Coming May 3, 2026!
Life can change in the blink of an eye.
Dani wants nothing more than to keep teaching the sweet children she loves in the special ed classroom at the elementary school, but with her mental health deteriorating at an alarming rate, that dream seems out of reach. And when she accepts her teenage sister’s emotional plea to travel across the country to visit, Dani knows the secrets and nightmares she left behind are lurking around the corner, threatening to consume her.
Tom Lavine recently left prison after a decades-long stint, and he doesn’t know where—or if—his aging self fits into this world anymore. God’s forgiveness is one thing, but society doesn’t look kindly upon people like him. When a former cellmate reaches out to Tom to let him know he recently discovered a grave marker carved with a familiar name, Tom knows he must make the long trek to visit the cemetery to find closure. Maybe confirming he really is the monster everyone thinks he is will finally put to rest the crazy idea his chaplain planted in his mind about applying to ministry school someday.
When Dani and Tom meet on the train, they forge an unlikely friendship and help each other navigate the day-to-day logistics of cross-country travel while opening up about the lingering pain of past mistakes. Long-held beliefs are challenged as they discuss their individual issues, worries, and the devastating moments that changed them forever. And just when healing seems within reach, both lives are upended when Dani and Tom come face-to-face with their greatest fears.
Fans of Lisa Wingate, Sara Brunsvold, Amanda Cox, and Katie Powner will also enjoy the true-to-life characters and faith-driven stories written by Valerie Howard.
CHAPTER ONE
Dani
No one thinks about breathing until they can’t do it.
I press my forehead against the rough brick exterior of the elementary school and struggle to suck oxygen past the fear clogging my lungs.
I didn’t do anything. I didn’t want to do anything. I’m not a bad person.
My limbs tingle, and my chest constricts.
“One, two, three, four, five.”
I dig my fingernails deeper into my palm with each count until the pain becomes unbearable and my throat eases its constriction. My heart rate lowers, and the thrumming of my eardrums dulls until I can once again hear the happy squeals of the children playing tag in the field. Wiping my stinging palm on my pants, I turn away from my hiding place beside the building, stepping over the metal baseball bat I’d mindlessly confiscated from a third grader.
I should have known touching a weapon of any kind would trigger a bad thought. Stupid me.
I gulp and brush moisture from my eyelashes, forcing my brain to focus on anything but the bat—the Southern California sunshine warming my forearms and the gravel crunching beneath my sneakers—so I can lock the unwanted mental images in the basement of my mind where they belong.
Just one more week until the end of school. I can last that long, can’t I? I tap the folded envelope in my back pocket. I need to hand it in to Mrs. Chen today. Without fail.
I quicken my steps to rejoin my group. One of our little friends must have been eating sand, because Mrs. Chen patiently wipes stray grains from the girl’s lips. The sandbox will likely become off-limits for the kindergartner until next school year. Too bad, because this particular pupil is happiest sitting in the dirt and sifting it through her chubby fingers.
Sand is yucky, honey.” Mrs. Chen’s voice is gentle. We’ll go inside for lunch in a few minutes, and you can have some real food.”
“Sa-a-a-and!” The five-year-old squawks, trying to bring another fistful from the sandbox to her mouth. Thankfully, she misses the mark entirely.
I allow a soft laugh to escape and ease my former tension. The sound alerts Mrs. Chen to my presence.
“Ah, there you are, Miss Garcia.” Her shoulders relax. “Perhaps you can take this munchkin on a stroll around the playground for the rest of recess? I think she’s had enough of the sandbox for a while.”
I help Mrs. Chen strap our little friend into her wheelchair. Surprisingly, she doesn’t protest a change of scenery. The familiar, everyday motions squelch my earlier anxiety to a dull buzz for the time being. I itch to slap my envelope in Mrs. Chen’s hands and get my resignation over with, but I really need to wait until the children leave at the end of the day.
“Are-see-ah!” My passenger claps her hands together and chants her pronunciation of my last name. “Are-see-ah, Are-see-ah!”
“Hi, sweetheart.” I respond to each call as I push the girl’s chair over one grassy bump after another, avoiding running her wheels over a fuzzy caterpillar making his merry way across an anthill. We complete our second pass around the swing set when the bell rings.
“Lunch time, girly. Let’s catch up with the others.” I grunt as I turn the wheelchair away from a row of palm trees by the fence and head back toward the school building. I stroll past the students lining up by grade and find our self-contained Special Ed class already marching inside. Mrs. Chen takes control of the wheelchair and reminds me I have the lunch period free while she and Maya hold down the fort.
I head to the empty teacher’s lounge, grab my paper bag out of the fridge, and scarf down my ham sandwich so I can return to our classroom as quickly as possible. I swallow my last bite and wipe a glob of mustard off my chin, slipping into the hallway and narrowly escaping a gaggle of teachers making their way into the lounge. I lick my dry lips and head back to my classroom, relieved I don’t have to engage in any small talk today.
Mrs. Chen hands me a pack of baby wipes and points out two students who need to be changed, then turns to assist a third with his lunch. I manage to push thoughts of my letter to the side for the rest of the day, as I’m kept busy with feeding port cleanings, unknotting a first grader’s fingers from another student’s hair, and attempting to read a story to the class as Mrs. Chen and Maya straighten up the room and pack backpacks before the buses are called. If only the day would last forever and delay the inevitable disappointment I must deliver.
Once Maya and I load the children onto their buses, she heads to her car. I walk back to the classroom to retrieve my messenger bag from my locker and do what I’d promised myself I would when I woke up this morning: hand in my letter of resignation. Before I can address Mrs. Chen, though, she beckons me to sit at the circular table in the center of the room.
“I need to talk to you, Dani.” Her kind smile softens her features as she lowers herself into a pint-sized student chair with a quiet groan.
My heart lurches, and my hand flies to my back pocket. The envelope is still there. Has she seen it? Does she suspect I’m leaving?
Mrs. Chen clears her throat and shifts in her little seat. “I’ve decided to retire.”
I suck in a breath, my mouth falling open as I plunk into a chair across the table from her. “No.”
She can’t leave. How will the students function next year without her? Without us? My letter burns hot between my seat and the fabric of my pants.
“It’s time I take the plunge. Past time, if my aches and pains are any indication.” She lets out a low chuckle.
I want to argue with her. To cling to her wrists and beg her to stay. These kids need her. No other teacher in the entire state of California could fill her shoes.
“You graduated college with a teaching degree, what was it, three years ago now? With a concentration in special education, if I remember correctly.”
I nod and sink my sharp nails into the fat part of my palm. I don’t like where she’s going with this. Not one bit.
“I’ve suggested Principal Walton hire you as my replacement. You’re just what this classroom needs.”
Blood drains from my face, and my breath hitches. I try to force words past my throat, but all I can do is shake my head, my mouth opening and closing as if I’m nothing but a mindless goldfish. How could she do this to me?
“I know you don’t think you’re qualified, Dani, but that’s simply not the case. I’ve been watching you this year. Actually, for a few years, since you started your student teaching. You’re the sort of leader this room needs. I know you’re young, but all the classroom teachers respect you. The kids adore you. You have the patience of a saint. You can do this.”
I can’t do this. She doesn’t understand. Doesn’t know about the violent thoughts that have plagued me day after day since the middle of my student teaching year. Doesn’t know my mind is getting more and more twisted for no apparent reason, and I have to get out. Get away from here.
Determination finally frees my voice.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Chen, but I … I’ve actually been thinking about moving on myself.”
The thin skin around Mrs. Chen’s eyebrows pinches as she frowns. “Moving on? Where?”
The movie theater. Walmart. A cleaning company. Anywhere but with vulnerable little children who are one mistake away from being permanently damaged … by me.
“I haven’t, uh, really decided for sure yet. I’m thinking of concentrating more on my artwork.” I swallow the lump in my throat and stare at my sneakers. My answer sits lamely between us.
She crosses her legs, then uncrosses them. “Well, promise me you’ll think about it. Mr. Walton wants to post the position and start interviewing as soon as possible. I convinced him to hold off until I talked to you. So, mull it over and weigh your options. I’ll see if he’s able to give you a week or two to decide, okay?”
I bob my head up and down like an idiot. This isn’t an option for me, but I hear my assent bubble up in my throat before I can stop it. So much for handing over my letter today. I could kick myself. Stupid, Dani. Stupid.
Mrs. Chen rises to leave the room, and I mimic her motion, hooking my bag’s strap over my shoulder and following her outside. She strides to the staff parking lot, but I walk toward the bus station, remembering on the way that I left that metal bat out on the playground. Oh well. I’ll bring it inside tomorrow morning before the students arrive and leave it in the office with a note of explanation.
Hurrying past the white church on the corner, I carefully skirt the perimeter of its looming shadow, keeping even the toe of my shoe from dipping into the shade of the steeple. My mother would cluck her tongue at my superstitious behavior and call me a cabeza de melón under her breath, but I watched her subtilty cross herself with lowered gaze whenever we passed a church throughout my childhood. We never so much as approached the doors of a place of worship while I was growing up, and I wasn’t about to start now. I’d like to stay out of the Almighty’s way for the time being. If He doesn’t know I exist, He can’t judge me for the sickening thoughts that assail me. Thoughts that interfere with my day-to-day life and any future prospects in my current line of work.
I shudder as I imagine accepting Mrs. Chen’s offer. Never in a million years could I be in charge of a Special Ed classroom.
Horrible images careen through my mind as I envision what might happen if they trusted me with that responsibility. I shove my earbuds deep in my ears and turn up the volume on my playlist to flush the dark thoughts away as I approach the bus stop at the same time the city bus comes to a screeching halt.
I’m destined for lesser things. Safer things.
I shoot pain into my hand as I board the bus for home.