She nodded and turned her face back to the front. I wiped the corners of my mouth, just in case my sister had been right about the drool. This was hardly the first time I’d fallen asleep during one of Pastor Long’s sermons, but today, I’d managed to sleep through my alarm, plus I was still groggy from missing my coffee. I’d only barely managed to throw on a wrap dress and pin my hair into a passable bun before loading into my dad’s Tahoe. It wasn’t like me to sleep through my alarm. Come to think of it, I wasn’t sure I could recall setting it at all.
I yawned and shifted my weight on the pew’s thin cushion. My family had been coming to Hollow Pines Presbyterian ever since we moved here. I’d always loved the purple and green stained glass and the way the windows refracted the light into geometric patterns that shifted on the red carpet of the church’s stage. Everyone that was anyone went to church in Hollow Pines. It didn’t matter if you drank yourself silly the night before or if you’d spent the entire six days prior getting to third base in the back of your boyfriend’s pickup. On Sunday morning, your rear end was in the sanctuary.
I scanned the congregation for familiar faces. Even though I was sleepy, the effects of the Sunshine still hadn’t worn off. Either that or I was truly getting over the last few months of my life. I knew because it hadn’t annoyed me when Dad put his blinker on a hundred yards too early or when Mom sang the hymns too loud. And I was dying to discuss hair choices for Friday night’s basketball game with Paisley. Hair choices! I couldn’t remember the last time I’d cared about something as inconsequential as hair choices.
I caught sight of Paisley, her head dutifully bowed, which meant she must have been sneaking texts on her phone since no one else was praying. In the church’s right wing, Ava sat with her mom. Every so often, she’d trace the sign of the cross over her shoulders and breastbone. Her family was Catholic, but since there were no Catholic churches in Hollow Pines, the Presbyterian church had to do.
In unison, the congregation rose and began to sing a song about peace and forgiveness. Honor balanced her hymnal on the pew back in front of us. She slid it over so that I could read from it, too. A black stamp on my left hand caught my eye. Quietly, I lowered my hands off the rail and knitted my fingers together, hoping that Honor hadn’t already seen.
I’d seen, though.
My throat tied itself in knots. The stamp was a picture of two spurred boots and I recognized it instantly. A cold sweat cropped up among the tiny hairs on the back of my neck. I’d had that stamp on my hand before—once—the night I went to Dearborn. When I went to Ten Gallon Cowboy.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The images flooded in, rushing through me like a tidal wave. The music. The sticky floors. The boys laughing. Without even trying I could feel again how the night had morphed into something ugly, first slowly and then all at once.
I forced my eyelids back open and pulled myself free from the memory. I would never go back. That was the promise I’d made to myself. Never, ever, ever and as far as I knew, I hadn’t. Or at least that was what I would have thought if I didn’t have the evidence stamped across my hand. My heart beat fast.
Pastor Long raised his hands and held his palms out to us. “The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit be with you all,” he said. “Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.”
“Amen,” I chanted. Then the organ blared and everyone was reaching behind them to pick up their belongings. I grabbed my purse and tapped Honor on the shoulder. “I’m running to the restroom before the line gets too long, okay? Tell Mom and Dad that I’ll meet y’all in the atrium.”
I darted out of the pew and up the aisle toward the double doors, panic slimy in my mouth and throat. “Peace be with you,” an elderly usher in a khaki suit called to me as I hustled away.
“And peace be with you,” I responded breathlessly.
The women’s restroom was located at the end of the corridor. I hurried inside. Tiny green tiles covered the floor and walls. I squeezed out a dollop of pink soap, stuck my hand underneath the faucet, and began scrubbing it with my fingernails. I relaxed as the ink dissolved from my skin and I was left with reddening scratches instead. In a few short seconds, I would have never suspected it was there in the first place.
Ladies of the church began trickling in. Still shaken, I slipped into a stall at the end and closed the door. Breathe, I ordered my lungs. Calm down and breathe.
The stamp meant nothing. The night after Ten Gallon Cowboy, I’d woken to full body aches that stretched from the top notch of my spine down to the backs of my knees. Today, on the other hand, I felt fine. I had to keep reminding myself of that. I felt fine. For the first time in a long time.
I reached for my cell and texted Liam. I thought you said there were no side effects?
I waited as flashing dots appeared on-screen. Followed by his message. There aren’t.
I dug my teeth into my lip, unsure how much I wanted to tell him. Who else has tried it?
The answer was immediate. Confidentiality. Part of the job requirement.
I rolled my eyes. It wasn’t like Liam was a doctor or a lawyer. Still, it was nice to know my secret was safe. But there are others?
Of course :)
I tapped my foot on the ground anxiously. And no one has had … My thumbs hovered … memory loss?