Rebecca

by Adam J Nicolai

  "Don't hurt her."

  "I won't. It has to be your decision to give her to Him, not mine."

  "No. I don't want that. It's not her fault. Don't... don't punish her because of what I am."

  "Hey." He pulled her into a hug; she was stiff in his arms. "Hey, no. I was just mad, Sarah. God still loves you."

  "You won't kill her?"

  He pulled back, his hands still on her shoulders, and looked into her. "I told you. You have to give her to Him." He caressed her cheek, as if wiping away a tear. "You have no idea what it's like for me, watching you slide into this life. It's really frightening, Sarah."

  "But..."

  "I've known you your whole life. And remember, I warned you about this? When you were nine, I warned you what would happen if you gave in."

  "You said it was a demon." His hands felt like clamps on her shoulders. "But it wasn't. God made me this way. You lied to me."

  "I had to make you try, Sarah. You wouldn't have understood the truth, not at nine. And you did try, for awhile, but you can't give up now. God doesn't want to lose you. I don't want to lose you. Please. Don't do this to us. Erase her number out of your phone. Block it from ringing through. You made a big mistake last night, but it's not too late."

  His brows were heavy with concern for her, every line of his face etched with empathy.

  He was lying.

  She stepped away, leaving his arms to sink to his sides. "She's the only one who even cares."

  He gave her a look like she was speaking gibberish. "Now, that's not true. God cares. I care. Your mom cares. In his own way, even Cal would care, if you'd just let him."

  She shook her head. "You're muddling the issue again. You always do that. I'm talking about people who actually care. People who would disrupt their lives to help." People who will buy me time to sleep. "No one has done that. No one, except her. And she has the least reason of anyone. She should hate me."

  "Yeah," the Messenger said. "And she will, once she realizes what an idiot she's being. What will you do, Sarah, when you throw everything away for her - your church, your mom, your schooling - and she leaves? You hurt her really bad, and she's going to remember that. She knows who you really are.

  "And even if she stayed, even if she gave you a chance. Maybe you only kissed her last night, but you know what comes next. She'll want more from you. She's not going to settle for making out while you're wracked with guilt about what you know is wrong. She's always been okay with being gay. But you don't know what you're doing; you have nothing to offer her."

  Sarah winced, reflexively; then she looked at him. "What happened to, 'She can't love anyone, she's gay?' I thought that's why she was going to leave."

  The Messenger shrugged. "There's more than one factor here."

  "No. I don't buy that." She could hear her own bullshit detector, now, and it was blaring. "No. I am done listening to you."

  "Sarah. Please -"

  "You know what I think? I think you would say anything to ruin this for me. I think you just throw out attacks to see what sticks, and then pursue that." She couldn't believe she'd never seen it earlier. She'd heard countless debate teams do the exact same thing.

  "Don't you do that. Don't you push me away. Debate is just a game; this is your soul we're talking about."

  "No. No." Her heart was pounding. He was her oldest friend. "Get out of here."

  "You wish," he said. "I know you do. You want to live in sin; you think you'd wallow in it, like a pig in a shit. But it won't happen. Tiff doesn't love you. She won't be there for you. She's just a lesbian slut, like you are. Giving in never makes things better."

  "You're lying."

  "She's trying you out, like a pair of socks. When she's proven she can make you want her, she'll leave. She wants to tear you away from God, and nothing more."

  "You're doing it again." Sarah said. Of course he was. He'd been lying to her since she was nine. "Just throwing shit out. She's never acted that way toward me. You just want me to hate her. I don't know why. But it won't work."

  "God damn it, Sarah. Would you think?" He tried to grab her arm again; she jumped away from him.

  "I am thinking! I should've started doing it earlier!"

  He jerked his hand back like she'd burned him. "So that's it? You think you can just throw me out, that you can turn your back on God? After all the times you've prayed to Him, sworn your life and soul to Him, you think it's that easy?"

  Something Tiff had said came back to her. "I'm not. There are other churches." The words felt slick on her tongue, greasy. They were abhorrent. She knew what he would say before he said it.

  "There's one truth, Sarah, and you know it. You're going to turn into one of those cherry-pickers, then? 'I like this part, not that part, not that part, okay, I like this...' You want to talk about thinking? You want to talk about critical analysis? Give me a break. You're planning to take on the responsibility for keeping the truth. Take it away from God, and just make up whatever the hell you want.

  "You're not gonna go to church." He spat the word like an insult. "You're just gonna tell yourself that long enough to jump into bed with Tiff and screw up your daughter for life."

  She caught herself cowering from him again, and forced it away. Justifications and arguments roared through her head, but he didn't deserve them. "It's my decision. I'll own it."

  He fell silent, staring at her so long she thought she had finally won. "Okay," he finally said. "When will you tell your mom?"

  Her certainty collapsed in the face of the question; it struck her with terror. "When I'm ready."

  "She's ours. She won't take your side. She'll dump you like roadside trash."

  Sarah looked at her own daughter, tried to imagine a sin so terrible that she could never forgive her. "My mom wouldn't do that," Sarah tried to protest, but she would. Sarah could hear her already. "I'm not disowning you, Sarah," she'd say. "You're disowning yourself."

  "She knows the difference between right and wrong. You think she'll be okay with it?" He leaned in. "She'd rather hear you were dead."

  When the pain registered in her eyes, he smiled.

  "She'll quit paying your rent. Hell, she might even report you to Child Protective Services. And you think Tiff will help, then? That's when you'll find out what your lust cost you."

  "Tiff will help." Sarah couldn't suppress the tremble in her voice. "She said she would."

  "And you're dumb enough to believe her? Even if she were telling the truth, what can she do? She doesn't have any money. She doesn't have a place. She's not planning on working; she's planning to go to school. You remember? School? It's actually important, to some people.

  "You say you love her. So you'll make her work to support you? To fix your fuck-up? How long will that work, Sarah? How long before she starts to resent you and your pig-faced daughter, before she begins to realize that none of this is really her problem?"

  "She won't." She loves me.

  "No she doesn't." He drew out the words, mocking her. "She's just a dyke, like you."

  No. The thought was reflexive, but Sarah wasn't sure she believed it. Tiff loved her, or thought she did. Sarah believed that. But she didn't really understand what she'd be getting into. The scenario the Messenger described was all too plausible. Why would Tiff want to help her? What would be in it for her? She'd have to give up school and all her plans, just like Sarah had, and for what?

  "This is what He was trying to save you from, Sarah. Your daughter did all of this to you. Before she came, you were fine. You had conquered your urges. You'd committed to Him. But now, it's all unraveled." He stepped to the swing. "Because of that baby. If she's gone, you don't even need Tiff. It's not too late." He reached for the girl; a wispy, black tendril flickered from her mouth and toward his outstretched hand. "Two minutes, and you'll have your life back."

  The darkness at Becca's mouth burgeoned like worms.

  "Get away from her," Sarah whispered.

  "Babies die in
their sleep all the time. It's normal. In the morning, everything will be better."

  "Get away!" she shrieked.

  He jerked his hand back like he'd burned it. The darkness dissipated into smoky drifts. Becca drew a shuddering breath.

  "Fine," he snarled, "but you promised Him a life. If He can't take hers -"

  The buzzer scraped against her ears, and she woke.

  85

  Sarah was on the floor, her right cheek raw from a night spent on the carpet; Becca was in the swing, chittering. It was light out.

  She sat up, wincing at the kink in her neck, and tried to remember what day it was.

  The buzzer sounded again, forcing her to her feet. "What?" she demanded when she reached the intercom.

  Tiff's voice crackled back. "I... are we still doing this?"

  It was a question devoid of context, compounding a surreal morning. Sarah's head spun. "Doing what?"

  "The Dedication...?" Tiff sounded like she was talking to someone from the moon.

  Shit! She glanced at the clock. 7:32. The Dedication started in 28 minutes. They were late. Shit! Shit!

  She jammed the Open button and ran for Becca. When Tiff got to the door Sarah was halfway through the morning diaper change.

  "Can you make a bottle?" she demanded as Tiff came in.

  Tiff paused in the entryway, taking everything in. She was all dressed up, wearing one of her pinstripe pant suits from debate that Sarah had always thought showed off her legs. She gave a sharp nod and dashed into the kitchen.

  "Tiff's gonna give you a bottle, okay?" Sarah gave her daughter a kiss, and darted for the shower.

  86

  "She's gonna be pissed," Tiff said.

  Sarah had made her drive so she could give her mom a call; she was punching out the number now. "She'd be pissed if I was late, pissed if I was dressed wrong but on time. 94 West - here." She gestured at the on ramp. "She's gonna be pissed no matter what I do." The ring tones started beeping; Sarah braced herself.

  "What am I taking this to?"

  "100 south. No. Um... 394. West. Then 100 -"

  "Sarah?" her mom interrupted. "Where are you?"

  "We're running late. I just wanted to let you know. Becca was a handful this morning." She felt a glimmer of guilt for blaming it on Becca - the girl had actually been an angel this morning - but what the hell. What she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

  "Everyone is here. We were worried something happened to you. I tried to call twice."

  Everyone? "Nope, we're fine, we're on our way."

  "You're not on the phone while you're driving, are you?"

  "No. Tiff is driving."

  "...Tiff?"

  "Yeah."

  The phone fell quiet, punctuated by the whoosh of passing cars and the rumble of pavement beneath them. In the back, Rebecca chittered. "I really don't think she needs to be here, Sarah."

  Sarah angled away from Tiff, cupped the phone with her hand. "Well, she's coming," she hissed into the phone. "And you wouldn't be getting a call if I was driving alone, and I'd be running even more late than I already am."

  "What? I can't hear you."

  "Yes, Tiff is coming!" Sarah repeated, louder. A long, chilly silence followed.

  "Where are you?" Mom demanded. "How long until you get here? Pastor Dennis is just sitting here, you know. We've been here since seven."

  "I don't know. Maybe half an hour." If we don't get lost. Sarah hadn't been to the church in a year.

  "Well, hurry up. We're all just sitting here." The line went dead.

  Tiff glanced over, arched an eyebrow. "You sure you still want me to come?"

  Sarah nodded, staring straight ahead and feeling sick.

  87

  They got there a little after nine. Sarah nearly tripped climbing out of the car; she hadn't worn heels in months. Lugging the baby carrier had been hard enough with groceries in the other hand. Lugging it in heels was a death sport.

  "I hate heels," she muttered as she clicked across the parking lot.

  "Want me to get her?" Tiff offered.

  Sarah imagined her mom seeing Becca get carried in by Tiff, and shook her head.

  "I haven't been all dressed up like this since State," Tiff said.

  "Me neither. I was afraid the skirt wasn't gonna fit." It was the same grey one she had worn to State, in fact. She had just been starting to show; the new skirt had been an undeniable admission of the ways her body was betraying her. Now, it was a stepping stone back to normalcy.

  "It looks great."

  "Thanks." Sarah didn't really believe her, but it was nice to hear. They reached the sidewalk, and Tiff trotted ahead to grab the door.

  Inside was a large fellowship area, all threadbare brown carpet, greying whitewashed walls, and little wooden shelves bristling with brochures titled "God's Plan For Me" and "Abortion: God's Enemy." An old, stale smell accosted her that spoke of decades of potlucks and judgment.

  Memories bombarded her. Darting through the crowd that had thronged this chamber before and after services, the legs of the parishioners surrounding her like a forest. Eating too much burrito meat at one of the gatherings, throwing up in one of the quiet back rooms with the secret, unmarked doors, and lying about it. The gnawing tension of knowing that everyone else was going to have an ethereal experience - speaking in tongues, channeling God's divinity - but the best she could do was fake it.

  In the instant she entered the church of her childhood, she realized precisely how much she hated it.

  "There she is!" cried a stumpy, soft-faced woman, her head haloed in white and her arms thrown wide.

  "Hi, Betty." Sarah set the carrier down and dutifully received her hug. "Sorry we're late, we got a little lost."

  "Well, that's what happens when you haven't been to church in a year!" she answered, grinning. "My gosh, you look fantastic!" She spared a furtive glance for Tiff, then turned to the baby carrier. "Is this her? Is this our little Becky?"

  "Yep, that's Becca." Sarah knelt to undo the buckles, rocking precariously on her shoes. "She fell asleep on the way here."

  "Isn't she an angel!" Betty breathed. She took the child out of the carrier and turned toward the chapel to show off her prize.

  "You made it!" Mom kept a congenial tone, but her eyes and business-like march crackled with condemnation. She, too, was dressed up, her hair in a tight bun; Sarah wondered briefly if she had even bothered to change after work the day before.

  "Yeah, sorry, we got lost."

  "How could you get lost? You've been coming to this church since you were seven."

  Normally Sarah would blanch at this accusation, let it hang in the air unanswered, but instead she said, "I've never had to drive it, Mom. You always drove. And I haven't been here in almost a year."

  She shouldn't have mentioned that last bit. It was like throwing down a gauntlet. She braced herself, her eyes locked on her mother's, waiting for the recrimination.

  "Hi, Ms. Cooper," Tiff said, giving a little wave.

  Mom flicked her eyes over her, like she'd spotted a fly on the wall. "Tiff," she said, and took Sarah's hand. "Come on, everyone's in the chapel waiting. We've been here since seven o'clock."

  "I thought the Dedication wasn't supposed to start until eight?"

  "Don't get smart with me," Mom hissed. "You're still an hour late."

  Fuck you. I didn't even want to do this. Her own vehemence surprised her, but she let her mother drag her through the doors to the chapel all the same.

  The chapel had maybe twenty people in it, milling about or seated in the pews, playing with their smart phones. The altar at the far end of the room had a podium and a host of instruments: a drum set, electric guitars hanging on stands, even a harp. Christ hung on a cross on the wall behind, his eyes weary.

  Sarah remembered walking into this chamber as a girl of nine, and feeling intensely uncomfortable. That's when she'd realized she was demon possessed. It wasn't normal to feel repulsed by entering a church. It was the
demon inside her - the one that made her like girls - that was repulsed. For years, she had gone to that altar after every service and begged for prayer, but she had never quite dared to tell Pastor Dennis or anyone else about the demon. The only thing that scared her more than the demon was thinking of what they would do if they knew about it.

  She felt the same discomfort now, but she didn't think it was a demon anymore; it was just her. She didn't want to be here. It wasn't her place. And if they knew what she was - really knew - she wouldn't be welcome anyway.

  Pastor Dennis stood by the front row of pews, where Betty had delivered Becca to him. He was crowing over her, his jowly face glowing red, his gut spilling over his belt. Sarah wondered if he had gotten fatter since she'd seen him, or if she had just never realized how fat he was.

  "Well, hello!" Dennis called, his mouth gaping with an exaggerated grin, his voice booming like thunder. "I was starting to think you'd left me at the altar!" His forehead gleamed with sweat, like it always did.

  It was wrong to be late to church. It was wrong to get lost on the way to church. Sarah was out of excuses, so she just said, "Well, we're here now."

  Pastor Dennis rumbled toward her, his hand outstretched. When she shook it, he pulled her into a sweaty hug and clapped her back. "You're here now! You're here now. Hallelujah." He pushed her to arm's length, his hands on her shoulders. "Still got a few extra pounds from that baby, huh?"

  "Uh... yeah. Yeah, I guess so."

  "You keep working on it. You'll be able to make your husband very happy, Sarah, you're a very pretty girl."

  "Thanks."

  "And you must be Sarah's friend, Tiff." He clasped her hand in both of his own, held it. "Welcome," he said, gravely. "Welcome. It was good of you to come."

  "Sure," Tiff said.

  "Maybe you can come by this Sunday. We'd love to have you and the door is open to everyone, even you."

  Tiff flashed an isn't-that-lovely smile. "Probably not. It's quite a drive."

  "Oh sure, sure." He turned back to Sarah. "I'm really glad you're here," he said, lowering his voice. "I've been praying for you, you know. I haven't seen you since our last counseling session. When was that? Back in December?"