Chapter 25

We docked the boat and, in silence, walked across the island and over the bridge to the lodge. I averted my eyes from the guests we passed, not at all sure that they couldn’t see inside of me, all the way to the secret I carried there. By the time we reached the bottom of the porch steps, I felt so weak from the weight of that awful knowledge that I took Daddy’s hand in case I should stumble on the way up.

He squeezed my fingers, and we entered the lodge together. As expected, Uncle Cy was behind the desk. He stopped what he was doing and looked at us, his gaze a wall that brought us up short.

“Good morning, Drew,” he said evenly.

“Morning, Cy.” Daddy’s voice was equally passive, as though the morning were like any other.

Uncle Cy turned to me and nodded. “Eve,” he said.

“Hello, Uncle Cy.”

An uneasy hush followed. I could scarcely bring myself to look at my uncle. In that moment, I hated him. I had decided to protect him, and yet I hated what he was doing and what Daddy and I were doing because of him. I clenched my teeth so hard my jaw hurt. Daddy squeezed my hand again, a gesture of empathy.

Finally, Uncle Cy said, “Everything all right, Drew?”

Daddy cleared his throat. “Everything’s fine. We’ve just been out on the river awhile. It’s a beautiful morning.”

Uncle Cy nodded. Something unspoken had just passed between the two men, some understanding of where we all stood. Now we would all go on about our business, each of us carrying a piece of the lie.

“Listen, Drew, take the day off. It’s Saturday. Take Rose and Eve into town for the matinee or something. Have some fun.” He sounded magnanimous, like he was offering us some great gift, and he even tried to smile as he spoke.

After a moment’s hesitation, Daddy said, “All right.” He tugged my hand. “Come on, darling.”

I cast a last glance across the desk. When my eyes met his, Uncle Cy sighed. He seemed to know without my saying so that the familial bond between us had been broken and that, even if I lived to be one hundred, I would never forgive him for what he had done.

Getting away from the lodge for the day turned out to be a good idea. Mother, Daddy, and I had cheeseburgers and chocolate malteds at Huey’s Diner on Main Street. The only theater in Mercy was showing The Public Enemy with Jean Harlow and an actor we didn’t know, James Cagney. Because it had to do with gangsters, we opted to go to Lebanon instead, where the theater was showing City Lights with Charlie Chaplin. It felt good to laugh and to forget, for a little while at least, that Daddy and I had landed on the wrong side of the law. I envied Mother, who didn’t know what we knew. I longed for the bliss of ignorance, which I would never have again, because even after we left the lodge I would know what was going on there. I was an insider now, and there would be no getting out.

The next morning as we walked into church, Daddy and I once again held hands in mutual support, knowing we would probably hear something in the sermon we didn’t want to hear. I sat between him and Mother, fanning myself with the church bulletin as Reverend Kilkenny ascended to the pulpit. The church was always warm, this being summer, but today it seemed unusually so, in spite of the open windows and the overworked ceiling fans. My cheeks burned and perspiration moistened my skin wherever my body made contact with the wooden pew. I was uncomfortable in body and soul as I awaited the Reverend’s words of condemnation.

Oh, God, I’m a criminal, I thought. A lawbreaker, a liar, every inch as bad as Uncle Cy and Calvin Fludd. How can you love me now, God? How can you love me now?

The Reverend rambled on for a time, undeterred by the waves of fidgeting and fanning going on among the congregation. Daddy’s head began to bob, though he tried valiantly to stay awake. Mother dabbed at her neck with a small white handkerchief. I silently begged Reverend Kilkenny to wrap it up so we could move out of the crowded sanctuary and into the open air. I felt suffocated by the warmth and by my own sense of shame. I longed to go to the island and take a plunge in the river. I imagined myself sitting in the shade of the Island Eatery, drinking a bottomless glass of ice-cold lemonade. Anything to bring relief from the heat. Anything simply to bring relief.

I didn’t realize that my own chin had sunk down low. With some effort, I lifted my head and looked up at Reverend Kilkenny. He had made a fist of one hand and was beating it against his chest. “And the publican,” he was saying, “did not even dare to lift his eyes to heaven but bent low because of his sin and beat his breast, saying, ‘God be merciful to me a sinner.’”

He paused and looked out over his wilting audience. I, for one, sat up straighter.

“The Pharisee was thanking God for his own righteousness, you see. ‘Thank you, God,’ he said, ‘that I am not as other men are, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even as this publican.’” Reverend Kilkenny’s arm went straight out, and his index finger pointed over our heads as though the publican was behind us at the far reaches of the narthex.

He held his pose for a moment, then slowly dropped his arm and smiled down at us. “It’s all about mercy, my friends. We are sinners, all of us, but God is merciful.”

I drew in a breath and as I did, my right hand rose to my heart. I laid my fist there, over the place where I kept the lie. Oh, God, I thought, be merciful to me, a sinner. Oh, God, please be merciful to me, a sinner.