Suspicious of my explanation, my uncle takes a good hard look at me, taking stock of my agitated form. I guess it serves me right for giving him such a bald-faced lie as my excuse for not paying attention to him.
Even after all the years he’s raised me, my uncle has never been able to shape me into the pious niece he would have liked me to be. Yes, I might play my part in the church choir and be the diligent aid he needs to help him and Aunt Gloria with the various church events, but he has never been able to convert me wholeheartedly. He says the reason behind my less-than-zealous faith is because I have too much of my momma in me. Sometimes he says it with tenderness. Other times it feels more like a curse.
“Hmm,” he hums, trying to gauge what could have pulled my attention off of his lectures this time.
I pretend to straighten my sweater, bowing my head down so he can’t read what was really plaguing my mind as he preaches his words of worship. I hardly think my uncle would appreciate it if he knew that, while he was preaching about not falling into temptation, my thoughts were completely enraptured in the sin I committed less than twenty-four hours ago.
“As I was saying, I believe I heard Mrs. Price pull up out back. Do you mind helping her unload the car? I’m sure she could use an extra pair of hands to carry the Halloween costumes and treats she bought for the school kids at Southside Elementary,” my uncle explains, picking up his sermon notebook once again to work on his prose.
“Sure, Uncle Jack.”
“Thank you.”
I offer him a weak smile, standing up from my seat and heading to the back entrance of our quaint church. I take a minute before going outside to gather my wits about me, leaning my cheek against the cold brick wall to cool myself down. Facing Naomi Price right now, while being in an infernal loop of memories from last night’s sinful events, will take some fortitude on my part.
I pull my sleeves down to my wrists, making sure the elastic will hold them while helping her cart the Halloween gifts she bought for the underprivileged youth of Asheville. Since the day I met her, Naomi Price has gone above and beyond to give back to the community.
Most of the wealthy inhabitants of the Northside prefer to write a check as their way of contributing to those less fortunate. Easton’s mother, however, believes that giving one’s time is just as important as any donation she could possibly make—a reason that has her frequenting my uncle’s church just as often as I do.
Or maybe it’s because within these walls she feels welcomed, when the world outside them isn’t as affable. I understand how she feels perfectly. I might not be a total convert, but at least my uncle’s church offers me the sanctuary I need.
Ironically enough, so does The Brass Guild.
I shake those thoughts out of my head, passing the assembly hall to go outside. Once I reach the back door, I freeze in place, thinking I must be seeing a mirage.
Shit on a stick.
What is he doing here?
I maul my lower lip as I watch Easton help his mother unload packages of various shapes from the trunk of her car.
“Scarlett, dear, where can we drop these off?” Naomi greets me with her wide, trademark smile.
It always astonishes me when I see mother and son together like this. While Easton is dark and full of shadows, his mom is a beaming warm light. I’ve never met such an odd pair.
“In the assembly hall is fine, Mrs. Price. Do you have anything else in the car that I can help with?” I ask, trying desperately to keep my gaze away from the man standing behind her.
“No, sweetheart. As you can see, I brought my trusty helper with me today,” she singsongs, throwing a conspiring wink to her son. “Just lead the way, Scarlett, and we’ll follow you.”
I rush to lead them into the hall where they can drop their deliveries. Our assembly hall isn’t very big, but it has enough space to hold meetings and Sunday school for the parishioners’ kids before they have to attend my uncle’s service. Usually, Aunt Gloria takes the lead on the latter, while I play my guitar and get the younger crowd awake and excited for Sunday worship.
I might not be fully committed to my family’s faith, but I welcome any excuse to sing. And as far as my uncle is concerned, this is the only acceptable way to use my musical vocation. In his mind, using my voice any other way spells out trouble. And he sees my mother as the perfect example of what can go wrong if I try to use my talents in a less-than-holy venue. If he ever learned of my singing gig at The Brass Guild, I’m sure I’d send him to an early grave.
“I can’t wait to see the kids’ faces when we hand these gifts out next week,” Easton’s mother begins to muse as she unpacks everything from the various boxes and bags onto a large white table. “Aren’t these ghoulish-pumpkin drawstring backpacks adorable? I just fell in love with them. They’ll be perfect for handing them out filled with costumes, coloring books and pencils, and plenty of candy for the kids. It’ll take some work, but I’m positive I’ll be able to have it all done by the end of this afternoon.”
“I can help out if you’d like?”
“Are you sure? It looks like it might be a few hours of work. Don’t you have anything more exciting to do on a Saturday afternoon, sweetheart? I’m sure you’d like to unwind after the long school week. I’d hate to impose on your free time, Scarlett.”
“It’s no bother at all, Mrs. Price.”
“Only if you’re sure.”
“I’m positive,” I repeat and begin the task at hand.
I have plenty of time before tonight’s performance. One of the many perks of working in a clandestine club is that my shows only start when most of Asheville’s reputable churchgoers are tucked away in their beds, utterly oblivious of what the preacher’s niece is up to.
“I’ll just have a quick word with your uncle, and I’ll come right back here to help you,” she says before heading inside. “Easton, are you coming?”
“No. I’ll stay here and help Scarlett out.”
“Is that so?” she questions, intrigued, eyeing us both.
I don’t dare look behind me to see the expression on Easton’s face. Instead, I begin to hustle, unpacking candy like it’s the most challenging endeavor ever.
“Unless Scarlett doesn’t want my help.” I hear him reply, and I don’t have to turn around to know he’s broadcasting his devilish, taunting smirk in my direction.
“Don’t be silly. Of course, she does,” his mom retorts playfully. “Give me just ten minutes, and I’ll be back in a jiff.”
When she’s finally out of earshot, I let out the pent-up breath I was holding. I turn around to face, head-on, the amused devil standing before me.
“Why are you here? And don’t tell me it’s to help your mother out because you’ve scarcely given a shit before.”
“Tsk tsk, Scar.” He waves his finger at me, taking one step closer. “What would your uncle think if he heard you cuss in his house?”
The tips of my ears heat up at his reprimand. I cross my arms over my chest to keep my guard up, hoping it’s enough to shield myself from his advances.