Page 43 of Beneath the Stands (Sugarlake 2)

Becca doesn’t speak, just continues to run her fingers against my skin.

“‘Find yourself a true beauty,’ she told me. ‘One whose soul shines so bright even the sun can’t compare.’” I close my eyes, the regret sluicing through my veins. “I rushed her off the phone. I was sick of hearin’ her talk about it. I don’t—” My voice breaks, and I clear my throat, inhaling deep before trying again. “I don’t even think I told her I loved her.”

“Eli…” Becca whispers.

“If I would have known it was the last time I’d ever hear her voice…” I shake my head.

Reaching my hand down, I grip Becca’s fingers tight against my chest, the stitching of my tattered soul pulling at the seams.

Becca doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t have to. Just her presence is a comfort I never knew I was missing. After a few minutes, she reaches up, pecking my lips and grinning.

I bask in her glow.

She blinds me to the sun.

Two more months, and everything will change.

23

Becca

My phone is taunting me. It’s vibrating across my desk, daring me to pick it up. Papa flashes across the screen on repeat, and I swear I can feel his glare from here.

What on Earth is he callin’ for?

I haven’t talked to him in months, and I’m not sure I want to break that streak now. Regardless, I swipe my screen and answer.

“Hi, Papa.”

“Rebecca.” Nails on a chalkboard rake down my insides. Just like that, he’s tainted the name again.

“Long time no talk,” I can’t help but quip.

“And whose fault is that? I’m callin’ to make sure you know we’re comin’ into town for your graduation. Your momma thought it would be good for you to hear it from me.”

My stomach jolts at his words. I assumed they’d still show up. “Okay.” I nod, even though he can’t see me. “I figured y’all would be headin’ down.”

“Have you given up this foolish talk about not comin’ back home?”

I sigh, my fingers tangling in my curls. “Papa, I wish you would understand. I need to be free of that place. Need to spread my wings and learn to fly on my own.”

He huffs. “Here’s your momma.”

There’s a quick moment where I ruminate on the fact he didn’t even say goodbye, just dropped his words down the line and disappeared. Momma’s voice rings in my ear, breaking the silence.

“Rebecca Jean, I wish you’d stop upsettin’ your father the way you do. Liable to give him an ulcer, and Lord knows you don’t need any more sins taintin’ that soul.”

“Momma, drop it will you? I don’t even know why y’all want me home so bad. What difference does it make? All I do is embarrass you.”

“You belong at home, helpin’ us run the church, bein’ a part of this family.”

My face scrunches, dread filling up my bones at the thought of being chained to the church for the rest of my life. At being chained to my folks who wouldn’t know what a family is supposed to be if it hit them upside the head. “Agree to disagree.”

Momma tsks. “You prayin’ every night?”

The tension in my chest draws tight. “Yes, Momma. I’m still prayin’.”

It’s not technically a lie. Eli makes me praise God almost every night. I smirk at the thought.

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