Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
HANNAH GRACE
I roll over, my hands brushing the plush fabric of my warm, soft comforter.
It’s only been a few hours since I went to bed. Ugh, why am I awake?
You’re not . Stop thinking and get back to your dream .
Blue lights up my bedroom as lightning arcs across the sky and thunder rumbles, rattling the window.
That’s what it is. The storm must have woken me.
How many nights have I fallen asleep to the sound of rain outside my window? But this storm isn’t the gentle noise that will lull me to sleep. The lightning flashes in dramatic sweeps of blue through my room.
“Sleep, Hannah Grace.”
If only it were that easy. My students won’t care if I don’t sleep tonight. But they require all my energy, and I try to will myself to sleep.
Only my brain starts to think about parent-teacher conferences next week. And the special holiday project I’ll be starting with the kids in the next few weeks.
Another flash, followed by the echo of thunder. I keep my eyes closed, breathing deeply and trying to pretend that the rumbles are just leftover white noise from that phone app I use sometimes.
“Fine.” I’ll read for a while.
It wouldn’t be the first time I fell asleep while losing myself in a book.
Only a glance at my phone tells me that we’ve lost power, and I don’t want to risk my phone running down and not having my alarm wake me up.
After yesterday’s field trip, I’m tired. I should be asleep right now.
Leaning against my headboard, I snuggle into my pillow and smooth the covers over me, letting my fingers drift against the soft material, and keep my gaze fastened to the window.
Another flash.
One-Mississippi. Two-Mississippi. Three ? —
Thunder vibrates the windowpane, and I take a deep breath and blow it out.
I repeat the steps for every lightning flash and echoing sound until the storm grows more faint, becoming only a distant memory. The gentle patter of rain taps against the house and my eyelids grow heavy. My fingers stop their pattern on the comforter and I take another deep breath, blowing it out, as my lids flutter shut.
The rain loses momentum as I drift, wishing that I had opened my window so I could smell the rain-soaked yard, have the light breeze blow through.
I’m going to get up and do that.
Right after this next breath.
Hours later, the noise from my alarm on my phone wakes me earlier than I’m ready after my midnight storm. I toss back the covers and sit on the edge of the bed, turning to look at the window where the light gray of the pre-dawn filters through the blinds.
“Time to wake up, Hannah Grace.” My mumble echoes around the room.
I stand and head for the bathroom, flipping on the radio to fill the silence as I get ready for the day. But my day spent with twenty five-year-olds is a lot different for wardrobe choices than my days spent as Miss Tennessee. I love the fact that my job involves comfortable shoes decorated with cartoon dogs as opposed to the three-inch heels I don’t miss wearing.
Ignoring all those boxes in the closet, I grab a pair of light pink pants and a black-and-white polka-dotted shirt then grab my denim jacket that hangs on the hook just inside my closet door. I shrug it on just in case the morning is cool after the storm and tug my long blonde ponytail out from the collar.
My mirror shows someone who is poised, ready to take on the challenge of keeping twenty small children focused on a variety of tasks for the day. By the time I make it back to my bedroom, the sun is shining around the blinds, and I walk over and spin the rod to let more of it in. A few flicks of my wrist and my bed is remade and I’m ready to head out for the day. Five more minutes and I need to leave if I want to be at school on time.
As I walk by my dresser, my foot lands on the squeaky floorboard I keep meaning to google how to fix, and something sparkly that peeks out from under my dresser catches my attention. I squat down and snag the small travel bottle of my perfume wedged under the narrow opening between my dresser and the floor.
“Why is my purse perfume in here?”
I always keep it in my purse. I even painted a little pink circle on the bottom of it in nail polish so I knew I liked this one more than the other one that is also in my bag. It must have rolled out of my bag when I switched out my purses last week.
“Hannah Grace, if your head wasn’t attached…” I may be saying the words, but it’s Mom’s voice that echoes through my memories.
How often had I heard those words as a kid?
I spin the perfume through my fingers, dropping it into my purse once I’m in the kitchen where my bags are. My gaze snags on the time on the clock on the stove as it flashes and I groan. I forgot about the power going out. Tapping on my phone, my body freezes as I realize that somewhere in getting ready, I’ve lost those five minutes I needed to be to school on time plus another five.
“Shit.”
I wrench open the fridge and grab my lunch—thank God I packed it last night—and then shoulder my purse and school bag off the table, rushing toward the detached garage and my little crossover SUV I bought myself when I won Miss Tennessee. The universe cuts me a break with a light commute, and I screech into the lot of the elementary school ten minutes later—earning several glares from parents waiting in front of the school with their kids.
I attempt to ignore the curious looks, hunching my shoulders and ducking my head as I scan my ID and slide through the doors as soon as they’re wide enough to let me. I come up short, my shoulder bag strap catching on the door handle and yanking me back. My lunch bag goes flying into the lobby while I struggle with the tangled strap.
“Of course.”
“Morning, HG. Rough one?” Zach Nolan steps out of the gym wearing athletic shorts and a hoodie, a whistle hanging off his lanyard that is centered across his broad chest.
Zach replaced the gym teacher who retired here my second year of teaching. He’s one of the few teachers at Meadow Ridge Elementary that is close to my age, and he and I bonded over being the younger generation with mostly seasoned peers who continued to retire year after year.
“You have no idea,” I say, pulling my strap free of the door.
Freaking finally.
I start down the early primary hallway, and Zach falls into step beside me.
“You’re usually here earlier than I am.” He looks over and shoots me a smile.
Not for the first time, I wish I could be attracted to Zach. He’s cute—blond hair, blue eyes, boy-next-door good looks—but no matter how hard I’ve tried, I can’t create something out of nothing.
It isn’t fair to me. Or to him. He’s made it clear plenty of times he’d be interested in more. And I’ve ignored every subtle and not-so-subtle hint.
“I like getting here early.” I push him and he chuckles but doesn’t budge.
Rude .
“You’ve told me that before.”
My classroom is the second in the hallway and I walk in, my eyes landing on a cup of coffee steaming on my desk.
“Oh my God, have I told you lately how much I love you?” I ask, dropping my bags and grabbing the coffee.
Seriously , fall in love with him already!
If only it was that easy.
He smirks.
“Last week when I ordered lunch in when you forgot yours,” he reminds me.
Neither of us will risk the cafeteria food unless we absolutely have to. I had planned to order something, but there hadn’t been time. I had resigned myself to the cafeteria special that day when Zach popped into my classroom with two takeout bags in his hand.
“It’ll be my treat next time.”
“Yeah. We’ll see.” He hands me my lunch box.
“I will.”
He lifts his hands with a laugh.
“Okay, okay. So why are you skating in here”—he looks at the clock above my door—“fifteen minutes before school starts? Hot date?”
I hide my grimace behind my mug as I take another drink.
Dating and I don’t mix. And I’m done trying after the last two first dates I went on ended up in disaster. Both of which I relayed to Zach over the phone when I got home after each date.
“I swore off dating, remember? No, I…I have to tell you something.”
“What? What’s up?” He leans against my bookcase and crosses his ankles.
He really is athletic. Even I can admit he’s good-looking. But sparks? Nope. None.
Darn it.
“Did it storm at your house last night?” I ask.
“Yeah. Briefly. Did it hit your house too?”
I nod.
“It woke me up.”
“Okay?” Zach gestures for me to keep going.
“Storms don’t normally wake me up. But, that’s not the weirdest thing that happened.”
“What?”
I move closer, dropping my voice to a whisper.
“Zach, something weird happened.”
“Weird with you can mean any number of things, HG.”
I roll my eyes but don’t argue the point. Because there’s too much truth in it to argue.
“This is going to sound stupid.”
“Try me.”
He lifts his eyebrows and crosses his arms, waiting.
I take a deep breath and let it out in a sigh before I take another drink of my coffee.
“My purse perfume was under the dresser in my room.”
“Huh?” His brow is furrowed and he studies me like I just told him I’m quitting my job to go back into pageants. “HG, how are these two related?”
I shrug. “I’m not sure, but it’s creepy, right? Like what if someone was there and that’s what woke me up?”
“I won’t repeat myself about the true crime before bed?—”
“So what are you doing now?” I ask.
“I’m sure it was weird but?—”
“This”—I reach in and grab the little bottle and shake it in his direction—“was under my dresser this morning.”
“But that’s your purse perfume.”
“I know!”
“How did it get in your room?”
“I don’t know.”
“Didn’t you tell me last week about the window you accidentally left open? The one you thought you closed?” he asks.
My purse perfume was just the latest in a lot of recent abnormal circumstances.
“You’re right. I forgot about that.”
“Did you ever remember for sure?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“No, I just figured I was going crazy and left the window open when I woke up that morning.”
But I never did that.
So why had my bedroom window been open?
“HG, I tease you a lot about watching true crime before bed, but…” He smiles, a dimple popping to the right of his mouth.
“But I haven’t been. Not for the last two weeks.”
His smile fades.
“I think maybe you ought to have someone check your locks and windows. I could come take a look if you want. After school?”
“You don’t need a reason to come hang out. But sure, if it makes you feel better.”
“It would make me feel better if you called the cops to tell them about all this.”
“They wouldn’t take me seriously.”
“They won’t unless you try.”
“And tell them what, my purse perfume was under my dresser and I may or may not have forgotten about leaving my bedroom window open?” I scoff. “There’s no proof.”
He opens his mouth, but I cut him off.
“If you want, come over and check my windows and doors. I’ll make dinner and we can hang out. I’ll even call the pageant people. They helped me before.”
Right after I won Miss Tennessee, I’d gotten a ton of fan mail and responded to every letter personally. Most from little girls who wanted to know what it felt like to wear a real crown. But one had stood out. The original letter from Eric was a congratulations followed by a request for advice on how to build confidence. We’d written back and forth half a dozen times before the tone of his letters changed. From sweet and thoughtful to full-on love letters filled with flowery prose. I’d ignored the confession and tried to keep up the platonic nature of our original letters. But then the confessions turned to graphic details of what he wanted to do with me. To me. The last one was the most explicit of all and included a picture of me while I was out one day running errands.
When I called the pageant people, I turned all the letters over to them and they stopped.
I had shared everything with Zach before, and he nods at the reminder.
“That’s a good idea. Hopefully they can help again. Do you want me to plan on crashing on your couch for a few days?”
I smile, picturing Zach’s tall frame crammed on my tiny couch the one time he fell asleep over here after a late move night.
“No. It’ll be okay. But I would appreciate the lock and door check.”
“It’s the least I can do.”
The bell rings and I follow him to the door of my classroom.
“The kids have music this morning, so I’ll reach out to the pageant people then.”
“Promise?”
I lift my hand and cross my index finger over my heart.
The herd of kids heads our direction and I nod.
“Promise.”