Good & Perfect

By Anna Schaeffer

Becca Shepherd knows who others expect her to be: the sweet and dependable preacher's daughter. She used to happily fit into the good girl mold, but lately, her reputation and her small-town life feel claustrophobic.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anna Schaeffer
• Release date: Jun 11, 2024
• ISBN: 9781733365741

Anna Schaeffer

Anna Schaeffer holds a degree in English from Georgia Regents University and was a finalist in the WestBow Press New Look Writing Contest. Anna lives in her hometown of Augusta, Georgia, where she serves in church ministry and writes stories that inspire teen girls to embrace God’s purpose for their lives. She’s also into laughter, random adventures, and all things bread-related. Find Anna on social media and hang out with her online at www.annaschaefferwrites.com

Book preview

Other books by Anna Schaeffer

All of This

Just One Thing

What I Know

(a Pecan Creek short story)

To Mom and Dad:

For our Pecan Creek

Dear Gid,

Do you remember our first kiss? I was newly six—you were almost seven. Our feet dangled from where we perched on a branch of the old magnolia tree. Thick, waxy leaves shaded us from the hot, Southern sun and blocked out a world that wants kids to grow up way too quickly. We shared watermelon popsicles—the sticky store brand kind. The juice trailed from our fingers to our wrists and dripped onto our legs, down to the Georgia clay below.

I don’t remember what we were talking about—what captured our imaginations on that humid July day. We had no real concept of time or seasons or change. We just had friendship and freckled faces and an infinite number of summer days stretching before us.

But I remember you.

Becca, Gideon, smile! Mama called from behind us, just outside our fortress. We whipped around, my ponytail flying, our faces colliding. Noses side-by-side, mouth hitting mouth, eyes closing on impact. That was the exact moment Mama snapped the picture.

I hid behind my scraggly brown bangs. Your cheeks were pink, but not from the popsicle juice.

My daddy shook his head. The preacher’s daughter, of all people, caught kissing a boy under the old magnolia tree! But Mama loved it so much, she printed a copy for your mama, too.

It wasn’t really a kiss, I guess. It was just two kids turning to have their picture taken. Nothing remotely romantic. You chipped one of your front baby teeth when it collided with mine, and I walked away with a puffy lip. It was all just childhood innocence and a second captured in time. A moment added to a collection of a thousand sunshine memories like bike rides and blanket forts and pretending the magnolia was a castle. Looking back, those memories loop in my mind like a montage in a movie. The kind of scenes that make you smile—a little sad, a little nostalgic—for a life that didn’t yet know heartbreak.

At six, there was so much I still didn’t know about life. I didn’t know childhood passes more quickly than an afternoon rain shower. I didn’t know we only had a few more golden summers together. I didn’t know my best friend would leave and I would befriend heartache.

But one thing I knew for sure back then, and one thing I still know now: there will never, ever be another boy like Gideon Graham.

Love, Bec

Chapter 1

They were just photographs on the wall, but it didn’t take much imagination to bring them to life. My parents’ wedding. Birthday parties. School pictures. Family trips. All mingled together – a reminder that the rhythm to life isn’t always clear, but its memories make a beautiful medley all the same.

The wooden stairs creaked beneath my feet as I took another step. On instinct, my eyes focused on one of the frames midway down the stairwell. A ten-year-old girl, cherub-cheeked and gap-toothed, with her arm slung around a twiggy boy her same age. His sandy blonde hair flipped out over his ears, a cowlick playfully gracing his tanned forehead. The kids sat on a picnic blanket beneath an old magnolia tree, their feet stretched forward, stained and calloused from a summer of running barefoot through the backyard and up and down the gravel driveway. If I focused hard enough, my heart could almost see the inevitable sadness in their eyes and the goodbye that waited on the other side of the photo.

I blinked away the memories, bringing myself back to right now. Away from the what was and into the what was about to be.

My little sister Hope played the role of my shadow, mirroring my movement as we reached the base of the steps in the entryway. It’s as if we were stepping back into Neverland—back to the place where time stood still and childhood reigned.

Is he out there?

On the other side of the screen door, my parents stood in the warmth of the late May evening. Mom reached out and embraced a woman with glossy brown hair and a kind smile. I could almost feel the woman’s hug. Dad stood talking to a tall man with a graying blonde beard. Deep, sincere laughter filtered through the screen.

Where is he?

The door creaked against my hand, and I stretched my other arm behind me, wiggling my fingers until Hope grasped them in her own. She squeezed my hand twice—our silent sister way of saying I’m here.

We stepped out on the porch, leaving footprints in the yellow pollen dust, and I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to enter into the middle of the hugging, or wait to be noticed. For a moment, I felt jealous of Hope. I’d love to be eight again, back when my biggest care in the world was mustering up the courage to greet strangers.

Before I made up my mind about what to do next, Dad turned around, his whole face smiling. He reached out his arm, motioning his daughters to his side.

And there he was. I stood face-to-face with my long-lost best friend.

Or, to be more accurate, I stood face-to-pecs with my long-lost best friend. I was average height for a girl my age, but the once-scrawny little boy stood tall and strong like a Georgia pine. If he stretched out his arm, I could nearly walk right under it.

I had to tilt my head to see his face. A face that was almost unrecognizable, except for the startling blue eyes and the unmistakable swish of that cowlick.

Hey, Bec. The words were deep and sure, confidently walking out of a mouth that was no longer too big for his face.

He smiled, held out his arms like a question.

My feet carried me across the space between us until I was stepping into his arms for a hug. For a reunion. For home.

He circled his arms around me, held me closely yet gently for the briefest moment. My stomach felt jazzy. Kind of like my hand whenever I touched a doorknob after shuffling across the carpet in socks.

This grown boy let me go and took a step back.

Though he’d spent the past seven years on the other side of the country, there was no mistaking the Southern drawl sliding back into his words. And there was no ignoring the way my heart ached when I heard him say Bec—the nickname only he ever used for me.

I smiled back, showing off the significant orthodontic work I’d had done since we last saw each other. Hey, Gid. You’re all grown up. Heat creeped up my neck. You’re all grown up? What was I, his grandmother? I took another step back, bumping into Hope. I’d forgotten she was behind me.

Gideon reached out to steady me as I steadied Hope. We must’ve looked like some sort of awkward conga line.

So…how have you been? He asked once we were all steady and vertical.

I’m good. Really good. Wow, I can’t believe you’re back.

It feels like a lifetime. He kept his cerulean eyes on my face, like if he didn’t memorize every detail of it, I’d vanish. I knew the feeling, because I was doing the same thing.

Hope shuffled beside me, and we both looked down at her. She wasn’t usually so forgettable.

Hope! You’re all grown up, too. Gideon leaned forward, hands on his long legs, so that he was closer to my pixie sister’s height.

When she nodded, I ran a reassuring hand through her long, blonde ringlets, bringing it to rest on her shoulder. Yeah. Her voice was steady, but her hand twisting a curl was her nervous tell. I’m brand-new eight.

No way! Gideon brought his voice up an octave, but not in an I’m-talking-to-a-little-kid way. It was engaging, and Hope’s shoulder relaxed beneath my hand.

Yes way! Her giggle floated up and popped like bubbles in the space around us.

You were bald the last time I saw you.

Hope blushed and rolled her eyes up at me as if to say, Will boys always be weird?

Becca! Gideon’s mom pulled me to her side and wrapped me in an embrace as familiar as my own mother’s. His dad found me next, and I answered their reintroduction questions about my favorite school subject (Literature), hobby (people watching), summer plans (ice cream)—all that stuff adults find fascinating. As we all stepped through the doorway and into the old farmhouse where our families once spent countless hours together, I couldn’t help but pause at the threshold. Almost seven years ago, we stood in this exact same spot, saying goodbye. I took a deep breath.

It’s crazy, huh?

I jumped at the timbre of Gideon’s voice behind me.

What’s that?

I’m back.

Uh-huh.

He ran a hand along the doorframe like he couldn’t believe it was the same after all this time. The farmhouse was one of the few things that hadn’t changed.

For one thing, we were in high school now, on the other side of the awkward years. Well, almost. Change was hard for me, so I subconsciously kept one foot solidly in the awkward.

I led Gideon into the kitchen, where a spread of pot roast, veggies, cornbread, and salad adorned the table in a Southern feast.

"Now I know I’m home." Gideon looked like he could start drooling at any moment. I grabbed mason jars off the butcher block counter and began filling them with ice while my mom took drink orders.

What’ll you have, Gideon? Mom asked.

Water’s fine, thanks.

I felt my jaw go slack and turned, the sweet tea pitcher clutched in my grasp. You sure?

He blinked at me. Yeah…

Gideon Graham. You’re passing up Mama’s tea?

Mom gestured to the pitcher with a slotted spoon. It’s my church tea—extra sweet.

"It’s her church tea," I emphasized.

Poor Gideon looked like he’d stepped into an unfamiliar culture. And I guess, in a way, he had.

West Coast life has weakened him, Drew Graham said. But I could go for some Lydia Shepherd church tea.

Yes, sir. I grinned and filled a mason jar to the brim for him.

Your water, I said, setting the jar in front of Gideon, my voice flat. I slid into my seat on the farm table bench next to him, like I used to do, as he shifted to face me, long legs bumping into mine.

How long are you gonna hold this over me? He raised a thick, dark blonde eyebrow. I involuntarily caught my breath.

Recovering, I said, Remind me how long you’re here for?

Fine. He reached for my cup of tea, pausing before he grabbed it. May I?

I raised my own eyebrows. Be my guest.

Gideon slid the jar toward himself and raised it slowly to his lips. I glanced around to see who else was watching this spectacle, but our parents were caught up in conversation, and Hope was handing out napkins she’d folded into Thanksgiving turkeys—the only origami she’d mastered.

Gideon cut his eyes over at me, winked, and took a giant gulp.

Then he winced. Wow. That takes me back.

I smiled. Welcome home.

I reached for the jar, hesitating. When we were kids, I never would’ve thought twice about sharing my drink with Gideon. It was just a best friend thing to do. But we weren’t kids any more, and something about it just felt…I don’t know…intimate, somehow. Even though we were basically just reintroducing ourselves to each other.

Maybe I was taking it too far, being too weird about it. My friends always called me out for how deeply I thought about things no one else would blink at. I grabbed the jar with a little more force than I meant to, nearly sending the liquid inside sloshing over the sides. I took a dainty sip, then set it back on the table.

Gideon watched the whole ordeal.

Man, Bec, we’ve got some catching up to do, huh? Gideon smiled with half of his mouth and both of his eyes. I grinned back like the Cheshire Cat and felt that zap in my stomach again.

I turned back to the center of the table, acutely aware of his presence beside me, his right elbow and my left nearly colliding every time we raised our forks.

None of us gathered around the table seemed to know where to begin. After all, a lot of life had happened since the last time we all sat around this table. Time had marched on. Us kids had grown and changed. There was even a new stoplight downtown.

The adults chatted about the stoplight first.

It took three town hall meetings for them to decide to finally get rid of that four-way stop, Dad said over his drink.

Drew laughed. Can I guess who was the reason for that?

You can guess, but Paul will never gossip about Mrs. Ida and her incessant opinions.

Lydia! Dad acted shocked that my outspoken mother would say such a thing. Really, though, no one was surprised when Mom opened her mouth. Her to-the-point conversations were her trademark.

Mom shrugged. "I said you would never gossip. I left myself out of that. She looked over at Gideon’s mom, who nodded her approval. Meg agrees."

Dad sighed. I forgot how dangerous it is to have the two of you in the same town.

While my dad filled the Grahams in on the wild town hall meeting where the decision was made to add a stoplight at the intersection of Main and Knox, I slipped a piece of roast under the table.

A warm nose nudged my hand as my chocolate lab gently took the meat from my palm. I scratched behind Pudding’s velvety ears. She’d been my best friend since the fall after Gideon left. Since my parents saw how their daughter began to crumble under the weight of the loss of her dearest friend.

Pudding rested her head on my knee, silently asking for another treat. But I didn’t risk getting caught. Sneaking table food to Pudding was one of the only household rules I bent, and now would not be a great time to get busted. Instead, I rubbed her soft head to reassure her that Gideon's return would not affect my friendship with her in any way.

After dinner, Mom shooed everyone out of the kitchen so she could have time to catch up with her friend over cups of coffee. The dads stepped outside to head through the small grove of pecan trees and up the hill to the church. We’d also had new carpet put in the sanctuary in the past six years, and let me tell you, if Drew thought the stoplight meeting was lively, he was gonna pass out once he heard about the carpet saga. Mrs. Ida actually wrote and recited an elegy for the old gray flooring: O Carpet! My carpet! I still laughed when I remembered everyone’s stunned silence after her final line of Resolved, we step to trod anew.

I liked poetry, but even I didn’t know what the heck that meant.

Hope headed upstairs to put on her pajamas, leaving Gideon and me in the living room. Gideon nodded in the direction of the back door. Want to go outside?

Pudding pushed past us to chase away a squirrel as we stepped into the dusk, the sky just dark enough for the motion sensing floodlight to come to life as we passed beneath it.

The castle! Gideon’s voice reminded me of when we were ten— just as much joy, but a little more depth. A little more life lived. I had to see if it was still here!

He jogged over to the magnolia tree, reached out and rubbed a big leaf. I smiled to myself. In the distance, through the pecan trees and up the hill, I could see the white church steeple against the backdrop of the setting sun. I turned my head back to stare up at the giant magnolia’s tall, sturdy branches. In some ways, the magnolia had been our own sanctuary.

Gideon broke into my thoughts. How many hours do you think we spent in this tree? I mean, man. We have so many memories in there. Castle. Army. House. Tarzan. He shook his blonde head, as if he couldn’t believe he was back on this sacred ground. Can we?

I nodded. The canopy of leaves was heavy. We stepped into the shadows and for a moment, it was as if no time had passed at all. I grabbed onto a waist-high branch, pushing myself up and swinging a leg over the branch until I straddled it like a horse. I was not athletic, and I had just packed in a whole lot of roast, but some things were just muscle memory.  I crouched on the branch and climbed up a few more before I sat above Gideon’s head. Once again taller than the boy with the blonde cowlick. All as it used to be.

Gideon followed my lead. Long, coordinated, and sinewy, it seemed as if he merely took one big step to reach my branch. When he arrived, he stayed straddling it, leaning back against the magnolia’s trunk. We sat there in the silent shadows, caught in a moment of a thousand yesterdays swirling around us. It was a comfortable silence. The kind that only comes from deep friendship and knowing that some spaces are meant to be savored and left uncluttered by words.

So, Gideon finally spoke, his voice lower but somehow still just as familiar as my own. Who is Rebecca Shepherd now?

I swung my legs beneath me, like I was seven again, rather than seventeen.

Well, I chose my words carefully. Not because of the circumstances, but because that’s how I was. Cautious. Consistent. I just finished junior year. It was an obvious thing to say to someone you knew growing up, but where else do you start when someone asks about you? Besides, I was usually the one asking the thoughtful questions. Listening.

Let me guess: You’re still a bookworm, huh? Gideon swung his foot to tap mine. I blushed, but mercifully, it was too dark for him to see.

"I still live by the belief you should never go anywhere without a book. A real book, not a screen."

In the growing darkness, Gideon tilted his head. With any other boy, it would feel weird to be hidden away. Not that I’d ever experienced that. But with Gideon, it was different. Familiar. I figured. You still talk like a walking poetry book.

What?

I mean, like, he backpedaled, in a good way. When you talk, your words just kind of have a rhythm to them. It’s nice.

Oh, um, thanks. I guess I just kind of romanticize everything.

Romance?

My face heated. Not like that. Just, like, trying to make my otherwise average life a little more exciting.

But you’re a pastor’s kid. I know you see all kinds of stuff.

In my head, I had a running list of challenges that came with being the preacher’s daughter, the first being that not many people realize there actually are challenges. But Gideon’s dad was also a pastor. He got it.

The second thing that came to mind was how I was much more comfortable in the background—in the shelter of the magnolia—than with all of the expectations and responsibilities that came with the title. I mean, yeah, I desperately wanted my life to matter and I wanted to make a difference. But that was also kind of terrifying.

It’s…still the only life I’ve ever known. Hope and I have kind of grown up in a spotlight. Or a floodlight. It wasn’t a huge church, and we were in a small town, but that didn’t affect the spotlight’s wattage because people here knew everybody.

Gideon grimaced. I get that. How’s the church?

I looked over my shoulder, unable to see it with my eyes through the magnolia canopy, but visualizing it just as clearly in my mind. I knew that place better than the back of my own hand. I could navigate it with my eyes closed. I actually had navigated it with my eyes closed more than once during student events. I could sing every song without being fed the lyrics. Predict the weekly attendance and giving amount…

Some things never change.

A trill pierced our contemplative silence. Gideon reached into the pocket of his jeans and removed his phone. We squinted in the light of his screen.

Oh, it’s Mom. She says we’re leaving. He did that half-mouth smile again and slid his phone back into his pocket.

We should probably go in anyway. It’s my job to make sure Dad switches to decaf in the evenings, otherwise his sermon illustrations turn out really interesting. That was true, but also, I felt weird. Not self-conscious, but…off, somehow.

Gideon slipped to the ground below and I caught my breath. Are you good?

Perfect. I saw just enough of his silhouette to see his arms reaching out to help me down. I gave him my hands and dropped. I stumbled and he caught me against his chest.

Sorry, I mumbled into his t-shirt. I didn’t exactly outgrow the spaz.

Why mess with a good thing? His voice lilted at the joke, but there was something sincere woven in his words. I looked down, realizing I was still holding onto his forearms from where I steadied myself. I dropped my hands and shoved them into my pockets.

We climbed out from the security of the magnolia and stared upward. A few stars now winked above us, splashed against the clear sky. I clasped my hands, rocking back and forth on my heels. I waited. For what, I didn’t know. Somehow I felt like I had everything I needed and yet something was still missing.

This time, Gideon was the one who followed as I led the way back to the house.

Hey, Bec?

I turned around, my hand resting on the back door.

Yeah?

This has been awesome. Let’s finish catching up soon, okay?

Oh, um, I tucked my hair behind my ears, both sides at once. I probably looked like Dumbo now. Sure. I’d like that. We can mud-sled down the church hill, I joked.

He smiled in the light slipping through the little window in the door, recognition of that memory filling his expression. Cool. Can I get your number? So we can plan something?

He handed his phone to me, warm from his pocket. I tapped in my contact information, sending a text to myself so I’d have his.

As we stepped into the house, our parents’ laughter ricocheted off the walls. They hadn’t missed a beat slipping back into their old, familiar friendship. Mine and Gideon’s friendship seemed to be back as well, and yet something about it felt different. Expectant for something in front of us, rather than just reminiscent about what was behind. The chance to be friends by choice rather than just because our parents had been friends. I wondered if he felt it too.

Gideon caught my eye and winked. It’s good to be home.

Maybe it’s true that some things never change. But then, some things do change and you’re never the same.

Dear Gid,

Do you remember the old porch swing? Remember how we climbed aboard like it was a pirate ship and we were buccaneers? We took turns holding foam swords to each other’s back as we walked the plank.

Remember how that swing was also a surfboard? We were inspired by our families’ trip to the Outer Banks, where people rode waves as easily as if they were sliding across glass. I remember giving each other surfing lessons, even though we’d never been farther than waist-deep in the ocean. One of us stood on the swing, the ever-agile surfer dude, while the other played the part of the rolling waves. It was all fun and very lifelike until a particularly gnarly wave knocked you off the board.

Thank you for giving me the honor of being the first to sign your cast.

Love, Bec

Chapter 2

Hey, Ree. Dad called, using his special nickname for me. It was a nod to Rebecca, my full name that no one ever used. He reached out to accept the cup of decaf coffee from my hand and slid over so I could sit next to him on the porch swing, my weight softly setting us