Chapter FIVE
MATHEW WAS silent as they drove to the temple where nearly every fellow in the branch awaited the chance to give their condolences to the Lowell family. He kept his natal Bible close, the one given to him upon the rite of baptism with his name worked in gold lettering at the bottom right corner. Gabi had one too, same as every other fellow, but she hadn’t looked at it since completing her final year of basic doctrine studies. Mathew thumbed through the pages wearing a look of fierce concentration.
Her father had woken different as well, even more preoccupied and detached than he’d been the night before. Just before the Lowells left their car to cross the plaza to the temple, Sam swiveled around to look at his children in the back seat. Gabi could feel unspoken words filling the gulf that lay between them, but her father only sighed, shook his head, and got out of the car.
Mathew and her father weren’t the only ones who were different. Though Gabi’s eyes were inflamed from crying and dehydration, she felt as though the body she’d become accustomed to dragging around like a broken cello had been replaced in the night. When she’d risen that morning, her legs didn’t tremble under her weight, and her head didn’t swim at the transition from sitting to standing. Her room seemed to have subtly changed as well, beyond the fallen columns of books. It took Gabi a moment to realize what that difference was. Silence. The room was free of the soundtrack of her labored breath. There was plenty of oxygen for the taking, and Gabi’s body absorbed it hungrily.
When Gabi raised her arms to pull off the soiled shirt she’d worn the day before, she noted that the ache in her neck was still there. As she dressed, she turned her body this way and that in the shaft of morning sunlight spilling in through her bedroom window, confirming that the blue cast of her skin had mellowed to a softer shade. Perhaps it was just adrenaline from dealing with so many emotional curveballs at once, but whatever the reason for the improvement, Gabi wasn’t taking any chances. When her father slid her morning dose of medication and a glass of water across the counter toward her, she’d pinned the pills under her tongue while she swallowed, and spat them out in her napkin after he turned away. Sam would never condone Gram’s little experiment if it meant risking Gabi’s safety. Gabi would tell her father when she was sure she could manage without the pills long-term. This lie, at least, would be worth telling to give her father some good news.
THE MEMORIAL service rang hollow for Gabi. Though Gram had touched many lives through her work at the Care Center, she did not have many friends in the branch. Gabi knew that Gram had been mindful of Sam’s standing in the community and the added weight given to how his family presented itself in public, but she wasn’t one to bite her tongue and had opinions aplenty about how the Unitas doctrine had changed over the years. Gram thought it best to avoid the temptation of public outbursts by confining her social circle to family and a few of her Minder colleagues. There were plenty of opportunities for lively discussion in the privacy of their home, where Gram and Gabi’s father could debate freely without fear of being overheard.
So why were all these people standing up and talking about Gram as though they’d known her well? Gabi felt as though they were just reciting bits of doctrine and inserting Gram’s name here and there to create the illusion of real grief. After a couple of hours, half the temple had spoken, and the other half were still gearing up. Gabi couldn’t bear hearing Unitas buzzwords like fortitude, charity, and compassion batted around. They suited Gram, but there were only three people in the whole place who could have known that for sure.
Mathew ate it up, poring over his Bible and raising his head to shout the occasional “Amen!” When Sam invited him to say a few words, Mathew had risen and stood beside his father with the gravity of a seasoned councilman. He’d taken a long moment to look around the room, a technique to quiet chatter and capture the congregation’s attention that their father often used. “Death,” he’d said once all eyes were on him, “is not real. My grandmother did not die.”
“Hallelujah!” voices shouted in the lull of his dramatic pause. “Give us the Word, Brother Mathew!”
Gabi watched her brother closely, heard the way he dropped his voice to a lower register to cloak the tremble beneath it, though his eyes were dry. “She has gone to the One God in heaven, as we all shall if we live in the Word. The faithful do not die.” Sam beamed at his son, the ashen lines of his face brightening as he glimpsed the man Mathew would become.
Gabi saw something very different. There was a desperation to Mathew’s tone and a rigid set to his jaw that told Gabi he wasn’t only preaching—he was pleading. He needed it to be true that a boy could not be orphaned twice, and he needed the faces of his fellows to mirror that truth. His Bible was the proof he lay before the jury that, judging by the circles under his eyes, he’d spent the night using to erect a shield of doctrine between him and the void. Despite his ambition, Mathew had always been game to mime a yawn or share an eye roll with Gabi during an
