by Rena Olsen
“That’ll be lunch ready,” Nancy said. “Margot made meat loaf.”
The Reverend squeezed my hands once more and then relinquished them to Bryce, who took one and tucked it into his elbow. “You did good,” Bryce said, leaning down to whisper in my ear. “Meeting the Reverend can be a little intimidating.”
I nodded my head, shaking off the feeling of awe. “He does have a presence.”
Bryce’s eyes twinkled. “That’s an understatement. It’s why he’s so successful.”
By then we were at the beautiful dining table. Bryce pulled a seat out for me and took the one next to it, to the right of the Reverend. Nancy sat on the other side, across from Bryce.
“We thought it would be nice just to have a small lunch with Julia today,” Nancy said, and I looked down the long table, wondering how many people usually joined them after church. “We really want to get to know you,” she said, turning to me. She noticed my glance and explained, “The table is often full after services. It’s our way of giving back and really getting to know the members of the church. Margot, our cook, prepares enough to feed an army every week.”
As if she heard her name, a slim woman dressed neatly in a knee-length black skirt and a white blouse appeared through the swinging door that I assumed led to the kitchen. She was lovely, perfectly pressed, her shining brown hair falling to her shoulders, framing her heart-shaped face set with large brown eyes. There was a skip in her step as she brought out the serving dishes, and I thought I heard her humming as she went about her work.
“Good afternoon, Reverend,” Margot said, her tone respectful. “I enjoyed service today. I hope you’re hungry.”
“This smells great, Margot,” the Reverend said. “Where’s Joseph? Isn’t he helping serve?”
“He got caught up,” Margot said. “But it’s no problem. I’ve got it.”
“Do you need help?” I offered without thinking. The tray Margot was balancing seemed almost too large for her, though she handled it with ease. Margot’s wide smile faltered when I made the offer.
“No, dear,” Nancy said from across the table. “You’re the guest. We wouldn’t dream of imposing.” I was surprised at the edge to her voice, but when I looked over, her expression was as pleasant as ever, and I decided I must have imagined it.
“Precisely,” Margot said, smile back to full wattage. She set the tray on the table and went back for more. It took her four trips to bring all the dishes out, and then she came back to fill the water glasses. No one else spoke up to help her, but she continued to hum as she worked. She removed the lids from the food with a flourish, and when the steam cleared, a colorful and mouthwatering array of food waited. And then she was gone.
The Reverend cleared his throat. “Why don’t I pray?” he said, and we all bowed our heads. After the prayer, Bryce patted my knee under the table and began piling food onto my plate.
“You might be wondering, Julia, why we didn’t offer to help Margot.”
I feigned surprise at the Reverend’s observation, though there was nothing surprising about it. We had all been witness to my failed attempt to help, and the tension afterwards obviously wasn’t just my imagination. “I’m not sure what you mean, Reverend.”
“Making us Sunday dinner is one of Margot’s Acts of Service. You see, we’re all given gifts, things that we can do to bless others, and it’s a blessing to us to use those gifts. Margot has been given culinary gifts as well as hospitality gifts, and she generously shares those gifts with us a few times a week. When one of our members is performing an Act of Service, we don’t step in. It is theirs to attend to, and trying to step in would be an insult to their work for God.”
My cheeks heated again. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I had no idea.” It seemed a little odd to me, not to be allowed to help someone out, because that in itself seemed to be an act of service . . . What if my Act of Service was to help others with theirs? When I posed this question, the Reverend laughed.
“You have a thinker here, Bryce,” he said. “I like that. Questions are good, especially at the beginning, as long as you understand that there comes a point where it just has to come down to faith.”
We spent the rest of lunch in easy conversation. I asked a couple more questions, but soon the conversation steered to me and my life. The Reverend was very interested in my family and my job.
“Bryce was telling us that you’re doing quite well at your job these days.”
I shot Bryce a look, and he shrugged. “We talk a lot.”
“He may have exaggerated,” I said, laughing. “But there have definitely been some good things happening. My boss is giving me some more responsibilities, and I’m hoping to get a chance to move out of an assistant position sometime in the next year. I’d love to have more of a hand in actual marketing and design work.”
“That’s all fascinating,” Nancy said. “You know, I work with some of the ladies on our outreach teams. Perhaps you could help us with designing logos and event materials.”
“Nancy,” Bryce said, warning in his voice. “This is her first time here. Give her a chance to get acclimated before you pull her in and put her to work.”
“Best way to get involved is to dive right in,” Nancy said, unapologetic. “She’s clearly skilled in this area. And it could be fun.”
Bryce started to say something else, but I interrupted. “It does sound fun,” I said. “I’m definitely open to helping out sometime, maybe after I’ve come a few more times?” I tried to appease both Bryce and Nancy, unsure who I wanted to impress more.
Nancy looked at me, her gaze piercing, for several moments, and then nodded. “Of course. I can introduce you to some people next week.”
That wasn’t exactly a few times, but she wasn’t talking about dragging me down this week, so I counted it as a win. Conversation moved on to family, and I learned that the Reverend and Nancy had never had children of their own.
“We’ve always felt that this church is our child, that all the people who go here are our legacy. And then along came Bryce.” The Reverend looked at Bryce like a proud father. “He’s as much of a son as we could have ever asked for. More, in fact, than we could have dreamed of.”
I looked at Bryce. The matter of his family was still a bit of a mystery to me, but I was relatively certain that he wasn’t adopted. “When did you guys meet?”
The Reverend leaned back in his chair. “Hmm. Must have been . . . eighteen years ago? Nineteen? Bryce was just a scrawny little troublemaker back then. Nothing like the impressive young man he’s become.” The Reverend’s eyes glossed over, and I felt for a moment that he was no longer with us, that the Bryce he was seeing wasn’t the one whose hand rested on mine between our plates, but the boy he’d been when their paths had crossed for the first time.
Bryce cleared his throat. “Enough about that,” he said, voice almost too bright, fake. He was clearly uncomfortable, and while I felt for him, I was also incredibly curious about what his life had been like before the Reverend and Nancy came into it.
Before I could follow any of those lines of thought, I found myself being pulled to my feet. “I’m going to take Julia on a tour of the grounds, Reverend,” Bryce said. “I pointed out the main parts of the building earlier, but I think she’d really love your gardens.”
“Excellent plan,” the Reverend said. “Joseph should be in to clean up soon, and by the time you get back we’ll be ready for afternoon tea.”
“Okay,” Bryce said, and then he was pulling me toward the beautiful French doors and out into the sunlight.
* * *
—
Stunning. It was the only word I could think of to describe the gardens that Bryce and I strolled through in the afternoon sun. Rock paths snaked through seemingly endless swaths of greenery. Benches offered rest along the way, but Bryce and I continued walking. It was like an entirely diffe
rent world, and I could hardly believe this existed in the middle of the city. It was the suburbs, but still, it was an oasis in the middle of a bustling area. It was impossible to even hear traffic.
After a while, we settled into a swing on a gazebo somewhere in what I assumed was the center of the garden. I sat close to Bryce, and his arm curled around my shoulders. We didn’t even pretend to be formal anymore. I laid my head on his shoulder and sighed.
“This has been an incredible day, Bryce. Thank you.”
“You’ve been incredible,” he said. “You fit in so easily. With the church people, with the Reverend and Nancy . . . It’s like you’re meant to be here.”
His statement pleased me so much that I decided not to bring up my many faux pas from the day. If what he wanted was to remember me fitting seamlessly into his world, who was I to argue? Besides, as he said it, I realized how much I wanted it to be true. I wanted to be part of this world, part of this church family, part of Bryce’s family. It was like they possessed some secret that I simply had to know. I wanted to stay here, learn more, soak it all in. I remembered the feeling I had during the sermon, and then again after church with Jenny and her group. If I could be that comfortable all the time, I wanted to be a part of it.
“I can’t believe places like this exist in the city,” I said, meaning both the garden and the church.
“You can always find a place to belong, Julia. You just have to know where to look.”
I thought about my workplace, how I didn’t quite fit there, but then remembered that I was finding my way. And my family fit together as effortlessly as Bryce fit with the Reverend and Nancy, though we had maybe a little more drama. I was sure there was drama here, too, but I enjoyed the fact that I knew nothing about it and didn’t even have to think about my own drama.
My family would like it here, too, I decided. A place with so many wonderful people and groups would be right up their alley. I wondered if they had any sort of couples counseling program or study for Kate and her husband. Maybe they could finally talk things out.
I realized I was being fairly optimistic about life in general, but I found that I liked it. I spent my life being pessimistic and expecting the worst from people, especially after everything with Jake. Being in this church, being in this place, being with this man . . . it made me reconsider how I saw the world, and I liked the way it felt. It was hopeful, happy. Maybe the joy I saw in the Reverend, in Bryce, in so many of the people I’d met today . . . maybe it was attainable for me as well.
Bryce broke me out of my reverie when he landed a soft kiss on my forehead, and gently showered kisses along my jawbone. I raised my face to meet his, and I stopped thinking about anything aside from Bryce for quite some time.
The library is his retreat when the tree house can’t be, on days like today, with a violent storm surging outside. Fortunately, the pouring rain also discouraged the group of boys from following him home. He wonders if they have any hobbies other than tormenting him. If only they knew that their harassment was more like being tickled with a feather compared to the horror he lives in every day. Last week they changed tack and split up, cornering him by the old barn. He laughed as they struck him, and eventually they stopped and backed away. He was sure they thought he was mentally unstable, but that was okay. He grinned at them through his swelling eyes, blood flowing freely from his smashed nose. And he laughed some more. They ran then, but were back the next day, stalking his steps through town. They didn’t learn. He’d received the switch for the bloodstains on his shirt, but he separated from the pain, floated out of his body, imagined the looks on their dumb faces to soften the sharp needles over his back.
Most of the time in the library he spends studying. The only way out of this town and this life is by getting a scholarship or being good at sports. Even then, most of the sports “stars” peak in high school and come back home to live with their parents before moving next door, or down the street, destined to stay put for the rest of their lives, unable to hack it outside the bubble of small-town life.
He is different. Once he can leave, he’ll never return. For anything.
Today, a stranger lounges in one of the chairs in the reading area, rustling the newspaper as he turns the pages. The man is well-dressed, his clothing clearly not from the Happy Mart or any stores of that ilk. And he reads the paper as if he’s truly analyzing it, not just looking for quotes to pull out to sound smart at the bar this weekend. The boy is intrigued. Strangers don’t come here often, and they rarely spend time in the library. Maybe at the café, just off the highway, which boasts of the best apple pie since Granny made it, but even then few are willing to venture into the grungy interior to test the food.
He watches the man for a while, and then goes back to his studies. His skin feels itchy, like he’s being watched, but every time he looks up, no one pays him a bit of mind. It’s the same feeling he gets when one of the horde are lurking, too afraid to approach him on their own, but keeping tabs just in case the rest of the group shows up. He shifts in his chair uncomfortably.
After a time, the man folds his paper and gets up to leave. He passes the boy with the barest of nods in his direction, and is gone. In his absence, the itchy feeling dissipates, and the boy wonders if the paper was the only thing being analyzed.
Chapter 8
I was still mulling over my visit with Bryce’s family the next day at work, processing all the interactions even as I worked on a presentation for Elaine. The positivity from the visit hadn’t exactly dissipated overnight, but I found myself craving more, while still feeling the effects of my time with the Reverend and the church family. I was excited at the prospect of learning more and spending more time with the people who attended there. At the same time, I was nervous that no matter how much I wanted to fit in, or how much Bryce’s influence helped, I still wouldn’t be able to find my place. Many parts of me clung steadfastly to the beliefs I’d developed while I was with Jake. Every time that optimism surged, especially when I was with Bryce, Jake’s voice barged in to tamp it down, to remind me that I wasn’t worth the effort and that they’d all figure it out soon enough.
My family had never really attended church growing up. We’d go with grandparents on the holidays, but it wasn’t a big part of my life. When we did go, I mostly remembered having to wear uncomfortable shoes and sitting on hard pews and listening to an old man drone on and on. And while I got the idea behind Communion, which we seemed to do almost every time we visited, it always weirded me out that they talked about it like flesh and blood. When I was with Jake, even the occasional visits stopped because he staunchly refused to set foot in a church. He was a proud atheist and got frustrated when I wouldn’t renounce all things religion. It wasn’t that I believed or didn’t believe. I just didn’t know, and I wasn’t willing to put my foot firmly on either side of the fence I had become so adept at balancing on.
After yesterday, I was teetering.
It still seemed too good to be true. The simple faith that the Reverend and Bryce and Nancy all shared. And Jenny and her Bible study. It was like they knew a secret, something that filled them with light, and I desperately wanted to know what it was.
“Hey, earth to Julia.” I became aware that Micah was hissing at me in a loud whisper. “You’ve been staring at that slide for like ten minutes. Elaine wanted it by five, right?”
Crap. I’d been doing so well at balancing, but I was incredibly distracted. I decided to try the prayer thing the Reverend had talked about, and sent up a quick missive for focus on my project, with a plea at the end for Elaine to love it enough to continue giving me more responsibilities.
At 4:30, I hit send on the presentation and pinged Elaine through our messaging system to let her know it was on its way. I stood and stretched, shocked at how much time had passed. I’d been so focused that I’d forgotten to stop for lunch. My stomach grumbled as I pulled out my phone and headed for the
break room.
Dinner tonight?
The text was from Savannah and I typed out an affirmative response. I’d gotten a couple of texts from Bryce that day, but I knew he was helping with a project at the church that night. He hadn’t invited me to help, but maybe I should have offered. I hoped they didn’t think less of me for not offering, but I also didn’t want to step on toes, especially given the response when I’d tried to help Margot the day before. Besides, some girl time would do me good. Savannah attended church regularly. Maybe she could give me some insight into my experience.
* * *
—
We met at a tiny café that had been a favorite throughout our college years. We used to come to Sankofa to study, since it was open all night. All they asked was that patrons buy something every hour or so if they were using the electricity and Wi-Fi. They had a pretty good selection of sandwiches, and when I walked in and inhaled the scent of coffee and pastries, I was transported back to our undergraduate days, when the most pressing concern was the quiz in Medieval Lit that neither of us had studied for.
Van already had a table, a tiny round number on rickety legs, surrounded by mismatched chairs. I was half convinced that Sankofa just picked up their furniture from the side of the road, as new things appeared frequently and old things disappeared, probably broken by an overenthusiastic football player treating them like they were sturdier than they actually were, but the entire aesthetic worked well.
“I ordered you a BLT and chips,” Van said as I sat down. “My treat.”
“You didn’t have to do that, V,” I said, gingerly lowering myself into a metal chair with spindly legs that I wasn’t sure would hold a cat, let alone my body. I breathed a sigh of relief as the chair only groaned slightly and then settled in. “I could have gotten it.”
She waved a hand. “I know, but I wanted to treat. It’s been too long since we’ve hung out just the two of us.”