldn’t.

Breaking through her spinning thoughts came a muffled knock through the door.

“Go away, Maeve.” Her annoying little sister was only fifteen months younger than her, but it might have well been decades. Maeve was so naive and innocent that she often made Harper feel worldly and depraved.

“Harp,” Maeve begged. “Let me in.”

She sighed, reaching to unlock her door. Bolting back to bed, she pulled the sheets over to conceal her bruised body. The last thing she wanted was for Maeve to know how badly she had been beaten.

Harper couldn’t stomach another pitiful look from her empathetic little sister who insisted on sharing her burdens.

Most of all, she couldn’t bear to disappoint her.

The door ticked open, and Maeve stepped in, closing it quietly behind her. She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled back the sheet, placing a cool, wet washcloth on her back.

Harper reacted.

“Stop, Maeve,” she blurted. Flipping over, she grabbed her sister’s wrist. She was stunned to already see tears filling Maeve’s eyes.

“He really hurt you this time,” Maeve stammered, sweeping her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Why is it always your back?”

Harper felt dead inside as she clutched her pillow.

Pastor Harris Underwood could write a book on disciplining a child without leaving evidence behind.

“It’s my fault,” Harper admitted. Hardly able to cope with seeing her little sister upset, she figured it was just another consequence of her bad behavior. She suddenly felt the desperate drive for a change of scenery, some fresh air, and the feeling of some control over her life.

Harper pushed herself up off her mattress .

“I have to get out of here.”

Going to her closet, she pulled open a drawer and dug to the bottom, where she had hidden her shortest shorts and tightest tank top. It was an outfit that she knew would have made her mother faint.

Harper pulled on a jacket and took a second glance in the mirror to make sure the gashes on her back were concealed. Going to her window, she quietly pushed it open before flinging her flip-flops onto the lawn below.

“Don’t do this, Harp,” Maeve begged, her lips trembling as her voice lowered to a whisper. “If you get caught, he’ll kill you.”

“Then I won’t get caught,” she said, giving a halfhearted shrug for her sister’s sake. “Just go to bed, Maeve, don’t worry about me.”

She felt Maeve’s somber gaze track her while she climbed out her bedroom window. The moment her feet hit the soft grass, she pulled on her flip-flops and headed up the street. There was a party that night, and she knew her best friend would be ready and willing to blow off some steam.

As expected, Delia was already dressed and ready to go when Harper arrived at her door.

She slipped into the passenger seat, trying not to grimace, giving evidence of her injuries. There was something hardwired in Harper to keep up her parent’s facade. Even Delia wasn’t privy to the secrets of Pastor Underwood’s home, nor would she have even understood. Delia’s parents were divorced, and her mother was in a perpetual state of emotionally treading water. The last thing on her mind was keeping track of her teenage daughter, and it came in handy on nights like that one. She handed off the keys to the red station wagon without a single question as to where the girls were headed or if they would even return before sunrise.

“I think this is going to be fun,” Delia practically squealed, stepping on the gas. “I heard Chet’s going to be there too,” she hinted, purely for the sake of Harper’s reaction. “Did your parents flip over the thing at school?”

“It wasn’t any big deal,” Harper replied, appearing unbothered. She ran her fingers through her blonde hair, turning her attention out the window at the blur of neighborhood lights.

Delia glanced over, studying her once again. “Ew, you look pale. Grab my makeup bag from the back.”

Harper pulled down the sun visor and examined herself in the mirror. She did look pale, but it was the least of her worries as she caught a glimpse of her puffy, red eyes. Reaching behind her, she retrieved their trusty cosmetic bag stashed away in the backseat. She dashed on blush, eye shadow, and some lip gloss. Pressing her lips together, she gave herself one last look before flipping the mirror closed.

Delia parked the station wagon by the curb. The music boomed from the packed house, and their friends from school were spilling out onto the lawn with drinks in hand .

“This looks wild,” Delia noted. Her smile faltered, giving away her nervousness. “Tommy’s parents are going to freak if they ever find out.”

“This looks fun, ” Harper remarked, concealing her own hesitations with her usual unbridled confidence. All she wanted was to turn her brain off for a while, distracting her mind from the pain and anger that was still coursing through her.

She stepped out on the curb, eyeing the best path to the house that wouldn’t involve stepping in vomit or disrupting any couples necking on the lawn.

When she pushed her way through the front door, the blaring music made her ears pound, and she was hit with the musty smell of cigarette smoke.

“Get us some drinks,” Harper shouted over the raucous party around them. Delia obediently nodded and disappeared through the crowd.

Harper found a place to stand against the wall where she could survey the room for anyone she knew.

She felt someone edge beside her and hand off a red plastic cup filled with beer.

“Thanks, Del,” she said. Pulling the cup to her lips, she took a long drink. The bitterness made her nose scrunch.

“Chet, actually.”

Harper turned at the recognizable voice beside her. Instead of her best friend sidling up next to her, it was the popular quarterback of the football team who had caused her the tremendous amount of grief that day. His hair was spiked and bleached blonde on the tips, and he was wearing a t-shirt that hugged his well-earned athletic physique.

“I’m happy to see you here,” he said. Biting his lip, he looked at her like something to devour.

“You know, Chet,” Harper began. Trying to maintain her poise, she pulled the cup again to her lips. “You got me into a lot of trouble today.” She took another sip, trying to look indifferent to the terrible taste.

Spewing cheap beer all over the cute, popular boy would be a dreadful start to the evening.

“Want to get into a little more trouble?” he asked. His white toothy grin accentuated his chiseled jawline as he slipped his arm around her waist.

“I’m serious,” Harper insisted, impatiently tapping her finger on the side of her red plastic cup. “Did you get sent home?”

“No?” Chet scoffed. “The coach just went on about respecting women or something.” He arched a confused eyebrow. “Why?”

Before she could answer, Delia emerged through the crowd of rowdy teenagers, balancing a drink in each hand with beer sloshing haphazardly over the rim. “Oh, you already have a drink,” she murmured, stifling the annoyance in her voice.

“I’ll take another,” Harper said, snatching the cup from her hands. “Thanks, Delia.”

Swirling the beer around in the cup, Harper wanted to drown in it. She tilted it back and gulped down the drink in an unladylike swallow. Dashing a smile at Chet, she ran her fingers down the nape of his neck, pulling him close. He put his arm around her and leaned in for a kiss that curled her toes.

Savoring the jealous gaze of Delia and the other girls around them, she closed her eyes and pulled him closer.

The alcohol was hitting her fast and hard, and when he led her upstairs, the world around her was beginning to spin. If Harper was going to get into a little bit of trouble that night, she was determined to make it count.