Unleash Me: Wedding (The Unleash Me Series)

by Christina Ross

  But why?

  “Oh!” she said as she got inside and shut her door. “Sorry! I should have put those in the back seat.”

  “You bought my books?” I asked her.

  “In fact, I did! I stopped at Barnes & Noble on the way over and scooped them up so I could read them over the next week. I wanted to get all of them in hardcover, but your first one is out of print at this point, so I got the trade-paperback version instead. I know I should have read them sooner, and I apologize for not doing so because the covers frighten the devil out of me, but I am resolved to read them while you are here, Lisa. And I’m such a fast reader, I’ll have them read in no time. And then we can sit down and discuss them!” She pointed a finger at me. “I’m doing this because I want to see what’s in that head of yours. If you are going to marry my son and become my daughter-in-law, I want to know what you’re capable of. You know, when it comes to your craft. What do you think of that?”

  That I want to puke at the very idea of what those conversations are going to be like, Ethel? That I have a feeling you’ll be reading them with your rosary beads clutched close to your chest? That you’ll wake me up in the morning by splashing holy water on my face?

  “I’m honored,” I said as she started the car and turned on the air conditioning.

  “As you know, I’ve never read anything in this genre, but I certainly can give it a chance, can’t I? Especially since they are your books. And look at me! I didn’t even buy them on my Kindle, because one day I might want to showcase them in our library.”

  One day? Might?

  “Physical books are special,” she said. “They can last an eternity. Now, here,” she said, moving the books to the back seat. “Sit down, buckle up, and relax. I can only imagine how exhausted you must be after that private flight of yours, which must have been strenuous. Why don’t you rest while we listen to something special on the drive to Prairie Home?”

  “What’s that?” I asked as I took my seat and shut the door behind me.

  “I’ve been listening to a series of spellbinding audiobooks, and there’s one series in particular that I’m coming to absolutely adore. I know you aren’t religious, Lisa, so forgive me, because this series of books is very religious. It’s not my intention to bore you with the teachings of the church, so think of it this way—when you start to listen and if you feel bored, just sleep.”

  “It’s not that I’m not religious,” I said, “because I do believe in God—very much so. I hope you know that.”

  “Actually, I didn’t.”

  “Well, I do.”

  “And what a relief to hear. Do you mind if we talk a little bit about this? Because the church is very near and dear to me, Lisa. I’m sure Mitchell has told you so.”

  At some point, we’re going to have this talk anyway, Ethel, so it might as well be now.

  “We can talk about anything you’d like.”

  “Do you go to church?”

  “I haven’t been to a church in years.”

  “And yet you still believe in God?”

  “Not going to church hasn’t stolen away my faith. I’m a very spiritual person.”

  “Spiritual or religious?”

  “I don’t see a difference. For me, believing in God is believing in God.”

  “How very interesting. Did your parents take you to church as a child?”

  “For several years they did. But that eventually stopped when my parents purchased a small motel in Bangor. Since they were financially strapped at the time and couldn’t afford to hire maids, it was just the three of us left to maintain the motel, which was difficult. There was the main building to clean, which had nine rooms. And then there were ten cottages that stretched to the right of it, some of which were outfitted with full living rooms and kitchens. The three of us needed to clean all of them quickly so that we could rent them again.”

  “So, your reasons for not going to church came down to work?”

  “As it does for many people, Ethel.”

  “How old were you when you stopped going to service?”

  “Around nine, I think.”

  “My word,” she said, her eyes widening at me. “So young…”

  “My parents did their best. It wasn’t an easy life.”

  “That I can fully understand. I mean, imagine how difficult it was for us with the farm, especially with so many chickens and cows to care for. As you know, back then there also was just the three of us, but we still managed to take an hour or so out of our hectic lives every Sunday to go to church. Sometimes I don’t know how we did it, but we did. Likely because of God’s good graces. It’s a shame your parents couldn’t have found just a slice of time to take themselves and you.”

  “Sundays followed the busiest night of the week for us,” I said with a slight edge to my voice. “It also was the day all the lawns needed to be mowed, which I had to do. There was no time for church.”

  “I hope you don’t think that I’m judging you,” she said.

  “I also hope you aren’t, Ethel.”

  “That’s twice you’ve called me by my first name, you know?”

  “I do know.”

  “Oh, I hope that I haven’t upset you will all of this church talk. It’s just that I want to get to know you, Lisa…to understand you better, because I really do want for that to happen, especially since I’m about to be part of your life for the rest of my life. It’s one of the reasons I’m going to read your books while you’re here. You and I barely know each other, and yet in a week, you’re marrying my only child. It’s important for me to get to know my future daughter-in-law, and what better way to do that than through conversation?”

  “I understand,” I said. “And I’m sure we’ll do plenty of talking over the next week.”

  “We should go,” she said. “But first let me show you what we’ll be listening to. I haven’t started it yet, but I’m dying to.”

  She leaned forward and removed a CD case from the Navigator’s glove box.

  “Here, have a look,” she said as she gave it to me.

  The first thing I saw was the title: Former Satanist Becomes Catholic. The second thing I noted was the image of a priest wielding a large crucifix beneath the title as if warding off Lucifer himself. Stunned that she’d dare give this to me after that little chat, I turned the CD over and read the book’s description:

  How great a threat is the occult? In this provocative testimony, former Satanist Betty Brennan shares the story of her remarkable journey from a dark existence of devil worship to the fulfillment of truth in Jesus Christ and the Catholic Church. You will be enlightened by her amazing sojourn, her search for deliverance, and her mission to open the eyes of others to the truth of the devil.

  First the books, then the talk, and now this? She’s totally setting me up to see how I’ll react.

  And so I reacted.

  “‘The truth of the devil,’” I said, returning the CD to her with a smile. “You know, I think I do need to listen to something exactly like this right now. Thank you for suggesting it.”

  “My pleasure,” she said as she slipped the disc into the CD player and then patted me on the knee. “Let’s share this experience together, Lisa. Let’s hear Betty tell us about the devil and how it reveals itself in all its many forms. And if you’d like, later we can pray. Or not. Whatever you wish. Now, let’s go. I promised Harold that you and I would cook dinner together tonight, because if you’re going to be cooking for our son, I’m dying to see your skills at work in the kitchen.”

  And the hits just keep on coming.

  “What will we be cooking?” I asked her.

  “Why, Mitchell’s favorite meal, of course,” she said. “Certainly you know what that is by now. And let me tell you this, my darling girl—Mother can’t wait to see how well you pull it off!”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Half an hour later, after driving out of the city and into the lush Nebraska countryside—parts of which reminded me o
f my home in Maine, which made me long for it—we were nearing the McCollister home just as Betty Brennan pronounced through the Navigator’s speakers that’s she’d eventually found the courage to smite the devil from her life and allow God into it.

  “Wasn’t that inspiring?” Ethel gushed as she turned off the stereo.

  “Completely,” I said, looking out my window at acres upon acres of beautiful farmland. And then, only because I knew she’d made me listen to that shit on purpose, I couldn’t help but go further than I otherwise would have. “Should I ever need to, I now know how to smite the devil.”

  “Consider it fodder for an upcoming book. I thought it was fabulous.”

  “Didn’t you think it was even a little bit over the top?” I asked.

  “Not at all. We were just listening to a former Satanist who literally went through hell in an effort to find God. That couldn’t have been easy.”

  “Well, it certainly didn’t sound easy, because if nothing else, Betty sure did deliver her story with bravado. For a moment there, I thought she was going to lose her voice, particularly when she channeled her version of the devil. Now, that part was arresting. I even heard you try to stifle a laugh when she started to squeal like a pig.”

  “If I was doing anything, I was choking back tears.”

  Oh, come on, I thought. Seriously? Lady, give me some hope for our relationship—whatever that looks like after the shit you’ve pulled on me today. Jennifer and Blackwell were right—I needed to come armed for anything. Thank God they made sure I wasn’t too comfortable with you.

  “Anyway,” she said, “we’re here.”

  When I turned to look at the McCollister property, it was nothing like I remembered it.

  The last time I’d seen the house and the surrounding grounds, they’d been masked by mounds of snow. But now, in the middle of June, the grass was such a preternatural green that it seemed lit from within. And then there were the gardens surrounding the house, which were in full bloom and popping with a host of vibrant colors. Most I recognized as established perennials—butterfly weed, Virginia bluebells, hardy geraniums, and aromatic asters—but a few urns held some lovely annuals that would bloom all summer long.

  The house itself was a massive turn-of-the-century colonial with three dormers that stretched along the expansive roof. Painted bright white with black shutters, it had what appeared to be more than a dozen windows facing the circular gravel driveway, which led to a covered front porch supported by six pillars. As Ethel swung in at the front of the house, I noted the lovely portico, which she drove under to park the SUV.

  “Your home is stunning,” I said to her. “The last time I saw it, there were no details—just so much snow. It’s amazing.”

  “Well, thank you, Lisa. I rather like it myself. Harold and I had the house freshened with new paint last year, so consider yourself lucky, because now it looks especially nice. I’ve never had a wedding on these grounds, but there have been plenty of church events and social gatherings, which is one of the main reasons we are so diligent in its upkeep.”

  “Tank told me the house was built in the early nineteenth century, but it looks so new,” I said. “You’ve taken impeccable care of it. And look at the grounds over there. Is that the meadow Tank was referring to?”

  “It is, and the pond and the new gazebo are off to the right, too far away to see from here. I’ll show them to you later, after we say hello to Harold, who I know is anxious to see you.” She opened her door and stepped out, but not before I heard her say, “The question is whether he’s working in one of the barns or he’s in the house.”

  I opened my door, stretched when I got out, and then watched as Ethel came around the car with her cell held to her ear.

  “We’re here,” she said in a bright voice. “Where are you? In the kitchen? We’ll be right in. No, you stay there. Call one of the farmhands and ask them to bring Lisa’s suitcases into the house. There’s no need for you to do it—you’d probably throw out your back if you even tried. I mean, my goodness—Lisa brought three bags with her and a carryon.” She winked at me when she said, “When I first saw how much she’d packed, she gave me a little fright, because for a moment I thought she was planning to move in with us. Right, right. We’ll see you in seconds.”

  She switched off her phone, tossed it into her Louis, and motioned to the black door at the side of the house. “Shall we?” she said, opening it. “I hate to keep Harold waiting, which is just one of the many reasons we’ve been married over forty years now. Never keep the man of the house waiting, Lisa. You’ll do well to listen to me when it comes to that. The kitchen, you might remember, is through the mudroom and straight down the center hallway. Now, come on, after you—because Daddy wants to see you.”

  ***

  When I entered the large, sunny kitchen with its pale-yellow walls, white woodwork, golden oak floors, and professional-grade stainless-steal appliances, Harold McCollister—a tall man around his wife’s age but who looked older, likely because life on the farm wasn’t an easy life for anybody—gave me a smile I knew in my heart was genuine.

  Tank might have inherited his mother’s good looks, but he had also inherited his father’s kindness of spirit. Over the last four months, I’d spoken to him often on the phone about the wedding, and with each conversation, I could feel a bond starting to build between us. I bet that irritated Ethel to no end.

  “Lisa,” he said as he came over to shake my hand. “It’s great to see you.”

  “Thank you…Daddy,” I said, cringing that I’d even agreed to call him something a six-year-old would call her father. “It’s great to see you, too.”

  I’m an adult, I thought as we shook hands and he looked at me with questioning eyes. Why did I ever allow her to press me into calling them Mother and Daddy? Just in the hope that things would go smoothly between us? Apparently. I should have listened to Tank when he’d said I didn’t need to do it. But, whatever. What’s done is done.

  “Daddy?” he said, sounding surprised. He must have caught the discomfort on my face, because he turned to his wife, who was standing at my left. “You put her up to this, didn’t you, Ethel?”

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  “Since when does Lisa call me Daddy? What is she calling you? Mommy?”

  “Actually, I went for Mother,” Ethel said. “Lisa is about to become our daughter-in-law, Harold. I want her to think of us as part of a family now, especially since she will officially be a McCollister in a matter of days.”

  “And she was too polite to turn you down.” He looked at me. “Never mind about all that. I’ll always be Harold to you, Lisa. And Ethel will be Ethel. So, now that that’s settled, that’s the end of it. How was your trip?”

  “She flew private,” Ethel said before I could speak. “Nothing but luxury for that one.”

  Bitch, please.

  “Private?” he said. “That must have been nice. Good for you. What kind of plane was it?”

  “I think it was a Learjet.”

  “It’s not yours?”

  “No, no—I rented it.”

  “You work hard,” he said, “and you’re successful. Why not spoil yourself a bit before your wedding? I’m sure that’s the reason for the splurge, and I bet it was relaxing.”

  “It was something,” I said, wanting to change the subject. “How have you been, Harold?”

  “Same as I was when I saw you two Christmases ago, Lisa—happy and healthy, which are the two things that matter most. Other than that, my life is pretty much routine. Nothing really changes here, except when something goes haywire in one of the barns. I think the only difference you might have noticed is that my hair is starting to go from gray to white.”

  “It suits you,” I said. “Now your eyes look bluer than Tank’s, which is saying something.”

  “I suppose it is,” he said with a smile. “So, tell me, are you working on a new book?”

  “I just finished one—it’s with my edit
or now. I’ll start the new one after Tank and I return from our honeymoon.”

  “What’s the name of the one you finished?”

  Oh, dear God, please don’t let me have to tell them the title…

  “I’d certainly like to hear the title,” Ethel said.

  I’ll bet you would, Ethel. So, fine—let me just spell it out for you.

  “It’s called The Dead Will Rise,” I said.

  Beside me, Ethel actually stiffened before she genuflected.

  “Quit it with the showbiz, Ethel,” Harold said.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Harold.”

  He leveled her with a look before he turned to me. “Catchy title,” he said. “I bet it’ll go to number one, just like the rest of them have. And you know what, Lisa? It’s going to be good to have a writer in the family.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “I appreciate that.”

  “Speaking of that,” Ethel said. “I stopped at a bookstore on the way to the airport, and I bought all of her books! They’re in the back seat of the Navigator. I plan on reading every one of them before the wedding. You know, so I can get to know Lisa better. Come to understand how her mind works and all that.”

  “She’s not a lab experiment, Ethel.”

  “I never said she was, Harold.”

  “Lisa is a writer.”

  “Well, of course she is.”

  “And she writes fiction.”

  “I fully understand that.” She gawked at him. “My goodness—you’re awfully feisty this afternoon.”

  “Just doing the Lord’s work,” he said. And when he said that, Harold McCollister smiled at me.

  “You know,” Ethel said after clearing her throat, “Lisa and I are going to cook for you tonight.”

  “Tonight?” he said. “But Lisa just traveled hours to be with us. She probably wants to get settled in and have you cook for her. And besides, I know for a fact that she’s likely eager to see the gazebo in person, not just in the photographs we’ve sent. And also the pond and the swans. Why do you want her to cook?”