“You haven’t even seen the sanctuary. Follow me.”
Parishioners were already filing into the pews inside the sanctuary, which was, as far as Jessica knew, a pretty average space. There was one noticeable difference about the artwork, though, but she decided not to bring it up.
“We’re very excited to hear the sermon today.”
The Minister grinned. “Would you like me to introduce you to the congregation? I hope you don’t mind me pointing out the obvious here, but you three do stick out a bit. You’re welcome to be here, of course, but, well, with history being what it is in this country, some folks might want an explanation.”
Her mind flashed back to the first time she was introduced in a church, pointed out by the man at the pulpit.
“I don’t really want to be in the spotlight,” she said.
“Trust me. Introducing you at the first is the best way to keep eyes off you for the rest of the service.”
She looked at Judith, who nodded subtly.
“Okay, I trust you on this.” That wasn’t true. But she also knew he had a point. People would be staring at her regardless. That day in White Light Church when she was only eleven years old it had been the red dress that made her stand out. Now, it was something she couldn’t change out of that kept her presence conspicuous. She felt like a virus entering a healthy body, and all the white blood cells were ready to eliminate her.
The minister left them to attend to his other duties, and they found a seat by the aisle. Jessica wanted to be able to make a quick escape if things went south.
“I think I look good black,” Jesus said, gazing dreamily over the stained-glass windows.
“It is a little strange,” Jessica conceded. “I mean, you weren’t black when you were alive, right?”
He shook his head. “Nope. I was dark, but we didn’t really have a notion of race back then. It was more a matter of class and religion. I did meet quite a lot of what you call sub-Saharan Africans. Never this many in one place, though.”
“Have you already forgotten Utah, Jess?” Judith said. “Jesus wasn’t blond hair, blue eyes, either.” She caught herself. “I mean, he wasn’t the first time around. And yet, that’s the Jesus they pray to. And my family only prays to Latino Jesus. And Latina Mary.”
Jessica nodded, understanding slowly dawning. “Everyone needs to see themselves in God.”
“Uhh,” Jesus said hesitantly, “I hate to beat a dead camel, but God and I are not the same thing.”
“I know that,” she snapped. “But it’s not about what I know. It’s about what people believe about you. They think you’re the face of God, and they want to see you wearing their face.”
Judith arched a brow. “So now he’s serial killer Jesus?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Only vaguely.”
The congregation had grown to a few hundred people by the time the service began, and true to his word, Minister Roberson introduced the guests. “For those of you long-timers here, I’m sure you haven’t forgotten about the incidents that happened a few years back with one bad apple of a youth leader.”
A chorus of “Mm-hmms” rose up around Jessica, and she had a knee-jerk urge to shush everyone.
“Our little congregation was nearly torn apart by the devil. The media came after us, the community came after us—as if we were supposed to have known that something untoward was happening in the private conversion sessions held by a man we presumed to be anointed by the Lord Himself.
“Mm-hmm!”
“If it weren’t for our dear friend Wendy Peterman and the quick mind the Lord blessed her with, we might not have weathered the storm.”
Jessica grabbed her half-brother’s hand and forced it down when he started to wave in response to a “Praise Jesus.”
“Today we have among us three guests Wendy has sent to us. I hope we treat them the same way we would treat her if she were here in their place. They are welcome, and we’ll treat them the way Jesus might.” He gestured to where they sat toward the back, but the clarification of who he was talking about was entirely unnecessary. “Jessica, Judith, and Joshua, we’re glad you’re here.”
The suspicious looks from the congregation softened to smiles and generous head nods, and Minister Roberson moved on.
Just like that, it was over. And painless. She was welcome inside this church.
She sat quietly, her hands folded in her lap, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
It was a strange thing, though. The welcome had allowed her to relax, but it hadn’t made her feel any less out of place.
Was this what Black people felt like when they attended a farmer’s market or a rodeo or a rock concert? Was this what Quentin felt like at his tech job? Or when he was basically anywhere else in Austin?
A deep, bruising shame moved through her for never having considered it before, not like this, and she hurried to soothe the supreme discomfort by thinking of all the ways it wasn’t her fault that she hadn’t felt this way prior to this moment.
Why would she have gone to an historically black church in Austin? Or anywhere? She didn’t even go to white churches if she could help it, and there just weren’t that many black people in her city. Mooretown had had a larger black demographic than Austin, even. Or maybe she was just thinking of the football team. Had there been any black guys in her high school who hadn’t been on the football team? No, she didn’t think there had been …
How could she be expected to seek out every kind of experience prior to this road trip? She was busy. She had things to do. It hadn’t occurred to her that she should be the only white person somewhere, and why would it? Demographically speaking, there were way more Caucasians in the US than any other group, so, naturally, the percentages in any room would be skewed in that direction. Just statistically speaking here.
The shame lessened but didn’t go away.
What would happen, she wondered, if she went to the stage and proclaimed herself the daughter of God in front of all these people? Besides appearing rude for interrupting, obviously. She tried to imagine it and the mere attempt made her hot and dizzy. The notion seemed so perverse. These people didn’t want a white messiah, that was clear enough. But that was all she could give them. It wasn’t her fault she was born this color …
Judith cursed under her breath beside her, and Jesus stared at the pulpit looking ashen, so Jessica decided it was time to pay attention again.
“‘… with good works. Let the woman learn in silence with all subjection,’” said the minister. “‘But I suffer not a woman to teach, nor to usurp authority over the man, but to be in silence. For Adam was first formed, then Eve. And Adam was not deceived, but the woman being deceived was in the transgression. Notwithstanding she shall be saved in childbearing, if they continue in faith and charity and holiness with sobriety.’ That’s directly from 1 Timothy 2, verses 9 through 15.”
“Timothy, no!” Jesus shouted.
Thankfully, his words were lost underneath the sound of others around them praising his name.
Jesus slumped in the pew. “It was a different time, yes,” he moaned miserably once Roberson began speaking again, “but even still, I can’t imagine Timothy would write such a thing.”
“Maybe he didn’t,” Jessica said. “Maybe the editors got to it or it was lost in transla—”
OH NO, HE SAID IT. HE SAID IT A LOT.
Jesus slumped further and pouted his bottom lip pitifully; he’d heard God’s words too.
“Okay, so maybe he said it,” Jessica whispered.
“I trusted him. He was so good to me.”
Judith rolled her eyes. “So good to you, a man and the son of God? But how could someone be nice to men and horrible to women? It just doesn’t make sense.”
Jessica leaned closer to Judith. “I thought this church was supposed to be cool?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Cool because …?”
“I dunno.”
“Because they’r
e black?”
“No! Of course not. Cool because Wendy sent us here.”
“Wendy sent us here because they used to be her clients and she had a connection. Anyone who was an emergency client of a publicist is likely not cool on the whole. You heard what they said about that youth minister. Doesn’t take a genius to read between the Bible verses on that one.”
Jessica sighed and was about to give up when Minister Roberson began quoting some more.
“‘But I would have you know, that the head of every man is Christ; and the head of the woman is the man; and the head of Christ is God. Every man praying or prophesying, having his head covered, dishonoureth his head. But every woman that prayeth or prophesieth with her head uncovered dishonoureth her head: for that is even all one as if she were shaven. For if the woman be not covered, let her also be shorn: but if it be a shame for a woman to be shorn or shaven, let her be covered. For a man indeed ought not to cover his head, forasmuch as he is the image and glory of God: but the woman is the glory of the man. For the man is not of the woman: but the woman of the man. Neither was the man created for the woman; but the woman for the man.’”
“What’s hair got to do with anything?” Jessica whispered to her companions. “Wait, is that why all the women are wearing hats?”
Jesus had his head in his hands, and Judith just shrugged. “I dunno. But suddenly I have the urge to shave my head. Let’s get out of here.”
Chapter Twenty
Jessica was tempted to let Jesus take the wheel as they crawled through traffic on their way out of Atlanta. It would be a good opportunity for him to practice. What damage could he do while they were going five miles an hour in gridlock?
She glanced at him in the rearview mirror and reminded herself that he’d gotten himself trapped in a rotating glass door earlier that day, and she and Judith had been forced to coach him for quite some time before he figured out how to exit safely. Maybe she would stay right where she was.
“I knew traffic was bad in Atlanta,” Judith said, “but this seems extreme. How does anyone live here?”
Just then, the sound of the emergency vehicles a few hundred yards back met her ears. “I think there’s an accident slowing things down.”
They all looked behind them, and it was clear that there was a problem. The traffic, in its impatience to get a move on, had even blocked the shoulder, and none of the emergency vehicles could get past.
“Idiots,” Judith said. She whirled around in her seat, leaning from one side to another to try to see what was happening up ahead. “I hope it’s not bad.”
“If it is,” Jessica said, “they’re in trouble. The medics would be better off getting out and walk—”
YOU CAN HELP.
Yeah, she’d just realized that too.
This is an awful lot of cars.
YOU KNOW THAT IS IRRELEVANT.
She closed her eyes and breathed in deep. Their van might sustain some minor superficial damage from this, but it was worth it; the thing was rented on “Joshua’s” credit anyway.
She felt the van slide sideways and opened her eyes. The traffic had parted down the middle. The ambulances didn’t question it and sped through the newly opened gap.
There. I did it.
THE LORD SUPPOSES YOU WANT AN AWARD.
She ignored Him and turned to face her passengers. Jesus clapped. “Well done! Oh, I do love a well-timed miracle!”
Judith, for once, seemed speechless.
And then, all around them, the fighting started.
Two men whose cars had tapped into each other exited their vehicles. One held a crowbar, and the other held nothing but his fists, but that seemed like enough.
“Oh boy,” Jessica said. “This didn’t happen when I did it before.”
“Atlanta doesn’t fuck around,” Judith said. “Let’s get out of here.”
She didn’t have to be told twice, and she pulled into the opening down the middle of the eight-lane highway, which was now filling in with the trickle of other vehicles whose drivers were most able to take the strange phenomenon in stride and just go with it.
Traffic was still a crawl, but at least it was crawling.
The flashing lights grew closer on their right, and beyond it, the road opened up completely. The crawl, as it turned out, was mostly due to rubbernecking.
Jessica decided to help herself to a dose of it as well. But when she saw the morbid draw, she felt the air leave her lungs.
The minivan was on its side. Or she thought it was. It was almost impossible to tell which side was up on the twisted hunk of metal.
She counted three. Three human-size lumps under sheets.
Without thinking, she pulled over, just past the last fire truck.
Judith shouted something at her, but the words sounded nothing like English as she leaped out of the driver’s door and sprinted toward the smallest of the covered lumps. The officers on scene would be an obstacle to this, but, thankfully, the five of them were huddled by one of the cars. She would only have a few seconds to pull this off before they’d stop her.
She hadn’t prepared herself for the sight that awaited her under the first sheet. Had she expected everything to be intact? For the child to look like he was merely asleep?
“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit …” Did she even want to bring him back with his arm in that state?
Stupid. Of course she did. Life with no arm was better than death.
She hovered her hands over his chest and shot the life back into him.
The soul-shattering screaming was almost immediate, and she ran to the next sheet before the responding officers and paramedics could stop her.
This boy did look like he was only sleeping. At least what she could see of him when she pulled the blanket down to reveal his top half. Who knew what the bottom half looked like? She resurrected him as quickly as she could, and made for the largest of the lumps as the screaming doubled.
But before she could get there, someone came at her from the side and wrapped her up.
“Please!” she shouted. “I can save them! I just brought those two back to life. I can do it!”
She was promptly forced to the ground and cuffed by the male officer.
“Please!” she begged, “I can bring them back!”
“The woman’s dead,” he said, lifting her off the ground. “If you’d seen her, you’d agree with me.”
“McCarthy!” came a deep, stern female voice as the officer walked Jessica over to his car.
The man turned and looked at the woman, and so did Jessica. This was the kind of woman no one had yet described when Jess had asked them what it meant to be a woman—bulky, eyes like lasers, a gait like a pit bull, hair pulled back into such a tight ponytail that it doubled the size of her forehead.
Jessica noted the name on her uniform: Sgt. Gabriel.
“Yes, Sarge?”
“Uncuff her.”
“Pardon me, Sarge?”
“Didn’t you see what she just did? Uncuff her, for God’s sake, and let her resurrect the mother.”
“Resurrect …?”
“Oh, for chrissake …” Sergeant Gabriel grabbed Jessica’s wrists from Officer McCarthy and gestured for him to hand over the key, which he did. She clicked off the cuffs and said, “Sorry about that, Miss McCloud. Now, if you don’t mind …”
It was ugly business. Officer McCarthy hadn’t been kidding about the state of the mother, but the paramedics were already on site and the treatment of her injuries started immediately. With enough morphine, they might all be fine in the end.
Judith and Jesus waited on the bumper of the van, watching from a distance as Jessica finished giving her statement, which was taken personally by Sgt. Angela Gabriel.
A half hour had passed since the whole thing had kicked off, and Jessica’s adrenaline was crashing by the time she headed over to join her friends. “Let’s get out of here,” she said.
Judith grimaced. “You’re not getting in the van lo
oking like that.”
Jessica glanced down at herself and only then noticed the blood. “How … I didn’t even touch them.”
“Blood is like that,” Jesus said sagely. “It just sort of gets on everything.”
“That was one hell of a show.”
Jessica sighed. “I feel like I need to be taken straight to a therapist, except I hate therapists.”
“Stay there.” Judith got up from the bumper and crawled into the van. When she returned, she was carrying a pack of cigarettes. “Take one of these. It’s almost like therapy.”
“Those things kill you,” Jesus said.
“So does getting yourself martyred,” Judith snapped before lighting one up and offering it to Jessica. It was tempting, but she could already imagine Wendy’s bewildered anger when photos surfaced of the smoking messiah. “Thanks, but I’m good.”
Judith shrugged and kept it for herself.
“Great,” she said, spotting the first news van to arrive. “Just what I need.”
Judith shook her head sympathetically. “Yeah, it’s going to be so hard to get on camera and tell everyone you saved three people. Truly, being a fucking hero is your cross to bear.”
“I believe in you, sister!”
Jessica looked at him. “Thank you.” Then she inhaled deeply and went to go meet the camera.
“News 7,” shouted a petite reporter with pale skin that looked even paler against the electric blue of her suit. The woman charged forward, microphone first. “Are you the woman who reportedly brought a mother and her two sons back to life?”
The reporter and her cameraman angled themselves so that the backdrop of their shot was the emergency vehicles.
What did she say? Yes? Yes, I just performed three resurrections.
YOU DID JUST PERFORM THREE RESURRECTIONS.
But do I tell this woman that?
The reporter took Jessica’s silence as an opportunity to jump in with further questions. “I just watched cell phone footage of you hovering over the body of a child who paramedics had declared dead. You put your hands above him, and he appeared to come back to life. Comment?”
“I resurrected him.” Boy, was she tired. “I resurrected all of them.”
The End Is Her Page 11