Church. Read online

  She sat at the end of a table and nibbled at a sandwich. Stacey and a couple other girls had joined her. More friends, yippee. They’d started babbling about some big concert the year before and she stared at them. How could she be friends with these people? Around that same time last year, Emma had spent the weekend barricaded in her own bedroom, trying to keep Margo’s very drunk and very rape-y boyfriend out. She had nothing in common with these girls, they wouldn’t understand her.

  So she ignored them and let her mind drift away. She wondered when life was ever going to start getting good. Wondered if being homeless wouldn’t be a better option than living with Margo. Maybe getting gang raped by hobos would help erase some of her other memories.

  Emma wasn’t sure how long Church had been standing in the doorway of the dining hall before she noticed him. Their eyes connected for only a moment, then he turned and walked out of the room. She swallowed thickly, then put down her sandwich.

  “Is something wrong?” Stacey asked. Emma shook her head and collected her things.

  “No, but my ride is here. Gotta go.”

  “Please think about the party?”

  “Maybe. See you next math class.”

  Of course, she had no way of knowing if that’s what Church had meant by coming into the dining hall. He could’ve just gotten lost looking for the parking lot. Or maybe he’d been in there the whole time and he’d just finished eating. A dozen different reasons sprang to her mind as she hurried down the corridor.

  No, he was looking for me.

  He was sitting behind the wheel of his Honda, exactly like he’d been that morning at home. His eyes stayed trained on the windshield when she got into her seat.

  My seat, because that’s what it is now.

  After they’d been driving in silence for a couple minutes, she took a deep breath. “You got in trouble, didn’t you?”

  Silence. A muscle ticked. His jaw clenched.

  Bingo.

  “No other reason to come back to this wonderful place,” she sighed, tracing her finger along her window. “You did something bad. Not enough to get kicked out of school, but enough to worry people. Enough to make them think going home would do you good. Jesus, people are so fucking stupid. Like home is some magical place over the rainbow. A bandage that’ll fix everything. What could coming home do for you? Home just makes everything worse.”

  They sat in silence after that, driving down the winding streets. It was late autumn and he didn’t have the heat on in the car. She could feel the chill in the air. Frost was coming. She let her eyes fall shut.

  “You’re not scared of me.”

  She kept her eyes closed and let out a deep breath. He had a beautiful voice, rich and full. She was glad he didn’t share it with anyone else. It made her feel special.

  “No. I’m not,” she agreed.

  They turned onto their street, then he parked in the driveway. She took off her seatbelt and he turned off the car, but neither of them moved to get out. The chill seeped into their bones.

  “Should I call you Paul? Or Church?” she asked, staring at the walk to the front door. Her mother had put up some ridiculous little flag with a pumpkin patch on it. Margo Hartley had never so much as bought a pumpkin in her entire life, let alone seen a pumpkin patch. Now she had one waving in the wind in front of her house.

  What a life.

  Emma listened as he took a deep, steadying breath. Could hear him release it through his nose. He was trying to calm himself down. She’d unnerved him.

  Good.

  “Church,” he finally responded, then he got out of the car and left her sitting there all alone.

  CHURCH.

  Women are not good for much.

  Not that I’m sexist. Perhaps I should rephrase.

  People aren’t good for much.

  Maybe men even less so – they can’t do anything for me, most of the time. At least I can fuck women. And the very best kind of women, I can even use.

  And suddenly, standing in front of me, is this woman. And again, the next morning. This woman. Right there for the taking, right after I’d come home for my new job. For my new plan. For my new purpose.

  She has long hair just begging for me to pull it, and a mouth that rarely shuts, so maybe I should fill it.

  But the best part about her? Her eyes. Big, beautiful, green pools. The windows to her soul, telling me all her little secrets.

  You know what they say?

  They say want me.

  They say need me.

  They say I’m damaged.

  They say fix me.

  They say I will do anything for these things. Anything at all. Just make me believe.

  Oh, Emma, I can do all those things for you. I can make you a believer.

  And then you will do anything I want. Anything at all.

  Sometimes, I swear, the universe unfolds exactly as I need it to.

  3

  Emma laid flat on her back on the lumpy pull out bed. She was wearing a thin tank top and a pair of bikini briefs. She played with a strand of her hair while she stared up at the ceiling.

  It was cold in the house. Margo had talked Jerry into taking her to dinner and a play in the big city. They’d be gone all evening. He hadn’t turned up the heat before he’d left. Emma didn’t even know where the thermostat was. Instead of searching for it, she’d stripped down and stretched out in her shitty little room, content in her loneliness. Wanting the cold to seep into her bones and take root there.

  Of course, she wasn’t really alone. Church was in his room. It’s where he always was when he was at home. He never left it. He must’ve had amazing bladder control. Margo brought his dinners to him in his room. He often left his door open and Emma could see the plates of food sitting on the edge of his desk, getting cold.

  Night time, though, was different. When the house was quiet and still and dark, he came alive. She listened as he scraped the food from the plates into the trash. He made his own meals and ate them in the kitchen. He also showered at night, obviously not caring if it bothered anyone.

  It didn’t bother her at all.

  She had math again on Thursday, and this time she’d made it a point to watch him. He’d very much made it a point to not watch her. He also didn’t speak to her again, which was fine. She didn’t speak much to him. She always babbled a bit during their car rides together, but never about him again. She thought he appreciated it, but she couldn’t quite tell. He always got her for their ride home at the end of the day, so she took that as a good sign.

  He had another job, too, or something that required a lot of his time. Tuesday, after their very quiet yet very explosive car ride home, he’d only stayed in the house for an hour. Then he’d driven off to who knew where, and he hadn’t come home till the early hours of the morning.

  Wednesday, he’d only been gone a couple hours, home in time for dinner. Same with Thursday. Friday, though, he’d been gone all night again. Hadn’t come home till almost noon on Saturday.

  Saturday.

  He was in his room and she was in hers and they weren’t doing anything. Oh, sure, he was plunking away at his computer. She was thinking about what she would wear if she bothered going to that big party. But they weren’t doing anything.

  She heard him get out of his desk chair. The bathroom light came on, shining in her peripherals. Then the door shut. A second later, a toilet flushed. Ah, so he only avoided the bathroom when Jerry and Margo were home and awake. Interesting. The door opened back up, but he didn’t go to his room. She listened as he walked down the hall.

  “There’s a party,” she stated.

  Her words stopped him in his tracks, as she’d known they would, right outside her door. She kept staring at the ceiling. He stared down the hall. She bent her legs, raising her knees, and rubbed her bare thighs together.

  She couldn’t see, but she liked to think she could tell his jaw had tensed.

  “I like to dance,” she continued, still not
looking directly at him. “There’ll be lots of girls there.”

  This is such a bad idea. I don’t want to dance. I don’t want to get involved with him

  That wasn’t true at all, though.

  Yes, I do. I want to know everything about him. I want to know I’m worthy of his voice when no one else is.

  “I don’t have a ride. Or a date.”

  He stood still for a beat longer, then she saw it. He cracked. His eyes flicked to her legs. It only takes a second to take in the human body. Long, shapely legs. Burgundy panties. No bra. Dewy lips. Willing heart.

  Then he was walking away and she was smiling to herself.

  I wonder what he’d like me to wear.

  Since he’d glanced mainly at her legs, she settled on a pair of shorts. Short, but gauzy and flowy, giving her a boho sort of look. She thought about skipping a bra, but then decided to put one on and a sheer blouse over it. She raked her hair up into a messy pony tail and slid her feet into a beat up pair of ankle boots.

  Church was standing by the front door. He hadn’t bothered changing and was still in the dark navy t-shirt and jeans he’d been wearing when he’d come home. Probably what he’d been wearing the evening before, too. She didn’t hide her gaze as it raked over him. She was tall, just over five-foot-nine – closer to six foot in the boots – but he was still a couple inches taller than her. She gave him a big smile.

  “We’re going to have fun tonight.”

  His eyes locked onto hers, then he opened the door. He didn’t say any words, but once again, she read his body language loud and clear.

  “No, we’re not.”

  She sat on her knees in his car, her seat belt tucked under her arms. She was focused on rolling a cigarette while he drove – not an easy task to do in a moving vehicle. She’d perfected it at the age of nine because she couldn’t stand Margo bitching about sloppy rolls anymore.

  “I lost my ‘real’ virginity when I was fourteen,” she said, doing air quotes with one hand. “I was angry at Margo, so I fucked this kid in our neighborhood. I don’t know why, but it seemed like a solid plan at the time. Talk about a shit show. Here I am, some angry tween, with this poor fifteen year old who’d never even seen a boob before. I probably scarred him for life.”

  Church took in a deep breath, let it out as a sigh.

  “Since it was such an epic fail, I waited two years before trying again. Chem teacher, big game, huh? I felt so fucking cool. He was great, but then he cried afterwards. It was weird, but it got better. By the third or fourth time, he stopped crying.”

  For a brief second, Church’s eyes fell shut. Emma smiled to herself.

  “You’ve had sex.” She didn’t ask, she said it as a statement. A Fact. “Definitely with girls. Silly girls who didn’t know who they were dealing with. It’s beneath you, you know. Someone like you should hold out for … for greatness.”

  His gaze slid to her and she suddenly felt like he understood her even better than she could possibly guess.

  They arrived at the party. He parked behind some huge monster truck and turned off the car.

  “Hey,” she spoke softly as she put her legs down. “You don’t have to stay. Despite how I come off, I’m pretty good at faking being normal. I can get a ride home.”

  He looked out his driver’s side window, but she could read his mind. He was noticing that despite her claim, she couldn’t even seem to manage being normal around him at all.

  “Either way, I’m going inside now. I’m going to drink my face off and act stupid, because that’s what girls my age are supposed to do, and I’d rather be a pathetic cliché when I’m young than when I’m old.”

  She didn’t wait for his non-response response, Emma just got out of the car and headed down the sidewalk. Her phone started vibrating as she grabbed it from her back pocket, and she saw an incoming text from Stacey.

  Hey – you are coming, right? Don’t bail on me again.

  She snorted. Why? Why did Stacey want to be her friend so badly? Church didn’t even talk and he could already tell how fucked up she was – fucked up people could always recognize their own. So what about Stacey? Did she want to fix Emma? Good luck. She stared at her phone for a second, then quickly typed out a response.

  I’m coming. When I get there I’ll find you.

  Emma didn’t go find her. She went straight down a narrow hall which led to the kitchen. There was an intramural rugby team at their school and most of the players were gathered around a large kitchen island. They all hooted as she strolled into the room.

  “You new in town?” one guy asked, then loudly belched. She managed a smile while grabbing a beer from out of an ice bucket.

  “Right,” she replied, twisting the cap off.

  “Josh,” he offered a meaty hand. He was big, built like a defensive lineman. Her hand practically disappeared inside of his as they shook.

  “Good to meet you,” she said, then she lifted her bottle and necked her entire beer. Josh’s eyebrows went up.

  “Whoa, you want to get into trouble tonight, don’t you?” he chuckled, but in a silly way. She was surprised at the innocence in his voice. He was a nice guy.

  “Maybe. Or just get into something,” she turned towards him and grabbed another beer. This one she just sipped at.

  “So what should I call you, New Girl?”

  “Emma works most of the time.”

  “Welcome to my party, Emma.”

  She wanted to push his buttons to see if he was really a nice guy, or if he was just pretending. But before she could say anything else, a hush fell over the kitchen. She realized Josh was staring over her shoulder. She craned her head around to see what was going on behind her.

  Church was standing in the doorway. A winged unicorn could’ve pranced into the room and it would’ve received less shocked stares.

  “Hey there, Church,” Josh spoke in a slow voice. “How’s it going, man?”

  Of course, Church didn’t answer. He studied the whole room for a moment, his cool blue eyes seeming to assess everyone, and finding them all lacking. Then he walked forward. Grabbed a beer from the bucket before walking out a different door into the dining room. No one spoke for almost a solid minute after he’d disappeared.

  “I can’t believe he showed up. I didn’t even know he was back in town,” Josh mumbled. She was mid-sip and choked on her beer.

  “He gave me a ride,” Emma said, wiping at her chin. “My mother married his father, so we kind of live together for the time being.”

  “What’s it like?” Josh asked in a conspiratorial voice while he leaned down to her. Emma glanced around, then leaned even closer to him.

  “Bizarre,” she stage whispered. “I’m not sure which is worse, the Japanese fetish porn, or all the tubs of cottage cheese everywhere.”

  Josh stared at her in horror for a moment, then caught on. He barked out a loud laugh, startling her, and clapped her roughly on the shoulder.

  “You’re fuckin’ with me. I like you, Em,” he chuckled, then dropped a heavy arm around her shoulders. “Let’s stretch our legs. I’ll introduce you to some disreputable characters and you can tell me all about this cottage cheese thing.”

  They walked around the crowded dining room and living room. She met some other rugby players and some hard looking girls. She and Josh talked about cottage cheese, as well as sports and people and small town life and odds and ends. Things normal people spoke about, she supposed. She hoped. They eventually settled outside on the edge of the deck. It overlooked a pool and an expansive back yard, and Josh got back to what he really wanted to talk about with her.

  “You wanna know about him,” Emma guessed as she took out one of her cigarettes. They were both staring at the same point. The sprawling yard gently rolled down to a small lake. There was a short dock, and sitting a few feet from it, his back to the party, was Church.

  “I was surprised to see him here.”

  “I’m guessing he doesn’t party a lot.”


  Josh shrugged, surprising her.

  “He used to show up to the occasional one, back in high school, before he left for smart guy school.”

  “Church partied?”

  “I don’t know if I’d call it ‘partying’; he’d show up and he’d take some beers and he’d go sit in a corner or sit outside. I always figured he was just trying to escape from somewhere or something,” he said.

  “I’m surprised no one ever gave him any shit. The places I’ve lived, guys like him don’t get treated so hot,” she said, finally lighting her smoke. Josh laughed.

  “Oh, I think people have thought about it, but there’s more to ol’ Church than meets the eye. When we were like juniors in high school, he beat the shit out of Rory Callahan for making fun of him.”

  “I heard that rumor. I wasn’t sure whether or not to believe it.”

  “Believe it. I was there. It was at the football field. Church was up in the bleachers, just sitting there, and this kid was down on the track, kind of taunting him. So Church gets up, you know how slow and cool he moves, and he walked on down, and everyone was laughing, and then he right hooked the guy. Shock of the century. Kid went down and Church went down with him, swinging away. He’s a tall guy, but it had never occurred to any of us that he could defend himself. After that, though, none of us sure as shit ever forgot,” Josh assured her.

  Emma blew out a long stream of smoke and stared at Church’s back. She pictured the fight in her mind. A younger Church, maybe no stubble yet. Maybe not quite as broad. His eyes igniting in that way only she knew was possible as he nailed some kid to the ground.

  What a sight. I wish I’d been there.

  “He’s quiet,” she said. “But I don’t know, I like it, so it doesn’t bother me. When he’s home, he stays in his room, but he leaves the door open. He gives me rides, he waits for me, he’s here because of me. I like him, and I think … I think he might like me.”

  “Maybe,” Josh nodded, staring across the yard as well. “How do you like someone who never speaks, though?”

  But he does speak to me.