The tops of Young’s cheeks redden. “I’m sorry I don’t recall seeing your name-”
“I’m the money man.”
“Of course, apologies. You weren’t on the list. Please, come in. Blakely, your mother is waiting in the main community building. Do you need a moment alone?”
Before I can argue, Amy steps up. “You agreed we could record their most poignant moments. I promise, if you don’t like what you see, we’ll edit the footage.”
Young frowns, his lips get tight, and one hand clenches for a moment before he turns all cheery again. “Very well. This way.”
We walk into the first of the brick buildings, past an empty foyer, and down a narrow dark hallway, barely lit by a twenty-watt bulb.
“This is our common area. Young points out a small room with a ping pong table and a microwave. “Here’s where our young people gather to study.”
I can’t help but notice the lack of a computer monitor and wire-reinforced windows. We walk a few more feet and Young opens another door. A lone woman with gray hair sits in a folding metal chair in the middle of a twelve-foot square, windowless, room. Fluorescents light the dingy linoleum and painted brick walls.
The woman who I assume is Blakely’s mother stands, eyes darting around, obviously confused. Her dress is plain cotton, reminiscent of those I’ve seen in old westerns. “David, who are all these people?”
The cult leader steps forward and puts his arm around her shoulders. “Remember? I told you. They’re doing a documentary.”
“Oh yes.” She gives a weak smile but doesn’t look convinced. Then, she turns to Blakely, “Faith? Is that you?”
“No, Mom, it’s me, Blakely.” She shoots David a concerned glance and he frowns.
“Your mother suffers from Alzheimer’s.”
“You never said-”
Her mom pipes in, “Of course, it’s Blakely. My runaway. Why did you come here?”
“I wanted to see you, Mom.” Blakely looks into her Mom’s blank face and my heart breaks for her. I recognize the desperation, the need to be loved from the woman who birthed you and sent you into the world. Me? I’ve resigned myself to the fact it will never happen but apparently, Blake still holds out hope.
While I frown, her mother’s brows crease and she takes a step back. “See me. Whatever for?”
Blakely seems lost for words as Amy and Po crowd her for closeups. “I, ah. I just thought it might be nice to get together. I missed you. How are Sarah and Mary-Belle?”
“You know. Mary-Belle married your cousin Kaleb and Sarah married your Uncle James.”
I cringe internally at the incestuous relationships but keep my face masked. Other than being fucked up beyond belief, my gut tells me nothing seriously dangerous is about to go down, not this second.
Blake steps forward, looking more like a young girl than a successful psychologist. “You look well, Mom.”
That was a lie but I give her credit for trying.
“You look like a whore.”
Her mother’s disdain hits Blakely like a slap in the face and her lower lip quivers. “I look nothing of the sort.”
Her mother takes a step forward, face skewed in anger, spittle at the corner of her mouth. “You do. All made up, wearing fancy clothes, trying to outshine us. You shouldn’t’ve come.”
“I just wanted to see you.” Blakely’s voice goes soft and tears brim in her eyes but her mother seems impervious to it all.
“Well, now you have and you can go.” She turns her back to Blakely and I think it’s all done with and heave a sigh of relief.
Suddenly, my trusty gut churns as Blakely touches her mother’s arm. “Wait. Wait. What if I say I want to stay for a few days and reconsider my decision to leave the church?”
Jesus. My mouth drops open and I fucking stare, ready to drag her out of this hell hole but three guards appear at the door, their hands in their jackets, similar to the way mine is.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.I step forward, grab Blakes arm, and say firmly, “You’re not staying.”
