I grabbed two corners of the comforter and motioned for Shiloh to do the same. We met in the middle, our hands joining to gather the material as we folded it.
“Are you sure you don’t want to invite your dad?” I asked, breaking the bubble of quiet in the room.
“Definitely not,” she shook her head. “We don’t even celebrate the holiday, so it’s not like he’s missing me at home or something.”
“What about Christmas? Do you celebrate that?”
She paused, fidgeting with the material in her arms.
“Not really. I mean I think when we were little my dad sometimes bought us presents, but we didn’t do anything religious like go to mass.”
She resumed folding the blanket and I worked on stacking up the pillows on the couch to carry back upstairs.
“So, you’re Catholic?”
“Um,” she scrunched up her face, tilting her head back and forth. “No? I mean, I think, technically, I might be. Javi said I was baptized as an infant, but I never did any of the sacraments after that. So, I’m not really sure. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve attended mass. I wouldn’t consider myself Catholic.”
I nodded and she motioned for us to carry the blankets and pillows up. I followed behind her on the staircase until we reached the hall closet.
“Do you guys do anything religious, or just the typical Santa Clause and presents?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I nodded. “We kind of do a mix of both.”
“How come you don’t attend church on the weekends then?”
I glanced around the empty hallway before grabbing her hand and leading us into my room. I flopped back onto my mattress and patted the space next to me. Shiloh put her hands on her hips.
“I don’t think your mom would appreciate us sneaking away and avoiding helping out downstairs.”
“It’s fine. The rest of the family will be here soon, and she’ll have plenty of helping hands. We can take a break for a minute.”
She didn’t seem too convinced but sighed and joined me on the bed. I waited for her to adjust and get comfortable before speaking.
“We used to go growing up, usually whatever protestant service they held at the base chapel. And we were sent to Christian summer camps every year. But when we moved here, we never found a church we particularly fit in with. I dunno, my mom says it’s just because were in a small town in the south and our options are too limited.”
Shiloh nodded, picking at her cuticles like she was nervous or something.
“Do you think that murderers will go to heaven?”
I blinked several times, shocked by the topic change.
“I just mean, like, God says that anyone who accepts Jesus and believes in him will be saved. But, what about people who have done really bad things? Like murderers.”
“Wow,” I blew out a breath, rolling onto my side so that I see her properly. “That’s a big question. Um…well, I think what matters the most is that God is the one who will determine that. God reads what’s in your heart and he knows the difference between someone who simply says they believe in God and someone who does believe in God and wants to accept the Holy Spirit. Forgiveness doesn’t negate consequences though. God might forgive a murderer, but that doesn’t mean they won’t sit in jail.”
I watched her process what I said and waited for her to respond. She seemed lost in her own thoughts for a while, and I let her think before placing my hand on her hip and grabbing her attention.
“Why do you ask?”
She shrugged, not meeting my eyes. “Just curious, I guess. Just wondering what happens to us when we go. I’ve been thinking about my brother and whether he might go to Heaven.”
The question was heavy on my tongue, and I debated if asking it would cause her to clam-up and push me away. I was starting to sweat with nerves at what her response might be and if I was ready to hear if it was a yes.
“Did he kill someone or…why the question about murder?”
She turned her eyes to finally meet mine and I searched them like they held the answer. The colors bled together in a hazy swirl.
“I’m beginning to think I didn’t know him at all.”
