Page 40 of It's Always Been You
Chapter 14
Evie
Grandmaalmosthasaconniption when I remove my peacoat and drape it over my arm. “Genevieve Montgomery,” she hisses under her breath, pursing her lips as her eyes drag down my scantily clad form.
“What?” I smooth a hand down my dress and look around the church’s crowded entryway. “You said to wear a dress.”
“A dress, not aslip. Goodness gracious, young woman.”
Lifting my chin, I adjust the sheer lace tights I’m wearing beneath my satin slip. I bought this garment from a luxury lingerie boutique, which means I’m wearing underwear in public. And not just any underwear—a slip so form-fitting that my nipple piercings are protruding beneath the shimmering fabric.
A few older women glance our way. They don’t react like I expect them to—with scoffs, turned up noses, and secretive smirks. Instead, they clutch their Bibles closer to their chests and avert their eyes like I’m flashing them.
In a way, I guess I am.
Shifting on my feet, I glance away, suddenly wishing I had worn something more sensible and brought the cane with me, too. Honestly, I thought wearing this dress would make me feel more powerful. Like I was reclaiming something.
Turns out I just feel like an idiot.
Worst of all, I’m struggling to comfortably remain upright without the help of that dumb cane. I need to sit down.
“What were you thinking?” Grandma whispers.
I can’t answer her because I honestly don’t know. “I thought Jesus didn’t care about the clothes on our back.”
“If you had nothing else to wear, fine. Come as you are.” Grandma’s voice is uncharacteristically hard, and it makes my stomach pinch tight. “But intentionally dressing in a provocative manner?” She tusks. “Evie, I’m disappointed in you.”
Heat crawls up my spine as I frown down at the floor, wishing it would open up and swallow me. I’ve never made Grandma truly mad before, so I have no idea how to respond.
And she’s not finished.
“This is disrespectful, Genevieve.” She grabs my elbow and spins me toward the exit. “Let’s go. You’re changing.”
We’re halfway to the door when someone calls Grandma’s name. “This must be Evie!”
We both pause and turn.
“Hi! Evie?” A man with an infectious, crinkly eyed smile rushes over and extends his hand. He has short, curly hair and a wedding band on his ring finger. Tentatively, I turn and give him my hand, and he gives it a friendly, gentle squeeze. “I’m Pastor Mark, and this is my wife, Merilyn.” He lifts his arm as a blonde woman sidles up to him.
Merilyn slides her arm around Mark’s waist. “Evie? I’m Merilyn. We’ve heard so many wonderful things about you!”
Pastor Mark nudges Grandma’s shoulder. “I also heard you joined Maggie’s Bible study on Wednesday.”
“Um . . .” Quite honestly, I’m surprised I’m not on fire. I’m half naked, talking to the pastor and his wife. “Yes, I did.”
Mark and Merilyn chuckle in jolly unison. “Did you enjoy yourself?” Mark asks. “Maggie’s Bible studies are the talk of the parish.”
One look at Grandma, and I can tell she’s mortified. Frankly, I don’t blame her. She’s been trying to get me to come to church with her for years, and when shefinallyhas a chance to introduce me to her pastor, I’m in my underwear. Figures. But I might as well be naked; Pastor Mark and Merilyn aren’t paying any attention to the clothes on my back. Or . . . lack thereof.
“It was good. Different.” Mark and Merilyn continue staring at me expectantly, so I feel it necessary to tack on more information. “But . . . I have questions.”
Merilyn nods eagerly. “And I’d love to answer them.” She’s already pulling her cell phone out and handing it over. “Can I get your number? We can grab coffee sometime.”
I hesitate. I cannot believe the pastor’s wife is asking me to meet her for coffee while I’m standing here looking like some kind of Jezebel sent straight from the depths of hell to tempt her husband to sin.
Cautiously, I take her phone and punch in my number. All the while, she’s smiling at me like she genuinely can’t wait to get to know me and answer my silly questions. It’s . . . nice. I give her a quick once-over. She’s in her mid-thirties at most, and she’s so . . . vibrant. She’s not wilting under the shade of her husband, who seems like a celebrity with all these churchgoers jockeying for a chance to chat with him. Instead, she’s holding her own; she’s all bright teeth and pastel colors and tinkling silver jewelry.
I decide at once that I like her.
