Burn in Hail(37)

I laughed.

"Your daughter seems to like this filthy piece of excrement."

And that was when I realized my mistake.

I thought that Reverend Hanes was somewhat sane.

Turns out, he wasn't.



Hennessy

I knew that by going to church, I'd be pissing my father off. After what  had happened yesterday, I fully expected him to be upset that I was  there.

However, I hadn't missed a Sunday sermon yet since I'd been home, and  today I wouldn't either. Especially after all the hype that was being  generated after the city had found out about my and Tate's relationship.

What I hadn't expected was my father to confront us during the most  crowded part of Sunday church. The time, directly after my father  finished, that everyone gathered out on the church lawn and discussed  the week prior, and the coming week ahead. The time when some of the  most gossip was spread amongst my father's parishioners.

"You're a filthy whore in the eyes of God." I closed my eyes as  embarrassment swamped me. "Your mother would be so ashamed of you.  Cavorting with a man that has sinned the worst of us all."

That's when I started to laugh.

I opened my eyes and stared at the man I thought was my father, but was  so far away from how a father should act that it was a wonder I'd made  it this long with my head in the sand.

"So, your small sins don't equal the same in God's eyes?" I asked. "Your  cheating, lying, stealing ways are less serious than the fact that Tate  killed a couple of gang members that were trying to rape a small girl?"

My father's face twisted. "What I do on my own personal time is of no concern to you."

I couldn't stop the laughter from continuing to bubble out of my throat. It was harsh, and hard to hear, even to my own ears.

"That's rich, coming from you," I said. "You beat your own daughter. Cut  her hair every time you perceive that she has sinned. And you've done  that for a very long time now." I paused. "Oh, twenty years give or  take? Ever since my mother died? The mother that you cheated on during  her final days on this Earth?"

He snapped his mouth shut, surprised that I'd let that particular cat out of the bag.

What, was I supposed to act like I didn't know when he was practically  tearing the man that I loved to shreds in front of some of the most  judgmental people in the town?

I think not.

"What about that time you beat me so bad that I had to stay at home for a  week, and you told everyone that I went to a youth camp while my  bruises healed?" I questioned.

The big man at my side stiffened.

He'd been home that week from leave. It'd been his fault that I'd been  caught ogling him anyway. He'd ran past our house in nothing but shorts  and tennis shoes. He'd had sweat dripping down his body, and he'd been  drenched.

My father had caught me ogling, and began to beat me for my ‘sinful behavior.'

"Do you think your parishioners know that you skim a little money off  the top when you feel like having a nice gamble out on the boats?" I  asked. "I'm pretty sure gambling is a sin, as well … right?"

My father's face turned a mottled shade of red, and then his eyes narrowed.

"You're delusional." His face wiped clear of any and all expression but  pity. "This man has brainwashed you with lies. What has happened to  you?"

I leaned sideways and looped my arm around Tate's thick waist.         

     



 

"Have a good one, Dad," I commented. "We're going to have lunch with Tate's Grams."

It was as we were leaving, both of us walking to his grandmother's car to make sure she got in all right, that it happened.

A scream filled the air, causing both of us to turn to survey what was going on.

At first, I couldn't place what was wrong.

My eyes scanned the parking lot. There was a huddle of groups all likely  talking about what had just gone down, and quite a few people were  still staring at us as we walked. However, that hadn't been the  scream-one of real fear-that had caught our attention.

"Where did it come from?" I asked.

Tate shook his head. "I don't … "

And that's when we saw my father coming toward us, the hunting rifle he  normally kept in the back window of his truck held confidently in his  hand.

My belly sank.

Tate pushed me behind him.

I looked around him to see my father's gun aimed at Tate's lower body.

"You will not make this worse than it already is," my father growled, tightening his hand around the butt of the gun.

Tate didn't say a word.

I was so focused on the two of them that I wasn't paying attention to  the woman that was at my side, the door open and her standing beside it.

In fact, I was so focused that I didn't know the woman, the sweet older woman, was armed until she spoke, drawing our attention.

"You will put that down," Grams ordered tightly.

My father's eyes flicked to hers, and widened. He then lowered his  weapon to his side, surprised to find himself threatened enough to  momentarily drop his attention from the two of us.

Tate still stayed solid in front of me, unable to move because it would then cause me to become exposed.

How did I know this?

Each time I started to poke my head around him, he countered my move  with one of his own, making me get nothing more than a great up close  and personal view of his broad back.

"I'm tired of you lot bullying my grandson." Grams held her gun up like  it was an extension of her hand. "I've sat by while you spewed your  nonsense because it seemed like the easier thing to do, but after  dealing with it for so long, I must've gotten immune. Now that my eyes  have been opened, I've decided I'm not taking any more of your shit."

My father went to raise the weapon, but he didn't so much as pull it up  to rest in against his inner arm before Grams cocked the revolver.

She aimed it straight at my father's chest, and I could barely breathe.

I was about to see one of two things. My father shot, or the man I'd fallen in love with shot.

Neither option was good.

"Let's see who can shoot fastest." My father tensed.

Before he could so much as put his finger on the trigger, Grams proved  that being in her late eighties didn't affect her speed in the  slightest.

Grams shot my father in the foot, and my father went down like a stack of stones.

"I'm old, and I've had more practice," Grams said, lowering her arm.  "Though, I have to admit, I've never once thought that I'd actually have  to shoot a living being for being stupid."





Chapter 24


Kids up in this bitch.

-Bumper sticker

Tate

At first, I was worried that she was going to take her own life.

But then, as I sat there and observed her, I realized that the thing  that I once thought was a handful of pills, was actually a handful of  glittery looking beads.

"What is that?" I asked, walking up to Ariya.

Ariya looked over at me and shrugged. "She loved glitter."

The pain in her voice physically hurt to hear.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Ariya."

Ariya shrugged. "I heard what went down at church a few days ago."

I grimaced.

"It's okay," she whispered. "By that point, my baby wasn't able to do  anything but feel the pain. We kept her sedated and comfortable, so she  didn't hear anything that she wasn't supposed to hear."

"Ariya … "

She smiled then.

"For two years I watched her battle that beast," she said.

My gut clenched.

If there was anything in it at this point, I was sure that it'd be a  roiling ball of despair just waiting for the right time to come out.

But I hadn't eaten before I'd come to the funeral, coming straight from a repossession job for the bank to make it in time.

I didn't know what to say to her. Words wouldn't make what she was feeling go away.

So, I stayed silent and listened to her speak.

"I tried for two years to get him to talk to her. To acknowledge her  existence." She angrily wiped away tears. "I'm kind of happy that your  grandmother shot him in the foot. It wasn't anything less than what I  wished upon him."         

     



 

"He contracted a secondary infection," I said. "They don't expect him to make it out of this without his foot being amputated."

She started to laugh.

"He deserves it to be more than his foot," she told me, then turned to  stare. "I know that Hennessy didn't come to the funeral because she  didn't want to make me uncomfortable, but tell her that she's welcome to  come over and look at photos anytime she wants." She paused. "Her  father threatened to make our lives a living hell if I told her about my  baby. I hate that she never got to know her sister. So, if Hennessy  wants, I'd be more than willing to share photos with her … anything she  wants."

I dropped my head and looked at the brilliant green grass at our feet.

"She'd like that," I told her. "Is there anything I can do?"

And she would. Hennessy had a thirst for life that really left me  feeling humbled sometimes. She didn't have a hateful bone in her body,  though that's not to say that she couldn't get mad.