Finding Faith (2 page)

My dad once told me that Amanda was
a bad influence. I didn’t tell him, but that was one of the main
reasons I spent so much time with her. I never stepped out of line
and living vicariously through her made staying in line more
tolerable.

“
I can’t. If I could I would, but
I really can’t. I have church Sunday morning and if I’m out too
late on Saturday, I’ll never get up on time.”

She rolled her green eyes
and exhaled loudly. It wasn’t technically a lie. I
would
be tired if I
stayed out too late, but she knew the real reason I wouldn’t go and
it had nothing to do with me and everything to do with my dad.
She’d seen him beat me once when we were nine, but she never spoke
of it. Maybe she thought I didn’t get beatings anymore now that I
was older. She couldn’t have been more wrong.

“
You go to the church, like, every
day. I’m sure God will understand if you miss one day.” She
adjusted her strap again and blew a stray piece of hair from her
eyes. “Just think about it, okay? It could be fun.”

Going on a double date with Amanda,
her new boyfriend Kevin, and his cousin Tony did sound fun.
Everything sounded fun to me since I never did anything but go to
school and church. So I did think about it. I thought about it all
through dinner that afternoon and when I couldn’t think about it
anymore, I went for the kill.

“
Daddy, is it okay if I go out to
a movie with some friends this Saturday night?” I poked at my
untouched mashed potatoes and avoided eye contact.

It wasn’t an unfair request.
Seventeen-year-olds went to the movies all the time, but I knew
before I asked that he was going to say no. It never stopped me
from trying. One day… one day he’d say yes and I’d have just one
night of freedom. All I needed was one night.

“
I don’t think that’s a good
idea,” He said after he used his cloth napkin to wipe his
mouth.

I didn’t bother mentioning it
again. I’d learned long ago it was futile to argue with a man of
God. No matter what I said, he’d have some way to associate my
request with Jesus and whether or not he’d approve of my actions.
That argument won every time.

Instead, I settled for homework on
my older-than-dirt computer. I loved it and hated it. It got me
what I needed, but only after taking forever to do so.

An hour later and I still hadn’t
gotten past my sign-on screen. I was about to throw the computer
from the desk when my dad interrupted. “What would Jesus do,
Faith?”

Honestly, I hadn’t thought about
what Jesus would do as I mumbled angry words and smacked at my
computer. I had a paper due the following day and my ancient
computer and dial-up Internet were making that extremely
difficult.

“
Sorry, Daddy,” I
mumbled.

He patted my back as he walked by
with his Bible in hand. He’d spent his time after dinner preparing
for that night’s special sermon. It was more than difficult to
focus on studying with him calling out the words of God as if he
were already standing behind the pulpit.

“
You almost done?” he asked a few
minutes later. “Sister Francis asked that we arrive early for
tonight. She needs your help preparing for Bible
school.”

I wasn’t even close to being done.
“All done.” I smiled sweetly.

Daddy always said church came
first. God waited for no man. It didn’t matter that I had to sit up
some nights past my bedtime just to finish a paper.

The church my dad preached at,
Riverbank Baptist, was bigger than it used to be. Just a few years
before, they’d added on extra rooms to the back, including a small
kitchen for when we had big dinners. A simple redbrick building
that was older than my grandfather stood tall in the middle of a
large patch of grass. A tiny patch of rocks represented the parking
lot. About seven cars fit in the space, which meant on rainy days,
a lot of people braved muddy shoes for God.

I was raised in Riverbank Baptist.
So much time was spent with our church family that I could no
longer figure out who was actually a blood relative and who wasn’t.
All in all, it didn’t really matter. Family was family as far as I
was concerned.

I met Sister Francis, the Sunday
school teacher and possibly my aunt, in the kid’s room as soon as
we arrived. As her assistant, I was in charge of having worksheets
printed out and the snacks ready to go. It didn’t take much time,
but it was my job. I enjoyed being around all the lively kids. They
had spunk and said some pretty bizarre things that made me
laugh.

“
Thank the Lord you’re here. I
didn’t think I’d get everything done,” Sister Francis said as she
flittered around the room and prepared for our special Wednesday
class.

Her black flats pounded into the
old hardwood flooring as she moved around the room to prepare. The
edges of her shoes stretched to accommodate her thick ankles. A
tiny run in her nude stockings rippled up the back of her knee,
allowing her fleshy pale skin to poke out.

As a bigger lady, she was out of
breath from all the activity. Her face was flushed, but her graying
miniature beehive was still holding strong. Sister Francis had
always worn her hair in her signature beehive. I could remember
being seven and trying to peek over her nest of hair to get a good
look at my daddy as he preached his heart out in front of the
congregation.

I spent thirty minutes preparing
the room for the kids and then I left and followed the sounds of my
father’s booming voice as it bounced off the curved ceilings of the
chapel. I found myself at the back of the church, staring up at the
choir and my daddy, who was blue in the face and shaking his Bible
at the crowd. He was a passionate man, but only when it came to
God.

Wednesday nights weren’t usually as
packed as Sundays, but I still didn’t want everyone turning and
looking back at me. Without wanting to cause a scene, I quickly
slid onto the pew in the very back.

Usually, no one sat that far back.
On any other day, I’d be sitting on the first pew with my mother,
but I’d taken longer in the kids’ room than usual. Mainly because I
had no desire to listen to my father preach.

The last pew should’ve been empty.
But instead of having an entire row to myself, I slid right into a
hard wall of heat. The smell of paint and freshly cut grass filled
my nostrils as my cheek met the hot flesh of a man’s upper
arm.

As I quickly pushed back, my eyes
met the jagged design of a black tattoo. It wrapped around the arm
in question and worked its way under the white sleeve of his
T-shirt. My fear of the unknown kicked in and I slid quickly to the
edge of the pew.

It was then that I was met with
caramel-colored hair and soft baby-blue eyes. They skimmed my chin
and cheeks before colliding with my own. His lips tilted in a grin
before he ran his fingers through his hair, turned his attention
away from me, and crossed his arms over his chest.

He was leaning back in the pew with
his long legs sprawled out in front of him. Chains hug from his
right pocket and slid across the shiny wood as he gapped his legs
to get comfortable. His jeans were rugged and worn, with holes
allowing me to see peeks of the skin and hair around his
knees.

My eyes roamed across his strong
features. A thin stroke of soft sable hair lined his jaw before
bleeding down onto his chin and around his mouth. He bit at his
thick lips in boredom, which pulled at the tiny silver stud beneath
his bottom lip. Soft evening light spilled in through the
stained-glass window and gave his face a red hue. The light
flickered off of a piercing in his brow.

I couldn’t look away. I’d never
before seen anyone like him up close. Every time someone like him
even came near, Daddy would pull me to the side and shelter me from
anything unbecoming. Besides, going to an all-girl school meant I
rarely saw boys unless they were at the supermarket or
church.

He turned toward me again with a
raised brow. I was staring and it was rude, but even then I
couldn’t peel my eyes away.

“
I’m not.” He grinned down at
me.

A dimple deepened on his cheek and
another flicker of silver showed inside his mouth when he spoke.
Dear God, was he pierced everywhere? I felt my cheeks heat at the
unholy thought.

“
You’re not what?” I
whispered.

I don’t think I could talk any
louder if I tried. It was bred into me to be seen, not heard,
especially in church where it mattered most.

His smile widened and I felt my
blush rush down my neck. “I’m not the devil.”

Swallowing the dry lump in my
throat, I shook my head like I understood. “I know.”

“
Oh really? How can you be sure?”
He turned toward me a little more and I saw another tiny tattoo on
his other arm.

If only Daddy could see me
interacting with such a polluted person.

“
Because this is a holy place and
sin’s not welcomed here.”

He laughed quietly to himself and
shook his head at me like I was confused. His caramel-colored hair
spilled into his humor-filled eyes. For the first time in my life,
I had the desire to reach out and touch a stranger. My fingers
itched to push the hair from his clear blue eyes. It was a crime
for them to be covered.

“
What’s so funny?” I
asked.

“
You couldn’t be more far off. I’m
not the devil, but the fact that I’m sitting here says a lot about
your logic. An angel should know the difference between holy and
hellfire.”

Again, my body lit up with a hot
flush.

“
I’m no angel.”

He reached up and flicked a piece
of my thick hair from my face. I pulled back, making him laugh
softly to himself.

“
If it looks like an angel and
talks like an angel, then it must be an angel.” He
smiled.

Even through his piercings
and dark, looming looks, his smile was sweet. I wasn’t sure how he
was able to do that. Maybe he
was
the devil. I’d been told in life that evil would
be a charmer—a rattlesnake masquerading as a prince. I was
beginning to think there was some truth in that
saying.

I tried to wrap my mind around his
words. If it looks like a sinner and talks like a sinner, then it
must be a sinner. And one thing I knew about the stranger in front
of me was that he was made for sin.

Without another word, he stood, the
chain hanging from his pocket clanking and drawing the attention of
the entire room. Daddy stopped preaching and his eyes were wide in
anger and shock. I expected him to run down the aisle and snatch me
up to get me away from the strange boy with the sinister
beauty.

He looked down at me and smiled
again as he slid against the pew in front of me to get out. The
front of his coarse jeans slid across my plain skirt, lifting it
and revealing my ankles and white tennis shoes. A cool breeze
rushed up my legs and I got chills. I wasn’t sure if it was the
cool breeze or the boy. Either way, it felt nice.

Ladies in fancy hats watched in
disgust as he pushed loudly on the church doors and let dusk and
evening air into the room. The doors slammed behind him, blocking
out the fresh air and leaving me feeling like I was about to
suffocate.

Two

Finn

Vandalism. That’s what I was
charged with for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I had
much better things to do with my free time than spray-paint the
side of a church. I can’t draw for shit. The last thing I’d do is
try to paint anything. The designs on the wall of the church were
way more advanced in the art department than I could ever
be.

No matter how many times I told the
judge this, no matter how many times I pled not guilty, he still
slapped community service on my ass. The court ordered me to attend
that same church for thirty days and help them in any
way.

My first day there, a few of the
church ladies stared at me like I was Satan himself. Big eyes took
me in from underneath flowery hats and thick over-applied
eyelashes. I’d never been stared at so much, and that said a lot
since I was the front man in a band.