She swatted at me when I tried to help her into the truck, telling me she could manage on her own.
When we got to the end of the drive, I put my blinker on to turn left.
“Turn right,” she said.
“Your church is left, Grandma.”
“I know. I said turn right, boy.” She shot a stern look at me. “Turn right!”
Shrugging, I did as told and she settled back into her seat, clutching her purse and Bible. “I told you I don’t like being late to church…” she grumbled, turning the radio to some Gospel station.
I came to a four-way stop across from Robert Murdey’s cornfield, the engine idling. She tapped on the window. “Now, take another right.”
“Where are we going?”
“To Rockford.”
“Why in the—”
She whacked the back of my head. “Boy, don’t you swear around me on God’s Day.” She huffed. “When you get into town take a left at the red light and go on down a ways until you see the rock church. Their service starts at ten. I told you, I ain’t gonna be late.” She cocked one of her drawn-on eyebrows. There was no arguing when she cocked her eyebrow. None!
I drove along the road deep in thought. I’d lost my job and that shitty town afforded little opportunity. That assault charge sure was going to be a nice little blemish on my already less than impressive resume.
The truck sputtered when I slowed down for the only red light in town and took another right.
Grandma shifted next to me, an unsettled tension bristling from her. “Now, you wanna confess your sins to me or to Jesus?”
The tiny rock church came into view, and I cleared my throat before I pulled into the gravel parking lot. “What sins?”
“You tell me. Going to jail…” I glanced at her and she frowned. “Just like your daddy. Mm-mm-mm.” She shook her head.
A short jolt of adrenaline jumped through me right before guilt. Guilt that I let her down, that she’d compared me to my worthless father. “Grandma, I—”
“Dickey called me this morning. Apologized to me that he was gonna have to fire you.”
“It’s fine, Grandma.” I cut the engine. “I’ll find another job.”
“Hrmph.” She stiffened a little before opening her door. “I’m gettin’ too old for this mess. I tell you, between your parents and you, I’m surprised the good Lord ain’t seen fit to carry me home yet.” She reached over and fiddled with the collar of my shirt. “But I love you, regardless if you’re a hoodlum or not.”
Before I could get out of the truck, she was already halfway across the small parking lot. A man in a plaid dress shirt and overalls held the door open for her and she bustled right on in. I thanked him when I stepped inside to find she’d already taken a seat in one of the pews at the back. I tried to block out the creepy-ass electric organ music that was way too loud for the little chapel. At least at Grandma’s church, they just stuck to an upright grand.
Church… I came every Sunday, but only because Grandma refused to drive, and she insisted that I stay. I guess she thought the words would sink in eventually. It wasn’t likely, but hey, it did force me to pray once a week. Every time I walked through the doors, I prayed the church wouldn’t go up in flames.
The small congregation shuffled to their seats. People coughed and asked how everyone’s momma was doing. I just leaned back in the pew and rolled my eyes. A group of girls passed by, their eyes trained on me. See, that was the thing about small towns. Everyone noticed when there was someone new in their mix. I smiled. Three of them blushed and giggled, the fourth one gave me a once over. Oh, she must be one of Rockford’s Elite. The Gucci slung over her shoulder, her tailored dress and manicured nails screamed little rich girl. With practiced ease, she stuck her nose in the air and rolled her eyes at me, so I winked at her just to be a dick. Her cheeks flushed before she turned around and strutted off to her pew. Gucci Girl looked at me like I was beneath her, but the irony was: I could most definitely have had her beneath me if I’d wanted, and I took great satisfaction in that.
The organist finished up the last chorus of “Amazing Grace.” Just as she folded the sheet music, the back doors of the church banged against the wall. I turned in my seat. The early morning sun poured through the doorway like a piece of heaven trying to sneak its way in, and just when I was about to face the front again, a girl came straggling in last minute. I dragged my gaze over her curves. Within three seconds, I knew she was too good for me. One, she was in a church, and two, that black dress she wore fell below her knees. With her dark hair and fair skin, she had that Audrey Hepburn classic beauty thing down pat, and you really couldn’t beat that.
That was the kind of girl I’d make love to while whispering promises I’d intend to keep, but wouldn’t….
She glanced around the tiny, packed chapel, gnawing on her lip. Her chest rose in a heavy breath before she grabbed the wicker offering basket from the chair by the door and took a seat. I thought only Deacons sat in those. Maybe she’s a rebel... I was half tempted to stand up and give my spot on the pew to her, but the preacher stepped to the pulpit and cleared his throat. “Good Morning, Rockford First Baptist.”
The congregation mumbled a unified hello, and Grandma swatted at me with her Bible. “Face the front, boy.” With that, I turned around and slouched in the seat.
Halfway through the sermon about that man Jesus raised from the dead, I turned around to take a peek at that pretty girl. She swiped at her check, doing that finger dab thing girls did when they were crying and they didn’t want their mascara to run. And even though I didn’t know her, it bothered me that she was upset. I guess she felt me staring at her, because she glanced in my direction. Our eyes locked for a second before her chin dropped to her chest, still dabbing at her eyes.
When I turn around, I grabbed a donation envelope from the back of the pew, along with a pen, and I scribbled out lyrics—inspired by that pretty girl in the black dress. Grandma nudged me, and I crammed the envelope in my pocket.
The sermon went on and on. Tithing. Sinning. Spiritual healing. I was almost asleep when Grandma elbowed me again. I swear, growing up, I had a permanent bruise from her prodding.
“Let us pray…” the preacher said from the pulpit. And I was ecstatic because that meant this was almost over. I had things to do after all, get my truck, find a job… I bowed my head, but I didn’t close my eyes. Instead, I stared down at the frayed laces of my Chucks.
The kid in front of me whimpered. I peeked up just as he stood in the pew, crawling over his mom. He looked at me and I crossed my eyes and stuck out my tongue like a dead frog. He giggled before falling into his mother’s lap.
“Amen.”
Everyone stood, turning to their neighbor and shaking their hand. I thought about going to introduce myself to that pretty girl. Grandma always said, you never know what burden someone’s carrying, and she was obviously carrying something.
“Oh,” the preacher said. “If any of you young men are looking for a little summer work, I need some help around the farm. I’m getting too old to tend to twenty acres, and the pay is good.”
I went to walk off and Grandma snagged me by the elbow like she used to when she was about to send me out to get a switch. Even though I was twenty-one, a little bit of panic shot through me at that particular grab. “The Lord works in mysterious ways.”
She led me straight to the altar, stopping in front of the preacher. He extended his hand. “John Blake,” he said, smiling. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you two here before.”
“Doris Mae Greyson.” She shook his hand. “Member of First Baptist Sylacauga, but my grandson here was gonna make me late, and I don’t walk into the Lord’s house late.”
John nodded like that made perfect sense.
“But I guess it was divine intervention because he could use a job.”
Great. Just great. Twenty-one and Grandma’s still wiping my ass for me. I glanced at the back of the church and that pretty girl was walking through the doors. Damn.
“Couldn’t you, boy?” She pinched me, and I turned back to face the preacher, swatting her hand away from my arm. “Just lost his job because he went to jail.”
“Grandma…” I said through gritted teeth while I forced a smile.
“Not prison mind you, just jail. Got in some fight.” She grabbed my chin and turned my face to the side. “As you can see by the state of his face. Now, I raised him better than this, but sometimes…” she sighed.
I wanted to argue with her. I didn’t need her asking for handouts, but how do you argue with your grandma in a church? I may have been an asshole, but I couldn’t be one around her.
“You know where Memorial Cemetery is?” John asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Go on down a mile from it, my house is on the left. Twelve, County Road Two. Come over Friday and we’ll see if we can’t get you some work.”
“Thank you,” I said, even though I wasn’t the least bit excited about whatever tending twenty acres entailed. I should have just called Grandma and told her I went to jail, then I could have just slept in that day.