Page 60 of Letters of Faith
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The white building looms ahead of me, making me a little queasy. The last time I was here was Nate’s funeral, and I think I must have disassociated from the events of that day because I can only remember them in little snippets—the color of the coffin, the paleness of Nate’s face. All the things I do remember play over in my nightmares sometimes, so I’ve avoided this building, going as far as driving out of my way to avoid it. I was afraid that if I passed it, I would remember more things from that day, and the nightmares would get worse.
But I haven’t had those nightmares in months—not since the letters. With Grayson by my side, I feel a little braver than I would if I were standing here alone.
Squeezing his hand, I ask, “Are you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.” His voice is devoid of emotion, and when I turn my head to look at him, his face is set in stone—the mask is back. I hate that he feels he has to put on his mask walking in here, but I also understand why he’s doing it. It’s his way of protecting himself, and Ican’t fault him for that.
“We’ll be okay,” I say as we walk up the stairs hand in hand. I might have said it to him, but it’s also a reminder to myself. I can’t expect this one visit to fix all my problems, but it’s a start—just like the festival and the date. They were both a place to start. This is just another place—except it’s the most important place: no pressure or anything.
Once we are up the steps, Grayson lets go of my hand and opens the door for me. Shaking the nerves out of my hand, I step forward, but as I do, Grayson leans in and whispers, “You’re strong, Peach. Don’t let anyone make you think otherwise.”
Then, his hand is on my back, leading me into the church’s foyer. We are met by a gaggle of older women, all waiting to greet us as we try to make it to the back pews.
There’s a variation of greetings, but each one ends the same—with a sharp glance at Grayson’s hand on my back.
I have to physically bite my tongue to keep from lashing out at these women who are supposed to know better than to judge. Grayson’s mask stays firmly in place, ignoring the women as we push through the crowd.
I’m afraid we will never make it to our seats when all of a sudden, Mrs. Adams appears—an angel disguised as a feisty elderly woman—or at least she would be if the next thing out of her mouth wasn’t, “You heifers get back to your seats and stop staring. Jesus doesn’t like ugly.”
I have to hold my breath to keep from laughing.
Most of the women scurry away, afraid of the wrath of their precious leader, but a few straggle behind, pretending to read the bulletin board when really their attention is on us.
Mrs. Adams doesn’t stop to consider the ones still watching. Instead, she walks right up to Grayson, wraps her arms around him, and says, “I’m glad you’re here, son.”
The stone set of Grayson’s mask starts to crack, and with that hug,the boy begging for acceptance starts to heal.
Tears sting my eyes, and I have to turn my head to keep Grayson from seeing them. He won’t like that I’m getting emotional on his behalf. When I have myself under control, I turn back to them, and Mrs. Adams is stepping away. Grayson stands there, stiff and awkward, but there’s a lightness in his eyes that wasn’t there before.
“Now come on,” Mrs. Adams chides, “before we’re late to the service.”
She spins on her heel and marches into the sanctuary, expecting us to follow.
I look over at Grayson and mouth, “Bossy.”
He throws me a wink, and his lips tip up in a crooked grin that nearly splits my chest in two with happiness.
Chapter 26
Grayson
Ithought that walking into this church would feel like walking into my execution, but oddly, it doesn’t.
I’ve been around these people thousands of times, and I’ve always been the outsider. The thing about being an outsider, though, is that it teaches you lessons. I learned a long time ago that you can’t control how people feel about you—you can only prove them wrong—and walking into this church with Georgia by my side is my way of proving them wrong.
No one here ever thought I would be good enough for the girl by my side—including me—and I may never be. But, I will spend my whole life trying to be.
Mrs. Adams leads us to a pew in the middle, and I have to hold back a groan. The back would have been preferable as no one could shoot daggers at my head with their eyes if I’m sitting behind them all, but Georgia happily follows her in—and where Georgia goes, so do I.
Despite the padding, the pew is hard underneath me. My leg bounces up and down as I look around, trying to get an idea of who I’ll be dealing with today. My eyes land on Harper and Ellie sitting in the row across from us, and when Harper realizes I’m looking at her, she sends me a glare. I smirk back at her, knowing it will get under her skin. A huff and an eye roll later, she looks away. Ellie is staring at Georgia, a widegrin spread across her wrinkled face. Georgia’s parents are sitting a few rows in front of Ellie and Harper, and even from here, I can see tears sparkling in their eyes.
My leg bounces harder, jostling Georgia as Pastor Greer takes his pulpit. She places a hand on my knee, steadying me. I’m supposed to be comforting her today, but instead, she’s comforting me.
“Welcome, friends and family. It’s nice to see everyone here today.”
A chorus of greetings resounds around the room as the congregation settles down in their seats.
