Oppressing silence flattened my lungs. I pulled back an inch to read his expression. The wind stilled. My heart thunked weakly.
He squeezed my shoulder before letting his hand fall away. “I told you my mom was a drunk. She wouldn’t give up custody of me because she loved me. She wanted me, but it was selfish because she couldn’t take care of herself, so I went to foster care when I was little. I was young enough to get adopted then, but Mom held on to me. She kept drinking. She was too selfish and sick to do anything else. The bottle will kill her eventually, if it hasn’t already. People don’t think of mental illness or alcoholism as diseases, but they are.” He blinked glassy eyes. “Our moms loved us, but they weren’t strong enough or healthy enough to do anything other than what they did. It doesn’t mean they didn’t love us. It means they weren’t well.”
I leaned forward and buried my face into my hands. Soft gasps bloomed into the crescendo of an ugly cry. He didn’t need to see this. No one had ever told me it wasn’t my fault. No one had ever said Mom loved me but was weak. No one had ever said she was sick. I was Faith’s sister and she’d left me. I’d catered to Mom for months while she was sad and she’d left too. What was the common denominator there? Me. Always me. I’d closed myself in the attic to protect everyone else. I couldn’t know who would stay and who would leave, so I’d shut them all out.
What if none of it was about me?
The ache in my chest was raw. It had to be about me. Didn’t it?
His fingers stretched across my back, spanning the width of me. “Shh.” He stroked my hair and curled his body around mine, pulling me against his chest. “You needed time to process, Mercy. No one can blame you for that. Grief is personal. You get through it, not over it. You want to know another reason I know you aren’t suffering from an inevitable suicide?” He touched my scars. “Stopping this isn’t easy. You did something almost impossible. That takes serious conviction. If you can overcome cutting, you can do anything.”
I wiped my eyes and settled my breathing. “I’ll always have scars.” They’d haunt me forever. Come with me to college and into the workforce. My personal badges of weakness.
He ran the pad of one thumb under my eyes. “We all have scars. They aren’t always visible, but they’re there. Life’s hard on everyone, no matter what people show the world. Don’t be ashamed of these. Scars are proof of healing. Scars say you survived.” His fingers drifted over the white lines on my arm. “If you hate them, I know a good ink guy. Get a couple tats to cover them.”
A surprise laugh popped out. “Oh, yeah, right. My dad would kill me if I got some pretty tat sleeves to cover the scars. He’d die. Another failure on his parenting achievement list. My body’s my temple, you know.”
Cross’s gaze slid appreciatively over me. “I can see that.”
My muscles tensed. I plucked hair away from my face, and the wind carried it into Cross’s eyes.
I laughed. “Sorry.”
He bunched my hair into a ponytail with one hand. “You know, once you’re eighteen and living on campus, you can make new rules. If you decided on a few tattoos, what would you get to cover these?”
“A cross.”
“I’m honored.”
I scooted back an inch and my skin chilled in the absence of his touch. “No, really. I think a cross would say everything about me. I’d choose that.”
His tongue pushed the little lip ring again.
I lifted a finger. “Did that hurt?”
“Yeah.”
The intensity of his stare pierced me. Every fiber of my body burned. “Can I touch it?”
Cross leaned in, slow and easy, giving the damaged girl plenty of time to run. He stopped near enough for his breath to fall on my cheek. “Yeah.”
I tipped my chin, swallowing memories of the one and only kiss I’d ever attempted. No matter how awful this kiss went, Cross wouldn’t fault me. I was almost positive he’d protect my feelings if I failed. Maybe he’d teach me so I wouldn’t fail in the future. Heat rose up my spine.
I braced for impact.
Featherlight lips touched mine, and all thoughts slipped away. His lips pressed and released mine. There wasn’t an impact. No fumbling teeth and tongue moment. He pulled back a fraction of an inch. “Was that okay?”
I nodded and wet my lips, unable to formulate words. My chest rose and fell in quick punches. That wasn’t a kiss. Was it? If that was kissing, then what did I call the facial collision I’d endured under Mark’s tutelage?
Cross touched his lips to mine once more. This time the pressure increased. His hand cradled the back of my head and his fingers tangled in my hair. His free hand caressed my cheek, tilting my chin and deepening the kiss. My lips parted on instinct and he caught my lower lip between his. The gentle suction sent electricity through every cell in my body. If this was kissing, why did people ever stop?
Before I was ready, he released me, kissing my cheek and my forehead, then settling back to look into my eyes.
I felt light enough to hover. “That should’ve been my first kiss.”
“What?” His eyes crinkled at the corners.
I covered my tingling lips with one hand. “Remember the creep outside Red’s yesterday?”
“The douche with the bleach blonde on his arm? Sure.”
I smiled. “Mark Dobbs. He’s the sheriff’s son. Faith dated his brother, Brady, and I went with her to their house a lot. Mark and I spent too much time together that summer. I was fourteen. He was an asshat.”
“Ah, a love story.”
“He was nicer then. We kissed once. It was a terrible experience, but we were young. A week later Faith died, and I holed up in my room. At first he tried to coax me out, and then he turned on me. He told everyone in school he dumped me because I was crazy.”
“Because that makes perfect sense.”
I laughed again. “Right.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You want me to beat him up for you?”
Laughter bubbled from my chest. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
Cross nodded and stood. “Point to his house.”
I tugged on his pant leg. “Sit down before you roll off the roof. How would I explain that?”
“A better question here is would you nurse me back to health if I broke something?”
“No.”
He rubbed his chest with one hand as he sat. “Ouch.”
The light banter warmed my insides. He’d kissed me and looked happy. He’d opened up to me about his life. No more brooding face or serious scowl. In that moment, he looked the way I felt. A smile tugged my lips. I’d kissed a guy I met only a few days ago. Now, that was a precollege adventure for sure.
Wind tossed leaves onto the roof and I kicked them off. “No nursing for me. I’m going to study theology.”
Cross examined my face. “Really? Theology?”
I nodded. Pride welled in my chest. “Yeah.”
His eyes narrowed for a long moment. “Okay.” His gaze dropped to my lips. “You only kissed that guy once?”
I formed my most solemn expression. “It was really very bad. You shouldn’t blame me for not trying again.”
For the first time, Cross looked baffled. “Nobody else?”
“No. After that, I hid in the attic for about three years.”
“That was a seriously bad kiss.”
“Truly awful.”
“Then what happened?”
My gaze moved from his quizzical face to the sky. “Hope.”
Cross laced his fingers with mine and lay back on the roof. I relaxed beside him, tucking my head against his ribs. Gray clouds drifted through treetops. Stars winked down from the black velvet sky. “Hope is a powerful word.”
The most powerful one I knew.
I tugged our entwined fingers. “You should come to church with me tomorrow.”
He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed my wind-chilled skin. “What would your dad say?”
He’d hate it. “He taught us everyone is welcome in church.”
Cross rolled onto his side and looked into my eyes. “I have practice in the morning.”
“Another time then.” We had a few more weeks together. So much had happened already.
His warm fingers touched my cheek. “I should go. Your Dad and Pru will be home soon.”
“Okay.”
He pressed his lips to my forehead before standing. I rolled onto my back and watched him disappear into the tree. A muffled thud and several footfalls later, there was silence.
I had no chance of sleeping after that kiss, but I did have a plan for after church tomorrow. First stop: Brady Dobbs’s house.
Chapter 11
Without Faith
Church was a test of endurance. I’d shared the front pew with Pru for years, but sitting still proved impossible with everything on my mind. Last week I’d survived the sermon by daydreaming of my bed and the purple lights, but a week of drama had my nerves strung tight and my muscles were tensed to spring. During winter and allergy season, I counted coughs to pass the time, but summer was slow for cough counting, so I fidgeted and jumped every time the door opened. A lame part of me hoped Cross would show.
I tugged braided hair over one shoulder and turned toward the aisle for a quick scan of the congregation. I matched faces with names on the list in my pocket and tallied the number of unsuspecting informants in my midst. Some of these people had information about Faith’s private life. I chewed my lip, waging bets over who would talk and who would lie.
Pru bumped her knee against mine. I swiveled, bringing my attention back to Dad at the pulpit. She knocked my leg again. Her brows furrowed. Her lips formed the silent question, “What?”
I shook my head. Dad was almost at the end. Closing music rose softly behind his words. My heart skittered. His usual prepackaged spiel had morphed into something personal. “We should make better choices, be more discerning,”…don’t act like his daughters… The last part was only implied, but he drove the words home with a pointed look in our direction. I squirmed. He’d known all this time I’d covered for Faith and he’d kept it a secret. What else did he know? Fresh memories of kissing Cross on our roof scorched my thoughts and cheeks. No. That was my secret. If Dad knew about that, he’d drive me straight to Camp Purity and stay until they accepted my application. Caught kissing a Lovell member? Was there a higher crime?
I bobbed my knee faster, channeling the anxiety. Pru chewed her nails. Staring parishioners burned holes in the back of my head. My hair was an official millimeter shorter. I’d trimmed the ends before church, erasing some of the black. Did they notice I felt lighter? Had they heard about Pru? Had they seen us with Anton and Cross? How much sneaking around could I do before Dad found out? A week ago, the answer had seemed obvious. No one got away with anything in St. Mary’s. Except, that was a lie. Considering all I didn’t know about my sister, anything was possible.
Organ music filled the room. A crowd pressed forward, and Pru jumped to her feet. Locals streamed past with curious eyes, shaking hands with Dad before leaving for lunch or refreshments in the reception hall.
I followed Pru to Dad’s side and shook a hundred hands. “It’s nice to see you. Thank you for coming. Stay for coffee.” The words tumbled out on reflex. The handful of people I hoped to talk with skipped our line.
I sneezed.
Sweet lilac perfume burned my nose. Mrs. Peabody pulled me into an unexpected hug. My second hug this week. “Darlin’,” she drawled. “You look like an angel.” She brushed my bangs across my forehead. Tears glossed her bright green eyes. “I’ve prayed for you every night since your mama dropped you in my arms almost eighteen years ago. You were the brightest, most buoyant baby in the church nursery. Oh, how I’ve missed this smile.”
“Thank you.”
Wait. Was I smiling?
She beamed. “Well, you’re most certainly welcome. You’ve got plenty of prayers going up on your behalf in this town. It’s good to see the effects.” She patted my cheek and stepped away. Pru received her next hug.
Dad rubbed my back with one hand, never missing a beat of his conversation with a family I didn’t recognize.
I smiled at the strangers and made a polite escape, leaving Pru to represent the family. “Excuse me.” I speed walked up the aisle, angling through lingering people clusters and hooking a sharp left at the reception hall door.
Families filled tables with plastic covers and centerpieces made by children in vacation Bible school. Ladies in floral dresses ladled punch into plastic cups. Men dithered around the coffee bar. Grandmas rocked babies. My old counselor arranged creampuffs on glass serving trays.
I ducked behind the table with her and opened a new box of pastries. “Hi, Mrs. Allen.” Sweet scents of sugar and frosting puffed free of the open box and awakened my appetite. My mouth watered in response.
She smiled. Her gaze lingered on my cheeks and hair before taking an appreciative look at my long-sleeved cotton shirt, pencil skirt, and flip-flops. “Hi, Mercy.”
I positioned crullers along the tray’s edge, drumming up the nerve to start my investigation. “Can I ask you something personal?”
Mrs. Allen hadn’t taken her eyes off me or made a move to continue her work. “Of course.”
“It’s about Faith.”
She waited.
“Did you ever talk with her? Counsel her about something?”
“Mmm. I see. Well, anything Faith shared with me in her sessions is confidential. Just like yours.” The slight lift of her chin told me to think it over.
Just like me. She’d counseled Faith. “Why did she meet with you?”
She scanned the crowd behind me. “You look lovely today. Any special reason you traded your blue jeans for a skirt?”
I chewed the inside of my cheek. “Yeah. I’m waking up.” I said a silent prayer she wouldn’t send me away without telling me something more.
“Waking from a dream?”
“No, waking from a nightmare.”
Her hand brushed my shoulder. “Good.” Genuine emotion burned in her eyes. Mrs. Allen had been my biggest supporter before I stopped seeing her. She’d encouraged me and made me feel normal, in spite of everything. Still, counseling felt like failure, especially for the pastor’s kid. People expected us to be above the community somehow, untouched by their toxic words and friendships.
I set the final pastry on her tray and squared my shoulders. Just say it. I pulled my fingers into the sleeves of my shirt. “Do you think Faith committed suicide?”
Mrs. Allen’s eyes widened.
I pushed on. “I know your meetings were private, but she’s gone now, and I can take the truth. What I can’t take is not knowing. I can’t leave for college wondering if the rumors are true. I’ve got less than a month. I need your input.” I grabbed her hand. “Please.”
“No.”
I dropped her hand. “No, you won’t give me your opinion or no, you don’t think she went into the river intentionally?”
Mrs. Allen scanned the room. She waved to someone behind me and smiled. If she wouldn’t talk, I needed to walk away. There were others I could ask about Faith, if they hadn’t left yet. Mrs. Allen gathered the empty pastry boxes and nodded to the litter of bags at my feet. “Give a lady a hand?”
Was that code? Would she tell me what I needed to know? I snatched the bags into a wad and followed her through the back door.
“Sweetie.” Mrs. Allen tossed boxes into the Dumpster and lowered her voice. “Your sister was going through some things that summer. I can’t get into all that with you, but some of it you know.” She averted her gaze. “She was preparing to leave home. That’s a big step in life. One you’re facing now.” She turned her attention back to me. “Faith was burdened, but strong. I’ve never believed the rumors of suicide. She didn’t give me any reason to suspect she’d do something like that, and she loved you
far too much to leave you anyway. She probably worried more about leaving you guys behind while she was at school than what she might face there.”
I fell into her arms, tears streaming. She hugged me tight, and my heart unfurled a little. Faith had loved me. I’d been enough to keep her here, despite whatever she struggled with that year. Leaving for college, breaking up with Brady, being pressured for sex. No wonder she’d wanted to talk to Mrs. Allen. As close as Faith and I were, fourteen-year-old me couldn’t help her with any of those things. At seventeen, I still couldn’t fathom. Leaving for college didn’t seem real, and it was coming at me fast. No one ever pressured me for anything, and I’d never had a real boyfriend to break up with. Faith had needed Mrs. Allen. “Thank you.”
Mrs. Allen stroked my hair. “You know, my door is always open for you. If you want to talk or tell me more about this skirt motivation, I’m right here.”
“Okay.” I wiped my eyes and tugged the end of my braid. Black tips fanned under my touch. “I wonder why she didn’t talk to Mom.”
The words were rhetorical, but Mrs. Allen stiffened.
“I don’t mean she should’ve talked to Mom instead of you, but they always seemed so close. I envied that, but maybe my perception’s skewed. Nothing was the way I remembered.”
“Mercy, your mom was…tenderhearted. She felt things deeply and struggled with being in the town’s spotlight, I think. Being a pastor’s wife isn’t easy. Faith was resilient. She helped your mom through things. Their relationship was unique, but nothing to envy.” She shook her head and sighed. “I really do like the skirt and braid today. Very cute. Reinventing ourselves is a woman’s prerogative. I highly recommend the process. Repeat as needed.”
Mrs. Allen moved into the sunlight, picking cans off the ground and tossing them into the Dumpster. I raised a hand to my forehead, shielding my eyes. “I can’t understand how she drowned. It doesn’t make any sense. Faith and I are strong swimmers. We grew up at the pool. If the doors were open, we were in lessons or fooling around at open swim. Porters are swimmers.” Pru wasn’t as good. She’d been afraid of the water when we were younger. Once Faith left, we stopped taking lessons. Stopped going to the pool. The thought weighted my heart. Pru had missed out on some of my favorite things. It wasn’t fair, and there was no way to make it up to her.
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