I push off the porch swing and stand on the porch. “Let me put the mug on the counter, and we can go.”
When I walk inside, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the window and stop in my tracks. I can’t go to church lookinglike this. What will they say? Does it really matter if they say anything? I hear the door behind me open, and Calder walks inside.
“Everything okay?”
“No.” I shake my head. “What do I say about the bruise on my face if someone asks me?” My heart sinks into my chest, taking with it the prospect of any joy I had.
Calder shrugs. “I know I didn’t give it to you, and that’s going to be the first assumption out of everyone’s mouth. I don’t care what people think about me. It is what it is.”
“Do I tell them the truth? I want everyone to know that Roman is a monster.”
Frowning, he reaches for me and gently strokes my cheek. “I wouldn’t. Telling them my father did it wouldn’t really be a surprise. It would, however, put another X on our backs, and I need to heal up a little bit more if I’m going to take another beating for this pretty little mouth.”
I decide that I won’t let the bruise on my cheek or the impending doom stop me from enjoying the day and finding a little bit of peace in the chaos.
“Let’s go,” I tell Calder with a smile.
The church parking lot is fuller than usual, making me wonder whether I made the right decision. It’s not really a surprise since Sunday services occasionally draw a crowd, especially as we get closer to the holidays, but today, it seems like half of Black Hollow Creek has shown up. Or maybe it just feels that way.
My hands twist in my lap as Calder parks his truck. The bruise on my face throbs with every heartbeat, a physicalreminder of Roman’s rage. Maybe I should have covered it up. It means people will stare even more.
“Are you sure you still want to do this?” Calder asks, killing the engine.
“No.” The honesty surprises even me. “I’m afraid of walking in there and letting everyone see the bruise on my cheek. To know what they’re going to think when they see the ring on my finger. How can I pretend everything is okay when it isn’t?”
“You don’t have to pretend everything is okay.” His voice is quiet. “Hell, you don’t have to explain or talk to a single person if you don’t want to. All I ask is that we ensure our image remains intact and that we look the part. That’s it.”
The distinction feels important to him. Like there’s a difference between fine and chosen, between acceptance and willing participation.
Maybe there is. I’m too tired to figure it out.
“Okay, let’s do this.” Calder comes around to open my door, offering his hand. I take it because that’s what a wife would do, and a small part of me yearns for closeness. His fingers lace through mine, warm and possessive, and we walk toward the church entrance together.
The whispers start before we even reach the doors.
I can feel eyes on us from every direction. Mrs. Henderson from the community center. Tom Garrison from the feed store. The Miller family, who always sit in the back pew. All of them staring, whispering, judging.
“Ignore them,” Calder murmurs, but his jaw is tight.
He hates this. I can tell from the rigid set of his shoulders and the way his free hand flexes like he’s resisting the urge to reach for a weapon.
Calder Bishop and I have never been to church together. He’s come every so often but never regularly. I suppose the Bishopfamily doesn’t need God, not when they think they are the gods in this valley.
By bringing me here, Calder has made the decision to endure the silent judgment of others, and that causes a strange ache in my chest.
We reach the entrance, and I pull the door open before he can.
Inside, the church smells like it always has, old wood and furniture polish. The sanctuary is filling up, families settling into their usual spots. My spot is up front. Third pew on the right, where I’ve sat almost every Sunday since Mom died.
Where Dad can see me during his sermon. Where the whole congregation can see the preacher’s daughter being good and faithful and everything she’s supposed to be.
“Where do you want to sit?” Calder asks.
“Up front. In my usual spot.”
Apprehension flickers in his eyes. “You sure? We could?—”
“I’m sure.” I start walking down the center aisle before I can lose my nerve.
