“I wasn’t worried,” I say. At least not about Dad.
“See you in the morning.”
I stand motionless as she walks down the hallway to her room and closes the door. My stomach is still churning as I go to my room and lay across my bed. Then I get up and go back across the hall to the bathroom to wash my face. When I come out, I still don’t hear anything from her room, so I go back to mine and change clothes.
I get under my covers and pick up a book, but I can’t read it. I lean back and close my eyes for a second. After a few minutes, I look around. It’s strange because I don’t remember how I got here, but I’m swimming in the creek. It’s dark, and I’m alone in the black waters. At least I thought I was alone. There’s a voice on the shore, a male voice. It sounds like Jason, but it’s too far away for me to tell. I start to swim toward it, but something grabs my legs and starts pulling me under. It’s scratchy like tree roots, and I struggle and kick. But it keeps grabbing me and pulling me down. My heart’s beating faster, and I can’t breathe. I try to cry out, to move my arms, but it’s too late. The dark water is pouring into my nose and down my throat. I’m drowning. I can’t lift my arms as I start to black out…
I sit up fast. I’m in my bed, and it’s light outside. Sunday morning.
Six
I can’t shake the dream as I prepare for church. Slipping into my dress and brushing my hair, I can still feel the scratchy whatever it was pulling my legs, still feel the water running down my throat, and I shiver. Anxiety tightens my chest, and I worry it was an omen or something. Our quiet house isn’t helping either. I want to turn on the television or blast the radio to fill up the silence. Instead I wander into the kitchen and find Mom pouring a cup of coffee.
“Coffee?” I raise my eyebrows. “What happened to the green tea regimen?”
“Hm?” She frowns, distracted. Then she smiles. “Oh, I needed a little kick this morning.”
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Oh, nothing. Just didn’t get enough sleep last night.”
She walks into the living room and sits on the couch, staring at the black face of the silent television.
“Maybe you should’ve gone to bed earlier,” I say, watching her for any sign of a reaction.
She takes a sip and shakes her head. “It would’ve just been more time lying awake.”
I can’t believe she missed my meaning. “Worried about something?” I ask. Then I hold my breath, waiting to see if she’ll tell me anything more about last night. Why Ricky was here or what “thing” he’s dealing with.
She glances at me, and for a moment I think she might. But she only smiles and shakes her head again. “Just trouble sleeping,” she says. “I probably should’ve taken some melatonin.”
I frown, but she turns back to the dark television screen again. I decide to try another approach and go to sit beside her on the couch.
“Let’s see what’s on,” I say, picking up the remote. “Maybe they’re touring another little village on Sunday Morning. Like that time when I was sick?”
“Harley,” Mom breathes, standing. “You know Daddy likes it quiet before church. He needs these last moments to pray and mentally prepare.”
And with that she walks back to her room, leaving me on the couch frowning at her half-empty coffee cup. I’ve never thought of my mom as a great actress, but she’d win an Oscar for her performance today. She’s behaving like last night was the most ordinary Saturday evening of all time, and Ricky hadn’t been here crying and pleading with her when I got home. The pressure in my chest grows worse.
During every church service there’s this part where we “Pass the Peace.” Basically we all greet each other and shake hands right before Dad gets up to deliver his sermon. As I shake hands with the lady sitting behind me, I spot Trent. He’s always in church with his mom, and he always looks amazing in a coat and tie. Our eyes meet and he smiles, and in spite of it all, my heart flutters. I give him a little wave and then catch Stephanie Miller watching us. I smile at her but she quickly flicks her eyes away. Then I see Trent’s mom watching my mom with a sneaky smirk on her face, and all my peace vanishes. But I also notice Ms. Jackson doesn’t seem to have a lot of friends at church. That explains why her story’s been so slow going. I wonder if Trent knows what his mom saw at my house. I wonder if he believes it.
I look at Mom, and she’s making a point to shake hands with Mrs. Perkins. Mrs. Perkins stiffly nods and then follows with her evil eyes as Mrs. Bender waddles over to embrace Mom. Mrs. B’s been Mom’s closest ally for years. Ever since my mom convinced her not to leave her husband.
We all sit, and I watch as Dad takes his position behind the pulpit and begins to speak. Dad’s been the pastor here since I was a baby. Our church is part of the Presbyterian Churches of America, but I didn’t even know that meant anything until a few years ago. Basically it means our church falls into the most conservative category of Presbyterians, which doesn’t surprise me. In my house it’s always been no cursing, drinking, wearing certain clothes, watching certain movies and TV shows. Even me being on the cheerleading squad is just borderline okay because of the short skirts and high kicks.
So a few years back it came out that Mr. Bender’d had an affair with this Cambodian woman when he was on duty in Vietnam. He confessed to my dad that he practically had this whole other family in the South Pacific and Mrs. Bender almost left him over it. But my parents saved the day—with God’s help, of course.
Dad reminded everyone that Bender was a war hero and said what had happened was one of those “in love and war” types of situations. He said what mattered now was saving their marriage, that it was a mistake, and forgiveness was a gift. Mrs. Bender wasn’t as understanding or ready to forgive, but after counseling with my mom for several months, she decided to put it behind her. I couldn’t believe it, but Mom said I didn’t understand the concept of building a life with someone.
Maybe I’m still learning, but I believe having another woman pop up with your husband’s two long-lost kids seriously wrecks any life-building efforts. It’s the exact opposite of how things went with Shelly’s parents. Of course, once all that came out, Shelly’s dad had been more interested in ending their marriage than trying to keep it together. That’s what hurt my friend so much. But to be fair, I don’t believe a marriage can be saved after something like that happens, and it’s hard for me to understand where Mrs. B’s coming from acting like it doesn’t matter to her. Mom says I should wait until I’m older to decide.
As Dad continues speaking, I look over at my mom. Her eyes are glued to him like she’s hanging on his every word. I chew my lip and frown. It’s so confusing how she can go from a private huddle with Mr. Men’s Health one night to gazing at my father like he’s the Second Coming today. But it helps ease my dream-inspired anxiety, and it seems to subdue the gossip. For now at least. Maybe there’s a chance I’m wrong. I mean, what I heard last night had sounded pretty incriminating, but there isn’t any proof that anything bad happened.
I tune in to Dad just in time to realize he’s giving me my cue. Every Sunday, he likes me to sing the Doxology to close the service. I did it once when I was five because the lady who was supposed to sing it never showed up for church. I was too little to be self-conscious, and I’d always liked the song. I imagined all the creatures were like the little mice and birds in Snow White, and I was the princess urging them to praise God with me. I thought it was pretty cool, and everyone else seemed to agree. So it became our regular way to end the service.
Now that I’m older, I know singing in church is kind of special, but I’ve been doing it so long, it’d be even more exceptional if I stopped. So that’s the order. Dad brings the message, and at the end, he backs away for me to sing the Doxology while Mrs. Turner plays the large pipe organ. Then we all make a bee-line for the back doors and Sunday dinner.
Dad says his final words, and I stand to approach the smaller podium on the right. It doesn’t matter that
I hadn’t listened to the sermon, I could do this in my sleep. But when I look up, I freeze. Jason’s sitting in the last row of the sanctuary. He’s wearing a suit and tie, and he actually looks… really handsome. Our eyes meet, and I see his eyebrows go up as the sound of the pipes burst out from behind me. I jump and move to my usual spot.
Mrs. Turner blares the last eight chords of the song, which is my introduction, and for the first time, my breath catches at the thought of singing out loud in front of everyone. In front of him.
Right on cue, though, my mouth opens and the words come out. It’s the longest 30 seconds of my life. I worry that I might hit a wrong note. I worry that my voice sounds funny. I feel my legs tremble, and I want to turn and dash out the back door.
Praise God from whom all blessings flow.
Praise him all creatures here below.
Praise him above ye heav’nly host.
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.
A-men.
Finally the song is over, and as usual everyone breaks for the doors. I wonder if any of them even noticed the mini-panic-attack I almost had. Or that I actually cared for once that someone in particular was listening. As the crowd starts to thin, Jason waits at the back of the room. I tell Mom I’ll walk home and go to meet him.
“You have hidden talents,” he smiles. “And a really nice voice.”
Warmth fills my stomach, and I feel wobbly again. I’m having one of those low-blood-sugar moments like that day at lunch. I’m sure of it. I mean, it is lunchtime, and this is just Jason. Jeez. What’s wrong with me all of a sudden?
“Everyone knows the Doxology,” I say.
“Not everyone gets up and sings it in front of the whole town.” He turns to walk with me.
“I guess they would if their dad was the pastor.” I stop as he opens the back door. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
“Just curious. You jumped out of the car so fast last night I didn’t get to tell you I was coming.”
“Sorry about that.”
“Why did you?”
“What?”
“Jump out of the car like that.”
I look over at him. I want to tell him what I saw, about Ricky’s car being at my house and what I overheard. I want to tell him my fears and have him reassure me. Just like at the dance. I’m sure he’ll understand and maybe even make me feel better, maybe tell me I’m being paranoid. But I decide to wait.
“I just remembered something I had to do.”
“At ten o’clock?”
“I forgot to tell Shelly something, and I wanted to catch her before it got too late.”
His eyes narrow, and I know he doesn’t believe me. But he lets it go. “So what now?” he asks.
“Huh?” My eyebrows pull together.
“Last night you were having second thoughts about us fake dating. Did you want to change the plans or are we still together?”
I look up and see Trent helping his mother into their car. I’ve never seen his dad, since his parents are divorced. He glances in our direction before closing the door and then hustles around to the driver’s side. I think about Jason’s question and wonder what would be happening right now if he weren’t standing here beside me. Would Trent come over and talk to me? I like the idea of that, but at the same time, I feel sad at the thought of Jason being gone. He’s so easy to talk to, and he really seems to care about the stuff that’s bothering me. I’ve actually started to like having him around. And it’s so strange. I’ve never worried about how I sounded singing the Doxology in front of Trent.
“What do you think?” I ask. I stop walking and look at Jason, hoping his response will give me some clue about what to do.
“I don’t know, H.D. This has been your game from the start.”
And there he is, all dressed up in a coat and tie, and waiting for me to send him away. From the corner of my eye, I notice Trent’s car drive off down the street.
“I think maybe we should give it a few more days. I mean, things have been going pretty well, and maybe you could talk to Trent and see how he feels.”
“Like ask him if he likes you?”
“Maybe,” I think about it. “I mean, yes! That would be perfect.”
“But if we’re going out, I don’t think he’ll tell me that he likes you. I mean, you’re my girl. At least that’s what he thinks.”
I never thought hearing those words from someone besides Trent would make me happy, but when Jason says “my girl,” a tingly little pulse moves through my chest. It makes me want to smile, but instead I frown and shake my head. What’s wrong with me? This is all fake. I’m falling for my own scheme.
“You’re right,” I say. “Let me think about it, and I’ll make a decision tonight.”
“So if for now, I’m still your boyfriend. You should invite me over for Sunday dinner.”
“Oh, really?” I glance up and smile. “You think I should do that?”
“Sure. I’m starved, and I did drop about forty bucks on you at the movie last night.”
“I paid for my ticket! And I told you I didn’t want any popcorn.”
“Still,” he takes my hand. “I deserve a free meal, too.”
“OK.” I slide my hand out of his. “But don’t act like we’re too serious. Then Mom and Dad’ll be all weird when you dump me.”
Jason’s smile fades slightly. “Right,” he says.
We walk over to where Mom’s talking with Mrs. Bender. They’re discussing her treatment for her “condition,” and I’m thankful she has enough sense not to announce it in front of the group of ladies who are not so eager to move along. Mrs. Perkins walks up at the same time as Jason and me, all ready to make her weekly jab at my mom’s job.
“Still dispensing voodoo potions, Jackie?” She smiles as if she’s joking, but I know better.
“It’s not voodoo, Crystal. Herbal treatments have been around for centuries.” Mom’s turned on the honey voice. “They’re acknowledged by the church, and even doctors are recognizing their potential effectiveness now.”
“I suppose if Ted were pastor, he might think it more godly to pray for Lois.” Ted’s Mr. Perkins, and it’s such a joke that my mom’s nemesis is acting so Christ-like. Everyone knows Mrs. Perkins is the biggest gossip in town.
“Of course Stuart prays for Lois,” Mom smiles. “But finding ways to ease our suffering can be an answer to prayer, too.”
Jason glances at me, and I roll my eyes. I’ve witnessed these “friendly” interactions before. Mom told me once you can learn a lot about people by the motives they project onto others. But I can’t figure out what that means when it comes to Mrs. Perkins. Does she secretly want to be a voodoo priestess?
“Is that how Dr. Andrews feels?” Mrs. Perkins asks.
“Perhaps you should ask him.” Mom’s still smiling, but her eyes are sharp.
“Well, I’ve seen a world of difference since I started taking your special blend,” Mrs. Bender jumps in trying to diffuse the situation. “And I thank the Lord for that.”
I smile at Mrs. Bender. She can be a bit much, but she has her moments. Mrs. Perkins makes a little noise and turns to her car, her minions close behind.
Jason leans over to me and whispers. “GCBs.”
I shake my head at him not understanding.
He whispers again, “Good Christian…” he sees mom turning to face us and finishes with a murmur, “witches with a B.”
“Witch-bees?” I’m confused, but his eyes widen. Instantly I get it. “Oh!” I yelp at Mom, who’s looking at us and smiling.
“What?” she says, and I can tell she’s feeling victorious.
“Mom!” I motion at Jason. “Do you care if Jason comes over for lunch?”
She seems confused by my weird behavior, but she’s immediately welcoming. “Of course not. There’s plenty,” she says, smiling at him. “You look very nice, Jason. Properly dressed.”
He looks down, embarrassed. “That was just a joke.”
&
nbsp; Mom grins at him, and I feel a little better seeing her so light-hearted all of a sudden. “I’m only teasing,” she says. “You’re very welcome to join us. And I’d like to get to know you better if you and Harley are going out.”
“Oh, we’re just…” I stop short as Jason’s eyes shoot to me. I’m not sure what to say to make it seem less serious. I guess we have been out on two dates for all Mom knows. And he has been picking me up for school all week.
“What?” Mom looks at me.
I breathe a laugh. “I don’t know,” I say, shrugging. “We’re just, you know, happy to have lunch together.”
Mom squeezes my arm and smiles before turning to walk to the car. Jason gives me a look behind her back like I’m acting deranged, but I just shake my head and keep walking.
It’s nice having him with us at lunch, actually. Jason’s a good buffer against what I’ve seen and heard between Mom and Ricky lately, and I’ve pretty much decided to forget trying to talk to her about it. After the way she acted in church, I’ve even started to think the whole thing might just be a big misunderstanding. Or me being paranoid because of what happened with Shelly’s parents. And honestly, I don’t want to imagine what else it could be. Just because my feelings get confused sometimes doesn’t mean hers do. Right?
“Jason, is your family Presbyterian?” Mom asks, passing the mashed sweet potatoes to me. I take the bowl and ladle a blob onto my plate before passing it along to my guest.
“No, ma’am,” he says. “Dad and I pretty much don’t go to church now.”
“Now?” Dad asks.
“Um… now that,” Jason hesitates, taking the bowl from me. Our eyes meet.
“Jason’s mom died last year,” I finish for him.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Mom’s voice is pure honey. “Was it an accident?”
“She had cancer,” Jason says. “It was about a year-long deal, but… you know.”
“We’re very sorry for your loss,” Dad says.
The Truth About Faking Page 7
