“What are we doing?”
“We’re talking about this dope cartoon.Oh shit!What if his face looked like one of those anime characters when they’re surprised but also kind of turned on?”
“Jem.”
“He probably has spiky hair because youknowthose little bitches need a firm hand.”
“Jem.”
“Maybe it’s his teacher—”
“Jeremiah,” Tean said, and this was the same voice he used when Scipio wouldn’t stop barking at the kids from down the street.
“What?”
“Why are we talking about spanking?”
“I don’t know.It’s kind of fun.And we have to talk about something until one of them gets nervous enough to come over here and ask us what we’re doing.”
Sure enough, the conversation on the other side of the room was quieter now.Some of the men were darting nervous glances at Jem and Tean.In the loft, Maeve and Milo had made a fortress by hanging a blanket over two chairs, and Milo was poking his head out and pretending to snipe at the people below.When he aimed at Jem, Jem pretended to get blown away, which meant throwing himself back in his chair, slumping across the breakfast bar, and then sliding to the floor.Milo’s giggles carried in the growing silence.
Jem was picking himself up again when it finally happened: one of them broke.
It was the high-volume blonde, the one with the December tan and the eyelash extensions like something fromFraggle Rock.She wore a fleece sweatshirt that said NEW YORK paired with black leggings, and her sheepskin boots squeaked against the floorboards as she came toward them.The rest of the group turned in their seats to watch her.When she reached them, Jem closed the notebook—marking his place with one finger, like he was going to come back to his “notes” in a minute—and shot a look at her friends.They swiveled in their seats to face each other again, and a low, awkward-sounding conversation resumed.
“What are you doing?”the woman asked when she reached them.
“Jem Berger,” Jem said, holding out his free hand.
After a moment, the woman shook and said, “Mckell Hartman.Did you tell Stephen you were with the lodge?”
“Not exactly,” Tean said.
“Freelance,” Jem said.“We’re working with the head of security, Vaughan Larsen.You know him?”
“What are we supposed to do?”Mckell asked.“Are we supposed to stay here?We paid a lot of money for this retreat, and Dean’s a teacher.”
Jem opened the notebook to a new page and scribbled a few meaningless lines.
“What’s that?”Mckell asked.“What did you write?”
“Oh, just making sure we keep track of everything,” Jem said.“You never know what kind of information will turn out to be helpful in a case like this.”
“What doesthatmean, ‘a case like this’?Sister Fitzpatrick said President Fitzpatrick fell.”
Jem made a hemming noise.He said, “Why don’t you tell us about this group?”
“I’m Mckell.”She pointed to the round-faced man.“And that’s Dean—”
Jem shook his head.“No, I mean, why are you here?What’s this whole thing about?”
“Sister Fitzpatrick didn’t tell you?”Mckell gathered some of her hair and pulled it across her shoulder.She ran one hand over it as she said, “It’s for spiritual coaching.It’s for people who want to develop their relationship with their Heavenly Father.You know, people who are struggling to feel connected to the church.Or their testimony is shaky.”
“So,” Tean said quietly, “it’s not a conversion therapy group for gay men?”
Color splotched Mckell’s cheeks.Her hand, still stroking her hair, froze now.
“Write down that she lied to us,” Tean said in that same quiet voice.
