Damaged Read online

  “Melody does it again. She reaches inside a hurting girl and gives her story a voice, writing it in a way so compelling that putting this book down is nearly impossible. Girls who have experienced this horrible thing will find someone who understands, and those who have not may find understanding of those who have as well as a reason to be watchful in relationships that seem so wonderful.”

  — LISSA HALLS JOHNSON, author of nineteen books,

  including Kirk Cameron: Still Growing

  NavPress is the publishing ministry of The Navigators, an international Christian organization and leader in personal spiritual development. NavPress is committed to helping people grow spiritually and enjoy lives of meaning and hope through personal and group resources that are biblically rooted, culturally relevant, and highly practical.

  For a free catalog go to www.NavPress.com

  or call 1.800.366.7788 in the United States or 1.800.839.4769 in Canada.

  © 2011 by Melody Carlson

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form without written permission from NavPress, P.O. Box 35001, Colorado Springs, CO 80935. www.navpress.com

  NAVPRESS, the NAVPRESS logo, TH1NK, and the TH1NK logo are registered trademarks of NavPress. Absence of ® in connection with marks of NavPress or other parties does not indicate an absence of registration of those marks.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-60006-950-5

  Cover design by Faceout Studio, Charles Brock

  Cover image by istockphoto.com

  Published in association with the literary agency of Sara A. Fortenberry

  Some of the anecdotal illustrations in this book are true to life and are included with the permission of the persons involved. All other illustrations are composites of real situations, and any resemblance to people living or dead is coincidental.

  Carlson, Melody.

  Damaged : a violated trust / Melody Carlson.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 978-1-60006-950-5

  I. Title.

  PZ7.C216637Dam 2011

  [Fic] — dc23

  2011020793

  Printed in the United States of America

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 / 15 14 13 12 11

  OTHER NOVELS BY MELODY CARLSON

  SECRETS Series

  Forgotten

  Shattered

  TRUECOLORS Series

  Bitter Rose

  Blade Silver

  Bright Purple

  Burnt Orange

  Dark Blue

  Deep Green

  Faded Denim

  Fool’s Gold

  Harsh Pink

  Moon White

  Pitch Black

  Torch Red

  Contents

  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 1].................

  To be fair, it’s not completely my mom’s fault that I’m moving out today. In some ways it feels like I’ve just outgrown her and it’s time to take a new path. Even so, as I shove my last load into the back of Dad’s SUV, balancing my guitar case on top of a confused heap of all my worldly goods, I feel guilty.

  “Ready to go, kiddo?” Dad closes the back door and smiles hopefully.

  I know he’s desperate to get out of here. He’s already attempted an exchange of words with my older brother, Sean. As I anticipated, it went badly and I can tell Dad’s eager to put as much distance as possible between himself and this place. It’s the same house he and Mom bought more than twenty years ago, and now he hates it like poison. Divorce is just like that.

  “I, uh, I think I should do one last check inside,” I tell him.

  He glances at his watch. “Well, make it snappy, okay? I have a racquetball game scheduled for tonight, and if we get out of here in the next few minutes, I think I can still make it.”

  I nod and hurry back into the house, where my mom is anchored to the same spot on the couch where she’s been sulking all morning. Still wearing her faded pink bathrobe and bed-head hair that’s even more dulled with streaks of gray, she looks like she’s about to cry again. She also looks a lot older than forty-two, not to mention a lot older than my dad. I’m sure she would lay the blame for her premature aging at my feet … or Dad’s.

  I desperately want to say something to her, something that will make this all okay. But I don’t have those magic words, so I hurry past the living room, down the hallway, and back to my old bedroom, where I just stand looking around the cleared-out space.

  My room, my private getaway for my entire life of sixteen years, has never looked so tidy … or so barren. But despite being stripped down to its scarred-up periwinkle walls, naked mattress, empty closet, and beat-up pine dresser, this space still feels weirdly familiar and strangely comforting. And for a brief moment I wonder if I need to rethink my decision to leave. Is this a mistake?

  “Did you forget something, Haley?”

  I turn to see my mom’s tired brown eyes peering curiously at me. Again, I wish I could invent the right words to say … something to make our parting less painful. Then Mom holds up my old Bible. At least I assume it’s my Bible. I haven’t seen it for a while.

  “Or maybe you meant to leave this behind?” She waves the light blue book in my face like she’s turning in state’s evidence.

  I won’t admit it, but the truth is I did mean to leave my Bible behind. But I just shrug, take the book from her, and tuck it under my arm.

  “I found it in the drawer of the coffee table.” The way she proclaims this feels like an insinuation, like I purposely hid it there.

  “I know this is hard for you, Mom.” My voice is tight. The words are sticking together like a big wad of gum. “I … I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Haley. I’ll be just fine. You’re the one who’s making a very big mistake.” She folds her arms across her front and frowns. She’s scowled so much lately that the expression will probably carve itself permanently into her face. Not that she cares much about her appearance. That’s obvious by the way she dressed to see my dad this morning — not. According to Mom, vanity is the Devil’s device.

  “I just can’t do this anymore. It’s too hard.” More than anything, I wish I hadn’t come back into the house, hadn’t tried to patch this up. How many times have I been down this road with her? I should know each step by heart. I do know this: It’s a dead end.

  “Then you should run away. Just like your father did. But don’t forget, even if you can run from me, you can’t run from God. He will eventually catch you — what he’ll do with you when he does …” She sighs and actually wrings her hands. “Well, it won’t be my responsibility.”

  “I’m sorry this is hurting you,” I quietly tell her. “I hope you know I still love you.”

  “I love you too, Haley. But you’re still making a big mistake. Your father has turned his back on God. If you go live with him, you’ll do the same.”

  “How can you know that?”

  “I know.” Her voice is getting stronger now, like she’s about to launch into another one of her sermons.

  I make a move toward the door but she blocks me.

  “Just because you don’t like my rules doesn’t mean they weren’t in your best interests. ‘A fool despises discipline, but a wise man welcomes a rebuke.’”

  “I know, I know.” I hold up my hands. “I
’ve heard all this before, Mom.”

  “You might hear with your ears, but your heart has gone deaf.”

  Okay, I realize my mistake. It’s useless trying to reason with a crazy woman. It’s like she thinks she’s God’s ordained prophetess, spewing her warnings and condemnations to anyone stupid enough to cross her path or listen. I am so tired of it. In fact, I have decided if that’s what God is really like — cold and judgmental and mean — then I guess Mom is right. I probably will turn my back on him.

  “I have to go,” I say in a controlled tone. “Dad is waiting.”

  “Oh yes, don’t keep the lying betrayer waiting. We wouldn’t want to inconvenience that loathsome sinner, now would we?”

  I know her words are the result of a lot of pain, and part of me wants to hug her one last time, but she looks so angry, as if she’s wrapped in a barbed-wire fence with a big Keep Out sign. “I love you, Mom, but I gotta go.”

  She steps aside but her expression is even frostier. “Just because the judge let you decide where to live doesn’t mean it’s the right decision, Haley. Man’s laws and God’s laws are not equal. Someday you will understand what a mistake you’ve made. But remember this — do not expect me to come rescue you when you fall flat on your face.”

  “I won’t.” I push past her, holding my tongue and knowing that nothing I can say will make any difference. Sometimes I truly think my mom is losing her sanity. To me the saying of “being so heavenly minded you’re no earthly good” is an understatement when it comes to my mom. I even said this to her once, but she simply launched into a sermon about how this earth was going to burn since it was all evil anyway. Whatever.

  I’m almost out the door when Sean stops me. “Take care, sis,” he mumbles, giving me a squeeze on the shoulder. For him, that’s quite demonstrative.

  “You take care too.” I give him another hug, but just like with the last one, when I said good-bye earlier, Sean doesn’t respond. He just stands there hard and cold, like a big boulder or a marble statue of my brother. I can almost imagine he’s still in his army uniform, except that back then, back before he left for the Middle East, his smile was genuine and his hug was like a big friendly teddy bear. He didn’t get injured in Iraq, not so you can see, but he is like the walking wounded now. He’s definitely not the same Sean McLean who marched off to war, and I don’t know if my other brother will ever come home. I look into his sad blue eyes. “If Mom gets to you,” I whisper, “you could always come out and live with Dad and me in California.”

  He just shakes his head. “Mom needs me.”

  “Yes.” I pat him on the back. “Maybe you can help her.” I tell him good-bye for the second time, then, blinking back tears, I jog out to the SUV, slide into the passenger seat, and let out a huge sigh.

  “Find what you were looking for?” Dad’s already starting the engine.

  I toss my well-worn Bible into the backseat and shrug, trying not to give in to crying like a baby. The whole point of doing this is to show Dad and the rest of the world that I am mature, nearly grown up. It won’t look good to break down and cry.

  “They’re going to be okay, Haley.”

  I turn and stare at him. “What makes you so sure?”

  “Oh, you know what they say, baby doll. Time heals all wounds.” He grins. “Or wounds all heels.”

  “Mostly … I worry about Sean.”

  He nods. “So do I.”

  “Mom’s always telling him to just pray his way through everything.”

  Dad shakes his head, but I can see his jaw tightening.

  “I think Sean might be able to get some help,” I go on. “I mean at the VA hospital. I read online that they’re doing some counseling and psychological evaluations and stuff. But when I told him about it, he said he didn’t need any help.”

  “Maybe he’s not ready.”

  “But he’s so miserable, Dad.”

  “I know. But sometimes people have to hit rock bottom before they look up and reach for help.”

  “Has that ever happened to you? I mean rock bottom.”

  Dad drums his fingers on the steering wheel with a thoughtful expression as he waits for the light to change. “I’m not really sure. I mean, I felt pretty low when I left your mom — that was rough and it might’ve been my rock bottom — but then I kind of bounced back too. But you know me, Haley, the perennial optimist.” He grins again, and I’m suddenly reminded of better times and how when my dad smiled it always seemed like the sun came out.

  “I think some optimism might be nice for a change.” I return his smile and start to relax inside.

  “So, how about some music? We’ve got a long drive ahead, and I’m going to need something to keep me awake after getting up at two in the morning to come pick you up.”

  “Music is good.”

  So Dad turns on his stereo, and while he rocks out to some old fogy tunes, I ponder over what I’m getting myself into. I’ve only been to my dad’s place twice. Once for Christmas and once for a couple of weeks the summer before last. But back then I never imagined that life with Mom would get so bad I’d actually choose my dad over her. I find it hard to believe that only three years ago, I was solidly on Mom’s side. So much so that it was difficult to visit my dad — since he was the traitor who’d run out on us.

  My parents split up shortly after my mom began going to a different church. I realize now that their marriage had already been in trouble, and she was looking for some answers. At first I thought this new church was just what she needed. Especially after the divorce. Her ladies’ Bible study group became her safety net. It even seemed to shake her out of her funk and bring her to life. And at first I didn’t mind going to church with her. It was definitely different from what I’d been used to, but I figured if it helped Mom, why not?

  But after a year of this new church, Mom started going off the deep end. It was about this same time that I started to question things, and as a result Mom and I started to argue. It didn’t help matters when I quit going to church with her. But what was I supposed to do, check my brain at the door? The pastor acted like everyone should just believe everything he said — like he was God’s gift to these poor lost sheep. And I have to say that a lot of the stuff he said was pretty weird.

  It didn’t take long until Mom started to sound just like the pastor. She was talking differently, thinking differently, acting differently. Almost like she’d been brainwashed. Anyway, I got the distinct impression I was losing her.

  On my fifteenth birthday, she surprised me — not by making a cake, not by getting me a present or even a card, but instead by hitting me with this: “God told me you are not to date until you turn eighteen, Haley Michelle.”

  Too shocked to respond, I just chalked it up to one more weird and fundamentalist thing she’d learned from her women’s group. I hoped it was only a phase, something she’d get over by the time a real opportunity to date occurred. But the no-dating rule only seemed to snowball. Not only was I not allowed to date until I was of voting age, I was not allowed to go to dances or other social gatherings where boys were present. Naturally that covered almost everything at my high school.

  Even though I rarely even had a conversation with a guy, I was lectured regularly on the evils of boys in general and was spied on more times than I can remember. It came to a head at the end of last school year.

  It was one of those delicious spring days, and I actually felt like a normal girl for a nice change. Bryce Thurston (my first and only boyfriend) was walking me home from school, and we were laughing and joking and holding hands — acting like what I assume normal teens are supposed to act like. And it was so fun!

  Of course, I had no idea my mom was hiding behind the Schulers’ hedge as Bryce and I passed by. Seriously, whose mom does that? I nearly had a heart attack when she leaped out from the shadows.

  “What do you think you are doing?” she demanded, shaking her finger at me.

  After recovering from the shock, I went into
embarrassment mode when I noticed she was wearing an ugly old Christmas sweater and matted pink fuzzy slippers. Naturally, Bryce excused himself and took off in the opposite direction.

  That was the day Mom decided she would find a way to afford the tuition at her church’s private academy — a pathetic little school with about twenty unfortunate kids between the ages of five and eighteen.

  A few days later, I did some online legal research and discovered that at sixteen, I was old enough to petition a judge for the right to live with my other parent. And that’s exactly what I did. Much to my mom’s displeasure, after I presented my case, the judge ruled in my favor. It helped that my grades were high and I’d never been in any kind of trouble. I even presented some letters from my teachers and school counselor. Also, the judge seemed familiar with Mom’s church and she didn’t agree with forcing one’s religion onto one’s young adult children. But it’s a bittersweet victory.

  As we get closer to the California border, I feel myself drifting off to the sound of my dad’s favorite band, the Eagles, playing “Hotel California.” “Such a lovely place … such a lovely face …” I imagine those lyrics are for me and hope I will be welcome here “any time of year.”

  ...[CHAPTER 2].................

  “Here we are,” Dad says as he pulls into his space in the condominium parking lot. “Home sweet home.”

  I hear the sarcasm in his voice, but I don’t really care. I’m just glad to get out of the car and stretch my legs. I’m surprised at how warm the air feels, especially for October. But then I’m not in Oregon anymore. Dad’s condominium is about thirty minutes from Fresno, where he works for a big insurance company. And while it’s not really Southern California, it feels like a different world to me. Instead of evergreen trees, there are palms, and the air feels dryer too.

  “Is the swimming pool still open?” I ask.

  “Oh, sure.” He opens the back of his SUV.

  “Looks like not much has changed around here.” I reach for my guitar case and another bag.

  “Nah, but sometimes that’s a good thing.” He grabs a plastic crate and a duffle bag. “Let’s get this stuff unloaded ASAP, okay?”