Page 6 of Friar
“Did you know,” Uncle Pete continued, warming to his topic, “that Satan doesn’t always come as an obvious threat?Sometimes he comes as everything you desire.”He pointed his fork at me for emphasis.“That’s why we must be vigilant.The Book of Proverbs tells us that the path to sin may seem pleasurable at first, but it leads only to destruction.”
I nodded again, my jaw tight with unspoken words.My head throbbed with each beat of my heart.I took another sip of coffee, letting the bitterness coat my tongue.
“Those bikers that roar through town,” Uncle Pete said, his voice dropping to a disgusted growl.“Those Reckless Kings.They’re exactly the kind of influence that corrupts young souls.Drugs, promiscuity, violence.”He shook his head, oblivious to how my fingers tightened around my mug.“I heard Pastor Mike talking about how they’ve expanded their… their sinful enterprise.More members.More motorcycles disturbing the peace.More souls headed straight for eternal damnation.”
A memory flashed through my mind -- Nugget’s hands guiding mine on the pool cue, the heat of his chest against my back, the whispered instructions that had nothing to do with the game.My cheeks flushed, and I quickly ducked my head to hide the color rising in my face.
“Are you feeling feverish, dear?”Aunt June asked, her thin hand reaching across the table to press against my forehead.Her touch was cool, maternal, concerned.It made me feel even worse about my deception.
“I’m fine,” I assured her, forcing a weak smile.“Just the coffee.It’s hot.”
Uncle Pete wasn’t done with his morning sermon.“Young people today think they can dabble in sin without consequences.They think one little transgression won’t matter in the grand scheme of things.But that’s how it starts.One small sin leads to another, and another, until your soul is stained beyond recognition.”
I thought of the woman with the snake tattoo, her knowing smile as she handed me that last drink.“They’ll eat you alive,” she’d said.Was that what was happening?Was I being devoured, piece by piece, by desires I’d kept locked away for so long?
“The Bible teaches us about the prodigal son,” Uncle Pete continued, his voice softening slightly as he shifted from condemnation to redemption.“Even after wallowing with the pigs, he was welcomed home by his father.That’s God’s mercy for you.No matter how far we stray, we can always return to His loving embrace.”
The clock on the wall ticked loudly in the brief silence that followed.Outside, a car drove past, the engine’s growl reminding me of motorcycles lined up outside a log cabin clubhouse.I pushed my plate away, appetite entirely gone.
“But,” Uncle Pete’s voice hardened again, “we must genuinely repent.True repentance means turning away from sin completely.No looking back.No secret longings for the flesh pots of Egypt.”
Aunt June cleared her throat softly.“Pete, perhaps that’s enough heavy discussion for breakfast.”
He waved her concern away.“There’s never a wrong time to discuss the Word of God, June.”But he seemed to relent slightly, finishing his coffee in one long swallow before pushing his chair back from the table.“Let’s pray before I head to work.”
I closed my eyes as Uncle Pete’s hand reached for mine, his grip firm and dry.Aunt June took my other hand, completing the circle.I could smell her lavender hand cream, the same scent that permeated every room of this house.
“Heavenly Father,” Uncle Pete began, his voice dropping into the reverent tone he reserved for prayer.“We thank You for this food and for Your many blessings.We ask that You guide our steps today, that You keep us on the narrow path of righteousness…”
As his prayer continued, my mind drifted back to the clubhouse.To the hallway.To the door closing behind Friar and me.To what happened next.My body remembered every touch, every whispered word, every forbidden moment.The contrast between that world and this one -- between smoke-filled freedom and prayer-laden constraint -- made my chest ache with something between longing and fear.
“… and may we resist the temptations that surround us,” Uncle Pete prayed on, unaware that the devil he warned against had already found his way into his own kitchen, sitting quietly with bowed head and secrets burning behind closed eyes.
“Amen,” I whispered with the others, the word hollow on my tongue, as meaningless as all the promises I’d broken in a single night.
Chapter Three
Cheri
I sat cross-legged on my bed as dawn crept through the lace curtains, casting patterns on my trembling hands.The house was quiet -- too quiet -- making the pounding of my heart sound like a drum in my ears.The small calendar I’d pulled from my nightstand drawer lay open before me, little Xs marking each day in neat rows.I counted them again, hoping I’d made a mistake the first twelve times.I hadn’t.Six weeks.My period was six weeks late.
“No,” I whispered, the word hanging in the still air of my bedroom like a prayer no one would answer.Six weeks since that night at the Reckless Kings clubhouse.Six weeks of pretending nothing had changed while everything had.
I closed the calendar, shoving it under my pillow as if hiding the evidence could change the truth.My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.I wiped them on my cotton pajama pants, leaving damp streaks across the fabric.The room felt too small suddenly, the walls pressing in, the framed Bible verses watching me with silent accusation.
My gaze drifted to the bottom drawer of my dresser.It sat slightly ajar, a corner of fabric poking out like a guilty secret refusing to stay hidden.I’d been avoiding that drawer for weeks, knowing what waited there, tucked beneath winter sweaters I never wore in this southern heat.
With legs that felt disconnected from my body, I crossed the room and knelt before the dresser.The wood floor was hard against my knees, a minor discomfort compared to the fear churning in my stomach.I pulled the drawer open slowly, wincing at the soft scrape of wood against wood.
My fingers pushed aside the sweaters, revealing the small paper bag beneath.The pharmacy logo stared back at me, bright and cheerful and oblivious to my terror.I’d bought it three weeks ago during a rare moment alone, slipping into the store on the other side of town where no one would recognize Pastor Pete’s niece purchasing such an item.“Just in case,” I’d told myself then, refusing to acknowledge the growing suspicion that had sent me there in the first place.
Now, there was no more denying it.No more pretending the nausea that greeted me each morning was from stress or that my missed period was from the same.No more ignoring the tenderness in my breasts or the way certain smells -- Uncle Pete’s aftershave, Aunt June’s lavender potpourri -- suddenly made me gag.
I pulled the box from the bag, the cardboard cool against my sweaty palms.The instructions seemed to blur before my eyes, the clinical language about urine samples and hormone levels feeling surreal in the soft dawn light of my bedroom.This couldn’t be happening.Not to me.Not here, in this house of righteousness and rigid morality.
The sound of a toilet flushing down the hall froze me in place.I clutched the test to my chest, hardly daring to breathe as heavy footsteps passed my door.The floorboards creaked beneath his weight.
When the sound of his study door closing reached me, I released the breath I’d been holding.I had maybe thirty minutes before Aunt June would rise.Thirty minutes to know for sure, to face the truth I’d been running from for weeks.
