Page 104 of People Like Us

He stared at her solemnly for a second before burying his face into her shoulder. Mrs. Hayward melted instantly. “Oh, he’s perfect.”

My husband laughed as he unloaded suitcases from the trunk. Greg introduced himself warmly before carrying half our bags inside without being asked.

I stood there for one strange suspended moment, listening to cicadas scream from the trees and shrubs while evening sunlight spilled golden across the porch steps.

And suddenly, being back in that house felt less like visiting. It felt like returning. Like some wounded, half-starved version of myself had been waiting there all these years for me to come home and collect her.

Chapter Forty-One

Iwas halfway through the battered screen door of our trailer when my father’s voice crackled behind me. “Where do you think you’re going dressed like that?”

My hand froze on the warped metal handle, the chilly air biting at my exposed legs.

I turned slowly into a hallway lit by a single bare bulb. My father stood there in a crisp white shirt, sleeves iron-creased, dark slacks pressed into neat lines— already dressed for some solemn Saturday event. Behind him, my stepmother hovered, smoothing phantom wrinkles from her dark floral skirt. Her lips gleamed with fresh berry lipstick, and her curls were sprayed stiffly into place.

I frowned. “Morgan’s birthday party?”

My father’s expression shifted immediately into disappointment that made me feel twelve years old again.

“Lola,” he said slowly, “we signed you up for this a month ago. Please do not tell me you’ve forgotten your own baptism already.”

“Oh fuck,” I muttered. I had definitely forgotten.

My stepmother gasped softly, hand fluttering to her chest. “Language.”

“Sorry,” I muttered automatically, clicking my emerald fingernails together. “I just—I promised my friend I’d help her set up for her birthday party.”

My father crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, you promised Christ you’d get baptized, so.”

I stared at him.

The trailer hummed around us with familiar sounds—the electric heater wheezing as it tried to warm the small room, and that damn radio station.

“I was already baptized when we joined the church,” I said carefully. “Why do I have to do it again?”

My stepmother smiled the way people smiled at children asking stupid questions.

“Because you’re an adult now, honey. And you’re getting ready to go off to college.” She stepped closer, touching my arm gently. “It’s important to keep your faith about you during this period of your life.”

Faith. The word churned in my stomach.

What they meant was control. They could feel me slipping through their fingers already. College. New people. New places. Less supervision. They wanted to dunk me underwater in front of God and the congregation before I escaped Woodland entirely, like branding cattle before release. So that no matter how far I ran, I’d still wear their mark.

A strange hysterical laugh almost climbed up my throat at the thought of August seeing this. August, who kissed me like prayer but looked at churches like haunted houses. I swallowed it down.

“Okay,” I sighed finally. “But can I still go to the party afterward?”

Even as I asked, my fingers were already moving across my phone screen drafting a text to Morgan.

Running late. Church thing. Be there asap.

My father gave me a look that immediately told me I’d asked the wrong question. “Pastor Spires wants to take you out to dinner after to celebrate,” he continued.

My stomach pitched further.

Then my stepmother clasped her hands together excitedly. “Oh, it’ll be so fun! Like a little triple date!”

Triple date. The phrase nearly made me physically recoil.