Come out come out, p.8
Come Out, Come Out, page 8
Fern had swallowed hard, nausea swirling in her guts. “But it doesn’t feel like me,” she’d protested. “I don’t think I’m a girl.”
Her mother had dropped her hands as though they’d burned her. “If there is one thing I know for absolute certain, it’s that you are my baby girl. You were born into this beautiful body for a reason. I know that puberty can be scary, but, remember, it is the most natural thing in the world—the feminine is sacred. Just look at your sisters. You are like them.”
“I don’t think I am.” Fern had always been too bold for her own good when she was young. Speaking without thinking. Right up until that moment.
“You are.” Her mother’s tone had been as sharp as any blade and just as threatening. “All of my daughters are my girls.”
The message had been clear. Her mother only had daughters. Fern was either one of them—or not. She’d never brought it up again, keeping the most tumultuous parts of herself secret.
And then they had been taken from her.
“N-no,” she stammered now, reeling from the memory. “I’m not— I mean, that’s not it. I just have a lot going on right now, and I’m— You know what? It’s personal.”
“Okay, I get it.” Kaitlyn raised her hands and backed away. “We’re not friends, and we don’t have to be. But we do have to fake it for Murph, or she’ll be pissed.”
Fern drew a deep breath, pulling herself—the pieces she knew—together. “Sounds like a challenge,” Fern answered. “I’m game if you are.”
It was a performance on top of a performance. One for their teacher, and one for the show.
Kaitlyn stuck out her hand, and Fern took it, shaking once. The touch of Kaitlyn’s palm on hers was almost too much to bear right now.
“Great, so let’s find our touchstones and get the hell out of here,” Kaitlyn said, moving farther down the rack, swiftly dismissing each piece.
Fern lingered where she was, breathing in the stale air. Focusing on the vaguely unpleasant scents of laundry detergent and generations of body odor. Anything but the wordless cacophony raging inside her. It was too much. Too much to think about, especially in a moment like this.
Her fingers landed on the jacket Kaitlyn had rejected a moment ago. The leather was fake and flaking in spots, but it was soft, and before Fern knew what she was doing, she’d slipped it from the hanger and over her own shoulders.
It slid on easily, the sleeves hitting her exactly at the wrists and the fit loose around her middle. She zipped it up, savoring the way it felt a little like armor, the way it hovered a few inches from her body, then she turned to face the mirror and caught her breath.
It was perfect. It lay flat over her chest, landing just above her hips, hiding the curves of her torso behind straight lines. Somehow it changed her face, too. Made her less of an ingenue, more solid somehow, like the shape of the jacket highlighted the planes of her face rather than the angles. Or maybe it was just that she saw them more clearly now. Saw them and saw herself.
“It’s me,” she murmured.
“Did you find your touchstone?” Kaitlyn called from the next row.
Before Fern could form an answer, the lights flickered once and went out, plunging the room into darkness.
“Shit,” Kaitlyn hissed.
A prickle of fear shot up Fern’s spine. Darkness pressed in close, an almost physical presence. She had never been so aware that they were underground, that between here and the surface were labyrinthine hallways that would be impossible to navigate in the dark.
Fern was reaching for her phone when she felt a whisper of movement by her cheek.
“Kaitlyn?” she asked.
“Yeah?” Her voice echoed from across the room.
Fern froze. Muscles tense. Breath caught.
Because Kaitlyn was too far away to be the thing moving next to her right now.
Fern bit her bottom lip and tried to take a step forward without making another sound. But just then a hand covered her mouth, clasping tight with icy fingers.
She tried to run, but her feet were stuck to the ground by some cold, invisible force.
Fern screamed against the pressure. The sound came out garbled and frayed. She could hear Kaitlyn cry from across the room, “Fern?! What’s going on?” But the hand remained pressed against her mouth.
She was stuck, trapped, and her entire body began to tremble.
Come back, a voice moaned against her ear. Low and menacing.
She tried to scream again, to rip at the hand that held her, but at that moment the lights snapped on, and whoever—or whatever—had held her was gone.
Instead, Kaitlyn was by her side, a look of concern on her face.
“Fern?” she asked. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Fern swallowed hard, her mind flashing at once to that moment in the woods, wondering if indeed she had.
Chapter
Ten
Jaq
The church parking lot was nearly full on Monday night when the De Lucas arrived and claimed a spot at the back.
“I’ll see you in there,” Jaq called, abandoning her parents as her father stopped to wait while her mother applied a shimmery pink lipstick.
“Why didn’t you do that before we left the house?” he asked, a very specific blend of humor and judgment in his tone.
“Sorry,” her mother murmured. “I ran out of time.”
“What were you doing that—”
Jaq shut the door on their conversation. She’d heard it a million times before. Her father picking away at something that really didn’t seem like a big deal. Her mother patiently explaining until he let it go and settled into his usual silence. It was a boring routine, and she was hungry.
In the two days since that moment in the woods, Jaq’s appetite had been nonexistent. Her thoughts swirled around the black hole of her missing memories, raged against the knowledge that Mallory was dead. Her stomach had felt like a sheet of muscle wrapped tight around a stone. She’d focused on that. Sank her awareness into the heavy pressure in her chest and gut. Because as long as she was consumed by the physical discomfort of her own body, there wasn’t room to think about anything else. To feel anything else.
Her mind was a constant swirling, churning storm, and she wanted it all to stop. To go back to normal, and the only way she knew to do that was to keep doing normal things. Keep her routine: exercise, school, church, friends, homework, and sometimes church again.
Once a month, Port Promise Baptist hosted a Monday-night potluck where the congregation could “come together in joy and fellowship,” as Preach Meach was fond of saying. They were technically optional, but in all the years the De Lucas had attended Port Promise Baptist, Jaq could only remember missing two: once when her Granny De Luca had died and they’d been in Oregon for the service, and then when Grandpa Maggio passed. Usually, it was kind of fun to be in the church with her friends when Preach Meach wasn’t going on about the Holy Spirit and its role in her life. It was exactly the kind of normal she needed to ground her.
But as she stepped through the side doors that opened into the community room, her thoughts spun away from her, teasing out a memory of standing in this very spot.
She was thirteen years old, Mal standing a few feet away with a secret smile on her lips. The newness of their friendship a giddy, tremulous feeling, like holding laughter in her hands.
She had followed Mal out of the community room where everyone was eating and into one of the prayer rooms, where a simple wooden cross hung on the wall.
“I hate these things,” Mal said, dropping into one of the four chairs. “My parents never actually let me eat any of the food.”
“Why?” Jaq had asked, sinking into the seat next to her new friend.
“My mom says processed foods are as evil as the devil himself.” Mal grinned and pulled a bag of Skittles out of her pocket. “But rainbows are a symbol of God’s love. Wanna get holy with me?”
Jaq laughed, scandalized and delighted. “What are friends for?”
Mal poured out half the candy into Jaq’s open hand. “We’re more than friends, you know.”
The flush in Jaq’s cheeks was as sudden as the flutter in her stomach. She’d looked up at Mal, Skittles bleeding sweetly on her tongue, daring to hope that the new feelings stirring inside her were also stirring inside Mal.
“What do you mean ‘more than’?”
Mal leaned in, a daring smile on her lips. “What do you think it means?”
Candy still in her mouth. Sugar in her throat. And the desire to kiss Mal too terrifying to comprehend. Jaq had swallowed hard. Their parents were so close. They could be discovered at any second, and if that happened, she honestly didn’t know what they would do.
She sat back with a sharp exhale. “We’re in church,” she’d said, shifting her eyes to the cross looming above.
Following her gaze, Mal narrowed her eyes. She considered the cross without an ounce of respect, as though its presence offended her. “You know,” she started after a long minute, “I think I’m probably a lot like Jesus.”
“What?” Jaq gasped in surprise. She would never dare compare herself to him.
“Yeah, he was wronged, then killed, and then he came back, and he got revenge on everyone. He made everyone believe they weren’t good enough. Even us,” Mal said as though it were the most rational thing in the world. “That’s exactly what I’d do.”
The memory had been lost to Jaq for so long, but standing here, now, it was uncomfortably present. Pointed. Accompanied by the pervasive fear that had been erased for the past five years, when she’d lived every day a little bit terrified of being discovered.
But now that fear was back. A sprawl of insidious mold covering the walls of her heart. Threatening to break them down little by little.
“Jaqueline, it is always such a pleasure to see you. Is that your mother’s Texas caviar?” Preacher Meachem was standing in his usual spot by the door, welcoming everyone as they came inside. He was dressed casually tonight, a button-down plaid shirt tucked into dark blue jeans ending in a pair of soft brown loafers. His round face was a distant echo of Susan’s, with the addition of smile lines around his mouth and eyes.
Jaq had spent enough time at his house hanging out with Susan that he was almost like an uncle to her, but tonight, she felt uneasy in his presence, as if he could see right through to the truth of her.
“Yes, sir,” she answered, lifting the red bowl in her hands as proof. “Is there still room?”
“We can always make room for more.” He beamed at her, warm and approving. Then his expression softened, tipping toward worry, and he asked, “How are you, dear?”
Jaq resisted the urge to fidget. She wasn’t supposed to lie to her preacher, but what choice did she have?
“I’ll take that. Hey, Preach,” John said, appearing by her side at the perfect moment. He raised the bowl chivalrously from Jaq’s hands. “Mind if I cut in?”
“By all means.” Preach Meach’s approving smile was back, his concerns erased by the sight of the two of them together. “Don’t let an old man get in the way of young love.”
Jaq nearly wilted with relief, turning to follow John.
“Toward the front, I assume?” John asked. He smelled like the spice of his favorite aftershave, and with his hair still a little wet from a shower, he looked more boyish than usual.
“Like always,” Jaq answered, and she let herself relax just a little. “How was practice?”
John was a three-season athlete, but baseball was his true love. He was the top-ranked high school pitcher in the Puget Sound.
“Pretty good,” he said, the evidence in his smile.
They made their way to a long buffet table covered in food. John deposited the bowl exactly where Alice De Luca would have wanted it—between a bowl of Mrs. Knudson’s homemade salsa and Mrs. Nichols’s cheese dip—and then looped an arm around Jaq’s waist and steered her toward a table where Susan and Tommy were already seated.
“Hey.” Jaq gave a little wave as John pulled out a chair for her.
“Hey,” Susan said, waggling her pastel manicure. Her gaze shifted to a spot over Jaq’s shoulder, eyes widening. “They’re here. I can’t believe they came.”
“Who?” Jaq turned in her seat.
Just inside the doors stood Cole Clark’s parents, the couple who ran the Deep Cut and gave them all discounts on pizza. The last time Jaq had seen them was on Friday during lunch, and everything had seemed fine. They were never overly effusive, but they were nice enough. The only time Jaq ever saw them out of their aprons and signature red-and-white gingham shirts was here at church. Tonight, they looked smaller than usual, and even from this distance, Jaq could see the hint of red in Mrs. Clark’s eyes. And there was no sign of Cole.
Everyone turned to look, pausing their conversations in a way that made it obvious they either knew what had happened or sensed that they soon would. She saw her own parents drawing away as though worried that whatever ill fate had fallen on the Clarks might be contagious, and a small shiver of dread slid down her own spine.
“Mr. and Mrs. Clark, so good to see you both.” The warmth in Preacher Meachem’s greeting was as much a command as it was genuine. “We are so glad that you came tonight. Please, know that we are all here for you in your time of need.”
He swept a welcoming arm around Mrs. Clark’s shoulders and drew her into the room while Mr. Clark trailed solemnly behind, a Stetson held in front of his chest like he was attending a funeral.
“What happened?” Jaq asked, swiveling back to the table.
“You didn’t hear?” Susan leaned forward, excited to be the one to share the terrible news. “It’s Cole.”
The stone in Jaq’s stomach dropped back into place. She’d known something was wrong with Cole, but she hadn’t made an effort to find out what.
“Susan,” John warned, gesturing for her to keep her voice down.
“Fine.” Susan scooted her chair around so that she was right next to Jaq. Even then, she raised a hand to her mouth when she leaned in to whisper, “He’s gay.”
A fizzing sound bubbled in Jaq’s ears, cold sweat at her temples.
“And he told them!” Tommy whispered, not too softly. Gleeful and not afraid to show it. “Came home from school on Friday and decided to come out then and there. No shame, no nothing.”
“His parents were totally shocked. Horrified, really,” Susan picked up. “I overheard my dad saying that they tried to talk some sense into him, but he was already lost.”
“And then what?” Jaq asked, though she had a pretty good idea. She didn’t remember seeing him at the party on Saturday or church on Sunday. Both bad signs.
Susan shrugged. “Cole left. Abandoned his parents even though all they wanted was to help him. It’s totally selfish.”
It wasn’t that simple. Jaq knew that for a fact. Cole had always been thoughtful and quiet. The kind of person who didn’t speak until he was sure he had something meaningful to say. He’d never once ordered anything but a Hawaiian pizza because he knew himself well enough to know anything else would leave him disappointed. He was the sort of person who wouldn’t leave without cause. He hadn’t just done anything.
“I heard he’s been hanging out at Frank’s,” Tommy volunteered. “So, like, is anyone really surprised? I always had a feeling about him.”
“What does Frank’s have to do with anything?” Jaq asked, not tracking the shift in conversation. Frank’s was the one and only all-night diner in Port Promise and, as far as she knew, not otherwise noteworthy.
“Oh, c’mon. You know,” Tommy said, raising his eyebrows suggestively.
“You know why Frank left the army, don’t you?” John asked. Then, at Jaq’s look of confusion, he answered his own question. “Someone asked, he told.”
“Dishonorable discharge, baby!” Tommy said a little too loudly.
“It wasn’t, though,” John corrected him. “Probably because they were just about to repeal that rule.”
“Can you imagine what it’s like to be his parents?” Susan asked, drawing their attention back to the Clarks.
Jaq turned, searching not for Cole’s parents, but for hers. She found them headed right toward her, expressions under lock and key.
“What a fine-looking table,” Mrs. De Luca said, beaming at the group. “Everyone okay over here?”
Jaq’s insides had liquified. There were no more bones or muscles to make her move.
“We’re all just thinking about Cole and his family,” John said with a sympathetic smile.
“It is tragic, a good reminder of just how lucky we are.” Mr. De Luca’s hand landed on Jaq’s shoulder. Solid and heavy. “We’ve never had to worry about you.”
“Never,” her mother echoed.
Though they were speaking to Jaq, their eyes were on the Clarks. Maybe people who didn’t know them as well as she did wouldn’t be able to read anything into their stoic faces, but Jaq could see it all.
Pity.
Relief.
Disgust.
It had been the same after Mallory’s disappearance, except Jaq hadn’t cared as much—hadn’t remembered that she should. It wasn’t long before the Hammonds moved away and Jaq stopped thinking about Mal altogether.
“It must be terrible for them,” John said, sounding genuine. “I wish there was something we could do.”
“Like what?” Susan asked.
“The only thing we can do is be here if and when he’s ready to return,” Jaq’s mom said. “Now, eat. All of you.”
