Free Finding Hope by Brenda Coulter Page A

he was nearly twenty. Her parents were strict about dating, so she and Trevor had never actually been alone. They’d shared only quick, stolen kisses, and Hope had known nothing but the light est brush of his mouth against hers. Tonight, though, he was finally going to kiss her properly. She’d been dreaming about this moment for weeks.
    Overflowing with love, she lifted her face to his….
    Hope’s throat tightened and she brushed tears from her eyes. As she slumped against the counter she heard the soft jingle of Bob’s collar. He came and sat at her feet, willing to help in any way he could.
    â€œOh, God,” she whispered brokenly. “It’s been so many years. Will it never stop hurting?”
    Trevor Daniels was dead, and with him had been buried every girlish dream Hope had cherished about love and marriage.
    She removed the soggy tea bag from her cup and stirred in a spoonful of sugar. If only her parents could understand just how immune she was to romance. She wasn’t going to fall in love, not with Charles or anyone else. Men didn’t interest her in that way, not since Trevor.
    She wrapped her hands around the warm cup. Closing her eyes, she sipped slowly as she listened to the loud, familiar rhythm of Granny Evans’s old mantel clock.
    On a current of loneliness Hope drifted into the living room, where she found comfort in touching the well-loved objects that made this house feel like home. Her father’s favorite chair, her mother’s treasured Staffordshire china dogs, framed photographs of the boys and their families—all were balm to Hope’s wounded heart.
    A lamp spilled soft light over one end of the sofa, calling attention to the rumpled floral slipcover. Two small pillows had been squashed against the armrest and on the table, ice cubes melted in a half-finished glass of mint tea.
    Just over an hour ago, Charles had occupied that corner, listening to a ball game on television as he worked the crossword puzzle from last Sunday’s paper.
    Hope smoothed the slipcover and plumped the pillows. Then she switched off the light and picked up the glass. As she headed back to the kitchen, something made her turn and look again at the corner, now dark and empty, and her blues were banished by a single thought: He would come again tomorrow.
    Â 
    On Sunday afternoon as he approached room 6120, Charles heard a commotion. John Seltzer had visitors—was Hope among them? Stopping to look in the doorway, he was overcome with dread. Low voices and quiet sobs told him the family had gathered for a deathwatch.
    He hadn’t spoken to Hope since late yesterday afternoon when he had watched a ball game at her house. But she had told him then that the old man appeared to be slipping. She had planned to consult with Gramps’s doctor before asking Pastor Bill Barnes to notify the Seltzer family.
    Now two men and three women surrounded the old man’s bed, but Hope was not with them. Biting his lip, Charles looked up and down the hall. Where was she? He addressed one of the men. “I’m sorry to trouble you, but have you seen Hope?”
    â€œHope?” The man looked blank, but one of the women turned to face Charles. She pushed her eyeglasses up to her forehead and dabbed at her red-rimmed eyes with a ragged wad of tissues. “You must mean Hope Evans. She was here earlier, but she left as soon as we arrived. That must have been a couple of hours ago.”
    He found her in the lounge, in her usual corner. She had kicked off her sneakers and was sitting cross-legged in an armchair, hugging an open Bible. Her head rested against the high back of the chair and her eyes were closed. Her lips moved slightly, so Charles took the chair next to her and waited.
    Her eyes opened. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said wearily, her voice barely audible. “I wanted you.”
    â€œYou could have paged me,” he chided gently.
    She