He remembers my birthday is next month?
“My sister.”
I don’t talk about Waverly much with him. For one, I know he doesn’t care and for another, he doesn’t like getting-to-know-you chats.
“I’d been waiting for her to graduate from high school, and she did a few weeks ago. Just waiting for the right time.”
“You’re scared.”
“I am not scared.”
“You’re terrified. Your parents have brainwashed you into thinking you’ll never survive in the outside world,” he sneers. “That’s exactly what they do. That’s how they control you. They paralyze you with fear.”
“If I were so terrified of the outside world, would I have agreed to all this? Would I have handed my virginity to some strange man in exchange for a salary and a few pretty things? Would I move Heaven and Earth to ensure my family believes wholeheartedly that I sit in a cubicle all day? Does that sound like a girl who’s afraid to take a giant leap of faith into the unknown?”
“Then jump, Bellamy, before I’m forced to push you.” He straightens his posture and lifts his brows. “Because one way or another, I’m getting you out of that situation.”
So he does care about me…in his own way.
“I appreciate your concern.” My palm faces toward him. “Believe me when I tell you it’s going to happen. My sweet sister is a bit naïve, and she still eats from the palm of my father’s hand. Convincing her to come with me is going to take a bit of work on my end.”
“Then I suggest you get busy. You never know when the day will come when your entire life is turned completely upside down,” he says. “And I’d hate for your sister to be blindsided by something horrid all because you were waiting for the right time to show her the light.”
He has a valid point.
“I’ll talk to her tonight. I’ll plant the seed. I’ll feel her out,” I say. “We have to dress up for this dinner, so I’ll bring it up when we’re getting ready.”
“You have to dress up for a family dinner? Is that a normal occurrence in your household?”
I stare off to the side. “No. We’re having company. A guest from out of town.”
“Fuck, Bellamy. You know exactly what’s going on.” He pushes a weighted breath through his flared nostrils. “Two young women? Single? A visitor from out of town? Your family is putting you both on the auction block.”
My stomach churns and tiny beads of sweat line my forehead.
“Back on the compound,” he says with a choke in his voice. “That’s what would happen right before one of my sisters would get married off. A man would come to dinner. Then a week later, she was gone. Married off.”
***
“You know what’s going on, don’t you?” I ask Waverly as we face the bathroom mirror. I slick on a couple coats of mascara, leaning forward and examining my eyelids for smudges.
Waverly irons a large curl into a strand of her sandy hair and rakes her fingers through it to loosen it up.
“No, I don’t. Care to enlighten me?”
I have to test her. “No. I’m asking. You know what’s going on?”
“Of course not,” she huffs.
“Something’s up.” I click open a blush compact, my hands trembling as I reach for the brush.
“Obviously,” Waverly says.
“Last minute dinner guest… Us being told to look good…”
“Maybe it’s someone from the AUB? Dad’s always trying to get on their good side. They don’t like that he left the old community and moved us all here.”
It’s true. He’s been desperate to redeem himself ever since we relocated.
“Could be a friend from work,” Waverly continues, ironing another section. “Maybe he’s just being sociable. I heard there were secret poly families all over Whispering Hills.”
I can’t stand her naivety a moment longer. The girl was born with sunbeams shooting out of her backside, but real life’s about to smack her upside the head.
“Stop being so naïve, Waverly. He’s trying to marry us off.” I squeeze my compact until I feel the satisfying click in my hand and place it on the counter.
“You don’t know that.”
“It’s the only logical explanation.”
“Dad wouldn’t do that. I’m going to Utah in the fall.” She turns to me, combing her fingers through her curls one more time. “You’re twenty-two. You’re done with school. Aren’t you just waiting to be–”
“No.” I know damn well what she’s implying, and I cut her off before she brings up the whole Cortland debacle. She swore left, right, and sideways never to speak of him again, but this conversation could easily head in that direction. “We should get downstairs. I’m sure they’re waiting.”
***
The guest at the head of the table next to my father is Bruce Waterman, one of the seventy quorum members in our local ward. That wouldn’t mean much to most people, but tonight, my parents flit about like we’re hosting the President of the United States.
Bruce wears a crooked smile, and is tall and bony with gray in his hair and a gaudy gold wedding band wrapped around his left ring finger. My father takes great pride in introducing us all and spends the rest of the dinner with his lips glued to Bruce’s backside.
He says all the right things. Quotes all the right doctrines. Brags about teaching moments and how proud he is that his children are walking in the light.
I try to tune most of it out, pretending to be somewhere else as I push the roast chicken and vegetables around on my plate. I can’t eat.
On several occasions, I catch Bruce staring at Waverly, and then I catch Waverly staring at me like I’m about to fall prey to some grave misfortune. Our sympathies are clearly misaligned tonight.
My father suggests we all head into the family room after dinner, even giving my mothers permission to clean up later so they can join us. I take the big leather chair in the corner, away from the dog and pony show.
“Waverly,” my father calls out. “Why don’t you show Bruce here that lovely hymn you play on the piano. You know the one. Father Is My Favorite Friend.”
“Aw, I was hoping for Take Me to Church.” Jensen moans under his breath. He sits on the leather sofa, assembling a puzzle with one of the twins. I’m half tempted to ask him what he thinks of all this, but I’m quite certain he doesn’t give a shit about any of it. In fact, he’s probably mildly entertained by it.
I stifle a smile, simultaneously ignoring and appreciating his dig.
Waverly takes a somber stride to the piano, sitting at the bench and lifting the lid. Her fingers splay across the black and white keys, and her posture zips upward. I glance at Bruce, who’s grinning ear to ear as he watches her, and then my eyes snap toward my father, who’s watching Bruce observe Waverly.
The whole thing is bizarre.
“Bellamy.” Dad turns around and calls me. “Come. You can sing while Waverly plays. Waverly, can you two do Thy Servants Are Prepared for our guest here?”
A faint groan settles in my chest as I peel myself up from the chair.
Dad flashes a huge smile at me. I’m sure it’s an attempt to remind me not to let him down. “Bruce, I don’t think you’ve been formally introduced yet to my eldest. This is Bellamy, my firstborn daughter. She’s twenty-two.”
Bruce gives me a wide grin, and I focus on his overlapping front teeth. His gaze is sticky. It lingers. I’d love nothing more than to wash it off of me.
“All right, Waverly,” Dad says. “We’re ready.”
My sister plays the first few bars and glances at me just before it’s time for me to come in. We’ve done this number dozens of times at church. We have it memorized. But it’s different now. We’re not doing it as a form of worship, and that makes it dirty.
When the song ends, Waverly shuts the piano lid and stands next to me. Neither of us can look Bruce or my father in the eye.
“Waverly, you’re a beautiful pianist.” Bruce steps closer to my si
ster, reaching for her hand. I want to knock him down, push him to the ground, and tell him not to touch her. “Your father tells me you’re a virtuous, yet spirited girl.”
Yeah, she’s just a girl. Leave her alone.
Bruce clearly has his sights set on my younger sister. Perhaps he picks up on her naivety and picks up on my resistance. She’d be an easier bride. Less defiant.
He’s preying on her; that’s what it is.
“Waverly, can you quote Article Thirteen of the Articles of Faith?” Bruce asks.
“Yes,” she says, her voice a forced whisper. “We believe in being honest, true, chaste, and in doing good for all men.”
“Good, good.” Bruce’s thin lips coil up at the corners, his voice snakes and slithers into the air around us. “And you, Bellamy?” He addresses me, but he still looks at Waverly. “Are you chaste and true?”
“I am.” Lying to a corrupt church member feels oddly fulfilling. I refuse to meet his gaze.
“Excellent.” Bruce comes closer and places his palm on my sister’s shoulder, his eyes drifting back and forth between us. “You young ladies are the future of our faith. It’s up to you to set good examples for your younger sisters, to follow out on the path that has been lain before you by your mothers and grandmothers. It’s up to you to remain true to your Heavenly Father and the doctrines by which we are governed.”
In the midst of the strangeness, my thoughts travel to Dane.
He makes me feel like I can take on the world. He gives me an inner strength, encouraged perseverance, and a heavy determination. No one’s ever given me those things.
I pretend he’s whispering into my ear, reminding me of my strength, giving me that final push.
“Someday soon, you will be married,” Bruce says, releasing my shoulder from his grasp. “These are trying times we live in. Temptation is everywhere.”
My father’s gaze travels between Bruce’s face and Waverly’s.
Bruce clears his throat. “The priesthood typically does not promote marital arrangements, however, the option to choose your partner is one that must be earned by staying pure and true.”
He smiles as if to soften his message that is clearly directed at my sister. The pieces of the puzzle click together in that instant, confirming everything I suspected.
My father wants to marry my sister off.
This is the first step in the process. I’m sure Bruce Waterman will go home tonight, make a few phone calls, put out some feelers, and report back to my father with a prospective husband willing to take on an eighteen year old “spirited” girl.
Disgusting.
“I’m not feeling well.” Waverly presses her hand against her forehead. “I need to go lie down.”
“Waverly.” Dad tilts his head, jutting his lips out. “You’ll be fine.”
Our mothers are quiet, watching from their perches on the sofa across the room as the children play quietly.
“Excuse me.” Waverly pushes past Dad and Bruce and runs upstairs. No one’s going to stop her because no one will dare cause a scene in front of Bruce.
“Young women,” my dad says with a chuckle. He’s clearly humiliated. She’s going to receive his wrath tonight.
Dad leads Bruce into his study, presumably to show off his collection of heirloom Bibles and several antique copies of the Book of Mormon. I take it as a sign that I’m off the hook, and I head into the kitchen to clean up.
My moms follow.
None of us say much beyond, “Can you pass me a dish rag?” or “Can you reach that for me?”
An hour or so later, I catch a glimpse of my father walking Bruce to the door. They step outside for a moment and as soon as my father returns, headlights from Bruce’s car light our driveway as he pulls out.
Dad doesn’t say much. He marches straight upstairs. When I head up a little while later, I spot my father leaving her room. I’m sure he laid into her for embarrassing him, and judging by the fact that he completely ignores me as we pass in the hall he’s still seeing red.
I knock on Waverly’s door. “Can I come in?”
“Yeah.”
“You all right?” I slip into her room and shut the door.
“Of course.”
Her eyes are misty, and I don’t believe her for one second.
“Obviously you’re not,” I say, perching on the edge of her bed. “That Bruce guy was a creep.”
She nods. “He was. Do you think Dad wants him to marry one of us?”
Something like that.
“I hope not. Dad always said we could pick our own husbands,” I say, not wanting to terrify her just yet. I have to ease into this with her.
“Dad also said I could go to college if I got a scholarship, and he changed his mind about that.”
“Seriously? Are you sure?” I pretend not to know.
“That’s what he said tonight.”
So he finally told her.
I draw my legs up on the bed, wrapping my arms around them. “Dad’s changed lately. But so have you.”
Right now I need for her to see the big picture.
“What are you talking about?”
“I don’t know. Ever since Jensen came around, there’s been a change in you. If I’ve seen it, you can guarantee Dad’s seen it too.”
“What does Jensen have to do with anything? He’s our brother, Bellamy.”
“Kind of.” I examine my nails. “Not really…”
“You’re imagining things.”
Yeah, like the shutting of doors in the middle of the night and the pad of footsteps between their rooms when the rest of the house is asleep…
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. No one said anything was going on between you two.” I tread carefully, not wanting to put her on the defensive as this is clearly a sensitive subject matter for her. I know I sure as hell wouldn’t admit to having a thing for my stepbrother. “I’m just saying, you’re different now. It worries Dad, so he’s looking into ways to…deal…with that.”
By marrying you off…
“Different how?”
I rattle off several examples. The way she looks at him. The way she spends extra time readying herself in the morning. The stolen glances. I’ve noticed it all, even with my nose buried in my phone half the time.
“So you think that’s why he invited Mr. Waterman over?”
“That’s my fear. Just be careful, sis. Tone it down a notch. Maybe keep your distance from Jensen for a bit?”
She sits cross-legged at the head of her bed, cupping her chin in her hands.
Life just got real for my little sister, but on a positive note, the seed has been planted.
THIRTY-ONE
DANE
If I were a romantic man, I might appreciate the fact that I’m boarding a private jet with the most beautiful woman in tow. She’s wrapped in a cashmere pashmina the color of lambs’ wool, hidden behind oversized sunglasses, and her lips are kissed in red.
She’s the epitome of elegance and grace, and she’s trembling like teacup Chihuahua.
I take her hand, leading her into two leather chairs. I typically take the window seat, but the view of the clouds might help soothe her nerves until we reach our cruising altitude, and the champagne begins to flow.
To the flight attendants buzzing about, I’m sure we look like a contented couple headed for a honeymoon getaway.
“You’re going to be fine, Bellamy.”
She slides her bag under her seat, dragging her hand along her soft wrap. A push of air passes her bright lips, and she nods. “It’s exciting. I think that’s it. I’m more excited than nervous.”
I reach for her hand and bring it to my lips, depositing a reassuring kiss as the jet staff handle last minute preparations. She watches it all, taking it in like it’s the most fascinating thing she’s ever seen.
I tug on my sleeve to reveal my timepiece. “We should touch down in about three hours. Did you get the itinerary Marlene sent?”
Bellamy nods. “Yep. We l
and at four. We’ll check into the hotel. Dinner at eight. The conference will be Saturday. All day. Then we fly back Sunday morning.”
The captain’s voice comes over the intercom. Within seconds, we begin to taxi to the runway. When the plane comes to a complete stop and the jets fire up, Bellamy reaches for my forearm, digging her nails into my flesh.
The plane pushes forward, faster and faster, the momentum shoving us back against our seats. Thirty seconds later we’re in the air, climbing higher until we rise above wispy clouds and the acres of trees and land below us look like earthen quilt squares.
When the captain announces we’ve reached forty-one-thousand feet, a flight attendant makes her way toward us with a tray of champagne flutes. I take them both, handing one off to Bellamy.
“Should we toast?” Her excitement is almost contagious, and her ruby-stained mouth is spread wide.
“Sure.” I tilt my glass to her. “To Bellamy’s initial plane ride. May it be the first of many.”
We clink and sip, and she turns to gaze out the little oval window. When she tucks her hair behind her ears, I notice she’s wearing the champagne earrings, which is good. I need a reminder of the nature of our partnership because every time I’ve looked at her this morning, a warm fullness spreads across my chest.
“What’s this restaurant you’re taking me to tonight?” she asks. “I packed that coral dress you like. The strapless one.”
Her eyes dance into mine the way they always do when she seeks my approval. The woman loves to dress for me.
“A friend of mine owns a place in downtown Nashville. We’re getting the private tour and a seat right in the kitchen.”
Bellamy’s face lights. “That’ll make for a fun date.”
Her fingers lift to her mouth and her gaze falls to her lap.
“It’s not a date,” she says. “I didn’t mean to call it that. I’m sorry.”
“You can call it a date,” I say. “But it doesn’t mean we’re dating. It just means I’m treating you. Rewarding you for coming with me.”
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