by Ella James
"What the fuck is going on?"
The man in front of me bristles, and my head feels too light.
Then Pearl is there. She's beckoning me toward the TV, where I hear Luke talking soft but steady. My eyes widen as I realize that a man from the crowd is being held by security guards.
Luke shifts his weight, and I can tell he’s pretty keyed up from the tension in his body. His voice is flat but even as he says, into the microphone, "This is Mike, and he wants to know why you should take my advice on these issues, because he thinks I'm biased. That's the summary," he says, and I can hear a slight edge in his voice. "We're going to keep our grip on him since he came at me," Luke says, and I realize Sky is standing in the aisle between the pews. "But I'm going to give an answer.” I can see Sky’s shoulders rise and fall. He’s trying to breathe.
Just breathe, baby.
“What do you do for a living, Mike?" he asks the man.
After a brief pause, during which Luke leans a little toward the man, he says to the crowd, "Mike is an electrician."
There’s a sound of interference with the mic, like Sky bumped it on something. "So, Mike knows his way around wiring and lighting. Blueprints and homes. I don't know about those things. Interpreting the Bible is what I do for a living. I've been studying the Bible since I was a kid. When people—experts—write about it, giving their interpretations, I read their thoughts. And think about it. Kind of like a hive mind, if you will. Of experts.
“I've read almost everything written about the Bible. I would do that even if this wasn't my job, because that's my passion. And it's what I'm good at. This is what God called me to do. I'm not good with carpentry or wiring, diagnosing medical conditions or arguing in a courtroom. But I'm pretty good at analyzing text, and thinking about what things mean. And seeing what other people think this book means, and talking about it. And I've been working to have a relationship with God for a long time.
“I'm not always good at it. In fact, I'm almost never good at it. But I know how to try. And that's what we're all called to do. To try our best. So...I'll say. I've been speaking what I feel is the truth about LGBTQ people and the morality of loving who you love, for a long time. I was talking about it way before it was as 'popular' and commonplace, as it is now. I talked about it—in a way that didn’t relate to me, of course—when I was afraid of being found out. When I thought it brought personal risk to me. When I never planned to come out. It would have been safer for me to condemn. But I couldn't do that. Because a loving God doesn't condemn people for loving who they love. I'll never think He does. The Bible doesn't back that up.
“We know the one most important rule is love your neighbor like you love yourself. And everybody is a neighbor. We're called to love, support, and serve each other. Never to judge. I'm going to link to a variety of books on this topic, and write something of my own. But at the end of the day, everyone is able to make their own choice. And if people choose to interpret the Bible in a different way than I do—even though I do this for a living—that's okay. They can go another direction. That make sense, Mike?"
We can't hear the man's answer. But I can tell he does something, because Luke flinches back.
Security constricts around him, and the man is dragged down the aisle, starfishing his body, trying to grab onto other people, screaming two offensive F-words I can tell Luke feels because his body bristles visibly.
Everything is in slow-motion as Luke walks to the front of the church again and steps back onto the stage.
"We'll be back to questions in a minute," he says, and then the mic is off.
Sky doesn’t move, though. I turn to Pearl. "What's going on?"
She has a mic in her right ear. She closes her eyes. "Yes? Are you sure?" she murmurs. "Okay."
She turns to me, looking weary. "He's just going to keep going. But he's not going to leave the stage again. Security says no."
"I fucking—" I inhale deeply then blow the breath out. "I hope not."
I find a slit in the curtains and watch Sky as he takes the next question, which is about translations and the ‘original text’.
The next question, someone asks if he's okay. "Scripted person, off-script question," Pearl murmurs to me.
Sky waits a beat to answer. Then he shocks me by saying, "I don't know." He gives a laugh that seems to shake a little, and my heart twists so hard that it makes my stomach hurt.
The entire building goes quiet as he stands there, still, both hands wrapped around the mic. "It's weird," he says. And I can hear the wobble. The touch of breathlessness he always gets when he's emotional and doesn't want to be. "People don't hate me," he says softly. "And they don't hate you,” he says, and I can tell he’s talking to us rainbow peeps. “They hate what makes them afraid. What makes them question things they thought were stable.”
I can see his shoulders rise and fall, and it takes everything I have to stay back here and not go to him as Luke says, “If you think about the violence that trans women face. I think it goes back to fear. Sizing up the other person. How vulnerable you let yourself be. And if someone surprises you, and you feel threatened, sometimes that can be when violence happens. The root of hate is fear. Violence is fear with legs and a gun.
"Violence is fear that turns to hate and gets into a car and tries to run you over. Just to get control back. The trouble with all this is that it can be hard to help people figure out how to let go of their fear. Fear has deep roots, roots so deep we can’t trace them, and there’s a vast network of those roots; we call that society. And so, these are the problems we have. As a society. As a country. As a world. These are systemic problems. Racism. Sexism. Bigotry.
“The best way to fix them is the same way you offer masses herd immunity to something physical. Inoculate them first. Vaccinate the ones you can. Teach them to recognize what they're seeing, and fight it off. Be sure the new ones born are immune from the start. Teach the children how to love, and what's worth being scared of…and what isn't. I think that's a powerful way forward. We're going to announce initiatives to that effect. Initiatives that Evermore will endeavor to help the world look like we think God wants it to look.”
His voice is shaking now.
I swallow as tears fill my eyes.
"Here are verses you should read." He rattles some off—his voice still trembling slightly. "God is love, you guys. I'm gonna step out."
Luke lifts the mike as if saluting them, and then he's crossing the stage, and then he's through the curtains, and there's a dozen people rushing toward him. And then he's cutting through them, his eyes locked on me. I can see his mouth, the fullness of it—soft, unsteady. I could fall into his burning eyes, and as he gets within arms' length, I can feel the pain all in him.
He near falls against me, locking his arms around me and pushing his face against my throat. I can hear Pearl clearing everybody out from where we are, and then it's only Luke that I feel. How he's leaning on me. How his upper body trembles as he sucks back big breaths, and I'm murmuring, "It's okay, baby... It's okay. I've got you. I love you, and I've got you, my Sky."
I'm aware the backstage area is empty, even as I hear the music from beyond the curtains, signaling the near-end of the service.
I hug him hard, and then I notice an armchair, and I urge him toward it. He shakes his head. "My office," he rasps. He won't look at my face, and I feel a stomach-flip of fear. And then he does, and his eyes are red-rimmed, damp and nearly glowing with emotion.
I wrap my arms around him again, and he hugs me so hard. He holds me that way for a long time, one of his warm hands behind my head, holding my face against his shoulder.
"Sorry," he rasps, struggle breathing with his chest pumping beneath my ear.
I used to tell him don't be sorry, but now I just kiss his hair. "Hugging you is what I live for, baby. This is why I wait in the wings." I've done it ever since people found out about us. Letting him know I literally have his back. That I'm always here.
"Some
one's spit...is somewhere on my arm,” he chokes out.
My stomach sinks as I realize that must have been what Asshole Bigot did to get dragged out of the church; he spit on Luke. "Let's go up and take it off,” I tell him. “You've got a spare suit."
"I don't want it," he says. Fuck, his voice is so soft; he sounds broken.
I tighten my grip on him. He's looking down as we start moving down a hall where we might see some people.
"We can do whatever you want, Sky babe."
"Jeans," he says, closing his eyes. Then he looks at me, and he looks miserable. With his head down, he takes my hand and tugs me into the hall. When we start down it, he wraps an arm around my back, holding me close to his side. He says nothing as we walk. It takes more than five minutes to make it to the other side of the building, and we do pass people, but no one dares get close. Luke meets their eyes and holds up a hand in a somber wave when we pass people he knows, but he’s got on armor like I’m not sure I’ve ever seen. He seems emotionless as we move through the big building.
I think we'll escape without anyone getting too close—until we're in the stairwell going to the pastors' wing and we pass one of the secretaries that works up in the pastor’s suite.
She puts her hand on Luke’s shoulder. "Do you guys need anything? I can go back up and get you anything you need."
"No, Cait. We're okay."
"Get some rest."
He doesn't look at me again until we're in the open-concept work area that takes up most of the pastor’s suite. It’s nearly empty, but as we near the larger area where there are more desks, Pearl comes up from behind us and escorts us into Luke's office. We move briskly, past an intern and a few others.
Pearl opens the door for Luke with a key code, and says, "I'll be back in just a little while. You two okay for now?"
Luke nods, meeting her eyes with a grim, strange look on his face.
When she goes, he leads me inside. Then he nearly tosses me toward the couch. He pulls me down onto it before urging me back up. I watch, my brows drawn and my heart racing, as he tosses all the pillows off the couch, pulling out a bed I didn't know was here.
He jerks his tie off, takes his pants off, and is grabbing blankets from a drawer in a table by the couch when someone knocks. He shakes his head once and a moment later, I hear footfall moving away from his door.
We lie down together. Sky pulls blankets over both of us. His arm goes around my waist and he tucks himself against my chest, under my chin the way he does sometimes. And I hold him.
25
Vance
We lie there a long time, and I wonder what he’s thinking. He still feels tense, even though I’m pretty sure we’ve been in here for at least half an hour. He hasn’t moved much, and he isn’t kissing me and rubbing on me like he usually does.
I get it—and I hate it. Our life experiences prevent me from thinking “it couldn’t have gone worse,” but I bet it went a lot worse than he thought it would. Hell, Sky got spit on—in his very own sanctuary.
I rub my hand down the back of his head, which still feels damp. I want to say something to make him feel better. But I don’t know what. I don’t know where he is, like mentally, so I’m not sure what he needs to hear. He may be much more upset than I think he is, or maybe he’s less upset, and if I express sympathy, he’ll think I think he bombed it.
“I love you.” I hold him close. After a minute, he says, “Love you too.”
Then he sits up. He gets off the bed, and I push up on my elbow, and he looks at me with an expression I can’t read. I get off the pull-out mattress, too, and watch as he folds the bed back into the couch.
He checks his phone, and then, without looking my way, he goes to a cabinet behind his desk and takes out a stack of jeans and T-shirts.
I watch as he checks his phone then dresses, loving the sight of his body in motion, hating that he won’t look at me. Then his eyes move to mine, holding before dropping back down to his socked feet. “Might be a late night. Pearl texted. Said the board wants to talk. P.R. wants to talk.” He shakes his head, and finally, some feeling. He looks bitter. “Guess we’re going to sort out how badly I screwed up,” he says in a clipped tone.
"Did you screw up? You seemed pretty fucking smooth to me."
He shuts his eyes, giving a shake of his head. "I walked off without the finish. People who watch, who come here every Sunday, know that. Bet your dick the board knows too."
"I think I'd rather not,” I murmur. “Bet my dick."
He gives me a strained smile. "Yeah, let's not."
"You really think they're gonna give you shit, though?"
He shrugs. I can tell he's on the verge of losing his shit. His whole body looks tense.
“You don’t deserve it. If they do, just try to let it roll off,” I say gently. “You were impeccable, Sky. You did what no one else could have. A fucking class act.”
I’m shocked as his face morphs to fury. “I’m wrecking everything, Vance. Don’t tell yourself it matters how ‘well’ I do or anything like that. Because of me, this place is going up in flames. Because of me, whoever’s here is here to watch a train wreck. Like a circus. And how long till someone finds out about the weekend in Tahoe?” he says, sounding ominous. His voice drops an octave. “I wasn’t the only one they did that to, I’m sure. Then what? How long till stories start from people who are bitter, who think I sounded too okay up there? ‘I was gay at Evermore when I was a kid and someone treated me wrong. Or on the total flipside, Evermore’s not gay enough. It’s not affirming enough. I wasn’t affirmed when I was there for one hour five years ago. So Pastor Luke’s a hypocrite.’
“All of that is coming,” he says harshly. “All of that and more. I won’t be anything but a vessel for this hatred and reaction. Reactivity,” he corrects. “This is all a battle in a culture war, that’s all we are, Rayne. Now we’re the faces of this…war. And I can’t do my job.” He throws his hands up. “They probably don’t even want me to keep trying.”
“I feel sure they do.”
“Yes, and you know so much about the church, Vance. Is Evermore your area of expertise?”
“Fuck, dude. No, it’s not. I was just—”
“Trying to be supportive. I know. Everyone says they want to be supportive but at the end of the day, the only person standing up there is me, looking like an idiot and crying. Getting spit on. Like the only person in the freak show, but I’m not the only one, because you’re in it too! I dragged you in with me, and for some reason—” His voice breaks, and he covers his eyes as he turns his body slightly away. “Nobody minds messing with you, Rayne.” His voice sounds broken as he says, “Because you’re too nice.”
He lifts his head then, eyes flashing. “You leave yourself open to all this…shit, and people come at you. And they come at the baby. Why are we adopting a baby? That’s just another symptom of the problem, people leaving babies for me. This is going to be a zoo, Vance, and we’ll never have the kind of peace I wanted for us. I was a fool to think that it would ever work—”
“If you don’t want to do it, we can leave.”
“Oh, can we?” He steps closer to me, looking mad enough to breathe fire. “Maybe you can leave and you can ship your statutes anywhere, but I can’t even be a pastor anymore because the world’s not right for…anything good.”
He shakes his head, clenching his jaw. His eyes won’t touch mine as he blinks out vacantly at the wall. “This whole world, the church, is never going to be accepting. They’ve got years and years, decades, of history on their side, telling them I’m just a liar, leading them to hell. Even the nicer ones are thinking how we show our love to each other is weird and unnatural and gross. This place doesn’t want us. It doesn’t want me.”
His face is so bleak. I have never seen him like this before.
“Sky, let’s go home. Just for a little while—”
He laughs and shakes his head, and he steps toward the office door. “I’m not going ho
me. I don’t know where that is.” His voice breaks on the words. I see him from the side, the way he squeezes his eyes shut and gives a shake of his head. And then he moves so fast. He’s out of his office in an instant. When I dash behind him, he jogs through the empty room where his staff members work.
“Luke!”
“STOP,” he says, and it’s so hard—his voice is such a punch—that I do. I stop by a desk and stand there panting because my chest hurts. My head is spinning before I realize…inhaler!
It’s there in my pocket. I fill my lungs with the stuff. It makes my heart pound like it always does.
I sit down in a chair and put my arms up on the table. Rest my face there, hidden. The room is dark and quiet. Someone comes through, but I realize when I lift my head that I’m behind a coat rack. No one even sees me.
“Where is Luke?” a man’s quiet voice says.
“I’m…not sure.” That’s Pearl. I lift my head, and I’m about to tell her. But she doesn’t look my way.
When they leave the room, I stand up and walk back into Sky’s office. I sit in his chair for a few minutes, and then I try him on the phone.
No answer.
There’s a text from our next-door-ish neighbor, Arrow—well, the college-aged child of our neighbors—who’s watching the baby in the nursery.
‘We’re all good. One dirty diaper & she’s had three bottles!’
‘That’s good,’ I text. ‘I’ll update on our ETA soon.’
‘Is Luke okay? Did that guy spit on him??’
That one…I can’t answer. I call Sky again, feeling hopeful that he’ll answer me this time, but it goes straight to voicemail. The old fuck-you button.
Perfect.
I leave his office and start down the staff stairs, where I’m met by Frank, who is waiting at the bottom like some kind of nanny for me.
