Page 11 of Beneath the Dirt

She crosses her legs and a chuckle follows. “It would be if the fucker were more clear.”

No she did not.

No she fucking didn’t.

I’m used to her challenging—no, fighting—Dad tooth and nail with bible verses but during service… not even I thought she had it in her. Judging by the stunned look on Dad’s face, and a few rumblings from everyone else tuning into this disaster in the making, no one else did either.

“I think I misheard you.”

“You heard me just fine, so would he, if he existed,” she spews with an eye roll to match.

“Excuse me?” Dad’s question is rhetorical. His mask is about to slip, and a version of Pastor Rainey that no one in this church other than Araceli and I have seen is about to be unleashed.

“Well, despite the fact that you conveniently found a verse to recite that has the worddemonin it just to stay on trend with thewhole ‘demons are lurking everywhere, beware’ vibe you got going here,Dad.” The venom in the word ‘Dad’ is undeniably ripe and full of disdain. “Who is He to say what a demon is? Are they wicked based on their own accord, or because they don’t fall in line with His word?” Her question is also rhetorical but no doubt a challenge.

I turn in my seat, eyes ping ponging between my father and stepsister. He’s frazzled while she’s calm and collected. Flustered, he doesn’t respond. Instead he realizes that we aren’t at home where he can yell and hit us. We’re in front of the people who keep the lights on, so if he wants to sell the good word he better get back to playing the part and put his mask back on.

He knows this. No amount of anger that Araceli can evoke from him can change that. Turning on his charm, he engages with the crowd, trying to do damage control. “What my daughter meant to—”

“Step,” she corrects him.

“No, Araceli, you are my daughter. Just like we are all daughters and sons of His.” Dad’s argument sealed with a pointed finger to the ceiling.

“Whatever,” she mumbles, loud enough for me and others around her to hear.

“What mydaughter,” now he purposely harps on the word, “and I have rehearsed is how the world will tell you that his word isn’t true. How every time we read or speak the truth, the demons or temptations, whatever it is trying to pull us from His truth, will be out there. All it takes is one moment of temptation. Just one taste of what the enemy has to offer, and even the best of men, can be transformed into evil incarnate.”

Dad’s words linger. The weight of them causes yet another rumble of applause to sound but to me, it sounds like freedom.

“Everyone, please give my sweet daughter a round of applause for helping drive home my point this evening.”

Like mindless sheep they clap. A standing ovation somehowoccurs and the look on my father’s face towards Araceli reeks of ‘I win’.

Araceli holds her ground, sitting with the pentagram pendant hanging from her neck clasped in her hand, twirling it in her grip so that Dad is forced to look at it when he looks at her.

Tori's hand kneads my thigh, forcing my attention back to her and away from Araceli. “I’m so sorry you are stuck with her,” she whispers her condolences.

Stuck… with Araceli. Now there’s a thought.

I peel her hand off my thigh and bring it to her lap. “It’s fine,” I reassure her.

She glances over in Araceli’s direction then to me again. “She’d be fine if she cut the witchy shit.”

No, she’d be boring. Like you.

We settle into our seats, and the rest of the hour continues at a snail’s pace. Finally, the burden of sitting through another service ends. Conversation buzzes around us, people talking as they file out of the sanctuary. Tori tugs at my arm, saying something, but I’m too busy looking at Araceli’s scowl as she tries to avoid my father. A congregant waves at him, forcing him to nod and play nice, but the second he’s free, he storms over to Araceli, which is my cue to get over there.

“Dad,” I say, loud enough that anyone around us can hear, diffusing whatever he is about to say or do to her.

Stepping in front of her, shielding me from her, and faking a smile, he answers me. “Yes, son?” His voice is calm, but his raised brows are a strong indicator that he wants me to go.

“Everything good?” I ask him.

Araceli steps out of the shield Dad created around her, and it takes everything I have not to let my eyes roam her body in front of him.

“Yep, everything is fucking peachy,” she singsongs, ripe with sarcasm.

“Language,” Dad mutters to her before turning his attention to me. “Yes, everything is fine. Isn’t it, Araceli?”

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