Earl’s house is country nice: wide-plank pine floors worn smooth, a wood-fired stove in the sitting room, the rooms small by modern standards, but comfy. He got married when he was twenty, divorced at thirty, but in the dozen or so years that followed, he’s kept his house clean with a fastidiousness that would have caused rumors if he hadn’t worked his way through the single women in the congregation. For the past year, he’s been dating a divorced mother of two about ten years his junior. Jewel isn’t a fan of Earl’s new girlfriend, says she’s “picky,” whatever that means.
Earl tells Jewel she can watch television as long as she keeps the volume down. “Have to finish my sermon, sweetheart,” he says. He pats Jewel on the head, hands her the remote. He might set Jessup on edge, but he’s been a good uncle, at least to Jewel. Jessup’s never asked his mom or David John, but it suddenly occurs to him that if anything happened to them, Earl would be Jewel’s guardian. He’s already her godfather, which makes sense since he does have his own church. Earl disappears upstairs to his office, and Brandon excuses himself, says he has to make some phone calls, heads back outside.
Jessup goes into the kitchen with David John and his mom, who puts up a pot of coffee. The tie feels uncomfortable, and he tugs at it. His mom notices and swats at his hand.
“You leave that be,” she says, and then looks at David John with a pained look. “You sure this is a good idea, with these reporters? And baiting the cops like that?”
David John takes out two coffee cups, looks at Jessup until Jessup shakes his head, closes the cabinet. “That’s the plan, honey. Earl and Brandon think the best thing to do is make this a big story. Turn it so that it’s not about Jessup, but so that it’s about the church and how the police and the liberal politicians are always looking for somebody to blame. Brandon’s good at this. He understands how the media works.”
“But it is about Jessup.”
“No, it’s not,” Jessup snaps. His voice is sharp enough that his mother is taken aback, and David John raises his eyebrows.
His stepfather doesn’t raise his voice, though. “Don’t talk to your mother like that.”
The coffee machine is gurgling now, water dripping through the grounds, the black liquid rising in the glass pot.
“Sorry.” He mutters it more than he says it, feels like a petulant child forced to apologize. Wants to act like a child. Wants to throw a tantrum right then and there, but instead he says, “I’m going to go for a walk, okay?”
David John nods, and his mom comes over, hugs him, holds him for a moment longer than is comfortable, and then kisses him on the cheek. As he walks through the sitting room and opens the door, Jewel doesn’t look away from the television. He stops, takes one of Earl’s coats off a hook by the door. It’s a little small on him, but it’s warm, better than his suit coat.