Chapter Twenty #2
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “I was going to work on the blood.” As proof, I hold up my own scrub brush.
“Lucky for you, there is enough to go around.”
Thrown off by this niceness, I drizzle dish soap on my own space, then give it a quick spray with the hose to make it foam.
“You don’t have to do this.” Settling onto my knees, I begin to scrub.
“I don’t mind.”
“Thank you.” I feel like I should say more than that, but the words won’t come.
He scoffs. “Of course. Did you think I was going to make you do this by yourself?”
“You already took care of the tree—which I appreciate. I can do this. No chainsaw required.” A strand of hair falls into my face, and I blow it back.
“I know you can, but I’m here, so you won’t.” He says it matter-of-factly, never once stopping his slow, steady scrub. I gulp a swallow, feeling a way I can’t articulate. Falling into the same rhythm as him isn’t intentional, but it happens. Before too long, we’re making our way across the porch.
We talk about mundanities, but I can feel a question hanging over us, a storm cloud waiting to unleash. If it makes the scrubbing go by faster, I can’t say I’m opposed. At last, Caine asks, “I don’t want to pry, but I have some questions…”
I work harder, pink suds flying.
Fuck.
Caine’s paused momentarily, and he’s sitting back on his heels.
“And?”
He’s quiet for a beat. “I’m trying to figure out how to ask this appropriately.”
Shit.
Did you try to kill your husband?
Were you actually in on the con?
I shake my head to clear it. “We’re washing blood off a porch. Ask away. This is a propriety-free zone.”
He barks a laugh. “Dangerous words.”
“Could be. Who knows what you’re unlocking.” I keep scrubbing, focusing my attention on a particularly dark stain.
“How did you get tangled up with him?” The sheer confusion in Caine’s voice makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time.
“It’s a long story.”
He snorts. “There’s plenty of blood.”
Oh boy.
I try to streamline things anyway. “I wasn’t raised religious.
I met Nicholas when I was in college. My mom had just moved out of state with her new husband.
Sophia was a minor, so she went with them.
I’d been the stereotypical eldest daughter to that point, certain that if they didn’t have me holding them together everything would go to pieces.
Plot twist: they left and I fell apart.” I try to sound playful, but don’t stick the landing.
Caine’s resumed scrubbing, and he nods at me to go on.
“One day, the girl who sat next to me in Accounting II invited me to a concert at her church. I’d always been a homebody, and didn’t have a lot of—any, really—friends, so it was a big deal.
When I got there, I realized that she hadn’t invited me to hang out as friends; she had invited me generally, along with two dozen other people.
I was embarrassed but figured I’d sneak out after a few songs.
Nicholas was in the lobby. He stopped me before I could leave, and we started talking. ”
There’s so much I could say. How I was lost, lonely, and dealing with undiagnosed depression, leaving nail marks on the world as I tried desperately not to be flung off.
How the lure of walking into a community that I believed truly wanted to help people—and where my skills were useful—made me willing to subscribe to ideas of hell, heaven, and everything else in between.
How Nicholas is only six years older than me, but at the time, it might as well have been two decades.
I’d dated in high school and had a boyfriend freshman year of college, but I’d never gone toe-to-toe with a man like him.
I didn’t know how conniving someone could be, that situations could be twisted to the point where I questioned my own experiences.
Trying to explain it feels like being tasked with writing an encyclopedia on a postage stamp.
Going from confused college student to wife and manager of a televangelist-slash–con man didn’t happen overnight, and I could fill a storage unit with things I’m still trying to unpack.
“Nicholas’s career was just starting to take off.
He was interested in me, and I liked how passionate I thought he was about helping people.
” I stare at the patch of porch I’m scrubbing.
Talking is one thing. Eye contact is another.
“I was also struggling with depression, had been since I was a teenager, and he was adamant that faith was the answer. He preached that with strong enough faith, mental health struggles could be ‘overcome.’ I was desperate.” I use my shoulder to knock hair away from my face.
“At first glance, the theology seemed positive and progressive. Then once I was in deeper, I realized it can basically be reduced to: you’ll be blessed if you’re holy enough. ”
“Mmm, is giving money to the church a shortcut to holiness?” he asks.
“Ding, ding, ding,” I mumble. “But there’s a flip side too.
When you go through rough things in life, there’s an implication that it’s because your faith isn’t strong enough, or you have some sin you aren’t addressing.
Going to a psychiatrist is out of the question, because they think it isn’t a health problem, it’s a holiness problem.
That there must be a reason why you aren’t being healed. ”
“Good night,” he mutters. “That’s toxic. I’m going to guess his mental health healing plan didn’t work?” Coming from anyone else, the question would make me bristle. From Caine, it makes me snort.
“Not a bit.”
“Did you ever try posting about it on Facebook? I’ve heard those ‘one like equals one prayer’ memes are where it’s at.”
“Shit. That’s what I forgot to do. I could have saved a fortune in co-pays.”
He flicks a dollop of fresh suds in my direction. “So was he an ass about you seeking treatment?”
“Horrible. He took it as a personal affront. In hindsight, I think he liked me struggling, because I didn’t question him.” Just thinking about it exhausts me. My decision to try psychiatric drugs instead of Jesus caused the fight that led to the first snake surprise.