Let It Be Me by Becky Wade (top young adult novels .TXT) 📕

He’d been on her mind every waking minute since. And many of her non-waking minutes, too. After their first date, both her old anxiety dreams and her wonderful Sebastian dreams had given way to silky, dreamless sleep. But last night he’d finally visited her in her dreams again. They’d been caught in a sandstorm in the desert, but when he’d taken her into his arms, a globe of safety had formed around them that the sand hadn’t been able to penetrate.

“Thank you for helping me with Claire,” she said.

“You’re welcome.” His hard jawline didn’t soften. “If she calls you again and asks you to come to her house, will you promise me that you won’t go over there alone?”

She couldn’t remember the last time someone had asked her to promise to behave in a certain way. Which might speak to her independence. Or to her good choices. Or to the fact that not many people were close enough to her to care about her safety.

Before she could formulate an answer, they reached a stoplight. He gazed at her. “If something violent is happening with Claire, do you agree that you should call the police and let them handle it?”

“I do.”

“And if the situation’s troubling but not violent, like today, and you decide to pick her up, I still think you should bring someone. Me, if I’m in town. But since I’m usually not, maybe Ben. Or Ben’s dad, Hersh.”

“I waited for you today because I agree that it’s important to have someone with me if I’m going to drive a student. For many reasons. One being that I’ll have a corroborating witness should a student try to accuse me of doing something I didn’t do.”

“Right. The bottom line here, though, is that Claire’s dad has a temper and a gun. Please promise me that you won’t go to Claire’s house alone.”

“I promise.”

They were five minutes late to the show. An usher had to scurry them to their seats with a penlight. The predicament with Claire had disturbed Sebastian. But as the musical progressed, she sensed his stress level lowering.

By the time they exited the theater, the storm front had tugged away the rain. They strolled Misty River’s quaint downtown on sidewalks glimmering with puddles. They passed the central park, numerous shops, a smattering of office spaces, The Grind coffee shop, the Doughnut Hut. Sitting together at a table with a view of the steel blue river below, they ate an early dinner at Cork and Knife.

She liked him so foolishly much that she experienced a twist of delight each time she remembered that he’d be in town all week, and she’d get to see him every day.

Leah! she said to herself when he gave her a heated look that sent a warm pulse to the backs of her knees. It’s nice to hang out with him, but it’s fine to be apart, too. It’s not like he’s the most important person in your life. It’s not as if you suddenly have to see him every day or die.

Only the words fell like stones plunking into a hollow barrel. While they might have merit, they possessed no power.

I’ve been thinking about what you said to me,” Leah told Dylan the following day. “About how I’m too strict because I’m trying to control you.”

“Yeah?”

They traveled to church in her car every Sunday, so her brother was, effectively, her hostage until she returned him home and he had access to his bedroom or car keys. After the worship service, she’d brought him here, to a dive called The Junction, in hopes that his desire to fill his belly with fried chicken would make him more amenable to talking with her.

“You made some good points,” she continued. “Perhaps I have been trying to control you in an effort to gain control over my life in general.”

He watched her as he chewed.

She stacked her hands on the booth’s laminate tabletop. “When Doves Cry” played on the jukebox. “I know that God’s the one in control and not me. But it really is easy to labor under the misapprehension—”

“Huh?”

“It really is easy to think that I have some control over what happens to you. The more control I imagine myself to have, the safer I feel.”

She’d done some soul-searching and realized that she’d gotten in the bad habit of relying on herself for the majority of Dylan’s welfare and letting God “assist” with the rest. She wanted to trust God with all of it, as she had when she’d first taken over custody of her brother. And yet . . .

All of it? He was a teenager now, capable of making life-threatening mistakes.

“I don’t want to be a controlling person,” she said. “I want to be a person who trusts God.”

Grease shined on Dylan’s fingertips, which still gripped the chicken. “Does this mean you’re going to let me do more stuff?”

“Potentially, yes. We’ll talk about the things you want to do and decide on a case-by-case basis. I’ll do my best to keep an open mind and view you as what you are now: a high school senior.”

“Almost old enough to vote.”

Lord, help us all.

“This is great timing,” he said. “Braxton’s family is going skiing over Christmas break, and he wants me to come along.”

Lord! Help us all! “Mmm.”

“Also, it would be really cool if you could stop warning me about teenage suicide, drinking, drugs, and everything else.”

“Don’t push your luck, Dylan.”

Dylan took another bite. The crispy skin of his chicken leg crackled. “If you stop all the warnings, I’ll watch Return of the Jedi with you after this.”

“You will?”

“Yep.”

“I’ll take you up on that, darling boy of my heart.”

On Tuesday morning, Sebastian came face to face with a ghost from his past.

He was passing the gas station on the way to Ingles to get groceries when he recognized a blue 1974 Chevy C-10 truck at one of the pumps.

Sebastian U-turned. The C-10 was a