Whenever Jess was on her way out, she’d always check to see if the photo of her and Stephanie was crooked, and when it was, she’d straighten it. She’d never forgotten her friend, although she assumed she herself had been forgotten. Anyone who went to Nashville, or any place with more than one traffic light, was sure to have a more exciting life.
The second review was much the same. Carolyn looked with disdain upon her younger daughter, who didn’t seem to have the sense to dress properly for church. A nicer shirt, a nicer blazer…but she still wore the jeans with rips in them.
“I changed, didn’t I?” Jess protested.
“I still don’t like the dungarees. But we’re late.” She yanked Jess’s arm to pull her through a sudden shower to where the car waited with Dan at the wheel and Ivy and Danny already in the backseat.
Jess smiled to herself at this small victory. She always knew if she could run out the clock, she’d win.
Chapter Sixteen
Once they were inside the car, the rain seemed to float down more gently, like feathers, and the occasional swipe of windshield wipers rubbed across the glass. Jess was lulled into her usual Sunday morning malaise, watching the wipers moving rhythmically, everything outside washed in gray light.
Her mother broke the silence. “You should dress for church as if God himself were appearing today.”
“God’s already seen me naked,” Jess said, looking out the window. “What difference does it make?”
“Good one,” Danny said. The only time he looked like a proper representation of the family was on Sundays in his suit and tie.
Ivy stifled a laugh. Her hands were clasped across her knobby knees that protruded from under the hemline of her flowery fall dress. She wore her chocolate hair up in a ponytail as usual, occasionally scratching the place on her back where her hair tickled her skin.
Her dad peered at Jess through the rearview mirror. “Next Sunday, no jeans,” he said sternly.
“Yes, sir.”
When he gave the final word, that was it. It would always be that way. She resented it and especially the way her mother went along with it whenever he called himself the “head of the household.” She had given birth to them, after all. Didn’t her opinions count for anything? That was a question that would always go unanswered, because she had the good sense to keep it to herself.
They approached the church, its steeple towering ominously, as if it knew her secrets—or sins—before she did. She wasn’t sure when it had happened, but somewhere along the line, she’d developed a real dislike of churches. Inside people were always yelling, and the focus was on death and the afterlife. Doing good things in this life only to be rewarded later in death wasn’t very appealing to her. She wished “the church scene,” as she called it, was more about doing good in this life for the sake of being a good person and not because you hoped to be “at the popular table in heaven.” She’d shared this opinion once with her brother and sister, but never with her parents, out of fear of actual premature death.
Many churches dotted the landscape of middle Tennessee, but none were as big or as popular as First Baptist where her father was the one who did most of the yelling. People coming from miles around to be yelled at—it made no sense.
Her mother had said that when she first saw her dad giving a speech in Boston, he had a quiet command of the crowd. Over the years that had obviously changed, Jess thought, because now he was anything but quiet in church. Some fathers would yell and scream in front of the TV during football games. Jess’s father yelled whenever he started reading the Bible. Maybe church was the only place he could release all the pent-up stresses of the week. Whatever the case, Jess found it painful to listen to week after week. Her dad was like a human wrecking ball…with a microphone.
* * *
Her father commandeered the pulpit as the soaked congregation shuffled in, shook out their umbrellas and found their way to their seats. He straightened his pastor’s collar, though it didn’t need straightening, something he had done before every sermon for as long as Jess could remember. He nodded and smiled to each family but would not utter a word until the church was absolutely quiet and ready for his words. He even waited for an old lady to clear her throat and for somebody’s stomach to stop growling. He wanted—needed—absolute attention.
“Mornin’,” he finally said. “I appreciate y’all comin’ to worship today in this bad weather. As you can see, it’s held up our organist too, so instead of waitin’ on her, we’re goin’ to do things a little out of order.” He looked down a moment to collect his thoughts before unleashing a week’s worth of pent-up fury on everyone.
“I was watchin’ the news last night,” he began. “And I was deeply disturbed by what…I believe…has become a growing trend. There are those folks who will tell us that there is no right or wrong, that it’s all more complicated, tryin’ to confuse us with this gray area.” He waved his hands through the air before slamming his fist so loudly on the Bible that it woke Jess from her trance. She sat in the front row wedged between her brother, who was dozing, and her sister Ivy, who never paid attention in church, but nobody cared because she was wearing a dress. As usual, she was busy scribbling the initials of her and her boyfriend, Cobb Wallace, in the margins of the church bulletin. Cobb was the neighbor’s son, one of the few Wallace kids Jess hadn’t played basketball with. He was usually in the barn, doing something important with livestock. Ivy had had a thing for him for some time now.
Their mother sat on the end of the pew. No one, least of all Jess, knew what she was really thinking as she listened to the words she’d heard him practice most of the week. She looked attentive, but then again, Jess thought, she could be contemplating the family’s supply of pork and beans and compiling shopping lists. She carried herself so gracefully, as though she was born of royalty. Her resemblance to Jackie O—widely discussed in town—had no doubt inspired jealousy amongst some of the locals. It would always make her seem out of place here.
Dan held the Bible high above his head. “We don’t need to argue about issues like homosexuality and every other sin they’re trying to shove down our throats in the media. The truth is all right here!” Dan thundered. “The answers…what’s right, what’s wrong. It is black and white. No gray. No gray…areas.” He took his dramatic pauses, and the congregation, except for his kids, seemed riveted. It was hard for them to view Reverend Aimes as godlike when they’d seen him running through the house in his underwear. When you knew what someone’s boxers looked like, it was hard to be awestruck by his words.
Each time he paused, though, Jess could hear little intakes of breath from her dad’s number one fan, P.J. Dalton. P.J. sat on the opposite front row from the Aimes family every Sunday. He had perfectly wavy blond hair—prettier than that of any woman in the entire congregation. He was in his midtwenties, with sparkling aqua eyes, and looked like he’d stepped right out of Xanadu. He gazed admiringly at Dan, hanging on the preacher’s every word. Older ladies in the congregation thought he was a sweet young man who was devoted to Jesus, though they quietly whispered what a shame it was that he didn’t have a girlfriend.
“The Bible,” Dan repeated, “has all the answers we need. Look to it for truth and comfort. Look to it to stay on the path of righteousness, because, my friends, that path will lead you to the kingdom of heaven, His kingdom. Praise His name!”
The congregation chimed in with an exuberant “Amen.” All but Jess, who was mesmerized by raindrops on the window. She’d found that all she had to do when she got caught daydreaming was to utter an enthusiastic grunt in concert with whatever was being chanted. Nobody could tell the difference.
Dan descended from the pulpit and the hymns began. The organist had slid in during Dan’s closing words, having barely enough time to slip out of her muddy boots and into her pumps, give Dan a nervous glance and play the introduction to “Holy Bible, Book Divine.” She was new to the church, having replaced a lady who had been a fixture of the Fi
rst Baptist church for years—until word got out that she’d been sleeping with Ray Thornbush and was not his wife. Whereupon she was promptly removed from the church. Apparently no one blamed Ray as much as the organist for his infidelity—no one except Millie Thornbush, his long-suffering wife.
Several hymns and readings later, Dan gripped the lectern for his closing words, scanning the crowd that believed and took comfort in his words. He seemed to belong here. In truth, Jess wondered if he needed them as much as the congregation seemed to need him.
He chuckled to himself. “It seems I’ve started a tradition here.”
Others laughed, knowing what he meant.
“Now is the time in the service I’d like to invite one of y’all to come up and read your favorite passage from the good book.” P.J. was already on his feet with Bible in hand. He strode up to the pulpit with a brief glance in Dan’s direction as the preacher took a step back to give him the floor.
“The Lord is my shepherd,” P.J. read. “I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul…”
Jess wondered why everything in the Bible ended with “eth.” But her random questions she kept to herself, knowing they wouldn’t be appreciated by her father.
“…though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…”
Oh, so he’s been to our house at dinnertime…
“Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies…”
Jess drifted off again, her eyes drawn once more to the windows, which were covered now with a solid sheet of water. Rain pounding loudly overhead made her imagine the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse galloping across the roof. Just when her daydream became interesting, with a horse crashing down into the church, P.J. was done. She couldn’t be sure, but he seemed to have tears in his eyes. She couldn’t understand why some people felt so emotional about certain passages. Apparently the one he chose meant something to him very deep inside. What was it about a cup runningeth over? Or runneth over? Did it mean he felt he had a lot to be grateful for?
P.J. gazed at her father for a long moment, awaiting his nod before leaving the podium and making his way back to his seat. She thought about P.J.’s devotion as the organist played the first stanza of “Amazing Grace.” She didn’t believe she had it in her to be that devoted. She’d call herself a Christian if anyone asked, but she wasn’t sure how much devotion she could give to the Lord. She barely had enough for her family.
The service ended and the congregation began to disperse. Almost everyone went to their church, it seemed. It had become an odd time capsule where she couldn’t escape people who were best left in her past, like her former teacher, Ms. Fitzler, who had joined a few years ago. The teacher routinely nodded and tried to smile a hello greeting at Jess, but she ignored her. All she could think of when she saw her was “wood board lady” or “poodle head,” even though she’d straightened her hair. Jess figured that her unwillingness to forgive was one of those things about her that Jesus might frown upon, but to her, that teacher, no matter what else she ever did in her life, even if she donated a kidney to her, would always be “wood board lady.”
Chapter Seventeen
That evening as a lazy sun poked through after the storm, then quickly began its descent toward the horizon, Jess held her stance on the driveway, aimed and shot. The basketball, drawn to the hoop as if by magnetic force, swished through the net time after time. It made her feel proud, as if at last she understood her purpose as the Miracle Baby. She was going to be the greatest basketball player in the history of the game, maybe even put a spotlight on women’s sports, which she felt got virtually no attention, except for tennis. It wasn’t about her ego; it was her need to understand her life’s purpose, which she believed, had to be something earth-shattering. With her naturally shy demeanor in public, most of the time she preferred to let her talent speak for itself while she kept her mouth shut. She made the next shot and smiled to herself with satisfaction.
* * *
Carolyn came out to marvel at her daughter’s skill, though she did have an ulterior motive. She stood for a while, speechless, not wanting to interrupt something she thought was truly extraordinary. Jess never missed a shot. Ever.
“Is it supper?” Jess asked.
“In a minute,” Carolyn said. “You know, I was a tomboy like you too.”
Jess shot again, pretending not to listen.
“Of course,” her mother continued. “That was until I met David Henchel.” When Jess snuck a peek at her, she had a dreamy expression on her face, looking toward the sky as if remembering some magical night she was sure her daughter probably didn’t want to hear about.
“I don’t care about datin’ boys,” Jess said.
“Oh, that will change someday.” Carolyn got that all-knowing look in her eye. Then after a pause, “I don’t want you to make things harder on yourself.”
“Huh?”
“When you dress the way you do at church…I don’t want you to make things difficult for yourself.” Carolyn couldn’t find the right words.
Jess stopped and held the ball, facing her mother. “What’re you talkin’ about?” she asked. “My life will be easier if I put on a dress?”
“No.” Carolyn struggled; it did sound silly when Jess simplified it like that. “Next year you’ll be a senior, and most girls by now…I mean, it’s been fine for you with the team and everything…” She lost control of the point she was trying to make.
“What’s wrong with me the way I am?” Jess’s eyes were intense.
It was a good question. Carolyn was immediately taken back to when she was growing up in Massachusetts. She was considered a quirky little girl because instead of dolls she collected stuffed monkeys. It was her mother who had pointed out how strange that was. Until her mother’s comment, Carolyn only knew that she liked what she liked.
“What’s wrong with me bein’ me?” Jess repeated, arming herself with the ball.
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” Carolyn gave her a smile and went inside. She thought of herself in grade school, how she too had always marched to the beat of her own drum, one that nobody else ever seemed to hear. She too had gotten in trouble with crimson-faced teachers who got frustrated whenever she didn’t follow their instructions. Having these kinds of experiences in school had made her especially protective of young Jesse when she got into trouble with Ms. Fitzler.
Eventually Carolyn had learned how to play by the rules in the outside world while keeping her inside world her own, but she still remembered the many other ways she had been different compared to her classmates. It hadn’t been easy. While her female friends talked about getting married or becoming secretaries, young Carolyn said that she’d like to become a lobster fisherman—or fisherperson—like her father was. After that, both girls and boys pretty much avoided her, branding her a weirdo. Later still, when she’d begun to consider starting her own business, she was still pretty much an outcast among the girls who dreamed of being housewives. Was she concerned for Jess because of her own experiences? Maybe her worries weren’t necessary. As a star basketball player, Jess seemed popular among her friends. Still…
* * *
That night, as Jess lay in bed flipping her basketball from hand to hand as she always did before going to sleep, she could hear her parents talking in their bedroom next door, thanks to the paper-thin walls.
“She’s just a late bloomer is all,” her dad said. “Why is this bothering you so much?”
“I think it’s harder in the South,” her mom replied. “If you stand out from the crowd.”
“Give her time. She’ll come into her own.” Her dad didn’t say it, but Jess knew he was in no rush for her to become boy-crazy. As it was, he was probably anticipating having to load the shotgun to stave off Ivy’s suitors.
Carolyn sighed. “They’re not very understanding here. Everyone has to fit into this…I don’t know. I don’t see J
ess fitting in the way Ivy does.”
Jess rolled over, squeezing her basketball tighter.
Chapter Eighteen
Jess and her friend Kelly went for a layup, and Jess tipped the ball in right before the coach’s whistle.
“Get over here.” Sylvia Drysdale, their P.E. teacher and the girls’ basketball coach, looked natural in a gray sweat suit, in fact, no one had ever seen her dressed in anything else, not even out in public.
Sneakers squeaked and echoed against the gym floor as the class assembled. Most of them would go on to play for the award-winning basketball team, known as The Green Machine, later in the season. Most of the faces in the class were familiar to Jess, but the intimidated, clueless expressions made it easy to pick out the freshmen.
A smile had escaped Coach Drysdale’s lips as she watched the girls play, something rare for her. She wasn’t given to displays of sentiment. When Jess needed to feel more confident, she looked at the trophies in her bedroom, because she knew she wasn’t going to get extra encouragement from Coach Drysdale: the coach didn’t like to show favoritism. The fact remained she’d had Jess as a starter for the past two years, and they’d won countless regional awards, inching ever closer to the elusive Middle Tennessee State Championship. The coach was not an emotional woman. She’d buried her parents, relatives and close friends—and nobody ever saw her cry. But she had been spotted with a tear in her eye when Jess was fouled. It meant they were sure to score.
The team’s rivalry with the Fullerton Falcons always stood in the way of claiming the championship. If they could beat them once, they’d be on their way to clinching that top prize.
Coach Drysdale motioned to the girls to gather around, her eyes focused on the freshmen.
“I don’t know how many of y’all are plannin’ on tryin’ out for the team this year,” she said, glaring at one of the scared freshmen girls. “But right now, none of ya would make it.”
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