Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“I think I should go,” she says, looking at the mats and curling her nose. “I need a shower.”
I’d like to help you with that.
Chuckling, I walk her to her jacket and water and then out to her Jeep. She doesn’t speak as she climbs in. And the only goodbye we share is a small wave and a secret smile filled with promises that I fully intend to keep.
And this woman thinks she doesn’t know how to flirt.
I shake my head and go back inside to lock up.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
Brooks
“Amen,” Pastor Reed says. “You may be seated.”
The church fills with the sound of asses hitting seats as all fifty-four of us, according to the register board, sit down. A kaleidoscope of colors span the front of the building as the pastor finds his place in his Bible. A ray of purple light from the stained-glass windows hits him right in the face and he steps to the side to avoid it.
“Please open your Bibles to Isaiah, chapter forty-one, verse ten,” the pastor says.
I blow out a breath and pull my phone from my pocket. Not that I don’t love Isaiah and all, but my mind is in a much different place this morning. Not to mention that I don’t bring a Bible with me to church anymore. I spend way too much time trying to find the right spot that, by the time I do, the pastor has moved on, and I’m left scrambling to find the new location and thinking very frustrated thoughts. I think that kind of defeats the purpose.
I tap out a quick text and then look at the row across from me, waiting for Jasper to read it.
Me: Do you have any gum?
He rolls his eyes before firing me a dirty look.
Me: It’s a simple question.
Jasper: What do you want to do? Meet in the coat closet like we’re doing a drug deal in the house of the Lord?
Me: Absolutely not.
Me: We just meet at the water fountain, and you slip it in my hand as I walk by.
Jasper: Stop texting me.
I glance around the room, unable to anchor myself in the sermon or to even find a dynamic between parishioners interesting enough to hold my attention. Everyone is so … boring. I give it a few minutes and then check my email. The confirmation message from the house I booked for Audrey and me for a few days sits at the top, reminding me of what I have to look forward to once I get out of here.
It’s a dangerous proposition to take her away for a few days, but it’s a delicious one, too.
It’s all I can think about, and the real reason why I can’t even halfway pay attention to Pastor Reed or find the new girl who works at the bank—Lora, I think is her name—choosing to sit by an uninterested Hartley amusing. There’s very little that could compete for my attention with the idea of taking Dr. Audrey Van out of town for a few days.
And fucking her brains out.
I tap my toe against the floor until my mom swats my shoulder next to me.
Me: Will you babysit Otis?
Jasper: Sure.
Me: Can I bring him by after church, and you can keep him until I get home?
Jasper: Where are you going?
Me: I’m taking Audrey out of town for a few days.
Jasper: Lucky fuck.
Me: I concur.
Jasper: Now stop texting me.
Me: So, I can drop him off this afternoon?
Jasper: Text me again and the answer is no.
That’s settled. I scan the church again but can’t zone in. So, I lean my head over my shoulder towards my mom. “Got any gum?”
“No,” she whispers, the sound more like a hiss. “Be quiet.”
Isn’t church supposed to make people nice?
“And that’s God’s promise,” Pastor Reed says, his voice booming through the church. “He says it right here. ‘I am with you.’ That’s present tense, folks. He’s already with you. He’s strengthening you. He will help you. You just gotta accept the help.” He moves out from behind the pulpit. “But accepting help isn’t easy, is it?”
I sit back in the hard pew, the wood creaking beneath my weight, and close my eyes.
Accepting help isn’t easy. And although I know the pastor is on a slightly different wavelength than I am now, it’s still applicable. There are things I could probably use an assist with, things that’ll never see the light of day. I’m not about to ask someone to help me sort through the venom I still feel for my father—a molten ball of anger that eats away at my peace. Because what can be said about it that I don’t already know? Yes, he was a piece of shit. Yes, I was a child. Yes, I did what I thought was best and I need to find a way to let it go.