Glory Road
ACCLAIM FOR LAUREN K. DENTON
“Glory Road brims with faith and family, second chances and new horizons. Three generations of women may well remind you of your own as they face transitions and find paths as winding and sweet as those in a lovely garden on a summer’s day.”
—LISA WINGATE, NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF BEFORE WE WERE YOURS
“Rich colorful characters capturing my heart, combined with a story that kept me up till the wee hours, Glory Road is a perfect read. Lauren Denton has done it again!
—LISA PATTON, BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF RUSH AND WHISTLIN’ DIXIE IN A NOR’EASTER
“Once again Lauren Denton brings her lyrical writing and compelling characters to a story that will enthrall readers from page one.”
—MARYBETH MAYHEW WHALEN, AUTHOR OF ONLY EVER HER AND CO-FOUNDER OF SHE READS, FOR GLORY ROAD
“Denton crafts a beautiful story with well-drawn, complex characters about the bonds of family, the trials of parenting, and the power of love to soothe the difficulties of daily life. Suggest for readers of Jane Green.”
—LIBRARY JOURNAL FOR HURRICANE SEASON
“Any reader who values the comfort of family, the possibility of second chances, and the simple truths of love and sisterhood will devour Denton’s novel. In many ways, Hurricane Season feels like the calm before a storm that changes everything—for the better.”
—BOOKPAGE
“Refined language and dialogue, along with beautifully descriptive scenes will draw readers right into [Hurricane Season]. Well-developed, genuine characters and a well-crafted plot that embodies the tenuous ties between family are the highlights of this story. With a Southern backdrop, this poignant tale about sisters . . . will resonate with readers. A truly remarkable read.”
—RT BOOK REVIEWS, 4 STARS
“Denton has created a heartwarming, character-driven story that will appeal to fans of Southern fiction.”
—PUBLISHERS WEEKLY FOR HURRICANE SEASON
“Perfect for readers looking for low-drama women’s fiction.”
—BOOKLIST FOR HURRICANE SEASON
“A poignant and heartfelt tale of sisterhood, motherhood, and marriage, Hurricane Season deftly examines the role that coming to terms with the past plays in creating a hopeful future. Readers will devour this story of the hurricanes—both literal and figurative—that shape our lives.”
—KRISTY WOODSON HARVEY, NATIONAL BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF SLIGHTLY SOUTH OF SIMPLE
“Inspiring and heartwarming fiction that will please many a heart. After making us love her characters and feel every ache of their journey, [Denton] brings us full circle through a beautiful story, reminding us all that this too shall pass.”
—JULIE CANTRELL, NEW YORK TIMES AND USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF PERENNIALS, FOR HURRICANE SEASON
“It’s true what they say. There’s no place like home. And reading a Lauren Denton book feels like coming home. With characters you’ll want as friends, a setting you can step into, and a poignant story of sisters and family ties and all the messiness of a wonderful life, Denton has penned another tale that will settle in deep and stay awhile, long after the last page is turned.”
—CATHERINE WEST, AUTHOR OF WHERE HOPE BEGINS, FOR HURRICANE SEASON
“An engaging, lyrical story of sisterly love. Hurricane Season is sure to add to Denton’s growing fan base.”
—RACHEL HAUCK, NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR
“Denton’s delicious debut [The Hideaway] is a treat for the senses and the heart. Her exquisitely lyrical writing and character-driven story is a must-read.”
—LIBRARY JOURNAL, STARRED REVIEW AND DEBUT OF THE MONTH
“The Hideaway is the heartwarmingly southern story about the families we are given—and the families we choose. Two endearing heroines and their poignant storylines of love lost and found make this the perfect book for an afternoon on the back porch with a glass of sweet tea.”
—KAREN WHITE, NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR
“This debut novel is the kind of book you want to curl up with on a rainy day or stick in your beach bag for your next vacation. It is poetic and compelling, emotional and full of life. Its haunting beauty will linger long with readers.”
—RT BOOK REVIEWS, 4½ STARS, TOP PICK! FOR THE HIDEAWAY
“In this fine debut, Denton crafts a beautiful, heartbreaking story of true love that never dies. This book will please inspirational, contemporary, and historical fans alike.”
—PUBLISHERS WEEKLY, STARRED REVIEW OF THE HIDEAWAY
“Denton’s first novel charms readers with her idyllic settings and wonderful cast of characters . . . The Hideaway is a deeply satisfying exploration of family, friendship, and the meaning of home.”
—BOOKLIST
“From the opening of The Hideaway, the reader is captured by the voice of a woman who has for too long kept a story that must be told, one the reader wants to hear. Denton has crafted a story both powerful and enchanting: a don’t-miss novel in the greatest southern traditions of storytelling.”
—PATTI CALLAHAN HENRY, NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR
OTHER BOOKS BY LAUREN K. DENTON
The Hideaway
Hurricane Season
Glory Road
© 2019 by Lauren K. Denton
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Christian Publishing, Inc.
Interior design: Susanna Chapman
Thomas Nelson titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please email SpecialMarkets@ThomasNelson.com.
Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-0-7852-2522-5 (HC library edition)
Epub Edition February 2019 9780785219637
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Denton, Lauren K., author.
Title: Glory Road / Lauren K. Denton.
Description: Nashville, Tennessee : Thomas Nelson, [2019]
Identifiers: LCCN 2018039780| ISBN 9780785219705 (trade paper) | ISBN 9780785219637 (ePUB)
Classification: LCC PS3604.E5956 G58 2019 | DDC 813/.6--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018039780
Printed in the United States of America
19 20 21 22 23 MG 5 4 3 2 1
To my family,
with all my love
CONTENTS
Acclaim for Lauren K. Denton
Other Books by Lauren K. Denton
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Acknowledgments
Discussion Questions
About the Author
CHAPTER 1
Everyone knows the weather in lower Alabama can be fickle. Christmas with the AC pumping or an early June cool snap aren’t the strangest things that happen down here. If you’re not careful, quick changes like these can wreak havoc on your garden. A little advice: Research before you plant and plan ahead for potential problems. However, despite research and planning, a good gardener knows sometimes you have to rip it all out and try something new.
—CANDACE GOOCH, ALABAMA GARDENING FOR BEGINNERS
JESSIE
I’d been on the porch steps shelling purple hull peas for less than an hour and my thumbnails had already turned purple. A bucket sat on the step between my knees and a plastic grocery sack full of empty hulls was perched next to my feet. Our red dirt road was always quiet in the early mornings, but today it seemed even more hushed than usual. With no sound other than the soft thuds of peas filling the bucket, a lone cricket chirping somewhere in the flower bed next to the house, and an occasional hawk cry in the treetops, the silence of Glory Road lulled me.
I’d gotten into such a rhythm—pinch the hull, pull the string, slide one thumbnail in, and flick the peas into the bucket—that my coffee had grown cold. When the front door opened behind me, I jumped, sending a handful of peas skittering down the steps to the grass below. I’d forgotten Evan was still inside sleeping.
I turned and smiled at my daughter as I leaned down to pick up the scattered peas.
“Morning,” Evan mumbled. She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands, reminding me of her at two or three wearing her Hello Kitty pajamas, holding her stuffed kitty by the tail and asking for a cup of milk. Today, instead of cartoon pj’s and milk, it was a faded Fender guitars T-shirt with a stretched-out neck, a pair of my pajama pants, and a glass of orange juice. Her thick blonde hair—full of natural highlights some women would pay big money for—was gathered into a messy ponytail.
She sat on the swing at the end of the porch, tucked one leg underneath her, and pushed off the floor with the other. The chains squeaked a familiar tune. “Don’t you need to open up the shop?”
“It’s only eight. Mama’s over there now waiting on the seed delivery. You know she likes to putter around when no one’s there.”
“That’s so she can sneak succulents back to her house without you knowing.”
“Oh, I know it. She only thinks she’s being sneaky. When they disappear from the tables, I know exactly where they’ve gone.”
My mother had obsessions, but at least they were harmless—potted succulents, Johnny Cash, and peach cobbler.
Evan sat up in the swing and fanned her shirt away from her skin. “It’s so hot out here.” She’d never been a fan of hot weather. She wasn’t a fan of cold weather either, really. Evan liked everything to be balanced, under control, with nothing out of the ordinary. I worried about her starting high school in just a few short months. High school was a petri dish of weirdness, the exact opposite of ordinary.
“Why aren’t you shelling those things inside? Only you would be sitting outside in the heat before you go off to work all day in the heat.”
I crooked my head. “It’s not that hot yet. But it’s summer—it’s like this every year. And anyway, I like the heat.”
She stood and walked over to the top step, then plopped down next to me and sighed. I breathed in—not quite the same as the baby scent she once had, but still full of sleep and her own essence. I reached an arm around her, pulled her close, and kissed the top of her head. Thankfully, she didn’t push me away.
“What do you have planned for today? Mama can take you up the road for a burger if you want. She told me last night she was at Jack & Mack’s the other day and her onion burger wasn’t up to snuff. I think she wants to talk to them about it.” I elbowed Evan. She didn’t like going anywhere with Mama alone. I knew how to rein in my mother when she got scrappy, but Evan, for all her unconventional ways, never wanted to be disrespectful. Not too much, anyway.
“Ruth’s coming over later and we’re going down to the Icebox to swim. If that’s okay.”
I nodded. I wanted to ask if anyone else was going with them—any boys, any older kids—but at fourteen, Evan was wiser than her years. An old soul. Her track record told me she wouldn’t get into trouble, and I trusted her. It was the path I’d chosen—trust her until she did something to break the trust. We both knew that was the deal. Glory Road—all of Perry, really—was about as safe as a room full of cotton balls, but I still felt nervous anytime Evan left my sight. She and Mama were all I had.
“That’s fine. Just don’t forget your phone. I want you to be able to call me if you need me.” Evan must have been the only teenager in the country—in the world, maybe—who was averse to smartphones. She said they made kids stupid. It was hard to argue with that.
“You mean you want to be able to check up on me.”
“I won’t do that. I know you hate it. But you’ll understand one day.”
“I know, I know.” She stood and reached her arms over her head in a big stretch and a yawn. “I’ll understand when I’m a parent. A million years from now.”
“It only feels that way.” Evan was just ten years younger than I’d been when I had her. Ten years—a blink. Sometimes it felt like only yesterday that I sat on Mama and Daddy’s porch, rocking on the swing, killing time before going to the Icebox with friends.
I raised my head when the sound of a car roaring down the road made it to the porch. In my peripheral vision I saw Evan look up too. We heard rocks spitting out from under the tires and the soft whoosh of red dust before we could actually see anything.
I knew every car that drove past our home and my garden shop, Twig, right next door. Anyone who drove on by, deeper into the tunnel of pines and oaks down Glory Road, belonged there and had likely lived there most of my life. This wasn’t one of those cars, yet I still knew it. It was just an image, an intangible picture that occasionally floated back to me in soft threads of memory. Funny how a car can be familiar after nearly twenty years.
It was an old Jeep Grand Wagoneer, blue with brown paneling. The sensations came back in a rush—the softness of the leather seats, the Armor-All shine of the dash, and the scent: a mix of gasoline, fresh pine, and lemons. I closed my eyes and the years peeled back. I could smell, see, and feel it all. Ben used to work on the Jeep every weekend. It was old even back then. I used to joke with him that he was fighting a losing battle, but he was determined to keep it running smooth until it took its last breath.
The Jeep drove a little too fast and music spilled from the open windows. I couldn’t name the band or the song, but the rhythm thumped in my chest, making it ache, but not from pain, exactly. A boy sat in the passenger seat, his arm out the window, his dark hair whipping in the breeze.
“That’s him,” Evan said behind me.
Her words registered, but I was still focused on the music and the memories. Eyes still closed, I didn’t answer.
“Did you see the guy in the passenger seat? That was the guy from school.”
“Hmm?”
“Mom? What are you doing?”
I opened my eyes and shook my head to clear the fog. “Nothing, nothing.” I leaned out to catch a last glimpse of the Jeep, but it was gone. All that remained was a haze of dust in the road. “What guy from school?”
“I stood next to him in line yesterday when I went to pick up my registration packet.” She shrugged. “His name’s Nick. He’s new—or at least he wasn’t at the middle school. He’s a little older, I think. And different.”
I turned to Evan. Her big blue eyes held a faraway gaz
e. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know, he just stuck out a little. He wore a black T-shirt, for one, and he was listening to music on his phone the whole time we were in line.”
I studied my daughter. “How do you know it was music?”
“His head was moving a little, like . . . I don’t know.” She shrugged again. “It’s just a guess. Anyway, he didn’t look like he’d been mucking out a chicken house or drinking steroid shakes for breakfast.”
“Farming or football,” I murmured. Outside of school hours, most young men in Perry—our small, south Alabama blip on the map—were either in the fields or on the field. Either that or getting into trouble. It had always been that way. “I know someone else who likes to wear black T-shirts and listen to music.”
“Very funny. But he was different. He didn’t seem to care that he stuck out. That he didn’t look like all the other guys around here.”
Evan may not have recognized it, but I knew she was doing her thing—Eric Clapton and Bob Dylan, the Converse high-tops and Fender shirts—to make herself stick out. To separate herself from the crowd. She wasn’t a girl from a country song—tight cutoffs, bouncy hair, pink lipstick—and she wanted everyone to know. I also knew that despite her difference from the other girls, actually being different—not blending in—was hard. I loved her so much for trying though.
“I’m going to make some breakfast. You want anything?” she asked.
“I’m fine. I’ll be going over to the shop in a little bit. Let me know when you head out, okay?”
“Sure.” She opened the screen door, then paused, halfway into the cool stillness of the house. I bit my tongue and waited. It was a new thing I was trying these days—instead of asking too many questions, I was trying to stay quiet and let Evan speak when she was ready. We were both still learning how to navigate her new teenage emotions and sensitivities.
“You’re not really going to dinner with that cop, are you?”
I sighed and rested my elbows on the step behind me. Jimmy Kellan was the new police chief in Perry. He was also single and handsome, which naturally sent the ladies in town into a frenzy. The DIVAS—Divinely Inspired, Victorious And Serving—from Perry Baptist were all over him in an attempt to “welcome him to the community,” which everyone knew was code for “If I can’t date him, I’ll be the one to set him up with someone who can.”