Chapter 10 #2
On this warm summer night, Father Justin, the “dunkee,” won’t mind being dropped into the water tank. Even if it was a cold, freezing night, Father Justin would do it with a smile. The kids and the orphanage are his life.
Flat Planes is a wonderful place to raise children and grow old. That is, if one can overlook the gruesome deaths on their doorsteps.
Speaking of…
I’ve not seen Jupiter, which isn’t unusual.
She’s not one to engage in anything community-based. She likes to blend into the shadows, which is why I’m extra vigilant.
The police are present, trying to blend in without drawing attention to the fact that a serial killer is at large. However, they realize Jupiter is too clever to make her move in a public setting.
“I hope you’ve gone easy on an old man and filled that with warm water,” says Father Justin, interrupting my thoughts.
I chuckle in response. “Old my left foot. I heard the choir only yesterday comment on how ‘hip’ you are.”
Father Justin places a hand playfully over his heart. “Bless.”
Father Justin is anything but old. At a guess, I’d say he is in his mid-forties. He’s attractive, if one can say that about a priest. It’s apparent that the congregation also thinks this, as many women haven’t shied away from flirting with Father Justin.
Flattered by their advances, he makes it clear that his faith is his first and only love. I admire him for that. Having strong convictions leads to a simpler, less complicated life. Perhaps I could take a page out of his book, because my life is currently a shit show.
Father Justin wears board shorts and a T-shirt. It’s strange to see him out of “uniform.” Women begin to gather, watching with humor as he sits on the collapsible bench above the water tank.
Soon, a crowd of enthusiastic townsfolk gather, all looking forward to dunking their cherished father. They’re given three balls for five dollars, which is a steal, and given the length of the line, I suspect Father Justin will be drenched come nightfall.
Martina Greene, a devoted churchgoer, and her daughter, Helen, are first in line. They pay me ten dollars. I pass them their six balls and stand back, unable to hide my smile.
The church has hired a DJ who appropriately plays “Waterfalls” by TLC.
Helen is first up. She aims and misses.
Father Justin looks relieved.
The crowd eggs her on while Father Justin crosses his fingers jokingly, in hopes she misses again.
She does.
The atmosphere is cheerful and relaxed. It’s a nice change from the past few days. But I don’t allow my guard to slip as I discreetly search the crowd for Jupiter. I feel out of sorts that we’re fighting. Like an integral part of me is missing. But in some ways, I also feel…relieved.
Today, seeing her—I mean, really seeing her—opened my eyes. I guess I always put her on a pedestal. She saved me in more ways than one. But watching her unguarded revealed an ugly side of her.
I know this revelation is because the person she intends to harm is Kit. And the thought of anything happening to him has me wrestling with my loyalty.
A thought churns low in my belly as I refuse to give it life. What does it say about me if I consider letting my best friend hunt Kit, only to set a trap for her to get caught?
I recoil at the thought.
But it suddenly feels like a game of survival.
She will drag me down with her, or, worse still, she will ruin any hope I might have of a “normal” future with Kit. I know I’m getting ahead of myself, seeing as Kit and I have had one…date?
Is that what last night was?
Nevertheless, her actions remain unpredictable, which makes her dangerous.
My best friend has somehow turned into my foe overnight. And all because I asked that we be careful.
The roars of the crowd snap me from my head as Father Justin splashes into the tank full of water. The thrower is Martin Yellowy, an altar boy.
Oh, the irony.
Father Justin emerges, brushing his wet brown hair from his eyes. “Good shot, Martin.”
“Thank you, Father.” Martin appears sheepish for being the first one to dunk Father Justin. But it’s all in good fun.
Father Justin is plunged into the tank a few more times. It seems everyone is a pitcher tonight. When he jumps back onto the ledge, absolutely drenched and looking a little worse for wear, I ask if he wants to quit, but he stubbornly shakes his head.
He quickly wishes he hadn’t made that choice when the local baseball team steps up, ready to show off their skills.
I’m about to step in but am stopped dead in my tracks when I hear a voice that has goose bumps rippling from head to toe. “Father, the parish needs you, and you may miss Sunday Mass at this pace.”
I can’t keep the smile from my face when I see Kit approaching the stall.
“You may be right, young man. The Lord thanks you,” Father Justin says lightheartedly, thankfully accepting Kit’s offer to take his place.
He doesn’t hesitate as he jumps down from the bench. Sister Georgia is on standby, rushing over with a large towel.
“My car has never driven better, thanks to you,” Father Justin says, vigorously drying his hair. “If you’re looking for more work, come by when you’re free. I have a 1972 F-truck that I’d like to get back on the road.”
“You had me at F-truck.” Kit smiles while I look between him and Father Justin.
More work means more time at the orphanage, which is good, right? I mean, I can keep an eye on him this way without having to resort to stalking. But this also means he’ll be around—a lot.
The way my body reacts just from seeing him makes me wonder what might happen if I saw him every day.
Kit removes his T-shirt, and I swear, I hear every woman in a hundred-yard radius gasp aloud. The sight is fucking delicious. His abs look sculpted from marble, and his low-rise shorts reveal a sharply defined V-shaped muscle.
So I don’t blame the women for falling over themselves. But a possession so fierce engulfs me that I pick up his discarded T-shirt and toss it back at him.
“Please, no one wants to see that.”
Kit bursts into laughter.
Father Justin soon joins him. “I beg to differ, Liv,” he murmurs, discreetly gesturing to the salivating women on the sidelines. “Think of the children.”
My mouth parts in shock. “What sort of priest are you?” I tease playfully because I’m pretty sure exploiting one’s looks isn’t in the pastoral handbook.
“I’m hip, remember?”
I burst out laughing as he teasingly winks. It’s all in good humor.
“Besides, I feel a chill coming on.” He stages a cough behind his hand. “Go easy on this young man,” Father Justin addresses the crowd, before catching me off guard and nudging me gently in the ribs. “Especially you.”
Am I that obvious?
The crowd circles Father Justin, treating him like a local rock star, and I guess that’s because he is. Doesn’t look like he’ll be going anywhere anytime soon. Meanwhile, I ignore the butterflies in my stomach and take my place behind the table to serve the next eager pitcher in line.
Oh, and what do you know, it’s the blonde I saw Kit talking to at the garage.
She smiles, passing me a ten-dollar bill. “Anything for charity, right?” she gushes like we’re friends.
I deadpan her and only just refrain from tossing the balls at her head.
She gets the hint and takes her position in front of the tank.
I refuse to make eye contact with Kit, but I can feel his smugness from here. I shove the money into the tin, and when I look down the line, I roll my eyes because it suddenly consists of women.
The baseball team has been set aside so the horny women of Flat Planes can shoot their shot, and I mean that in the literal sense, with Kit.
“Think of the children,” I mumble under my breath as I take a twenty off another Kit groupie.
She doesn’t ask for change, as it seems she wants the full Kit experience.
The blonde misses the target and walks over to the tank, intent on making small talk. But that’s not happening, especially since he didn’t take the hint to put his shirt back on.
“Next!” I shout, practically shoving the lady next in line toward the tank.
The blonde gets the hint and gestures with her hand that Kit is to call her.
I stick out my tongue, primed on gagging. I thought I was discreet, but I clearly wasn’t because when I lock eyes with Kit, it’s apparent he is thoroughly amused, which merely pisses me off further.
“Hey, Cupcake?”
It feels as if the blood drains from my body.
I go numb.
Cupcake?
Has he figured out who I am?
When he notices that I’m puzzled by the nickname, his gaze shifts to my wrist. Looking down, I’m relieved when I see the large pink cupcake charm on the bracelet one of the kids made for me during arts and crafts.
I fold my arms across my chest, arching a brow, hinting that if he has something to say, he should say it.
“Your turn. Dunk me, and I’ll buy you dinner.”
“What if I don’t?” I ask, amused by his arrogance.
“Then you’re at my command.”
Command? I didn’t know it was still the 1950s.
“Oh, go fu—”
One of the sisters walks past at that precise moment, clearing her throat loudly, reminding me that kids are in earshot.
“I’m sure dozens of other girls would be thrilled to have dinner with you. I am not one of them, however.”
He calls me out and owns me with a smirk and that lascivious mouth.
“I don’t want any other girl. I want you.”
The background noise soon recedes, and the only thing I can hear is the steady staccato of my heart.
I’m unable to look away.
Once again, I am Kit’s prisoner, held under his invisible spell.
“Who is she?” someone whispers, incredulous I would say no to someone who looks like Kit.
He’s been here five minutes and already has a fan club.
I am no one.
Well, I was until Kit Rivers waltzed into my world and shook it up beyond repair.
“Deal?” he asks when I stand mute.
“No deal.” I recover quickly, brushing the hair from my hot cheeks.
I serve the next woman in line who looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.
Little does she know…
“What’s the matter, Cupcake? You scared?” Kit mocks smugly.
Oh, fuck him…