Faking Faith

by Josie Bloss

  Asher cringed at my tone. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I think anymore. I saw how people lived out in the world and sometimes … sometimes I just want to leave this house. So badly it hurts. Just take off and change my name and never look back. But … they’re my family. This is where I’m from. And these things that they believe, about how we know the truth and the rest of the world is wrong and sinful … I mean, that’s how I’ve been raised. That’s in my brain.”

  “But people don’t always end up believing exactly what their parents taught them,” I said. “Everyone has free will to—”

  “It’s not a faucet I can turn off,” Asher interrupted. “It’s not a button I can push when I decide I’m done believing. It’s my faith.”

  I stayed silent, biting my lip. I had no idea what to say to him, afraid that if I said too much of what I really thought, like I’d done with Abigail, he would just shut down and dismiss me. And who was I to declare that his faith was wrong?

  “So tell me about him,” Asher said.

  “Who?”

  “Your boyfriend. What’s his name?”

  “Well, he’s very much my ex-boyfriend. And his name was Blake.”

  “Blake,” Asher said, like it was a bad word.

  “He wasn’t the nicest guy,” I admitted. “Actually, he’s basically your polar opposite.”

  “Oh?” said Asher, giving me a half smile. “How’s that?”

  “He’s selfish and cruel,” I said. “He uses people … well, in particular he uses girls … and never feels bad about it.”

  He ruined my life, I wanted to say. But then Asher would ask why, and I’d have to tell him about the pictures. And things were going so shockingly well that I couldn’t end it yet. Even though I knew he’d eventually find out the truth.

  “Why did you ever go out with him, then?” asked Asher.

  I shrugged. “He’s really cute and popular and I’m … not. And in my school, that’s not something you really turn down, you know? Someone higher up on the social scale deciding they like you, or whatever. Or at least I couldn’t turn it down at the time. I … I guess I wasn’t strong enough. I was basically willing to give up everything for him.”

  “Are you strong enough now?”

  I thought over the past dark months of my life, when it felt like I didn’t have a friend in the world and that it was all my fault. Scuttling through the halls and hiding in my room, attached to my computer where I pretended to be someone completely different. Would I be strong enough to walk away from someone like Blake now? Someone who swept in with manipulative words and smiles and tried to take over my life?

  I looked over at Asher. “I think I would be. At least, I hope so.”

  He put his arm around me and drew me close, which completely surprised me. He knew most of my terrible lies, and he still wanted to touch me.

  “I think you know for sure, Faith,” he said, his warm hand running up and down my spine like he was bracing me.

  “Dylan,” I corrected.

  “I mean, I think you know, Dylan,” he said, with a small laugh. “I think you’re better and stronger than that. I think you’re amazing.”

  I leaned my head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat and savoring the moment. It was maybe the last moment I’d ever have with him.

  Because then a harsh voice broke the darkness.

  “Well. Just what is going on here?”

  It was Mr. Dean.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Asher and I both froze in terror.

  “Son, what are you doing laying hands on that girl?” Mr. Dean asked, his voice shaking.

  We stepped away from each other quickly and looked at Mr. Dean. Even in the dim barn light, I could tell that his face was bright red with anger.

  “She … uh … uh … ” Asher’s stutter seemed to act up under stress.

  “Uh uh uh,” Mr. Dean said mockingly. “Speak up like a man, please!”

  I watched Asher’s shoulders slump and he pursed his lips together.

  “I was upset about leaving,” I said, trying not to sound too confrontational. “Asher was just being nice and comforting me.”

  Mr. Dean turned on me, looking so hostile that I took a step back. “When I want to hear you speak, little girl, I’ll ask you to say something. Otherwise, just shut your mouth!”

  I felt myself shrink, stunned from being talked to so harshly. It felt like the bullies at school. It felt like Blake.

  “Don’t talk to her like that,” Asher said.

  Mr. Dean turned on him. “What did you just say?”

  “I said, don’t talk to her like that,” Asher replied. “Sir.”

  “So you’re in charge around here now, telling people how they ought to talk? Is that it, Mr. Uh Uh Uh?” taunted Mr. Dean.

  Asher started to look panicky, his face reddening like his father’s.

  “That’s what I thought,” said Mr. Dean. “You have no guts to back up what you say. Always took after your mother’s side, a bunch of weaklings. So, what, you still think you’re some sort of Casanova out here, sinning with this poor little girl? After what happened the last time? Haven’t you learned anything, boy?”

  God, I hated the way he dismissed me like that, like I was a small child. Like I didn’t count for anything.

  “Mr. Dean,” I said. “Please don’t blame Asher. It was all my fault. I was out here and—”

  “WHAT DID I SAY BEFORE?” he yelled, and I took another step back. I was crushed against the barn wall now. “Your father must not have a very good hold on you, if you go around interrupting men when they’re talking!”

  I wanted to leave, to get away from this black hole of anger, but I couldn’t abandon Asher to face him alone.

  “Dad, I want you to stop yelling at her,” Asher said firmly. “Right now.”

  Mr. Dean looked at him for a moment, then began to walk forward, his hand raised.

  “What did you just say?”

  “I … I … I said stop yelling at her,” Asher repeated, holding his chin up defiantly. They were the same height.

  “That’s what I thought you said. Apparently you have forgotten your place.” And Mr. Dean slapped him hard, right across the face. Asher spun halfway around, clutching at his cheek, silent.

  I couldn’t help it. I let out a cry, clapping my hand over my mouth.

  “And if you were under my control, girlie, I’d do the same to you,” Mr. Dean said to me. “It’s a good thing you’re leaving tomorrow, because you’re trying my patience. Now both of you, get yourselves inside. I will not stand another minute of this rebellion.”

  I watched Asher, my fists clenched, hoping he wouldn’t follow his father’s commands. Hoping he would stand on the spot and tell Mr. Dean to go to hell.

  But, without looking in my direction, Asher started walking toward the house.

  “Asher?” I called after him.

  Mr. Dean grabbed my upper arm, his fingers steely. “Get moving, miss,” he said.

  I glared at him and shook my arm out of his grip. “Don’t touch me, you creep,” I said. “Or my mom will sue you.”

  Maybe his kids were afraid of him, but I wasn’t going to let a controlling old woman-hater like Mr. Dean tell me what to do.

  Mr. Dean looked surprised at my sass, but I didn’t stick around to see what he’d do next.

  I ran to catch up with Asher, who was already halfway to the door.

  “Asher, listen, you don’t need to—”

  He turned toward me swiftly, his eyes hard and full of tears.

  “Please don’t make it worse for me,” he whispered. His cheek was puffy and all I wanted was to put my hand on it.

  “But you know that you can leave at any—”

  “Please, Dylan,” he said softly. “I’m not strong like you.”

  As Mr. Dean stalked up, Asher held the screen door open, politely. “After you, Faith.”

  . . .

  Abigail was lying propped up in bed reading h
er Bible when I got to her room. I could see that she’d been crying; there was a box of tissues on the bed next to her.

  I sat down on my bed, trying to calm my racing heart.

  She took a deep breath that was really more of a prolonged sniffle and looked at me. “So, did you tell Asher?”

  I nodded.

  “And? How did he take it?”

  “Surprisingly well, I guess, considering,” I replied.

  She laughed a little. “That’s Asher. So willing to forgive. I told you that he really adored you.”

  I shrugged, embarrassed and unwilling to show I believed that one way or the other.

  “But we didn’t get to talk for very long and there was a lot more to say,” I said. “Your dad found us out there. While we were, um, hugging.”

  “Wow,” she said, her eyes wide, shutting her Bible and putting it on the bedside table. “I’m sure that didn’t go over well.”

  “Nope. It’s probably a good thing I’m leaving tomorrow. For a variety of reasons.”

  “Yes, I suppose it is,” she replied with tiny smile. “But, you know, if the Lord wants you and Asher to be together, then … ”

  “Right,” I said. “If it’s meant to be, it’ll somehow happen, I guess.”

  We sat in silence for a minute, lost in our own heads. I thought about what I could say to this girl who suddenly knew me so well. Even some of the deep, dark layers of me that I’d tried to hide from her for all these months. And I knew some of her deep, dark layers too.

  “So, I guess I should tell you congratulations,” I said.

  Abigail closed her eyes. “Don’t.”

  “But isn’t that what people say when other people get engaged?”

  “I already know what you think,” she said. “You don’t have to act like you’re thinking anything else. And we’re not engaged yet, anyway … it’s a courtship.”

  I rolled my eyes as I stood up to start changing into that hideous nightgown for the last time. She was full of it, trying to downplay the significance of what was happening.

  “I don’t suppose there’s anything at all I could say that would change your mind?” I asked, yanking the nightgown over my head so hard that some of the seams crackled.

  “No,” she said.

  I sat down on my bed, feeling frustration bubbling over in me, urging me to say inflammatory, hurtful things.

  “What if I told you about my real life back home, where I don’t have to cook and clean and I’m free to do whatever I want, up to and including not getting married to some jerk and becoming his broodmare when I’m eighteen? And about how someday I’ll have a career, hopefully doing something I enjoy, that I’ll contribute to the world. And maybe I’ll get married and have kids or maybe I won’t, but it will be my choice about when that happens and under what circumstances.”

  I knew I was just being cruel, but now that everything was out in the open, I couldn’t stop myself from going at it with every weapon at my disposal.

  Abigail closed her eyes even tighter, scrunching her nose. “No,” she said. “That doesn’t change anything.”

  I sighed and looked at her. “How about if I tell you that I think you’re meant for so much more, Abigail,” I said, feeling like I might start to cry soon. Either cry or punch through a wall with my bare fists. “How you’re smart and funny and beautiful and you care about people, and you’re way too good to just get tied down, this young, to a jerk like Beau. You’re too good for this whole stupid place.”

  “ ‘Charm is deceitful, and beauty is vain, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised,’ ” she said, her eyes still closed, as if looking at me would give my words some validity.

  I took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then let it out. And I knew I had to stop.

  Abigail had made her choice, and there was nothing else I could say to try and convince her. As much as I wanted her to jump up and suddenly proclaim that she’d changed her mind, that she wasn’t going to let her life happen to her, that she was going to fight, I knew she wouldn’t.

  So I got underneath the covers and then reached over to turn off the lamp.

  I lay there and breathed for moment, calming myself.

  “Okay, one last thing,” I said, and heard her sigh in exasperation. “Just one thing and then I’ll shut up, I

  promise.”

  “Fine,” she said. “What?”

  “If you ever need help—if you ever need to get away somewhere and you feel like your family wouldn’t understand or let you come back here—even if you just need to take a little break,” I said, “you can call me. Anytime. Day or night, I don’t care if it’s ten years from now. Whatever the circumstances. And I will come get you.”

  There was a long moment of silence, and I began to think she was just going to ignore me. Maybe she was thinking about how if she were in trouble, the absolute last thing she’d do is call on some crazy girl who’d lied her way into the Dean household and whose naked pictures were plastered all over the Internet.

  But then I heard her take a shaky breath.

  “Thank you, Dylan,” she said in a small voice. “I’ll remember that.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  I was packed and ready to go early the next morning. I felt like I’d come to terms with the situation, and that as long as I could say one last goodbye to Asher, I would be okay with leaving.

  But when I went down to breakfast, Asher wasn’t there.

  As I helped Mrs. Dean cook eggs for the last time, she gave me a little nudge with her hip.

  “Daddy told me about what happened last night with you and Asher over by the barn,” she whispered. “Don’t you worry, Daddy’s all bark and no bite. And I’m sure he was just mistaken about what was going on.”

  Maybe Mr. Dean had omitted the fact that he’d hit Asher when recounting the story to his wife. Since that would definitely qualify as a bite.

  “Oh,” was all I could think of to say. “Okay.”

  “I’m afraid we made some mistakes while we were raising that boy. He was just such a willful child,” Mrs. Dean continued in a low voice. “And he doesn’t quite have a handle yet on how to be an honorable man. I’m very sorry if he took advantage of you in any way, Faith, and I hope you won’t think badly of us when you leave.”

  I blinked at her, stung on Asher’s behalf.

  “He didn’t take advantage of me,” I said. “Whatever happened wasn’t solely his fault. I like him a lot and think he’s a great guy. I had as much to do with what happened as he did.”

  Mrs. Dean turned to look at me with a shocked expression. “Well, goodness! Perhaps it’s a good thing you’re leaving, then. Although it wouldn’t matter anyway, since Daddy took Asher away early this morning.”

  I dropped the spatula I was holding onto the stove and eggs splattered.

  “What? Away? To where?”

  Mrs. Dean looked at the stove with an annoyed expression, dabbing with a towel at the mess I’d made. “To stay with some of our family in Georgia. They have a job for him down there on their farm and he can work hard and reflect on his sins,” she said. “We should have done it long ago. He needs to get his head straight, Faith. As do you, it seems.”

  “But … ” I said. I couldn’t believe I wouldn’t get a chance to see Asher one last time, that my last memory of him would be his dad hitting him, that we wouldn’t have a chance to process what had happened between us. I didn’t even have a phone number or an email address for him.

  How could it just end like this?

  Mrs. Dean shoved some plates at me. “It’s all in the past now, praise God!” she said in her little girl voice.

  . . .

  After breakfast, I said goodbye to all the little Deans. They crowded around me and looked up with solemn faces, while Abigail and Chastity watched with their arms linked.

  “You’re the funnest teacher we’ve ever had,” said Jed, and I laughed.

  “But I didn’t teach you anything!” I said, rufflin
g his hair and irrationally wishing I could take them all with me. Just load up the whole Dean brood and install them in my basement back home. “You guys taught me a lot more, you know.”

  “Still,” Jed said, and sighed. “It was fun having someone new around. We never meet anyone new.”

  . . .

  Mrs. Dean drove Abigail and me into town so I could catch the bus.

  I craned my neck around for one last look at the farmhouse. I couldn’t believe it had been barely ten days since I’d first seen it, riding in the truck with Abigail and Asher, experiencing the dawning realization of what I’d gotten myself into. It felt like years since then.

  “I’m sure your mother will be happy to have you home,” Mrs. Dean said cheerfully. As I expected, she’d simply glossed over our interaction in the kitchen earlier, as if it had never happened. “You must be such a nice little helper to her.”

  I thought about my house, how cool and dark it was and how rarely my mom was even there. I thought of Scottie always in his room, and Dad always down in his man-cave in the basement. How even when we went on vacation together, we always ended up doing our own separate things. Sometimes it just felt like we were strangers thrown into the same family.

  Despite the many faults of the Dean family, I had to admit they did do some things so much better than my own family. They ate together, and talked to each other, and spent nearly all day working alongside each other. At the very least, all the Dean kids knew what their parents believed and what was expected. While so much of the time, with all my freedom, I felt lost.

  Someday, I thought, when I have a family of my own, I’m going to try and do it better than any of them.

  “I try to be a good helper,” I said to Mrs. Dean. “But I might not be as big of a help as I could be. It’s hard sometimes.”

  “We all have our trials and shortcomings,” she said kindly. “As long as you pray and remain faithful, God will show you what you need to do.”

  “Right,” I said. “Of course.”

  We were all silent for a few minutes as the car bumped over the rutted gravel road.

  “Thank you both for having me,” I said. “I’ve learned so much.”