It is Risen

by H. Claire Taylor

  Miranda stepped forward. “Um, why are we watching this crap?”

  “It’s not crap,” Jeremy said flatly. “It’s the only independent news available anymore.”

  “He would know,” Jessica said. “Apparently he owns most of the news?” She shrugged.

  The man on the TV finished his tirade about fluoride suppositories and quickly jumped to a new topic. “As Jimmy ‘Pigeffer’ Dean officially wins the Republican primary for Texas Railroad Commissioner this evening, we have to ask ourselves, where is Jessica McCloud? Why would she let something like this happen if she’s really the daughter of God?” He turned to another camera. “You might be saying, ‘Maybe she’s not the daughter of God.’ Then what about the videos circulating around the Internet?” The security footage from Bat-Ass Brew began playing, and Jessica gasped.

  “How did they get that?! The police said they wouldn’t release that.”

  Jeremy scoffed. “Right. Keep on believing the police state sticks to its word.”

  The screen then cut to cell phone footage Jessica didn’t know existed. A man’s voice was yelling in the background, his car off on the shoulder of I-35 as Jessica and Chris drove by in Chris’s truck.

  “Wait,” said Miranda, stepping forward. “What the hell is this?”

  “I—uh. I accidentally performed a miracle. I didn’t know people were filming.”

  The beet-faced man appeared again in a close-up shot. “Clearly something’s going on here, and to help us make sense of it, we have a special guest to discuss these events.”

  Jessica’s stomach dropped, even before the camera zoomed out and she saw the bushy-browed man sitting opposite the host. “Independent journalist and founder of Thornton News, a website with a similar mission to our own, Eugene Thornton has had more in-person interviews with Jessica McCloud than any other reporter and isn’t afraid to tell it like it is.” The camera cut to a medium shot of Eugene, his mustache resting just above a smirk. “Eugene, what, in your opinion, is happening here?”

  “It’s quite simple, Alan. Jessica McCloud and Jimmy Dean have been in cahoots from the beginning. Their conflict was and is a rouse that the public has fallen for again and again, each and every time the mainscream media force-feeds it to them. And this is where it’s led. Texas has not had a Democrat railroad commissioner in decades, and I can’t imagine we’re about to see the tide turn here. With Jimmy Dean all but assured the position, it’s not hard to put the pieces together. Jessica McCloud has been working with him on this for years, as the foreword for his quote-unquote memoir shows.”

  “Now, I have to stop you here, Eugene, because we on FactWars have long held the belief that Jessica McCloud did not write the foreword for Railed to the Cross.”

  “Thank you!” Jessica yelled, flopping back onto her armchair.

  Eugene nodded compassionately and Jessica wanted to throw her shoe at the TV. “Yes, I know that’s long-since been the belief held by independent sources, but new evidence has unfortunately come to light recently. A few anonymous sources have contacted my site with compelling evidence to indicate Jessica McCloud did, in fact, write the foreword.”

  “Now this is truly fascinating,” Alan said. “That changes so many things.”

  “Indeed. We now have reason to believe that Jessica is actually the Antichrist.”

  “God dammit. Not again.” Jessica groaned.

  Chris bulled forward, snatched the remote from Jeremy where he crouched in front of the TV, shoving him over with a stiff-arm to the head, and turned off the news. “Buncha fucking lies. I can’t believe we just watched that shit.”

  Jeremy pushed himself up into a squat again and turned to Jessica. “FactWars was the last outlet that truly had your back, Jessica. When I read that Eugene Thornton was their guest tonight, I knew it was bad. They’re turning on you.”

  Chris glared down at Jeremy like he might spit on him. “Not exactly the kind of allies we would choose, though.”

  Jeremy stood. “They’re the only media allies she had, Chris. Well, besides me, but I can’t exactly act unilaterally. Too suspicious.”

  Chris took a bold step toward Jeremy. “She doesn’t need you. She still has Maria Flores.”

  Jessica’s gaze flickered over to Miranda and Quentin, who sat stock still on the bar stools by the kitchen island, passively (but alertly) observing the confrontation unfold.

  “Riiiight.” Jeremy’s eyes dashed from Chris to Jessica. “So, tell me again what happened right after your interview with her aired? Did your food truck not burn to the ground?”

  “I don’t know what you’re implying,” Jessica said, “but I don’t think I like it.”

  “You should leave,” Chris said.

  Jeremy pressed his lips into a thin line and sighed deeply through his nose. “I’m not saying she knowingly had anything to do with it, but her story did clearly lead to it.”

  “You don’t know that,” Jessica responded.

  “I’m not trying to upset you. I just want you to see what’s going on here.” He glanced around the room where hostile faces glared from all sides. “I’ll let you folks get back to your visit.”

  As the front door closed behind him, Jessica put her chin on her hands, staring at the concrete floor a few feet ahead and wishing she could be left alone with the bottle of wine.

  After a long silence, Quentin whispered. “Did she part traffic on I-35?”

  Chris nodded excitedly. “So hot, right?”

  “Totally.”

  Chris’s spine stiffened. “Dude,” he said, “back off.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Hundreds of hours of work and hundreds of thousands of dollars had gone into this night.

  Naturally, Jessica expected it to be a disaster.

  Chris’s mind seemed to be somewhere else as he shuffled around the pristine and permanent home of It Is Risen Bakery. The NFL draft was only a couple weeks away, making that a likely culprit for his thousand-mile stare when she asked him to grab more ice from the back and refill the drink station. If she could just get through tonight, though, then she could spend time bridging the distance she felt from Chris. She knew the gulf was a result of their pursuing separate dreams, but it was there all the same.

  Thinking about the conversation that needed to happen only made her more anxious.

  She checked the large clock above the front door. Seven forty-five. The sun had already set on the short late-March day, and it occurred to her that she had been awake for fifteen hours already. The party hadn’t even started.

  THE LORD IS LOOKING FORWARD TO TONIGHT.

  No omens. Please, no omens.

  YOU BELIEVE THE MERE MENTION OF EXCITEMENT FROM THE LORD IS AN OMEN?

  Yes. Absolutely. One hundred percent. Could you do me a huge favor and leave me alone tonight so I can focus? Please?

  ONLY BECAUSE YOU ASKED NICELY. ENJOY THE MANY SURPRISES THAT AWAIT YOU TONIGHT, DAUGHTER. THE LORD CERTAINLY SHALL.

  Hold up. Many surprises? What surprises?

  But there was no response. Shitballs.

  She leaned against the counter, next to the long, empty glass display case, and allowed herself a moment to pause, to look around, to appreciate what she’d accomplished with the help of so many others.

  While she’d wanted to go full “nature-fusion” in design, Wendy insisted that not only was that not a style, but it didn’t jibe with the It is Risen Bakery brand. But for once in her life, Jessica had been adamant. She was constructing her habitat from the ground up, and she would damn well make one hospitable to her particular evolutionary and emotional needs.

  So compromises were made.

  Wendy wouldn’t OK a mural of a lioness hunt on the east wall; however, one of a baobab tree could easily be spun into a “tree of life” image, which was on-brand enough to work.

  When Jessica had found the perfect ceiling fans online with blades that resembled date palm fronds, Wendy had nixed those before Jessica could finish describing the
m. The eventual compromised resulted in ruddy-sand-colored floor tiles inside and ferns and palm trees planted outside the building where Jessica could spy them through the front windows.

  And in a single openly defiant act, Jessica brought in a foot-tall stuffed giraffe to stand by the register and named her Asha. Wendy backed down from that fight only after Jessica took up the last-ditch defense that she was merely doing her part to Keep Austin Weird.

  The rest of the interior decorating was a result of hodgepodge teamwork. Rex had built most of the small, round cafe tables himself, and the chairs were courtesy of a concerted effort on the part of the Texas State and Texas Tech chapters of NAO, the latter of which she needed to pay a visit to sometime soon. Add it to the list. Each chair was beautifully sanded and stained, and the amount of effort put into them was almost enough to make Jessica cry.

  But there was no time to cry. Not tonight.

  Dr. Bell had dedicated most of her free time over the past few months to helping Jessica research and order the necessary equipment, and Wendy and Maria had been on real estate duty. Jessica’s only job on that front was to say yes or no. While she didn’t have the money to buy or rent downtown, she did settle in a nice up-and-coming neighborhood and was about to afford enough security equipment to rest well at night knowing that her baby was probably, most likely, almost assuredly not going to be reduced to ashes while she slept.

  “Oh shit.” Jessica spotted the chalkboard for daily specials still leaning up against the wall. She could have sworn she’d hung it up this morning, but who even knew at this point? Painted across the top was It is Risen daily specials, and even such a simple phrase left her giddy and nervous and satisfied. Sure, she hadn’t created a clear, concise message like Wendy had insisted she do, but using Judith’s dumb joke as the name of her bakery seemed like a step in the right direction. At least she wasn’t completely disassociating herself from anything religious. And in her own defense, she’d been incredibly busy getting everything in order in such a short time. Adding “write a manifesto” on her to-do list was more than she could handle.

  “Let me help you with that, baby,” Destinee said, scurrying over to guide the chalkboard onto the hooks in the wall.

  They stepped back to check the balance, and Destinee put her arm around her daughter’s shoulder. “This is something else, Jess. I’m so damn proud of you.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “My daughter’s a business owner!”

  For reasons Jessica couldn’t put words to, Destinee’s pride made her uneasy. “Well, I haven’t officially opened for business yet, so let’s not count those chickens.”

  Destinee paused, chewing her bottom lip. “I know you’ve lived a strange and unfortunate life, baby, but it doesn’t hurt to expect the best.”

  “Agree to disagree. For what it’s worth, though, I’m … cautiously optimistic?”

  Destinee patted her on the back. “That’s the spirit. So, um, Jessica …”

  Jess turned her head slowly toward her mother. Destinee calling her by her full first name was always foreboding. “Yes?”

  “You got a second to have a seat before the guests show up?” Destinee headed toward the nearest table and sat in one of the NAO chairs. Jessica followed and sat opposite her mother.

  When Destinee didn’t immediately speak, Jessica took her best guess. “You’re not pregnant again, right?”

  Destinee eyed her skeptically. “That came outta nowhere. And no. Your father seems set on playing birth control for me. And don’t get me wrong, I’m okay with that. It’s just … you know. Seems like it should be my choice. But whatever.” She waved off the topic. “No, this is good news.”

  “Okay.”

  Jessica cringed as she heard something metal topple onto the tile floor in the kitchen, closely followed by Chris cursing, then Rex telling him to watch his language, then Chris loudly asserting that he was a grown man.

  Once the ruckus died, Destinee continued. “You know how you were saying Rex should get a job coaching in Austin?”

  “Yeah, I vaguely remember that.”

  “Well, he did.”

  SURPRISE!

  “Oh.” That was quick. “What about you two?”

  “Baby! He got a job out in one of those rich suburbs by the lake! He’s gonna be making way more than Mooretown would ever pay him. So I’m moving with him. Neighborhood that rich, I bet they have pharmacies on every corner. Surely one will hire me.” She filled her lungs with air, a serene smile resting on her lips. “We’re gonna get us a house in Austin!” She smacked the table excitedly.

  “How … You’ve been in town for two full days. You’re telling me you managed to hold this in that long?”

  “Course not. We just found out this morning.”

  “Ah. That makes more sense.” She let the news settle in. Her mother was moving to Austin. That was good, wasn’t it? Everybody loved having their mother live a short drive away, right?

  “I thought about telling you this morning, but I didn’t want to distract you. I would’ve waited till after tonight, but I knew Rex wouldn’t keep his mouth shut about it around Dolores—he’s been dreaming about telling her where to shove her weekly grade checks for years. I wanted you to hear it straight from me.”

  “That’s great, Mom. I’m so happy for y’all.”

  “Well, we don’t move until the summer, so you’ll have a little time to get things up and running before you see my shining face up in this place asking for free shit.”

  A slight tap on the glass front door pulled Jessica’s attention, and she spotted Judith waving from the front step. She wasn’t alone.

  “Hot damn,” Destinee mumbled. “Who is that hot piece of man she brought with?”

  Jessica squinted through the glare of the glass but tried not to gawk too overtly. “Wait. I know that guy. He was stalking Judith, and then—” She stopped herself before mentioning the strange encounter with Mrs. Thomas.

  “Well, I’d say that’s about the best-case scenario for a stalker.”

  Jessica unlocked the door and let them inside. “Hi, Judith! And …?” She let the sentence hang, and Judith promptly jumped in.

  “This is Joshua. You remember him from the food truck?”

  Jessica forced a smile. “Sure do.” She held out a hand to shake his, and he stared down at it suspiciously. After a silent moment, he extended his hand and gave a limp-fish shake.

  Judith sure knew how to pick them. Granted, he was pretty hot. And he appeared to be closer to thirty than fifty. So, assuming the asshole hadn’t set her trailer on fire, which she moderately suspected, Judith might have found a keeper.

  “Come on in.”

  As the chitchat started between Joshua and Destinee, Jessica leaned close to Judith and whispered, “I didn’t know you two kept in touch.”

  “Why wouldn’t we? You look at that guy?”

  “So is it just a physical thing?”

  “Actually, no. We haven’t …”

  Joshua put his arm around Judith and she stopped herself midsentence, grinning up at him guiltily.

  Jessica figured now wasn’t the time to bring up the awkward encounter in the taco shop. Would Mrs. Thomas recognize him from that? Probably not. She hoped not. Things were already becoming more socially complicated than she preferred. Hadn’t she learned her lesson about worlds colliding back when she invited her high school friends to Mason’s show? Worlds didn’t collide and blend. They just collided and blew each other to shit.

  They blended when it was time to raise money. Maybe it’s not impossible.

  She’d have to hold onto that hope for at least a couple more hours.

  Chris charged in from the kitchen and wedged himself between Jessica and Judith, putting his arm around his girlfriend’s shoulder. “Who’re you?” he said to Joshua.

  “Chris, this is Judith’s friend Joshua.”

  Without smiling, Chris offered his hand and Joshua flinched against Chris’s strong grip as th
ey shook.

  Jessica turned to her boyfriend. “Hey, I need your help for a second.”

  “What’s that?” Chris asked cluelessly.

  “Just, um, something heavy in the back.”

  “Nah, back of house is good to go. Rex is just connecting one last—”

  “Excuse us,” she said to the others and dragged Chris behind her into the kitchen and out of earshot. Once they were alone, she hissed, “That’s the guy.”

  Chris’s eyes shot wide open. “What guy? Did he make a move on you? Do I need to beat him up?”

  She placed a soft hand on Chris’s chest. “Easy there. No. That’s the guy that came around a couple days in a row right before the trailer caught fire and the one that approached Mrs. Thomas and me at lunch, acting all weird.”

  “I don’t think you ever mentioned any of that to me. Wait, when did you have lunch with Mrs. Thomas?”

  Oh shit. The tidbit about Mrs. Thomas’s assistance was on a need-to-know basis, and thus far, Chris had been so busy with football matters, he hadn’t needed to know. When Jessica told him over the phone that she officially had the money to move forward with the business, his response had simply been, “I’m so fucking proud of you, Jess. You’re gonna crush it!” The details hadn’t been requested, and she’d been happy not to provide.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Jessica said, moving the conversation quickly away from Mrs. Thomas. “I just don’t trust him. There’s something off about him, you know?”

  Chris opened his eyes wide and nodded emphatically. “Oh, I know. He’s definitely an angel, but his aura isn’t like anything I’ve seen before. Well,”—he squinted, looking Jessica up and down—“no, that’s not entirely true. Huh.”

  “Doesn’t matter if he’s an angel. Will you keep an eye on him?”

  Chris’s game face surfaced and he nodded. She knew giving him a set task for the night would be good for him, so she was glad to have found one. “Absolutely. I won’t let him mess up the love of my life’s big night.” Chris swooped in, wrapping his arms around her waist, crashing his lips into hers, and shoving her up against a large oven pulled out a few feet from the wall.