24. Outcast

Chapter 24

Outcast

H arper’s heart was beating so fast that she didn’t notice the icy air hitting her skin, and none seemed to reach her lungs. She stepped into the shadows and turned up the volume on her phone.

“Shep, say that again?” she said quickly.

With all the noisy racket inside the church, she convinced herself she had heard him wrong.

“You’d never believe the mess Oakleigh’s gotten herself into,” she paused. “Then again, maybe you would.”

“Oh, you need me to repeat it?” he sneered.

As usual, he entirely ignored any details about Oakleigh.

“With pleasure,” Shep continued, his voice dripping with disdain. “I’ll shout it from the rooftops if you’d like.”

“Shep, just get to the point,” she fumed, holding the speaker close to her lips.

It took everything within her to restrain the quiver of disdain in her voice. “I need to schedule my hair and makeup before we make the big announcement.” She glanced down at the pink nail polish Oakleigh had applied, which was now beginning to chip away. “And nails, of course, can’t forget that.”

“I’m — Divorcing — You.”

She closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“We’re not doing this again.”

Shep’s voice grew serious. “I’ve found a woman who really respects me.”

“Oh yes, another bimbo,” Harper scoffed, incredulous to have to go over all of it again. “Hopefully, she’s older than Oakleigh this time.”

Harper pivoted back to the matter at hand.

“Send the jet, Shep,” she ordered. “Whether we like it or not, we’re in this for good.”

“No more jets, Harper,” he replied, giving a callous laugh. “No speaking tours, no books, no yachts — you’re out.”

Harper glanced at the cloudy sky, her brain scrolling with sharp insults. None of it was new, she had heard it all before. She had played him like a fiddle for so long, she had practically memorized the song and dance.

“Shep,” she calmly responded, pivoting to rationalize with him as though she were speaking to a child.

“We’ve been over this a million times,” she stated. “Your career depends on the approval of the Elders, and they will never appoint a divorced man to lead the church — especially one that’s built on my family’s legacy. ”

It annoyed her that she constantly had to remind him of his place.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Shepard replied, sounding as satisfied as the cat who had swallowed the canary. “The elder board is behind me on this, you worthless two-bit —” he paused.

Harper heard the muffled sound of his palm covering the speaker. She rolled her eyes, hearing his entire tone lighten while he spoke to the person who had entered the room.

“Yes, I’ll be there in a moment,” he crooned. “Thank you for your faithfulness, Brother Davis.”

There was a nauseating quiver in his tone.

“My fiery trials have finally come to an end,” he professed, “and the Lord has once again set my feet on solid ground.”

His hand slipped off the speaker.

Shepard lowered his voice to whisper, signaling his pleasure in finally putting Harper in her place.

“Only one of us publicly admitted to adultery, Harper —”

He savored every word like a juicy morsel.

“And it wasn’t me.”

“Shep, don’t be a moron!” she exclaimed, hearing him end the call. “Shep!”

A cry escaped as her phone slipped from her shaking fingertips. Her hand went to her necklace, flipping the smooth pearls around in her fingertips while she envisioned her entire future evaporating .

How she hated that man with every fiber of her being, yet she knew —

Without Shepard Davenport, there was no Harper.

The book deals, speaking engagements, audiences of faithful followers, she had nothing without the charming husband by her side.

Stooping down into the snow to retrieve her phone, she swiped the gritty shards of salt and ice from the screen. Tapping out a quick message to Delia, her frozen, stiff fingers jumbled the letters.

She slammed her thumb down to delete it all and start again.

Harper — typing…

We’ve got to talk some sense into Shep.

The message was immediately marked read.

Harper — typing…

Delia, please.

Read.

She began to pace, feeling the snow crunching under her boots. “She’ll get back to me,” she reassured herself. “Delia owes me — they all owe me. ”

Thumbing through her social media feed, she noticed a recent post from Pacific Crest Church regarding an upcoming announcement,

“Of course, those cowards backed him,” she snarled, feeling her chest tightening. Replaying the last year of their marriage through her mind like a Shakespearean drama, she realized Shep had merely been lying in wait for his golden opportunity. He had undoubtedly practiced the sob story of his broken heart to the point of perfection, and had presented his case with such conviction that he had nearly convinced himself of his victimhood.

“It was one time!” she pleaded to the empty, silent darkness surrounding her. The truth didn’t matter when an entire stadium full of people had heard her confess. She gritted her teeth, feeling a surge of indignation. “You cheated too, you son of a —”

Her words were interrupted by the heavy church door swinging open, casting light onto the bright white snow.

Much to her aggravation, Maeve appeared in the doorway.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

Her concerned expression made Harper want to put her fist through the brand-new stained glass window.

“I’ve had about enough of this, and enough of you,” Harper bit back. A harsh rasp entered her tone as she choked down her loss of composure.

Maeve dared to reach for Harper’s wrist. “Harper, you’re sheet white,” she observed. “Will you talk to me? ”

She swept Maeve’s hand away as though it were a disgusting bug. “Don’t touch me,” she threatened.

Maeve took a step back, respecting Harper’s boundaries.

“I’m sorry, Harp.”

Even her calm reaction set fire to Harper’s temper. Everything within her wanted to lash out and hurt someone, especially Maeve.

“I don’t need you — I never have,” she snapped. “I was better off when you left.”

Harper felt her sister analyze her as though she were trying to read her inner thoughts.

Maeve inhaled a long breath, glancing behind her at the ongoing situation in the church. “I’m going to get Oakleigh, and she can take you home.”

Harper’s lip curled in disgust. “Do that.”

Maeve disappeared inside the church, allowing Harper’s focus to return to her phone screen. Her stomach turned, noticing that Delia had still not responded.

“Fine, I’ll just call you,” she mumbled. Scrolling through her contacts, she tapped on Delia’s name. It rang until rolling straight to voicemail.

Swiping her thumb, she tapped again on her social media feed. She slammed her finger down on Pacific Crest Christian Church’s current livestream. Wrapping her arm across her middle to preserve any remaining heat, she scanned the scene. Her eyes locked on the litany of familiar faces who had helped Shepard twist the knife .

Shepard Davenport was standing on stage with the elders. Their hands were on his shoulders, solemnly praying around him.

His charade had fooled them all.

She brought the screen closer to her eyes, which threatened to freeze open in the frigid temperatures. Blinking away the blurred image until her vision cleared, what she saw made her already chilly blood run ice cold in her veins. Amongst those standing beside him in solidarity — was Delia.

Bile crept into her throat.

“No, no, no,” she begged.

Harper was finally understanding the plot.

Delia was doing precisely what she had promised. She was controlling the narrative at Harper’s expense. Watching her future crumble before her eyes, she frantically called Delia again.

Focusing on the livestream, she hoped to see a flash of recognition in her best friend’s expression. Perhaps it would remind her of the decades of history they had together — or even the weighty, reputation damaging secrets that Harper held loosely in her grasp.

On screen, Delia pulled her phone from her pocket. Her lip curled into a smirk as she promptly declined the call. She edged closer to Shep, putting her hand on his shoulder and ran her thumb across his smooth shirt. He reached up and grabbed her hand, offering her a look of gratitude.

Their subtle gestures told Harper everything she needed to know. The two had been doing much more than just scheming .

“That idiot ,” she choked out. If Shep thought that Delia would ever leave her fabulous life for him, he was a bigger moron than she had always assumed. He was a fling, a notch in her belt. Even when Delia had the entire world at her fingertips, she had always been envious of Harper.

She could only imagine how long their affair had gone on as she connected the breadcrumbs of their infidelity.

How could I have been so blind?

“Mom?” Oakleigh’s voice rang out from behind her.

“Take me home,” Harper demanded, her voice resembling a desperate croak.

“Okay, fine,” Oakleigh emphasized, patting the pocket of her snow pants for her key fob. “But we have to make this quick.”

The ride back to the ranch was silent. Harper stared out the window into the darkness, attempting to collect her threadbare emotions.

Oakleigh pulled the Jeep up to the front of the ranch house, and shifted the car into park.

“Mom?” she asked, pressing her lips into a fine line. “Is everything okay?”

Harper mustered the last of her fragile composure, yet even she could detect her own eerie false bounce of optimism.

“Why wouldn’t it be, dear? ”

Oakleigh’s eyes narrowed as though she could see right through the fragile facade. It was a look that reminded her so much of Maeve, that it tipped Harper further on the precarious precipice.

“Run along now,” Harper taunted, pushing her door open.

It was all a blur as she headed to the porch. The Jeep idled behind her as though Oakleigh was contemplating following after her.

Pushing the front door open, she was relieved to hear the large tires crunch down the icy driveway toward the highway.

The house was dark and seemingly devoid of life. Even the crackling fireplace was now just glowing embers. Leaning on the door frame, she felt the immense burden of loss.

It was all over.

She bit her lip until she tasted coppery blood.

Making her way up the stairs, the absence of anyone who cared in the slightest fed her self-loathing.

She stepped into her bedroom, and slammed her door behind her, rattling the walls from the force of her temper.

Clenching her fist, she pounded hard into the solid wood door. The sting on her knuckles felt satisfying as she pulled her fist back again, and struck the immovable surface until her knuckles felt numb. She ran her fingers over the place that absorbed all her aggression.

Not even a dent.

She pushed her back against the door and slid to the ground, burying her head in her hands .

They don’t care. Nobody cares.

That’s when Harper remembered the shiny metal flask of vodka hidden away in the nightstand.

Crawling on her hands and knees, she reached into the drawer, and nabbed the flask. It only took a second to unscrew the lid, and bring it to her lips.

What about Oakleigh?

“She’s better off without me,” she whispered.

The self-sabotaging justification was enough for Harper as she tipped it back and savored the burn of the liquor down her throat.

Her gaze drifted to the orange prescription bottle in the drawer.

Why stop now?

Her hands were throbbing with painful bruises from her assault on the door, but that didn’t stop her from twisting the cap free.

The last few pills clattered around in the plastic container. Her hands shook as she poured them into her palm, causing the smooth capsules to spill onto the floor. Harper swore as she swept her hand across the hardwood, picking up each one as though it were a sacred object. She crossed her legs, propping her back against the bed, attempting to pick away the stray dirt and fuzz.

What does it matter?

Without a second thought, she dropped them into her mouth and washed them down with another long swig from the flask. Running her thumb across her lips, she waited for her feelings to disappear into the haze.

“What’s going to happen to me?” she mumbled.

Propping her cheek on her palm, she took another long drag from the bottle.

“I suppose I’ll just disappear like Maeve,” she scoffed, her lips stumbling. She considered the large ranch house, the property, Maeve’s community, and illustrious reputation. In her estimation, Maeve had done it all wrong, yet still had everything that Harper felt entitled to — including the respect of her own daughter.

What’s so special about her?

In the jumbled stream of thoughts running through her mind, Harper thought about Maeve’s letters.

Clambering to her feet, she steadied herself on the edge of the bed until she found her footing. She staggered to the door, holding onto the doorframe until the stubborn room stopped spinning. Swaying down the hall as though on a vessel at sea, she finally arrived at the double doors leading to Maeve’s room.

“The queen’s chambers,” Harper muttered. She pushed the doors hard, causing them to swing open and crack against the wall. Going straight for the nightstand, she yanked the drawer onto the floor, spilling its contents.

Her eyes landed on the prize she was looking for, the large bundle of letters held together by a rubber band. Tucking them under her arm, she stumbled back to her room. She cast the stack into the air, watching with satisfaction at the envelopes raining down like falling leaves onto her bedspread.

Rifling through them, Harper eyed an envelope addressed to their family home. Her eyes widened when she recognized her mother’s handwriting scrawled across the front.

Refused.

Return to Sender.

She ripped it open and laid haphazardly across the bed. Unfolding the letter, her eyes flitted down the page.

“No wonder Mom sent this back,” she scoffed. “Ruth this — Ruth that,” Harper rolled her eyes. “Sounds like someone else I know.” Considering how Oakleigh had propped Maeve high on a pedestal caused her teeth to clench.

Flipping the page over, another folded letter came loose. She snatched up the yellowed paper and unfurled it, her eyes landing on her name scrawled in Maeve’s handwriting.

Harp,

I want you to know that I forgive you for everything. I spoke to Ruth, and she said there’s plenty of room for you. Please, think about it.

Love, Maeve

“You forgive me?” Harper spat, her eyes going wide at the very suggestion .

Harper racked her ever-foggy mind. She had rewritten her history so many times, that she could hardly remember the actual events over her own spun fiction.

Maeve owes me an apology.

Harper’s allowed her heavy eyelids to close shut, her lips mumbling her dwindling conscious thoughts.

“You abandoned me —”