Shelter Me

by Mina Bennett

  "Are you outside? It sounds like you're outside."

  "Oh, yeah, I'm just out in the yard with Molly."

  "Okay," she said, slowly. I could tell she was skeptical, but she stopped short of asking the neighbors to spy on me. She paused, taking a deep breath. "Jacob, you - you know I'm just worried about you, right?"

  "Yeah. Of course." I chewed on my lower lip.

  There was a long silence.

  "Okay," she said, finally. "I'll let you go. Don't stay up all night."

  "No promises."

  "Love you."

  "Love you too, night mom."

  "Goodnight, Jacob."

  Dusk was settling in. I needed to get home before the trail got too dark to see. I hopped back on my bike and started pedaling until I gained my momentum back, and continued coasting down the side of the mountain until I felt pavement under my wheels.

  Wherever I was, there were no street lights. I pedaled cautiously along the side of the narrow road, keeping my ears perked for the sound of approaching cars. I knew I couldn't be far from home, but I didn't recognize this particular stretch.

  Glancing up at the sky, I saw it had grown dim and grey, and bats flitted across the expanse, little dark shapes, zig zagging like drunken birds.

  I was starting to feel that little tickle of nervousness, but I pushed it aside and kept pedaling. I'd gotten "lost" plenty of times before, and I'd only ever actually been lost once or twice.

  After a few more minutes, I pulled off by the ditch and looked around me. I still couldn't recognize a thing, and it was getting darker. It felt like admitting defeat, but I pulled my phone out of my pocket.

  Last Christmas, my parents had managed to spring for newer phones that actually had GPS built in. They were as basic as it came, but as my mom said meaningfully, it was "better than nothing." I hadn't ever used it, but I figured now was the time. I pulled up the map and waited for it to find me.

  And waited. And waited.

  ERROR: NO CONNECTION FOUND

  Seriously?

  I threw the phone back in my pocket and started pedaling furiously down the road again.

  In all my years of riding around these back roads, it seemed impossible that I could have somehow stumbled across a stretch I didn't know. It must be the dark, or I just wasn't used to seeing it from this direction. At any rate, it was definitely going to connect with something I recognized, at some point. It had to, right?

  I shook my head to clear the unpleasant worries, and kept on pedaling.

  By now, it was completely dark. For once I was grateful for the little reflectors my mom had insisted I paste all over my bike; the noise of the crickets had grown so loud that I wasn't sure I would even hear a car coming.

  As I kept on riding, my mind started to wander. Almost anything was better than thinking about my current predicament, and before I knew it, I blinked and I saw Marissa's face.

  This was what I did, whenever I was bored or distracted or lonely or afraid. I remembered her face - her smile - which came so rarely, and was all the more important because of that. I remembered her voice, always so soft and unassuming. But she was stronger than anyone knew. It was hiding in her eyes. I didn't know anybody else who could walk through a crowd of people that she knew were all whispering rumors about her, her back straight and her hands clasped in front of her, grace personified.

  I knew that she knew. She'd even joked about it once or twice. "You know the kinds of things people say about me." I tried to imagine being in her shoes and joking about being the pariah. I was pretty sure that if I were her, I would have stopped going to church by now. Maybe run away from home. The silent judgment would be more than I could take.

  But there she was, every day, sitting next to her family with her hands in her lap and her eyes on the pulpit. In my less charitable moments, I hated them - all of them, every last person at Eternal Grace that seemed to so hell-bent on keeping her an outcast. It was an impulse I'd never understand. But it didn't seem like it was ever going to change.

  If Marissa were here right now, riding next to me on her hand-me-down roadster in sea foam green, she'd just smile encouragingly at me. "Don't worry. Any minute now, we'll come up on a road you recognize."

  I shook my head, bringing myself back to reality. Up ahead was the glow of a street light, and there was a sign underneath it.

  I'd hit the state route that ran almost directly through my back yard.

  Marissa would laugh.

  ***

  When Brandon first told me about Mark and Marissa, I thought he was kidding. It would have been the perfect way to mess with me. But not even the unplumbed depths of his mind could come up with something like that.

  "You know," he said, around a mouthful of sandwich, "Mark asked Mr. Moore if he could court Marissa."

  I almost spit out my soda.

  "You're kidding." I felt like I'd been punched in the chest, which I told myself was just shock. Mark and...Marissa? I mean, he wasn't technically that much older than the rest of us, but the maturity gap seemed obscenely big. He owned a house, for crying out loud. Mari was still living in the bedroom she grew up in, with pink wallpaper and a Beatrix Potter lamp.

  "No way," said Brandon. "I heard it from Lily, and she got it straight from Martha. They're 'keeping it quiet' for now." He smirked. Nothing much stayed quiet for long, around here.

  "That's..."

  "Get this," said Brandon. "He didn't even ask her first. Her dad had to tell her. That's how old-fashioned Mark is."

  "Well," I said. "That makes sense." It didn't make sense, actually. Nothing made sense anymore. But it seemed like the thing to say.

  "You still have a thing for her?" Brandon was spraying crumbs while he displayed his trademarked sensitivity.

  "No," I said. Then, "I don't know. It doesn't matter, does it?"

  "Well," he said. "I guess it matters to you."

  We both chewed silently for a bit.

  "You don't think it's weird?" I said, finally. "For him to go after one of his youth group kids?"

  "Well, she's eighteen." Brandon looked like he was hardly convincing himself.

  "I know that, obviously." I was eyeing the uneaten half of my sandwich. "But it's a little like a teacher dating a student. Or...something."

  "Yeah, no, she'd be far better off with a certain aspiring young bike shop owner." Brandon grinned at me.

  "Okay, sure, smart guy," I said. "You've got lettuce in your teeth."

  And that was the last time we discussed it.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Marissa

  My first memory of Eternal Grace Church goes like this.

  We'd been going there for a week or two, maybe more. All I remember is that I didn't know anyone yet, and nobody knew me. Not that anything got better after we became more acquainted, but the point is, I was invisible. I was used to that, but I guess until that moment I didn't realize exactly how invisible.

  All of us kids were gathered in the auditorium, sitting cross-legged on the floor and waiting for instructions. The adults leading the group enthusiastically ordered us to "JUMP UP AND FIND A PARTNER!!!" I got to my feet, turning around in a circle, casting my eyes across the group for someone else standing alone. I was too shy to step towards anyone, but it wouldn't have mattered even if I'd found the strength to do so. In the space of about four seconds, all the kids were partnered up. Including Mary and Martha, of course.

  Neither one of them was looking at me, so they didn't notice me standing there alone as the game started. I can't recall the content of it anymore, something with jumping and clapping and singing to a rhythm. After the first round, as I stood there silent and still, the adults shrieked "DO YOU WANT TO DO IT AGAIN???" Everyone screamed their assent, and I joined in. What else was I to do?

  After three or four rounds of this, with the adults making no effort to ensure everyone had a partner, the game finally ended in a fit of giggles. I sat down on the gym floor and finally allowed myself to cry.

/>   As big, hot tears splashed on the floor beneath me, my mom ran towards me and asked me what was wrong. Did someone hit me? Did someone say something mean? Did they take something?

  I couldn't articulate what was wrong. When she finally got the story out of me, the look on her face said: oh God, is she really throwing a fit over this?

  "You have to stick up for yourself, honey. Go up to the adults and just say 'excuse me, I don't have a partner.'"

  All I could do was nod and sniffle. I didn't bother explaining to her that there was no time, that I would have had to push my way through a crowd of hysterical kids to reach the stage and climb up there to talk to leaders, singling myself out as the sad little lonely girl who couldn't even find her own partner for clapping games.

  "It'll get better," my mom had said to me then, wrapping her arms around me and resting her chin on my head as I sat on her lap. "It'll get easier, sweetie."

  That, of course, was a lie. Even back then, I knew.

  ***

  I remember the day everything changed.

  It was just a normal summer afternoon, a while after Mark had first come to our church. I was lounging in my room with a book like always, with George purring on my lap. Someone tapped at the door.

  "Come in," I said, sitting up and setting my book aside. George perked up his head. Weirdly enough, it was my dad who pushed the door open, looking around the room as if he'd never seen it before.

  "Marissa," he said, taking a seat in my desk chair. "How are things going?"

  I'd learned by now that they never actually wanted to hear a real answer.

  "Fine," I said. "Good."

  "I notice you've been talking a lot to Mark after church." He shifted in his seat. "Has he ever said anything to you about being - you know, interested in you?" His discomfort was palpable. "Romantically?"

  Honestly I didn't think we talked that much, but obviously something was driving the question. It was only a matter of time. "No," I said. It was true - he'd never actually said anything. Sometimes, though, I did wonder. But I quickly pushed the thoughts aside in favor of the more logical explanation, which was that he was simply trying to minister to the most troubled-seeming kid in church. There was no way I could actually be...attractive to him.

  "You're sure?" There was something other than idle concern in my dad's tone. I felt my throat tighten.

  "Yes," I said. "I'm sure."

  I didn't dare ask why, but I knew he was going to tell me anyway.

  "Well, he gave me a call the other day. He said he wanted to meet with me and have a talk about you. I had no idea going into it - I just figured it was, well, you know." He cleared his throat. "But when I sat down he started talking to me about how you were so bright, and lovely, and...he was very respectful, of course, but the upshot of everything was that he was asking my permission to court you."

  My heart was thudding at a million beats per minute. This couldn't be real, could it? I must be sleeping. Georgie's claws suddenly pricked me in the leg, bringing me back to reality.

  "What did you say?" My voice sounded very distant. There was a ringing sound in my ears.

  "Well, I said it was fine with me if you were interested. But I didn't know he hadn't even...I figured he would have brought it up with you first, or there was some kind of, I don't know. Understanding. But apparently not." He was frowning a little. "I guess he wanted to check with me first."

  "Sure," I said. I had the distinct sensation that I was floating above my own body. "I guess he'll talk to me about it on Sunday."

  "I guess he will." My dad was silent for a moment. "You guys haven't...talked outside of church at all?"

  "No." I started picking at a loose thread on my jeans. When did that get there?

  "Never on the phone, or anything?"

  "No."

  "Well." My dad looked out the window. "I guess a lot of stuff changed since I was in the dating game." His eyes wandered back to me. "So is this what you want?"

  "What?"

  "You know. Mark, courting you. That's a pretty serious word."

  I didn't know what I was supposed to say.

  I settled on a quiet "yes."

  "You don't sound..." my dad sucked in a breath through his teeth. "...totally convinced."

  Briefly, I tried to imagine my mom's reaction if she found out that a youth group leader, an aspiring pastor, had expressed interest in me, and I'd rejected him. And Mark, no less. Mark, with his movie star good looks and effortless charisma. What on earth did he want with someone like me?

  "Did you tell mom yet?" I asked.

  "Marissa," he said, seriously, scooting the chair a little closer. "Are you giving serious thought to this? You can't make a snap decision one way or the other. This is a major thing. Do you feel like you're ready?"

  Did I?

  The facts were: I was lonely. I felt like Mark at least made an effort to understand me. What other options did I have? If I said no, would my mom ever forgive me?

  My dad finally got up and walked away, and I realized I hadn't spoken in a long time. I'd never given him an answer. But by now, he was used to that.

  ***

  "Here, toss me the roll. I'll pin it up over here."

  I looked at Jacob skeptically.

  "I'll catch it," he insisted, balanced on the top part of the stepladder - the part that said, in big bold letters, DO NOT STEP. His arm was outstretched.

  "I'm not that great of a throw," I said.

  His smile was infectious. "Come on, Mari," he said. "Just throw it."

  I lifted the roll of party streamer, squinting, trying to judge the distance.

  "For Pete's sake," said Brandon, from the across the room.

  "Fine." I let the thing fly, watching it spiral spectacularly through the air, leaving a trail of crepe paper behind it. To my utter astonishment, Jacob reached out and managed to snatch the thing out of midair, even as it went wide.

  Jacob let out a whistle.

  "I told you I was a bad throw," I said, turning back towards the wall and continuing to tape up cardboard punch-outs of Jesus and the disciples.

  "Stop it, that was good," said Jacob. I thought I heard Brandon snort, but I didn't turn around.

  We broke for lunch shortly after that, sprawling out on the grass with our sandwiches and water bottles. Vacation Bible School for the little kids didn't start until next week, but we were getting the place all gussied up in preparation. I assumed it was at least partially so Mark could show it off on Sunday, and demonstrate how well he'd managed to corral us.

  I ate slowly, enjoying the feel of the sun soaking into my skin. Before I knew what was happening, a lot of the group had filtered back inside, leaving me and Jacob sitting more or less alone together.

  He was just sitting here, twisting a blade of grass around and around between his fingers. I figured I should say something, so I cleared my throat.

  "I guess you must know about me and Mark by now."

  He didn't look up. "Me and everybody else."

  "Yeah. No secrets in Hobb's Vale, huh?"

  Jacob shook his head. "No ma'am," he said, finally smiling. "Well. That was fast."

  "Well," I said. "We've been talking for a couple months."

  "Sure," he said. "I didn't mean it was too fast. It was just - well, I was surprised."

  I shrugged. "Most people saw the writing on the wall, I guess."

  "I guess."

  I felt the absurd need to apologize for something.

  "He's...he seems very..." Jacob was obviously searching for something, and failing. "You know what I mean."

  "Yeah," I said, although I had no idea what he was driving at.

  "I mean he's very, he's got his life together. He has a path laid out. That's always a good thing to have. You don't want to end up with someone who's shiftless."

  "I don't really know what he sees in me," I admitted. "But I'm very lucky to have his attention."

  "Oh, don't be...don't say things like that." Jacob was
frowning at me. "You're very - you have a lot to offer. Of course you do."

  Shaking my head, I smiled at him. "You're crazy," I said. "You're both crazy. But thanks for saying that."

  "I'm being serious," Jacob insisted.

  An outburst of giggles erupted in the small group that was still out on the field with us. We both turned to look, somewhat grateful, I think, for the interruption.

  "That's sick," someone was saying.

  "I didn't know!" someone else protested. "For crying out loud."

  Jacob got up and headed in their direction. "What's going on?"

  "Oh, shh shh shh!" Lily, a petite blonde who'd never given me the time of day, leapt to her feet. "Nobody tell him. Jacob, do you want to do a little exercise I learned in my psych class?"

  "Ugh," said Jacob.

  A chorus of "do it! Come on, please!" was all it took to convince him. He sat down cross-legged in front of Lily, and I hung back, invisible once again.

  "Okay." Lily handed him a pencil and drawing pad. "I want you to draw a picture of a family."

  "Just any family. Okay," said Jacob, picking up the pencil. "I'm a terrible artist. Just for the record."

  "It doesn't matter," said Lily. "This isn't going on display. It's just for fun."

  As he started scratching across the paper, I tried to imagine what Mark would make of this little exercise. For a long time now I'd felt like I was poised on the brink of adulthood, no longer a child but not quite grown up, either. Now that was about to change. I was going to have to adopt a mindset more like Mark's. I was going to have to act like an adult if I wanted to be his wife.

  I was going to be someone's wife.

  The knowledge sat heavy in the pit of my stomach. I didn't know why. It was supposed to be exciting and joyful. But Jacob was right. It had all happened so fast. It still didn't seem real.

  "Oh my gosh," Lily was saying, staring at Jacob's picture and tittering. "Oh my gosh. Jacob."

  "What?" he said, looking amused and slightly irritated. "What'd I do?"

  "What's that?" Lily was pointing to something in the drawing. I looked over her shoulder. It was a crude sketch of a house with a tree in the yard, and a group of people standing together out front. There was what appeared to be a mother and father, a little boy, and...