House of Secrets

www.worshipprojectfoundation.com

Chapter 1

At twenty-seven, it feels silly to admit that my biggest fear in life is getting a certain phone call. You know the kind I mean—where someone announces they’ve arranged for your family to be on one of those hideous daytime television talk shows. Screaming, yelling, family secrets upchucked for all the viewers to see. What’s worse, our family is a trash TV dream-come-true.

I would like to tell you I’ve exaggerated, but I can’t. As the oldest of three girls, I’ve long been the headmistress in our strange house of secrets.

My sister Geena turned twenty-three last February. She’s always been the genius in the family; she devoured college like a two-year-old with a bowl of sugar-laden cereal and moved right on to a main course of law school. She also is model thin and a bit taller than me, which irritated me to no end when I hit my teens and people thought she was the oldest. All three of us have brown hair, but Geena’s is more a dark blond, almost a burnt gold, and long. Mine is a deeper brown, and I usually grab it back in a clip to keep it out of my face.

Our little sister, Piper, graduated college last month. At twenty-one she’s all moodiness and distraction. Petite and delicate and pretty, Piper has always had hauntingly elfish features, with dark brown hair worn in a stylish bob. She also grew into the spitting image of our dead mother. I often wondered if it unnerved our father as much as it did me, but of course, I would never ask that question aloud.

In the Cooper family, we learned early to never ask questions. Those only stirred up conflict, and conflict was unacceptable.

Then there’s me. Being the eldest, I fit the stereotype—conscientious, responsible, a workaholic . . . probably more than a tad dull. Which may be why I found myself sitting in a rather old-fashioned, stuffy conference room listening to a barrage of reasons for why I should immediately accept the job being offered.

The vice president of the company, Ron Delahunt, leaned forward on the polished oak table. We have been pleased with the work you’ve done, Bailee. A full-time position with Masters and Delahunt Publishing is yours if you want it. I’d been working for just over three years in my current position as a freelance editor, so the fact that I was being offered a job heading up the freelance editorial team was quite an honor.

I gave a sidelong glance at Mark Delahunt—Ron’s son and my immediate supervisor. Not to mention the heir apparent to the throne. Mark was yet another difficult part of my life. My brain kept telling me he was everything I could want in a man—if I would only allow myself to want one. Given my history, however, I was determined to go through life solo. It would have been something akin to cruelty to force anyone else to endure what the Cooper family had to offer. Don’t get me wrong; I’d tried to have a boyfriend. When I was younger I convinced myself not once but twice that I could overcome the past and all the ugly issues that surround my family. But just as I started to give my heart—began to believe I could actually trust another person—something happened and I retreated to my fortress of solitude. Twice, as I mentioned.

The other day I figured I’d spent something like four hundred hours in therapy to learn that I’ve got trust and abandonment issues. I could have figured that out on my own, saving myself time and my father a great deal of money. Mark’s grin drew me back into the present.

I need to consider your offer, I said trying hard to sound nonchalant about the entire matter. It wasn’t every day that an offer of this magnitude came along, and frankly it would be the answer to a lot of my problems. However, it would also cause problems. For instance, I would need to leave Boston and move to New York City. That would mean leaving my sisters.

Take as much time as you need, Ron said, getting up from the table. His assistant, Madge, quickly gathered the papers he’d left and got to her feet. Madge had been working here nearly as long as the publishing house had been in operation. Rumor held that she would retire at the end of the year, but as we’d seen with numerous sports figures who retired only to reappear the following season, I didn’t believe Madge was going anywhere.

Mark can further explain the benefits, Ron said as he moved to the door. I have a four o’clock across town and need to leave. Good to see you again, Bailee.

And just as quickly as he’d entered the room a half hour earlier, he was gone. I saw Mark’s assistant, Sandy, peek into the room. You two want any coffee? I’m making a run.

I smiled. A skinny latte sounds great.

Make mine a mocha latte, Mark declared.

Sandy nodded. Be back in a jiff.

Once the door was closed, I turned to Mark. Did you know he was going to do this today?

He smiled and ran his hand through his wavy brown hair. I did. I suppose I should have mentioned it, but I thought you might prefer to be surprised.

You know I hate surprises. I leaned back and studied him for a moment. Mark and I had a history that went back several years. And in the course of that time, I’d never failed to appreciate his rugged good looks.

Well, you know these opportunities are few and far between. You’d be in charge of all the freelance projects and represent those editors at the editorial meetings.

I know, Mark. Believe me, I feel rather honored that your family would take a chance on someone as young as me.

Well, we kind of like you around here.

Which in and of itself complicated matters. Mark liked me, and I liked Mark. Maybe too much. He had the heart of a poet, the mind of Einstein, and the face of . . . well, let me just say the man was definitely dealt a fair hand in the looks department. Several business magazine covers featured his impish grin and smiling blue eyes, and rumors buzzed that a top fashion magazine wanted to cast him as the spokesperson for the hottest new clothing line aimed at career-minded women.

Look, why don’t you stick around the city this weekend? Mark leaned toward me. You can stay at the apartment Dad mentioned—the one you’d be offered if you take the job. You can get a feel for it and see what you think. You and I could take in a show—maybe do some sightseeing or go to the art museum. Then on Sunday you could go to church with me.

And there was the other reason I needed to be careful where Mark Delahunt was concerned: He had all these nicely arranged beliefs in a God who cared and loved him enough to intercede when bad times threatened. That was a god I didn’t know—didn’t believe existed.

I need to get home. I shouldn’t even wait for the coffee. I got to my feet and gathered my things. Opening my case, I stuffed them inside without worrying about the order of things. I have people counting on me, as you know.