Across the Western Sky

by S. C. Armstrong

  “At you?”

  “At all women. It’s all grosser when I think about his politics. I feel like he’s going to show up wearing a MAGA hat someday.”

  Curt watched the Wilsons, who celebrated another strikeout from their daughter. A slow-burning anger was rekindled when he remembered Samuel’s stunt at the wake. Kate wasn’t the only person the Wilsons probably wished didn’t exist.

  The third batter Hannah faced did make contact with the ball, but only enough to hit a slow roller to the shortstop, who easily scooped up the ball and tossed it to first for the out. That meant a 1-2-3 inning for Hannah. As she walked off the field, Hannah scanned the crowd. When her eyes landed on Curt, they stopped. In fact, Hannah’s whole body stopped. Curt clapped softly. Finally, Hannah directed her gaze toward the bench and jogged off in that direction.

  Kate turned toward Curt and smiled. “Pretty sure she was looking at you, pal. Are you sure it was a one-time thing?”

  “Maybe she was looking for someone else.”

  Curt remembered Hannah mentioning that she sometimes mistakenly saw her mother in the crowd. Maybe that’s what had happened just now, and it only seemed like Hannah was looking at him.

  “Yeah, I don’t think so. Hey, speaking of unattainable women, what happened with Alexis at the wake?”

  After the brief encounter between Justin and the Wilsons, Alexis and Curt had taken a stroll around the funeral home grounds. That had been Alexis’ idea. Nothing momentous had happened. She mainly just expressed her condolences and assured Curt she’d always be there if he needed to talk.

  “Nothing really. She just said she was sorry about my dad.”

  Granted, people didn’t need to go on private walks to express condolences. If Alexis had another angle, she hadn’t revealed it, yet. Though he’d once been in love with her, Curt often felt as though Alexis had her own agenda for certain things.

  “Just for the record, are we still supposed to be mad at her?”

  “It’s fine,” Curt said flatly. “That’s in the past now.”

  The two had dated for most of the school year and flirted for a few months before finally making the relationship official. However, as the twin milestones of prom and graduation approached, Alexis questioned her feelings for Curt. Perhaps Alexis had merely taken the long view and realized their time together was limited and preemptively broke off their relationship. She’d said she wanted to be friends, an accommodation Curt had wanted nothing to do with.

  “Speak of the devil,” Kate murmured, glancing off to their left, where Alexis was now approaching them.

  Curt involuntarily tensed up as his ex drew near.

  She smiled sweetly at him and Kate. “Hey, Curt! Hey, Kate!” she said, sliding down the metal bleachers until she scrunched up against Curt.

  Alexis’ ruffly navy sleeveless top fluttered slightly in the breeze. Her small pair of khaki shorts both conserved fabric and once again showed off her long legs.

  “How are we doing so far?” she asked, as if she was as invested in the outcome of the game as the players themselves.

  “No score, just finished the first inning,” Kate answered as Beaumont’s number three hitter lined out to center field.

  “Let’s go!” Alexis yelled, clapping her hands over her head. She turned to Curt. “You look good.” Alexis brushed her hand gently through his brown hair.

  “Uh, thanks,” Curt said.

  Alexis’ touch was...confusing. Curt had taken their break-up hard. The fact that it came right before prom made it even harder to stomach. Only recently had Curt returned to any sense of equilibrium—a stability that every second she touched him threatened to upend. His dad had been instrumental in helping Curt move on. He listened to Curt vent about his feelings. When Curt needed perspective, his dad provided it. More than anything, Matt McDonald had reminded his son who he was—that he was a strong, confident individual who possessed a bright future, regardless of how his now ex-girlfriend felt about him.

  Theoretically, the only force that had torn asunder their relationship was Alexis’ half-hearted desire. If she’d found a cure for that, then no other obstacles prevented them from getting back together. Unless Curt wanted to hold a grudge, which was tempting.

  Curt struggled with an appropriate response to Alexis’ contact, which still hadn’t abated. If anything, it had expanded, as Alexis now leaned against him. He could evade her touch, which given the confined space would have been difficult to execute subtly. He could wordlessly allow her to continue, basking in the ambiguity. Or he could reciprocate her touch, or perhaps even escalate it. Curt chose option number two, which required the least resistance.

  Kate, who’d appeared rather uncomfortable during Alexis’ undefined display of affection, found a new object of consternation.

  “Look at this jag-off,” Kate muttered, as a tall and built young male crossed from the parking lot to the bleachers.

  “Who’s he?” Curt asked.

  “Jake Ankiel. He’s Samuel Wilson’s friend. Two years older than us. Used to enjoy calling me ‘dyke’, among other unoriginal and offensive names.”

  “He’s always been into Hannah Wilson,” Alexis interjected.

  “Is she interested in him?” Curt asked, studying the new entrant’s high cheekbones and well-defined jawline.

  Alexis shrugged. “I don’t know. Wouldn’t be surprised if she was. He’s kind of cute,” she added, drawing a scowl from Kate. “I mean, besides the gay slurs and stuff.”

  Jake Ankiel’s appearance added a layer of uncertainty to Curt’s already troubled heart. But why was he worried about the muscular EMT when he should have been consumed by the intentions of the beautiful but fickle girl on his right? The one who was still leaning against his shoulder.

  Curt exhaled as Hannah took the mound for the second inning.

  Once again, Hannah reigned on her island. Three more outs would secure another shutout for her and, more importantly, a victory and berth in the semi-finals for her squad. It was just her and the catcher. Of course, the batter was there. So were her teammates. But all of these people responded to and revolved around Hannah’s performance. Hannah was the first, primary force in this interaction.

  She pushed aside all other distractions, something she’d learned to do long ago. That meant shutting out Jake Ankiel, her would-be suitor. There was nothing wrong with him. Indeed, there was a lot right about him. None of that mattered at this moment.

  Hannah rifled in a sinker that dropped through the strike zone, inducing a weak grounder to the second base side. Her teammate gobbled up the ball and shoveled it to first base for the out. One down, two to go. The crowd cheered, but Hannah tuned out the noise.

  She also ignored Curt McDonald and the leggy brunette who was pressed against him. Why did she have to keep touching his hair? And why did she have to be so close? She might as well have been sitting in his lap. Hannah involuntarily shook her head. The catcher misread this as Hannah shaking off the sign, forcing them to go through a complete cycle of potential pitches before settling on the first pitch the catcher had called.

  Hannah threw one that sailed up in the zone. The batter swung anyway, popping up the ball into the shallow outfield. Her center fielder called off everyone else to put the hitter away. Two outs. One more to go.

  The ball came back to Hannah. Why was she thinking so much about Curt McDonald? If nothing was wrong with Jake Ankiel, everything was wrong with Curt. Hannah laced strike one down the middle. He shouldn’t have been on her mind. It shouldn’t have bothered her that Alexis kept running her hand through his hair. She wound up and delivered a strike on the outside corner. One more strike to go. Hannah’s arm felt good. She could have pitched three more innings and been fine. Once more, Hannah delivered. The batter couldn’t catch the heat as the ball thudded into her catcher’s glove. Her teammates rushed the mound as the crowd stood and cheered.

  After Hannah celebrated with her teammates and congratulated the other team, Hannah
scanned the spectators. Her eyes roamed past Jake Ankiel and her family, searching for Curt. But he’d disappeared. So had Alexis. Maybe they’d left together. Hannah shook off those thoughts and resumed her celebration, assuming that Curt McDonald and their night of stargazing was destined to be a bizarre postscript on her high school career.

  10

  Order of Service

  Hannah threaded through the crowded sanctuary, searching for Jane. Though not a large church, Beaumont Baptist was bolstered by some very large families of four to six children each, which allowed the church to maintain a steady population even as the numbers of many nearby churches dipped.

  Along the way, Hannah ran into Jake. He stopped and smiled, revealing his dimples. “Hey, Hannah.”

  She flashed her own smile. “Hi, Jake.”

  Behind the EMT, she spotted Jane, who immediately appraised the situation and shot Hannah a thumbs up.

  “I know I already told you this, but you were incredible Friday,” he said, referencing her most recent softball victory.

  Hannah blushed at the praise. “Thank you. And thanks for coming.”

  They shared another awkward and silent moment together before Jake nodded and moved to find his own seat. As soon as he cleared earshot, Jane hustled over to Hannah, giggling.

  “I just wanted to say how incredible you were,” Jane repeated in an exaggerated and breathless tone. “Would you like to bear the children from my loins?”

  Hannah scrunched her face in disgust. “Shut up. And please don’t ever say the word loins, again.”

  “What? It’s from the Bible. Anyway, college or no college, you have to at least be a little interested in Jake.”

  Hannah shrugged, trying to play the encounter off as inconsequential. Okay, Jake got to her. Despite all her bluster about going off to school and not wanting to get involved in a relationship during this time of transition, she wasn’t completely disinterested in Jake. Particularly when he appeared in his Sunday best shirt and tie, a striking pillar of Christian manhood.

  The prelude music—in the form of piano and acoustic guitar—called the congregation to worship.

  “Do you want to sit upfront with me?” Hannah asked, motioning toward the first row of seats where she often sat with her father.

  Jane made a face. “No, thank you. I’ll be back here, where no one can see me.”

  By no one, Jane meant Hannah’s father, who generated an extremely imposing stare as he surveyed the congregation during his sermons.

  “Okay, I’ll see you after,” Hannah said, filing toward the front.

  Hannah sometimes wished for a less prominent seat. As the preacher’s daughter, though, it didn’t matter how tucked away in the back she sat: she’d always be front and center in the eyes of the congregation. Someone was always watching her, seeing if she was toeing the line or not. Pastor’s daughters had a reputation for melting down, often due to the near-constant scrutiny they endured. Not Hannah, though. She’d never stray on that well-worn path of rebellion and apostasy.

  She settled in the seat next to her father as their worship team led the congregation in the first song. He exchanged a quick smile with her before returning his attention to the stage. Despite the pressure she sometimes felt from the church body, this was home to her. The place where life made the most sense. The only location that rivaled church in terms of comfort and security was the pitcher’s mound.

  As Hannah joined her voice with the congregation’s, she considered her previous week. The softball victory was most recent in her mind. Other than that, it had been a normal week. Besides the stuff with Curt. Their night of stargazing felt more and more like a dream with each day that passed. In another week, she might believe it was a dream or the product of an overactive imagination.

  Hannah had dealt with far harder and confusing moments than that before. After her mom died, she feared sitting through a service. Her mom was an institution in the church: decorating the sanctuary with each change of season and organizing pot luck dinners and kids’ classes. But instead of feeling haunted by the service, Hannah felt peace. Being at the church gave her a connection with her mom. Filling her mother’s shoes in various church duties connected her even closer. Her mother’s presence became palpable. Thus, now whenever something happened in her life that didn’t conform to expectation, sitting through the service comforted her.

  Besides, these people were her family. Some of them embarrassed her with their impassioned discussion of Satan and weird Christian cliches. Some of them made her life difficult, by questioning her wardrobe selection, hairstyles, or jewelry choices. At the end of the day, though, they were part of her. As were the songs. She believed in the words of the songs: that Jesus loved her and had offered Himself on the cross for her salvation. The songs went deeper than truth to her. They were bedrock.

  The worship team finished their set. They vacated the stage, passing the baton to her father. Caleb Wilson was an old-school preacher who thundered on for forty-five minutes to an hour. He preached straight from the Bible and wasn’t afraid to lambaste the world around them using obscure passages from the prophets. There would be no hip reference to modern culture. He would never cite Game of Thrones or use cool graphics.

  That’s why Hannah was surprised when the mouse icon swept across the projection screen where the songs lyrics had just faded to black. A new window popped up. It seemed as though someone was going to play a video.

  Her father didn’t notice until the audience gasped. But the gasp was nothing when compared to the sounds. Moans. Sexual moans. Caleb Wilson spun around to see what his congregation was seeing. Two entwined naked women ground into one another, wailing away as a result of the carnal friction.

  “What is this?” her father asked, retreating backward. “What is going on?”

  Along with the rest of the congregation, including Hannah, her father looked to the horrified middle-aged and overweight audio-visual volunteer, who frantically clicked at the computer.

  “Turn it off! Turn it off!” commanded Caleb Wilson.

  Women covered their children’s (or in some cases, their husband’s) eyes. The smallest children had been dismissed to their own program so fortunately weren’t present to witness the debauchery. Hannah herself closed her eyes, shielding herself from the obscene display. Eventually, she opened one eye, curious as to how this particular maneuver brought these women such intense pleasure. Predictably, Hannah knew little of the mechanics of sex, though she’d done her own, independent research on the topic.

  “I can’t control the computer!” shouted the AV guy. He managed to turn off the sound, which spared one dimension of this assault. “Someone else is in control!”

  Finally, another volunteer AV guy had the presence of mind to turn off the projector. The church breathed a collective sigh of relief, but intermittent chatter broke out in the assembly. Caleb Wilson scanned the eyes of his congregation.

  “I think a word of prayer is called for,” he said, wiping his brow where a layer of sweat had accumulated.

  The rest of the service passed without incident, though the congregation remained on edge. To be safe, they turned the computer off, forcing the church to regurgitate the words from the closing song from memory.

  Hannah frowned as she tried to sing the final song. Assuming the A/V person had been right, who would commandeer the computer to play such filth? People in the church often spoke of being attacked by Satan. Most of these claims seemed spurious and could be better attributed to minor annoyances and first world problems. But this time, attack seemed the most appropriate word.

  11

  An Invitation

  Hannah stuffed a pile of books into her locker. Soon, she’d need to clear this space out. That would be a chore. For a second, she recognized the gravity of that moment. This locker, something that had been hers for four years, would be passed on to someone else. Hannah released a sigh, closing the door.

  When she shut her locker, Curt was standing i
n front of her. She jumped back in surprise.

  “Sorry,” Curt said. “I didn’t mean to scare you. And I’m not here to yell at you.”

  She smiled nervously at him. “Okay.”

  Her pulse quickened when Curt remained fixed in place. All week long, trips to her locker had been accentuated by this nervous energy. Several times, she’d caught Curt looking at her. Not in a creepy way, but in a manner that suggested he had something to say. Once, he’d even given her a compact smile.

  “I’m sorry about your softball game,” Curt said after sweeping his hair off his forehead.

  “Thanks. It’s okay.”

  The wounds were still fresh from their defeat the previous night in the semi-finals. She struggled to believe that her season—indeed, her entire high school softball career—was now over.

  “Looked like you pitched well,” he said.

  She tilted her head. “I didn’t see you at the game.”

  “No, I couldn’t make it.”

  The 1-0 loss had come on the road, so Curt’s failure to attend didn’t surprise her. Nor could she fault him for it.

  “But I saw the box score in the local paper.”

  She nodded. Hannah had given up two hits and only one run. But her sparring mate on the other team had been better: one hit and zero runs. Watching their opponent celebrate had stung, no matter how many hits and runs Hannah had allowed.

  “Are you doing anything tonight?” Curt blurted out.

  She raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

  “Do you want to hang out?”

  Hannah sucked in a cheek. “I don’t think I can. I’m not allowed to date.” Especially an atheist, she thought.

  Curt shrugged. “It’s not a date. It would just be hanging out.”