Small Town Sinners (21 page)

After four unanswered texts, he finally replies to the fifth and agrees to meet me at Ulster Park on Saturday after my shift at Joey’s. I’m anxious all day—I spill iced tea on Mrs. Sharp’s silk flowered blouse, I get four orders mixed up during the lunch rush, and I burn my fingers on the hush puppy fryer when I forget to grab a rag to take them out of the hot oil. After that, Mel lets me leave early.

“You’re doing more harm than good today, Lacey,” he says. “Must be all those Hell House rehearsals. I hear it’s gonna be a whopper this year.”

“You got that right,” I say, smiling. I’m glad I’ve thrown myself back into the performance without reservation. I can see things from all angles now, and I realize that I’m working for the greater good. I just have to convince Ty of that too.

I take off my apron and head to the car. I figure I’ll get to Ulster Park a little early and wait. But when I drive up, the red BMW is already there. Ty’s leaning back in his seat and the radio is blasting an old Rolling Stones song through the open windows.

I walk up to the driver’s side and lean in. “Hey,” I say.

Ty starts. “Oh! Hey!” he says, smiling and laughing at his own jumpiness. “I was really feeling the classic rock for a minute there.”

I laugh at him and move aside as he opens his door, relieved that it already feels easy between us, that he isn’t acting mad.

When he steps out of the car and stands up, I give in to the urge to hug him. I put my arms around his waist and rest my chin on his shoulder. I close my eyes and stand there for a minute, until he wraps his arms around my shoulders and holds me back.

When we break apart, he looks more serious, and he goes around to the trunk to grab our sleeping bag. We set it up on the hill without talking, just going through the motions.

I keep a paraphrase from the book of James in my head: “Let every person be slow to speak, quick to listen.” That’s how I want to approach this day. I want to listen and really hear Ty. Because I know we’re on the same side. I can feel it.

We sit for a few minutes in the shade. The leaves have turned now, their summery green changed to fall’s brown. I take a few deep breaths, slowly and quietly, hoping Ty will go first. But I asked him to meet me here, after all. I guess I should start.

“So why haven’t you been in school?” I ask, avoiding the hard part.

“I just had to do some thinking,” Ty says. “You know how school gets in the way of that.”

He smirks a little and I grin back.

“Yeah,” I say. “School hasn’t exactly been easy this year for any of us.”

“Especially for Dean,” he says, looking at me.

“Yeah,” I say, hoping we don’t have to talk about Geoff Parsons again.

I can feel Ty looking at me intensely now. It’s like the right side of my face is heating up under his gaze. “Do you get it, Lacey?” Ty asks, his tone getting harder. “It’s like Dean’s never going to be able to be himself in this town.”

“Dean’s himself,” I say. “He doesn’t conform. He’s always been a little weird, but in a good way. I mean, look at his nail polish!”

I laugh again, trying to lighten the mood, but Ty’s done smiling.

“He’s
trying
to be himself,” Ty says. “In little ways, like with the nails or his hair or even the way he dresses in all black. It’s all these parts of him trying to get out, but here they’re all stuffed up inside of him.”

I remember that Dean and Ty have a friendship too. That they hang out and play video games, and they went to see the new slasher movie together with Graham Andrews when Starla Joy and I deemed it too bloody for us. What have they been talking about?

“What do you mean?” I ask. “Do you know something about Dean?”

“I don’t know anything about Dean that anyone with any common sense wouldn’t wonder,” says Ty.

“Do you think Dean is gay?” I ask. And I’m surprised when I hear the word come out of my own mouth. I’ve never asked anyone that, never said it out loud. It gets hurled at Dean sometimes, as an insult, a word that hurts. People here don’t always get that he’s different so they try to assign a label. But now that I’m asking, I’m not sure how I feel about it, if it’s attached to my friend for real.

“I don’t know,” Ty says. “And that’s not the point anyway, Lacey.”

“Well, it’s a pretty big word to throw around!” I say.

“I didn’t throw it around,” Ty says. “You did.”

He’s right, but he knows he planted the seed in my head.

“But did he say something to you?” I ask, looking up at Ty curiously.

“Lacey Anne, this isn’t for us to talk about,” he says. “It’s Dean’s business, and I have no idea. But the thing is, in this town, I don’t think he’ll ever know.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I mean that if he
is
gay, or questioning, or whatever, he’ll never have a chance to find out,” Ty says. “He’ll squelch that part of himself because he’ll see himself as evil. Because you all see it as evil.”

“That’s not true,” I say. “Hate the sin, not the sinner.”

“So you wouldn’t hate him for being gay unless he actually ‘acted gay’?” Ty asks. “If he never did anything ‘wrong’ by your standards, could you still be friends?”

He uses air quotes when he says “acted gay” and “wrong,” and I don’t like how he’s making me sound like a zealot.

“The born-gay myth is pervasive,” I say. “But homosexuality is a choice people make, and it’s a choice to sin. Dean would never make that choice, because he’s a good person who lives his life with God.”

“Are you quoting a pamphlet?” Ty asks.

He looks at me with such disappointment that I turn my eyes to the grass so I don’t have to see his face. The truth is, I
am
quoting what I’ve learned in church. Not a pamphlet, but my father and Pastor Frist for sure. They’ve always been the voices in the back of my head. I try hard to find my own words so Ty will know what I believe.

“Even if he did make that choice,” I say, thinking about Dean possibly being gay, possibly exploring that world, “I know he would come back to the church.”

“And you would forgive him,” says Ty, sounding distressed.

“Yes!” I say. “We would welcome him home.”

“As long as he gave up the gay lifestyle,” says Ty, “and denounced who he is.”

“Do you really think he’s …
gay
?” I whisper it this time, almost convinced now that it’s true.

“No,” Ty says. “I don’t know. I don’t think he knows. But I’m his good friend and I want him to be able to be who he is, either way.”

“Oh my gosh,” I say. “Dean might be gay.”

“Lacey, don’t get caught up in that,” Ty says. “It isn’t what I wanted to say. I was just using that as an example of your ‘bigger picture.’ ”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“The church,” Ty says. “I just … I have these doubts.”

“I know, we’ve talked about doubts,” I say. “And I’ve had mine too—you know that better than anyone else.” I think about how to phrase what I want to say, and I feel like I’m in a class, discussing big thoughts and ideas, trying to get my head around it all. It feels exciting.

“The doubts are just because of these tiny things,” I start again. “Things in our own lives that we’re caught up in because we’re sixteen and self-involved.”

“Now you’re quoting
my
father,” Ty says.

“Well then, he’s right,” I say, smiling again, urging Ty to see things my way. “We’re worried about the day-to-day drama, but God’s got the whole universe on His mind. Like you said—it’s the bigger picture. Even our Hell House isn’t a huge part of that plan, but it’s much, much bigger than the trivial things going on at school with Dean. Or even Dean being gay.” I can’t help but smile uncomfortably. “Ty, seriously, do you think he is?”

“Lacey,” Ty says, staring mock sternly at me. “I’m trying to talk to you right now and you’re stuck on that. It was just an example.”

“Okay, go on,” I say, stifling my nervous giggles.

“With Tessa, then,” Ty says, “is it trivial that everyone at school talks like it was her fault alone that she got pregnant, like
she
sinned and Jeremy somehow didn’t?”

“No one thinks that,” I say, though I know they do. And I was fighting with my father about this very thing.

I shake my head to clear my thoughts—this isn’t about Tessa. I’m trying to stay calm, almost like I’m channeling one of Pastor Frist’s sermons, because this moment feels important.

“Okay,” I say. “Maybe some people do say that about Tessa. But God has a bigger plan—He doesn’t have time to care for each of our issues individually. That’s why some unfair things happen in this town … I mean, that’s why people
starve
sometimes. And kill. There’s a higher power at work, and there’s not time for every issue to come out right.”

“And it’s our job to work on this higher level with God instead of paying attention to the individuals right in front of us, the ones we can care for and comfort now?” asks Ty.

He’s so good at this—at talking and throwing ideas back at me. He reminds me of my father right now. I feel exhilarated and frustrated at the same time. I want to hold my own.

“It’s our job to bring people to God,” I say. “So that
He
can care for them and teach them how to act in His image.”

“Well, Geoff and Jeremy are in the House of God all the time, but they sure don’t ‘act in His image,’ ” says Ty.

More air quotes.

“Well, it’s probably harder for some people than others,” I say. Then I smile. “Or maybe Geoff still wants to play Mary like he did in kindergarten.”

I nudge Ty, and his lips turn up a little bit but he won’t give me a real smile.

“I’m kidding,” I say. “You remember joking around?”

Ty smiles then, and I can tell he’s picturing Geoff carrying around that Baby Jesus doll.

The air feels lighter around us for a moment, but then Ty frowns again.

“Lacey, this is serious,” he says.

“Ty, I’m trying to understand you,” I say, sighing.

“I know,” he replies. “It’s just that there’s so much you don’t know.”

“I may not know a lot about the world outside of West River yet,” I say. “But I know
you
. I know you’re a good person.” He turns his head away from me but I can tell that he’s listening.

“I know you think Hell House is extreme,” I say, trying to get the conversation going the way I want it to. “You’re right—and it’s meant to be. That’s how we get people to understand how important having Jesus in their lives is.”

“Lacey Anne, there are other ways,” Ty says.

“ ‘Others save with fear, pulling them out of the fire,’ ” I say, quoting Jude.

“Stop coming at me with other people’s words,” says Ty. “I want to hear
your
words. What do
you
think? How do
you
feel?”

“That
is
what I think,” I say. “Those words tell the real truth of how I feel, without my own self-involvedness confusing me. That’s what the Bible’s there for. For me to lean on when I get in my own way.”

Ty looks at me and his eyes go sad. His mouth slacks into a disappointed line.

I replay what I just said in my head. “That’s what the Bible’s there for. For me to lean on when I get in my own way.” Sometimes I wonder why I don’t trust my own thoughts. Should I be more brave? More confident, like Ty?

Before I can express any of this, though, Ty speaks.

“You’re not the person I thought you were,” he says. Then he stands up and walks away, leaving his sleeping bag with me.

I’m alone in Ulster Park, and I sit there for another few minutes, thinking about what Ty said, thinking about Dean, thinking about Tessa, thinking about God. I’ve always had these words, other people’s words, in my head. They’ve reassured me, they’ve guided me, they’ve helped me choose the right path so many times. The Bible leads me, my pastor teaches me, my father reassures me.

But where are
my
words? No one’s ever asked for them before. Ty is the first person to wonder what
I
think, deep down. How
I
feel. I thought I knew, but now I’m so confused.

How can I love this boy?
He asks me questions and wants real answers from deep inside me. He challenges me and fights with me.

He kisses me. He makes me think outside myself. And maybe deeper inside myself too.

Did I mention that he kisses me?

I wonder how much the kissing scrambles my brain.

I watch the sun streaking in bright pinks and oranges, and I wait until it’s dipped below the horizon before I get up to go home.

Chapter Twenty-four