Alison Jade Jorgensen had it all - wealth, beauty, and the adoration of those around her. At eighteen, she was the epitome of privilege, shielded from the harsh realities of life by her affluent family.
But when her beloved grandfather passes away j...
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Tanner Stine as Dave
Jade
Days had slipped by, and there had been no word from Jared.
Chandler, too, remained silent. Though I occasionally crossed paths with him at Gramps' house, I couldn't muster the courage to inquire about Jared's whereabouts.
To my surprise, my father eventually relented, allowing me to leave the house after a few days of grounding. His prolonged presence at home had been unexpected.
I had assumed he'd resume his frequent travels after a week, but my eavesdropping skills had caught him discussing with my mom that he intended to extend his stay, shifting his focus from the business world to me.
Now, he seemed determined to be a more involved father. I couldn't decide whether I liked the idea, but under different circumstances, I might have welcomed it.
Sunday morning arrived, and I dreaded the early departure from my bed.
The previous night, my father had declared that we should attend church service. He claimed it had been too long since we last attended and that our distance might be due, in part, to our fading connection with faith.
My father had always possessed a stronger belief in the Lord than I did. Although I harbored doubts about His existence, my grandparents had instilled these values in my father, expecting him to pass them down to me. I seemed to be the outlier.
I had once been captivated by the Bible stories my grandmother used to tell me when I was younger, but those days felt like ancient history now.
Growing up did little to bolster my faith in religion. Neither the books I read nor the lessons at school could sway my doubts.
If I had my way, on a Sunday, I'd cocoon myself in my room, my private cell, and wait until I withered away.
However, since my father insisted I accompany him and my mother to church, asserting his authority as the rule-setter at home, I had no other option but to comply.
Earlier, my mother had handed me a knee-length floral dress, suggesting it was the appropriate attire. Personally, I'd have preferred jeans and sneakers, but my mother insisted we should appear 'elegant' and uphold morals in church. I failed to see how wearing jeans was a moral issue. It made no sense to me... and in the end, I concluded that perhaps my father's interest in church wasn't in the worship service itself, but in the impressions people had of his family, of us... of him.
The thought turned my stomach, but I pushed it away, filling my mind with more positive thoughts, deliberately excluding Jared from my thoughts.
No matter how persistently his image tried to surface, I always managed to divert my mind.
I stood before the grand, built-in mirror on my bedroom wall, examining the way the dress flowed down to my knees. The predominant color was cream, accented with touches of green and red in the embedded images of leaves and falling rose petals. I appreciated this side of my mother, her taste in clothing.
