by Denise Jaden
“We have to talk,” he says, and pulls out a kitchen chair.
At first I can’t believe my ears. He finally wants to talk to me! I sit across from him but don’t pull my chair up to the table, since something still doesn’t feel right.
“I spoke with the school,” he says. “I’ve requested that any teachers who plan to keep you after class phone me first.”
Is he serious? I used to always come home way later. And okay, things are different now, but still. “I’m sorry, Dad. I should’ve called. I guess I didn’t think you’d worry as long as I was home by—”
“I’d appreciate that,” he says, and the way his voice sounds, he’s not angry. Not at all. Just scared. “But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”
I lean forward, putting my hands flat on the table between us to show him I’m ready for this.
“It’s not healthy to go through this”—he clears his throat—“time alone. There’s a pastor at the church I want you to talk to about … uh … well … about how you’re feeling. I know you haven’t been attending youth group, but it’s important to lean on God and the church in times like these.”
He’s passing me off to the church? “Dad, if we could just …” I want to say more, but I know that look on his face. “Fine. When?” I ask.
His eyes stay fixed on the table between us. He can’t even look at me to see how much I need him. “I made an appointment for you at three today.”
I flick the edge of the table where the varnish is peeling off. Then again, going to the church would give me a chance to get my mind off Dustin. And if my parents won’t talk to me, maybe the youth pastor, someone else who knew Faith, will.
“Sure.” I nod. “Three o’clock.”
Dad doesn’t say anything else. Just slides back from the table, spins, and marches out the door.
Great. Thanks, Dad. Glad we could have this enriching conversation.
Plan I: Track down Captain Scotty.
At five to three, I get out of Dad’s van and walk across the carpeted foyer of Crestview Church. The last time I was in the building was for Faith’s funeral. The time before that, the Easter service nearly six months ago. Faith’s voice booms in my head, and I notice it for the first time all day. Her ever-present hum has become so commonplace that it doesn’t even interrupt my thoughts anymore. It comforts me now as I grasp for my inner strength. I’ll need an extra dose of it to brush off whatever they’re going to preach at me here.
At the front office, I give the secretary my name, and wait while she looks up my appointment.
“I see you’re scheduled with Pastor Overly at three,” she says.
Pastor Overly. My parents have had him over for dinner before. They should call him “Pastor Olderly” though, since he’s practically a fossil. “Shouldn’t I be seeing a youth pastor?”
She scrunches her wrinkly face at me. “Oh, yes, of course.” She scrolls down her computer screen. “Pastor Scott keeps his own calendar, but if you want to check at his office, it’s right that way.” She points down the hall. “If he’s busy, feel free to come back to see Pastor Overly. He’s wide open.” Her face is slightly smug and I have the feeling I’ll be back within minutes.
When I reach Pastor Scott’s office, I take a breath and knock. I shouldn’t be nervous, I tell myself. I’d much rather talk to someone who really knew Faith.
I wait several minutes before deciding he’s not in there. Maybe I could leave a note. Pushing the door open tentatively, I see books. Tons of books, all over the desk and the floor, but not neat, like in Dad’s office at home. Some left open, others stacked in precarious-looking piles. I scan the desk to see if there’s a day planner there somewhere, but it’s impossible to tell among all this crap.
The room is windowless, which makes me feel claustrophobic. I step inside anyway.
“Hello?” The booming voice of Pastor Scott sounds behind me and I knock the door open into a tower of books, toppling them over.
“Oh, I’m—I’m sorry!” I scramble to the strewn books, not even turning to acknowledge the guy. I do my best to scoop them into something resembling a pile.
He lets out a deep laugh. “Oh, leave them, please. Those things fall over all the time.”
No doubt. I start to pull away, but it feels way too awkward leaving this haphazard pile. “I don’t mind,” I say. Lifting a big textbook from the stack, I start a new pile, quickly taking stock of the biggest books and arranging them in a structurally sound way.
He walks past me and drops into the chair on the far side of the desk, placing his freshly filled coffee cup down.
When I finish assembling the stack, I stand and would offer my hand, but Pastor Scott is busy sorting through his mess of papers with his head down. He is wearing that American Eagle sweater again and, even though I think it would look better on Dustin, it does do something to endear him to me.
“I’ll just be a second,” he says.
I wait in uncomfortable silence until he finally clears his throat and looks up.
“How can I help you?”
“I’m Faith Jenkins’s sister. Brie,” I say.
“Of course. I remember you from the funeral.” He checks his watch. “Have a seat.” He motions to the one across from him. “How are you doing?”
His voice sounds kind and I want to give an honest answer, but I proceed carefully. “Um, okay. My dad thought I should come in and talk to someone here at the church.”
He nods, encouraging me to go on.
“I have some questions about my sister.”
“Obviously, I don’t know how you feel,” he says, “but I loved Faith. I love all the kids in youth, of course, but Faith was special. She had such a soft heart.”
I take a deep, slightly guarded, breath. It feels good to have someone talk about Faith so openly, like she really was real. “My dad wanted me to see someone because he can’t really talk about everything yet.”
“Has he told you that?”
I stare at him for a second. I’m not used to people being quite this forthright. “Look, my parents don’t want to talk about anything right now.” I stand up, feeling like it might make me come across as stronger so he won’t think he can manipulate the things I know are true. “I know you’re just doing your job. Talking things out is the best thing, and all that, but my parents just need some time right now, and to not worry about other stuff.”
Pastor Scott stands too. “You’re not other stuff, Brie. Whether you like it or not, you’re their daughter.” The force of his voice makes me look at him. “I know it’s been hard, but maybe if they focus on you right now, it’ll help them through this. I know you’re trying to think of them, but maybe what you’re actually doing …”
He goes on, but I tune out. So I’m the cog that’s holding them back, huh? Whatever. These aren’t the kind of answers I came here for, and they make an anger burn within me. I’ve tried! I want to yell at him.
“You and Faith are so different, but it still makes me feel like a piece of her is around when you’re here.”
His comment takes me back and makes me think about Faith’s voice. How I can hear it and he probably can’t. And it is nice to have a piece of her. “How exactly do I remind you of her?”
A small smile tugs at the side of his mouth. “I don’t know. It’s something. Maybe your eyes. Or maybe it’s your smile. No, wait. I haven’t seen yours yet to compare.”
I let my mouth form into a smirk. Faith and I did look alike. Before she got her glasses and I discovered the world of straightening irons, people used to mix us up all the time.
“It is.” He nods. “It’s the smile.”
Suddenly, I miss Faith. Like, really miss her. And a tear escapes from my right eye.
“I know,” he says, like he can read my mind. “I miss her too.” He doesn’t look away and let me save face, but keeps his warm eyes right on me.
I sit down and wipe my cheeks with a tissue from his desk. “Can I as
k you something?”
“Of course.”
“You said something at the funeral. Or maybe I heard something wrong. I don’t know.”
“Go on.”
“You said Faith hadn’t been in youth group for a while.”
“Yeah, it’s been pretty crazy, I guess. I was supposed to meet with her—” He pulls a day planner from the bottom of his stack of papers and opens it. At first, he thumbs through, but then he picks up the book and fans it. Stops in the middle and fans it again. Finally, he puts it down. “Well, I can’t find it right now, but we were supposed to meet, and then she had to cancel. I thought maybe the group was getting too big for her, maybe the music was getting too loud, and I thought we should talk about it.”
“But she went to youth events all the time. Like six nights a week. Why didn’t you just talk to her there?”
Pastor Scott crinkles his forehead. “Well, she hadn’t been coming to my Friday night meetings. Maybe she was going somewhere else. I know Grass Roots has a pretty big youth group, and they meet at least a couple times a week.”
I think about this, but it seems so strange that she wouldn’t mention it if she’d changed youth groups.
“I don’t know about six nights per week,” he goes on. “The home groups only meet once a week. And Faith’s was held at your house, right?”
I shake my head. “I’ve never met her home group.” In fact, she never mentioned one.
He looks up to the corner of the room, his face contorting. “I’m sorry, Brie. I have no excuse, I should know what was going on with their small group.” He pauses for a minute, squinting. Suddenly, he snaps his fingers, remembering something. “Celeste was in it.”
Well, duh. But with the mention of her name, I wonder if she’s back in town yet. Maybe I should e-mail her, since I haven’t seen her at school.
Pastor Scott’s eyes droop a little. “I’m afraid when the youth group expanded so quickly, I just lost track.”
“Oh. That makes sense.” I can’t blame him. I’d completely lost track of my sister too, and we lived in the same house.
Pastor Scott stares down at his desk.
“Do you think,” I say, “I mean, when you did know her better. Do you think her death could have been …” I can’t say the word suicide, it gets stuck in my throat. “… um, intentional?”
Pastor Scott stares at me for a few seconds, tilts his head as though he doesn’t understand the question. Finally, he shakes his head. “No, Brie. Faith didn’t kill herself. That’s one thing I’m sure of.”
His words make me feel so relieved I want to jump out of my chair and hug him. I didn’t know how badly I needed to hear this. “How do you know?” I venture.
“I don’t have all the answers,” he says, “but she loved the Lord. She trusted Him.” He stops and takes in a big breath through his nose. “What I do know is He has a plan and a grace for all of us and what we’re going through.”
He who? What plan? I scan Pastor Scott’s face and quickly catch on. Right. The Big Plan. The Big God Plan. “Yeah, I know,” I say, standing to leave.
“If you ever want to talk again, Brie … Just wait, I want to give you my phone number.” He just stares at me though, and after a second I realize that finding a scrap piece of paper would likely upset his whole world. So finally I pull out my cell phone and punch in his number as he rattles it off. “You don’t have to do this alone. …”
He goes on, but I tune him out, force a smile and nod. Here it comes, his Christianese spiel. I’ve heard it, and I just don’t want to hear it again.
“Don’t lose that smile,” he says, as I back through the door and shut it behind me.
chapter TEN
all evening I watch movies with one eye on my cell phone, but Dustin doesn’t call. This relieves me and freaks me out at the same time. Does he see through me and know I didn’t really want to meet up with him?
But as worried as I am, I can’t bring myself to pick up my phone and dial. After Dad’s fit about me coming home late from school, I can’t even imagine what would happen if he found my room empty at midnight. I have woken up a few times to my door cracking open and one of them checking on me in the middle of the night. And part of me likes that.
I dial Amy, ready to apologize, say whatever I have to in order to set things straight. But when her voice mail clicks on, I chicken out and decide it’s much better to talk to her in person.
Sunday morning, I don’t know how Dad does it, but he prods Mom out the door and they look just as fixed up as they always did for church. I spend the whole day feeling like a stranger in my own home. Feeling like our house has been taken over by ghosts.
Plan J: Back to school. Talk to whoever still wants to talk to me.
Tessa eyes me as I open my locker beside her on Monday. “You look like shit.”
“Thanks.” I reach up and smooth my hair, but several of the wisps won’t stay. “It’s been a long weekend.”
She pulls wrinkled papers from behind her books, straightens them out, and reads them one at a time, like she’s looking for a specific one. “Your parents acting weird?”
Amazing how much she knows, without me having to say a word. I nod. “They freaked out when I didn’t come home right after school last week. Then they sent me to talk to this guy at my dad’s church.”
Tessa muffles a laugh. “My parents sent me to some preacher a few years ago too. I told him a thing or five.” She shoves the crumpled papers back into her locker. They almost fall out but she shuts the door on them.
I smile. So this is how it is. The most normal conversation I can have is with Terrifying Tessa. She’s the closest thing I have to a friend.
“See you later?” I ask as I shut my locker door.
“Yeah.” She nods. “Later.”
Just as I leave my locker, I spot Amy at the other end of the hallway, but when she sees me she ducks into the girls’ bathroom. I can tell she’s avoiding me, but I don’t care. I pick up my pace and push through the door.
The bell rings and the five or six girls inside disperse out the two end doors, but none of them are Amy. Two stall doors remain shut and I lean against the counter waiting, not caring that I’ll be late for class. The first girl to emerge is my friend Steph.
“Hi!” I try to sound chipper.
She doesn’t respond and looks away as soon as she sees me, which makes the few seconds while she washes her hands incredibly uncomfortable. I guess if I’d known there were sides to choose, it would have been obvious she would take Amy’s. They were friends first, and Steph truly belongs in the makeup-and-fashion-fanatics club. Or maybe she’s just playing it cool because Amy can hear us.
Obviously I’ll need to put things back together with Amy first.
While I’m thinking this, the other stall opens, but it’s not her. Steph and the other girl skirt out the far door and I can visualize Amy having made a beeline through the bathroom just to escape me.
Right. So maybe she needs another week to get over her PMS.
I track down Dustin outside the gym before I leave for the day.
“You didn’t call.” The moment it leaves my mouth, I know it sounds like an accusation. “I mean, it’s probably a good thing because I ended up having to do this … stuff.” Like meet with the church pastor, watch old movies I couldn’t even concentrate on, phone ex-best-friends and hang up on their voice mail. Obviously I can’t elaborate.
He glances into the gym like he’s in a hurry. “Well, no worries, then, right?” He looks back at me and flashes one of his sweet smiles. My anxiety from last week almost totally subsides, and I hope he’ll pull me close again. Give me another chance to prove I can be a good girlfriend. But I can tell he needs to go.
“Well, next weekend for sure,” I tell him. His sexy face is pulling me in and I can’t seem to help making promises. Besides, it’s a whole week away. My parents can’t expect me to stay home forever.
He offers a nod, a peck on my cheek, and
then disappears through the door.
At home I’m glad to hear Mom puttering in the kitchen again. When I walk over to see what she’s making, she meets me on the opposite side of the swinging door.
“I just need a little time to myself,” she says.
I’m so happy she’s back to cooking, I decide not to push it. Instead, I head toward my room to start on homework—something I haven’t been able to concentrate on for a while. Maybe life is getting back to normal. Or at least as normal as it can be. The thought makes me stop in place on the stairs and wonder. What will life be like for us in a year? Will we be over this and used to living without her? Or will our house always feel empty? Will we have to move somewhere else to get away from the holes?
An hour later, I haven’t solved any of life’s questions or a single math problem. I tidy up the living room, but when I dust the bookshelves, I notice half of them are empty. My first assumption is that Mom started to clean out some of Faith’s things. But when I read the spines, all I see are Faith’s Christian novels. It’s the rest of our books that are missing.
I squint to try and figure out the logic in that.
When Ol’ Granny rattles into the driveway, I peer out the window and watch Dad get out. His shoulders are straight; his jaw isn’t in that tense, forced smile he usually wears.
Plan K: Talk to Dad.
“Can I talk to you for a sec?” He hasn’t even hung up his coat yet. Down, Brie, down.
“Sure, honey. I just have to make one call. …” He trails off when he sees my face.
Do I look too serious? I blink hard to reset my expression.
He walks over and puts his hands on both my shoulders. “What’s up, sweetie?”
“Oh, no big deal,” I say too loudly. “I was just, well …” I have no words. I can’t say her name. Not to him. “It’s about youth group,” I say finally.
Dad looks confused, but only for a second. “Did you talk to Pastor Overly about it?”
Right. He thinks I want to join the youth group. And that may not seem like the safest place in the world right now. “Well, mostly I wanted to clear something up.”