by Skyla Madi
I go to walk off, but a choked sob from Mom pulls my attention to her and forces me to stay. Dad heard it too and rushes to her side. He wraps a comforting arm around her shoulders and pulls her in to his chest.
“Linda? What is it?”
“I…” She sobs again, covering her mouth with her palm.
Frowning, I inch closer, until I’m resting my hip against the back of the couch. Jesus, who died? Or maybe she ran out of flour for her upside down pineapple cake again.
Reaching behind her, she hands Dad a t-shirt. A white one. With a stupid moose on a skateboard drawing on the chest of it.
My stomach sinks. Oh, fuck. Heat burns underneath my skin, simmering my organs in their own fluids. He forgot his damn shirt? Fire scalds my cheeks, but I manage to keep myself together. Defensiveness will make me guilty. I have to play this off like I have no idea.
“Dad spill ketchup on his shirt again?” I joke, simpering awkwardly.
Mom swipes at her nose. “I found it in her room.”
Dad clenches the shirt and avoids my face. My belly cramps painfully, my fingers clenching the back of the couch. His silence is what’s terrifying. He’s almost never silent.
“My room?” I say, half laughing. “Of course. It’s Fiona’s.”
Mom shudders as she forces her tears back. Patting her eyes with a tissue, she glances up at me her blue eyes all doey and swollen. Light trails of mascara stain her cheeks and her hair is a mess.
Honestly, with the way she’s reacting you’d think I was their twelve year old daughter who got high on crack, lost my virginity to the senior football team, and fell pregnant with the second string quarterback’s baby. Chill the fuck out.
In other news, I’m going to kill Caleb when I see him. How could he be so careless?
“Fiona owns a boys t-shirt?” Dad asks, finally looking at me.
He doesn’t seem convinced. I ignore Father Andrews who watches me, his arms folded over his chest.
I shrug with a nod. “She packed loose clothing in her bag the night she came over to watch a movie.”
“A boys shirt?”
“Apparently.” I shrug again. “I don’t dictate what she should wear. It’s comfortable for her. It’s what she likes.”
Fiona is going to kick my ass when she finds out I’ve created a lie about her wearing men’s clothing. She’s quite proud of her designer collection of dresses and shoes.
“Marcus, did you want a coffee?” Father Andrews asks and I finally give him my attention.
He stares at me with his intense eyes although he addresses my father. It’s safe to say he recognizes the shirt.
Dad pushes himself to his feet and tosses Caleb’s shirt over his shoulder. “A coffee sounds good.”
He leaves the room and I loosen the grip I have on the couch.
Clever.
He knows my dad prefers to make his own coffee.
“Linda,” He turns his stare to my mother and I watch as his eyes soften. “You don’t happen to have any of those shortbread biscuits, do you? I just love those.”
Like a bunny, she bounds to her feet. “I sure do.”
On her way to the kitchen, she squeezes my arm and mutters a pathetic apology. I tell her it’s okay.
And I feel like shit doing it.
Sighing, Father Andrews strolls around the couch and I turn in his direction as he stops a few feet away from me. He slips his hands into his pockets and kisses his teeth.
“I do my very best to be the priest the people deserve and the priest God wants me to be.” He states, dragging his gaze from my feet all the way up my body to my face. “We don’t have to tell your parents, but you need to be straight up with me. I can’t help you unless I know the truth.”
I scoff. Bullshit. He’s pulling the same shit teachers do in school. They convince you tell them something and when you do they phone your parents. Not my first rodeo, old man.
“We don’t have to tell my parents?” I fold my arms across my chest. “They ask you a question and you’re obliged to tell the truth. You’re a priest. It’s a lie otherwise.”
He shakes his head. “Though we’re not in a church, I assure you your confession will be bound to me. Your secrets are not mine to tell and if I have to lie to protect my son, to protect my church…well, that’s something I’ll have to work out with God at a later date.”
I thin my eyes and analyze his face. He looks a lot like Caleb. Though some of the features they share are weaker on Caleb’s face because they’ve been watered down by the genes of his mother.
“I can assure you I’m not sleeping with your son.” I lie, my body coiling tightly at the memory of last night and this morning.
I can imagine his face if he were here right now…the cockiness, the amusement.
Butterflies flutter…
My lips try to curl…
I’ve got it bad, don’t I?
Clearly frustrated, Father Andrews brushes his hand over his face. I don’t know what he wants me to say? Yes, I’m banging your son. Yes, he makes me come like fucking crazy. No, he’s not a good boy. He’s actually Lucifer’s apprentice. The stories I can tell the Father…the lies, the cutting, the pain, the girls…his son is on a war path and it’s leading him directly to Hell. Father Andrews needs to stop playing and see it for what it is. It’s too late for Caleb and I don’t mind taking part in his adventure if it means he doesn’t have to do it alone. I like his company. He’s funny, and spontaneous, and completely inappropriate. He is my kind of person.
“The thing is…” Father Andrews says, scratching his head. “I was having a bit of trouble locating him during the early hours of the morning and then he miraculously shows up at your house for a prayer session before breakfast?”
“He’s enthusiastic.”
“About prayer?” He laughs. “On a Saturday, the only thing Caleb is enthusiastic about is sleeping until lunch. That I know for a fact. What I haven’t figured out is how he lost a shirt during prayer?”
“I already told you that’s not his shirt.”
Am I seriously getting interrogated by a priest right now? Father is fierce.
“He’s a good boy, my Caleb.”
Ha-fucking-ha. “So everyone keeps telling me.”
“When your mother called me and hysterically begged me to come over because you had gone off the rails I wasn’t the least bit surprised.”
I’m confused…is he calling me a whore? Is he allowed to do that? I frown at him. What an asshole.
“I was, however, surprised to see Caleb’s shirt clenched in her trembling hands when I arrived.”
I shift my weight on my left leg. “If you’re so sure Caleb is a good boy, then you have nothing to worry about. I’m telling you that isn’t his shirt.”
“I said Caleb is a good boy, but I feel I should mention he’s also lazy.” A smirk touches the corner of his mouth. “Who do you think does his laundry? Hm? God?”
I swallow. Is this fucking check mate? Did I just get check mated by a priest?
“Stay away from my son, Cassia. I’ve spent too many years keeping him on the straight and narrow and I won’t lose him now. You’re young. There’s still plenty of time to repent and change your ways. The church can help you.”
The church can help me? How? I’ve invested my faith in the church for months and still my parents don’t trust me. I’m done with the church. If my parents want me to keep playing good little church girl, I will, but it’s only until I gather enough funds to get the hell out of here. I want Paradise Falls in my rearview by the end of the month.
I inch closer to Father Andrews, until his eyebrows pull in with a frown.
“Change my ways?” I almost laugh. “I happen to like my ways just fine.”
Your son does too.
I clench my bag strap and circle the couch. Father Andrews watches me, his face void of any judgement, but I know it’s bubbling just underneath the surface. His son is the only piece of family he has left…t
here’s no way this doesn’t affect him emotionally. I grab Caleb’s shirt and tuck it underneath my arm.
“I should have this returned to Fiona.” I say, offering him a smile.
Without a glance over my shoulder, I storm up the stairs and lock myself in my room to have a complete mental breakdown.
You know, my usual Saturday antics.
Women. I think the word says it all. Beautiful. Addictive. Fucking crazy.
I read her text message again.
You left your shirt and Mom found it, but I played it off as Fiona’s. The best part? Your dad was here and identified it. :( I’m also 99% sure he called me a whore...so there’s that. It was fun, Caleb, but I don’t think continuing “this” is something we should do. I’m sorry.
C.
I read it again. And again. Each time the text packs more and more of a punch. I don’t respond to it. I just read it.
Before I know it, Saturday is over, it’s Sunday morning, and I’m still staring at the words she typed. Did I sleep? Fuck. I don’t know. I probably dozed off here and there, but I definitely didn’t get my eight hours.
Dad came out to the pool house around dinner time last night. I didn’t open the door, but I listened to him apologize for leaving Penelope’s photo in the hall.
I shudder and lock my phone. I don’t even want to think about it. I’m back in the black hole and it fucking sucks.
I toss my phone to the other side of my bed and tuck my hands behind my head. Mass starts in an hour and a half. The thought of going to the church and pretending today isn’t something I want to do. Would Cassia’s parents even bring her? Talking to her is the only thing that’ll get me out of this bed. I reach for my phone and hit the home button.
Knock. Knock.
Dad taps at my door, but I ignore it. I need a few more minutes to get my game face on. I scroll to Cassia’s name and hit the message button. Her message pops up again, the one I’ve been staring at since yesterday. I delete it and type a fresh new one.
You going to church today?
She texts back immediately and I can’t help the smile that curves my lips. Did she spend the night waiting by her phone? Did she wait up in anticipation, expecting me to show up on her balcony? I thought about it…but when I’m this numb I can barely move my legs.
Yes. Caleb…I meant what I texted you. We. Can’t. You stay on your side of the church and I’ll stay on mine.
C.
Fuck that. I want her on my lap. For now, the mere thought of seeing her again is enough to get to me out of bed. Her oceanic blue eyes, the golden waves in her hair…slim hips...long legs. I drop my head back and swallow.
Jesus. Fuck. I’m in deep.
See you soon.
I text her, raking my fingers through my flat hair. I roll my shoulders back and shake my head. Sunday Mass. Walk in. Sit. Read prayer. Walk out. That’s all I have to do. I have three Bible study classes on today, consecutively after lunch, but I’m going to cancel them all and maybe take Cassia to the carnival—or to see a movie. Maybe I’ll ask her dad’s permission. If he says no, I’ll take her anyway. What’s he going to do? Fight me?
Excitement leaks through the thick, black vines that restrict my chest. This is a good feeling…and I hold onto it tightly. If I have to spend another minute in this depressing state of mind I’ve managed to sink back into I just might do something stupid.
My phone vibrates in my hand as Dad calls my name.
Why does that make me nervous?
C.
“Caleb?”
I drop my phone on the bed and cross the room to the glass doors. I pull back the thick, beige blind and Dad and I come face to face. He’s in his getup and his lips are pursed impatiently.
“Yeah?”
“We have to leave in fifteen minutes. Are you ready?”
I glance down at my naked torso and gray sweatpants. Do I fucking look ready? I flick the lock on the door and he tugs it open.
“Give me a minute. I gotta find a shirt.”
I amble across the floor toward the oak set of drawers against the far wall by the fish tank.
“If you need a shirt, I can retrieve the one you left at the Claire house. Specifically in their daughter’s room.”
Ooh, how passive aggressive of him. Maybe what she said is true. Maybe he did insinuate that she is a whore. I wonder what her reaction was. She’s not a whore, but hearing it come from a priest kinda makes it comical.
A smile spreads over my lips and I glance over my shoulder. “I left a t-shirt? In Cassia’s room?”
He tightens his jaw and threads his fingers at his thighs. “I recognized the shirt the second I saw it.”
I laugh as I pull out the second drawer. “What do you think breakfast and prayer leads to exactly? Have I been doing it wrong this whole time? Should I be taking off my clothes?”
“This is serious, Caleb.”
I shrug. “It wasn’t my shirt.”
It most definitely was my shirt. I took it off when she let me into her room hours after I fucked her silly in the hall behind the church and hours before she rode my dick on the floor of her bedroom. I came in her, filled up her womb with my come until it dripped from her cunt. She took it all. Her body lapped it up like water on a sponge. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if I had a baby Caleb in here crying its ass off in nine months’ time.
“I saw the shirt. Your shirt the white one with the moose.” He argues.
He can dispute my word all he likes, but I have evidence to back it up. Albeit false evidence, but, hey. Tomayto, Tomahto.
“Cassia is a bad influence on you.”
I roll my eyes as I rummage through my shirt drawer. Lucky for her, I’m particularly fond of the Crazy Moose tee. I bought two of them. I pluck the shirt from my drawer and toss it to Dad.
Frowning, he catches it and opens the shirt. I rest against my drawers, crossing my feet at my ankles. The look on his face makes me feel smug. If only Cassia could be her to watch me save her ass.
Guilt flashes over Dad’s aging face, whatever he said to her...he definitely regrets every word now.
He analyzes the shirt before throwing it back to me.
“My mistake...”
Catching it, I nod. He doesn’t have to apologize to me. I’m not the one he shat all over. Cassia deserves the apology—even though it was my shirt they found in her room. I feel bad for the girl...it’s not fair she has her character dragged through the mud. It’s just not.
Dad turns around, his ridiculous vestment brushing the brick steps at his feet. I don’t know why he feels he has to wear it. It looks outdated as hell and the stares we get when he’s pumping gas is fucking embarrassing.
“She’s a good girl, Dad.” I blurt out, scratching the back of my head.
He turns around, his face the perfect picture of indifference.
“She’s not what her parents make her out to be. She’s...all right? You know?”
He nods, clearing his throat. “I believe you.”
* * * *
I wait on pins and needles from my spot on the altar. People flood in through the doors, but I don’t see Cassia. Every time a blonde female steps over the threshold my hear leaps into my throat, only to be let down seconds later. I thought about texting her five minutes ago, but if she’s with her parents she won’t see it. What am I talking about ‘if’. Of course she’s with her parents. They don’t take a shit without her in their sights. It’s a miracle they even let her work a day job and sleep in her own room.
As another throng of people slip through the door and shake my father’s hand, I spot a familiar face—a face I haven’t seen since that vague Sunday morning.
Natalie.
I watch her curiously, raking my eyes from her shoes to her head just to make sure she isn’t concealing a gun somewhere in her low cut tank top. She was pretty mad when she left…Thankfully, she sits down with her family and doesn’t even blink in my direction. Natalie pulls her chocolate hair over
her shoulder and tightly folds her arms over her chest. Good. Here’s hoping she ignores me for the rest of the morning.
Exhaling, I lean back against my chair. Where is she? I didn’t get out of bed for her not to show up. If she doesn’t show, I’m driving to her house. Fuck her parents.
Family by family, person by person, the church fills up and my hopes crumble.
Until she’s here.
I straighten my spine. Holy shit. My mouth dries up at the sight of her in a lengthy white dress that ties up behind her neck. The plain, white fabric cradles her braless tits, the firmness of her nipples seen from miles away. Her blonde waves shield her beautiful face as she glances down at the Bible in her hands. Behind her, Marcus is engaged in a conversation with Anthony Minesota, a shit house stockbroker from New Jersey. I’ve never liked Anthony or his children…but then again, I don’t like most people.
Marcus is so busy chatting about God knows what he doesn’t even notice Anthony’s eldest son, Jeremy, slip in next to Cassia. I frown at him and his stupid gray jacket. Who wears a sports jacket with fucking sweatpants? Honestly. This guys a fucking asshole and he’s embarrassing himself.
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my thighs as he opens his stupid mouth. Cassia whips her head in his direction. He must crack a joke because she fucking laughs and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.
I’m off my ass before I know it, the bottom of my shoes tapping against the varnished flooring at my feet. Church attire. It sucks.
I tug at the hem of my black button up shirt and smooth my hands down my chest. What does he think he’s doing anyway? He might be fooling her with his kind and boyish smile, but he’s not fooling me. The guy is a fucking savage. I’ve seen him at parties, raging out of his mind. I know I’m not good for Cass, but he is definitely not good for her.
Besides, he’s a fucking brunette. Cassia would never suit a brunette.
