Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
One week later
Georgie
Dad and I sit together in the gazebo.
The park is quiet today, and the creek that snakes through downtown sparkles in the summer sunshine.
A box of donuts from the bakery is set between us on the bench.
“So. You’re married now.”
“Yep,” I say a little coldly.
“Do I get to meet him?” Dad asks.
“That depends on Jefferson. You’re not exactly his favorite person.”
Dad nods toward an anti-polygamy sticker that someone has stuck to the railing of the gazebo. “It hasn’t been the most welcoming community, I’ll say that much.”
I give a rueful laugh. “Please don’t be a martyr. Jefferson doesn’t like you because I was in a fucking prison for a month, and you didn’t do anything about it. And you also were going to arrange me in marriage against my will.”
Dad sighs. “Swearing now, too, I see. Are you at least going to come to a Sunday service?”
“Never gonna happen,” I say.
He doesn’t seem to have anything to say to that, then nudges the box toward me. “You should eat. You look thin.”
“I’m getting better. Jefferson takes good care of me. You don’t have to worry about that.”
I finally look over at his face when he’s silent for a long time. I’m shocked to see him wipe a tear from the corner of his eye. “I’m sorry, Georgie.”
“Dad.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t take care of you.”
I’m not going to cry right now. I refuse.
“It’s not too late,” I say.
He shakes his head and tries to cover up his emotions by clearing his throat.
“It is too late,” he says. “I lost you.”
You didn’t. Or, you won’t. If you want to do better.”
Dad continues to shake his head in regret. “I’m in too deep. There’s nothing I can do.”
“You can make a statement to the prosecutor. Tell them you want to testify against Moffatt.”
“They’ll kill me.”
“We can protect you. We can protect the whole family.”
He calms himself, then stands up to shake it off. This man is not accustomed to showing emotion, and I almost feel sorry for him.
“Just think about it, okay?”
He looks out over the creek and nods curtly.
On the street, Jefferson rumbles up in the Charger and leaves it running while he walks up to fetch me.
“Ready to go?” he asks.
Well, this is awkward. “Um. Jefferson? This is my dad. Dad? This is my husband, Jefferson.”
That’s it. I’ve done my part. Now, it’s up to them to decide if they’ll ever have anything resembling a father/son relationship. My father bears the largest portion of that burden.
My dad turns and puts out his hand.
Jefferson stares at it, and the two of them shake.
No one throws a punch, so I’ll call it a win.
Jefferson opens my door with a blanket folded in half and draped over one arm.
He offers his hand. I take it and step out of the car.
The sun hits my eyes, and the sky is so big. The breath whooshes from my lungs like someone is pressing down on them like a bellows.
And then I get right back in the car.
The gazebo in cute little downtown Darling Creek was one thing.
I hadn’t thought about being in the wilderness. Wide open. Under the big sky. I never thought about how it might affect me. Under lock and key, I’d wanted nothing more than to go outside and breathe in the mountain air. Now, I feel like I’m in free fall.
The vastness makes me want to run and hide.
As I look out at a grassy hillside, the sky is so big that I feel like the clouds could swallow me up.
“I don’t want to go out there.”
Jefferson pauses, not letting go of my hand.
“What’s wrong, Georgie?”
“I don’t want to go outside.”
“Tell me why not.”
His tone is even. No hint of shock or annoyance.
“I don’t know.”
He moves to let go of my hand, but I grip it tighter. “Don’t go without me.”
“Georgie. I’m not leaving. I’m getting back into the car to sit with you.”
I nod and try to breathe as my hand slips from his. I avoid looking at the grass, sky, water, and hills. I simply watch him move from my side of the car to his side.
Jefferson slips behind the wheel of the Charger and shuts the door, then takes my other hand in his. Together, our hands rest on the gear shift.
He says nothing at first.
“I’m not sure what’s happening,” I say.
“It seems to me like you’re having a panic attack.”
“Okay.”
“With a sprinkling of agoraphobia.”
“How do you know?”
“Trust me. I know about these things.”
When the feeling of terror passes, I loosen my grip on his hand.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
“I’ll be ready to go in one more minute,” I say.
“No worries,” he says.
Jefferson swivels in his seat and grabs the lunch cooler. “One sub with cheese, one with no cheese.”
“What are you doing?”
“We’re having a picnic.”
“But I ruined our date. You still want to have lunch with me?”
“You didn’t ruin anything. And to answer your question, yes. I want to have every lunch with you. I want to have every breakfast, dinner, brunch, high tea, and elevensies with you.”
I smirk. “Elevensies?”
“I have to keep my calories up or I get cranky,” he says.
Laughing feels good.
Celebrating and remembering feels good.
Today, though, we’re celebrating a win. My uncle, who’s long been the enforcer for The Prophet, is dead. I don’t celebrate the fact that I killed a man. But his reign of terror is over. Orlyn Moffatt is sitting in a county jail cell.
The continued upheaval in the church means Olivia, Louisa, Goldie, and the rest of the gang have been able to help more people get out of the church.
And today, the sun is shining. Even if I don’t want to go outside just yet.
I carefully unwrap my sandwich. My stomach growls, and I’ve forgotten what scared me a minute ago.
I feel better when the food hits my stomach.
“So. How long did they lock you up?”
He asks this abruptly as if asking about my favorite color.
I nearly drop my Coke.
“What?”
“You’re shocked that I guessed right. You have that look,” he says.
I swallow. “What look?”
“Don’t try to deny it.”
“Okay. They had me in isolation for a month.”
“Fuck, Georgie.”
“I know.”
“I never went outside.”
“What else?”
I dab the tears away but don’t fight the urge to cry. “I want to fucking burn that place to the ground.”
“I’ll help you.”
“I know.”
He already knows Wynella was my prison guard and the whole story about how I stabbed her. What neither of us know is why the hell she’s renting a room in town. But we’ve both already agreed that we need to find a place of our own. Living in a closet and living with Wynella are both untenable situations.
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
I nudge him with my knee. “We know why I’m weird. How about you?” The crying is starting to subside, and I manage to smile.
“You already know my story,” he says. “But it’s not as bad as yours.”
I shake my head. He knows how I feel when he talks like that.
A few moments pass, and we eat in comfortable silence.
Jefferson shoves the food wrappers, empty cans, and napkins into the cooler.
“Back to the closet,” I joke.
He laughs at my dark humor but drives us in the opposite direction from The Dump.
“Where are we going?”
My husband doesn’t answer until we’re parked in front of a sweet, modest house in a leafy residential neighborhood of Darling Creek.
“What is this?”
Without a word, he tosses me the keys. “Our new house.”
“You didn’t,” I say.
“I did.”
I look from my husband to the single-story white brick house with a screened-in front porch. It looks older but well-kept.
“It’s so…normal,” I say.
“And no closets. Not a single one,” Jefferson says.
I laugh at this lovable fool that I married. The tender protector that I married. The hero that I married.
I look down at the house key in my hand and smile. “Let’s go take a look at our new life.”