Page 32 of The Sinner and the Scholar
“Sorry.”
I sit longer, enjoying nature working miracles, and instantly feel calmer. Something we Sinners tell each other is to enjoy the ride. We know our fate is inevitable torture in hell, but we’re not there yet. Until then, we’re free to take our pleasures and joys in small chunks, wherever we can find them.
If that ride includes a particular Team Saint member living across the hall from me, who am I to judge? Who am I to analyze and agonize over it? I clutch the charm and feel a rush of warmth in my chest.
“You’re so right,” I mumble and get up. I pat Sister Margaret’s shoulder as I pass. “Good chat, Sister.”
She claps her hand over mine, smiles, nods, and then I leave. By the time I head back to my cell in the evening, exhaustion drags me down.
When I arrive at my door, Wesley opens his. He makes it look like he’s simply heading out, but he happens to do it when he hears me.I know it.I consciously relax my shoulders.Enjoy the ride.His gaze dips to my neck to see if I still wear his gift. I am. I goddamn masturbated with it on. He wouldn’t look at me so innocent-eyed if he knew that.
Something about that knowledge makes me offer him a genuine smile. His own is nervous and brief. A thrill skips in my stomach. I think I’ll enjoy ruffling his feathers and making him squirm. And then showing him everything he’s missed because he’s never had me.
But not right now. I’m exhausted.
I open the door to my room. Prudence still isn’t in. Knowing my alone time is limited, I quickly shower and dress in the same simple night clothes we all wear: black shorts and a singlet. Well, except for Mercy, she wears whatever she wants and thinks her vanity and comfort are well worth the penance.
Fuck. I should probably confess to Father McBride about how I spent the week. If he’s still here, I’ll do it tomorrow.
The prophecy calls to me. As I read it, my fingers gravitate to the charm. Lucky or not, it’s the first gift of this kind I’ve ever received. The only other man who gave me things was that asshole janitor at the group home.
And Prue.
Casting a glance at her empty cot, I decide to hide the manuscript inside a Bible. It’s not the best fit, but she won’t notice immediately.
She was the one who taught me this trick. She might even find it funny if she notices. Maybe I should be obvious and point it out using a romance novel. See if I can make her laugh.
Thinking about it, I recall the day I first met her. I was twelve, she was a lot older, and I thought the sun shone out of her ass. She was so confident, so together. She knew everything while I knew nothing. Definitely the Louise to my Thelma. But most of all, she made me feel like everything would be okay.
I step out of the taxi and notice the big steps leading up to the castle-like stone abbey. It’s all so huge. Knights and their damsels should live there, but instead, I see a group of stern women in black, tight clothes standing on the landing and staring down at me.
“Quick smart,” says the Rev, a burly woman with hair growing from a mole on her chin. I bite back my scowl, hating that I’m here. But when she turned up at our group home, ignored the other girls but gave me attention, I preened. I basked. Only that man before had said I looked pretty. But no one had ever said that I was smart too. That I had potential. I didn’t know for what, but when she said my new home would be a castle, and there were other girls like me, I jumped at the chance. She didn’t even care that I was in trouble for reading the old Harlequin books.
“Get your suitcase, girl.”
My scowl deepens, and I go to the open trunk where the driver is waiting. He gives me a pitying look and hands me my old suitcase.
“Now up the steps and meet your new sisters,” the Rev says.
It feels like it takes forever to drag my case up those steps. It’s heavy for my little girl’s arms. As I climb, my resentment grows. Despite seeing me struggle, all these women are just watching.
To make matters worse, when I get to the landing, they disperse like I’m not worth their time. One is left—Prudence. She puts her hands on her hips and looks down at me curiously.
“What’s your name?” she asks.
“She had no name,” says the Rev behind me.
“That’s what I was going to say,” I snap, feeling my cheeks heat.
“Hmm,” Prudence says. “You look like a—”
“Dorothea,” the Rev says. “That’s what we’re calling her.”
I whine, “But I like Thelma. There’s a cool movie I watched about this badass woman who ran away with her best friend and shot all the bad—”
“Mind your manners, Dorothea.” The Rev glares down at me. “You don’t want to spend all day doing penance, now, do you?”
I have no idea what she’s talking about, but I nod.
