In Between (16 page)

Frances is a champion chess player, a student council leader, president of the science club, a trophy-winning flute player, blah, blah, blah. What am I? I’m just a non-triangle-playing girl.

I’ve got to find my talent. My strength. Maybe I’m a computer genius, and I don’t even know it. Or what if I’m brilliant at cooking and sewing? Perhaps I’m an undiscovered vocal talent. When I get back to school it’s time to investigate my options.

“Amen.”

Amen
. Oh, yes, the magic word, like “the end.” Heads shoot up and a low chatter begins.

“Before you go, remember to come back Wednesday night when we kick it up a notch,” Pastor Mike’s booming voice carries over the rising noise.

Frances turns in her seat to face me. “Hey, what did you think?”

It was uncomfortable, intense, occasionally entertaining, and not as bad as I thought. “S’okay. I mean I got some donuts out of it.”

Her face falls a bit, but I can tell the fight is not out of her yet. “Come on, it’s time for church. If we hurry, we can beat the senior citizens. They always try and steal our seats.”

And like we’re old friends, Frances reaches for my hand again and leads me out into the hallway and toward the worship center. “We’ve got to get there before
she
does.” Frances picks up her pace and begins to speed walk.

“Who? What are you talking about?” And do I really care? I just want a nice seat in the back, right under the exit sign.

Frances jerks me around a corner, her grip like a vice. “You don’t understand, Katie. She does it just to spite us. I’ve heard she pays the bus driver to pick her and her friends up early. Well, not today. Today we are gonna beat her. We’re claiming our pew.”

We whip through the entry doors of the sanctuary, and Frances drops my hand like I’m suddenly plagued.

“Oh, no, she doesn’t.” Frances shoots down the left aisle. For a second, I think she’s going to hurdle some pews and slide into one like it’s home plate.

When I catch up to her, she’s standing behind an occupied pew, shoulders slumped, hands shaking. What has gotten into her? Perfect Frances doesn’t get angry, does she? What could possibly set her off like this?

“I
so
like to get here early.” The voice comes from the woman occupying the pew in front of Frances.

“You . . . you . . .” Frances clenches her fists. “You couldn’t have gotten here on the church bus. I checked its departure time, and it would have left exactly three minutes ago.” Frances’s voice cracks as she addresses the back of the woman’s head.

“Why, Frances, dear. It’s such a lovely day. I rode my bike.” The blonde-haired woman quits her inspection of her church bulletin, lays it in her lap, and ever so slowly swivels all the way around to face her accuser.

I gasp.

And stare at Mad Maxine.

“W
ell, well, well.
I see you have a new friend, Frances.” Millie’s mom clickity-clacks her long nails on the back of the wooden pew and eyes me like a tiger ready to pounce on its prey.

I gulp.

“You know we like to sit here, Mrs. Simmons.” Frances is clearly not going to let this go.

“Now Frances, this church is plenty big enough for all of us. You and your little friends sit in that pew, and my companions and I will occupy this one.” Maxine
tsk-tsks
. “This doesn’t have to be difficult.”

Beside me, Frances is radiating heat. “You know the youth group needs both pews if we all want to sit together. Can’t you and your
companions
go sit over with the other”—Frances clears her throat—“
elderly
members of the congregation?”

Maxine’s eyes flash wide, then shrink to narrow slits. “Look, Miss Vega, you and the other tiny tots will just have to find somewhere else to sit, because I’m sitting here, and as you can see from the church bulletins I’ve strewn about, the rest of the seats in this row are saved. Now run along and leave me alone, if you please.” Maxine is now composed and cool as a cucumber. She turns back to face the front. “I need some quiet alone time with the Lord.”

Frances growls and stares at the back of Maxine’s head.

I’m all about Maxine’s idea to go and sit somewhere else. Getting as far away from her as possible seems like a smart move to me. The last thing I want to do is put myself in Mad Maxine’s path so she can look down her long nose at me.

“Come on. Let’s go sit somewhere else,” I whisper to the fuming Frances.

She shakes her head. “No way. We’re staying here.” Frances plops herself down right behind Maxine.

Super.

With little choice, I too sit down. Of all the pews in this joint, Frances has to pick this one.

“Katie, there you are.” Millie breezes in, her royal blue choir robe billowing behind her. “I see you found a seat okay. Oh, hello, Mother. Did you see Katie back here? And Frances?”

Maxine angles her head toward us, her face a mask of innocence. “Yes, dear. The girls and I have already exchanged greetings, haven’t we?” Maxine chuckles, like she’s the angel of good humor and congeniality. “Well, I didn’t want to intrude on the girls too much. I’ll get plenty of time to chat with Katie this afternoon when you drop her off at my house. No point in talking her sweet little ear off now, is there?”

My mouth falls open. Did she just say I’d be seeing her this afternoon? Isn’t Sunday a day of rest? That’s not restful. If Sunday were a day of torture, I’d say, sure, how about a visit with Maxine?

Millie eyes her mother, then me, then back to her mother. “Ah, well, I hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to Katie about it yet.” I don’t miss Millie’s slight grimace. “Katie, this afternoon James and I are going to get some things straightened out at the theatre. We thought we’d drop you off at Mother’s, and you two could spend some time together.”

Heavy dread settles in my gut.

“Uh, but I’d love to go to the theatre with you. I could get to work right away, you know? Do a little painting, a little cleaning . . . anything?” I desperately search for a task, but Millie shakes her head.

“We want to get some glass and other things cleaned up before we let anyone work on it. Mother can feed you lunch and you two can . . . oh, they’re motioning for me to take my seat in the choir loft.” Millie pats me on the shoulder.

It doesn’t help.

“But Millie, I—”

“I’ll see you after church.” Millie rushes off and takes her seat on stage with the rest of the choir.

No! I’m not ready to spend time with her mother. She’ll eat me alive.

In fact, I can’t believe Maxine hasn’t already taken the opportunity to publicly humiliate me, to rake me over the coals about Friday night. She must be sick. Because the woman has had ample opportunity to say something loud and catty about my run-in with the local law. Or maybe she’s saving it. During the altar call, she’ll probably stand on the pew and declare my disgrace for all to hear.

“See you about one o’clock, snookums.” Maxine’s sugarless voice drops a decibel. A chill dances up my spine.

Maxine’s friends from the old folks home roll in (some literally), and she forgets all about Frances and me.

The service begins, and it goes on just like it did the previous week. The music director leads the congregation and the choir in a few songs, the words displayed on a screen for all of us to follow, much like in youth. The songs are kind of lame, but the instrumentalists set up beside the choir do add some pizzazz. Granted, I’ve not had much church experience in my life, but who would expect a small town conservative church to have a guy rocking out on drums during a hymn? Okay, maybe not rocking out, but definitely getting with it.

The choir sings a final song, and James takes his place at the pulpit. He opens with prayer, asking for God to be present and to move among us. I bow my head, too, and use the time to ask God to let us out early. Hey, as long as we’re offering up requests here.

James opens with a few humorous stories, which tear his congregation up, and then he moves into his sermon.

I look around at the good people of In Between Community Church. They are totally absorbing their pastor’s message. Some are taking notes. A handful shout out
amens
or some other affirmation, while many are doing some serious head nodding.

Then I focus again on James. My foster father.

And I wonder how they don’t see it.

How can his church not see how totally disconnected he is? With their heads nodding and pens scribbling, they are so into his message. How can they not see that their pastor isn’t?

When I heard Pastor Mike today in Sunday school, I saw a guy lit up with excitement. He couldn’t contain his enthusiasm. It was so real I could almost reach out and touch it.

Now, I’m no psychic, but I’m not getting the same vibes from James Scott. Sure, he’s a good speaker. He’s got it all—humor, good story-telling skills, intensity, a commanding presence. But then I look at those eyes behind his studious oval glasses, and I don’t see the same fire and determination I saw in Pastor Mike. Or that I see in my English teacher when she’s telling us about the power of poetry. Or even that I saw in Mrs. Smartly the day she left me and told me I was important in the world.

My brain searches for words and ideas to make sense of my theory, but I come up with nothing.

The service closes in prayer, and we’re dismissed.

Thank goodness. I’m starving and my butt is numb from that pew.

“Katie, I’m so glad you came today.” Frances’s evil alter ego has apparently left her body, and she is back to being her normal, overly bubbly self.

“It’s not like I had a choice.”

“Well, anyway, I hope you’ll come back Wednesday night.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” I deadpan.

“Yeah?”

Frances beams, and I don’t have the heart to tell her if I didn’t show up Wednesday night the Scotts would throw me on the first bus back to the group home.

“The Scotts must be really great parents, but I’m really sorry about . . .” She juts her chin toward Mad Maxine, who is schmoozing and giggling it up with a few of her lady friends. “I’m here for you if you need someone, you know, to talk to.”

I’m oddly touched by Frances’s concern. There’s no reason she should even be talking to me, let alone offering me a comforting shoulder. If the roles were reversed, I would probably think suffering Mad Maxine was poetic justice for the crimes of Friday night.

“Thanks, but I think I’ll be okay.” I run a hand down my new skirt, smoothing it out and trying to appear cool and confident. Inside, I’m already quaking over the thought of spending an afternoon with the old battle-ax. I’m seconds away from wrapping myself around Frances’s ankles and pleading for her to take me home with her.

“Maxine and I are cool.”

Cool like the iceberg that sank the Titanic.

Frances raises a single eyebrow. “Well, okay. I guess I’ll see you Monday at school.”

“Yeah, sure.” If I live through lunch with one psychotic senior citizen. “See you then.”

Frances flashes her megawatt smile and leaves the pew.

“Frances—” I stop her.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. You know, for sitting with me and all.” Okay, insert awkward silence here. “And, um . . . yeah, see you on Monday.”

And I bolt out of the pew.

“N
ow we’ll only
be gone a couple of hours, okay?”

I sit in the backseat on the way to Maxine’s. The drive of doom. Millie has been giving me random dos and don’ts for my afternoon. I can’t keep it all straight in my head, so I stare out the window at the passing landscape and occasionally nod like I’m absorbing her every word. Something about if Maxine asks to play rummy, watch out for an ace card with a bent corner. And how she likes to talk about her Vegas showgirl days, but don’t let her try on her old costumes or I’ll be picking up feathers for hours. Then there was some detail about if Maxine asks if I want to see her latest tap-dance routine, I’m to say no because there could be a flaming baton.

“Here we are.” James catches my eye in the rearview mirror. He gives me a hearty wink, like he’s trying to bolster my courage. Or maybe it’s just a parting sign of affection in case I’m never heard from again.