“One more thing.” Her smile fades fast. “You’re going to meet the rest of your family tomorrow. Be ready by seven. We’ll head over to the main house together.”
I rise from my chair, immediately plunking back down from the force of the bomb she’s just dropped. That explains the twelve chairs at the table.
“Wait… what?” I scratch just above my brow. I could’ve sworn Mercy said Kath was a single mom. No one mentioned a husband.
“Your stepfather’s name is Mark,” she says slowly, her chin dipped low. “I’m his third wife. I have two sister wives, and you have five other brothers and sisters.”
I lean back in my seat. There were some polygamous communities in Arizona, but they mostly lived on self-governed compounds. We rarely noticed them. They didn’t live on a street with white-picket fences and manicured lawns. They didn’t wear jeans or look like Kath.
“Mark’s first wife is—”
“Does Dad know?”
Kath pauses before nodding. “He found out a few years ago. I’m not sure how, but I’d sent you a card on your thirteenth birthday, and he sent a letter back threatening to out us all if I tried contacting you again.”
I lean forward. “So you’re, what, FLDS now? How’d that happen? We’re not—Dad’s not—Mormon.”
“Technically we’re not FLDS. We’re AUB. Apostolic United Brethren.” She offers a dreamy smile, as if she’s recalling the best thing that’s ever happened to her. “It’s nothing I went searching for. It found me. I don’t know, Jensen. It just sort of happened. I met Mark, and we hit it off. When he explained his situation, his beliefs, it all sounded… perfect.”
“So you have no problem sharing your husband with other women?” It’s none of my business, but this is crazier than the damn snake charmers Dad brought to the church one summer. Plus, it’s getting late. My brain isn’t firing on all cylinders and my filter has washed up and gone to bed for the night. “So you left Dad and found someone even more dysfunctional. Good for you.”
Her lips form a straight line and she squints. “There are things I don’t expect you to understand, Jensen.” She says my name a lot. Makes me wonder if she’s missed saying it over the years. “There are certain burdens that come with being a woman. Being a sister-wife, you share those burdens. And the love we share—”
“Okay, cool.” I slap my hand on the table. Not a single ounce of me wants to carry on this conversation with her, because I’ve already got a general idea of where it’s heading. I stand up and stretch. “I need to get to bed, so…”
“Right.” She rises, and her stare is heavy like it doesn’t want to let me go quite yet. She doesn’t have a choice. I’m exhausted. Plus, I don’t give a shit about the dirty details of her weird-ass plural-marriage. “See you at seven. Everyone’s looking forward to meeting you.”
I hear her faintly call “goodnight” as I trudge up the stairs. Rounding the corner to my new dinosaur room, the one I share with the half-brother I never knew existed, I tumble into bed, not bothering to crawl under the covers. Too many nights I’ve woken up tangled and constricted by fucking sheets and blankets. I’d rather be cold than overpowered by anyone or anything ever again.
Gideon— I think that’s his name—is talking in his sleep. I can’t make out what he’s saying, but he’s clearly not having a nightmare. Must be nice.
I rest my hands behind my head and stare up at the green, glowing stars on the ceiling with half-open eyes.
Tomorrow I meet the rest of the freaks.
CHAPTER 2
“Kath said he was beat up pretty badly.” My older sister, Bellamy, whisks scrambled eggs over the stove as I’m stirring two pitchers of orange juice. “Don’t stare, or anything.”
“What happened?” I ask, replacing the lid on the pitchers and carrying them to the table. Going to school every morning smelling like a restaurant is one of the worst things about my life right now, but I could have childcare duty. I’d much rather smell like bacon and eggs than spend all morning wiping snotty noses and getting the kids dressed.
“We don’t know, and it’s none of our concern,” Mom interjects. Her voice is hushed, which is her way of telling us to stop talking about it. Summer—my dad’s second wife—and her three kids shuffle in from the family room and take their places at the table. One more year and our half-sister, Justice, will be old enough to help out with meal prep. For now she gets the easy chores like emptying trash cans and dusting blinds.