I’m not sure where I’m headed, but for some reason, I end up on Hayworth Drive in front of the church. Willa’s church. I know she’s here. She’s always here. Bible study, choir practice, youth group. I wasn’t kidding when I said the girl is a saint. Her car is also parked in front, so there's that. The next thing I know, I’m getting out of the car and slamming the door shut. Still smelling like a brewery, I zip up my leather jacket and smooth my hands down my black holy jeans—no pun intended.
Cupping my hand over my mouth, I breathe out and sniff. Just the scent of my cinnamon gum. Even if the whiskey was still lingering, Jesus drank, so they can’t judge me. My fingers wrap around the u-shaped handle and when it doesn’t sizzle at my touch, I feel confident that I won’t burn when I go in. I open the door and walk inside. I’ve been in the church before, but it’s been awhile. I should have known I’d be opening up to a room full of tables and chairs, and of course, about thirty people staring at me. I hold a hand up and wave at all the unfamiliar faces. “Hi. I just need to borrow her for a minute.” I point to a flustered Willa.
The sound of chair legs scraping against the floor darts my attention to Pastor Jeffries, who is on his feet. His eyes narrow at me and I don’t think God would be happy with the look he’s throwing my way right now. “Young man, you have some nerve showing up here.” He whisper-talks as he jerks me by the arm and out the door I just walked in.
“Woah, Pastor. Chill the he..heck out.” I correct myself, just in the nick of time. “I just need to talk to Willa.” He gives my arm a shove and he’s lucky he has God on his side because I’d be unleashing the devil if he were anyone else.
“You stay away from my daughter.”
“Stepdaughter,” I retort, but quickly eat my words because it seems to do anything but calm him.
“Willa is my daughter and after what you did to her, you have no business even coming to this church.”
“Hmm, I didn’t know churches discriminated against sinners. What’s going on tonight? Open Bible study?” I arch a brow. “Maybe I wanna join. Ya know? Let Jesus in and all that jazz.”
"Even Jesus can't save you, son." He pats a hand to my shoulder and attempts to spin me around to face my car that's parked right in front.
"Now, what kind of pastor talks like that?" I push past him and pull the unlatched door back open. When I step inside, it's like deja vu when everyone looks back at me. Ignoring all but one person, I walk over and take one of the two empty seats at the end of the joined tables. They're all lined up to make a square with an empty space in the middle. The smell of the room floods me with memories of Colby's funeral. I'm not sure if it's the smell, or the attention laser-focused on me. That day, everyone watched me as I sat quietly with my hands in my lap and my head hung low. I still remember seeing Willa at the funeral. In fact, the memory of her sticks out like a sore thumb. Even then, she carried this calming aura. The difference is, today my head is held high. I have just as much of a right to be here as all these other people. They sin. They fuck up.
Willa is sitting directly across from me. Her eyebrows are pinched together and her cheeks are tinged pink. When Pastor Jeffries walks back in and takes the only empty seat beside me, I let out a breathy huff. "Where were we?" he asks, looking Willa dead in the eye.
"The Christmas Pageant. We were agreeing on a timeframe for each set." Willa chokes out as she taps a pen to an open notebook.
I guess I'm not at Bible study after all. When Pastor Jeffries begins talking to the group, I catch Willa's attention and mouth the words, "Can we talk?"
In small but rapid movements, she shakes her head then rolls her eyes away from me. We need to talk, damnit, and she needs to tell me the truth. My hand slaps softly on the table. Not hard enough to get everyone's attention, but enough to grab hers and a few others. "Yes." I mouth again, then nod my head toward the door.
"Willa Jean. Please handle this and then come back inside. Alone." Pastor Jeffries speaks sharply.
When her chair slides back and she stands up, I do the same. She's fast as she makes her way through the door. Her long navy blue skirt drags on the floor and her flip-flops smack against the bottom of her feet as she walks.
Tugging her beige cardigan tightly around her, she looks down at her feet as she speaks. "What are you doing here, Lars?" Her voice is calm and collected and I'm starting to wonder if this girl has the capability of getting mad.
"We need to talk about this. Were you lying?"
"Not here. We can't."
"Do they know?"
She raises her voice. "Lars! Please just stop. Go home and we can talk tomorrow."
I take a stance and cross my arms over my chest, just as she is, and step up in front of her. I raise my voice even higher. "No. I'm not leaving until I have answers."
Looking at the door in panic, she grabs me by
