Jessica felt dizzy at the hypocrisy. “She was tarnishing my brand? Are you— Do you even—” She felt her fingers begin to tingle, and her biceps tightened like rubber bands.
Chris was there in an instant, his hand around one of her arms to pull her back from the brink. “You have a lot of nerve, Jimmy. No one’s done more to hurt Jessica’s reputation than you.”
“She must not have told you, Christopher. She and I are allies now. All that happened in the past is forgotten.”
“Bullshit,” Jessica spat. Her gaze jumped down to one of the place settings on the table. She could stab him with a fork, and he’d be fine. Plus, it would feel amazing. She went for it, but hardly got more than a twitch in before Chris had both of her arms in his firm grip.
“Jessica, if you and I are to continue working together, we both have to find it in our hearts to forgive. I’ve done the work myself, so I know it’s hard, but it’s worth it.”
“Knock it off with the Church Jimmy shit,” she spat. “I know it was you who burned down my food truck.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Your … food truck?”
“You heard me.”
He scratched casually at the gray hair around his temple and chuckled gently. “Don’t you see? It’s all been to help you. You were thinking too small. A food truck wasn’t going to launch you to a position of authority and power. And so long as you had that crutch, you would continue carrying on in your small, protected world. I freed you.”
The tide rose in her again. “You freed me? You expect me to believe that your whole point in trying to destroy me again and again, starting when I was a child was to free me? Are you fucking serious with that, Jimmy? Are you fucking serious?!” The pull inside her was growing stronger, and she glanced over her shoulder at Chris. “You gotta let me go. I don’t want to accidentally hurt you.”
He shook his head firmly, but she could see the fear in his eyes.
“Gah!” She tried to shake free. “Chris! Let me go!”
“DON’T let her go, Christopher,” Jimmy said, and she heard the fear in his voice. Everyone in this room was afraid of her. Hell, she was afraid of her.
And she didn’t love it.
“Jimmy?” came Emily’s voice from the doorway. “Everything okay?”
Jessica spared her a glance and that was what did it. That look in the woman’s eyes. Genuine concern. For Jimmy.
For Jimmy?
She looked back at the object of all her hatred, and for a moment, she could see the resemblance he bore to his own mother, that horrible witch in Waverly Hills.
She’d never felt so disgusted in all her life, but with what precisely, she wasn’t sure.
She stopped struggling against Chris and finally inhaled a full breath, then exhaled slowly. He let go of her, but she knew it was on a probationary basis.
“This alliance,” she said, motioning between herself and Jimmy. “It’s off. I won’t smite you now, but mark my word, if you get in my way, I will destroy you. You understand?”
His voice came out smooth and measured. “Perfectly.”
“Your churches could all go up in flames, and I wouldn’t ask God for rain. In fact, I hope they do.”
She marched toward the exit. Chris’s heavy footfalls remained a step behind her.
“You’re more like your mother than I thought,” Jimmy called after her, his words echoing off the barren surfaces.
Without slowing, she hollered, “Which one?” and, with a middle finger held high, left the conservatory.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
183:15:49:45 until Doomsday
They made out in the truck as soon as Chris had pulled off of Jimmy’s property and found a safe shoulder on which to park. Jessica didn’t feel like she’d had much of a choice in the matter, so carried on the wave of victorious adrenaline as she was. However, if given a choice, she would have ended up in the same place, arms groping him furiously as she leaned over the center armrest to meet his horny onslaught with equal force.
And she was positive they would have gone farther than the aggressive liplock, if she hadn’t suddenly remembered something important. “Oh damn! The fountain!”
Chris understood immediately and untangled himself from her to drive them back onto the Dean estate, where she rolled down the window and disintegrated the cursed fountain in a fit of smiteful glee.
“We’re good,” she said, rolling up her window. “Let’s get out of here.”
And Chris did just that, but not before spinning a few donuts in Jimmy’s lawn.
Once they were on the road again, Chris asked, “You hungry?” And before she could answer added, “Because I’m starving.”
They agreed that honey butter chicken biscuits were in order and stopped in at an overly posh Whataburger. The long line provided a still moment to think, and she felt the awkwardness settle in between them post-makeout. Did they have to have “the talk” now? Whataburger didn’t seem like the right place for…
Then it struck her that Whataburger was, in fact, the exact type of place where people had “the talk.”
Regardless, she didn’t want to, and she set her mind against it.
And as they sat in their hard booth in silence, devouring their orders, Jessica’s adrenaline finally took a hard downward turn. She could sleep for days, and she was tempted to give it a shot. But she had too much to do.
“Wah-ha gig om feel olls?”
Chris turned to her, his mouth equally stuffed to the brim. “Uh?”
She held up a finger while she chewed. “Wanna kick some field goals? Well, I kick them, you hold?”
He held up a finger too, now, until he could speak. “Hell yes, I’ll hold for you.”
She thought they would have to swing by her condo for the ball, but Chris already had a few in the rental.
Twenty minutes later, they were at the high school. Because she usually came out here in the evenings with Quentin, it hadn’t occurred to her that the field might already be in use by, duh, the school. “Well, dang,” she said as they pulled into the parking lot.
“What?”
“They’re using it for PE or whatever. So we can’t go out there.” It was the first week of school after the holidays, and it showed. Teenagers were dropping like flies around the track, some bracing themselves on their knees, others with their hands raised over their head, gasping for air, and others flopped on the grass, refusing to move. Ah, she remembered it well.
He squinted at her. “You know I’m a famous athlete now, right?” He rolled his eyes and opened the driver’s side door, and once she understood his point, she climbed out, too.
At first, as they opened the gate and entered the practice field, they received glares from the more world-weary of the students. Good for them. Adults had no business wandering around on school grounds like this, not even pretend adults like her and Chris.
But the suspicion faded to incredulousness quickly once the teens recognized the interlopers. After Chris cleared it with their PE teacher, who seemed as enthusiastic to be back in school as his students, the two of them were set. And not only that, they had plenty of willing volunteers to shag the balls for them. Anything to keep from running the track.
They started from the thirty, Chris going down on one knee, his finger pinning the top of the ball, laces out. All of it, every movement, every angle, felt right. Two steps back. One to the side. Set and kick.
Easy stuff. The ball soared through the uprights, and a girl caught it on the other side and held it up like a trophy.
Jessica met Chris’s eyes, and they both laughed.
“Move it on back,” he said, getting to his feet and holding out his hands for a throw from the girl with the ball.
By the time they were on the twenty-yard-line of the opposing side of the field, making it a ninety yarder when she finally split the uprights, they looked at each other and nodded. That was probably enough. The students were at a fever pitch with excitement seeing something live t
hey’d only ever seen on YouTube clips that by now looked old-timey to them.
Chris wanted to stick around a little while longer and toss the ball with some of the kids, and since Jessica had literally no football skills outside of her miracle, she took a seat on the bleachers to watch.
“How’d you do that?” a boy a few feet down the row from her asked. He had to be in high school, but with his size, he could have easily passed for sixth grade.
“It’s a miracle,” she said. “Don’t you recognize a miracle when you see one?”
He scooted closer. “I don’t believe in all that.”
“Then how do you explain what you just saw?”
He shrugged a single shoulder. “I dunno. That’s why I’m asking you. Come on, you can tell me the truth.”
“I did. It’s a miracle. I’m the daughter of God. I can do weird shit.”
He blinked. “The daughter of God can say ‘shit’?”
She looked around for an adult, remembered for the tenth time that day that she was one, and then leaned toward him. “I can say whatever the fuck I want.” She straightened up. “Well, some of my words have consequences. I can still say them, but I have to accept the outcome of them.”
He nodded sagely. “That makes sense. Words do have consequences.”
“Oh, right. I see what you’re saying, but I just meant when I tell someone ‘I forgive you’ or ‘damn you.’ Those two things in particular.” She waved it off. “But you’re right, too. The way you’re talking about is way more applicable.”
By the time Chris jogged over, red faced and grinning wildly, she was ready to hit the road. The sun was scorching overhead, and, as far as she knew, she possessed no miracles that protected against UV-A and UV-B.
Only once they were in the truck and had the doors closed did she realize he stank to high heaven. Grass and sweat and dirt—she would have rolled in it if she could. The smells brought her back to the glow of Friday night lights, the steam rising off bodies in the huddle, even the oppressive musk of the locker room. She was nostalgic for it all.
Me. Nostalgic for high school. Who woulda thought?
“Burgers?” Chris said, cranking up the AC. She hit the button to change it from recycled to fresh air.
“It would seem wrong not to.”
And so, fifteen minutes later, they pulled up to Gordon’s burger joint.
She was both pleased and a little horrified to discover that within twenty-four hours of seeing a man ripped open by a motor vehicle just yards from where she was, she’d regained her ability to eat ketchup without issue, and she’d slathered it over her fries.
She hadn’t gotten so much physical movement in a long time, and when she paused in her eating to take a breath, she found Chris staring at her. “What?” She dabbed at her face with a napkin in case that was it.
“I think we should get back together,” he said.
She set down her burger. “We’ve been over this. I’m starting a church, Chris. The first service is less than seven months away.”
“I know,” he said, undeterred. “But when we do have time, I want to spend it together.” He looked down at his tray for a moment, and she thought he might lose his train of thought and simply continue eating, but instead, he looked back up at her. “I’m never gonna find anyone else who can compare to you. I’ve had women come through my life and they’re just … women. You’re more than that.”
“A demigod?”
“Well, yes, I guess, but I also mean as a person. I’ve loved you since I can remember. When I think of what a girlfriend, or, hell, even a wife looks like, you’re all I can think about.”
It was all very flattering, but there was one fat detail nagging at her. “You’re forgetting that you’re an angel, Chris. These feelings you have for me, they’re mostly due to the fact that you’re wired to protect me and do what I say.”
He reached across the table and took her hand, mustard and pickle juice and all, in his. “Is that so bad? I was predestined to love you, Jessica, and maybe you’re predestined to love me. But would that be so bad? We could live our lives knowing the other was made for us. I thought that was the dream.”
Jessica found herself in a mild state of shock. Besides never having guessed that Chris knew the word “predestined,” he made a solid point.
“I do still love you, Chris. Of course I do.”
“But?”
“But the thought of giving into my dad’s—sorry, mom’s—plans just makes me uncomfortable.”
“How do you know God planned this?”
Shit. Was he secretly an atheist too? “Because … that’s what God does.”
“Does She plan the earthquakes in Asia?”
“No, pretty sure that’s Original Mistake.”
“Does She control the Devil?”
“She better fucking not.”
He nodded. “So maybe there are forces outside Her control.”
Since when did Chris know just what to say? “Yeah, maybe.”
“And of all the things She has planned for both of us, being together isn’t so bad.”
Finally, she squeezed his hand. “No, it’s not so bad. In fact, it’s good.”
“I want to be with you for the long haul, Jess. I want to retire from the league at a solid age thirty-five, brain still mildly functional, and I want us to be together for the years to come.”
“Are you … are you proposing to me?”
He scrunched up his nose. “Huh? No! I mean, not right now. Maybe someday. Do you want me to propose?”
“Right now? No.”
“Okay. Like, I don’t have a ring or anything …”
“No, no,” she said, lamenting how quickly she’d demolished the mood. “I just … never mind. We’re good. Long term, mild brain injuries. Got it.” She smiled, allowing him to relax again, too. “I’m in.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
157:13:48:26 until Doomsday
Jessica couldn’t remember a time when she had sat in front of a mirror for so long. She hardly recognized herself now, and while a part of her rejoiced at how good she looked after an hour of hair and makeup, mostly she felt disappointed in herself for not putting a little effort into both more often. She could have been attractive this whole time. How would her life have been different?
Wendy tip-tapped up to the makeup station in her stilettos and indicated to the woman perfecting Jessica’s curled hair that she needed a moment with her client. “You look beautiful.”
“Isn’t that bad?”
“Huh?”
“You said before it was good that I wasn’t beautiful because people wouldn’t like me.”
“Oh, no, it’s different now. You’re rich. You’re allowed to be pretty without people hating you. It’s expected. Now, if you don’t look sharp enough, don’t glow and appear put together, everyone will assume you don’t deserve what you have.”
Jessica frowned, caught sight of the unflattering expression in the mirror, and let her face go slack.
“You remember our talking points, right? You’re going to stick to the talking points?”
“Of course I do,” Jessica said.
“No mention of God being a woman. This is just to get people to like you and find out more about you. They’ll go to the website, read our expertly crafted copy, and that will do the heavy lifting. You just want people to know you’re the daughter of God. That’s enough for now.”
“I know,” Jessica replied, feeling self-assured and in control now that she was pretty. “It’ll be fine. No one wants to knock this interview out of the park more than I do.”
She didn’t, in fact, remember the talking points. But she remembered a few general rules that she’d gleaned from watching hours and hours of Helen in the Morning prior to this booking: laugh with your teeth, get the audience involved, say nothing of substance, and thank Helen profusely for having you on the show. If you had a book to push, even better, but she didn’t have one of those yet—though Ju
dith claimed to be working diligently on it.
Her hair had never been so voluminous. She hoped Chris got to see this and tried to capture a clear mental image of it in her mind so she could recreate the look later on when she met him in their dreams. He would go nuts for it.
Wendy narrowed her eyes at her client. “You look calm and confident. Did something happen?”
Jess inhaled deeply through her nose, feeling the over oxygenated air of the studio fill her lungs. “Maybe. I just have this strange sense I can do this. That this is the easy part.”
The publicist nodded slowly. “Okay, that’s good, but let’s not get too confident, right? This appearance is important. She owns a demographic we need to convince. It’s not everything, but winning the hearts of her viewers is a good start. They’ll help us spread the—”
Jessica raised a hand to stop her. “I know. You’ve done well preparing me. I don’t know why I’m calm, but I am.”
Wendy leaned close, staring into Jessica’s eyes. “Are you drunk?” she whispered. “High?”
“No! I’m just beautiful!”
Wendy didn’t buy it. “It’s Chris, isn’t it? You two getting back together must be giving you that glow.” She straightened and smoothed her palms down her A-line skirt. “Fine. Whatever works. Just don’t let him get you pregnant. That’s not the glow we need.” Then she forced a smile and added, “I know you’ll do great.”
Jessica decided not to ask why she’d just interrogated her if that were the case.
But by the time an assistant producer had her lined up backstage, waiting to be called out, presumably to applause, she was lost in the same questions Wendy had asked her. Why was she feeling so good? Could she have, without meaning to, discovered her own competence? God knew she’d handled enough sticky situations to have earned a little confidence in her ability to take whatever life threw at her. But she thought it was more than that. Things were starting to come up all Jessica. She thought it might have started when that typewriter fell on Eugene, though yelling at Jimmy Dean in his own home had sure felt amazing, and that man who’d wanted to assassinate her turning into quite a vocal advocate for her cause helped, and, yes, getting mega laid in her sleep by Chris every night for the last couple of months had definitely brought a little color to her cheeks.
The End Is Her Page 23
