“Do you know if Mary Fortenot inherited Fortenot Fishing? She did, right, after Fred died, since she was his wife?”
He looks at me like I’m crazy. “She’s a woman, Ruth. She don’t know a thing about fishing. Course she didn’t inherit it.”
“Who did, then?”
Barry scratches his chin and eyes the choir, which has finished assembling. “I don’t know who owns it, but Gerald Theriot runs it these days.”
All around us, people start twisting in their seats to face the back ofthe church. Gasps go up, followed by fierce whispers. Barry and I turn to see what’s caused the commotion, and my heart nearly falls out of my chest.
Everett stands at the back of the room, the massive double doors still swinging behind him. His hair is tousled from his convertible and he wears his usual black T-shirt, jeans, and heavy boots, an outfit that’s tantamount to a crime here. He displays the gauze-wrapped bullet wound on his bicep like a badge of honor. As the entire congregation watches, he pats himself down, theatrically checking for flames—and, finding none, grins widely, showing off all his teeth. The volume of the whispers skyrockets as he swaggers down the aisle.
I meet his eyes and his grin grows. Then his gaze flicks down to where I hold Barry’s hand and his smile falters for a second before it’s back to full wattage. He winks and slides into the pew directly across from mine. Everyone sitting there scrambles away, a sight that would’ve been funny to teenage Ruth. But now that I’m older and know the consequences, it only brings me heartache.
He makes a show of sitting: dusting off his seat, then settling his tall body onto the cushioned pew, one leg crossed casually over the other. When the organ music stops, there’s nothing to mask how savagely the whispers are flying. The Devil’s son has appeared in church.
Catching his eye, I mouth, “What are you doing here?” It was a joke we used to make on lazy summer nights, lying on the dock:Can you imagine if you just showed up to church one day, what they’d do?He was never supposed to actually try it.
He smirks and shrugs, leaning back in the pew like it’s a recliner. Dangerously reckless.
Only two days ago, he told me he was leaving Bottom Springs. I’m grateful he didn’t, but this is the last place on earth I want to see him. The nerve, walking in here. “And for what?” I murmur.
“Provocation,” says Barry, his narrowed eyes on Ever. “It’s a thing they get off on.”
“They?”
He settles back and drapes an arm over my shoulders. “Never mind. You’ll know soon enough.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
My father strides onto the balcony and all talking stops. He stretches his arms out to encompass us, eyes sweeping his flock. They land on Everett.
Ever, for his part, turns and looks at me. My face burns, caught between them.
My father’s expression remains impressively neutral. “Brothers and sisters in Christ,” he calls, voice amplified by the microphone, “Praise Him!”
“Praise Him!” the whole congregation shouts. Far in the back corner, someone keeps chanting it, compelled by the Spirit. My father lifts his voice over it. “Today, I will tell you how the Lord shall avenge himself upon the souls of the sinners who’ve rejected His Wisdom and Light. Ours is a wrathful God, O brothers and sisters!”
The congregation hollers back, all eyes in the room on the Devil’s son.
As soon as the congregation floods out of the church into the wide green lawn, I beeline to Ever.
“You need to leave,” I hiss. “You’re stirring up trouble. It’s a ticking bomb.”
He folds his hands behind his head like he’s lying on a beach somewhere. “Maybe I don’t care anymore.”
“Ruth.” Barry appears at my side. “Come now.” He takes my elbow, pulling me away.
“Hello, Barrett,” Ever says. “We were talking.”
“Barry, hold on.” I try to dig in my heels, but Barry grips me tighter and keeps moving.
“Hey.” Ever’s voice has lost its playful indifference. “Don’t squeeze her like that.”
People are turning to watch. The lawn is eerily quiet.
Barry leans in as he tugs me. “I don’t want you seeing him anymore. Not in public or in private. Trust me, Ruth, something’s brewing and you don’t want to be near it. Now’s not the time for childhood loyalties.”
“You’re holding me too tight.” I try to wrestle my arm from him.
