by J. C. Davis
“Now, folks, let’s keep things under control,” Mr. Henderson says. “This here miracle is plain as can be. God himself is showing his approval of our town. First that cheese wheel and now this. We are blessed.”
The crowd nods and for once I keep my mouth shut.
Mrs. Keller drops to her knees and starts praying. “Lord, thank you for blessing us with your presence. Thank you for the miracles you work every day and for reminding us to look for them.”
Several others kneel, and Mr. Henderson crosses himself.
“People’ll believe anything,” fanny pack man says, making a dismissive noise. He grabs the arm of a thin woman standing beside him, her summer dress bright pink and blue, and begins backing out of the crowd. The woman glances wistfully over her shoulder at the window, but allows herself to be pulled away.
Carla Murphy, a cashier at the McDonald’s with hair black as asphalt and acne scars on both cheeks, jostles to the front of the crowd, taking advantage of the gap left by fanny pack man and the woman. She reaches her hand out to touch the glass but Mr. Henderson catches her arm and shakes his head.
“Don’t want to get fingerprints on Jesus, now do we, Carla. Where’s Jim? Have him bring out the tool set and we’ll take down the window.”
The crowd grumbles. “You ought to leave that where it is!”
“I’ve got a business to run, don’t I?” Mr. Henderson says. “People want their hotcakes and fries.”
Emmet squeezes my shoulder and says in a low voice, “Let’s get out of here.”
I nod and start toward the car. The people in front of us move to the side, pressing forward to fill the tiny gap we leave. I get several narrow-eyed looks.
Back in Rust Bucket, I take a deep breath and turn to Emmet. “Thanks.”
He grimaces and stares straight ahead, refusing to look at me. “You’re my sister. It’s not like I could stand there and let them rip you apart.”
Rust Bucket starts up with a wheezing cough and we pull out of the lot.
“You got that vibe from them, too, huh?”
“You’re good at pissing people off.”
“Gee, thanks for the pep talk.”
“You know what I mean. You should go to services and keep your head down. People in this town don’t like anyone who’s too different. If you just go along it’ll make life easier.” Emmet hesitates. “What have you got against St. Andrew’s, anyway? Mom’d be happy to have you go with her.”
Yeah, I’ll just bet she would. She’d probably forget and drive off without me.
“I don’t have anything against St. Andrew’s,” I snap. “I just don’t feel like going to church anymore.”
“You used to go all the time.” Emmet’s using his calm, reasonable voice. I want to slap him.
“I used to believe there was a point. Or didn’t you notice Claire’s gone? All that praying didn’t do anything.”
“Don’t use Claire as an excuse for your hang-ups,” Emmet growls.
“They’re not my hang-ups. It’s simple logic. Way I see it, there are three options.” I count them off on my fingers with insulting slowness. “God doesn’t exist, God does exist but he can’t do a damn thing, or God does exist and he killed Claire. Personally, I’m liking option number one. Either way, I don’t see the point in wasting my Sunday mornings.”
Emmet rolls his eyes. “We might have just seen proof that God exists. Would it kill you to admit miracles are possible?”
“We never got one. If miracles are real and God has time to go around finger painting on drive-throughs, then why the hell couldn’t he help Claire get better? Why couldn’t he keep Dad from running out on us, or Mom from turning into a living ghost? If miracles are real, where were ours?” I make a disgusted noise. “We saw a windowpane with a blurry image. That doesn’t mean God was strolling around town. When did you become so gullible?”
“When did you stop believing in anything?”
The words punch me in the gut and tears gather at the corner of my eyes. Before I can think too hard about why I’m about to start crying, I slam out of Rust Bucket and storm toward the school.
CHAPTER TEN
Doubting Del
Gabe is waiting on the school steps. He glances between me and Emmet and then grimaces. “Family drama?”
“Yeah. Emmet’s willing to believe anything and of course I’m a bitch for not buying into it too.”
Gabe follows me as I storm inside.
I stop in front of my locker and try to melt the tiny lock with my eyes. I feel like a geyser on the edge of blowing, fury and hurt bubbling under my skin. How dare Emmet talk to me like that, try to guilt me into going back to St. Andrew’s. I went to church after Claire died. All the nice old ladies gathered round and patted my shoulder and talked about God’s will. As though that made everything okay. They’re just words. They can’t bring my sister back, fix my family, or change the things I said to Claire before she died. My mind skitters away from that last thought, shoving it back in the dark hole where it belongs before guilt chokes me.
“What aren’t we buying?” Gabe asks.
I turn and lean my back against the locker, dropping my bag at my feet. Some of the anger leeches away, but my voice is still bitter when I answer. “God left a calling card on the McDonald’s drive-through window. Apparently I’m the only one who thinks a divine message at Mickey D’s is weird.” Gabe’s eyes are wide, but he waits for me to finish. “Emmet’s pissed I’m not ready to jump on the holy sign bandwagon. He says I don’t believe in anything.”
Gabe hesitates a moment too long. Great, just freaking great. He agrees with Emmet, doesn’t he?
“You’ve never been shy about your feelings,” Gabe says tentatively. “Not about God or church or any of it.”
And there it is. The mountain we’ve been ignoring for the past year. The preacher’s son and the newborn atheist. How can our friendship possibly work, let alone anything else between us?
“You never talk about God when I’m around,” I accuse. Maybe Gabe doesn’t bother spouting gospel at me because he’s not sure there’s anything in me worth saving. The thought hurts more than Emmet’s words in the car.
Gabe shifts, fingers worrying at the ends of his backpack strap. “It’s not like I talked about God all the time before …” His voice trails off.
“Claire. You can say her name, you know.”
“You were so angry when she died. I didn’t know what to say. And then you stopped going to church and snapped at anyone who even mentioned God in passing. I didn’t want to hurt you more or shove my beliefs on you. If you want to talk God, I’m ready to listen or share or whatever. But just because I believe in Him, it doesn’t mean you have to as well for us to be friends.”
“Doesn’t it?” My voice is half pleading, half angry. The warning bell rings, but I ignore it, eyes locked on Gabe. Around us, the other kids hurry to class, clutching books and shooting us sideways looks.
“No. We’re friends for a hundred different reasons. Because you punched Wayne in the face when we were kids. Because we used to camp out in the backyard. Because I helped you steal Mrs. Henderson’s underwear off the wash line and put it on Maybelle’s fat old basset hound. Because being friends doesn’t mean you have to be the same. Because you’d stand between me and a grizzly bear if it came to it. And I’d do the same for you. We promised to always be there for each other.”
“We were ten when we said that.”
“I don’t break my promises.”
Mr. Rayburn, our history teacher, marches down the hall, herding a trio of boys ahead of him. “Gabe, Del, warning bell already rang. Get to class.”
Gabe and I share a quick glance, tabling the conversation for now. I grab up my bag and we fall into step with the guys: Kevin Pierce, Wayne Hissep, and Neil Clover—all jocks and members of the unofficial boys’ smoking club. I’ll bet Mr. Rayburn caught them sneaking a cigarette in the parking lot.
Gabe nudges my arm as we approach
homeroom. “I want to hear all about the holy drive-through. It’s embarrassing being the last one to know. I’m supposed to have connections! The way Wendy tells it, I should be on God’s speed dial.”
I’m still feeling shaky but I appreciate the peace offering. “Okay. But if we get caught passing notes, you’re explaining my detention to Ken.”
Despite Gabe’s burning need to know about the McDonald’s incident, we don’t actually pass notes in homeroom. Neither of us is that crazy. Mrs. Winnacker has evil superpowers and can sense a note being passed from fifty feet away.
I should work on my algebra homework, but I can’t concentrate. Two religious signs this close together can’t be a coincidence. Someone must be faking them. I flip to a fresh page in one of my notebooks and begin jotting down a few names: Pastor Bobby, Andy, Wendy, Mr. Henderson, Ken. Each of them had opportunity and any one of them could be behind the whole thing. I’m not sure why they’d be faking miracles or how I’ll prove which of them is doing it, but a suspect list is a good place to start. I can figure out motive later.
My phone, a little Nokia with a postage stamp screen, vibrates in my pocket, distracting me. With Mrs. Winnacker glowering at us, I don’t dare check it. Later, in the hallway, I flip open my phone and an image pops up—a blurry picture of the McDonald’s drive-through window. The message is from Wendy with the caption “Another miracle!” and a smiley face.
I may need to move Wendy higher on the list.
I hold my phone out for Gabe to see. “Clemency’s latest miracle, courtesy of Wendy.”
During lunch, Carly Harmon joins us at our table. She’s had a crush on Emmet forever and occasionally she chats with me in an effort to get closer to him. Her tactics are way off. My brother doesn’t consult me for dating advice. As far as I can tell, if it has two legs, a cheerleading outfit, and a high-pitched giggle, Emmet will date it.
Carly’s not on the cheer squad and thus out of luck. Today she’s wearing a sparkly silver tank top and super-tight jeans. I think her outfit’s supposed to make her look older but it’s more like she raided Hooker Barbie’s closet.
“Did you hear about McJesus?” Carly asks, breathless.
Gabe grins at her. “McJesus? That was quick. Took them at least a day to come up with a name for Baby Cheesus.”
Carly pouts. “You already know.”
“Yeah, Del saw it this morning.”
Carly’s eyes widen and she gives me her full attention. “Was it really the face of God? I heard it appeared in a ray of light and that people who saw it knelt down and started praying. A real live miracle. Not a factory defect like some people are saying about Cheesus.”
“I didn’t see a magic ray of light. It was just a splotchy white image.” I scowl down at my chicken nuggets.
Carly’s enthusiasm dims and she leans close to Gabe, her shoulder brushing his. “What do you think?”
I narrow my eyes. Is she making a play for Gabe? Maybe she finally got the memo that Emmet’s not interested. I dig my nails into my palms so I don’t shove Carly off her seat. Gabe can do much, much better.
“I’m going by after school,” Gabe says, oblivious to Carly’s sudden interest. “Sounds like it’s worth a look at least.”
“I’d love to—” Carly begins, but Wendy sweeps up to our table with Trish and Anna trailing behind her and Carly falls silent. Just in time. I’m certain she was going to ask Gabe to take her with him. One more word and I’d have been forced to start a food fight with Carly. The cafeteria chicken nuggets are hard enough to qualify as lethal weapons.
“I heard you saw the miracle this morning,” Wendy says, smiling at me.
I stare accusingly at Gabe. “Did you tell everyone?”
“Not me!” He holds up his hands, playing innocent.
“Emmet told Kevin the two of you stopped at McDonald’s before school,” Wendy says.
Ah. My big-mouthed brother. Well, it’s not like this is a state secret. I sigh. “Yeah, we saw it. I was just telling Carly.”
Wendy bounces in place. “I told you there were miracles happening!” Her voice is gleeful. I guess she’s not pissed her daddy doesn’t have a monopoly on so-called holy relics anymore. Unless he buys the window from Mr. Henderson. Maybe that’s his master plan and he’s planting miracles so they can’t be directly linked to him. Then he just buys them afterward. Wendy continues, “I want to know everything! Brandy Park was there and she says her twisted ankle was healed. What did it feel like standing next to a divine image?”
“Crowded,” I mutter, still distracted by my new theory.
Wendy frowns. “Don’t be flip. This is serious. There’s a sort of energy when you stand next to Baby Cheesus, this amazing feeling of calm and peace. Was the window the same way?”
“I honestly didn’t notice.”
“What did you notice?” Anna demands in a snide voice.
“A lot of camera phones. A lot of people. Window with some white stuff on it. It wasn’t very divine if you ask me. I mean, why would God be hanging out at McDonald’s? It’s not exactly last supper material.”
Wendy huffs out a breath. “You were front and center at a miracle. You’d think it would’ve made more of an impression.”
It’s making an impression now. Wendy could be orchestrating this whole thing. She’s been pushing the idea that Cheesus is a miracle from day one. And she was the first to report a miraculous healing, even if it was utterly ridiculous. Plus her dad is benefiting from Baby Cheesus, winning the church wars for the first time in forever. Wendy is such a daddy’s girl, I bet she’d think faking the miracles to help out St. Andrew’s is just being a good daughter.
“Del’s not easily impressed,” Anna says.
“I don’t believe every story I’m told,” I agree.
“But you saw it—” Wendy starts.
Gabe cuts in. “Anyone have a clear picture of the window? The only one I’ve seen was small and blurry.” Nice distraction. Full points to Gabe.
Wendy fishes an iPhone out of her purse, taps it a few times, and then holds it out to Gabe. “Brandy took that this morning.”
Carly and I lean forward, peering at the phone as well. The white image on the glass is hard to make out. In person, the image resembled a face. On Wendy’s phone, it looks more like a dancing bear.
“Isn’t it exciting?” Wendy burbles. She returns the phone to her bag and beams at us.
I’m definitely moving her to the top of my suspect list.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Easy as ABC
Emmet peels out of the parking lot the moment I slide into Rust Bucket after school. I scramble to pull on my seat belt and sigh. The Delgado civil war continues; guess he hasn’t forgiven me for this morning’s argument.
Rust Bucket slows as we pass the McDonald’s.
Outside, a news crew is setting up. One man balances a camera on his shoulder, while an older guy with a beer gut to rival Ken’s is busy checking a clipboard. Ten feet away, a pretty redhead fusses with her hair and checks her makeup in a tiny compact. She’s dressed in a blue suit with a pencil skirt that definitely didn’t come from the local Walmart. The three of them look as out of place as a herd of cows in the school gymnasium.
A white van with the ABC logo splashed across the side sits near the restaurant’s front doors. I guess the red curb with no parking painted on it doesn’t apply to reporters.
“Wanna check it out?” I ask.
Emmet makes a snorting noise under his breath, but pulls into the lot. A news van in Clemency qualifies as free entertainment. We park and get out without a word.
Claire was our peacemaker, navigating the fights and arguments over the years and negotiating terms of surrender. Without her, our arguments can stretch on for weeks. I wonder how long this one will go?
Other cars are pulling into the lot as well. Inside the restaurant, a few patrons stare at the news crew, their food forgotten. There’s already a handful of people forming a semicircle on the sidewa
lk. Emmet and I join them.
“Lucy,” clipboard man calls, glancing impatiently at the redhead and motioning her over.
She frowns but puts away her compact and takes a few steps closer. “Ready to shoot?”
Clipboard man shakes his head and checks his phone. “Margie hasn’t been able to reach the preacher. I want shots of the other supposed miracle as well.”
“I can get pickup footage here,” the cameraman says, “and we can interview some of the locals. That will take time.”
Clipboard man nods. “Okay. Set up inside. Manager has the window behind the counter on a stand. We’ll shoot an intro next to the register.”
The news crew heads inside, and like marionettes pulled on strings, the crowd follows behind them, Emmet and I shuffling along as well.
A minute later the redhead beams and tosses her hair back as she looks into the camera. “This is Lucy Ralston, reporting from tiny Clemency, Texas. Residents were startled this morning to find what some are claiming is the face of Jesus on a drive-through window at McDonald’s. Two weeks ago another religious image, the figure of baby Jesus, was spotted on a cheese wheel from a local convenience store. Is God at work in this little town? Many residents believe so.”
There’s a pause and then clipboard man says, “That’s good, Luce. Let’s run it through one more time, I want to hear that smile in every word. Jim, make sure you get a good shot and as Lucy’s winding up, zoom in on the window. I want a clear picture of the face. Shooting again in 5 … 4 … 3 …” Clipboard man falls silent, holds up two fingers, then one, and finally points at Lucy.
Lucy runs through her speech again. And then again. Meanwhile, more people join the crowd behind us, trying to see what’s going on. A short while later, the TV crew starts interviewing Mr. Henderson.
While Lucy Ralston smirks and Mr. Henderson extols the virtues of fast food and divinity, clipboard man gets on his phone again. His frown deepens as he listens and barks out short one-word answers. When he puts the phone away, he looks as though someone put pepper in his coffee.