Roik pulled up out front and I saw how St. Mark’s had changed. The stained-glass windows were now covered with metal screens like they’d locked Christ up in a county jail.
A dozen bodyguards hung out in the courtyard where we used to serve Thanksgiving dinner to the homeless. I took a deep breath, remembering how Mom and Dad dished out turkey and stuffing, and I put a roll on every plate.
I looked away, but a memory of our last Thanksgiving together rolled over me: Mom squeezing my hand extra hard and saying, “We’re so fortunate. We have a roof and food and each other.”
Not anymore.
Roik opened the car door. “Meet you here after mass?” He eyed the men lounging on the benches.
I nodded. My feet felt too heavy to climb the stairs, but I forced myself.
The smell of incense met me just inside the big wood doors. Half the lights were turned off so the long room was shadowy, except for the spotlight over the altar.
I glanced at Mom’s favorite pew, but sitting there now would be too awful. I scanned the room, looking for someplace I belonged.
Seats up front were filled with old ladies and girls leaning their heads on their shoulders. These pews used to be packed with families.
Two bodyguards yakked in front of me, and I saw the game up on their phones. It was Women’s Mass, so they weren’t even supposed to be in the church. Jerks.
I slipped into a pew and closed my eyes so I couldn’t see the emptiness next to me where Mom should be. But I could feel it.
Dammit, why’d I listen to Yates?
I had to get out of there. I stepped into the aisle, but then I saw a priest limping toward me with his hand outstretched. He was just a few inches taller than me, not the towering, heroic type I’d imagined from the few things I’d heard about him.
“Hello,” he said, his English rolling out like Spanish. “I’m Father Gabriel. Welcome.” His hand swallowed mine. He was as strong as Roik.
“I’m Avie Reveare. I used to come here with my mom.”
“Ah, the prodigal daughter has returned. I wish we had a fatted calf, but perhaps you will stay for doughnuts after the service.”
“Sure. Thank you.” It had been so long since I’d been to confession, I wasn’t sure that counted as a lie.
Father Gabriel moved up the aisle. “Go on. Out!” he barked at the bodyguards. “This is Women’s Mass.” They hesitated for a second, then pocketed their phones and slunk out.
I sat back down, thinking I could escape once the service started. Father Gabriel returned to the front, and that’s when I saw Yates. He was standing in the half-dark between the pillars, wearing robes.
It was weird. Yates had never mentioned being an altar boy again. He’d quit when his mom died, because he was so angry at God.
I watched Yates reach into his robes, and take something out. Then I realized there was a girl standing next to him in the shadows. Her back was to me, but I saw Yates lean in and press whatever it was into her hands.
I sat up straight, trying to see. Their heads were close together like they were whispering, and he held on to her hand before they stepped to the left and disappeared behind the pillar.
The little drama pinned me to my seat. Something that felt uncomfortably like jealousy flip-flopped my stomach, and I remembered when I was twelve and crushing on Yates, and he asked me to go ask another girl on the beach for her name.
Larissa.
The name set off fireworks of humiliation inside me. I am not going there again.
A murmur swept the room and Father Gabriel began the mass. Yates emerged from behind the pillar, and the girl slipped into the front row.
Sparrow? Sparrow who last year called the Catholic Church “the biggest oppressor of women in history”?
Talk about bizarre. Now I couldn’t leave. Not yet.
I watched Yates do his duties, turn the pages of the prayer book, swing the incense burner, while a voice in my head asked what the hell was going on here.
Father Gabriel launched into his sermon, and everyone shifted in the pews as he came down into the aisle. He crossed his arms like he was cradling a baby. “A man sees his baby daughter for the first time. He is consumed by the love he feels for her and he vows that he will protect her from all harm.
“He is afraid she will be cold, so he swaddles her to keep her warm.
“He is afraid of the evil in the world, so he wraps the blanket over her eyes so she will not see it and be frightened.
“He wraps the blanket over her ears so she will not hear.
“The father wants to keep her safe, but now she is blind. She is ignorant.”
Goose pimples ran up my arms. He was preaching against the Paternalists. I glanced back at the door just to make sure there weren’t any bodyguards listening in.
“Still the man believes he is doing the right thing.” Father Gabriel jabbed his finger in the air. “We must not be silent when we see a man so confused. We must teach our daughters to question what they see or hear.
“Truth and knowledge are the sword and shield that protect us. I ask you to carry them.”
Yates stood, facing the room. He hung on Father Gabriel’s words like he’d already joined the crusade. But a symbolic sword and shield weren’t going to free me from Jessop Hawkins.
And me lecturing Dad on what was morally right and wrong wouldn’t make my fifty-million-dollar Contract go away. Yates—of all people—should know that.
After mass, I slid out of the pew. I didn’t see the point in staying for doughnuts. Father Gabe couldn’t fix my life, no matter how much Yates worshiped him.
I was halfway to the door when an old lady caught my arm. “You dropped this.” She held out a silver phone with a cracked screen.
“Oh, that’s not mine,” I said, but she pressed it into my hand.
“It probably broke when it fell out of your bag. These tile floors are so hard.” Her voice was soft, but the insistent look she gave me made me stuff the phone in my bag. “Thank you,” I said.
“You should join us gals for refreshments,” she said. “I made the pumpkin bread.”
I took a step forward and she did, too. “My bodyguard’s waiting,” I said.
“I doubt he’s in a hurry to leave.” She set her hand on my purse. I’d have to tear it off if I wanted to escape. So I took a deep breath and let her lead me to the rectory.
18
The room was full of women I didn’t know. A group of them circled Father Gabe like he was a rock star. I was dying to ask Yates why he brought me here, but I wasn’t surprised when I didn’t see him. It was borderline acceptable for a teenage guy to help serve mass, but definitely not okay for him to hang out with the girls after.
Sparrow was in the corner, teaching girls to embroider. Her soft blond curls fell around her face like she was an angel out of a Raphael painting. Then she spied me. “Avie!”
I walked over, and she held up her embroidery: balloons rising over little red roofs. I fingered the linen. “Does that say what I think it says? ‘I have a dream’?”
“Yeah, Martin Luther King. This is our little revolution factory. Like it?”
My eyes swept the room for monitors, but I didn’t see any. Still, I kept my voice down. “Father Gabe’s okay with this?”
“Are you kidding? He suggested it. We’re spreading hope one stitch at a time.”
Sparrow was clueless, thinking truth and knowledge were going to get her out of a Contract when it was her turn.
“It would be great if we could change things, but we can’t.”
“Yes we can,” she said.
“How? We don’t have any real power.”
“Relax, Avie. Have a little faith.”
I spied Yates through the window, handing out cake and coffee to the bodyguards, and I wondered if he was deliberately distracting them.
Father Gabriel appeared by my side. He nodded at Sparrow, then he took my elbow and guided me to a quiet corner. “I am pleased you have c
ome back to the church,” he said. “What brought you here today?”
If Father Gabe was going to be cagey, I was, too. “A friend told me I should come.”
“Perhaps your friend thought I could help you.” Father Gabe must have seen the big fat question marks in my eyes, because he leaned in. “I understand that your father has written a Contract.”
“Yes.” My mouth went completely dry.
“Perhaps I can help.”
“How?” The word broke as I said it.
“You know what is meant by the Exodus?”
“From the Old Testament?”
“From throughout history. Jews, Macedonians, Tibetans, Italians. Many, many times oppressed peoples have fled their homelands. Now there is a new Exodus.”
My chest squeezed. Father Gabriel’s meaning was clear: he helped girls get to Canada. That was why Yates wanted us to meet. He thought I should run.
Run for the border? The thought sent shivers through me. Dayla didn’t make it and she had Seth to protect her. Yates thinks I should run—alone?
“I don’t think you can help me,” I said.
Father Gabe’s gentle expression didn’t change. “The confessional will open in a few minutes. You should visit it before you leave today.”
He blessed me before he walked away. Out in the courtyard, I saw Yates was gone.
I headed back through the church and was almost out the door when I saw the red light on over the confessional. Father Gabriel was waiting, but I didn’t have anything to confess. Sure, okay, so I lied on a regular basis, but I wouldn’t have to if I wasn’t gated, guarded, and spied on.
Still … I stepped inside and sat down. The shade over the grate pulled back and I heard someone whisper, “Avie.”
My head whipped up. Yates peered at me through the brass grate. “Hi.” His blue eyes were ultramarine in this light.
“Hi.” I leaned in until our faces were only a few inches apart. Yates smelled faintly of coffee and maple syrup.
“So did you meet Father G?”
I sighed. “Yeah. Why didn’t you tell me you thought I should go to Canada?”
“I thought you should meet Gabe first. See if you could trust him.”
This was all coming at me so fast. “I’m not sure. I don’t know.”
“He helped Dayla.”
“Yeah, and look how that turned out.”
“It wasn’t his fault,” Yates said.
“Why not?”
“Dayla’s father posted a reward. Seth owed money to another bodyguard and the guy gave him up.”
“So they were outed?”
“They’d have made it if it wasn’t for that. I’m sure of it.”
I shook my head. Yates acted like this was so simple. “If I run, Jes Hawkins can hire a whole army to track me.”
“Yeah, he’s got a lot of money to throw around, but we know how to get girls out.”
Yates didn’t get it. “I haven’t even turned seventeen yet and you want me to go to Canada all by myself and start a whole new life just like that?”
He dropped his eyes and a moment passed before he said in a too quiet voice, “Don’t you remember what happened with Becca?”
Tears blurred my eyes. “Yes.” I’d tried so hard to block it from my mind, how Becca had handed her newborn son to her husband, telling him, “Now you have your heart’s desire,” before she went upstairs and threw the rope over the beam in their bedroom.
“I’m not going to kill myself,” I said.
“I’m not saying you would, but the things that happened to her, they could happen to you.”
A shiver traveled up my legs. “Like what?”
“Well, like your fiancé starts scheduling your life. Dress fittings. Sessions with the Signing Planner. Verification appointment with the doctor. Have they sprung that on you yet?”
My cheeks flamed, and I was glad the confessional was semidark. “Yes.” My appointment was tomorrow, and I prayed Yates wouldn’t ask about it.
“And when you get tired of all this crap and you tell your Intended you don’t like it, he takes you out of school. Now you’re cut off from your friends. The next thing he does is move you into his compound, and take away your phone so you can’t call your family without permission. He listens in on your calls. He restricts access on your computer. Don’t you remember how we could never see Becca? How we could barely get to talk to her?”
Yates’ eyes pleaded with me. I didn’t remember everything that happened to Becca, but I remembered a lot.
“Becca didn’t have any money,” Yates said. “Not one credit card. Her husband wouldn’t even let her out to go to the grocery store without her bodyguard along.”
“Are you trying to scare me, because you’ve succeeded!”
Yates blew out a hard breath and the dark curls on his forehead stirred. “I’m sorry,” he said. His hand hung on the brass grate and he stretched his fingers toward me. “I don’t want anything to happen to you, and I can’t—you can’t pretend or wish it will all go away, because it won’t.”
I felt like we were standing together in a cold rain. Okay, so I had to deal with the future hurtling toward me. My first meeting with Hawkins was Saturday.
“I have to think about this.”
Yates nodded. “I know. It’s a big decision, so I want you to call me. I’ll answer any questions about Exodus you have. You got the phone, right?”
I waved it at him through the grate.
“It works even though the screen is busted,” he said. “And there aren’t any patriarchal controls. I’m on the contact list under AP.”
“AP?”
“Antsy Pantsy.”
I smiled. “Mom’s nickname for you.”
“I figured if Roik ever found the phone he wouldn’t know that name.”
The front door of the church creaked open, and I heard men talking. Roik and another guard.
Yates turned toward their voices. “You’re stronger than you realize, Fearless.”
My heart pinched. I wanted to stay, but the voices were getting closer. “Roik’s looking for me.”
Yates dropped his voice. “I’m done at work around ten and back at my apartment by ten-thirty,” he said. “So if you want to talk—”
Footsteps passed a few feet away. I nodded, and Yates sat back and disappeared into the dark.
I slipped into a pew and pretended to say penance, but my head was spinning, trying to take it all in: Yates. Father G. Exodus.
If I had the guts to run, Yates would help get me out.
19
The house was silent and dark before I brought the phone out. The screen burst bright and I closed myself in my closet. I scrolled down. There were definitely no patriarchal controls. News, politics, condoms, gambling. Anything a man could want was right here at my fingertips.
And for the first time in my life, I had unlimited phone access. I shot down the contacts list and found AP. I had to be careful. If we got caught, they’d come down on Yates harder than me. Dad would sign me off to Hawkins before even I knew it.
I heard the connection take. Please let this be Yates, not some crazy.
“Avie?” He sounded like he’d been waiting with his hand on the screen. The cracked screen distorted his face, but I could still see his smile.
“Thank God it’s you.”
“So the phone’s working okay?”
“Yeah. Looks like it.”
“Excellent.”
I was about to ask where he got it, when he grinned and said, “You know what I was thinking about?”
“No, what?”
“Riding Buddies.”
“Oh, I haven’t thought about that in forever.” When Mom volunteered for equine therapy, Yates and I used to go to the stable and help with the kids who had cerebral palsy and Down Syndrome.
“Remember how Bruiser followed you around like a big dog?”
I smiled, seeing this huge Appaloosa horse plodding after me. “It was the carr
ots. I’d stuff my pockets.”
“And I thought he liked you.”
“The truth comes out.”
Dusty scratched at the door, and I let her in. She settled into my lap and I rubbed her tummy.
“I was remembering your mom, too,” Yates said.
I tensed. It was still hard for me to talk about Mom.
“Your mom was the first person to tell me that people would listen to me, that I could make a difference in someone’s life.”
“Yeah, she believed in you. She saw how you helped Matt.” For a year, Yates had held Matt up in the saddle until he could sit up straight and take over the reins.
“You know he’s applying to Oxy for next year?”
“No!”
“Yeah. He’s got an electric chair, takes him everywhere.”
“You did it.”
“No, it was all Matt.” We sat, the quiet tying us together. “Aves, if your mom was here, what would she tell you to do?”
“If she was here, none of this would be happening.”
“Sorry.”
I breathed in and out, got myself centered. “No, I’m sorry.”
“But if she could speak to you, what would she say?”
I wished Yates would drop it, but I knew he wouldn’t. “Follow your dreams.” My voice broke. “She’d say follow your dreams, because even if you don’t reach them, you’ll still be going in the right direction.”
“So what are your dreams?”
I propped my back against the wall. “I’m not sure.”
“Come on. I thought you wanted to go to college.”
“Yeah, I do … I did.”
“You could still go in Canada. They’ve got great schools up there.”
Stop it, I wanted to say.
“I know it’s scary, but you should think about it.”
“Okay. I will.”
Yates ignored the no in my voice. “So what do you want to study?” he said.
I’d never told anyone, never said it out loud. “Psychology.”
“I can see that. You always like to know what people are thinking. But I’m kind of surprised. I’d have guessed you’d go for art history.”
A Girl Called Fearless: A Novel (The Girl Called Fearless Series) Page 6
