Forget Strawberry Daiquiris and Orange Sherbets. I’d need a different supply of Jelly Bellies to keep me awake: Café Lattes and Chocolate Puddings. This would not be a night for sleep in my sister’s guest bedroom. Not a night for sleep at all.
“Dineen, I need to use your computer.”
FOURTEEN
JUNE 2004
Strange, how the sermon in that first church service seemed to be spoken straight to Melissa. She had to fight against squirming in her seat. The preacher, Pastor Steve, was tall and broad-shouldered. Reminded Melissa of a linebacker. He had a deep, penetrating voice, and he roamed the stage while he talked, a mic like singers used hooked to his ear. Pastor Steve spoke of trustworthiness deep inside a person, not on the surface. How God always saw straight to the heart. Linda made agreeing noises in her throat now and then, and Baxter nodded a lot.
Melissa felt herself shrinking.
She didn’t fit with these people who were so into God. She didn’t fit with Linda and Baxter, who were so picture perfect. Even the teenage girls in this church said how great they were. Give it a few days, maybe a few weeks, and the Jacksons would see right through Melissa. That she was bad to the core.
Maybe they’d taken her on because they already knew that. She was their social project. They were out to change her, raise her out of her miserable life. Sort of like adopting a beaten dog from the pound.
Were they in this because they really cared about her? Or did they just want to make themselves feel good?
Pastor Steve strode to the simple podium and flipped through a Bible. “Psalm 51:6 says about God, ‘Surely you desire truth in the inner parts; you teach me wisdom in the inmost place.’ This”—he thumped his chest with his forefinger—“is where it counts. Right here. You think you’re fooling everyone else? You’ll never fool God. And in the end, he’s the only one who matters.”
“Amen,” some man across the church said. Melissa’s eyes cut in his direction. He looked about fifty, with graying hair and a tanned face, a deep groove down the side of his cheek. He sat close to a woman with shoulder-length brown hair. Her chin tipped up toward the preacher, a slight smile on her lips. Something about these two people pulled at Melissa. They looked like normal folk. Not powerful and engaging like the Jacksons, as if they could take over a room just by entering. But these people seemed…warm. Real. Like people you’d want to hug, and they’d hug you right back, harder.
Real. Melissa turned away, uneasiness brushing the back of her neck. She focused again on the preacher. Why had she thought that word? As if Baxter and Linda weren’t? She’d seen them together for four days now. Watched the way they gazed at each other, heard the way they talked. Of course they were real. More important, they were her family now. They had to be real.
The picture of Melissa’s mother, dead and bleeding on the dirty kitchen floor, flashed into her mind. Melissa pushed the memory into a dark corner.
She tried hard to block out the rest of the sermon. Focusing above the pastor’s head, she stared at the wooden cross hanging on the wall. Now and then some of his words slipped through. “A stained life made clean and whole…a weight off your shoulders…the burden of dishonesty and sin gone…” The words made her feel small and cold.
Coming here every Sunday wouldn’t be easy. Harder yet—pretending to like it.
After the service everyone gathered their purses and Bibles, then stood around talking. Melissa folded her arms, gaze cruising the room. Her eyes met Nicole’s, and the bubbly girl flashed her a smile. Melissa smiled back.
Call you this week. Nicole mouthed the words with animation, miming holding a phone, then pointing to Melissa.
Okay. Melissa nodded.
“Well, here she is.” A woman’s voice sounded on Melissa’s right. “What a beautiful girl you are.”
Melissa turned and found herself face-to-face with the woman and man she’d seen across the church.
“Melissa,” Linda slipped an arm around her shoulder, “I want you to meet my dearest friend, Joanne Weeks. And this is her husband, Tom.”
Dearest friend? Had to be at least ten years between them.
“So glad to meet you, Melissa.” Tom Weeks nodded at her, his mouth curving. His nod, the way he looked at her—even his smile seemed so matter-of-fact. As if Melissa Harkoff had every reason to be standing right here in this church. As if she belonged here.
Melissa allowed her face to soften. “Nice to meet you.”
“Oh, I’m so glad you’re here.” Joanne patted her arm. Up close, Melissa could see gold flecks in her brown eyes. “Linda’s really been looking forward to you coming.” Joanne blinked, as if catching her slip of the tongue. “So has Baxter.”
Melissa bit the inside of her cheek. “Thanks.”
Her focus trailed past the Weekses to land on Baxter, shaking hands with the pastor some ten feet away. Joanne turned her head, as if following Melissa’s gaze. They both looked at Baxter, then at each other. In Joanne’s eyes the truth flickered. She didn’t care much for Baxter Jackson.
How about that. Not everybody liked the man after all.
Melissa gave her a shy smile and allowed her focus to drift to the floor. Baxter had managed to sidle off when the Weekses approached. Maybe he didn’t like Joanne either.
What was that about?
An awkward silence pulsed.
“Your clothes look great on you,” Joanne said. “Linda said she was going to take you shopping. She’s quite the fashionista.”
“Yeah.” Melissa looked down at herself. “She helped me choose everything. She was great.”
“Well, I don’t know much about fashion, but I bet you’d look good in anything. Overalls, even.” Tom gave her a grandfatherly wink.
His kindness pierced Melissa. She’d never known her grandparents. Her mother had lived in an alcoholic bubble, floating far and wide from relatives. According to Melissa’s mother, her own mother “wasn’t worth spittin’ on,” and her father died young from liver disease—another alcoholic. Standing in the church with Linda and the Weekses, Melissa felt sure they could see the big, black hole of her heart.
Know what—the pastor’s sermon was a lie. God didn’t matter. He wasn’t the one who’d put a mansion’s roof over her head, bought her new clothes. The Baxters mattered. Tom and Joanne Weeks mattered, being Linda’s good friends.
Melissa turned a winning smile on Tom Weeks. “Thanks. Maybe I’ll wear overalls next Sunday.”
They all laughed.
Linda removed her arm from Melissa’s shoulders and leaned conspiratorially toward Joanne. “Hey, did you catch your guy?”
Joanne firmed her mouth in a satisfied expression. “Yup.”
“All right!” Linda grinned. “You always—”
“Linda.” Baxter called over. “Time to get going.”
She waved her hand, as if erasing her thought. “Coming!”
Linda hugged Joanne. “I’ll bring Melissa over this week—maybe late some afternoon, when you’re done working?”
“You bet; let’s do it.”
Melissa said good-bye and trailed after Baxter as he headed for the door. Linda followed.
Not until they were nearly home did the question pop from Melissa’s mouth. “What did you mean with Joanne—catch your guy?”
Linda half-turned in the front passenger seat. “Oh, I was talking about Joanne’s work. She’s a skip tracer.”