Page 10 of Wicked Devotions

“What kind of art?” she asks Cy.

“Mostly sculpting but some painting and pastels.”

“I’d love to see some of your work someday.”

“If you ever go up to the attic of our house, you will. He has the whole level as his studio and bedroom.”

“What about you, Emerson?”

“I’m pre-med, like everyone in my family. I’m also on the soccer team at Trinity with Declan.” He nods in my direction. “Between those two things I don’t have much of a life.”

“So you probably don’t have a lot of parties at your house?” She looks around the table at us.

“We do party, just not at the house.”

“Oh, good.”

I can’t tell if she’s happy with that answer ordisappointed, so I decide to tease her. “Why do you ask? Does the preacher’s daughter want to rebel and party?”

“No.” Her cheeks redden, and her walls go up. “I was just curious what I should expect.”

“Do you party?”

She scowls at me. “What do you think?”

Her sassy response is as unexpected as it is hot, but before I can say anything, she continues.

“I’m sorry.” Her eyes drop to her lap. “That was rude of me.”

“Don’t apologize to that asshole,” Cy says. “Ninety percent of the things that come from his mouth are rude or offensive.”

I give him the finger, and he gives me both his right back.

She stands quickly and takes her plate over to the sink to rinse it off. Emerson rolls his eyes at us and stands to take his plate over also. Cy and I smirk at each other and try not to laugh. She’s gonna have to grow thicker skin to be around us.

“I’ll clean up dinner,” she says when Emerson stands beside her. “You guys fixed it.”

“Jared made it, we just heated it up. You’re not doing our dishes or cleaning up after us.” I move beside her making sure that my arm brushes againsthers. She immediately steps to the side and looks away. “We were thinking about watching a movie. Do you want to join us?”

“No, I told my cousin I’d call her. She’s dying to hear about the wedding and catch up now that she’s back from France.” She grabs a glass of ice water and retreats upstairs, leaving us watching her go.

There are onlytwo things that make me feel close to my mom. The scent and sounds of Catholic mass and flying through the clouds. Every Sunday I’m able to attend services, I do. Just looking at me you’d think I was a devout Catholic. I stand when I should and kneel when appropriate. I recite prayers, sing hymns, and receive communion. But it’s all empty. I don’t connect with God. I spend the entire time talking to my mom. If feels like she’s sitting beside me in the pew, her hand over mine while I hold her rosary.

No one knows this is why I still go, even my father refused to step inside a church following her funeral. We’ve never spoken about it. He, Emerson, and Cy are the only ones who know about this ritual of mine. I plan to keep it that way.

The scents of frankincense and myrrh invade my nostrils as Father Timothy passes by, swinging the thurible. Moving to the south wasn’t something I was excited to do, but I’m glad I found this church. It’s dark and gothic and a complete dichotomy from the massive mega churches and white chapels that make up a majority of the options down here.

I nearly didn’t come today, though. The thought of possibly missing an opportunity to mess with Harper was disappointing, but I need this. The Catholic church on campus isn’t as steeped in the rituals as Saint Andrews.

After communion I sneak out, Dad wants me to go through the mail and get rid of any of the letters Annabelle and Harper receive. Since Flynn was sent to prison, they have been inundated with letters, their contents spanning from run of the mill shaming to downright threatening. Neither of them had anything to do with the horrible shit he was convicted of, and they don’t deserve to be re-victimized.

The mailbox is full when I pull it open. I drop everything on the passenger seat of my car and drive up to the house, leaving the engine on while I scan through it all. There’s a lot of junk mail which immediately goes into the shred pile. I see lettersfrom a bank and law firm for Annabelle, so I set those aside. There are two hand-addressed envelopes for Annabelle and Harper, one with no return address and one forwarded from their old house to ours from the federal penitentiary. I set those aside for Dad to deal with when he gets home.

Chapter

Five

HARPER

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