A Future and a Hope Read online

  A Future and a Hope

  © 2018 by David Mathews

  All rights reserved

  ISBN: 978-1-62020-830-4

  eISBN: 978-1-62020-836-6

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, contact the publisher using the information below.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are all products of the author’s imagination or are used for fictional purposes. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Any mentioned brand names, places, and trademarks remain the property of their respective owners, bear no association with the author or the publisher, and are used for fictional purposes only.

  Scripture quotations are taken from The ESV® Bible (The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®). ESV® Text Edition: 2016. Copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. The ESV® text has been reproduced in cooperation with and by permission of Good News Publishers. Unauthorized reproduction of this publication is prohibited. All rights reserved.

  I Believe The Answer’s On The Way, written by Merrill E. Dunlop. Copyright © 1936 New Spring Publishing Inc. (ASCAP) (adm. at CapitolCMGPublishing.com) All rights reserved. Used by permission.

  Cover Design & Typesetting by Hannah Nichols

  Ebook Conversion by Anna Riebe Raats

  Author Photo by David Denney

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  The colophon is a trademark of Ambassador, a Christian publishing company.

  To everyone who, at one time or another,

  ever doubted the goodness of God.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I would like to give a shout out to Jeff Edwards and Edwards Drive-In / Dashboard Diner, 2126 Sherman Dr., Indianapolis, Indiana, for providing the real-life inspiration behind the 50s-style diner in this book. You really do serve the best tenderloins and onion rings.

  I greatly appreciate my senior pastor, Dr. Jon Young, for taking time from his busy schedule to read the manuscript and review it for theological content and accuracy. You have a true servant’s heart.

  I am deeply indebted to my editor, Daphne Self, who, with all the skills of an experienced surgeon lobotomized my brainchild, but in the procedure saved its life.

  I am thankful for my wonderful wife, Donna, who is the love of my life, my best friend, my sister in Christ, and my partner in capital “A” adventure. Were it not for your encouragement, input, and patience, this story would never have been written.

  Most importantly, I am grateful to my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, Who died on a cross to pay my sin debt and rose again to give me the hope of eternal life. Thank You for loving me with Your everlasting love and having a plan for my life that is for my good and not my harm.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright Information

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Part One

  Chapter One: First Contact

  Chapter Two: Two Coats and One Horse

  Chapter Three: I Quit!

  Chapter Four: One Big Misunderstanding

  Chapter Five: Flying High Until the Wings Fall Off

  Chapter Six: Facing the Opposition

  Chapter Seven: A Place for Ellie

  Chapter Eight: A New Creation

  Chapter Nine: The Blessed Ones

  Chapter Ten: Full of Surprises

  Part Two

  Chapter Eleven: My Fiancée is Missing!

  Chapter Twelve: Some News is Good News

  Chapter Thirteen: Detectives and Donuts

  Chapter Fourteen: Dead End

  Chapter Fifteen: Starting Over

  Chapter Sixteen: A Resurrection of Hope

  Chapter Seventeen: The Confrontation

  Chapter Eighteen: Getting to Know You

  Chapter Nineteen: The Fruit of Forgiveness

  Chapter Twenty: Déjà vu All Over Again

  Chapter Twenty-One: Full Circle

  About the Author

  Contact Information

  Did You Enjoy This Book?

  PART ONE

  CHAPTER ONE

  FIRST CONTACT

  THE SHARP JANGLE OF THE bell pierced the library-like quietness of Baxter High School’s main hallway. A moment later, as if choreographed, doors flung open and rivers of students and sound poured from classrooms, flooding the corridor and displacing the echoes and emptiness. Against the swirling sea of academia, students somehow managed to navigate back to their lockers with the skill of a driver facing the oncoming traffic of a one-way street.

  A loud “Wahoo!” arose above the cacophony of noise. Dodging bodies with the agility of an All-American running back, an exuberant Caleb Sawyer zigged and zagged his way through the hordes of humanity at high velocity.

  From the safety of his classroom doorway, the biology teacher bellowed his usual “Where’s the fire, Sawyer?” to which the speeding senior responded with his usual “Sorry, Mr. Hartsock!” but with little noticeable reduction in miles per hour.

  He meant no disrespect. It’s just that, after sitting through class after class from morning to afternoon, his pent-up energy simply needed a safety valve.

  “Hey, dude!” The sound of B.J. Martin’s voice accomplished what Mr. Hartsock could not. Caleb eased off the throttle, executed a tight U-turn in the middle of the hallway, and cruised back to his best friend’s locker. He shot B.J. a wry look.

  “Don’t you know it’s Friday, man? Freedom calls!”

  B.J. scrambled to unload his books. “What time you gotta be back here for the Jamboree?”

  “Coach says six-thirty. Dressed and on the field by seven.” He grimaced. “Not a good idea to be late for the first game!”

  “You got time to go to Edwards first?” B.J. asked.

  “I’ve got some things to do at home, but I can be there around five-thirty. But just long enough to grab something to eat. What time you gonna be there?”

  B.J. buried his face in the locker. “Five, maybe. Fills up pretty early on game nights. Want me to save you a seat?”

  Caleb didn’t reply. He stared down the hallway.

  B.J. repeated his question without looking up. “Want me to save you a seat?”

  Still staring, Caleb answered absentmindedly, “Uh, yeah . . . fine.”

  B.J. disengaged himself from his locker, and glanced up quizzically. “Hey, Einstein! Did I lose you back there somewhere?” He spelled it out slowly for his friend. “Do. You. Want. Me. To. Save. You. A. Seat?”

  He followed Caleb’s gaze.

  About fifty feet down the hall, Ellie Thompson stood in front of her locker loading books into her backpack. With beautiful brown eyes, a nice but somewhat shy smile, and long wavy auburn hair that bounced when she walked, she was just the kind of girl that turned heads.

  “Ellie Thompson?” B.J. shook his head incredulously and gave an evil grin. “Out of your league, pal!”

  Caleb snapped out of his trance. “What do you mean, ‘out of my league’?” He squared his shoulders. “How do you know she’s out of my league?”


  “Well just look at her. She’s gorgeous! And a straight ‘A’ student. Might even challenge Monica Stedwell for class valedictorian.”

  Caleb snorted in disbelief. “How could you possibly know that? Did she tell you her GPA or something? I heard she pretty much keeps to herself and hardly talks to anybody.”

  B.J. threw up his hands defensively, “Hey, all I know is that Jaimee Starrett volunteers in the records office, and she just happened to see her grade transcripts on Miss Johnson’s desk the first day of school.”

  “And why don’t you think I’d stand a chance with a gorgeous, straight ‘A’ student?” Caleb pressed.

  B.J. smirked. “I’m just trying to keep you away from her so I have a better chance myself!”

  Caleb feigned offense. “Aha! The truth finally comes out! Some friend you are!” He playfully punched his friend in the arm.

  “Ow!” B.J. rubbed the spot gingerly. “Well, she definitely isn’t gonna be easy to get to know. Chris Miller was hitting on her the first day of school and got shot down big-time! So did Kenny Wilson. I mean, I’ve heard she’s okay and all. Not stuck up or anything. But it’s almost like she doesn’t want anyone to get close to her.”

  “You gonna take somebody else’s word for that?” Caleb raised one eyebrow. “How do you know that’s true unless you talk to her yourself?”

  B.J. stared sheepishly at his shoes. “I tried. And got nowhere.” He looked up and added, “Just like everybody else!” Staring down the hall at her, he sighed wistfully, “She sure is a challenge.”

  Caleb resolutely planted his feet. “Well, I happen to like a challenge! And I don’t give up so easily.” With all the false bravado he could muster, he announced, “With her kind you gotta keep things light and easy. Slow and steady. And have patience. Lots of patience! That’s how it’s done, bro.” Patting B.J. on the back, he glanced down the hallway. “Wish me luck!”

  His friend shook his head. “Okay, pal. Your funeral!” Caleb turned and headed in Ellie’s direction. B.J. called after him, “But don’t count on me being there for it!”

  Caleb glanced over his shoulder and shot his friend a confident grin.

  “I’ll give you a progress report at Edwards!”

  The sharp jangle of the bell pierced the ghost-like fog in Caleb Sawyer’s brain. A groan emanated from somewhere deep within his body. A thought pierced the haze like a laser beam. That sound was annoying!

  For the next forty-five minutes he would be confined to a school desk with no chance for early parole. Not that he hated learning. He just loved the idea of freedom more. Perhaps he was a kinesthetic learner. Another thought materialized with greater clarity. What if this bell signaled the end of last period?

  That would change everything! Funny that he couldn’t distinguish between the two.

  Caleb blinked and opened his eyes. It was not the cold, harsh florescent lights of the classroom that assaulted his eyes, but the warm, soft rays of the early morning sun. And that teeth-grinding sound was not the bell in the school hallway, but the alarm clock in his own bedroom. With great effort, he rolled onto his right side, managed to locate the offending timepiece, and put it out of its misery.

  He struggled upright in bed. The fog was almost gone now. He glanced at the clock. It was eight o’clock Saturday morning.

  Somehow he’d forgotten how hard it was to get up the morning after a football game. However, if he didn’t get a move on, he’d be late for work. He begrudgingly surrendered to the inevitable, and climbed out of bed. After stretching his slightly sore muscles, Caleb began to dress.

  He liked his job at the Pet Palace near the Southridge mall. It was a really fun place to work. Stocking shelves, mopping floors, and cleaning cages wasn’t all that much fun, but the joy of interacting with the puppies and kittens more than made up for those other responsibilities. Last year, Karen Waters had come into the store and teased him mercilessly for being such a big softy. But he hadn’t let it bother him at all. Instead, he’d talked her into buying a Yorkie.

  Caleb ran a comb through his sandy-brown hair, and grabbed his wallet and keys off the nightstand. Then after glancing at his rumpled bedding with the best of intentions, he headed downstairs for a quick breakfast. His parents were already at the table, along with his ten-year-old pest of a sister, Cassie.

  His mother greeted him with her usual morning cheerfulness. “Glad to see you up. How’s my Cherub today?”

  Thankfully she only called him that at home. No matter how old he was, or how much trouble he got into, he would always be her little angel. After all, weren’t moms supposed to feel that way about their kids?

  Managing a “G’morning” he plunked down at the table and began to shovel frosted cinnamon cereal into his mouth.

  “How’s my Cherub this morning?” Cassie mimicked her mother. “I’m glad to see my little Poopsie-Whoopsie Bear at the table!” She giggled at her own cleverness. Instead of his usual response he tousled her hair. He was sure there would be many more opportunities for revenge.

  “Quit it, Caleb!” She pulled away, still giggling.

  His father glanced up from the morning paper. “I heard you had a pretty good game last night, son. Sorry I got back from Columbus too late to catch it.”

  “That’s okay,” Caleb managed, his mouth full of cereal.

  “How many yards did you end up with?”

  “I dunno. Thirty or thirty-five I guess. Only four catches, though. Main thing is we won.”

  “Not bad for the Jamboree. You can count on us being at all your regular-season games,” his father promised.

  “Last night coach was trying out different receivers. But he said I ran some really good routes and he noticed my blocking is improving. I should get more playing time against Cairo next week.”

  “Keep this up, and we may get to see you play at UGA next fall!”

  Caleb laughed at his father’s encouraging tone. He was only an average high school football player in an average small-town football program. Even if he did try out as a walk-on for the SEC powerhouse Bulldogs, realistically there was no chance he would ever make the roster, let alone take the field in storied Sanford Stadium on game day. One thing he knew for sure, “Rudy” Ruettiger he was not!

  Besides, he had no real desire to pursue the sport after graduation. He would be content to cheer for the team from the student section.

  His mother changed the subject just as he inhaled the last of his cereal. “I didn’t get to ask you last night how school went this week. Anything interesting happen?”

  For as long as he could remember, she had never failed to ask that question at the end of each school week. He glanced at the clock over the kitchen sink and stood up, draining the last of the orange juice from his glass. “Um, nothing this week.”

  The look his mom gave made it perfectly clear that his succinct reply had not satisfied her need for conversation. He fumbled for a lengthier and more appeasing response. “Mr. Hartsock told me to slow down in the hall again yesterday.”

  Failing this latest attempt at meaningful dialogue, he planted a grin on his face and a kiss on her forehead.

  He grabbed his jacket which hung by the back door. “I’ll be late for work. Bye!” Then he fled the house and headed for the Pet Palace.

  No reason to mention his encounter with Ellie Thompson the previous afternoon. That game hadn’t ended as well as the one on the football field.

  For most of the students at Baxter High School, it was lunchtime on the Wednesday after Jamboree weekend. But for Caleb, it was lunchtime on the Wednesday after Ellie Thompson’s brush-off. Today, as usual, he sat at the round cafeteria table with B.J. and some of their friends. He didn’t feel much like joining their animated conversation which, when combined with the loud chatter of the other forty or so circles in the cavernous cafeteria, assaulted the ears of anyone entering through the heavy double doors from the relative hush of the corridor beyond.

  He tried participating but resign
ed himself to the role of listener. When that proved difficult, he let his mind drift back to the subject of Ellie. For the past four days he had not been able to get her out of his mind. The unpleasant memory of their awkward Friday afternoon encounter had not diminished in the least. He’d determined that the best course of action to engage Ellie into conversation would be to ease into the situation by approaching her as nonchalantly as he knew how. Lighthearted conversation and chit-chat was sure to do the trick. That was the idea, but then he’d discovered that Ellie didn’t much care for lighthearted conversation and chit-chat. Instead, she’d avoided his direct gaze, and when she’d replied, it was to the back of her locker or into her backpack. Maybe she was just shy. Extremely shy. No. It wasn’t shyness.

  She hadn’t been shy so much as she’d been evasive. As if she were guarding a secret she didn’t want to reveal. Maybe it was something about herself, or about where she came from—wherever that was. He thought back to his conversation with B.J. He had basically said the same thing about her. A thought crossed his mind, one that assuaged his bruised ego and offered a sliver of comfort. At least she hadn’t treated him rudely like he’d anticipated.

  And while she hadn’t been exactly friendly, she hadn’t shot him down either. At least, not like she’d shot down Chris Miller or Kenny Wilson. Or even B.J., for that matter. She’d ended his attempts at conversation by making some excuse for having to be at some appointment somewhere, and then she’d scurried off. No sir, that didn’t qualify as being shot down. Not in the technical sense. He shook off his thoughts and returned to the present.

  B.J. and his other friends were still going strong. Thankfully no one seemed to notice his withdrawal from the conversation. He let his gaze drift around the cafeteria. A group of cliquish cheerleaders sat isolated at their usual table. So did some of the nerds. Several of his teammates, along with their girlfriends, had pushed two tables together and were huddled up as if on the football field, loudly engaged in teenage testosterone-filled braggadocio. The rest of the cafeteria was abuzz with students coming and going; some in the food line, some seated, some heading for the tray-return window. Caleb’s gaze swept past the table in the far corner of the room, and then returned to it.