4. Here Comes the Sun
CHAPTER 4
Here Comes the Sun
Fourteen Years Ago
I t’s so hot I can barely breathe, and singing this hymn right now might actually cause me to pass out. No one would listen to the complaints of a church choir boy, though. They would simply praise the ability to suffer. I wonder if anyone would notice an eleven-year-old passing out? Probably not . . . at least not until the next hymn went unsung.
Sweat drips down my temples and back, my undershirt clinging to me under the suffocating gown. What I wouldn’t give to be able to go to the local pool and jump in with all the other school kids. Maybe if I survive this, I can sneak out later and go without telling my parents.
The hymn concludes and I take a deep breath before the heavy doors of the church are thrown open with a bang .
“Can’t believe you’re dragging me out of bed for this bullshit, Rhonda,” a surly man’s voice calls loudly.
Every head turns to look at the commotion, half of their mouths dropping open at the obscene language. No one’s ever spoken that way inside of these walls before.
“For Christ’s sake, Ellis, just sit down and shut up,” a woman in a flowered dress says as she pushes him forward. “Come on, girl, keep up.”
Then I see her. Maybe I did pass out. Or maybe I died from heat stroke, because I’m clearly in the presence of something ethereal. Her hair glows like the sun, lit from behind like a fiery halo. As the doors shut, her pale skin comes into focus, the freckles that dance across her skin like the heavens above. Blue eyes like sapphires glance around as the girl and her parents head for a seat in the last pew.
I think my heart just started singing.
The girl sits down in her ruffled pink dress, then is promptly bumped to the side by her father, who seems to collapse with as much drama as possible next to her. He yawns loudly, burps, then lifts his dirty boots up onto the back of the pew in front.
The mother, who has similar copper hair to her daughter, seems unaware of the attention they’ve drawn and sits next to her husband before pulling out a compact mirror to reapply her lipstick. The girl, whose pale cheeks have turned the shade of a tomato, glances sideways at her parents and sinks into her seat.
As the reverend continues his sermon, the congregation refocuses on the front, but not without the scattered whispers that are no doubt because of the newcomers. It’s not until close to the end of the sermon that the girl finally meet my eyes and it’s as if life finally blooms. Her eyelashes flutter, and her cheeks turn almost the same pink as her dress. I grip the hem of my sleeves and sigh. Why couldn’t I be dressed cooler? Will she think I’m a total weirdo?
When the reverend clears his throat and raises his eyebrows at me, I shake my head, realizing I’ve missed my cue for the closing song of the sermon. I squint down at my sheet music—the words are jumbled and nonsensical, but I’ve memorized the entire book by now and can recognize the pattern of the notes. When I glance back up, the girl is smiling at me, her bright eyes sparkling.
I sing for her and think wildly that I would compose symphonies if only for her to speak to me.
When the sermon is over, I regret ever joining the choir, as I have to follow everyone back into the vestibule to change out of the ceremonial gowns. What if she’s gone by the time I get back out front? What if they were only passing through and I never see her again? I don’t even know her name.
Thankfully, no one interrupts me, and soon enough I’m bursting through the doors into the hall for the church social. All the adults stand around, gossiping and sipping coffee and tea, munching on cakes. I’m looking for golden copper hair and the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen. But . . . she’s nowhere to be found.
My face twitches. Did I imagine her? I thought I changed quickly enough. Maybe her parents were just super determined to leave right away.
There’s some chatter to my left, and I spot the girl’s parents over by the coffee cart. Her father seems to be adding something to his Styrofoam cup that isn’t cream or sugar, and I spot the mother stuffing her purse with muffins. If her parents are still here, she must be too . . . somewhere. But where?
The front doors are open, and a gentle breeze blows through. Despite the sweat still gathering on my skin, I head out into the blistering heat, the sound of cicadas and twittering birds leading me. And there she is. Sitting against a tree trunk in the shade, her legs stretched out in front of her and her head tilted back against the rough bark.
I roll back my shoulders and head over with a confidence I’m not sure I possess. When I approach and she doesn’t open her eyes, I clear my throat.
“Hi.”
She squints up at me with one eye. “Oh, hi.”
“Too hot in there?” I ask.
“Yeah. Too hot. Too stuffy. Too noisy.”
Her voice is like music.
She raises her eyebrows and I realize I haven’t said anything for a while. “Would you like to sit with me?”
I grin and nearly trip over myself as I sit next to her, our backs leaning up against the tree. Glancing sideways at her, I watch as her eyes close and she breathes deeply.
“It’s so much better out here, don’t you think?” she says with a sigh. “You’d think God wouldn’t want us to be cooped up inside when there’s so much beauty to enjoy out here.”
My eyes dart around, making sure no one is within earshot. “Careful who you say that to. Suggesting church outside is something I’d get the belt for.”
She turns to look at me. “That seems silly.”
I shrug. “Silly or not, it doesn’t make it hurt less.”
She nods seriously. “I know what you mean.”
Something sinks in my stomach. Does she get hit too? Before I can ask, she’s speaking again, and I’d never dare interrupt her.
“You won’t tell on me for my wild ideas, will you?” she asks.
I shake my head like it’s a rattle in the hand of a toddler. “No! No, of course not.”
She smiles wide, her bottom teeth slightly crooked. Perfectly imperfect.
“So,” I continue, “why haven’t I seen you here before?”
Please say you’re staying.
“Mama got a job here.”
Yes!
“Oh. What does she do?”
“She’s working over at that new canning factory just outside of town.”
I grin. “My dad works there.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, he’s one of the managers. Are you going to be at school tomorrow?” I ask hopefully.
Her face falls. “Oh, no. Daddy doesn’t believe in schools. Says the government’s trying to make commies out of us.”
My excitement plummets. “Oh. So how do you learn, then?”
She shrugs. “My dad teaches me.”
“Huh.” I can’t help but look back toward the church. That rude, obnoxious man teaching in front of a blackboard in a suit and tie like Mr. Hardman? It doesn’t seem possible.
“But you’ll be coming back here next Sunday?” I can barely keep the hope out of my voice.
She picks up a fluffy dandelion. “Most likely.” The two of us watch it, and the way the seeds fly off as she twirls the stem back and forth until there’s a single seed left.
“Mama says you can make a wish on these,” she says solemnly. “What would you wish for if you could have anything?” she asks.
Before I can stop it, I’m smiling. “To sing in front of hundreds of people.”
She smiles back. “You could do it, you know. You’re a great singer.”
I feel a flush of heat spread across my cheeks. “Nah.”
She shoves my shoulder and gives a knowing nod. “You could! I heard you. You could be the next Johnny Cash.”
My face on fire, I look down at my fidgeting hands. “Thanks.” I swallow hard. “What would you wish for?”
She throws away the dandelion, then fingers the gold pendant hanging around her neck I didn’t notice before. The thin gold chain wraps around her delicate fingers and I realize it’s a golden sun. When I glance back up, she sighs. “To feel loved.”
My brows pinch, not understanding. “You don’t feel loved? But—but what about your parents? They love you, right?”
She half chuckles then looks away before pulling her knees up under her chin. “No. No, I don’t think they do.”
“Oh,” I say, then fall silent. What can I say after that?
We’re quiet for a while. The adults and kids begin to pour out the front doors of the church toward the parking lot. I spot my little brother with my parents and realize my time with this girl is about to end. Standing, I look down into her blue eyes, my heart beating quicker than if I’d just run a mile.
“Maybe I’ll see you next Sunday?” I ask.
She grins and nods. “I hope so. I’m Dusty Connors, by the way.”
The breeze rustles her copper hair and those eyes sparkle like a blazing comet through the night. “I’m Keith. Keith Prentiss.”