Page 91 of Secrets That Bind Us
I turn back to look at her since Dean is driving my SUV, but she’s peering out the window, worrying her bottom lip. Images of the way she flew into Dean’s arms before we left the house yesterday morning dance in my head. I frown, turning back to my fiancé. I’ve never seen her so afraid. Not even when she begged to watch The Exorcist last year. I’ll admitIwas the one who begged her to sleep with me that night. “I’m sure we can find it when we get home.”
“I’m really sorry if it’s broken.”
I shake my head. “Did you break any of your bones or are you bleeding out?”
“No?”
“Then it’s fine, Savvy. It’s just a camera.”
I want to ask why she’s so afraid of breaking things. I want to ask why it makes her so nervous. She doesn’t respond to me. Noah is asleep in the car seat beside her, head propped on the shoulder pad of it, Bear between them with his head on Savvy’s lap.
A memory surges forward as I look at the enormous steeple looming over town.
Micah heads out to the parking lot with his parents as I wait for Mama at the front door of the church. Dean waits for us beneath the largeoak tree, hands in his pockets. Micah steps to the side and says something to Dean, which makes him scowl. I feel a presence behind me and turn to face a younger Reverend Bishop. But he’s not looking at me, he’s looking atthem. Or maybe he’s looking at his congregation fleeing, ready to sin and keep it hushed. Only to come back next Sunday and ask for forgiveness. It’s only when Micah steps away from Dean does Reverend Bishop speak.
“An ungodly man, or a man with no spiritual prowess, builds no roots or foundations. He will not reap nor sow rewards unless they are on the backs of others. His life, much like himself, will be superficial, Verity. A boy like that will not be a man of light, he’ll be insecure. He may be subject to the changing of circumstances– and he’ll even welcome them, but only if they meet his purposes. He will not know how to handle difficulties– but he will manipulate situations. His life will be lifeless no matter how much he tries to make it so. He will be nothing more than a mediocrity in a pretty suit and tie. His life, nor his wife, will bear his fruit. God won’t allow it.”
I blink over at Dean, who’s still scowling in the shade, dressed in ripped jeans, a button-up, and boots, trying to imagine him in a suit and tie. I’m about to ask the Reverend who exactly he’s talking about, but Mama comes rushing out, blushing at the Reverend, and I look away. Ihave tolook away– only to see the last few parishioners still standing around look our way. I clutch my bible a little tighter to my chest, ready to leave.
“Are you ready, sweet girl?” Mama asks, kissing my temple.
I nod, shaking Reverend Bishop’s hand, and hold out my elbow so Mama can take it. I lead her down the steps, and Dean joins us with a smile, holding his arm out so Mama can use his strength to walk down the pathway to his car.
All these years.
All these years, Reverend Bishop was talking aboutMicah. And he had tried to warn me. Anger flares through me. He could warn me about Micah, but couldn’t have saidanythingelse? We werealoneon those front steps. Just us. No one but us around. I shake my head, not letting my thoughts spiral. He was right not to. I was fuckingsixteen. I would have ‘crashed out’ like the kids these days say.
This is so goddamn irritating.
I squeeze Dean’s hand I’ve been holding tight over the center console. “Can you do me a favor?”
Dean looks away from the road for a second. “Of course.”
“Can you stop by the church?”
He looks like he wants to argue but just ends up nodding. “I can do that. Do you need me to go inside with you, too?”
I shake my head. “No, I think this is something I have to do alone the first time.”
“Heard,” is all he says as we make our way out of town down the two lane road leading up to the big, white church that holds a part of my past that feels brand new.
Sure enough, the lights are shining through the stained glass windows. Of course he’s in there. It’s late on a Sunday afternoon. Everyone’s gone home to sin. As soon as Dean parks, Noah wakes up with a jolt– always having been a light sleeper. “Are we home?”
“No, honey. Stay here with Dean. I won’t be very long.”
“Mmkay,” he replies gently, resting his head once again.
I kiss Dean and jump out of the SUV, doing my best to swallow down the anxiety of meeting my biological father as myfatherand not Reverend Bishop. After my conversation with Tiffany, this feels like the next step to somewhat mending whatever else is going on around me so I can push forward. A drop of rain hits my cheek just as I begin to climb the steps to the temple. I open the door, not letting it slam shut behind me and the all-too-familiar scent of benzoin and cinnamon hits me like just another blast from the past that I keep getting over and over again in this town. I’m not sure if I’ll ever get used to it.
So many memories continue their assault with each step I take. Youth group. Getting baptized. Potlucks. Sermons that spoke to me as though the reverend had chosen every word just for me, to help guideme– not his flock– during trying times.
And it all makes fucking sense now.
My breathing evens out, and yet I still take a gulp full of air, fisting my hands at my sides, grabbing the hem of the sleeves of my coat. Reverend Bishop is at the light oak podium that I used to think was so large. I also used to think the man behind said podium– the one currently practicing his next sermon– wasintimidating. I thought maybe he had a direct line to God. But as I see him now… he’s just that. Aman. Flawed and human. He has wrinkles, and the hair on his head is completely white. I know behind his glasses I’ll find striking brown eyes, the color of dark gold. The same as mine. I almost laugh at the similarities. I just didn’t want to see them.I forced myself to believe mine came from Mama but now as I look at him… from the shape of my face to color of my eyes… It’s all Thomas Bishop.
I pass the strong, sturdy pews, aisle by aisle, the carpet now a dark wine instead of green. I take a seat in the third pew from the front, right at the edge, like I used to– with Mama sitting beside me. I pray to her. I ask herto lend me her strength and her unwavering patience. Because all I have right now is venomous vitriol, ready to spew out of me like projectile vomit.
He looks up from his podium, with a hand outstretched, ready to deliver the meat of the sermon. The part that’s supposed to speak to people. To shake them. To make them repent. To make them feel something, or shudder from the power of the word of God. But instead, the only breathy word he delivers on a sigh is, “Verity.”
