Cheesus Was Here

by J. C. Davis

  “The preacher’s secretary said he’s filling in for the chaplain at Central Point Hospital in Petersville. She won’t let us see the cheese wheel without him there.”

  “Are you talking about my daddy?” Wendy’s chipper voice breaks in from behind me. I twist around to find the blonde brigade and a dozen other kids from school pressing close. Just visible at the back of the new scrum of people, I can see Gabe’s curly brown-blond hair.

  Wendy elbows her way forward, not even noticing me as she shoves past. She stops in front of clipboard man. “You were talking about Pastor Stevenson, right?”

  Clipboard man nods slowly, and then breaks into an ingratiating grin. “Any chance you can get us in to see the miracle cheese?”

  Wendy pulls out her phone and makes a show of finding her dad’s number. “Of course,” she purrs. She pauses a moment with the phone pressed to her ear. “Daddy? Yeah, everything’s fine. There’s a news crew asking to see Baby Cheesus. Can I take them over to the sanctuary?” Another pause. Wendy’s face falls. “But I’ll be right there.” She wheedles for a while longer before tucking the phone back into her purse with a sigh. “Daddy says he’ll be back at five. If you want to wait, he’ll take you to see Baby Cheesus then.”

  Clipboard man glances at his watch and scowls.

  Lucy Ralston taps a foot and glares at him. “I have dinner plans, and they don’t include the local chicken shack.”

  Clipboard man straightens and glares back at her. “We can run some more interviews with locals and shoot intro shots around town. Let me call Bob and make sure he’s fine with the delay.”

  Lucy throws her hands in the air. “It’s a two-minute segment, Carl. We have enough footage, don’t we, Jim?” She turns to the camera guy but he shrugs, refusing to commit.

  “This could be picked up by the main network,” Carl says. “It’s the sort of human interest piece they like to run. Might even make it onto the CNN homepage. If we need it, I want the additional footage. Those bastards at CBS aren’t scooping me again.”

  Lucy tilts her head, eyes widening. “You think it could go national?”

  Carl nods. “Human interest,” he repeats.

  Lucy fusses with her hair again and straightens her perfect skirt. “Who do we interview first?”

  Wendy takes a tiny step forward. “I can tell you all about Baby Cheesus.”

  She launches into a description of the cheese wheel and how her dear cousin Andy first found Baby Cheesus. Blah, blah, blah. But a moment later, Wendy says, “And not only has Baby Cheesus brought our congregation together, it’s also brought my cousin back to the church, which is a whole other miracle in itself.”

  My eyebrows shoot up. Since when is Andy attending services? It’s not like we braid each other’s hair and swap secrets, but Andy and I chat between shift changes. Wouldn’t he have mentioned being roped into St. Andrew’s again?

  Lucy wraps up her interview with Wendy and her eyes land on me. I drop my scowl, but not quickly enough. “We should get an opposing viewpoint. What about that young lady?” Lucy points a red fingernail at me and my heart drops.

  Wendy laughs nervously. “Del’s shy. She doesn’t want to be on TV.”

  Suddenly, Del wants very much to be on TV. Nobody gets to speak for me, especially not Wendy. “I’d love to be interviewed.”

  Lucy beams. I swallow hard and hope I’m not making a huge mistake. We deal with the formalities first, my name, age. Then Lucy launches into her questions with a look in her eye that’s disturbingly similar to a piranha being tossed a steak dinner.

  “What do you make of this sudden miracle mania, Del? Do you think God is sending a message to your town?”

  “I think it’s a load of crap.” There’s an audible gasp in the crowd. “I mean, seriously? Two miracles so close together? That’s fishy. Plus, what’s with the food thing? If God was going to send us a message, wouldn’t there be a burning bush or something?”

  “How do you explain the cheese wheel and this latest appearance?” Lucy asks. She’s trying to be earnest but can’t hide the glee in her voice. She wants drama and I’m delivering in spades.

  The camera guy pans away from my face and sweeps the crowd, recording their reactions. I take a quick glance as well. There are a lot of glares aimed my way. I might need a police escort out of here and possibly a stint in the witness relocation program. But I’ve already pissed everyone off so I might as well keep going.

  “I think someone’s faking them.”

  Another gasp from the crowd, louder this time.

  “That’s a serious accusation,” Lucy says.

  I shrug. “It’s the best explanation.”

  Wendy can’t contain herself anymore, she shoves forward, stopping beside me. “Del’s just joking. Of course the miracles are genuine. Anyone can see that. There have been several spontaneous healings. I personally got over a very serious illness after praying beside Baby Cheesus.”

  Lucy quirks her eyebrows and Wendy babbles on, stepping in front of me. While the news crew is distracted, Emmet grabs my arm and drags me several feet away. People part to let us pass like I’m coated in skunk spray, all wrinkled noses and pained expressions.

  “Are you crazy?” Emmet demands. “What were you thinking saying that stuff to a reporter?”

  “I was thinking someone needs to start using their brain around here and asking a few questions.” I yank my arm free and glare at my brother. “It’s a free country, I can say what I want.”

  Emmet growls under his breath. “You are dumb as a rock if you believe that. All you’ve done is make a lot of people mad. The whole town is going to turn against you if you keep acting like this.”

  “Let them,” I snarl. Before he can lecture me anymore I shove past him and lose myself in the crowd. A couple people try to stop me, reaching out as if to grab my arm, but I brush past, keeping my head down.

  I run headlong into someone and reel back. Strong hands catch me before I can fall.

  “Hey, easy,” Gabe says.

  I stop struggling and melt against his chest. “Please tell me you brought the Taurus.”

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  The Taurus actually belongs to Gabe’s dad, but Reverend Beaudean lets Gabe drive it whenever he wants. Thank goodness he has the car today. He pops the locks and I dive inside. My backpack is still inside Rust Bucket, but I can grab it later. We’re quiet for several long minutes while Gabe maneuvers out of the parking lot. The tension gets thicker with every second.

  “That was pretty intense,” Gabe says, finally.

  “Yeah.”

  “Not sure that was the smartest move, though.”

  “Not you too!” I snap, swiveling in my seat to face Gabe. Unbelievable. “So, what, I’m just supposed to bow down at the altar of the holy cheese? Just go along with everyone else because that’s the easy thing to do? Pretty sure we watched a video about this in middle school. It’s called peer pressure and it’s a bad thing.”

  “Whoa, don’t bite my head off.”

  “I’ve already listened to one lecture from my brother, I don’t need one from you.” The car stops at a red light and before Gabe has a chance to say anything else, I fling my door open and get out. “I can walk. Thanks for the ride.”

  The door slams on Gabe’s response and I storm off. I glance back once and Gabe is still sitting there, even though the light has turned green. He’s staring after me with his mouth slightly open, hands slack on the steering wheel. As if I’m the one talking stupid and not him. Not the smartest move. Where does he get off? I can’t be the only one who thinks there’s something weird about these miracles. I figured analytical super-nerd Gabe would at least consider the possibility.

  Gabe’s supposed to have my back no matter what, not side with Emmet. Everyone is turning on me, the town, my brother, and now my best friend. A dozen times today, I thought about sharing my suspect list with Gabe. I’m glad I didn’t.

  CHAPTER TWELVE


  Saint Claire

  Just before dinnertime, Mom emerges from her room and stumbles downstairs in her Everything Store vest. She hasn’t bothered to put her hair up and her eyes are puffy and red-rimmed. There’s a tissue clutched in her hand and she keeps tearing off little pieces with her fingers, dropping them like confetti on the floor.

  She pauses on the last stair and I watch her warily from the kitchen doorway.

  “Hi, sweetie,” Mom murmurs. Her voice sounds waterlogged and hoarse.

  “Did something happen? Is Dad okay?” I demand, a surge of fear squeezing my throat.

  “What?” Mom’s eyebrows lower and she shakes her head. “No, everything’s fine. I haven’t heard anything from your father so I’m sure he’s all right.”

  “Okay.” I draw the word out, slow as a bad Wi-Fi connection. Her shirt is buttoned up wrong and only tucked in on one side. She’s wearing one navy sock and one black sock. My mother, even in the midst of Claire’s many medical crises, has never looked anything less than put together and calm. Yeah, she’s a virtual stranger these days and does her best to avoid Emmet and me like we’ve got the plague, but she’s never been a slob. The woman standing in front of me now is an utter mess. Clearly something is wrong, even if she’s not willing to say what it is.

  Oh no. Does she have cancer too? Emmet? These things can be genetic, right?

  “You could tell me if something was wrong, you know,” I say, trying to pretend panic isn’t dancing a hula in my stomach.

  “I’m just being silly,” Mom says with an unconvincing laugh. “Maybelle called again, about the McDonald’s drive-through. I keep thinking, if only this had all happened last year, maybe it would have made a difference. Maybe the miracles would have helped Claire.”

  “That’s why you’re crying? Because you think some painting on a window could’ve fixed Claire?” My voice shakes.

  “That cheese wheel and the window are miracles, Del. Of course they could have helped her. They just came too late.” Mom wrings her hands together, looking ready to cry again.

  “They’re both fakes. They have to be,” I snap.

  Mom gives me a sympathetic smile, hands twisting together. “I know you’re hurting, honey. I understand. But turning your back on God isn’t the answer.”

  “He turned his back on us first,” I fire back.

  Just then the front door opens and Emmet strolls in. He makes it two steps into the entryway before stopping and looking between Mom and me. “What’s going on?”

  Mom ignores the question, eyes locked on mine, face bewildered. “Why are you acting like this?”

  “I’m not acting like anything.”

  “What’d you do now?” Emmet accuses, frowning at me. Of course he’d immediately take Mom’s side, even when he doesn’t know what side that is. She’s ignored him for months, but let her give him a scrap of attention and he’ll heel like a good little boy. No, thank you. I have more pride than that. All her talk about us being a family again, about Saturday night dinners and spending time together, such crap. Look how quickly that fell apart.

  “I didn’t do anything except point out the obvious,” I snarl at Emmet. “God didn’t send that cheese wheel or the McDonald’s window. Don’t you get it? He doesn’t care. He’s not tossing out miracles like candy. It’s all a stupid hoax and I’m the only one who sees it.”

  Emmet groans. “Are you still going on about that?”

  Fury at Emmet and my mom has tears scalding my cheeks, but I shove them away with the back of my hand.

  Mom looks tiny and sad. “You girls were so different. Your sister always believed with her whole heart and you always questioned everything.” Mom gives a hiccupping laugh. “I couldn’t drag you to church now if I had twenty horses and a strong length of rope. But Claire never missed a service; even in the hospital she always asked for the chaplain on Sundays.”

  “That’s bullshit.” The words drop like bombs between the two of us. Emmet moves toward me but I back away from him, still focused on Mom. “You don’t even know who Claire is anymore. Maybe you never did. Stop pretending she was this perfect angel.”

  “Del!” Mom’s face is crumpling in on itself, a black hole of grief and pain, but I can’t stop.

  “The real Claire was a whiny brat who stole my dolls and drew on their faces.” Emmet tries to interrupt but I give him a dark look and barrel on. “She hated having cancer and being sick. She was pissed at the world. She was pissed at God.”

  “Stop it,” Emmet whispers. His eyes are so wide, pleading with me.

  All the words I’ve been holding inside come crashing out.

  “You act like you owned Claire, Mom. Like you’re the only one who’s allowed to miss her. She was my sister. And she wasn’t perfect—she didn’t have to be. It’s like you think her life isn’t worth anything if she wasn’t this amazing person. You know what?” I spit the words like scorpions, stingers raised. “Claire was ordinary. Not beautiful. She was a lousy singer. She had no fashion sense. She drew on the walls and had smelly socks. She wasn’t the one calling the chaplain in every hour in those last weeks, that was you. I am so tired of the myth of Saint Claire. It’s like having her die all over again listening to you make up stories about her. I can love Claire without her being perfect. Why can’t you?”

  Tears stream down Mom’s face, and Emmet rushes to her side, pulling her into a hug.

  “How can you say those things about your sister, Del? Why are you doing this?” Mom sobs.

  Emmet squeezes Mom tighter and looks at me like I’m pond scum. “Happy?”

  “Everything I said is true, whether you want to hear it or not.” My words fall flat with only the ghost of defiance left in them. But I don’t regret anything I said. I don’t. I bolt past Emmet and Mom, heading for my room.

  At my dresser, I pause and stare at my reflection. My eyes are too bright, my cheeks flushed apple red. I will never be my mother’s perfect, dutiful little girl. I can’t compete with Claire’s ghost.

  Claire’s death wasn’t graceful and neither was she. She raged and screamed and kicked. She was a bitch and furious with the world for stealing her life. She was real. And in the end, she wasn’t singing songs and telling the world she loved them. She probably left this Earth flipping it off.

  I don’t know. I wasn’t there.

  I was at home because there had been two weeks of last nights. How was I supposed to know this really was the last one? That I’d never have a chance to take back the things I said the last time I sat beside my sister?

  I say she was flipping the world off, but that’s how I want to picture her. In the end, Claire was in a coma, just a body occupying space. All that rage and temper and life drained away and left a shell behind. One night she stopped breathing and left me for good.

  Right up until the end, my parents were convinced that one more prayer session would fix everything. Even now, all Mom can think about is how everything would be different if these so-called miracles had shown up early. As if Baby Cheesus and that drive-through window are anything more than a stupid prank taken way too seriously by our nutso town.

  Emmet, that ass-kissing traitor, hates having to go to church every Sunday with the team, no matter what he tells Mom. At least I’m honest about not knowing what to believe any more.

  I kick the side of my dresser. Pain shoots up my leg and it feels good. Real. I kick the dresser again and again.

  “Del!” Emmet stands in my doorway, glaring at me. “What the hell?”

  “Don’t act like you care.” I flop back onto my bed. My foot throbs in time with my heartbeat, too fast.

  “Why are you acting like a psycho?” Emmet braces a hand against the door, still standing in the hall. He hasn’t been in my room since Mom moved Claire’s stuff out.

  “Why aren’t you backing me up and telling Mom those miracles are fake? Because maybe you didn’t notice, but it sure looks like crazy town from where I’m sitting. I mean, Jesus at the drive-through?
Come on!”

  “Maybe the miracles are God’s way of showing us Claire is okay, that she’s with Him.” Emmet sounds as lost as Mom and it just makes me angrier.

  “She’s dead and everyone still acts like she’s the center of the universe. Not everything is about Claire. Some jerk is faking miracles, probably because he thinks it’s funny. End of story.” I roll over and press my face into my pillow, smothering a scream.

  “Stop throwing tantrums just because nobody buys your ridiculous conspiracy theory. Grow up, Del.”

  I sit up so quickly my head spins and I fling my pillow at Emmet. He dodges it and sneers, “You’re hurting Mom by acting like a crazy bitch. Get it together.” Emmet doesn’t wait for my response, just slams the door behind him. The walls shudder with the force of it and I expect my door to come crashing in, all dramatic. But it remains in the frame. I want to hurl my dresser at the wall and smash everything to pieces, have a real tantrum like Emmet accused.

  Instead, I lie back on the bed and stare at the ceiling, thinking about the miracles and how much they’re screwing up my life.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Just Like Scooby

  There’s a knock on our front door later that night, close to nine o’clock. Mom left for her shift hours ago, and I heard Emmet leave shortly after—probably off drinking at a stupid pasture party with his friends. I’m still pissed over the fight earlier but my urge to kick the furniture has faded.

  I open the door to find Gabe fidgeting on the doorstep.

  “Hey,” he says. He looks ready to dive for cover. Can he see the signs of the fight with Mom reflected in my face?

  “Hey.” I back up a step and Gabe smiles tentatively, coming inside.

  “Wasn’t sure you’d let me in.” He hunches his shoulders and I stare at him for a moment before remembering I left him sitting in the middle of the road at a stoplight. It feels like a week ago instead of a few short hours. After everything with Mom and Emmet, Gabe’s comments in the car seem trivial.