Page 2 of Of Sinners & Salvation
But then, we were sixteen, and we were in juvie, and what could we do?
Dad said the law would prevail, that it would find the truth. And then he didn’t like the truth it found because it cast a bad light on his son and therefore his family, so he rewrote the rules, and then I was out, and the other two were still in there, and I started to question everything. But I didn’t question that she was dead.
It was Heath who didn’t believe it. “If she was dead, I would know.”
That’s what he said.
Angel helped him push for answers when they got out, but by then, it was too late. It had been years. She was gone. Her family was broken. And Frederick, the head of the Skull and Crossbones, said the court had it right. She was dead, we were guilty, he had no more answers for us.
I sit up and pick up my phone and call the one person I try never to talk to.
“Son,” he says, sounding mildly surprised. “It must be the middle of the night there. Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”
He knows it’s not. Wherever he is, he knows what time it is back home. He has calls and meetings over video and emails to send.
“Not really,” I say. “It’s morning, Dad.”
There’s a silence, and I wonder why he’s acting so strange, if someone called Mom and he already knows. But then I hear a faint voice behind him, a woman, and I know it’s only because he thinks I don’t know that even though he travels for business, there’s always pleasure waiting at the international hotels. He thinks Mom doesn’t know, and that I might tell her, and she might dare to do something that would reflect badly on the Soules name in the church.
Like leave.
Of course she won’t. She believes the same shit he does—that if a man goes to confession and asks forgiveness for his sins,God will grant it; and if God can forgive any transgression, then surely someone as lowly and inconsequential as a woman can do the same. That’s what a humble, godly woman does. And if for some reason she can’t, that’s a fault in her, not him, and she should look inside and pray for God’s forgiveness for her sin of pride.
“Is everything alright, son?” Dad asks. “You didn’t get in any trouble at school, did you?”
“No,” I say, scowling at the realization that he knows I wouldn’t call unless I needed something. I know he’d do anything to protect his good name, that he’ll always throw money at a problem to make it go away, and he knows that. That’s how he shows up for me, shows he’s proud. After all, I’m his only son.
I guess we’re both assholes.
“I need help finding someone,” I say. “It’s Mercy.”
There’s a long silence on the other end of the line. We don’t talk about Mercy, the girl they threw away.
The girl we all threw away.
I don’t get to claim innocence there. I abandoned her every bit as much as they did. Even more so. She may have wanted their approval, but she needed mine. She may have made her choice back then, but I made mine too. I was happy to be rid of her.
I won’t let her go again.
“Mercy’s not a part of this family anymore,” Dad says at last.
I swallow hard. No one stands up to Dad. He is the leader, not by example but by his iron will. Defying him is something that isn’t done in our family. He never hit us. He never had to. We always just followed orders because that was the only option.
But I’m done respecting a man who never earned it, just because his book told me to.
“She’s part of mine,” I say quietly.
“I don’t know what to say, son,” he says, like it’s all inconsequential, like he doesn’t even notice that I argued. He’s so used to being obeyed that it probably hasn’t sunk in yet. “I haven’t heard from her.”
“I know that,” I say. “I’m telling you, she’s missing. Like Eternity.”
“What do you expect me to do about it?” he asks, not angry, just matter of fact. “I’m in Ibiza on business right now, and even if I wasn’t, I don’t know anything about it. I’m sure the police will handle it, if there’s anything to be concerned about.”
“What good are all those important connections you always talk about if they can’t help us when we need it?” I ask. “I know you know people.”
“Wherever she is, she’s probably just run off for attention,” Dad says. “You know how girls are. Give her some time to cool down and come around. I’m sure she’ll turn up when she comes to her senses.”
“Please,” I grit out, hating that I have to beg for him to give a shit about his own fucking daughter. Then again, he stopped thinking of her that way when he gave her to our aunt. She wasn’t perfect, and she made us look bad—made me look bad. And we couldn’t have that. I was his only son, his shining star on the football field, his prized possession.
