“No one did,” Judith said. “Most of the people in the pews were just checking yesterday’s scores on their phone.”
Chris nodded. “Welcome to Philly.”
Jesus tilted his head to the side. “Are the homeless always aggressive here?”
“Pretty much. Did you—?”
Jessica shook her head to discourage any questions on the subject, and Judith went a step further, making a cutting gesture across her neck. Keeping Jesus from handing over all their cash and credit cards to the brazen homeless who asked for them had been a full-time pain in the ass since the moment they’d entered the city limits.
Chris took the hints and changed the subject. “It’s late. Why don’t I show y’all your rooms?”
They deposited Jesus in a guest bedroom, where he flopped face-down on the full-size mattress and groaned, and Judith had the door shut and locked behind her in another bedroom before Chris could explain that the women would have to share.
“It’s been … a little much spending all day every day together,” Jessica explained. “I can sleep on the couch.”
“No, no. You can have my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
The obvious solution hung unsaid between them for a moment until Chris nodded at her Dos Equis. “You’re empty.”
Pizza arrived twenty minutes later, and once Jessica delivered a few slices to each of the guest bedrooms, she and Chris settled into his living room to relax. She looked around the space as he folded his third slice so he could down it faster.
Philadelphia was a strange town, but maybe she only thought that because it was new. Maybe she could get used to it. And this decor wasn’t what she would choose herself, but it did feel like being inside Chris’s head, and that wasn’t such a bad place to be. She’d been inside his dreams plenty of times, and she’d generally enjoyed it …
“There’s something I need to tell you in person, Jess.”
She turned her attention to him and noticed he’d stopped eating pizza. This was serious. Was he thinking about what she’d been thinking about? “Yeah?”
“That commercial. I’m so sorry. I really thought I was helping, but I lost control of the script, and I don’t know what they did in the editing booth—”
The commercial? Oh right. “Don’t worry about that. I know you meant well.”
“Wendy, man. She tore me a new one.”
“Sorry about that.”
“I wish she could’ve done it to someone else and I could have just watched, ya know? That woulda been hot.”
“Is your arm tired?”
He blinked. “Huh?”
“From carrying that torch for so long. You could just hire her as your publicist. You know that, right?”
By the squint of his eyes, he hadn’t yet considered it.
“I have something to apologize for, too,” she said. “I didn’t believe you when I should have. About Mrs. Thom—About Dolores Thomas. The Devil.”
“Oh, that.” He waved it off. “You don’t have to apologize.”
“I do. I have to apologize to you and… and so many other people, really. I always took her side. I dismissed so many people’s complaints, just explained them away. I don’t know why I did it, either. I don’t know why I felt loyal to her.”
“I do. She was nice to you. She protected you. Jess, you really can’t blame yourself for this. I know I don’t. Sure, she threatened me when I was five years old and it’s always stuck with me, but that’s not your fault. She’s evil. In the literal sense.”
“You told me, though, and I didn’t believe you. I thought you were overreacting. I thought Brian Foster was just being his usual cynical woe-is-me self. And I … I wanted her to be my mom. Instead of my actual mom being my mom. How fucked up is that?”
To his credit, he paused to consider this last bit. “Pretty fucked up. Because your mom is awesome. But again, not your fault.”
“That doesn’t make any sense, Chris. I did something fucked up, but it’s not my fault?”
“Exactly. She got you young. And she was the only one telling you that you didn’t have to do this hard, overwhelming thing. Of course you wanted to be her daughter. She was giving you exactly what you wanted. That’s not love, just manipulation. But when you’re a kid, you don’t know the difference.”
“I believed in her until I was in my twenties, Chris.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, I dunno what to tell you. We’re still idiots. I’m just a twenty-three-year-old idiot, and you’re a twenty-two-year-old idiot.”
She laughed and felt the knot of guilt inside her loosen. He had a point. For whatever reason, she’d always thought she should be smart and know everything already. She’d thought that since she was young. But she would never expect another teenager to know anything, let alone everything. “I guess some things never change.”
“And some do. You have.”
She squinted at him. “What do you mean?”
“You’re stepping up now. You’re not trying to hide away and pretend you’re average. You don’t want Mrs. Thomas to be your mother anymore. You’re doing things.”
She sighed. “It doesn’t feel that way. It feels like I’m just biding my time until the Devil or Eugene Thornton or Jimmy Dean knock me on my ass again.”
“Yeah,” he said, “I get that. But have you noticed that every time you get back up you’re smarter and stronger? Nah, of course you haven’t noticed that. But I have. I’ve noticed it.”
She clutched her beer bottle between both hands. “You think I can do it?”
“Never a doubt in my mind.”
“Do you even know what I mean by ‘it’?”
“Not a clue. But if anyone can do it, it’s you. You got God on your side. And Destinee’s shotgun.”
“Thanks, Chris.”
He reached for another slice, realized the box was empty, and switched it out with the one stacked beneath it. “Speaking of Jimmy, what’s the latest with him? He’s awfully quiet lately.”
“Probably just busy mitigating the pigfucking scandal.”
Chris shook his head. “That doesn’t sound like him.”
“No,” she admitted, “it doesn’t.”
“Think he’s got something up his sleeve?”
“Always.”
“He ever marry that girl?”
“Emily?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t think so. They’re just engaged.”
“It’s kind of romantic, if you think about it.”
She eyed him closely. Was that a joke? It didn’t appear so. “It’s Stockholm Syndrome, Chris.”
“Doesn’t mean it can’t still be a little bit romantic. I mean, think about it from her perspective.” He gestured with his folded slice. “She gets to be with the man she’s idolized since she was a teen. That’s gotta feel good.”
She cringed; she couldn’t help it. “I guess I hadn’t thought about it like that. But those feelings are being influenced by all kinds of manipulations.”
He shrugged and took a swig of his beer to aid in his chewing. “Aren’t all our feelings subject to outside influence? You remember Romeo from the Mexicans?”
She was vaguely aware that in any other context, this would seem bizarrely offensive. But in this specific context, having played football for the Mooremont Mexicans, it was just the mundane kind of offensive.
“Of course.”
“He came down here a couple months ago and we had lunch. He’s hitched now, married a woman who looks exactly like his mom. Exactly. Same first name, too. They even wear the same perfume. But he adores her and she adores him. You can’t tell me his romantic feelings weren’t also influenced. But does that make it bad? He’s happy.”
“Fine, I see your point, but there’s no way Emily is happy with Jimmy. Just no way. I can’t imagine a scenario where he’s not cheating on her, and he’s a complete fraud—”
“But what if she is? What if she is happy?”
The question almos
t tripped her up, but she found her footing again. “It doesn’t matter because she’ll eventually be miserable. She’ll catch on, realize what’s been happening to her, and she’ll split. She’ll be angry at herself for sticking around for so long and wasting years of her life with him.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I can’t live in Philly, Chris, and you can’t live in Austin. Nothing’s changed about that.”
He made the transition seamlessly, only confirming her suspicion that this conversation had never been about Emily. “Will you ever be done? Once God is a woman, once you do that whole peace thing, will your job be done?”
“I have no clue. I don’t”—she pulled back, deciding now wasn’t the time to mention her doubt of surviving such an undertaking—“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“And when you’re finished,” he said, “you could move. Or whenever I retire, I could. I miss Texas so much it hurts. They don’t say ‘y’all’ up here, and their Mexican food sucks ass. And it gets cold in the winter.” He exhaled in a rush, deflating and hanging his head. “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t keep doing this. I could never ask you to move up here.” He finished off his beer and stood. “You sure you don’t want the bed?”
And now there was no question of them sharing it. “No, couch is fine.”
He carried the pizza boxes into the kitchen, and then a moment later his bedroom door shut behind him and she was left alone.
TALK ABOUT A STRIKE OUT.
Chapter Eighteen
Jessica ran as fast as her feet would carry her. Chris stayed in lockstep next to her despite his ability to outpace her if he wanted. The zombies weren’t far behind. And they had guns. Big guns.
“In here!” Chris called, grabbing her hand and banking hard to the right. They hopped over the debris of the picked-apart grocery store at the bottom of the multi-use building—overturned shelves, empty cans, a few decapitated zombie bodies. Then out a back door, dodging another zombie, ducking as the bullets flew, sprinting into a stairwell leading to the apartments, Chris clutching her hand the whole time. He wouldn’t lose her.
They reached the second story and pushed open a heavy steel door, finding themselves in a long hallway. Two zombies awaited them, snapping their hollow jaws. Chris produced a small semiautomatic and blew them away in a shower of bullets.
“There’s a safe room,” he said, and she wondered how he knew. Did he live here?
He kicked down the door, killed two more zombies, hustled to the bedroom, and there it was.
He knew the combination, and in an instant they were inside, the bulletproof door slammed behind them, and they were left in complete darkness. Her heart raced, but she was finally able to breathe.
He flipped a switch, and a dim bulb overhead flickered to life. This small bunker was well stocked, and the cot in the corner was already made.
“Are you okay?” he asked, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her close to inspect her face.
“Yeah, I’m fine. My heart is racing.”
He placed a calming hand on her chest. “I’d be concerned if it weren’t.”
“They were close. So close.”
Dust and blood caked his face, only managing to highlight his strong jawline. She stared into his eyes.
This world they found themselves in … there was no professional football in it. She couldn’t possibly hope to restore peace here. There was a new order to things, and God played no part. Now it was just about survival. No greater responsibilities than that.
She reached up and placed her hand gently on his cheek. His eyes flamed bright. They were safe, together.
He crushed his mouth to hers, and she let him. His grungy shirt went quickly, followed closely by hers. Without breaking the kiss, he grabbed her ass and lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her to the bed.
“You planned this,” she said, but the accusation carried no anger in it.
“I had to. But I’ll stop if you tell me to.” He paused midway through stripping off his jeans.
“God no, please don’t.”
Something banged against the door, trying to get in, and she had one guess what it was.
“They can’t get through,” he said.
“Let’s pretend they can,” she whispered. “Our time is short.”
He groaned and pounced on top of her.
His body was warm, his skin textured with grit. She bared her neck, and he seized the opportunity to devour it.
The pounding outside grew louder.
“Stop making me wait,” she moaned. “I don’t—” A metallic crash from inside the safe room made her yelp, and Chris jerked his head around, his mouth disengaging from her skin with a small sucking pop.
Large cans of food rolled over the ground around sandaled feet.
Jesus blinked and looked around the space, appearing entirely lost.
“Jesus!” she shouted, grabbing a corner of the comforter to cover herself up.
“Sister!” he said, sounding just as shocked as she’d been. Then he smiled. “Christopher! I did not expect to see you here! What an unexpected gathering of fri— Oh. Ohhh.” He held up his hands. “I’m sorry. I should not be here.”
“No, you shouldn’t,” she snapped. “You can talk to me any old time. Now please just let me have apocalypse sex with my ex!”
Jesus bowed his head, averting his eyes. “Forgive me. I did not mean to intrude. I don’t even know how I ended up here. Must be the pizza. It was very greasy, and I did not digest it enough before bed.” He looked around and spotted the door. “I’ll just let myself out.”
“No!” Jessica and Chris shouted as he reached for the handle.
“Huh?”
“There are zombies out there.”
“Right. Hmm … Oh yeah!” He snapped his fingers and disappeared in a puff of white powder.
They continued to gape at the space where he had just been before Chris turned to her. Their eyes met. There was no smoldering lust left in either pair.
“Sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have set this up for us.”
“Probably not. But I’m not angry about it. If Jesus hadn’t popped in, I would have … well, you know. It’s fine. It was fun while it lasted.”
“But we shouldn’t do it again.”
“Right. We shouldn’t.”
He dismounted from the bed and grabbed her shirt off the floor. “Here.”
She caught it and traded it out with the corner of the comforter. Once both were fully dressed, they sat side-by-side on the edge of the bed.
“I guess we’d better end this, huh?” he said.
“Guess so. But Chris—”
“Yeah?”
“If there’s ever a zombie situation in real life, I wouldn’t mind ending up here with you.”
He grinned and clapped her on the shoulder. “You’ll be the first person I seek out, Jess.” He sighed and pushed up to standing, heading for the door. “Okay, here we go.”
As soon as it was open a crack, the horde pushed its way in, snapping and gasping.
Jessica woke with a start, alone on the couch. One room over, Chris would be awake as well. She could just walk in there …
But she wouldn’t. Not now, in this fully functioning world of enormous responsibility, where the only zombie in her life was currently in a pizza coma in the guest bedroom, snuggling a stuffed Elvis alien in his arms.
Chapter Nineteen
Jessica wasn’t too sad to leave the East Coast behind. New York City was hotter than it ought to be in late June, and Philadelphia was worse. And no one would spare the time to answer her questions about what it meant to be a woman.
“Write this down,” she’d said to Judith as they left the Burger King. “Y’all is officially a word. Make that shit scripture and fuck that dude who corrected me when he took our order.”
“I don’t think you’re supposed to write scripture based on spite.” She paused. “No, I take that back. Spite is defi
nitely how it’s always been done. Especially the Old Testament.”
They passed a sign that said Charlotte was another fifty miles. That meant their next stop was only a few miles on.
Jessica was nervous about what they were doing. But she couldn’t back out. Not after all the strings Wendy had pulled to get them welcomed in. The publicist had been forced to play her black card, and she’d vouched for all three of them, and Jessica didn’t want to let the woman down.
And maybe, deep down, she really, really wanted to be accepted by this particular congregation. No reason.
She was aware there was a reason this Southern Baptist church was referred to colloquially as a Black Church, and yet somewhere in her mind a little voice had insisted, “There will probably still be a few white people in there.”
That little voice had been wrong until the moment she and Jesus stepped foot through the front doors.
Judith, on the other hand, was miraculously stripped of all whiteness the moment she entered the church lobby. Jessica couldn’t explain it, but her scribe stood apart from the rest, but not in the same manner that Jessica and Jesus did; she wasn’t seen a threat, just an anomaly.
Jessica, on the other hand, had never felt so out of place, and that was saying something.
“This place is incredible!” Jesus proclaimed, and she gave him a swift elbow.
“They’re looking at us like we’re lost,” Jessica whispered to Judith.
“Maybe we are. They probably think you two belong at the Presbyterian church down the street, and I belong at the Catholic one.”
A cheery man in full robes appeared from a small group and made his way over. “You must be Jessica, Joshua, and Judith!”
They must be.
“Minister Roberson?”
He took Jessica’s hand in his for a shake but held on. “Indeed. I’m so happy you’re here. Wendy speaks highly of you. She helped us out of a bit of a PR pinch a few years back, and we think she’s just the greatest. Any friend of hers is welcome under this roof.”
Jesus stepped forward. “This space is magnificent.”
The End Is Her Page 10