The Salvation of Kora

by Yolanda Olson

  “Ah,” he says as he gets to his feet. “Take a walk with me, Lily.”

  I glance up at him for a moment, but when I see the gleam in his eyes, I relent and follow Father Whittaker toward the door near the altar.

  We enter the sacristy, but he doesn’t stop there. He walks toward another door—one that leads out into the gardens—and once we’re both outside, he picks up a watering can. Handing it to me, he then grabs another for himself, and we make our way toward the seaside chapel.

  “Where are we going?” I ask in confusion.

  “Just stay with me and don’t tell anyone I showed you this, okay?” he replies as he glances at me over his shoulder.

  I take a deep breath, inhaling the beautiful breeze from the Kennebunk River, and do my best to keep up.

  We walk by the bleachers and toward the altar, then Father Whittaker stops for a moment. He turns, craning his neck to look behind me, then grins down at me when he’s confirmed that we’re still alone and motions for me to follow him.

  Behind the altar is a small staircase I’ve never noticed before—which isn’t saying much. No one is allowed behind any of the altars except for the priest conducting mass; but I think it’s fun that he’s sharing this with me.

  He sets down his watering can when he’s halfway down the steps, and motions for me to do the same.

  Once we’re at the bottom of the staircase, he puts his hands on his hips and looks out at the river for a moment, before sitting down on the second to last step.

  “Isn’t it nicer out here?” he asks, thoughtfully. “We can talk about what’s really bothering you now, away from anyone who may walk into the building and accidentally overhear us.”

  I smile kindly at Father Whittaker, but don’t say anything. I don’t want to rehash the nightmare I witnessed all over again. Besides, how many times can he hear the same damn story before it becomes a nightmare for him too?

  “I think Dad wants to come to a service,” I tell him, changing the subject before it has a chance to begin.

  “That would be nice,” he remarks with a smile.

  “He doesn’t believe in God, you know. Not after what happened, not anymore.”

  Fuck. Here it goes again, I think miserably.

  “And what about you, Lily?” he asks me gently. “You never did tell me if you do or don’t.”

  I shrug again, because I honestly don’t know.

  “It’s okay,” Father Whittaker says as he gets to his feet. “Some of my best parishioners are the ones who come looking for answers to questions they don’t think will ever be reconciled. And, I’ll tell you a secret—if you like.”

  I glance up at him, holding a hand over my brow to keep the sun from turning him into nothing more than a blur of light in front of me.

  “Some days, when I look at you…” he pauses for a brief moment as his voice trails off. Taking a deep breath, Father Whittaker looks me in the eyes before he finishes his sentence, “I don’t know if I do either.”

  Chapter Two

  By the time Dad gets home from work, I’ve already got dinner started.

  He walks right by me like I don’t exist, but it doesn’t surprise me. I don’t think he ever really wanted kids, and now he’s stuck with me until I can save up enough money to get far away from here.

  “Hi,” I greet him softly when he reenters the kitchen. He grunts in response as he pulls open the refrigerator door to grab a can of beer. Popping the lid open, he turns to give me a steely stare.

  I sigh and turn away from his harsh gaze.

  Dad works hard, doing long hours out on the Atlantic Ocean. He’s part of an incredible crew that does a lot of deep-sea fishing, pulling in big hauls for the markets and grocery stores around town.

  Honestly, the more that I think about it, the more I’m curious as to why he’s home already.

  He’s usually gone for at least three days, but I think it has to do more with me being here, than him being out on the ocean.

  I reach down and open the door of the stove, then crane my neck and lean over to grab the oven gloves. The baked spaghetti looks like it’s ready, and while I’m not the most adventurous cook in the world, I always tell myself that at least he’s getting some home cooking.

  I place the heavy, ceramic baking dish on the counter, then pull my gloves off. I can still feel Dad standing behind me, staring. He takes a noisy swig of his beer as if to punctuate my thought, before he scoffs. I listen to the sound of his heavy footsteps retreating toward the living room.

  That’s where he likes to enjoy his meals.

  With the television turned up to an unreasonably high volume, and a coffee table’s space between us.

  I reach for his favorite plate—it’s blue, with a large chip on the rim—and then proceed to cut a hefty portion of spaghetti for him.

  I open the drawer that has the utensils and pull out a fork, giving it a quick rinse in the sink before placing it on the side of his dish, and then walk into the living room.

  I set his plate down on his wooden television tray without a word. He doesn’t like to speak to me for the most part, so I’ve learned not to engage him unless he actually asks me for something.

  A few more quick trips in and out of the kitchen and I think we’re all set.

  Sitting down in a small folding chair on the opposite side of the room to him, I balance my hot plate of food on my lap.

  I cut a small piece of spaghetti, pop it into my mouth, instantly hissing as a harsh burn greets my tongue.

  Dad snickers and I do my best to ignore him.

  On top of being a burden, he likes to treat me like I’m a joke too. I never did understand how someone can have such disdain for their own blood, but I don’t bother asking.

  I keep to myself inside of his home.

  I do my chores—and his—cook his meals, make sure that he always has clean clothes, and then I pick up odd jobs around town when I can.

  So far, I’ve managed to save close to one thousand dollars by babysitting and helping out around the church grounds.

  It’s not enough to get me away from here, however, it’s a good start.

  I eat my dinner in silence, watching the old black and white sitcom that Dad spends most of his time guffawing over.

  I’ve rolled my eyes more times than I can count, but at least he hasn’t shooed me out of his “fucking sight” yet.

  He blames me for a lot of what happened. He said I should have been able to stop it, but he wasn’t there.

  He didn’t see what I did, and why I was too afraid to do anything.

  I think that’s the only time he’s talked to me for more than just a few seconds. When the social worker dropped me off on his doorstep, she tried to explain what I had been through, while he feigned concern.

  The moment he closed the door behind her, though, he told me exactly what he thought of me.

  Worthless.

  Spineless.

  A mistake.

  All of the loving things a father should never say to his daughter; and at first it hurt me. When I learned to get over it and began to drown out his brow beatings; they came to a stop.

  That’s when he realized that his words didn’t have an effect on me anymore.

  I get to my feet and pick up his empty plate as I walk by him.

  “Bring me another beer, girl,” he barks at me as I exit the room.

  I sigh quietly as I make my way to the kitchen, placing the plates in the sink before I retrieve his beverage request.

  Moving quickly, I walk into the living room and place it on his tray before heading back to the kitchen to wash the dishes.

  I don’t like being home alone with Dad, for no other reason than because he can be such a mean, grouchy bastard when he feels like it.

  He thinks I’m his goddamn housemaid and that I live here only to serve his food and scrub his shitty underwear.

  Relax, Lily. It won’t be like this fo
rever.

  With that stark reminder, I dry my hands on a dish towel then head toward my bedroom.

  Since Dad is home a day early and clearly in a foul mood, I think I’ll go out for the night, and stay out until I know he’s passed out in a drunken stupor.

  ∞

  An hour and a half later I’m sitting in the wine garden of the Old Vines.

  I’m not particularly fond of drinking too much, although I do enjoy a glass of red wine every now and then.

  Getting a good fake ID cost me a few hundred dollars, and with God knows how many more days I’ll be spending under Dad’s roof, I still consider it a good investment.

  The live band playing tonight is upbeat and the music puts me in the good mood I’ve desperately wanted to be in, ever since I got to this town.

  The next time I raise the glass to my lips, I see a young man standing near the tavern exit watching me with a curiosity.

  And when our eyes meet, he smiles and starts to make his way toward me.

  Chapter Three

  “You’re Lily, aren’t you?” he asks when he gets close. I nod as I set my glass down on the small table in front of me. “Yeah, I thought so. I’ve seen you doing some grounds work at the church on my morning jogs. I’m Devyn.”

  I raise an eyebrow when he pulls out the chair across from me and takes a seat at the table, but then I remember my manners and shake his outstretched hand.

  “How did you know my name?”

  “I asked the priest I’ve seen you talking to,” he admits with a sheepish grin.

  “I don’t want to talk about my sister,” I say quietly as I glance around the garden.

  “Well, I don’t want to talk about her, either,” he replies matter-of-factly.

  I turn my eyes back toward him and give a curt nod in thanks, then reach for my glass again.

  “Hey,” he says, leaning a little closer and lowering his voice. “Are you even old enough to be in here?”

  “Are you?” I shoot back pointedly.

  “Actually, yeah. I am.”

  I take another sip of wine before I set the glass back down, and clear my throat. I don’t know if he works for Old Vines, and if he does, I’d rather not get thrown out so soon.

  Dad might still be awake, and I don’t want to go to sleep feeling so damn unloved once again.

  “Yes,” I lie after a few moments of stony silence.

  A smirk crosses his lips as he raises the can of beer to take a sip. Devyn never takes his eyes off me, and when he finally sets the can down, I find myself smiling ever so slightly.

  He’s not bad to look at.

  I like the way his honey-brown hair rests wildly on top of his head, making his smirk look even friendlier. Under the brightly strewn lights, his ivory skin looks damn near flawless—except for the scar running along almost the entire line of his jaw.

  He also has the strangest pair of eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re a pretty shade of dark grey, but the reason they’re strange isn’t the color. One pupil is larger than the other and in a weird way, it kind of scares me.

  He chuckles as he rests an elbow on the table and turns his body slightly in the chair. “It’s called anisocoria. No, it doesn’t hurt. Yes, I can see just fine.”

  “Sorry,” I mumble, my face burning with embarrassment. I didn’t mean to stare at him as intensely as I apparently have been, but I really haven’t seen so many wonderfully, damaged things on one person before.

  It makes him special, even if he doesn’t realize it.

  “Anyway,” he says as he clasps his hands over his chest, then turns his mismatched eyes toward the starry-lit sky. “You work at the church?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “How come?”

  I shrug. “I like being there. It’s quiet, no one asks me probing questions about my life, and they’re actually really nice to me.”

  Devyn’s chair makes a loud scraping sound as he turns it to face me again. He puts his elbow back on the table and rests his cheek against the palm of his hand.

  When he doesn’t say anything, I look away, nervously. I’m not used to talking to anyone outside of Father Whittaker and Sister Olive. Sometimes, I make small talk with the altar boys or members of the choir while I do some last minute tidying up.

  And not a single one of them has ever asked me what I know they all really want to ask.

  “Keep going, tell me about the church,” Devyn says, casually.

  I look at him in confusion and he chuckles at my response. “What else is there to say?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never been inside. Like I said, I caught the priest out in the garden one day when I was jogging and stopped to ask him your name.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re pretty,” he replies in a warm tone. “And the few times I did see you in the mornings as I went by, I always slowed down so I could watch you a little longer.” Devyn blanches and he groans before he buries his face into his hand. “Does that sound creepy? Oh, God. I must sound like a total stalker.”

  The absolute mortification as his tone shifts is enough to make me chuckle this time.

  “It’s okay. I’m used to creepy,” I reassure him with the wave of a hand. Devyn’s face turns a deep shade of red as he peeks at me through his fingers, and I grin.

  “So, what do you do?” I ask.

  I decide to be merciful and change the subject, so he doesn’t have to dwell on his little revelation for much longer.

  “Besides stalking?” he jokes dryly, “I work on the docks near Kennebunk Harbor.”

  Reaching for my glass of wine again, I lean back in my chair and let Devyn talk about his work.

  It feels nice to be having a conversation with someone outside of the church grounds.

  It almost feels normal.

  Chapter Four

  I lean toward the mirror, then gently push my hair behind my ears as I peer at myself.

  Devyn’s offered to walk me home, and while I won’t let him take me straight to Dad’s front door, it’ll be nice to have company on the way back.

  I just want to make sure that I don’t look drunk or anything of the sort before we leave. Especially since I’m not.

  I glance over my shoulder when one of the stall doors opens, then give the girl who’s smiling brightly at me a small nod.

  “You’re super pretty,” she exclaims as she stumbles toward the sink.

  I reach over and steady her.

  She giggles as she turns on the faucet and washes her hands. “Thanks. It’s these damn heels. I’m still not used to them.”

  Her explanation is simple enough.

  But the way she’s slurring her words tells me that it has nothing to do with her footwear.

  “Anyway,” she continues as she shuffles toward the paper towel dispenser. “Have a good night, okay?”

  “You too,” I tell her softly.

  With a little wave, she tosses the crumpled up paper into the trash can and walks out of the bathroom.

  I shake my head, wondering what it would take to make some girl friends around this town.

  Almost everyone here knows what happened, because the first night I was here, Dad got drunk and blabbed it to all of the guys in his fishing crew.

  “Well, when the fucking circus rolls into town, it’s something people want to know.”

  Those are the exact words he barked at me when I got turned away from a babysitting job the next day.

  I grip the sides of the porcelain sink and take a deep breath. Thinking about Dad and his wonderful parenting isn’t going to keep me in a good mood.

  “Alright, Lily. Get back out there,” I tell myself softly.

  I decide to give myself one more glance in the mirror before I leave to get back to Devyn, and when I do, the lights above me flicker lazily.

  I turn my eyes up toward them, wondering if they’ll go out before I have a chance to finish looking myself over.


  I shrug and turn my eyes back toward my reflection when they come back on, only this time they’re brighter than before.

  My heart begins to beat at an unconscionable pace.

  My breathing becomes erratic.

  And just as I open my mouth to scream for help, I stumble backward in fear and lose my footing.

  It’s the last thing I remember as I crack my head on the stall divider behind me and get swallowed by the darkness.

  ∞

  I groan as I open my eyes again, cringing at the pounding headache that’s descended on me.

  “… think we should take her to the hospital just to be sure.”

  “What?” I ask groggily as I try to sit up.

  “You took quite a tumble there, Lily.”

  Devyn.

  “I’m fine,” I grunt out as I swat away all of the hands around me.

  “Excuse me!”

  A voice rings out much louder than necessary and I squeeze my eyes tightly closed. The sheer volume instantly makes my headache worse.

  “I’ll ride in the ambulance with her,” Devyn says.

  “No.”

  “Um, okay,” he replies uncertainly. “Tell me what hospital you’re taking her to. I’ll catch a cab.”

  “No hospital. I’m fine,” I insist as I force my eyes open.

  “Lily—”

  “We can’t take her if she doesn’t want to go. Give me a second to grab a form from the ambulance,” a voice I’m not familiar with says.

  “Help me sit up,” I say to Devyn as my gaze comes into focus on him.

  He blows out his breath as he crouches down and pulls me up into a seated position. Leaning me gently back against one of the stall door dividers, he gently pushes my hair out of my face.

  “Will you tell me what happened once we’re out of here?” he asks quietly, and I nod.

  One of the paramedics comes into view, dropping down to one knee as he hands me a pen and clipboard.

  “Sign here, please,” he instructs as he points toward the bottom of the page.

  “What is it?” I inquire curiously.