Small Town Sinners

by Melissa Walker

  I try to keep my voice light.

  It works. Two minutes later, my phone rings. I grab it quickly.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “Hey,” Ty says. “Are you really going to see Tessa?”

  “Yes,” I say. Though the way he asks makes me remember to be nervous. I’ll have to lie to my parents again. I’m afraid they’ll tell me I can’t go.

  “I’m in,” says Ty, interrupting my worrying.

  And that’s all that matters at this moment. Ty’s in.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  The plan to see Tessa is in full swing. Starla Joy will pick me up on Saturday for a “precal cram session.” I haven’t figured out how I’ll explain possibly getting home late that day, but I don’t want to lie. That’s why I’m avoiding it altogether. Besides, we’ll be back by seven, in time for the dress rehearsal of Hell House—we all have to be there.

  When I slip into the tiny backseat of Starla Joy’s truck on Saturday morning, I can’t help but feel excited. I’ve never been on a road trip. Well, except for with my parents to see my grandmother and my cousins, but that hardly counts.

  Dean turns around from the passenger seat.

  “I have a box of Fiber One bars, a cooler full of Mountain Dew, and two bags of Doritos—regular and Cool Ranch,” he announces.

  “I’ve got to be honest,” says Starla Joy. “That sounds like a fartfest waiting to happen.”

  I join in their laughter as we head to Ty’s house. He’s waiting at the end of his long driveway, backpack in hand.

  “I told Aunt Vivian we had a project to work on all weekend,” he says, slipping into the seat beside me. “Dean, I’m spending the night at your house.”

  “You may want to rethink that after you hear about his snack choices for the day,” I say. Dean smirks, holding up his bars and Doritos for Ty to see.

  “I guess we can pick up some fruit or something,” he says.

  “No, man,” Ty says. “You got it right. Road trips are made for junk food and McDonald’s!”

  “And fiber?” I ask.

  “Hey, the guy’s got daily dietary needs,” Ty says. “It’s cool.”

  Starla Joy turns up the radio as we get on the ramp to the highway. I look out the window and stare out at the flat plains around us.

  “Adios, West River,” says Dean. He leans around with his hand in the air and Ty gives him five.

  Dean and Ty go back and forth through the whole car ride, sharing snacks, debating the merits of the new Star Trek movies versus the old, arguing over radio stations (Dean wants metal, Ty wants classic rock). I’m surprised that Starla Joy doesn’t chime in for the music part—she usually insists on country while we’re in her truck—but she’s just being quiet, like I am, taking it all in.

  We stop at McDonald’s, and I get the two cheeseburger meal, eating one while we’re there and tucking the other into the seat pocket when we get back to the truck. As we pull onto the highway again, Starla Joy says, “If I find that cheeseburger in a week, you’re going to be cleaning this entire truck.”

  “Don’t worry,” Ty says, grabbing it. He looks at me and grins, asking for permission as he unwraps it.

  “Sure,” I say, smiling.

  He takes a huge bite and part of the bun sticks out the side of his mouth. I laugh.

  Ty seems wholly himself, like a weight’s been lifted off of him. The slightly brooding moments have left this week—and the confidence that was 90 percent there before shines fully now. I see what forgiveness and honesty can bring. I think of Isaiah 1:18: “ ‘Come now and let us reason together,’ says the Lord. ‘Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.’ ” And I smile.

  A few minutes later, the sky turns gray and it starts to rain a little bit, just enough so Starla Joy puts the windshield wipers on the low setting. I hear the squeak, squeak, squeak every time they go across the glass.

  Dean reaches for the radio.

  “Dean, if you touch that dial while Van Morrison is still singing I will throw your fiber bars right onto the highway,” Ty says, snagging the box of bars and rolling down his window.

  Dean puts his tuner-reaching hand up in the air.

  “Put the box down,” he says. “There’s no need to take this out on the health food. I am ready for some Metallica though.”

  Ty snorts.

  “Man, I stayed up all last night working on the Hell House props for the dress rehearsal,” Dean says. “They have to be ready to go tonight or I’m in deep you-know-what.”

  “You’re tired?” asks Ty. “That’s why you need Metallica?”

  “It refreshes me,” Dean says.

  “Oh, fine,” Ty allows, and Dean reaches forward to hit the preset for Rock 88, a hard-core metal station.

  “Hey, this is it,” says Starla Joy, and suddenly music takes a backseat. We’re getting into the right lane to exit, heading into the town where Saint Angeles sits.

  We have to drive about ten miles off the highway. We pass an antiques shop with painted posters that tout china sets, oriental rugs, and rocking chairs. Two farm stands by the road have handmade wooden signs advertising squash and corn and potatoes in bold red paint. Each spot we pass looks a lot like West River, but it feels different somehow.

  We’ve all gotten quieter and quieter, and by the time we get up to the driveway of Saint Angeles, we’re downright silent.

  When we get out of the truck, our door slams echo loudly in the October rain. It’s misting, not pouring, and the sky is that yellow gray that shows up when a storm isn’t bad yet but is going to roll soon enough.

  The building sits unimpressively in front of us. Somehow I imagined it like a castle out of medieval times, with large spires and double-thick oak doors. But it’s actually just a one-story ranch house—larger than most—with tan vinyl siding and a glass entrance. It could be an insurance agency. I feel mildly disappointed.

  “We have to check in,” Starla Joy says.

  The three of us follow her through the flimsy glass doors and meet Dottie, an older lady with one of those beehive hairdos, in the reception area.

  “Starla Joy, honey,” she says warmly, stepping out from behind her desk to give Starla Joy a hug. Then she eyes the rest of us from under blue-shadowed lids. “Where’s your mama, baby?” she asks.

  “She couldn’t come today,” says Starla Joy. “She had to work, so some friends of mine—and Tessa’s—decided to drive here with me.”

  I’m in awe of Starla Joy’s skillful white lies. They come so fast and free.

  Dottie gives Dean a once-over. He’s wearing normal jeans today but his XXL black sweatshirt still covers most of his body. He pulls the hood off his head and gives Dottie a smile through his greasy-as-usual hair.

  Suddenly Ty, with his perfect blue eyes and his crisp lavender polo shirt, runs interference. “Miss Dottie, we’re so honored to meet you,” says Ty in a honey-sweet voice. He distracts her gaze by taking her hand and kissing it.

  Overkill, I think, but it seems to be working. Dottie giggles and I swear I see a hint of a blush on her wrinkled cheeks.

  “I’m Ty Davis,” he says. “Starla Joy’s told us all about the lovely lady who is helping take such good care of our Tessa. Won’t you escort us back to see her? I’d love to hear about your work at Saint Angeles.”

  He holds out his elbow for her, and without a second of hesitation she grabs on.

  “Well, I just work at the lobby desk, but I really am on the front lines of who gets to see our girls,” she babbles, leading us down the hall.

  “He’s a genius,” whispers Dean as we follow.

  “You could’ve showered,” I say back, bumping him playfully.

  He leans into the wall and knocks a framed photo.

  I stop to set it straight again, and that’s when I notice that we’re in a hallway lined with baby pictures. Some infants are sitting with their mothers, others are burbling alone on rugs surrounded by colorful toy blocks. It’s like the insid
e of a Sears Picture Studio.

  “Former guests,” says Starla Joy, noticing my interest and turning back to me.

  “Wow,” I say, taking a deep breath. These are all babies who might not have been born if it weren’t for Saint Angeles, if it weren’t for the influence of churches and the work of God. I swallow a lump in my throat because these photos are really moving, but it’s not fair for me to cry before I even see Tessa.

  “Come on, Lace,” says Starla Joy. “Let’s catch up before Dottie tries to make out with Ty.”

  I smile and grab her hand. She squeezes it as we head down the hallway.

  I’m so glad we’re here.

  When we get to Tessa’s room, I see her sitting by the window, legs up on a low table, with her back to us.

  “Tessa Min-ter,” says Dottie in a sing-song voice. “Your friends are here!” She claps her hands together, utterly charmed by Ty at this point, and Tessa turns around, startled.

  Her hair hangs down in unwashed strings and I see now that she’s wearing a bathrobe and blue fuzzy slippers. As her profile emerges, I gasp. She’s so big. I mean, I knew she was pregnant, but it’s another thing to really see it.

  “You didn’t know we were coming,” Dean says, stating the obvious.

  “No,” says Tessa, looking at Starla Joy anxiously. She pulls her robe over her blue-and-yellow-striped nightgown and stands up laboriously. Ty reaches over to help her, taking her arm.

  “Thanks,” she says, her smile starting to return to normal. “Just give me a minute, okay?”

  She stops by her closet and picks a dress off a hanger, then walks across the hall and into the bathroom, head held high.

  “I’ll let you all visit,” says Dottie, and she walks back down the hall after an oddly coquettish wave to Ty. He blows her a kiss.

  “Ty’s got a new girlfriend,” Dean says, sitting down in the chair Tessa just left.

  Ty laughs. “Someone had to take that fall to get your punk-looking self in here,” he says.

  I look over at Starla Joy. She’s fussing with the comforter on Tessa’s bed, which I notice is from their house. It’s dark blue with white stars along the edges, and it’s more Tessa than anything else in this room.

  I glance around. It’s sort of like a hospital here, but a little bit nicer. There’s bright yellow floral wallpaper and sheer white curtains with ruffles at the edges. The nightstand by Tessa’s bed has a cute seashell lamp and a Bible sitting on it, and there’s a pretty big bookshelf in the corner filled with old paperbacks. But still, Tessa has to share a hall bathroom and there’s a stale cafeteria smell everywhere.

  “Why didn’t you tell her we were coming?” I ask Starla Joy, walking around one side of the bed to help her straighten the comforter.

  “I didn’t want her to tell me no,” she says quietly.

  Then she looks up at the doorway, and I follow her eyes. There’s Tessa, still as round as if she had a beach ball under her clothes, but looking much more like her old self. She’s wearing an off-the-shoulder peasant dress with colorful blue embroidery across the neckline. Her light brown hair, brushed out now, touches her freckled shoulders softly. And her eyes are sparkling. She still has the blue fuzzy slippers on, though.

  “I’d take you guys out into the garden, but the rain looks like it’s going to pick up,” says Tessa, cheerful now. “Let’s go in the den and see if anyone’s around.”

  She spins on her toes and we all follow her up the hall, like she’s our teacher or the field-trip chaperone or something. Tessa is still mesmerizing.

  In the den, there’s another girl-with-beach-ball reading the Bible at a table that has a chessboard painted on top of it. This place is starting to remind me of a mental institution, or at least what I’ve seen of mental institutions in movies. But I’m trying to be open minded. I think back to those baby photos in the hall and all the tiny lives that get nurtured here.

  “Hey, Sylvia,” Tessa says.

  “T!” Sylvia says enthusiastically, pushing back her chair to stand up and greet us. “Who you got here?”

  “You know my sister, Starla Joy,” Tessa says. “And these are my friends Lacey, Dean, and Ty.”

  Sylvia nods at each of us as she holds the Bible to her chest. “Nice of y’all to visit the fallen one,” she says.

  I look at Tessa anxiously, but she just laughs, like this is a common joke among the girls here. The rest of us smile nervously.

  “Sylvia’s family is always here,” says Starla Joy. “Her grandma made us the best pumpkin bread last weekend.”

  “They’ve got my back,” Sylvia says. “That’s for sure. And it’s important too.” She gives Starla Joy a meaningful smile. “I’ll let y’all catch up,” she says. Then she flashes us a peace sign and heads down the hall.

  “She seems, uh …,” Ty starts.

  “Really pregnant,” says Dean.

  “Dean Perkins!” I chide.

  “I was gonna say friendly,” says Ty.

  “She’s both,” Tessa says, sitting down on the couch in the center of the room. “Most of the girls here are.”

  We all stand around, and I feel weird. Visiting Tessa seemed like such a good idea, but now that we’re here I’m not sure how to act. Should I ask her questions about the baby or will that make her upset? Should I talk about Hell House, or will that make her think about what she’s missing by not getting to star in it? Should I—

  “Will you guys stop standing around like we’re at a wake?” Tessa says. “Sit with me already!”

  Starla Joy plops down on the couch and I perch on a love seat to her right. Ty sits next to me and Dean slinks into a chair across the coffee table. Tessa puts her feet up in Starla Joy’s lap and leans back against a pillow.

  “This is the week of surprise guests,” she says.

  “We didn’t mean to—” I start.

  “It’s okay, Lacey,” Tessa says, turning her warm smile on me. “I’m glad you came.” She looks around the room at Dean and Ty, then at her sister. “I’m glad you all came. It’s been pretty empty here since Monday—three girls left last week, so we’re waiting for the open rooms to get filled this weekend.”

  “Who else staged a surprise drop-in?” asks Starla Joy.

  “Jeremy,” Tessa says, looking right at me.

  “He came,” I whisper.

  “Thanks to your dad, Lace,” says Tessa.

  “Really?” I ask, surprised.

  “Jeremy said that Pastor Byer encouraged him to visit me after they prayed together one afternoon,” Tessa says. “I guess he said it would be good for us to see each other and talk.”

  “Oh,” I say, still caught off guard.

  “He’s such a good man,” Tessa says.

  I’m guessing she’s talking about my dad and not Jeremy, because Jeremy’s not really a man yet—more like in guy stage—but I’m not sure. I’m also contemplating the news that my dad talked to Jeremy. Why didn’t he tell me that? I wonder if Jeremy came to him. I wonder if what I said to my dad about how Jeremy needed to visit Tessa had an effect? Maybe he does hear me sometimes.

  I’m so lost in my own thoughts that I miss part of the conversation and I rejoin reality just as Tessa says, “—asked me to the prom too!”

  I see Starla Joy roll her eyes. “Yeah, well, he’d better ask you to the prom after what he’s putting you through.”

  Tessa’s gaze narrows and her voice gets low and angry. “I’m almost out of here,” she says to her sister. “Leave it alone.”

  “Besides,” she continues in her usual bright tone, addressing all of us again, “I’ve always wanted to go with Jeremy to the senior prom, and now I have seven whole months to pick out the perfect dress.”

  I smile at Tessa warmly, but her cheeriness feels thin to me. Her hands are resting on her large stomach, and I can’t help but wonder if she ever thinks about the baby. I mean, she must. But it’s clear we’re not talking about it.

  “I hear Hell House is going so well!” says Tessa,
nodding enthusiastically. She’s making up for the rest of us and our awkwardness by filling the silence. “What’s it like playing Abortion Girl?”

  She looks right at me, and I wonder if she resents my getting the role. But all I see is sunshine in her smile.

  “It’s pretty intense,” I say. “My voice gets hoarse after rehearsals sometimes because Pastor Frist really wants me to practice my screaming. And Dean’s got this great fake blood on order—he says it looks really real.”

  “It’s perfect,” Dean says, leaning forward in his chair. “I’ve got one kind that clumps so we can have that dripping from the fetus—”

  “Also known as hamburger meat,” I interrupt. “Did Dean tell you how good he is at sculpting with beef?”

  “I am,” says Dean, all modesty gone. “It’s really real looking! I found instructions online about how to make raw meat look like a preemie baby. And anyway, the other blood is really liquidy so it’ll run down Lacey’s legs like syrup while she’s on that table.”

  I laugh at how animated Dean gets when he talks about the props for Hell House. His smile is like a million miles wide.

  But when I look over at Tessa, her face is pale.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid! How can we all be sitting here talking about a hacksaw abortion when Tessa’s about to have a baby, on a table, with lots of blood? It’s not exactly the same thing, but it’s enough to make anyone weak in the knees.

  “Oh, Tessa, I’m sorry,” I say softly, and then everyone turns and sees her wobbly smile. She’s trying to keep it together but it’s clear she’s shaken. Starla Joy reaches out to hold her sister’s hand, and Tessa closes her eyes for a long moment while we all sit on the edges of our seats.

  When she opens her eyes again, she looks straight at Starla Joy. “I’m so scared,” she says. I see a couple of tears slip down her pretty face, and I wonder if Ty, Dean, and I should leave the room and let Tessa and Starla Joy be alone.

  Ty’s already thought of that too. I see him standing up and motioning to me and Dean. “We’ll go get a soda,” he says quietly to Starla Joy, but she doesn’t look up. She’s holding her sister and whispering in her ear.