Sixteen
The residual effects of Betty’s “godliness” stayed with Viola all through the night and well into the next morning—to the point where she hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep.
Only when Milo elbowed her in the side did she realize she’d almost fallen asleep in the middle of the sermon again. His jab jolted her awake, her heavy eyes flying wide open with a gasp, heart racing with a painful desperation to catch up on all the sleep she’d missed the night before. How long was this service going to go on? She checked the watch on her phone and nearly emptied her stomach when she saw it had been nearly two hours.
She looked to her left, where the entire Moore family sat beside her in the pew. Milo was next to her, followed by Jon, then Jackson—who looked just as miserable as Viola felt—Betty and Beau, and finally Mary and Robert, cuddled together at the pew’s far end. Every pew in the grand church was filled to the brim that Sunday morning. If she wasn’t so exhausted, Viola might’ve been able to take a moment to drink in the beautiful old church’s interior. The vaulted ceilings were lined with stained glass images chronicling the most classic biblical tales. Old wood pews with the most beloved biblical characters carved onto the arms. Bronzed chandeliers hung overhead, giving the grand room an ethereal glow.
Viola couldn’t appreciate the beauty at all—too busy doing everything in her power to ignore the annoyed look Milo was shooting her from the seat next to her. Even the pastor’s sermon was reduced to nothing but a dull hum in her throbbing ears because her heart was pumping too much blood through her body to make the act of listening even remotely possible. It was a heart that had no plans on slowing as her gaze landed on Jon, seated next to Milo, staring straight ahead.
His eyelids seemed to have the same undertows attached to them that’d been working to take her down all morning. Blinking slowly, his head bobbed slowly backward and forward as if he too was struggling to remain awake. Like Milo, he wore a perfectly pressed black suit, which made him look even more dapper and angelic to her than he already did by default. If he felt her eyes on him, he didn’t show it, just like he hadn’t all morning. The sudden clench of his jaw, however, made her suspect he knew she was looking.
From the moment the Moore house had gathered for breakfast before church that morning, Jon had done everything in his power to avoid her. If she came within a foot of him, he moved away. If she entered a room, he left it. If their gazes accidentally locked, he couldn’t tear his blue orbs away quickly enough. The blatant rejection had been turning her stomach all day—like the vicious squirrel who had bitten her the night before had somehow relocated to her gut and was now tearing it limb from limb—and that moment was no exception.
Betty leaned forward from her seat next to Jackson, and locked eyes with Viola.
By the time Viola noticed Betty staring, she’d already been admiring Jon’s beautiful face for nearly a minute. Being caught red-handed caused Viola’s eyes to widen in shock, and she sat tall with a gasp, staring ahead once more while straightening the hem of her knee-length white church dress. With the torrid thoughts that had been charging through her mind while gazing longingly at Jon, Viola simply had no right to be wearing that white dress in God’s house, and Betty knew it too.
Betty wore a white dress as well—along with a matching hat—but the look of warning she shot at Viola was hot enough to stain her dress blood red. Betty kept that fiery gaze on Viola long after she’d looked away, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Even with baby Beau in her lap—the only person in the room lucky enough to get away with falling asleep—Betty continued leaning forward, forcing Beau’s sleeping body into a position that looked far from comfortable. She lit fire to Viola with her eyes for what felt like several painful minutes, her hot gaze a silent reminder of the “Godly” exchange they’d shared on the porch the night before.
Viola was sure there was nothing that could tear her away from the maddening feeling that Jon giving her zero attention and Betty giving her too much brought alive in her body. Her mind and heart no longer belonged to her, such a slave to the people sitting beside her that the entire church around her might as well have ceased to exist.
Still, the next words that came out of the pastor’s mouth made miracles happen, as pastor’s words often did.
“I got something else for ya!” the pastor beamed into his microphone, his voice booming off the church’s vaulted ceilings. “I got something for all these homosexuals out here!”
Viola’s eyes exploded to twice their size, top lip curling high. The pastor hadn’t even made his point yet, but a sneer had already taken over her entire face, her posture already stiff, and her chest already tightening because she knew what was coming. As her fellow churchgoers whooped and hollered all around her—with a fresh hint of rage and contempt in their ‘amens’ that hadn’t been present before—her blood pressure rose, causing the veins in her neck to tighten so much they felt seconds from bursting under her skin. From the corner of her eye, Milo went as still as a stone too. More solid and unmoving than the statue saints lining every wall in the room. Viola turned to look at him and swore she saw moisture shining in his eyes. The chords tightening in his own neck told her he was fighting to keep it at bay.
Her hand flew to his lap at the sight, before she’d even known she was moving, covering his hands from where he had them clasped tightly. So tightly his knuckles had gone white. He rapidly released his clenched fingers and entwined them with hers, gripping them so tightly it even caused her a little pain. But Viola bore the pain. She bore it because it was no match for the pain she saw in his eyes as he continued to stare at the stage.
Egged on by the cheers, the pastor’s voice rose to a roar that made the microphone backfire, and Viola’s ears ring. “All these homosexuals just walking around here with your pocketbooks, and your tight pants, and your bow ties, walking around these parts like little girls—”
Milo’s hand tightened around Viola’s.
The pastor’s pale cheeks went beet red as his voice rose even higher. “You need deliverance!”
The screams that permeated all over the church rivaled that of enthused fans at a rock concert. Some of the churchgoers even left their seats, standing tall with their hands raised in the air.
Viola looked to her left again, but this time her eyes landed on Jon, who was doing nothing to hide the cringe that had pinched up his face. His squinted blue eyes danced all over the church as one person after the other jumped out of their seats to exuberantly applaud the pastor, as if he too were realizing that they were cheering on this sermon with the same amount of unbridled passion—if not more—than even the most crazed White Keys fans at one of his shows. When Betty shot to her feet, as well, Jon’s eyes flew up to her, stunned.
Cradling Beau in one arm, Betty rose the other high in the air with a beaming smile on her face. “Amen!”
“Imma’ tell you why you’re not delivered!” the pastor boomed. “Imma tell you what’s wrong with you! Walking ‘round here, looking like a sissy! You don’t want nobody to say nothing ‘bout ya—but I’m gon’ say something ‘bout ya! You’re perverted, and you’re lost! Walkin’ around here like a woman—you’re confused!”
“Tell it!” Betty cried, her blue eyes shifting down to Milo as she cheered. Her eyes stayed on him, staring openly.
At the end of the pew, Robert left his seat as well, clapping and nodding his head. “Yes, sir!”
Viola rolled her eyes at the sight and clenched Milo’s hand harder, feeling how sweaty his palm had gotten. But Milo no longer noticed her support, too busy sharing a look with his grandmother.
The preacher was now spitting as he talked, so in love with the sound of his own shrieking voice, he was one convulsion away from a full-on seizure. “The wicked strut on every side when the vilest men are exalted!”
“Amen!” Milo released Viola’s hand and shot to his feet, clapping long and hard until his palms began to turn red. “Yes, sir!”
Viola inhaled sharply at Milo’s sudden retreat, jolting at the unexpected feeling of his hand being ripped from hers. Open-mouthed, she gawked up at him. Dazed. Breathless. This time, it was her turn to feel moisture building up rapidly in her eyes, the same way it had built up in Milo’s a moment earlier.
But Milo wasn’t there to take her hand the way she’d taken his.
He wasn’t there at all.
——
“What the hell was that in there, Milo?” Arms crossed tight over her chest, Viola’s heart was still beating out of control. Mind still stained with the memory of Milo on his feet, celebrating and praising the very sermon that had been maligning and disparaging him. The thought still made her feel like she was being ripped into a million tiny pieces, long after the sermon had ended.
Jubilant conversation rose into the afternoon air as the entire congregation huddled in mass outside on the church steps, raving about how it was the pastor’s best performance yet, and saying their final goodbyes until next service.
Milo broke his eyes away from Viola from where he stood before her, suddenly entranced by the Chick-Fil-A drive through across the street.
“Talk to me. Right now. Because this entire twisted charade is about to be the death of me, ” Viola begged, voice trembling. When he didn’t so much as look at her, she showed him her hands. “I’m shaking. Who the hell was that person in there? Whooping and hollering for that hate speech? Because it damn sure wasn’t my best friend. It damn sure wasn’t the Milo Moore I’ve come to know and love with all my heart.”
His eyes flew back to her, his stare intense and fevered. “Maybe you’ve already forgotten the entire reason I brought you down here in the first place.”
“And maybe you’ve forgotten what it looks like when a man has some goddamn dignity and self-respect.”
“Don’t talk like that at my church.”
“Your church? How in the world can you claim this place?”
“You came from a church-going family too, peanut. You know what this is all about.”
“The church I grew up in never went that far. We had the kind of preachers that your preacher would dismiss as being homosexuals in disguise simply because they refused to spew the kind of naked contempt he just did in there. You’ll really ignore the hatred of a man who’s hating you straight to your face? Not only will you ignore it, you’ll stand up and cheer? Do really hate yourself that much?” A lump rose in her throat that made her voice break. “Really? So much that you’d let it completely destroy your life, and now mine too?”
“Yours too? This has nothing to do with you, Viola. How the hell is it destroying your life to help me out for a few measly weeks?”
Viola nearly screamed the answer but held it together. The last thing she needed was the entire congregation knowing the filthy things she’d done to Jon on the forest floor the night before, and how badly she wanted to do it again.
“After everything I’ve done for you,” Milo went on. “This is how you’re gonna repay me? Who got killed? Who died? It’s not like I’m asking you to break the law or destroy the world for me. God, you have no idea. You have no idea what it feels like to know that being true to who you are would cost you your entire family. Cost you every ounce of respect your father ever had for you.”
“Well, congratulations, Milo, because after what I just saw in there, you’ve completely lost my respect. But I guess losing the respect of the only person in this place who loves you exactly as you are doesn’t matter to you.” She turned to walk away, snatching her arm from his grasp the moment he reached for her. “Don’t touch me.”
Huffing, she charged down the church steps as quickly as her legs would allow, the wind picking up her hair and making it dance as she went—desperate to get as far away from Milo as she could before she made a real scene. Milo didn’t follow her, but she felt his eyes on her back.
Only when she reached the bottom of the steps and locked eyes with Jon leaning against his motorcycle, parked on the curb, did her hurry to escape vanish.
She slowed on the last step of the grand staircase that led up to the church, holding her breath as their eyes locked. He hadn’t spoken to her all morning, but she had the distinct feeling that the wave of silence was finally coming to an end.
Jon’s eyebrows pinched. “You okay?”
Warmth infiltrated her body. He cared if she was okay? “After two hours of getting ear-raped by that awful pastor… Not really.”
He nodded up at Milo at the top of the steps. “What was that?”
She shifted. He’d been watching her and Milo. Closely enough to recognize something wasn’t right. Had he been watching so closely out of jealousy? Curiosity? Fear? All of the above?
“It had nothing to do with you, Jon. Or us. You have nothing to worry about.”
The tension in Jon’s eyes was palpable, feet bouncing against the sidewalk. He ran a hand over his face with a sigh, still frowning even after that gorgeous face re-emerged from under his palm. He moved his hand down to his chest, which he rubbed furiously with the heel of his hand. Like it’d suddenly started burning. Like he was trying to smother a fire before it grew out of control. Then his hand was on his stomach as if that too had gone up in flames.
“We weren’t talking about you,” Viola said again, understanding every emotion that must’ve been charging through him. “I would never do that to you. Or him.” Even though he’s the biggest faking ass faker alive, who has no right to give a shit about whatever’s going on between you and me.
He cut his eyes at her, holding her gaze for another silent moment. “He can never know.”
“I know that.”
“Ever.”
“Jon? I know.”
“Last night was a mistake.”
She clenched her fists, lips pressing together.
“A huge… fuckin’ mistake.” The color drained from his face as he gnawed his bottom lip, shaking his head softly as he gazed off to the side, eyes going to a faraway place. A long silence fell before he cut his eyes to her once more. “It’s never gonna happen again.”
She nodded softly, even as every bone in her body screamed please god no.
“They can’t wait for me to fuck it up. They just know I will. They just know it’s under my skin. Infused in my bones. At the very core of me. Chaos, always.” He made a claw at his stomach, then chuckled softly as his eyes fell to her lips and stayed there. “Guess they’re right, huh?”
“I don’t think you’re a fuck up, Jon. I think you’re a really good person, actually. One of the best I’ve ever met.”
His eyes softened. “Went down on my brother’s girl, yeah… I’m a real great person, V.”
He was in agony over the guilt he felt, which made it all the more inappropriate the way her insides melted like butter the moment he’d called her ‘V’. Her first official nickname from Jon Baca? Was he even aware he’d just given it to her? The troubled line between his brows said he wasn’t aware of much of anything outside of the torment eating him alive. Somehow that made her new nickname even more special because it meant he’d given it to her subconsciously. Somewhere, deep down, in a part of him he couldn’t control and maybe wasn’t even aware of, she been promoted from the bane of his existence… to ‘V’.
Chest heaving, she went to praise him further, to regale him with a million reasons why he was utterly amazing, but he pushed off his bike and stood tall before she could, driving her to clap her mouth shut.
He didn’t look at her again, keeping his distressed eyes forward as he threw his leg over the bike and straddled it before shoving the key into the ignition. The deafening roar of the engine growling to life stole the attention of many of the church-goers still lingering on the stairs, as well as every passerby on the sidewalk as he released the throttle and went blazing down the street.
Viola watched him go with her chin trembling, doing everything she could to hold back the tears stinging her eyes.
“Viola…”
Her eyes slammed closed at Milo’s voice over her shoulder.
“Viola… I need you—” He sighed heavily. “I need you to come meet some of my grandmother’s friends.”
She waited until the tears in her eyes had dried, which didn’t take long as the anger took over, before swiveling on her heel with her teeth bared.
Milo smiled tightly from a few stairs up, hands shoved deep in his pockets, looking regretful.
“I bet your grandma’s homophobic friends will be thrilled to meet your black girlfriend. Because there’s no possible way their hatred extends beyond the homosexual sissy’s that have the audacity to carry on breathing alongside them in the world, right? I’m sure they’ll have nothing but love in their heart for the girl who might love like them but doesn’t look like them, right?”
“Viola, I love you.” He kept his voice even. “I love you with all my heart. I really do. Please don’t do this to me right now.”
If only you knew what you were doing to me.
“You have the audacity to call Jon selfish. But, no. You.” She pointed sharply at him. “You’re the selfish one, Milo.”
“Okay, I have no idea what Jon has to do with this, but if I agree that he can do no wrong and is perfect in every way will you take my arm, come and meet my grandma’s friends, and we’ll talk about this later?” He made a crook in his arm for her to take.
Eyes falling to the ground, Viola trudged up the stairs and took his arm, avoiding his eyes the whole time.
“I hate your whole face,” she mumbled.
“That’s mature. Will you please make an effort to act like you love me, or at the very least, can stand the sight of me?”
“Not making any promises.”
With a heavy sigh, Milo led her up the stairs to his grandmother, where Betty was giggling in a huddle with her girlfriends—three other elderly women who were dressed to the nines just like she was. As if they’d all gotten dressed that morning to attend a royal wedding and meet the Queen, not to sit in a Salt Lake City church pew for two hours.
Viola accompanied Milo up the steps with the best smile she could muster, even as her heart remained with the motorcycle she could still hear rumbling in the distance.