The Truth About Faking (9 page)

“
You say that, but it’s hard to believe.” Ricky’s voice is quiet. He sounds like he’s crying.

“
I know,” Mom says. I hear bodies moving, and I imagine them embracing.
This is not happening! Where’s Dad?
 

It’s quiet a few seconds longer, then Ricky speaks.

“
Thanks for letting me come over,” he says. Sounds of movement again. “I felt like I had to talk in person.”

“
Don’t worry about it,” Mom says. “But you do need to go now. It’s late and Harley could be home any minute. She might not understand.”

“
How is it possible I got sent to this tiny town and found you?” His voice is warm.

“
Predestined?” Mom’s voice has a smile in it, and I feel sick.

“
More like my angel…”

The office door starts to open, and I jump and scurry back, trying to make it look like I just closed the front door. But not before I see my mom shake her head and smile back at him.

“
Harley! You’re home,” she says. She sounds surprised, and I feel my eyes grow hot. “Ricky just stopped by to… discuss something.”

I nod, but my heart is racing, and I can’t meet her eyes. His angel? What wouldn’t I understand? What were they doing in there while I was gone? While Mom was supposed to be home. Alone. Reading about magnets and menopause. Menopause! She could be his grandmother.

“
Hey, biker chick,” Ricky says.

“
Only my dad calls me that.” I won’t look at either of them.

“
I was just teasing.” Ricky says, and I glance up. His cheeks appear damp in the dim light, and as usual he’s wearing a tight polo. It stretches over his chest as he reaches to touch my mother’s arm.

“
I’d better go,” he says.

“
I’ll walk you out,” she replies.

I don’t move as I watch them leave. In my mind I put together the timeline. Jason picked me up a little before seven, and the movie was two hours long. Did Ricky know I’d be gone? Was it just a coincidence? How long could he have been here? Maybe I got home just in time. Finally Mom returns.

“
How was the movie, honey?” Her voice sounds tired and she lifts her hand to rub her forehead.

“
Fine,” I say, watching at her.

“
That’s good.” Then she waves to the door. “Ricky just had… this thing. It was nothing really.”

“
Nothing?”

“
Yeah, just something he’s dealing with… but nothing for you to worry about.”

I bite my lip and decide against asking if it was another suspicious mole. Instead, I internally freak out. What I saw was way too intimate to be nothing. My stomach feels both sick and crampy, and I wish she’d tell me more.

She just smiles and walks over to me. “I don’t know about you, but I’m dead. I’m gonna hit the feathers.”

She pecks my cheek, and I can’t help checking for any sign something might’ve happened. Her shirt tags are all in their proper places, her hair isn’t messy or swept into a high, damp ponytail. She isn’t singing anything off-key…

“
Where’s Dad?” I ask.

“
Hm?” Mom looks up and then glances at the clock. “Oh, wow. It’s after ten. He probably just got tied up at church or something. Don’t worry. He’ll be home soon.”

“
I wasn’t worried,” I say. At least not about Dad.

“
See you in the morning.”

I stand motionless as she walks down the hallway to her room and closes the door. My stomach is still churning as I go to my room and lay across my bed. Then I get up and go back across the hall to the bathroom to wash my face. When I come out, I still don’t hear anything from her room, so I go back to mine and change clothes.

I get under my covers and pick up a book, but I can’t read it. I lean back and close my eyes for a second. After a few minutes, I look around. It’s strange because I don’t remember how I got here, but I’m swimming in the creek. It’s dark, and I’m alone in the black waters. At least I thought I was alone. There’s a voice on the shore, a male voice. It sounds like Jason, but it’s too far away for me to tell. I start to swim toward it, but something grabs my legs and starts pulling me under. It’s scratchy like tree roots, and I struggle and kick. But it keeps grabbing me and pulling me down. My heart’s beating faster, and I can’t breathe. I try to cry out, to move my arms, but it’s too late. The dark water is pouring into my nose and down my throat. I’m drowning. I can’t lift my arms as I start to black out…

I sit up fast. I’m in my bed, and it’s light outside. Sunday morning.

Six

I can’t shake the dream as I prepare for church. Slipping into my dress and brushing my hair, I can still feel the scratchy whatever it was pulling my legs, still feel the water running down my throat, and I shiver. Anxiety tightens my chest, and I worry it was an omen or something. Our quiet house isn’t helping either. I want to turn on the television or blast the radio to fill up the silence. Instead I wander into the kitchen and find Mom pouring a cup of coffee.

“
Coffee?” I raise my eyebrows. “What happened to the green tea regimen?”

“
Hm?” She frowns, distracted. Then she smiles. “Oh, I needed a little kick this morning.”

“
What’s wrong?” I ask.

“
Oh, nothing. Just didn’t get enough sleep last night.”

She walks into the living room and sits on the couch, staring at the black face of the silent television.

“
Maybe you should’ve gone to bed earlier,” I say, watching her for any sign of a reaction.

She takes a sip and shakes her head. “It would’ve just been more time lying awake.”

I can’t believe she missed my meaning. “Worried about something?” I ask. Then I hold my breath, waiting to see if she’ll tell me anything more about last night. Why Ricky was here or what “thing” he’s dealing with.

She glances at me, and for a moment I think she might. But she only smiles and shakes her head again. “Just trouble sleeping,” she says. “I probably should’ve taken some melatonin.”

I frown, but she turns back to the dark television screen again. I decide to try another approach and go to sit beside her on the couch.

“
Let’s see what’s on,” I say, picking up the remote. “Maybe they’re touring another little village on
Sunday Morning
. Like that time when I was sick?”

“
Harley,” Mom breathes, standing. “You know Daddy likes it quiet before church. He needs these last moments to pray and mentally prepare.”

And with that she walks back to her room, leaving me on the couch frowning at her half-empty coffee cup. I’ve never thought of my mom as a great actress, but she’d win an Oscar for her performance today. She’s behaving like last night was the most ordinary Saturday evening of all time, and Ricky hadn’t been here crying and pleading with her when I got home. The pressure in my chest grows worse.

During every church service there’s this part where we “Pass the Peace.” Basically we all greet each other and shake hands right before Dad gets up to deliver his sermon. As I shake hands with the lady sitting behind me, I spot Trent. He’s always in church with his mom, and he always looks amazing in a coat and tie. Our eyes meet and he smiles, and in spite of it all, my heart flutters. I give him a little wave and then catch Stephanie Miller watching us. I smile at her but she quickly flicks her eyes away. Then I see Trent’s mom watching my mom with a sneaky smirk on her face, and all my peace vanishes. But I also notice Ms. Jackson doesn’t seem to have a lot of friends at church. That explains why her story’s been so slow going. I wonder if Trent knows what his mom saw at my house. I wonder if he believes it.

I look at Mom, and she’s making a point to shake hands with Mrs. Perkins. Mrs. Perkins stiffly nods and then follows with her evil eyes as Mrs. Bender waddles over to embrace Mom. Mrs. B’s been Mom’s closest ally for years. Ever since my mom convinced her not to leave her husband.

We all sit, and I watch as Dad takes his position behind the pulpit and begins to speak. Dad’s been the pastor here since I was a baby. Our church is part of the Presbyterian Churches of America, but I didn’t even know that meant anything until a few years ago. Basically it means our church falls into the most conservative category of Presbyterians, which doesn’t surprise me. In my house it’s always been no cursing, drinking, wearing certain clothes, watching certain movies and TV shows. Even me being on the cheerleading squad is just borderline okay because of the short skirts and high kicks.

So a few years back it came out that Mr. Bender’d had an affair with this Cambodian woman when he was on duty in Vietnam. He confessed to my dad that he practically had this whole other family in the South Pacific and Mrs. Bender almost left him over it. But my parents saved the day—with God’s help, of course.

Dad reminded everyone that Bender was a war hero and said what had happened was one of those “in love and war” types of situations. He said what mattered now was saving their marriage, that it was a mistake, and forgiveness was a gift. Mrs. Bender wasn’t as understanding or ready to forgive, but after counseling with my mom for several months, she decided to put it behind her. I couldn’t believe it, but Mom said I didn’t understand the concept of building a life with someone.

Maybe I’m still learning, but I believe having another woman pop up with your husband’s two long-lost kids seriously wrecks any life-building efforts. It’s the exact opposite of how things went with Shelly’s parents. Of course, once all that came out, Shelly’s dad had been more interested in ending their marriage than trying to keep it together. That’s what hurt my friend so much. But to be fair, I don’t believe a marriage can be saved after something like that happens, and it’s hard for me to understand where Mrs. B’s coming from acting like it doesn’t matter to her. Mom says I should wait until I’m older to decide.

As Dad continues speaking, I look over at my mom. Her eyes are glued to him like she’s hanging on his every word. I chew my lip and frown. It’s so confusing how she can go from a private huddle with Mr.
Men’s Health
one night to gazing at my father like he’s the Second Coming today. But it helps ease my dream-inspired anxiety, and it seems to subdue the gossip. For now at least. Maybe there’s a chance I’m wrong. I mean, what I heard last night had sounded pretty incriminating, but there isn’t any proof that anything bad happened.

I tune in to Dad just in time to realize he’s giving me my cue. Every Sunday, he likes me to sing the Doxology to close the service. I did it once when I was five because the lady who was supposed to sing it never showed up for church. I was too little to be self-conscious, and I’d always liked the song. I imagined all the creatures were like the little mice and birds in
Snow White
, and I was the princess urging them to praise God with me. I thought it was pretty cool, and everyone else seemed to agree. So it became our regular way to end the service.

Now that I’m older, I know singing in church is kind of special, but I’ve been doing it so long, it’d be even more exceptional if I stopped. So that’s the order. Dad brings the message, and at the end, he backs away for me to sing the Doxology while Mrs. Turner plays the large pipe organ. Then we all make a bee-line for the back doors and Sunday dinner.

Dad says his final words, and I stand to approach the smaller podium on the right. It doesn’t matter that I hadn’t listened to the sermon, I could do this in my sleep. But when I look up, I freeze. Jason’s sitting in the last row of the sanctuary. He’s wearing a suit and tie, and he actually looks… really handsome. Our eyes meet, and I see his eyebrows go up as the sound of the pipes burst out from behind me. I jump and move to my usual spot.

Mrs. Turner blares the last eight chords of the song, which is my introduction, and for the first time, my breath catches at the thought of singing out loud in front of everyone. In front of him.

Right on cue, though, my mouth opens and the words come out. It’s the longest 30 seconds of my life. I worry that I might hit a wrong note. I worry that my voice sounds funny. I feel my legs tremble, and I want to turn and dash out the back door.

Praise God from whom all blessings flow.

Praise him all creatures here below.

Praise him above  ye heav’nly host.

Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

A-men.

Finally the song is over, and as usual everyone breaks for the doors. I wonder if any of them even noticed the mini-panic-attack I almost had. Or that I actually cared for once that someone in particular was listening. As the crowd starts to thin, Jason waits at the back of the room. I tell Mom I’ll walk home and go to meet him.

“
You have hidden talents,” he smiles. “And a really nice voice.”

Warmth fills my stomach, and I feel wobbly again. I’m having one of those low-blood-sugar moments like that day at lunch. I’m sure of it. I mean, it
is
lunchtime, and this
is
just Jason. Jeez. What’s wrong with me all of a sudden?

“
Everyone knows the Doxology,” I say.

“
Not everyone gets up and sings it in front of the whole town.” He turns to walk with me.

“
I guess they would if their dad was the pastor.” I stop as he opens the back door. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“
Just curious. You jumped out of the car so fast last night I didn’t get to tell you I was coming.”

“
Sorry about that.”

“
Why did you?”

“
What?”

“
Jump out of the car like that.”

I look over at him. I want to tell him what I saw, about Ricky’s car being at my house and what I overheard. I want to tell him my fears and have him reassure me. Just like at the dance. I’m sure he’ll understand and maybe even make me feel better, maybe tell me I’m being paranoid. But I decide to wait.