“I know Ryan Reynolds is a little rat,” he growled. “The boy's plenty old to have a wife, but he's not going to take one because he's ruined two girls who are even bigger whores than you. He wants to make you his third conquest, and you're too damned stupid to see it.”
“That's not true! Cindy and Meghan never did more than kiss him. They told me themselves. And for everything you're worried about, they're happy and married. No one cares about the past.”
“You don't think the Prophet does? He saw everything. The Prophet always does. If you paid a lick of attention during the service, you'd understand, girl...”
Daddy's mouth was moving, but I couldn't hear him anymore. I'd listened to the same speech before – childhood tales where our savior was an all seeing boogeyman. Overhead, the thick gray clouds exploded, pounding the windshield with noisy rain. The droplets were so big and loud and frequent it looked like we were heading underwater.
Yeah, I'd given the Prophet an eye full once he stopped thrashing around on the ground and sat up, staring at his flock. I'd never say it out loud, but in truth he was an even bigger drunk than my father, if he wasn't on something else entirely.
The hardest thing about living in Beacon Grove was pretending.
Everybody except for a few righteous wackos lived by the scripture and sermons to one-up their neighbors. Not because they were pure believers. It was no different with the fat man with the long, gnarled beard who waddled up to the pulpit a couple times a month and spewed nonsense for several hours.
I didn't know much about the outside world. Interacting too much with the corrupted was forbidden, but one thing was clear. If God's word truly existed somewhere in the great beyond outside our town, it had fled us and gone elsewhere.
“Cassie! Didn't you hear a single fucking thing he said this morning about sin and avarice, or were you too busy rubbing yourself against the boy to listen? Are you listening to me now?” He demanded.
Yeah, I heard it. And I'm still not sure what it means.
How can pleasure and pain be the same?
“I heard him just fine, Daddy. You forget I'm the one who was sober.”
Looking at me sharply, he narrowed his eyes. Crap. I know I shouldn't have said that, shouldn't have let my instincts get the better of me...too late.
When Daddy got pissed off, he got reckless.
His foot stomped the accelerator and our old truck roared into the blinding rain. I was too horrified to even look over and check the gauge to see how fast we were going. I just knew we were going fast enough to kill us instantly if we hit another vehicle or – God forbid – ran off the road and smashed into one of the huge trees.
“Daddy, please...don't do this.”
“Shut your fucking mouth,” he said, hoarse cruelty in his voice. “You think you know better than me ever since you sprouted boobs. Hell, Cassie, you think you know better than our Prophet, better than God himself!”
He coughed, face reddening. I swallowed hard, listening to the faint sound of his teeth grinding through the storm.
God, maybe he's right.
Clasping my hands on my lap, I started to pray, just like Mama taught me when I was a little girl and we followed the Prophet to Beacon Grove. But I prayed to her, prayed she was somewhere up there beyond the exploding clouds above, prayed for her to stop the demon in the driver's seat.
I opened my eyes just in time to see the winking headlights through the haze, a car heading right toward us. “Daddy! Watch out!”
His hands twisted the wheel like a captain on a boat desperate to avoid collision. The force hit hard, planting me against the door, screaming and blubbering like an idiot the entire time.
By some miracle, we avoided the other vehicle and didn't fly straight off the road into a flooded ditch.
“You don't know better than me, you fucking bitch. Let that be a good reminder. I made your bratty little ass and I can destroy it too. I can end all this.” He exhaled slowly. “Some days I wonder what I did to make God take Charlene and leave me with you. The cancer should've rotted you from the inside out. Not her, not my wife...”
Reaching under his seat, he pulled up a silver flask and popped the cap. I was too busy wiping tears from my eyes to say anything before he took a big swig.
“This is all I got now,” Daddy whispered slowly, wiping his mouth. “All the good Lord and the Prophet have left me. All I fucking care about. I want your stupid ass married and moved out so I don't have to deal with it anymore. If you could keep your legs closed for one minute, maybe that would happen.”
Damn! I'd never bedded anyone! I wasn't a whore, no matter what he said.
The rain died down just enough to see a little further, but it was a small consolation. Once that bottle opened, Daddy didn't stop until it was drained. I watched, wide eyed and scared, as he tipped it to his lips and poured the cheap whiskey down.