Page 11 of Turn That River Red

Raul.My throat constricts. I can not think about him. Not here. If I cry while I’m underneath Reverend Gunner, he’ll hit me.

“I’ve needed this,” Reverend Gunner says as I crawl into the bed beside him. He rubs himself over his boxers, and I already know what he wants me to do. It’s the same thing every time.

I pull the waistband down and guide his penis out. Even after three years, I think it looks strange, like some alien from a secular horror movie. I take it into my mouth anyway, and at least Reverend Gunner is always clean, so all I taste is his skin and the occasional burst of saltiness.

He groans as I tend to him, settling back into the pillows. Usually, when I do this, I let my mind go blank. In the first few months after our wedding, as he showed me what he needed inthe marriage suite, I would try to pray. But that felt wrong. So now I just let my mind go empty.

But something’s different tonight. My thoughts won’tstayempty.

I keep thinking about Ambrose.

I think about him standing over me, his hands pressed against my head. I think about how my eyes were in line with this part of him, and I wonder, even though I know I shouldn’t, what he looks like behind his pants.

If he looks like an alien from a horror movie, or?—

A strange, unfamiliar heat throbs between my legs. I pull Reverend Gunner deeper down my throat, and for a split second, it’s Ambrose laying on that bed, and it’s Ambrose’s manhood between my lips.

The heat brightens. I squeeze my thighs together as if that might bring some relief.

“That’s enough.” Reverend Gunner’s voice breaks the spell. The image of Ambrose dissipates in my head, and I’m left with an uneasy wash of guilt.

He’s a good man, a true soldier of God, and I should not have thoughts like that about him.

“I want you on your back tonight,” Reverend Gunner says.

We change positions. I settle into the warmth he left behind on the blankets and spread my legs, knees pointed at the ceiling. If I drop my head to the side, I can look through the window and out at the garden. It’s brazen, how Reverend Gunner left the curtains open, baring our marriage to the world.

Reverend Gunner slides into me without any warning, grunting a little in surprise. “You feel good, Mercy.” He says it the same way he’s always complimented me, like he’s a teacher awarding me with a gold star.

“So do you,” I say by rote, even though he doesn’t, not really. He doesn’t feel bad, like he did those first few months, whenevery time he entered me it was like he was ripping me in two. Now it just feels odd, the way his hardness moves inside my body.

Reverend Gunner grunts, his thrusts quick and arrhythmic. I close my eyes and wrap my legs around his hips the way he likes, lifting my behind to meet him so he doesn’t complain that I’m not putting in any effort.If I wanted a wet fish, I’d fuck Madelyn, he told me once, then flipped me over and spanked me like a child, hard enough that it hurt to sit the next day.

That was still better than the first time I cried.

I pull my thoughts away from the past. I need Reverend Gunner to think I’m enjoying myself, and I rock my hips a little, making him groan in appreciation. With my eyes closed, it’s easier to think of pleasant things.

Like Ambrose.

The heat comes back, a molten gold between my legs. It’s wrong to think of Ambrose on top of me, thrusting himself up into my body, so I think about how he laid his hands on me instead. His hot touch. His dark, velvety voice.

The Lord bless thee and keep thee.

Ambrose drawing me against him and kissing me the way no one has ever kissed me before, so slow and deep that he has to hold me up or else I’ll collapse across the ground.

The Lord make his face to shine upon thee and be gracious to thee.

Ambrose unzipping my dress with a careful, tender precision, then kissing my bare shoulders after he slips the fabric away.

The Lord lift up his countenance upon thee and give thee peace.

Ambrose rising above me as I kneel in front of him, lips parted and eyes lifted as he presses his hands against my head, as he unzips his pants, as he?—

I gasp, eyes fluttering open. The hot, rising tide inside my core recedes, and Reverend Gunner keeps grunting on top of me. He’s nearly done; I can tell by the way his thrusts getharder and the way he squeezes the pillow beside my head. Sweat gleams on his brow, and his eyes are wrenched shut in concentration.

I turn to look out the window again. Madelyn has small garden lights installed in the flowerbeds, so they shine on the hibiscus and calla lilies, lush from the rains we’ve been having. Everything else is just shadows.

And then one of the shadows moves.

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