Page 1 of Secondhand Smoke
1 - Nell
1988
Mrs. Dubois shot a stinging glare across the church aisle. Nell paused from mouthing the hymn to wonder if it was because the old woman could smell the alcohol on her breath, or because, like the rest of this town, she knew Nell had blood on her hands.
Whatever the answer, both possibilities made Nell bow her head in false reverence to blend into the crowd. But that was impossible. She was easy to pick out in a crowd of disciples; the black box dye she’d used was starting to wash out, leaving green tints in her natural golden roots.
The rest of the congregation was better at hiding it than Mrs. Dubois, but Nell could hear their whispers, even if they thought she couldn’t. Even the kids stared for too long; that was the only evidence she needed to know that though they kept their voices low in the house of God, they didn’t do the same in front of their families.
Not very “love one another” of them but, to be fair, she wasn’t exactly deserving of that love—godly or otherwise.
The song came to a close, and the pastor nodded his thanks to the musicians as he took the pulpit. Dressed to the nines, with a full head of blond hair held down with gel, he looked out into the crowd. For a split second, his eyes landed on Nell then flicked away like he couldn’t bear to look at her.
She knew he couldn’t smell the alcohol from there, but her father, Pastor George Duncan, had to have noticed by now that his secret supply of whiskey behind his toolbox in the garage was shrinking quicker than he was used to.
She’d been careful at first, but now she didn’t care if he noticed. He wouldn’t dare reveal his own secret just to tell on her to her mother, who sat oblivious next to Nell and nodded along to everything her husband said.
Nell blocked the sermon out and took to picking at her nails and blinking slowly as she started to sober. She should have brought some whiskey with her to make this weekly torture a little more bearable.
This time, her dad said yet another thing that was meant to distill the community members but only egged them into hating her more. “Forgiveness is no easy feat.” Pastor Duncan walked around his pulpit, his voice holding an air of authority that came from years of being a community figure. “Sometimes people do things that leave us wondering how we could accept them as a person, much less forgive them for what they have done.”
The staring eyes poked at her skin like thousands of needles.
Being the pastor’s daughter always put weight on her shoulders, ever since she’d learned the difference between right and wrong. It had compounded as she grew, but for the past three months, being the pastor’s daughter was the only thing that kept people from running her out of town.
That girl, Janelle Duncan, they would say.I never imagined she’d do such a thing.
Neither did I, she would say back.
Her father continued. “While we sit and wonder if another is worth our forgiveness, wonder instead if they are worthGod’sforgiveness. The answer will always be the same: yes. We, his children, are his most precious creations, and he will forgive us as long as we ask for it.”
Nell wrung her hands together and stared at them.
He always did this, always tried to plant seeds into others’ heads so they would either forget what she’d done or ease up on her.
Her mom’s soft hand, smelling of sweet vanilla, covered hers and paused their fidgeting. “He’s just trying to help, sweetheart.”
Help whom?
Help them find another thing to judge her about, or help her want to tear her hair out?
Theyalways did this.
Her parents were staple community figures. Their images mattered more than anything else. Nell had done a number on their reputation, and since then, they’d been performing a balancing act of keeping her safe, secure, and alive, and keeping themselves in good social standing.
It was exhausting to watch, and it was exhausting to be on one side of it.
But she couldn’t bear to hurt them any more than she already had, so instead of saying anything, Nell kept her mouth shut and pretended to listen to the rest of the sermon. She didn’t bother to pretend to sing the hymn as the rest of the alcohol wore off, leaving her unbearably sober.
* * *
“I’m going to leave first,” Nell said, desperate to get out of the church. Her fingers fiddled impatiently with the hem of the dirty denim jacket her mother had told her not to wear over the pretty frilly pink dress that had once been her favorite. The dress’s puffed sleeves made the denim ones clunky and put more weight into Nell’s arms than there really was.
She wouldn’t have been caught dead in this outfit before, back when she’d enjoyed pampering herself and making sure herhair was perfectly teased, makeup expertly applied, and image as pristine as a catalog family portrait.
Her mother excused herself from conversing with the other members and turned to Nell, a strained but concerned smile on her face. “Why don’t you ride with us today? It’s been a while.”
Three months, actually. And if Nell had it her way, it would stay that way.
