Thick as Water

By Ava Page

Thick as Water: A contemporary fiction novel that will grab hold of the reader from start to finish. In the first week, the novel was ranked as an Amazon Hot New Release in several categories for all formats (eBook, hardcover and paperback).

 

I would like you both to come in. For Agnes and Liam, life is never the same after these words. In one afternoon, every vow in their marriage is a challenge: For worse. For poorer. In sickness.

Agnes and Liam must confront unexpected challenges and decide: Will they choose each other? Is their marriage worth everything they've worked for in this life? How private is information on the internet? Is technology stripping away life's mysteries a blessing or a curse?

 

The story grapples with the ever-blurring line between privacy and the media. It tackles the big questions of the rising popularity of medical and DNA testing coupled with ongoing cybersecurity threats.

If light is cast on their dark past, will it take away its power, or destroy their lives?

 

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Editorial review: An intriguing observation of the dangers of advanced technology compromising privacy told through the lens of family, love and loss.

- Reedsy Discovery

 

Select reader feedback:

One word... incredible! - It's hard to leave a review because I find myself speechless. I am a slow reader, slow slow slow, but I love it. This book took me two days. Unheard of for me. It was so riveting I found that when I finally made myself put it down I looked for reasons to pick it back up. An incredible page turner from Ava Page...

 

Excellent prose and story line - Ava Page's first novel is a page turner for sure! It interweaves politics, medical ethics, family dynamics, and character development efortlessly. What specifically stood out to me was her descriptors and prose - it did not feel trite, but rather original and interesting to my readers' eye. Bravo - can't wait to see more from this author! (Note: I recieved an ARC for this objective review.)

 

A must read! - An incredible read! Ava Page addressed so many current issues with multi-faceted insights about intrusion into privacy, the consequences of breached security, DNA testing, and familial bonds in times of unspeakable dispair. Both my brain and my heart were fully engaged. I have two copies of the book now, one on Kindle and the other paperback since I am definitiely getting the author to sign this book!

 

Great story line - Liked the story idea. Kept me guessing right up until the end. I look forward to reading more by Ava Page. A good read that will tug on your emotions. This book had good character development and a good story. The story was gripping and kept me wanting to read more. I enjoyed every minute.

• Language: English
• Publisher: La Jolla Press, LLC
• Release date: Jul 11, 2021
• ISBN: 9781737273615

Ava Page

Ava’s debut novel, Thick as Water is the culmination of her career as a civil servant and her concern about the increasing presence of technology in our lives. She worked for nearly 20 years in the government in various IT roles. While she has a long list of initials behind her name (MBA, PMP, FAC-PM, etc.), she rarely uses them. When not reading or writing, Ava lives out of her Jeep “Rex” bouncing around the United States overlanding with her husband on sabbatical. Email: [e-mail] INSTA: @AvaPageAuthor

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Scarcely had I passed them when I found the one my heart loves.

– Song of Songs 3:4 NIV

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Agnes

Agnes knocked on her sister’s bedroom door for the third time. Come on, we’ve got to go!

Give me a break, her sister, Lynds said. She peeked out her door through half-opened eyes, a pile of brown hair in a messy bun perched on her head. We won’t be late, she said, rolling her eyes.

They would be late, Lynds had a severe case of senioritis. As a freshman, it was hard for Agnes to feel as disenchanted about attendance. Her English teacher was strict. I’m serious, Lynds. I didn’t do my homework. I need the time.

Whose fault is that? Lynds teased.

Yours! I was watching your soccer game.

Okay, okay. I’ll drop you at the front before I park.

As they went to her sister’s hatchback, Agnes watched the Pentagon bus roll by, a line of cars forming behind it. Their house sat deep in the bowels of a Northern Virginia suburb. With excellent schools and a thirty-minute drive from the heartbeat of the country, the area attracted families with school-aged children and parents who worked in Washington, D.C. Lynds looked at the long line of cars but said nothing. Of all mornings, Agnes muttered. They pulled out at the end of the conga line of vehicles. Agnes could have walked faster. She pressed her head against the cool glass and watched the commuter bus collecting its tired passengers. She was tired too. As they got to school, the first bell rang, and she jumped out of the car and ran.

Get ready for a quiz, Mr. Proud announced as Agnes rushed into class. The sadistic glee in his voice inched Agnes’s breakfast back up her throat. She could taste the now-curdled yogurt and willed herself not to puke.

Of course, there would be a pop quiz today, she thought. She hadn’t read a word of the chapter and figured she’d catch up today. She prayed to a God she didn’t believe in that the grade wouldn’t count enough to dash her 4.0 dreams. Especially so near the beginning of the term.

How hard could A Farewell to Arms really be? She tucked her phone in her jeans shorts pocket, snatched her book from her floral backpack, and slung the pack to the floor. Collapsing into her chair, she threw her head back and blew out a dramatic sigh. She felt Mr. Proud’s watery old-man eyes on her, judging. But she still had five minutes. She could do a lot in five focused minutes. She dipped her head forward into the miserable novel to shield herself from his gaze. But a yank sent shocked nerve endings running up her neck. Her head snapped back to attention.

Ouch, stop it! She yelped, holding her hair against her scalp, her reaction more shock than injury. Her face flashed heat as she spun in her chair to face the boy behind her.

The class stared, and a few snickered. She looked down to find her dark curls in a tight knot around the bolt of the cheap plastic chair. The boy, whom she hadn’t noticed before, gave a shy half-smile and lifted his innocent palms at her. His hair, a dark mop of curls, hung over one eye. She withered under thirty sets of curious eyes and shrank further into her seat.

Mr. Proud drew the class’s attention back to the quiz. He walked the room, his footsteps heavy as he passed out the quiz and took attendance. Once you have the paper on your desk, no more talking, he said. The class groaned in unison.

I’m sorry. I thought you pulled my hair, Agnes said to the boy. She didn’t look at him, instead she kept her eyes on her hair as she began to untangle it. She could feel the searing heat in her cheeks and didn’t want anyone to see her crimson face.

It’s okay, let me help you. His soothing voice was older than his years. He sat behind her, yet she didn’t remember his voice.

Thanks. She held her hair close to the base of her neck while his nimble fingers worked to unravel the dark, angry knot. His hand brushed hers and a surge of electric connection shot through her. Her embarrassment morphed into self-consciousness. She knew her breath smelled sour. She tilted her chin farther from the boy and held her breath while he continued to work the tangle.

As the knot came free, she rubbed her head, soothing the straining ache from her scalp. Thank you, she said. She looked up, and their blue eyes met, striking and identical.

I’m Liam, his voice cracked out. His cheeks looked as flushed as she knew hers were.

CHAPTER 2

Therefore encourage one another and build each other up, just as in fact you are doing.

– 1 Thessalonians 5:11 NIV

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Liam

Months after a drug dealer shot Liam’s father in the arm, the department forced Mark into medical retirement. Despite physical therapy, he could never pass the range qualifications again. While the police caught the drug dealer who shot him, his colleagues did a number on the suspect; enough damage to force leniency from the law. In the plea deal, the prosecutors dropped the attempted murder charge for making the police brutality body camera video disappear. The eighteen-year-old who pulled the trigger served seven months for assaulting an officer.

Though no one spoke of it, Mark’s family felt the sharp pinch when the overtime dried up. When they could no longer make the tuition payments, the all-boys religious school pushed Liam and his brother, Geoff, out.

Mark and Liam’s mother Jess, argued over the importance of a private religious education when it required sacrifices of the financial kind. Geoff was a senior, and Liam a freshman. Their father said, There’s no room in the budget for heaven’s price. Jess tried to convince him she could homeschool the boys. Geoff and Liam listened through the vents as their mother needled her husband, but her tactics only steeled his resolve. With finality, he said, Jess, those boys need to go to a real school where they meet real bullies, play sports, and become men. Especially the older one… Mark’s voice trailed off.

Geoff shifted uncomfortably at the vent. He would be happy in either school, but homeschool would have killed them both. The girls didn’t bother Geoff either way. The family knew why, but no one ever said it out loud.

After his mother lost the battle, Liam found himself in a sea of girls. His stomach curled and his head swam in the different bouquets of floral scents. Liam’s steel-blue eyes caught the attention of many of them, but he stared at his feet. Except in English class. Two weeks into freshman year, and she still hadn’t noticed him. Every morning he sat behind her and watched her raven curls waterfall down her back as she settled into her seat.

When Agnes entered the class, the boys glanced and hushed for a beat, catching their breath. She smelled like citrus when she walked past. Girls gave envious sideways glances and turned their backs to her.

Like all the boys, Liam wanted nothing more than her attention. He dropped his pencil a few times, wore heavy cologne, and nodded at her when their eyes nearly met. She looked right through him. He memorized her schedule and found reasons to be close to her locker. In a poorly acted moment, he tripped, sending his papers scattering to the ground. She almost bent to pick them up, but a redheaded boy from his band class beat her to it, and she walked past.

Then her hair yanked back. She yelped and turned to flash a glare as the class snickered. She looked down, finding her hair twisted around the chair’s rivet. A slight smile formed on his lips as he held out his palms, proving his innocence. Her gaze softened as he helped her unravel it. Her hair felt silky under his fingers; he unwound the pieces as slowly as the moment would allow. Her soft dark curls twisted around his fingers. Their eyes met, and he felt a familiar connection he couldn’t identify.

CHAPTER 3

Do not judge, or you too will be judged.

– Matthew 7:1 NIV

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Agnes

Months later, they had not spent a day apart. They were inseparable in school and out, and Liam practically lived with her family. He spoke little about his family, labeling them as strict and his mother, evangelical religious. Any time Agnes asked about his family, his peaceful way tightened.

Agnes and Jess met casually at his lacrosse games, but the talk didn’t extend past pleasantries. After six months, through pressure from both Agnes and his mother, Liam relented to a dinner at his house. His mother wanted to know Agnes better, though his father cared little about the business of a fourteen-year-old couple.

The night arrived for dinner, and Agnes still knew little about his family, except for his brother Geoff. She wasn’t completely sure what evangelical religious meant, but when her mother heard the words, her mouth tightened, and she said, Dress like you’re heading to a funeral. Taking her mother’s advice, Agnes fished out the dark green dress with the Peter Pan collar she wore to her grandma’s funeral, and she was surprised it still fit. She tamed her dark curls into sausage ringlets, and chose a matching headband, and nude stockings.

On the way to the car with her mom, she saw her dad watering his roses in the side garden. John nurtured the pops of fiery red, orange, and yellow to grow bouquets for Agnes’s mother, Clara. He looked up at Agnes and said, You look so young in that dress.

That’s kinda the point. Love ya.

Love you too, kiddo, he said to her back as she hurried away.

In the car, she wrapped her fingers against her stockings and noticed a small tear. She picked at it, pulling the thread until it gave a satisfying rip, which she immediately regretted. Luckily, the dark green frock covered the run.

They pulled up to Liam’s house. Her mother stopped the car, her mouth agape. She looked at Agnes and said, Are you sure this is the right house, sweetie?

Agnes looked out. At the base of the walkway was a statue of Jesus on the cross. He wore a crown of thorns, blood dripping down one side of his temple. In his permanent agony, he twisted to greet her.

She peered up the walkway where a sign over the house read, But as for me and my household, we will serve the Lord –Joshua 24:15. She texted:

Here-I think?

I see you pinged back at her.

The door swung open, and he smiled and shrugged. She looked past Jesus dying on the lawn, to Liam’s flushed face in the doorway, tucking her grimace behind a smile as she waved. She had not underdressed. Liam wore a tie and slacks. Agnes thought he looked like a Mormon missionary.

Her mother asked, You gonna be okay? Do you want me to stay?

I’ll be fine Mom, it’s Liam. She rolled her eyes, but felt an uneasiness in her gut.

Call me if you need me.

Agnes got out of the car and walked to the house. The doormat read, Knock and the door will be opened to you –Matthew 7:7. His mother took her responsibility to the Lord seriously in her design elements. Agnes hugged Liam at the threshold. His shoulders felt rigid. Behind him, his mother, a slight woman with box-dyed ash blonde hair coiffed into a mom-bob, peeked out from the kitchen. She wore a bright yellow apron pulled neatly against a flowery dress and heels, 1950s sprung to life.

Hello Agnes, it’s good to see you. I have a casserole in the oven and the PC are on their way.

Liam bristled and turned to his mother, What do you mean the PC are on their way?

His mother didn’t answer and went back to the kitchen. Agnes asked, What’s PC?

Ugh, it’s short for ‘Prayer Circle.’ It’s a group of her church friends.

Agnes crossed the threshold, and the dark paneling swallowed her whole. The fireplace sat at the center of the room, with another Jesus being crucified above it. This time his gaze was toward the skies. She looked away. The heavy blackberry drapes blocked out the light, and the air felt heavy and stale, like a basement used only for storage. His mother had set the table for six. Agnes’s stomach gurgled in protest against the stale house smells intermingled with the garlicky scent of dinner.

Glancing around, she didn’t see his brother Geoff. She liked Geoff, and her allies were few.

Is Geoff or your dad here?

No, Geoff’s out with friends, and Dad is at poker night.

I guess we’re on our own, she said, her knees weakening.

A rapid knock and an immediate opening of the door broke the brief silence. A trio of women’s voices called out, Yoo-hoo. Approaching from behind Agnes, the women jostled around her to greet Liam. They appeared older than his mother and collectively smelled of White Diamonds, Oil of Olay, and mothballs. She couldn’t discern which woman gave off what scent, or if they collectively smelled the same. One woman hugged Liam and kissed him on the cheek, leaving a pinkish smudge of an outdated color. Then the gaggle of old women hurried past the couple into the kitchen.

Agnes pointed to Liam’s cheek. You have a little something.

Dang, she always does that, he said. He rubbed his cheek hard. It made the smear of pink look like neon blush.

A few minutes later, now without the apron, Liam’s mother announced, Dinner is served. She wore green oven mitts and carried the steaming casserole dish to the fleur-de-lis-shaped trivet at the center of the table.

The formality of the table settings felt like a test. Agnes wasn’t sure where she should sit, so she busied herself setting her purse on the couch while the others settled in, then took her seat between Liam and the lady who kissed him. The cheap pink lipstick still shone brightly on her face. Agnes wondered how many layers she applied to get it to hang stubbornly on.

Jess dished generous portions of the beige mush onto every plate. Politely, Agnes took a bite, trying not to breathe as she chewed. Jess gasped. Agnes looked up, the salty mucked mess clotting in her throat.

Jess held out her hands and said, Let’s pray, before we eat.

Four sets of eyes trained on Agnes. She slid her hand into the lipstick woman’s cold, withered one. She looked at the old lady’s hand as it tightened its grip, and she could feel her bird-like bones and see the veins tracing a map of age under her translucent skin. Agnes’s other trembling, sweaty hand sought solace in Liam’s. He gave her a reassuring squeeze; she wished she could run.

His mother prayed aloud, Thank you, oh Lord, for this meal we are about to eat. We hope Agnes will find You soon. We pray for her soul. Amen. During the prayer, Agnes slit one eye open. If her hands weren’t interlocked, she would certainly have tried to run the five miles home and never look back. The chorus of amens echoed around the table. Agnes said nothing. Liam’s eyes opened a half-beat before the women, and he gave Agnes a wink. As they ate, his mother pulled scraps of papers from her purse.

Liam eyed the papers and pleaded, Mom, can we save it for another time?

Jess gave him a severe look. We will not ignore prayer requests, young man. That is why we gather. Agnes stared down at the plate of food coagulating. She wondered where the bathroom was and if anyone would notice if she slipped out the back.

The church’s offering plate collected tithes and prayer requests every Sunday. The tithes lined the church’s pockets, and the prayers supplied the PC’s nights with intrigue. Liam’s mother had the enviable title of Keeper of Prayers and brought the scraps of paper scribbled with wishes and sins home.

Jess said, A light Sunday of prayers, ladies, but two are big ones! The prayer ladies' eyes gleamed as she laid each secret down as slowly as she could.

Prayer 1: Please pray for my husband. He’s lusting after others, and I found pornography on his computer.

Prayer 2: Please pray for my daughter. She lost her job and is struggling to pay the rent.

Prayer 3: Please pray for my niece, she’s pregnant out of wedlock.

The women bent over the requests, passing them back and forth in quiet discussions. The second prayer all but ignored. They analyzed handwriting and discussed whose husband looked sinful enough to watch pornography. Their chatter sounded more like gossip than care. They shared the congregation’s most pressing and humiliating secrets over slop and sweet tea.

Agnes wanted to go home. Her funeral dress had no pockets, and her purse sat on the couch, out of reach. She couldn’t call or text her mom without making a scene. She sat in silence, looking down at her lap, her stomach twisting with nausea. She couldn’t tell if the cause was the company or the food. Liam shuffled in his chair, and she felt him looking at her.

Mom, please, Liam interrupted.

Young man, you know these people want us to know who they are. It makes our prayers more effective. That’s why they make it obvious. If we can visualize the person, the prayers reach God’s ear more clearly.

Agnes kept her gaze down at her lap. She didn’t know mean girls grew up and were still mean. The high school Mean Girls invited Agnes to The table, and she sat with them once. But as each girl stood to leave, that girl became the topic of conversation. The blood rushed to Agnes’s ears as she got up to leave, and she never sat with them again. Her brush with popularity flittered past, and she sat with kids who would never be nominated for homecoming court.

The women focused on Prayer Three, the pregnancy, the juiciest, and the worst-kept secret of the three. They identified the pregnant girl as Alana, the pastor’s daughter. Agnes and Liam both knew her at school. She sat in their freshman English class. Jess said, I have it on good authority she’ll be addressing the parish on Sunday to apologize for her sins.

The table went quiet. All attention turned to Jess. Agnes looked at Liam, who now stared at his plate. Everyone in school knew the pastor welcomed a vagrant man into their home. Six months later, Alana was pregnant.

Agnes gritted her teeth, but kept her face neutral. Alana’s father brought a rapist into her home, and he planned to make his daughter apologize for the man’s crime. Alana was fourteen.

Will she keep the baby? asked the lady in cheap lipstick.

Jess’s back straightened. No one knows. She’s showing now, though. I’m grateful to our Lord that our children follow the Good Word. The women nodded approvingly at each other. Agnes shrank further into her seat.

A PC lady sitting across from Agnes said, Ladies, let’s all join hands and pray for the baby. It isn’t the baby’s fault this girl’s lustful ways brought it into the world. The Prayer Circle clasped hands so tightly their knuckles whitened.

Agnes blurted out, My mom should be here soon. May I be excused?

Jess sharpened her eyes at Agnes, briefly breaking the Prayer Circle of judgment to wave both Agnes and Liam off.

On the porch, Agnes texted her mother, asking her to come quick. Liam sat next to her, the cool air on the porch tousling his curls, his brow gathered in concern. I’m sorry she brought the PC group. She didn’t warn me.

Agnes sat quietly for a moment, then said, I don’t understand how they give credit to Jesus for everything right and none of the blame for anything wrong. We’ve talked to Alana, we know her story. Why do they blame her? I just want to go home.

She shrugged and wiped a tear as she kicked the ground with her faux-leather flat. The dust turned the toe of her black shoe a muted brown. She said, I don’t fit here. I’m sorry, I love you. But I won’t sacrifice myself for anyone. Not even you. I’m no Jesus. A tear fell into the spot of dust she kicked, and the dirt absorbed her sadness.

It was the first time she told Liam she loved him. When her mother pulled up, she pecked his cheek and ran to the car.

CHAPTER 4

Do not be yoked together with unbelievers. For what do righteousness and wickedness have in common? Or what fellowship can light have with darkness?

– 2 Corinthians 6:14 NIV

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Liam

After the months spent in Agnes’s home filled with easy laughs, casual dinners, and interesting conversation, Liam knew the dinner would go poorly, but this exceeded his expectations. After the last of the PC ladies went back to their sanctimonious lives, Jess turned to Liam, the air charged for conflict. She said, I don’t like her influence. I’ll pray for her, but you can’t date her.

What? Why? What did she do? he asked.

She’s rude. Did you see her eat before we prayed?

She didn’t know, Mom. She isn’t religious.

His mother’s shoulders tensed, and she scoffed, Because she wasn’t raised right. Agnostic Agnes is not the girl for you. Find yourself a good Christian girl.

Whatever, he said, and turned to leave.

Don’t disrespect me, young man. Don’t you ever walk away from me. Give me your phone and go to your room.

He placed the phone on the table between them, stormed to his room, and slammed the door shut. Sitting on his bed, he knew that one day a decision would have to be made between Jess and Agnes.

CHAPTER 5

When I am afraid, I put my trust in you.

– Psalm 56:3 NIV

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Agnes

He didn’t call that night, but after church on Sunday, Liam showed up at Agnes’s door. She cracked it open, peering at him through eyelids swollen from tears. His tie was askew, khakis wrinkled, and despite the midmorning chill, his shirt was heavy with sweat.

Hi, she said.

Can we talk? His breath smoked out his request through chattering teeth.

She knew he came to break up with her formally; he was respectful that way. Hang on, she said. She went inside and got two knitted blankets her mother made. She curled herself into one, stepped outside, and placed the other around his shoulders. They sat on her front porch steps, next to his bicycle that leaned against the railing. He fished her hand out of the blanket and held it.

He said, I should have told you. I didn’t let on how ‘intense’ she is. It’s embarrassing.

It’s okay.

My whole life, all I’ve known is religion. Since I was born, I’ve gone to church every Wednesday and Sunday. Even my school was religious before this year.

I didn’t hear from you on Saturday. I thought… She couldn’t finish her sentence.

I know. She took my phone and grounded me. My mom thinks you’re turning me away from God, and she wants someone to blame. I will not let her ruin this. He squeezed her hand.

Agnes felt armor gather around her