Page 4 of When Sinners Fear
I bow my head with the rest of the congregation and tap my thumb.
“That was a lovely service, wasn’t it, Peyton.” Mother turns to me as soon as the priest finishes.
“Yes. Enlightening,” I lie. I wouldn’t be able to recount it back to Mother if she asked, but then, I know she won’t. She’s at least under no illusion that I’ve suddenly become a devout Christian since returning.
Matthew and Evie wait their turn before bustling out of the pew. I offer my arm to Mother, but before she has a chance to take it, Father pulls me back.
In a hushed but harsh tone, he sets to dress me down. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but at least show some modicum of respect in the house of the Lord, Peyton. You gave no effort or time to today. This is important.”
“I know. I’m here.” I pull my arm back and look to support Mother who’s slowly making her way down the centre aisle.
Her clothes are loose across her body, her summer dress now roomy, and her cardigan hanging over her frame.
I offer my arm and escort her toward the exit.
As I look up, I see Father Michael greeting and speaking to everyone as they pass. The line edges closer – closer to freedom – but I admonish myself for the thought. I’m not here for me. I’m here for my family.
Turning to Mother, I give her a smile. “Do you want to stay and visit today?”
“For a little while. Will you keep an eye on Matthew?”
“Sure.” I turn to Father who’s directly behind us.
“I heard,” he grumbles.
My father’s disposition has seen the greatest shift since my mother’s diagnosis. On a good day, I can’t blame him. Although, I wonder if it’s really been that big a shift or if he’s just got a good reason to be more miserable now.
He’s always been a strict but fair man. The rules of the house were simple and straightforward. For all of us, chores were always to be done before study or television. He rationed that access when he realised that I wasn’t interested in what was on the screen but more in what I could study on the internet or in books.
It was peculiar reasoning, given that I was much smarter than my peers. So much so that I jumped several years in middle and high school, finishing nearly four years ahead. It was like they were trying to keep me from studying sometimes. It didn’t work. Although, he still managed to cut my wings when he denied me to go further than the local university to study physics. I was too young. It wasn’t appropriate for me to be living away from home.
His reasoning still rings in my ears.
It didn’t stop me from going where I wanted in the end. It just took a little longer to get there. And now, I wait – in the middle of my PhD, currently on hold and risking the scholarship that supports it – to stay here and do the right thing for my family.
As we move closer, I notice Father Michael speaking to a man of similar age, but I can’t remember seeing him here before. He’s tall, with dark hair and a serious face. His broad shoulders give him an intimidating air, but my eyes linger on him as if scared to look away. He looks up and straight at me. My heart ticks up a beat, and I look down toward Mother and, with my free hand, curl the loose wisps of hair behind my ear once, then twice.
I can hear my heartbeat in my ears loud enough to count the beats and calculate the erratic BPM. It’s unsettling and uncomfortable, and my instinct is to run, but I’m here, and he’s in the path of my escape.
Stupid girl.
I chastise myself and take a breath.
Keeping my head down, we continue to head towards Father Michael. Of course, he stops to speak to my mother, who happily drops my arm to grasp his.
My eyes dart around until I look up at the stranger who’s still looking at me with a contented smile. I pull myself up taller and count the seconds before I think I can escape.
Father puts his arm around Mother, and they seem to be moving towards the exit, so I tuck in behind them and step away from the gentleman still standing next to Father Michael.
“Ah, Peyton. A moment.” He calls me back. I turn and step towards him, keeping my eyes glued to his.
“Yes, Father?”
“Allow me to introduce you to an old friend. This is Knox. Knox, Peyton Summers.”
He holds out his hand, and as I lift my eyes to look into his, my hand obliges and rests in his. “A pleasure.”
CHAPTER THREE