Her real name is Faith, not Leah. She’s seventeen, not nineteen. And the baby isn’t hers—Faith kidnapped her.
Faith’s history catches up with her when a cop starts asking questions and Chris’s aunt spots her picture in the newspaper. She knows it’s time to run again, but if Faith leaves, she’ll lose Chris. If Chris is in love with a lie, though, did Faith ever really have him in the first place?
Here's an excerpt from Leap of Faith:
I slow the car, searching house numbers for 356 Maple Street. The neighborhood is like something out of a movie, tree-lined streets, sidewalks, and picket fences. Nothing bad ever happens here. It’s a place where wishes and prayers could actually come true. This is what Addy deserves.
My eyes spot the address I’m searching for on a green plastic mailbox. “Here it is,” I whisper to Addy. “Cross your fingers.” The rear tires bump over the curb as I turn the car into the short driveway, which leads to a two-car garage. The house is a tidy, white cape cod with a black door and shutters. Dark green awnings shade the windows, making the house look like it has droopy, tired eyes.
My hand grips the gearshift and I put the car in park. I’m clenching my stomach so tightly, I feel like I might pass out. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, holding it for ten seconds, and then blow it out hard and fast. I do this a few more times and the dizziness subsides. “Okay, Add, let’s go.”
The warm bundle of baby in my arms, pressed against my chest, is reality, security. She grounds me. She gives my feet purpose to stumble up the sidewalk and onto the front stoop without turning around and running back to the car.
I open the screen door and knock.
My heart beats so loudly, I can hear it pounding in my ears.
There’s music inside, a faint strumming.
I press the doorbell and listen to it chime.
The strumming stops.
Footsteps approach the door.
I squeeze Addy closer. She whines.
The door is tugged open.
“Hey. Leah, right?” The boy standing in the doorway can’t be more than a few years older than me. He has a guitar in the hand that’s not gripping the doorknob.
|Author Jamie Blair|
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