Page 92 of Wrap Around
A body lowers into the pew across the aisle.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever have him back,” comes a voice, weary and cracked.
Pastor Shepherd.
I don't know if he’s speaking to me or to God, but I answer anyway.
“If you mean the version of him who hated himself, who fought against who he was inside, and barely slept because of the nightmares you gave him, then no. You won’t.”
I sit back slowly and look at the man who raised the man I love. He looks smaller right now. Older. Frail. Maybe he only seemed threatening from high up on his pulpit.
“He’s a better person now,” I say. “He’s finally accepted who he is. He’s not living in fear anymore, none of us are. We’re happy. I don’t care what you think that means. I know it’s not a sin to love him. Iknow.”
The pastor’s lips twitch downward into a deeper frown. “The scripture says–”
“Don’t,” I snap. “Don’t you dare quote twisted, cherry-picked scripture at me.”
I shift forward, eyes locked on his. “You used the Bible as a weapon. You twisted God’s words into something hateful and cruel, and you used it to terrorize your own son. That’s the real sin.”
He flinches.
“Do you haveanyidea what it’s like to live in fear of the very people who are supposed to protect you?”Do you know the kind of man Gideon might’ve been if he’d grown up with love instead of shame?
He doesn’t speak.
“He has nightmares,” I continue, my voice breaking. “Of you. Standing over him, spitting vile hatred and twisted scriptures at him while he kneels on the ground, grains of rice digging into his knees as he imagines all manner of terrifying, evil, demonic things happening to him. He’s woken out of a dead sleep in pain, either from the memory of the scars on his knees or the burn of hellfire. And not because he ever did anything wrong—all because you taught him to hate himself.”
Still nothing.
“You don’t get to call yourself his father. Not anymore. And if he wakes up—whenhe wakes up—you won’t ever see him again. You’ll never see either of your children, or your grandchild, ever again. Because I refuse to letmyfamily be poisoned by your toxic hate any longer.”
I stand, breathing hard.
“The worst part, to me, is that you can find it in your Christian heart to forgive abusers. You can look the other way for liars and thieves and cowards. But you can’t forgive your son for being whohe is. For being imperfect according to your interpretation of a dusty old book written by power-hungry assholes. A book by which your actions, your lack of compassion and forgiveness for the people who you’re supposed to love, are just as sinful as the rest of us.”
Pushing my sweaty hair off my forehead, I stand even taller, because I’m not fucking done.
“Gideon doesn’t need you. BecauseIwill love him unconditionally, enough to make up for all the ways you failed to.”
He stares at the floor for a long time, then at the candles that flicker against the white walls like dying stars.
He stands and walks towards the door. Before he pushes it open to leave, he turns and speaks again.
“They apprehended your father,” he says quietly. “On Route 11, heading west from Knoxville. He’s in custody awaiting charges.”
Waiting to find out if he’s being charged with murder or just the attempt.
Then he’s gone.
The moment the door swings shut, every last drop of adrenaline drains out of me. I slump down into the pew closest to me and bend forward, head in my hands, and try to breathe through the pain.
So much blood.
Don’t leave me…
I’m not sure how much time passes, or even if I’ve been conscious for the whole time, when Lily finds me. She kneels beside me andplaces a hand on my shoulder. I flinch back, not expecting the touch.
“Hey there,” she says, voice soft. “Gideon made it through surgery. The surgeon just came out to update us.”
