A motorcade wheel and handlebars face out.
He sees the recognition in my eyes, and he sighs and steps back. He undoes the rest of his buttons, and he shrugs his shirt off. I haven’t seen much of my father without a shirt on, because I know he’s not really proud of the tattoos on his shoulders and upper arms from when he was “younger and dumber” as he’s said with a chuckle before. This time though, it feels different. I start to really look at the ink, and I realize a lot of them are really just blacked out tattoos, or not so subtle roses and crosses covering other things up.
“Papa?” I whisper.
“When your mama met me, I was a mess,” he says darkly. “I mean a real, real mess, honey. I didn’t know God at all. I didn’t know love, didn’t think I had a soul, and thought life was one big ride until the end. Your mama, God bless her, saw that I was more than that. And I don’t mean to say she dragged my butt to church and made me talk to Jesus or anything.” He grins. “You know her. She wouldn’t force that on me. But she helped me see the truth, and the light.”
He takes a shaky breath. “She helped me get saved, honey. And she’s the reason I’m here today, alive, and not damned to Hell. I know that truly.”
I nod slowly, and he smiles. He picks his shirt up and pulls it back on and starts to button it back up. “So, whoever this person is? You want my opinion?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“See into them. See who they are and see who they could be. I’m not telling you to go stumping for someone who ain’t gonna be saved,” he chuckles. “But you’ve got a good heart and a good head on your shoulders. I trust that you can tell the difference between a truly lost soul and a soul that’s just lost its way. If it’s the second one, open up. If you can see a trace of love there, I think the Godly thing to do would be to help them, and to let them help you. I mean, your mama saved me, but I saved her too in my own way.”
He smiles.
“That make any dang sense at all, honey?”
I laugh, and I walk right over and hug him tightly.
“More than you know, Papa.”
He chuckles. “Well good. Oh, but Delilah?” His smile fades to a concerned frown. “Now if this is a boy we’re talking about, forget every damn thing I just said. That clear?”
I manage to restrain myself to a smile instead of a deep laugh, and I nod. “Understood, Papa.”
…Hey, what’s one more small lie, right?
Actually,it’s two more lies. After dinner, I tell my parents I’m going over to Melanie Krupa’s house for a small bible study before I run out the door in cutoff jean shorts and a big baggy “Christ Ministries 2015” t-shirt. Papa even lets me borrow his pickup. But once I pull the truck off the road out of town into the little clearing at the grassy field, I pull the t-shirt off to reveal the much less wholesome strappy tank-top underneath that I usually just wear to bed.
The engine turns off, and I take a shaky breath and look at myself in the rearview mirror. I blush as I fuss with my long hair, before I just leave it. I step out, close the creaky door, and look out across the dark field towards the tent and the Winnebago.
Even yesterday, I’d have said that I was looking towards damnation and Hell. Now, I’m not so sure. I’m not so sure about a lot of things, actually. And I’m pretty positive that my father’s talk earlier wasn’t exactly about what I’m pretty sure I’m about to do, but it’s shown me the way. It’s opened my eyes and taken the blinders off a bit more that I’ve been wearing my entire life.
Life is not just good or bad. People are not pure or evil. It’s all a spectrum, and I know in my heart, or at least I’m hoping that I know and that it’s not a misstep, that what’s happened with Gabriel isn’t purely a sin. It might not be good, but when I feel… well, the way I feel about him, that can’t all be sin, can it?
With one more shaky breath, I start walking across the field, my heart racing.
The tent is dark except for a neon blue sign above the pulpit that says “SAVED.” Past it, I hear a bubbling sound from behind the back wall, and I grin through the nervousness as I step around the corner. And there, sitting in his tub with his arms outstretched on the side, a bottle of whiskey in one hand, and his head lolled back, looking sinfully gorgeous, is Gabriel.
“Am I too late for the baptisms tonight?”
His head jerks up, and his brow arches. A small smile curls at the corners of his mouth, and I shiver at the fire that sparks over his face.
“Well,” he growls. “That all depends.”
“On?”
“On if there’s a posse of townsfolk behind you ready to string me up by the balls from the nearest tree.”
I grin. “Not tonight.”
He shrugs. “Well then, the church of Gabriel Marsden is open and ready to cleanse your mortal soul.”
I roll my eyes and smile before I glance at the bottle in his hands. “Are you drunk?”
He arches a brow. “I’m not not drunk,” he says in a way that makes me giggle. “But no, I’m not blasted if that’s what you’re asking. I’m trying out this new thing called restraint.”