“No problem.” The last thing I want to talk about is his daughters. Specifically Brittany.
He straightens and heads for the passenger door, whipping it open. He pulls his flashlight from his belt, shining it into Alaina’s eyes. “What’s in your hand?” he demands.
Shaking, she holds her fist out to him. He backs away, resting his free hand on the butt of his gun.
“M&M’s!” I shout. “She’s got a bunch of candy. That’s it. Can we go? My ice is melting.”
Ignoring me, he steps up to the car again. “Get out.”
Alaina freezes, staring up at him.
“Let’s go,” he says, gesturing with his flashlight.
She says something that I can’t make out.
He leans down, scowling directly into her face. “You can’t?”
“Leave her alone,” I call. “Just write me a ticket for whatever and let us go home.”
“Let me help you,” Patterson says, grabbing Alaina’s arm. “Take off your seatbelt and get out. Now.”
“Jesus,” I mutter. If I wasn’t handcuffed I’d be tempted to do something to help her. Patterson would probably consider it assault or something, though.
As soon as her seatbelt is off, he wrenches her out of the car and pushes her up against the back door. “Open your hand,” he barks.
“You ain’t gotta use force. It’s just candy.” No matter what I say, Patterson ignores me.
He leans his weight against her and slams her wrist against the car with a thud. Her fist opens and peanut M&M’s clatter against the roof of the car. Finally, he backs up and I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Have a seat,” he says, spinning her toward the curb.
She stumbles away from him, rubbing her wrist, near tears. Lowering herself onto the concrete curb, she refuses to look at me.
“Are you okay?” I whisper.
Nodding, she draws in a ragged breath.
She’s a terrible liar.
Patterson starts searching my car without asking or having any probable cause. After what feels like an eternity, he comes to stand over me.
“You’re lucky, Grayson,” he says. “All I’m gonna cite you for is a broken taillight.” He yanks me to my feet by one arm.
I scowl. “My taillight ain’t broke.”
“Not yet it ain’t. Keep talking and it will be.” He unlocks the handcuffs and hands me a ticket. “Have a nice evening.”
Patterson is back in his car when Alaina finally stands up.
“Sorry about this. Are you sure you’re okay?” I search her face.
“What did you do?” she blurts, then lowers her head and mutters, “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” We lean against the back of the car and watch Patterson pull off. “I really didn’t do anything. I mean…” I trail off and glance at her, shrugging. “Two years ago I was dating his daughter and we got pulled over. I had some weed in the car. No big deal, you know? Like, mostly just shake.” She probably doesn’t know what shake is. “Mostly crumbs,” I clarify. “Not very much. But we both got arrested and then we broke up.” I leave out the fact that it was her weed, and the part where she didn’t take the breakup well, ended up in rehab, and is still delusional enough to think we’ll get back together some day. Instead I shake my head to get rid of the memory. “He messes with me whenever he gets the chance.”
She eyes me, silently, for a long time. “So, you’re not a criminal?”
I raise my eyebrows. “A criminal? No. I mean, the possession charge was just a misdemeanor and it falls off my record in a few months when I turn eighteen.” Smiling down at her, I ask, “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” she says, opening and closing her hand. Under the street light, I make out colored indentations in her palm where she squeezed the M&M’s.
“Good. Let’s get back to the party before all that ice melts.”
Alaina carries the bag full of candy up the steps. She stopped shaking when we got to my neighborhood, but her face is still pale.
I lead her past the empty living room where Drew’s giant glass water bong sits in the middle of my dad’s expensive-ass imported coffee table. Out back, most people are in the pool, some fully clothed, others not so much.
Alaina’s eyes boggle when Bree Taylor runs up in a dripping wet white t-shirt.
“Adam! Oh my god!” she squeals, throwing her arms around my neck, pressing herself against me. “Come swimming with me!”
I lift the bag of ice and hold it against her back. She shrieks and shoves me. “Not funny!”
“I’m busy. Swim with Bryce or something.” I nod at Bryce Pierson who’s already in the pool with a girl under each arm.
Bree’s eyes narrow before darting to Alaina. Slowly, her wheels spin and things click into place. “Whatever. You suck,” she grumbles, turning away. Before she gets too far, Roberto Ramirez scoops her up and tosses her in the pool before diving in after her.
There’s one drunken hook up I definitely regret. Now every time she sees me at a party she assumes we’ll have a repeat of that one terrible mistake of a night. Incidentally, that was the night I vowed never to drink again. Totally not a coincidence.
“Come on,” I say to Alaina. “Let’s drop this off and get out of here.”
She doesn’t move, though. Her eyes are glued on something in the pool. Following her line of vision, I see Holly in the corner of the pool with Drew trying to be inconspicuous. The way they’re pressed together and considering I can’t see Drew’s hands, I’d say they were doing more than having an innocent chat.
“Come on,” I say again, nudging her arm. I feel sorry for her. Tonight has probably been more traumatizing than fun. Welcome to the real world, where cops are total assholes and your cousin gets felt up in front of thirty people.
She finally moves and I guide her to the cooler next to the keg on the other end of the pool. Dumping the ice into the cooler, I wad up the bag and toss it in the keg tub. “Let’s go.” I touch her elbow to guide her toward the door, waiting for her to pull away from me. She doesn’t. We head back inside and for once, I’m kind of glad not to have to hang around with the idiots that are defiling my pool.
CHAPTER NINE
ALAINA
My head pounds and my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. Sitting up in bed, the room spins and my stomach burns.
I’m sick. I must’ve contracted an illness last night when I was socializing with Adam. Diseases are more common outside of Shiloh. Elder Berman explained that it was due to the sinful way people interact with each other. He says the constant fornicating, touching, and standing in close proximity spread illness like wildfire.
Stumbling across the hall to the bathroom, I close the door behind me and stare at myself in the mirror. My hair is fuzzy on the side I slept on and my face has taken on a sickly green tinge. I barely recognize myself.
Last night was too much. A mistake. The sin is practically etched on my face between the freckles, deep in the lines and creases from the pillowcase.
Images of Adam flash through my mind. Why did he have to be so kind? Why couldn’t he have been obviously wicked? I crossed the line with him, and it was too easy to forget; I’m supposed to be observing, not participating.
I suppose that’s the point of a test, though.
Trudging down the stairs, still wearing the clothes from last night, I find Beth in the kitchen, leaning against the counter holding a mug. She’s wearing a gray and pink zigzag top and black pants that expose her ankles.
“Good morning,” she says, brightly.
I’m careful to avoid eye contact. I don’t want her to know that I compromised my faith for a few fleeting moments of fun.
“Are you okay?” she asks as I ease into a chair at the kitchen table.
“I’m…” My eyes are glued to the tablecloth. I shouldn’t lie. “I’m not feeling very well.”
She’s at my side in a heartbeat. “What is it, sweetie? What’s wrong?”
/> I touch my head. “My head hurts and my stomach is upset.”
Noise in the kitchen doorway makes me look up. Holly breezes in wearing striped blue pants and a small sleeveless shirt with blue X’s on it. She looks like she always does, despite the fact that she spent the evening drinking and doing things with Drew in the pool that women of the Lord save for marriage.
“Sugar hangover,” Holly says, going to the counter where Beth was standing. She gets a mug from a cabinet and pours herself a cup of whatever is in the glass pot on the counter. “Spent the whole night eating candy and drinking Coke with Adam Grayson.”
I wince at the sound of his name. Did she have to mention him? Beth’s eyes are on me and slowly, I meet her gaze. There’s a small, hidden smile on her lips.
“Nothing a little Pepto-Bismol can’t handle,” she says, patting my arm.
After choking down a spoonful of pink liquid, Beth makes me a couple pieces of buttered toast and pours me a glass of water.
Holly doesn’t stick around. She takes her mug and a bowl of cereal back up to her room.
“So,” Beth says, taking a seat across from me. “I spoke to Ms. Jackson yesterday while you were shopping with Holly.”
I scowl at my toast. “The woman with red hair?”
“Yep. She, uh, she says you can see your mother.”
My head snaps up and my eyes widen. Panic and excitement tumble together in my already volatile stomach. “Shiloh is reopened? I can go home?” It’s for the best. The longer I stay here, the worse I’ll be corrupted, it seems. I can’t be trusted on my own. I need Mother and the Elders’ guidance.
“No,” she says slowly. “Not home. But you can visit with your mother. For an hour per week at Ms. Jackson’s office in Gainesville.”
I blink.
“In fact, Ms. Jackson would like you to come today, if you’re up for it.”
“Today?” Oh Lord, please. Not today. She’ll know!
“Only if you’re up for it,” Beth says again, eyeing me closely. Her eyebrows pull together. “You don’t have to, you know. If you’re afraid or-”
Shaking my head, I let my eyes drop to my plate of half-eaten toast. “No. I’ll go.” Guilty people hide. Like in Genesis, after they ate the forbidden fruit, they hid from the Lord out of shame. I will not conceal my sins. Then again, I won’t go in with them on display them either.
“She can’t hurt you,” Beth says. “No one will let her hurt you again, okay?”
I nod.
Holly helps me with my hair after I bathe and get dressed in an acceptable skirt and top. I refuse to let her straighten the waves, though. Mother would not approve of artificially straightened hair.
“Just an inch, Alaina. Please? It’s so damaged. Look at it!” She pulls a section of hair around and shows me the tips. They’re ragged and dry, resembling straw more so than hair. “You won’t even be able to tell,” she says to me through the mirror over her dresser.
I sigh. It’s a daily argument. I’ve explained what the bible says in 1 Corinthians 11 about a woman’s hair being her glory and her covering, but she just won’t listen. Frankly, I’ve read the verses so many times in these past few weeks that I’m starting to wonder what the big deal is about a hair trim myself. It doesn’t actually say that women can’t cut their hair. And if it’s ragged and unhealthy on the ends, is it really still her glory? “Do you promise?”
Her eyes light up. “Yes! I swear. It’ll look so much better and you won’t even notice it’s been cut.”
Drawing in a deep breath, I watch myself in the mirror. It’s a risk. If Mother notices, I’ll be in serious trouble. At the same time, the ends are bound to break off on their own eventually, so there’s little difference.
“Okay, go ahead. But please be careful.”
The drive to Ms. Jackson’s office is long. Holly stayed home, so it’s just Beth and I in her small car with the colorful stickers.
“Nervous?” she asks as we pull into the parking lot.
Exhaling slowly, I say, “A little.”
“Just remember, I’ll be right outside the door and Ms. Jackson will be there, observing. You’re safe, okay?” Beth’s hand shakes as she shifts the car into park. I suspect she’s more nervous than I am. But why?
Inside, we ride an elevator to the eighth floor. As soon as Beth opens the door to Ms. Jackson’s office, the air leaves my lungs.
Mother is sitting in a chair across from Ms. Jackson’s desk.
My first instinct is to run to her, but the sour expression on her face keeps me at Beth’s side. It’s obvious she hasn’t forgiven me for bringing that book into Shiloh.
“Good. Right on time,” Ms. Jackson says, getting up from her desk. “Why don’t we move down the hall into the conference room where we’ll be more comfortable?”
Mother stands, wordlessly.
“I’ll be in the waiting room,” Beth says quietly. She squeezes my shoulder gently, smiling, but her eyes are worried as they flicker to Mother. “Hello, Leah.”
Mother narrows her eyes and says, “Get thee behind me, Satan. You mind not the things of the Lord, but the things of men.”
“Perhaps we can continue this conversation at another time,” Ms. Jackson says, stepping between the two of them.
I bite down on my lip and take a step back just in case the Lord sends a bolt of lightning to smite Beth. For what, I don’t know.
“I’m trying to help,” Beth says to Mother. “If I hadn’t gone and got her, she’d be in a foster home right now.”
“Better in a home of strangers than in a house of whores,” Mother spits before marching out of the office.
Beth blinks like she’s been slapped and turns to me. “I’ll be right over there.” She points to the waiting room outside the office.
I nod and Ms. Jackson guides me out of her office and down the hall.
Ms. Jackson takes a seat at the far end of the long table in the conference room with a notepad. “Just pretend I’m not here, okay?”
Mother takes a seat and I perch uneasily across from her. For a moment, neither of us speaks.
Finally, unable to control myself, I say, “I’ve missed you.”
Mother watches me, her face still as stone. “You forget your place,” she says quietly.
I lower my head and stare at my hands in my lap. Of course. I should have waited for her to speak first. How could I have forgotten?
“Whose shoes are those?” Mother asks. Her tone is even, but clipped.
“Holly’s.” It comes out barely above a whisper. I keep my eyes trained on my hands.
“And the skirt?”
“It’s mine. I…” Oh no! I can’t tell her how I got it, or that I deliver papers for money. She’ll think I’m greedy and materialistic.
“Yours?” She draws the word out, daring me to explain.
Blinking back nervous tears, I peek up at her. “I didn’t have anything when I was taken from Shiloh. Beth was kind enough-”
“No one here is kind,” she snaps. “You’d do well to remember that. It’s a ploy. A trick to gain your trust and lead you further away from the Lord.” She leans forward, stretching most of the way across the table so we’re nose to nose. “You’re their prisoner. Not their guest,” she hisses.
At the other end of the table, Ms. Jackson clears her throat loudly and Mother sits back in her chair, her spine stiff and straight.
I straighten up too. For Mother. To show her that they have not gotten to me. I’m still a respectable woman of the Lord.
As the thought crosses my mind, so does Adam’s infectious grin.
Mother and I regard each other in silence under Ms. Jackson’s watchful eye.
I don’t feel like a prisoner with Beth and Holly. Besides, they’re family. That changes things a little, doesn’t it?
I’m itching to mention it to Mother. To plead their case. They’re good people, just misled and stuck on the outside. Maybe they can be converted and join us when we return to Shi
loh.
“Mother,” I say softly, knowing that I’m speaking out of turn again. “When we return to Shiloh-”
She shakes her head, her jaw set. “There is no returning, Alaina. There is no Shiloh now.”
My eyebrows pull together. Everything Ms. Jackson and Beth told me about Elder Berman and Shiloh is true? My stomach turns. I think I’m going to be sick. If there’s no Shiloh, there’s no home for me to return to when this is all over. “How is that possible? Won’t one of the other Elders-?”
“We were deceived. All of us. A demon masquerading as a prophet of the Lord.” Her eyes are cold and hard. She glances at Ms. Jackson, softening her tone. “And I allowed him to lay his hands on you, to punish you severely. I should never have permitted such harsh discipline.” Turning her eyes back to me, she smiles but it’s forced. Tight. She’s saying these things for Ms. Jackson’s benefit. She doesn’t mean them. “I hope you can forgive me.”
Unsure what to say, I slouch against the back of my chair. Question after question pops into my head and I fight the urge to blurt them all. “Where will we go, then?” It slips out and I clamp my mouth shut quickly.
Her smile falters when I don’t immediately offer my forgiveness. “I’m working on that.” She holds her hand out to me across the table. “Let’s pray.”
I glance down the table at Ms. Jackson before taking Mother’s hand and bowing my head.
“Lord,” she begins. “We ask that you protect your servant, Alaina. She is in grave peril of losing her way. Her faith is being tested at every turn and it is my fear that she has given in more times than she will admit.”
My head snaps up and Mother tightens her hold on my hand.
“By allowing herself to be lulled into a sense of comfort with the sinners that have taken her from me, she has weakened herself.” Mother squeezes my fingers hard. “Remind her, Lord. Remind her of what is at stake,” she says through clenched teeth.
I try to pull my hand free of her grip, but it’s no use. My fingers are numb under her hold. Desperately, I look to Ms. Jackson for help, afraid to speak up and upset Mother further. Ms. Jackson is glued to her notebook, writing furiously, not paying any attention to me at all.
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