by Kim Liggett
“It was … I did … because it’s true. I had no idea. I must’ve fallen asleep.”
“Don’t you think it’s awfully suspicious that you’re the one to discover two bodies in the past week?”
I let out a ragged breath. “What … you think they called me up, told me when and where they were going to kill themselves, and I decided to watch?”
“Or maybe you’re the one making them do it.”
“I got here as soon as I could,” Ali says as she enters the room. “Oh, I’m sorry. Dr. Perry said I could come in.”
I’ve never been happier to see someone in my entire life. “Is Noodle okay?”
“She’s great. I went by your house, took care of your mom, talked to Jess for a bit, and made Noodle breakfast, took her to school. Oh, and I brought you a change of clothes,” she says as she places the bag in my hands. “I heard what happened at the field,” she says to Sheriff. “It’s so awful. Poor Ben. Poor you.” She hugs me.
Sheriff clears his throat, but Ali still doesn’t let go.
“When you’re ready to talk,” he says as he heads for the door, “well, you know where to find me.”
41
I TAKE my time in the shower, getting dressed. Classic stalling move and for once it seems to work. The only person waiting for me is Ali.
“You look nice,” she says as she inspects my collar and then loops her arm around mine. These are the clothes she picked out—a pair of khakis, a plaid button-down with a white T-shirt underneath, and some tennis shoes. It’s strange thinking about Ali being in my house this morning. Can’t imagine what she must be thinking with Jess barricaded in her room like that, and my mom with the flies, but that’s the least of my worries right now. Jimmy’s gone, Ben’s gone, and all I can think is, who’s next?
We walk outside and I can’t believe how dark it is. It’s not even noon, but the sun’s being blocked by a slab of wet cement-colored clouds. The air is stagnant, too, like everyone’s holding their breath. Or maybe it’s just me.
“Can you take me to my truck?” I ask.
“Sure.” Ali nods toward her mom’s Cadillac. “Come on.”
“Man,” I say as I settle in the front seat. “I haven’t ridden in this car in so long.”
“Remember how we used to sit in the back and blow spit wads at everyone?” she says as she eases out of the lot.
“Yeah.” I smile at the memory. “Your mom would get so mad at us.”
And for a split second, I forget about everything. It’s just me and Ali and nothing but open road. But as we approach the school, everything starts to narrow. I can feel reality crushing back down on me.
“Looks like the lot’s still taped off,” Ali says as she slows down. “But Sheriff’s here. Do you want to see if they’ll let you take your truck—”
“No,” I blurt a little too forcefully. “I mean … no. It’s fine. I can wait.”
She pulls over on the side of the road, directly across from the school.
“At least they had the decency to cancel class for the day, put the flag at half-mast. It’s more than Jimmy ever got. And look at all the flowers and teddy bears lined up against the fence. It’s so sad,” Ali says.
I try to keep my eyes off the field, the goalpost, but I can’t help myself.
“I was in the booth when it happened.” I nod at the field. “I was fifty feet away from him. I could’ve stopped him.”
“You can’t stop someone from killing themselves,” Ali says matter-of-factly. “Remember my Uncle Ricky? Sure, my mom stopped him a few times, but eventually he got his way.”
“But what if there’s more to it than that? What if Sheriff’s right? What if I’m the one who made him do it? Jimmy, too. Is it possible that I could be doing all this and not even know it?”
“No way.” She gives me a lopsided smile. “He’s just trying to rattle you. I know you, Clay. You couldn’t hurt a fly.”
“We all know that’s not true.” I lean my head against the cool glass, staring at the field.
“If you’re talking about what happened at homecoming last year, that doesn’t count. Football is a violent sport. Everyone knows that. You’re supposed to tackle each other … that’s the whole point.”
“Not like that.” I run my fingers over my knuckles. “I was out of line. Excessive force.”
“Which is perfectly understandable. Your dad just died,” she says as she turns toward me. “Look, I want to smash my pom-poms into Julie Harron’s face almost every day at practice.”
I crack a smile. “But you don’t.”
“And neither do you, Clay. People make mistakes. When I look at you, I see the same boy who used to make his dad stop the car so he could help a frog cross the road. And you put up with Dale, which basically makes you a saint. If you don’t trust yourself, trust me. I’ve known you your whole life and you’re gentle and good.”
“That’s what Noodle says, too.”
“Well, then it’s true. Noodle’s the wisest person I know. And for the record, she told me she thinks we should get married.”
“Oh God. I’m sorry.” I feel my cheeks go up in flames.
“Mostly for my pancake-making skills, but I can live with that.”
The maintenance guys step on the field, their arms piled high with fresh sod. I don’t know why it surprises me. They’re going to cut out the sections soaked in Ben’s blood and replace it … just like that. Like it never even happened.
“What is it, Clay?” Ali reaches out for my hand. There’s nothing I want more than to feel the warmth of her touch, but I pull away, clenching my hand into a fist.
“There’s something happening here in Midland. Something I can’t explain.”
“I feel it, too.” She leans back in her seat, curling up her legs. “Like Jimmy and how he acted at the Harvest Festival.”
“And Ben, the way he turned on me at practice.”
“Then there’s Tyler.” Ali twists the small gold signet ring on her finger. “He’s been acting really strange.”
“Strange how?”
She pulls her hair to the side; it falls across her face, like a veil between us. “Last weekend at the game, I told him I didn’t want to be boyfriend-girlfriend, that I didn’t think of him that way. He said something nasty and when I reached out for his arm to tell him I was sorry, he jerked away, popping me in the mouth. It was an accident,” she says as she peeks over at me. “But you weren’t there.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can think back on every terrible thing that’s happened to me and you’ve always been there, making me feel like everything’s going to be okay.”
I swallow hard, remembering picking her up in my arms in the alleyway that night. “What happened after that?”
“I guess I passed out. Miss Granger took me back to her house, took care of me, but I had the strangest feeling, like you were there. I guess I just wanted you to be there, but I swear, I could even smell you.”
“Is my smell that distinct?” I let out a laugh.
“Yeah, it is actually. It’s not a bad thing.” She gives a slight one-shoulder shrug, tucking her hair behind her ear. “This time of year … you smell like dried grains, sweet and kind of powdery. You also smell like diesel and freshly turned soil. And that lotion you use on your hands, the one that smells like rosemary.”
“It’s not lotion-lotion,” I explain. “It’s for calluses.”
“Fine.” She shakes her head. “All I’m saying is, I like it.”
I try not to smile like an idiot, but I can’t help it. Ali Miller likes the way I smell.
“But Tyler,” she says, knotting the string on her sweatpants. “He seems to be getting worse. And that whole thing with the bull … it’s like he’s obsessed with you.”
I know I should tread lightly here, but I feel like I can trust her. “This is going to sound insane.” I drag my hands through my hair. “But I think Tyler killed that bull. I even dreamt about it. I think he
’s trying to set me up … he’s trying to make me look crazy.”
“What does Miss Granger think?”
“That’s a whole other story.” I lean forward, pressing my head into my hands.
“I thought so,” she says quietly.
“You thought what?”
“You and Miss Granger.”
“No. No … it’s nothing like that.” I turn toward her.
“She’s pretty.” Ali purses her lips. “And I know she really cares about you.”
“Not the way you think.”
“Then what is it?” She looks into my eyes. “You can tell me, Clay. Nothing you say will shock me or make me stop talking to you. I did that once before, for the Preservation Society, and it was the worst year of my life.”
I look at her and think, what do I have to lose? Maybe she can help me figure this out.
“Miss Granger…” I let out a shaky breath. “She thinks I’m some kind of prophet.”
“A prophet?” Ali’s forehead crinkles up.
“Yeah.” I raise my brows. “Like a bona fide spooky religious fortune-telling prophet … like from the Bible.”
“Okay.” She takes a deep breath. “Because of the things you see? The calf … the cow ritual thing?” she asks.
“Yeah, but I’m thinking they’re probably just nightmares … really vivid nightmares.”
“Or maybe she’s right? You can’t deny strange things have been going on around you.”
“But that’s not all. She also believes we’re evil. You, me, Tyler, Tammy, Ben, and Jimmy. That we’ve been marked for the Devil in some kind of doomsday prophecy.”
“Why would she think that? Why us?”
“I think it has to do with the Preservation Society … the sixth generation … and the mark.”
“But you don’t even have one … do you?” she asks.
“No.” I shake my head. “Apparently, I’ve been able to resist, because I’m a prophet.”
She runs her fingers over the back of her neck, like she might actually be buying into this.
“You’re not evil, Ali.” I take her hand. “I might be completely crazy, but I know that much is true.”
“And you’re not crazy, Clay. I won’t let you be.”
Reverend Devers walks past the car, up to the fence. He’s got his suit on, the one from Sears, and he kneels down, right in the middle of the sidewalk, and starts praying. A couple of assholes honk as they drive by, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. And it gets me thinking about the priests from All Saints. Miss Granger said something about a disturbance at the church that made them not trust me anymore. And there was something so odd about the way they were dressed today … almost like they were in disguise.
“Do priests have different outfits?” I ask. “Catholic priests?”
“I’m not sure, but I think they’re pretty strict about that. Why?”
“There’s somewhere I need to go … something I need to check on, but it’s all the way in Murpheyville. If it’s too far, I can—”
“I thought you’d never ask,” she says with a smile as we pull away.
The farther we get from town, the lighter I feel. Maybe it’s Ali, or the relief of seeing Midland in the rearview mirror, but by the time we cross the county line, I tell her everything. All about the dreams. Miss Granger. My Catholic baptism. Sheriff Ely. Lee Wiggins. Tyler and the Preservation Society. The worries I have about my mom and Jess and Noodle. I tell her everything that’s in my heart. Almost everything.
I don’t think I’ve talked this much in my entire life. And she just listens and holds my hand and tells me everything’s going to be okay. And by some miracle, I believe her.
42
ALI AND I walk hand in hand up the steps to the church. I open the door and step inside, but Ali doesn’t move.
“Don’t you have to invite me in?” she teases. “Since I’m possessed by the Devil and all.”
It makes me laugh. “Fine. Miss Alison Margaret Miller, won’t you please come in?”
“Why thank you, Clay Riley Tate.” She takes my hand and we walk down the long grim aisle.
“This is it.” I point to the altar with the baptismal font. “They were standing right up there.”
“But they never spoke to you?” Ali asks.
“Not directly … not in English.”
“So they could’ve been saying anything. They could’ve been talking about their grocery list.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” I laugh. “And this is where I had to put on the robe.” I point to the screen.
Ali ducks behind it. “Very scandalous,” she says as she peeks her head out. “What was it like?”
“Creepy.”
“Did the priests give you the pin, or did Miss Granger?”
“She did, but only when we were outside.”
“So you stood here?” She plants herself directly in front of the altar.
I nod, circling around her, watching the tiniest beam of sunlight filtering in through the stained glass, bending to her face.
“And then what happened?” she asks.
“They asked me to disrobe.”
“Miss Granger asked you to disrobe,” she clarifies, as she steps up on the altar.
“Yeah.” I nod. “I closed my eyes and they splashed holy water on my skin.”
“Like this?” She dips her fingers in the baptismal font and flicks me with the water. “Oh no! My hand … it’s burning,” she cries.
I rush over to the edge of the altar, taking her hands in mine.
She starts cracking up. “I’m just kidding, Clay. See, the holy water has no effect on me.”
“Very funny.” I swing her down from the altar. When I put her down we’re standing so close to each other, but neither one of us moves.
And just like that, I’m back to when we were kids again. The first time I thought about kissing her I was ten years old. We’d just seen Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon on TV and we were doing all these karate moves in the woods. She got her foot stuck in a rotted-out log and lost her balance, falling over in the mud. And when I reached in to pull her out, she had mud all over her face, in her hair, but I think that’s the first time I ever thought, wow, she’s really beautiful.
And when her cat Mittens died, I made him a box. We had a funeral for him and everything. I didn’t say much, just how I liked him and how I was going to miss him. Ali leaned into me, and I swear I felt her lips brush my arm. Maybe it was just her chin or her nose, but in my mind, it was her lips, and I kept thinking what if she kissed me and I didn’t even know it. Like a secret kiss. So later that year, when we slow danced at the Preservation Society for Cotillion, I kissed her hair. I don’t know if she felt it, but when the dance was over, she smiled up at me like maybe she knew and she didn’t really mind.
But the one moment that sticks in my mind the most is the pep rally, ninth grade. She ran out of the gym in tears because she fell off the top of the pyramid and flashed the entire school. Even though the guys were razzing me, I took off after her. I pulled her in for a hug, and when she hugged me back, something happened. It wasn’t a lightning bolt of lust making me want to rip her clothes off, like something from one of Mrs. Harrison’s smutty romance novels—it was the exact opposite. I wanted to cover her up in my arms and protect her from all that. I didn’t want to let go. But from that moment on, I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
I thought about her when I was doing farmwork, wondering what her chores were like. I thought about her when I was eating dinner, wondering what she was having. I thought about her during class, wondering what college we’d go to, how I’d propose. I even wondered what kind of house I was going to buy her when I went pro. I had it all planned out, and yet, I never said a word. Never made a move.
And then I didn’t talk to her for an entire year, so of course she moved on, or at least she tried, which is more than I can say for myself. I was so hung up on the past that I didn’t know how to move forward. I had a c
ertain life, a certain version of myself that I wanted to give to her, and when that all went up in smoke, I didn’t feel like I was worthy of her anymore. And maybe I’m still not, but it was selfish and cowardly to take that choice away from her. I see that now.
“I’m sorry … for everything,” I say, placing my hand on her cheek.
“I’m not.” She leans into my touch. “It brought you back to me.”
The warmth from her skin radiates up my arm, through my body, where it seems to get lodged in my throat.
And in that moment, standing at the altar, it’s more than our past, present, and future drawing me in. More than need or attraction. It feels like the hand of God is pushing me toward her.
I take her face in my hands and kiss her. Really kiss her. The kind of kiss you dream about your whole life.
“The chapel is closed,” a nun says sternly from the doorway.
Ali and I take a step away from each other and a tiny revolt goes off inside my body. “The door was open,” I reply, an embarrassed flush spreading across my cheeks.
“If you’re here to look at the church for your wedding, you’ll have to go through premarital screening with Father Mercer first.”
Ali smiles up at me.
I clear my throat. “I was here the other day. My little sister Noodle … er, Natalie Tate, she’s enrolled for next year. She came for a tour.”
“I know. Did you forget something?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I actually came to see about the priests I met that day. An archbishop and a cardinal?”
She purses her lips tight. “We haven’t had a visit from the archbishop in ages and certainly never a cardinal.”
“But I was here … with Miss Granger.”
“Poor soul.” She makes the sign of the cross. “She’s very devout. A good Catholic, but her mind is addled. Those afflicted with maladies of the brain, we must pray for them.”
“The priests,” I whisper to Ali. “What if it never happened? What if it was all in my head?”
“Come on, Clay.” Ali takes my hand, pulling me toward the exit.
