Small Town Sinners (17 page)

I nod in agreement and float to my class, feeling his warm lips next to my skin all through first period.

For the rest of the day, I’m walking on air. I had a library lab for chemistry and we were supposed to be doing online experiments, but instead I took a million quizzes, trying to figure out if Ty is the one for me. I can’t stop thinking about what my skin feels like when he touches me. The moment our lips met replays in my mind a hundred times—I acknowledge that I might be insane. I never thought I’d feel like this, like those girls who can’t hold back and keep thinking about a guy. But when I get home I plan on replaying movie kisses on YouTube to make sure I’ll do it right when it happens again. I can’t seem to get Ty out of my head.

After school, I see my dad’s Taurus station wagon in front of the main building as I walk out with Dean. My first thought is that I’m in trouble somehow. Strange that that’s where my mind goes these days.

But then I see a broad smile across his face, and I peer behind him through the window of the car and spy two fishing rods in the backseat. I walk up to him warily.

“Hi, Dean,” my dad says.

“Hey, Pastor Byer,” Dean says back.

“You’ll have to come over soon and help me work on the model some more.”

“Oh,” says Dean. “Uh, sure.” He hasn’t been over to see my dad since before school started.

Then Dad turns to me.

“I got the boat from Mr. Tucker,” he says. “Mom knows we’re going to try to catch dinner.”

I raise my eyebrows in a question. It’s rare for him to want to take me out on a school night. Fishing is usually a summer thing, maybe weekends, but never Mondays.

“How come?” I ask.

“Well, your Saturdays are taken up at Joey’s, and I just felt like getting out on the water with my little girl,” he says. He looks more like my father than he has in a few weeks. There’s no tense line for a mouth, just a wide, open smile.

I shrug. “Okay,” I say, moving toward the car. “Dean, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Cool,” he says, already making a beeline for the student parking lot to meet Starla Joy. I suddenly panic that my dad found out that Ty and I kissed—that someone saw us in the hallway!—and now we’re going to have to have a sex talk on the boat, where I can’t escape or close a door or even really turn away from him. My heart races.

But then I realize that Mom would be the one to have that talk with me, and I calm down. Sort of.

When we get out to Otto Lake, the water is glassy and sparkling. It’s still warm out for fall, so the sweater I wore to school is sufficient, and Dad brought my bright yellow rain shell for me too. I put it on so I won’t get splashed.

We pick up the old motorboat and put Dad’s tackle box in the middle. My light rod is pretty easy to set up, and we use artificial lures—not real live worms or crawlers. Even though I can unhook and clean my own fish, squirming bait has always made me squeamish.

By the time we get to our favorite spot—Satterwhite Cove—I’m feeling renewed. It’s pretty hard not to see God everywhere when you’re in the middle of nature. Sure, the engine is kicking up small waves and making noise, but soon we stop to coast and start casting out our reels. The late-afternoon sunlight dances on the surface of the water as the waves lap up against the boat in a rhythmic beat, and I feel a sense of peace settle over me that I haven’t experienced in a while.

If Dad is trying to win points with me, it’s working. Out here, we’re father and daughter, two fishermen with the same thoughts and goals.

After four casts, I feel a bite, and I jerk my rod up to hook whatever’s nibbling on my bucktail jig. I start reeling it in but I can tell it’s a small one, and when my dad sees it’s a tiny sunfish he says, “First catch of the day is still first catch of the day.”

He brings it up to the side of the boat and gently unhooks the little guy, who promptly swims away.

I remember the first few times I tried unhooking my own fish. Dad made it look so easy—his hands were so gentle. But for me, it was tougher. The hooks have barbs; they’re made to stay attached. You have to remove them quickly, so the fish aren’t out of the water too long. And sometimes it’s bloody.

I lost a few fish in the beginning—they died while I was trying to release them—and it always used to make me tear up. But my dad would say, “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. They are a part of the circle of life.”

Once we sat where we could see the floating dead body of a fish we couldn’t keep—it was a tiny one and in my six-year-old mind I imagined that the fish, too, was probably a six-year-old, starting first grade at its “school.” (I took most words literally back then.) I had hooked it and worked to get it free, but it died while I was trying to untangle it, and I started to cry.

Dad sat there with me as we watched it bobbing on the surface of the water—and soon birds came over and started picking at the fish. Finally, a big bass jumped up and swallowed it in one joyous gulp.

I guess that might have been traumatic for some kids, but for me it was proof that my dad had all the answers. It’s okay that fish die, because they provide food for other fish, who then get a hearty meal. One fish’s death may even save another fish’s life with its sustenance. It’s all in God’s plan.

Every question had an answer back then, and my dad could shed light on any doubting darkness that crept into my mind.

“Lacey Anne,” Dad says, speaking in soft tones like we tend to do out on the lake. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Okay,” I say, concentrating on my cast. I fling my rod forward and get a good distance—about twenty-five feet. The lure drops into the water and I reel in a tiny bit of line. Then I wait. Nervously.

“I want to apologize,” says Dad.

I look at him now, surprised.

“Your mom and I shouldn’t have suggested that you rethink your friendships,” he continues. “We know that you and Starla Joy have been close since you were babies. And we both love her, too, and Dean as well.”

Ty’s name is noticeably absent, but I nod anyway. In recognition, in acknowledgment of the apology. In silent thanks that he doesn’t seem to know about the kiss.

“We were scared,” Dad says then, and when I look over at him his face is shining like it does when he speaks to the children’s group at church. Like he’s being honest. Like he’s imparting wisdom. “This business with Tessa hits close to home, and we didn’t want you to get caught up in it. But we went about it the wrong way, and I’m sorry. We both are.”

Dad’s rod starts to jerk then, and he smiles as he reels in a keeper—it looks like a three-pound smallmouth. I set down my rod to help him unhook it, and it flops around the boat for a minute before Dad picks up the bonker and clubs it twice. The fish twitches, then stops moving. We throw it in the bow of the boat, where there’s a container for catches.

Dad casts out again, and I pick up my rod too. I want to acknowledge his apology, even though the moment has passed.

“Thanks, Dad,” I say.

“Thank you,” he says back. “You’re becoming an expert at unhooking.”

“No, for the other thing,” I say.

He smiles at me. “It’s important for us to talk, honey,” he says. “To be honest with each other. It’s harder now that you’re sixteen, but it’s a priority.”

I look out at my line and reel it in a little more, wondering if I should open up to my dad now, wondering if he’ll be able to talk to me the way he used to, when things were more simple.

“Dad?” I say, and my voice is so soft that I hardly hear it myself.

“Yes, Lace,” he responds.

“How come some people suffer for their sins, but others just get to sin and then go on living their normal lives like they didn’t do anything wrong?” I ask. And I know it sounds cryptic, but I’m not sure how to broach the specifics with my dad. I’ve tried before, at breakfast, but never really gotten the words out.

“You’re talking about Tessa?” he asks, cutting through my vague question.

“And Jeremy,” I say, feeling suddenly brave. “She’s sent away, dealing with her choice every day in a very real way. But he’s just going to school, rehearsing for Hell House, hanging out with his friends. It doesn’t seem right.”

“I know this has been on your mind, Lacey. But it sounds like you’re presuming an awful lot,” says Dad. He reels in his lure and casts out again before he continues. “It’s plain to see how Tessa’s affected because there’s the physical manifestation of pregnancy, and also because she’s gone. But how do you know that Jeremy isn’t going through something on the inside that we just can’t see?”

“That’s what Ty said,” I say.

“What?” Dad asks, his head jerking up quickly.

“Ty said that too,” I say again. “That Jeremy might be feeling things he isn’t showing.”

“Well, yes,” says Dad. He seems flustered at the mention of Ty, and I want to ask him what’s wrong, why he doesn’t like Ty, but he continues and I don’t have a chance. “It’s important that we remain supportive of Jeremy in this hard time. He should be taking his mind off of things, and normal activities, like Hell House, will do just that. He’s got a bright future, that boy. With basketball and—”

“And what about Tessa and
her
bright future?” I interrupt, feeling my skin prickle a little. “We should remain supportive of her too, right?”

“Of course,” Dad says. “That goes without saying.”

“Does it also go without
doing
?” I huff. I turn away from Dad to face the water.

“Lacey Anne, I’ve been very kind to Mrs. Minter, as has the entire church community,” Dad says. “Did you know that Pastor Frist helped facilitate a spot for her at Saint Angeles? It’s not easy to get in there, you know.”

I frown and jiggle my rod.

“I’ve also seen to it that the Minters’ fridge is full of church-baked casseroles as they face this difficult time,” Dad adds.

“It’s good to know that even
girls like that
get the church’s culinary support,” I say sarcastically, and I realize I’m quoting Ty. I no longer want to accept my father’s apology. What he’s saying seems so unfair, so one-sided. How does he not see that Jeremy gets to do
everything
he wants to do while Tessa is locked away like she’s contagious until after she has the baby?

“I thought we were understanding each other,” Dad says. “I’ve told you I’m sorry and that you can continue your friendship with Starla Joy. The more we thought about it, the more your mother and I figured that you’ll be a good influence on her. We’ve raised you well—you’re a smart girl. Church is a wonderful resource, but for a rebellious teenager without a father, peers have a big effect too. You can help her set her life on the right path.”

“Oh, well, thanks for the permission to choose my own friends,” I say, turning back to face Dad. “Starla Joy doesn’t
need
a good influence, by the way. She’s already a wonderful person on her own, father or no. And you’re right, I am a smart girl. I’m smart enough to see the unfairness, Dad. Tessa and Jeremy aren’t being treated equally.”

“Lacey, when a girl is pregnant it’s impossible to treat her equally to a boy who is not,” my dad says, his temper flaring. “Besides, a boy has desires that girls don’t understand—it’s more her responsibility to keep this from happening.”

“Are you blaming this on Tessa?” I ask. Anger rushes through me so quickly that my hands start shaking and I reel in my tackle with a force that rocks the boat.

“Of course not,” Dad says, steadying his own rod and turning back to the water. “But generally, the girl does have more self-control, Lacey. That’s just the way it is—that’s nature, as much as the birds in the sky and the fish in the sea. Don’t forget that.”

I flash back to Saturday night with Ty. I don’t think my dad knows
anything.

I unhook my lure. “I’m ready to go home,” I say. I can’t believe my father—my rational, patient, kind, devout father—is saying this. And I can’t believe it’s true. I won’t believe it.

Dad doesn’t argue. We’re at an impasse. And when he took me out here trying to fix something between us, I’m afraid he broke it even more.

Chapter Twenty

I close my eyes and hold out my palms, waiting for the spirit to move me.

There are just three weeks left until Hell House officially opens for a three-night run, and today at the Youth Leaders meeting we’re watching a couple of the scenes in a run-through. Because I’m in the Abortion scene, I haven’t yet had a chance to catch the others or see what people are doing with their characters.

We’re in the sanctuary doing the warm-up, which includes my dad and Pastor Frist leading us in our personal prayer language. I go through the motions with everyone else, but I’m not feeling it. Plus, Ty’s here with us today, and I already know that he’s not exactly into personal prayer. I haven’t had a chance to be alone with him since we basically talked about the fact that we should definitely kiss again soon.

I feel guilty for not participating—I know how silly and small-minded my worries about Ty are, but they feel so big right now. I whisper to God inside my head.
Lord, please forgive me for not channeling your power today. I’m confused about how best to serve you, and I’m unsure of my own thoughts and feelings. But I still deeply love you and wish to do the right thing. Help me to walk in your footsteps with grace and humility.