???
?
?
?
Jessup? what does that mean?
just promise me you won’t believe everything you hear, okay
what are you talking about?
about corson. about all of this
you’re scaring me
I didn’t do anything wrong. you have to believe me
okay. I believe you
it’s just . . . it’s all stupid. I didn’t do anything, but everybody wants to make something out of this
everybody who
everybody. cops and the mayor, want to make an example of me because of my family. and the people here at the church have their own thing. it’s all so stupid. there are news trucks at the church with cameras. like a bunch of them cnn and fox and stuff
holy cow. really?
yeah
what’s going on?
He hears someone calling his name. A girl’s voice. Jewel. He looks up from his phone, sees her standing up on the rise. She’s huddled inside her coat.
“What?”
“You’re supposed to come back to the house. There are protesters at the gates, and Brandon wants you to talk to a reporter.”
“What?”
“Brandon wants you to talk to a reporter.”
“No. The other thing.”
“Protesters? You know, people with signs.”
“I know what protesters are.”
“Well, I’m supposed to tell you to come back.”
“Okay. I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”
She scowls. “I’m not leaving until you leave. I don’t want them to yell at me for coming back without you.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“You shouldn’t swear.”
“Thanks, Jewel. That’s super helpful advice.” He feels crappy as soon as he says it. “I’m sorry.” All he seems to be doing recently is apologizing to people he loves. “Give me a second.” And now, another apology:
sorry. I’ve got to go. there are protesters here
what? why?
why do you think? You know what the name of the church is
He’s typing his apology almost as soon as he hits send.
sorry
sorry
sorry
I’m so sorry. I’m an asshole
I’m on your side
I know. I’m sorry. it just feels like I don’t have any control. I’m supposed to go talk to some reporter. I don’t want to
then don’t
it’s not that easy. my stepfather, my uncle, and this guy brandon, they’re handling it. lawyers, too, I guess. he’s the one who invited the tv people so he can control the narrative
He feels slimy as soon as he types “control the narrative,” but he doesn’t know what else he’s supposed to tell her. All he knows is that things have felt like they’re spinning out of control, both literally and figuratively, ever since his truck slid out on the driveway. Or earlier, when he left the locker room after the football game Friday night. Or before that, when Ricky grabbed the pipe wrench, killed those two boys. Or earlier still, the first time David John brought him through the gates to the Blessed Church of the White America. Or before that, the day he was born, everything laid out so that no matter what he chose it would all go sour.
Deanne responds:
you don’t have to do things their way if you don’t want to. you’re not a little kid. you’re seventeen. you make your own decisions