The clink of flatware and murmur of conversations alerted Sara that the mothers were in the kitchen. Virtually no light penetrated her prison last night. Now only a weak sliver slipped beneath the gap. Stretching stiff limbs, Sara lifted herself off the ratty couch where she’d spent the night. Her eyes felt as though someone had held them open and dropped shards of glass into them. With a throat raw from crying and stinging palms from hours of banging, Sara knew the cost of her discomfort was much less than Rachel’s suffering.
She climbed the steps and pressed an ear against the door. Jane chortled about something Anna said. Baby Alice banged cooking lids together. She detected the presence of only the three mothers and the baby. Did they even remember her? Sara worked her nerve up to knock on the door. All conversations halted with only Alice still contributing to the noise. They weren’t going to let her out. Not unless he allowed it.
Sara touched her pocket, feeling the outline of Luke’s letter. If she failed to get Rachel to the woods, they were doomed. After waiting several minutes at her perch, she drifted back down the stairs. Wrapping herself in the clean sheet she’d filched from a laundry line last night, Sara settled back on the couch, mentally listing the things she would pack in her bag.
Her bladder woke her up much later. Disoriented and confused, Sara struggled to sit up. Fragments of conversations drifted down the stairs. Scrambling to her feet, Sara doubled over at the pain in her bladder. She managed to climb the stairs and twisted the knob. It was still locked. Her nostrils flared and stomach rumbled at the assault of baked chicken. They were preparing for Sunday dinner. Usually they made it between three and four in the afternoon. They must plan on starving her to death.
Balling up her fist to knock, she stopped herself midair when she heard the roupy tones of her father. Leaden rage churned her gut. Sara backed down several steps, her lips curling in disgust at the sound of him.
Fine, if they weren’t going to let her out to go to the bathroom and eat, she’d just pee on his clothes. Relishing the idea, but knowing she would never have the guts to do something like that, Sara pulled out a pail from under the utility sink, peed and then poured it all down the drain. Filling her stomach with mouthfuls of water, she hoped to distract it from the clawing hunger.
THE air was softening with the new warmth of spring, but Rachel shivered from the cold despair swelling in her chest. Father had decided to take her into town for the afternoon. He told her mothers that he wanted to buy a gift for her and to have lunch in Lufkin with his daughter before she was married. Soon the mothers were handing him lists of items, scribbled on shreds of paper, for him to pick up from the Wal-Mart, if he wouldn’t mind, of course. His face had puckered in annoyance, but he took the lists, shoving them in his pocket.
Rachel’s body was stiff with unease as the landscape sped past them. She tried to relax. After all, what could he possibly do to her out in public? Just pretend he was like other girls’ fathers. Just pretend that he was proud of her and wanted to take her to lunch to let her know how much he respected and admired her for trying to be such a good girl.
A sign announced the Lufkin city limits. Rachel noticed plumes of smoke swirling out of the funnel of an oncoming locomotive. For a split second she feared that her father would try to beat the train. The lights at the crossing were flashing their frantic red warning, as her father pressed his foot on the accelerator. The wooden arms fell from the sky, slicing the distance between their truck and the tracks. Her father stomped on the brakes to keep from hitting the barriers.
Rachel bounced so high, her head nearly hit the cab’s ceiling.
“What are you so jumpy about? You afraid of me?”
She could feel the heat from his gaze travel down the length of her dress. She welded her knees together.
“No, sir.” Please God, let the train pass. Hurry, hurry.
“My Lord, you are a pretty little thing.”
Rachel’s throat thickened with fear. Please stop looking at me! She couldn’t think of anything worse than to be considered pretty by her father.
“If God expected good men to be able to control their Godgiven urges around you, He shouldn’t have made you so pretty.”
He put his hand high on her left leg. She recoiled from his touch as if he had poured boiling water on her thigh. A shadow of anger passed over his face.
“You haven’t forgotten our little talk already, have you?”
She shook her head, her throat held captive by anxiety.
“I don’t care who you’re with or where you are, I’ll find you. If you’re not there when I want you, I’ll go to Sara. And if you two get any ideas about leaving me . . .”
“I’m sorry,” she blurted out.
“You better be.” He didn’t move his hand.
The caboose rounded the corner, entering her line of vision. His fingers crept up her thigh. Please hurry! The train’s whistle trilled just as loud and high as the scream filling her head. The gates rose up toward the sky as if they were giving glory to God.
“It’s about damn time.” He removed his moist hand, leaving a wet indentation on her dress. He didn’t say another word to her until they reached Wal-Mart. “Stay here.”
She watched his lanky frame nearing the entrance to the store, all angles and bones with a layer of lean muscle stretched taut over his skin. She couldn’t decide if she hated him or not. All she knew was that she had to come up with a solution, and fast, because she could no longer think clearly when he was near.
Thoughts sizzled in her mind. Here’s the plan. Sara leaves town with Luke. Rachel would have to tell her what happened with their father. Otherwise Sara wouldn’t understand why she must stay to protect Alice. Rachel would do whatever he wanted. If Sara stayed, she’d end up with Uncle Walter, a deformed baby, and their father’s hands all over her when Rachel couldn’t get back to him in time.
For the time being at least, Sara was safe in the basement. But Rachel was worried that her mothers hadn’t fed her. She had tried all day yesterday to sneak food to her sister, but she was watched constantly. If they didn’t let Sara out tonight, she’d have to do something drastic.
Then there was the issue of her father and his authority. He was not a good man right now, she thought. It’s okay not to obey the family priesthood holder when he is committing sins that violate God’s laws. A father should not touch his daughter like that. It was just wrong, no matter what he said.
But if her father didn’t have authority over her, and the prophet was likely a false one, or at the very least, a misled revelator, then she couldn’t marry the prophet! She had to marry Luke or they would be violating what God had intended. She had to run away with Luke and Sara. But what about Alice? A dull pressure formed behind her eyes. Her head continued to buzz with ideas. If she could just make up her mind about what to do. . . . Her stomach gurgled in hunger, and she was shocked by its betrayal and irritated by its need to be filled. How could she even think about food after what she and Sara had been through?
She had just begun to seriously consider taking Alice again when her father emerged. He carried a bag of diapers and a cold drink in one arm and in the other, four filled plastic bags with their handles looped along his forearm.
He threw the bags in the back of the truck, riffled through one of them and pulled out a box of donuts that he brought into the cab with him. He glanced at his watch again and said, “No time for lunch.” He ate three jelly donuts in quick succession, stuffing them into his mouth, chewing loudly then gulping them down with a carbonated drink. Rachel suspected it had caffeine in it. He no longer seemed to follow any of the rules of the Church.
Pushing the open box toward her, he said, “Eat.” Trapped in the tiny cab with him, she had immediately lost her appetite. But he was staring at her, waiting for her to take one.
She pulled her chin off her chest and turned toward him. “Yes, sir.”
“That’s better.” A glob of purple jelly was perched on his chin, and it quivered whenever he opened his mouth to speak. He licked his lips and waited expectantly.
He apparently wasn’t going to leave the parking lot until she ate. She pulled a sticky donut out of the box and took a nibble at the corner, safely away from the gooey jelly inside.
“We don’t have all day,” he said. But he wouldn’t start the car.
She took a larger bite this time, and she could feel the jelly ooze onto the left side of her mouth.
“Here, let me get that,” he said, moving his hand to her face.
She flinched, assuming he was going to slap her, but instead he rubbed the jelly off with his thumb. Why was he treating her so kindly? Was this his way of apologizing?
“See, we can have a nice time together, can’t we?”
“Yes,” she said, telling an easy lie.
“COME on, get up.” Marylee’s voice sounded like it snaked through a tunnel to reach her. Disoriented, Sara struggled to sit up. She’d fallen asleep again. What was wrong with her?
“You’d better wash that sheet later today, young lady,” Marylee added. Her arms were folded over ample breasts as she straddled two stairs to glare down at her. “Now, get on up here and get something to eat. And hurry up. It’s starting to storm, and I need you to get some of the laundry off the lines outside.”
Sara stood up. Her legs quivered. She felt confused. What had Marylee just told her? Her stomach issued mournful cries. How long had she been down here? Looking at her hands, she realized that she was supposed to do something with the sheet. She started to fold it.
“I said you need to wash that sheet, not reuse it. You’ll have plenty of laundry chores to do later. Move it. Your meal’s getting cold!”
It was cold, but it was the best bowl of stew Sara had ever eaten. She sat alone at the table, frantically shoveling spoonfuls of soggy carrots, potatoes and beef into her mouth, barely chewing before each swallow.
Rachel wasn’t in the bedroom when she went up. Crossing the room, she pulled back the towel and peered outside. Black clouds piled like giant stones, blotting out the mountains. The wind raked the ground, swirling leaves and dirt in a haphazard fashion. Abe’s truck was gone. Normally, that sight relieved her, but with Rachel’s absence that only contributed to her sense of unease. At least he couldn’t get to her if she was at marriage preparation. Oddly enough, she was safer with the psycho prophet than her own father.
Removing Luke’s letter, Sara pulled her backpack out from under the bed and placed it inside. Adding several changes of underwear for both of them and some toiletries, Sara zipped up the pack and stuffed it under the bed. She didn’t even know what day it was.
A SPASM of rain veiled the windshield. Before the wipers could sweep it off, the glass was pummeled with pellets of hail, coming down with enough velocity to shatter it to pieces. Father kept driving. His nose was nearly pressed to the glass. He opened the window a crack to clear the windshield that was thick with the steam of conversation and the simple act of breathing.
With the rain so blinding, Rachel was unaware that her father had taken a detour, until they pulled under a huge awning of the Traveler’s Nest, an aging stucco motel directly across the road from her old school. Her father threw the car into park and said, “I thought we’d sit out the rain a little and have our chat.” He leaned into the seat, stretching his arms over his head. She could smell a stale perspiration on him.
Her right hip was sealed to the passenger door, while her hands rested in her lap with fingers laced together so tightly her knuckles whitened.
“Uh . . . the rain is letting up, Father.” The words were out of her mouth before she had time to censor them.
He opened his eyes. “With a sky that gray we’ll be headed for trouble if we get back on the road right now.” His words pulled an alarm in her head. They were just a few minutes away. He had already driven here from Lufkin with no regard to their safety.
He opened the driver’s door and stepped out. “I’ll be right back,” he said, smiling and relaxed. He closed the door, and then, as if he could read the doubts littering her mind, he opened the door back up and said, “Besides, I’ve got that gift special for you. I want to give it to you when it’s just the two of us.”
What was her father doing? Ever since he got out of Wal-Mart he had been a different person. He told jokes. He asked her if she would miss school after she was sealed. And in the strangest part of the conversation, he inquired about whether or not her mothers treated her well.
She was afraid of this new father, even though he had become exactly the type of father she had wanted just an hour earlier. She had come to trust her fear of him, rely on it. She knew how to act around him because of it. Now the rules were changing, and her foundation of fear was cracking and shifting under the weight of his gentleness.
She watched him talk to the young man at the desk. He smiled and laughed with him as if they were best friends. She hadn’t seen her charming father since—she couldn’t remember, but it must have been years. Maybe he felt like he had made a mistake touching her. Maybe he would fall down on his knees and beg her forgiveness. Of course, he needed to do that in private. And she would do the right thing. She would forgive him, like God forgave her every time she sinned.
She watched him sign the paper that the man had slid across the counter at him, pocketing his keys on the way out. He walked like he had springs underneath the soles of his shoes. She couldn’t help but smile. This was the father whom she knew when she was younger: sweet, boyish and happy. He loved her when she was a little girl. She had just forgotten.
When he got back in the truck, he was whistling. Maybe her prayers had been answered; God must have touched his heart.
He looked at his watch and said, “We got some time to kill, so how ’bout we go to a room, and then I can give my special girl her gift.”
Special girl . . . That’s what he used to call her when she was little, and he did make her feel special . . . like she was his best girl, and that he was so proud of her. Her eyes welled up from his tender words.
“Now, don’t you go cryin’ on me,” he said, but in that gentle way, as he brushed away the tears dribbling down her cheeks. This time she didn’t flinch. Clearing his throat, he started the car, pulling around the lobby as the wind tumbled across the hood of their truck.
The rain returned, hard and fast again, as they pulled up to a parking spot in the deserted lot. “I forgot to put a tarp over them groceries. Let me do that, and I’ll come around and get you.”
“Okay,” she said. She watched in the rearview mirror as he got drenched while she sat in the cab staying dry. She couldn’t recall the last time he had been courteous to his children, though, come to think of it, he could be quite thoughtful with his wives.
When he reached her side, he pulled off his coat and opened the door. “Put this on top of your head. I don’t want you gettin’ a chill.”
“Thank you,” she said, completely amazed by his kindness.
BLACK clouds, like knotted fists, glowered at the tall man, following him down the road like a bad omen. Sara pulled the soaked carpets off the outside laundry line while keeping an eye on the man’s progress. The sky had opened again, releasing a burst of rain. The man pulled the bill of his baseball hat down. His urgent stride made her uneasy. Thunder rumbled and the sky crackled with electricity. Her sodden dress clung miserably to her skin, weighting her arms down as she tried frantically to finish her job before the storm got any worse.
Oh God . . . it’s Irvin!
He crested the last hill and sprinted in her direction. Her heart hammered with fear as he approached the garage.
“Irvin, what are you doing here?” Sara could feel her eyes bulging with rising panic. “You know you’re not supposed to come here.” She cast her eyes at the house. Her stomach plummeted as she saw the curtain in the kitchen rustle. Oh dear God, somebody saw me talking to him!
“Not supposed to come here,” Irvin repeated.
“You need to go. Right now. Please!” Sara stepped away from him, placing more distance between them. “Please!”
He shook his head furiously.
“What . . . what happened?”
He mimed writing on an imaginary pad.
“I don’t have one. Look, I’m going to be in huge trouble for this.” Sara could barely speak. Fear strummed the frenzied cords of her nervous system. She didn’t know whether to turn and run or vomit. “You need to go now, please . . .”
He shook his head emphatically while repeating Sara’s words. Balling his fists together, he opened his mouth. A strange gargling sound passed through his lips. Sara realized he was trying to speak. “What is it?”
He shook his head and mimed writing again, pointing to the house.
“I can’t just go in there and get a pen and paper. Where’s your backpack? Why aren’t you in school? You’re scaring me.”
Irvin kicked the side of the garage. He was effectively mute without his notepad. Should she risk going inside for a pen? No. Impossible. Her eyes darted toward the house. The curtain was cocked back for better viewing. The mothers might as well string her up right this minute because she was as good as dead when Abe returned from town.
He pursed his lips together, attempting to speak. “RRRRR.”
“Rrr . . . you’ve run away?”
He shook his head while repeating her words. Smacking his head with the palm of his hands, he released a groan of frustration.
“Oh Irvin, I can’t guess . . . is it about me?”
“About me?” His words were more swallowed misery than actual recitation. Again, he slammed his hands against his head.
Sara grabbed them and steadied her eyes at him. “Stop hurting yourself. I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.” Something clicked in her mind. She rushed her question before he had a chance to echo words back to her. “Does it have anything to do with Rachel?”
“Anything to do with Rachel?” He pushed away from her and nodded vigorously.
“And my father?” He nodded while echoing her question.
Darkness threatened, but Irvin’s arms steadied her. Peals of lightning forked across the sky. “There’s been an accident. A car wreck?”
“A car wreck.” He shook his head no and made that strangling sound again before crumpling against the shed and sliding down to a kneeling position on the ground. Holding his head between his hands, he continued shaking it no.
“Oh God, Irvin, you’ve got to tell me.”
“You’ve got to tell me.”
Suddenly, he yanked his head out of his hands. His eyes jumped around her until he found what he wanted. He snatched a stick off the ground and began engraving words into the soft earth. Sara stood next to him, as the letters H O T E L were formed. Almost immediately the letters started to blur together.
For a moment, all she heard was the howling of the wind.
“A hotel?”
Irvin nodded furiously as he repeated her.
“What in the world would they be doing there?” Fear stampeded the spindly exterior of her back as the realization dawned. “Oh my God. Where?”
S C H O O L. He wrote then dug an arrow between it and the fading word H O T E L.
“The hotel across from Centennial High?”
He rammed his thumb into the air.
“I’m going to kill him!” Sara screamed.
“Kill him,” Irvin echoed.
For a few seconds, she contemplated her readiness to take her father’s life. But her anger fueled her onward, burning up any hesitation.
She turned toward the direction of town, and then, spinning around, she faced the house. The backpack. It had her life inside, and more importantly, the letter from Luke. That might be her only weapon to get her sister out of here. “Irvin, I have to leave. I won’t be coming back ever—”
“Coming back ever.” He grabbed her arm and leveled his eyes at hers. He jammed his index finger at his chest and then pushed it back at her. Grabbing her hand, he raised their entwined fists to eye level.
Did he want to help her? Leave with her?
“But it’s forever. I’m not coming back.”
He nodded. “Not coming back.”
“What about your mother?”
He dropped her hand and wrote O K in the ground.
A flash of grief threatened to douse her anger. “Are you sure?”
“Are you sure?” he repeated, nodding, scribbling a dollar sign into the mud.
“Have money,” he said, nodding.
“With you?”
He shook his head.
“Can you get it?”
He nodded.
“Meet me at the hotel. Hurry.” He turned and bolted down the road.
Sara raced for the house. Leaping straight up onto the top landing of the side porch, Sara flung the door open. The drying plastic bags clipped to laundry wire caught the wind and gaped open in a silent scream.
“Sara!” screeched Marylee. “Get over here, right now!”
Sara shot past her, taking the stairs two at a time. She heard the commotion start as she banked the corner and hoofed it to the attic. Keep moving, keep the mothers off balance. It was the only way to prevent them from trapping her.
Quaking with adrenaline, Sara dropped to her knees and jerked the backpack out from underneath the bed. Stumbling, she crawled spiderlike to the top of the stairs before gathering her feet beneath her. Footsteps pounded down the hall, getting closer to the door. Sara launched herself into the air and leapt down the final eight or nine steps. Somehow, she landed on her feet just as Marylee snatched the door and was slinging it closed. Sara lunged with all her might, managing just in time to wedge her arm and shoulder into the opening.
“Anna, Jane . . . come help!” Marylee screeched.
The full weight of her anger pressed on Sara. With two more bodies applying pressure, Sara stood zero chance of escaping. It was now or never. Possessed with unnatural strength, Sara shoved as hard as she could. “Nooo!”
The door gave a few more inches, just enough for Sara to squeeze her body through. Marylee’s meaty hand shot out and gripped her neck. Sara gasped, clawing at the hand choking her. She kicked and thrashed, desperate to breathe.
“I saw you with that nigger boy!” Marylee screamed. “You little slut!”
A wheezing, empty sound warbled from her mouth. There was no air. From the corner of her eye, she saw her mother charging down the hall, and for a brief second, she thought Anna would help her. Still fighting the death grip around her neck, Sara heard the whoosh and felt the bite of strap slicing across her backside. She needed air. Another whistle from the belt as Anna struck her again. Air and pain all cobbled together as need and avoidance. Darkness inked the corners of her vision.
Frenzied for breath, Sara reached blindly for Marylee’s face, her fingers connecting with an eye. She shoved her finger in with whatever strength she had left. Marylee screamed, releasing her choke hold. Sara sucked air, huge mouthfuls of delicious air, as the belt whizzed down on her back. Another slash of fiery pain engulfed her backside, then another. Her mother wouldn’t stop beating her until she collapsed. In a hoarse, choked voice interspersed with Marylee’s whimpers, Sara wheezed, “Mama . . . no. Let me go!”
Anna brought the belt down on her back again. The injustice of it all suddenly steeled her will and Sara shoved, but Marylee charged with the full weight of her body, pushing Sara into the corner. With one eye clenched tightly shut, Marylee screamed, spraying spittle all over her face. “You’re not leaving this house!”
Sara’s hand tightened on the backpack, which suddenly felt armbreakingly heavy from the weight of her fear. “Get out of my way.”
“You little bitch!” Marylee’s breath was hot and rancid with hate. “Get back in the attic.”
Anna chucked the belt, no longer having a target. She stepped closer to help Marylee subdue her. Sara hoisted her backpack, leveling it as though it were a battering ram and careened into Marylee. The hit knocked Marylee off her feet. She left the ground with an oompf. Anna lifted feeble arms to stop the fall as her mouth widened into an “O.” They both tumbled to the floor. Sara pushed past, knowing this would be the last time she would lay eyes on her mother.
Lurching down the hall, Jane bolted from the children’s room where she had corralled the kids. Reaching out, she ensnared a fistful of hair. Sara flailed her free arm toward Jane’s head. Her hand latched on to Jane’s hair and she jerked. Jane immediately dropped her grip on Sara’s hair to do battle with her handhold. Sara whipped the backpack around and hit her square in the knees. Jane doubled over just as Anna and Marylee scrambled to their feet.
She charged toward the stairs as Marylee screamed after her, “You’re dead, you little bitch! You hear me, dead!” The words were twisted with such rage that they powered Sara’s legs, sailing her down the stairs. Baby Alice screamed from her bedroom. Shouldering her backpack, she ripped through the kitchen and out the side door.
Adrenaline powered her thighs and blinded her to the rain that pelted the earth. She sucked in great, moist mouthfuls of wet air through her bruised windpipe and returned it hot and frantic.
Lightning flared repeatedly, illuminating the path. Ghostly faces swarmed in the shadows of the trees, peering at her as though to mock her courage. It drove her harder. She thought about how she would gain entrance to the hotel room. She needed the element of surprise on her side, which meant she couldn’t knock on the door. No. She had to finagle a key from the front desk. Then what? She certainly was no physical match against Abe. Her only advantage was surprise and wits.
And then she remembered.
It would set her back several minutes, but it was her only chance at overpowering Abe. She’d have to sacrifice the time. She had no other choice.
RACHEL had never been inside a motel before. She assumed they were only for rich people. As they climbed up the steep flight of stairs, she worried about how her father could afford this room, especially after he bought a gift for her too.
The room was small and dark, with a musty odor hanging in the air. The stench of old cigarette smoke clung to the lime green walls. It had a thick lawn of burnt orange carpet, and the white chenille bedspread wore a mysterious coffee-colored stain in the shape of a tree.
He looked around as they entered the room. “Very nice.”
“Yes. It’s very nice.” She was becoming quite a skilled liar, but maybe it was okay. She just wanted him to know how much she appreciated all his efforts today.
He beamed, wiping his hands on the front of his pants. “Look here, we got us a TV.” He pointed to a spool-shaped table. “This here’s quality,” he said, knocking on the tabletop. Pulling out a slender white box from the pocket of his pants, he handed it to her. “Open it.”
She removed a long silver chain with two small interlocking hearts dangling from it.
“That’s to remind you that I was the first man you ever loved.”
She felt uncomfortable with his remark. She must have looked confused because he pointed to the hearts and said, “This here’s mine, and the other one is yours. They’re bound together. You like it, don’t you?”
“Oh . . . yes . . . thank you.”
“Let me put it on you.”
She turned around, sliding her braid to expose the back of her neck. It was then that she remembered the chain she had borrowed from Sara, so that she could wear her ring near her heart.
“What’s this?”
He fished the chain with Luke’s ring on it out of the safe harbor of her collar. He arced around her body so his eyes reached her face, still clutching the chain hanging from her neck.
“Who gave you this?” His eyes bulged so far out of his skull that she thought they would never recede back into their sockets again. “Did Silver give you this?”
“No,” she said weakly. Maybe she should have said yes. After all, he knew they were betrothed. But lately, he seemed to have an intense dislike for the prophet.
“Tell me. Now!”
“Uh . . . it . . . Luke . . . it was Luke.”
The skin on her neck stung as he yanked the chain off with one sharp tug. The heel of his hand slammed into her cheek. She felt her teeth scrape across the soft gummy flesh inside her mouth. Her knees began dissolving underneath her weight. He dug his thumbs under each of her armpits, popping her back onto her feet. The room continued to spin, taking her along for the ride. Her knees sagged again, while her torso began crumpling.
“Oh no you don’t,” he said, in the familiar clipped voice of the angry father.
He grabbed the backs of her upper arms, encircling them with his hands, and with one short pull, he forced her body into an upright position. Adrenaline ripped through her, helping lock her knees into place. Once she regained her footing, she stood quaking from the aftershock of his rage.
He rested his scratchy chin in the curve of her collarbone. He let go of her right arm, using his free hand to creep up her breast. She screamed and lunged forward. He grabbed her elbow and yanked it harshly, flipping her around to face him. Her elbow ached with a deep in-the-bone pain. It no longer felt like it could fit in its original place in the crook of her arm.
“You let that rich boy put his hands on you, but your own daddy isn’t good enough for you, is that it?”
“No . . . it’s not like that . . . I love him . . .”
“Love him! Is that your excuse for acting like a whore?” He inched closer to her. She kept shuffling backward until the protruding edge of the mattress stopped her progress.
“I bet you let that nigger boy touch you too.”
“No . . . no . . .”
“Are you tellin’ me, I’m not as good as your nigger boy?”
His breath smelled like cough medicine, and combined with the gamy odor of his greasy hair, they twisted her intestines until her lower abdomen pulsated with cramps.
“Why shouldn’t I touch you if you’ve already whored around with every other male in this town? Even Farley had a taste of you, and I’ve kept my hands off of you for years now, just to keep you pure. A lot of good that’s done.”
A sliver of hope opened in her chest. He didn’t think she was still a virgin. That’s why he thought it was okay to touch her.
She forced herself to return his gaze. “I . . . promise . . . I . . . I’m . . . a . . .” She couldn’t get the word out. She was so ashamed.
“Spit it out.” His eyes had lost their flecks of gold and the ring of green around the irises. They were darker than she had ever seen them.
“A virgin.”
His soft mouth had thinned into a sardonic grin. “Well, I’ll just have to see about that, won’t I?”
Rachel squeezed her eyes shut and prayed for God’s mercy.
