Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
LENNON
The drive is icily silent on the way to church the following morning. As it was when I arrived home last night.
Jake’s face was red with rage as he stood by the door with the porch light like a guard waiting to escort me back to jail.
And as much bravado as I’d put on for August’s sake, I was scared.
Not that Jake would hurt me.
Not like that anyway.
The only words he said to me, through his teeth: “Aggravated assault has a five-year clock, Lennon. Five years. You will not disobey me again or I’ll press charges. There’s a police report and hospital records.”
But the scales had fallen away from my eyes enough to see that Jake had been psychologically abusing me for years, maybe even without either of us ever knowing it.
That shouldn’t be a thing. The person doing you wrong should know they’re bad.
But maybe the problem has been mine, unable to believe that people really do contain multitudes, and that the kindness I was seeing from him meant he couldn’t also be causing me pain. Still stuck in the black and white good and bad binaries of my childhood.
I walked straight to the guest bedroom last night and locked the door, glad of the little private ensuite bathroom.
Where I could shower and ready myself for church this morning with the toiletries stocked in the guest bath, and an old dress I stored in this closet because I thought it too dowdy and ugly.
Jake’s mother gave it to me not long after the wedding.
Before going out to cook breakfast this morning, I felt a shudder run through me as I put it on and went to look in the mirror after doing my hair as I had done it every Sunday for nine years.
I don’t think I’d ever stopped believing in God.
I’d just stopped believing in Jake and Jake’s mother’s God. A long time ago now.
The woman in the mirror with perfectly shaped brows, and lined lips and mascara to elongate every lash to twice its God-given length and rouge on the high of the cheekbones like my mama taught me when I was just a girl but I didn’t really perfect until after I was married…
She looks real pretty, I guess.
Not quite magazine perfect, but definitely, with a couple Instagram filters, a woman who could move some product.
Certainly a woman Jake will be proud to peacock around with on his arm.
She also doesn’t look a thing like me. I couldn’t even glimpse my real self. Like the prison wasn’t just the house I’d stepped into, but my own body, forced to be the way I knew Jake wanted it to be.
I rubbed the medusa on my arm in gratitude and felt myself come back into my body with a little gasp.
There was still some part of me that was mine.
When I stepped out of the room, Jake’s eyes immediately dropped right to the tattoo on my inner forearm.
“What have you done? Go back and cover it up!”
“But I like it.”
“It’s garish.” His cheeks were going all pink again. “Satanic. No wife of mine is gonna have such an ugly mark on her. We’ll get it lasered off. Now go cover it up.”
When I stood defiantly still, staring at him, his jaw went hard. “Do you want me to honor this bargain or what?”
Which was when I realized that me just coming back wasn’t going to be enough. He was gonna use this to wield as much control over me as possible.
But realizing it and knowing what to do about it were two different things. So I pushed past him into what was once my bedroom and grabbed a light black cardigan to cover up my medusa.
But we were just hiding, weren’t we? And we would come out and turn him to stone when the time was right. I promised myself.
And now here we are, pulling into the huge building with the big, bright steeple. I take in a large breath to fortify myself before pushing out the door, almost as soon as Jake has put the car in park. I can’t stand to be in an enclosed space with him a second longer than necessary.
As soon as I do, I feel stares from every direction.
Ah.
Small communities are fueled by gossip, and this one’s no different. Everybody loves a secret, or what they perceive as a secret. Even though it’s gone through so many rounds of telephone that it’s less a secret and more a snowball gathering the momentum of a scandal as it rolls downhill.
I guess this scandal was big even before the snowball got going.
The wife of one of the church’s core couples left her husband, and right afterwards slept with his brother.
I’m sure Kathy made sure to share that juicy tidbit, even as Jake felt no doubt humiliated by it.
She wouldn’t have been able to hold herself back, because it proved her right in what she’d always thought about me.
Judging by the judging stares I’m getting now, I’m guessing Kathy got to every single person on the church directory. She probably went along with the preacher on any pastoral visits he was doing just in case anyone hadn’t heard the news.
I startle as Jake appears beside me and intertwines his arm with mine, securing me tight to his hip and marching me through the open double doors.
But not before hissing in my ear, “You’re gonna do everything asked of you the next two hours, you hear me? Repent in front of God, the pastor, and the congregation just like you promised me.”
I frown up at him, my stomach falling out wondering what the hell he’s talking about before suddenly we’re right in front of the pastor.
It’s a different pastor than the one who dunked me in the frigid baptismal a decade ago.
Pastor Sean is younger and more charismatic, but his face clouds as soon as he sees me.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt as soon as I see him, not sure exactly what Jake means about wanting me to repent in front of people.
Pastor Sean nods gravely and takes my hand after Jake passes it off to him. Uncomfortably, I allow him to hold my hands between his two, which he presses together like he’s giving me a blessing of some kind.
“Lennon Marie, all who are lost can be found. Prodigal sons and daughters will be welcomed back into the fold with joy and thanksgiving. But like he who recognized that laying down with the pigs was nothing to his Father’s bountiful table, we must be brought to our knees sometimes and beg forgiveness.
Do you understand?” His brows are earnestly drawn together and he gives my hands he’s still holding a gentle shake.
I didn’t lay down with pigs. I told Jake I was leaving him before I— And I didn’t know August was his brother or I wouldn’t have—
But I swallow down all my knee-jerk self-justifications.
One thing is clearly true: I’ve caused a mess of August’s life.
This is for August and his son. To set things right.
So I bow my head. “I ask for forgiveness.”
Another squeeze of my hands from Pastor Sean. “Remember,” he says, finally releasing my hands. “The Prodigal Son begged. On his knees.”
My head pops up and I frown in confusion. Does he mean he wants me to get down on my knees? Right here with everyone flooding into the service all around us?
But he’s already clapping Jake on the back and moving to welcome other congregants, so I allow Jake to shackle my arm again and direct me to our usual pew.
Halfway there, we run into Jared and Brianna. Her face lights up at seeing me.
“I always loved you in that dress.” She rushes forward to squeeze me in a hug. “I’m so glad you came to your senses,” she breathes in my ear. “Now everything can go back to normal.”
She’s beaming at me when she pulls back and sits down in the pew beside me, her children settled between her and Jared. “Let me catch you up on all you’ve missed.” She leans in again. “Just ignore everyone who’s staring. They’ll get over it.”
She chatters on about milestones the children have been reaching, meanwhile I feel all the stares like tangible things.
Oh my God, it’s like back in high school.
There was a mean girl, McKenzie Davis who used me as her favorite target practice because I was one of the few girls on scholarship at the expensive Dallas prep school. I was a freshman and she was a junior and she made my life absolute hell when I was just trying to fit in.
And now like then, it wasn’t just paranoia that everyone was staring at me—it was because they were.
The fear was real, too. Often it meant they were plotting their next little torture.
From tripping me in the hallway to shoving me into lockers—don’t believe it when people tell you girls are less violent in their bullying than boys.
When I brought kittens to school early in sophomore year because my stepdad threatened to drown them if they stayed at home, I thought: no one can resist an adorable kitten.
I figured I’d be able to tempt somebody into giving one or two a safe home.
When I tried to let them out in the backyard, the little fools kept coming back.
But any reminder of McKenzie inevitably brings reminders of high school. My one real friend I’ve ever had in the world who protected me from the bullies.
Just like August tried.
Harper ended up destroyed, in part by my bullies.
Just like August will be if I don’t play my part well enough here.
So even though I’m dying of humiliation inside, reliving high school with all eyes on me, and feeling no stronger than I did then, I try to square my shoulders and fight back tears.
I set this in motion.
I deserve to bear the consequences, even if none of it feels fair.
What did fair ever have to do with anything?
I’ve never been so glad for a church service to start in my life. My eyes blur as the lights darken slightly so that the screen reflecting the worship song lyrics up front can be read more clearly as the worship band starts up.
Usually I find this part meaningful, in spite of my wobbly relationship with this church’s version of God.
Today, though, I’m swallowing back tears the entire time.
God, I pray silently, looking towards the ceiling. If you’re up there… And then any tangible words die off and all I can beg is: Help me. Help me.