Ryan pushed up the sleeves of his black button-up, which was too hot for this weather. “And coming to church would be a good way for you to meet people.”
“I’m not good with people.” More honesty. I watched to see how he’d take it.
“Come hang out with some kids.” He scratched at his chin, completely missing the reality of what I’d said. “I think you might be able to help me with Emma. She’s had a difficult past.”
I bristled. How much had Ida shared about me? But his friendly eyes held no judgment, so I relaxed my shoulders. They were getting tight enough to touch my ears. Fine. I had a past. I needed to test out talking to teens. But he didn’t need to start thinking I would be some kind of therapist or anything. I couldn’t even iron out my own wrinkles.
“One Sunday?” His voice coaxed me, as though sensing he’d found a crack in my better judgment. “You can meet the kids, try it out.” He turned out his palms. “And if you don’t like it, I won’t ask again.”
“Fine. One Sunday. But that’s all.”
Ryan grinned again. “That’s all I ask.”
5
The Pageant Queen
Every terrible idea can trace its origins back to a moment in time when someone thought, “Hey, how bad can it be?” Staring at the white steeple of what had to be the largest building in town, I admitted I’d asked myself that very question. How bad could it be to go to a church filled with self-righteous hypocrites who would skewer me with their judgy eyes and turn up their perfectly powdered noses?
They streamed out of a variety of cars wedged into an overflowing parking lot, their heeled shoes clicking across the asphalt. I leaned against the hood of my 1990s-model Toyota and picked at the peeling beige paint. I’d worn jeans. Big no-no. I had chosen a pretty pink blouse with flounced sleeves and a pair of black ballet flats, but I’d missed the memo on pumps, floral dresses, curled hair, and lipstick.
I fingered my long brown hair that never held a curl without the aid of an entire can of hair spray.
“Coming?”
I whirled around to face Ryan. “You know, actually I’m not feeling all that good and—”
“Nope. You’re making excuses because you’re nervous.” He cupped my elbow. “I’ll walk with you and introduce you to people.”
This man took my invitation to bluntness to heart. Probably shouldn’t have opened the door. “I’m not dressed right.”
“You’re fine.” His gaze snapped down my clothing, just now noticing what I wore.
I dragged my feet as he nudged me away from the protection of my Toyota’s shadow. “Easy for you to say. Men wear a button-up and shake the dust off their boots and it works. There are way more rules for women.”
He stopped and dropped my arm. “Rules? What rules?”
“Seriously? Have you never been in a shoe store? Men have, what, three types of shoes? Work, dress, athletic.” I cocked an eyebrow. “How many do women have?”
Ryan glanced at the stream of people filing into the church. “Huh. I guess you have a point.”
Score. Had he really never noticed? “Every woman here has on a skirt and heels.” I gestured to my jeans. “Clearly, I do not.”
“So?” He motioned for the door. “We’re going to be late.”
Did he really not care that I’d be scorned from the moment I disgraced the doorway? Of course not. Why would he? I was only here to help him wrangle a bunch of disgruntled youths.
I trudged along behind him, averting my eyes from the gawkers. Thankfully, by the time we reached the lobby area, music filled the room. No time for Ryan to introduce me to people. I slipped through a second set of doors into a large room with a vaulted ceiling and bright stained-glass windows that cast shards of colored light across packed pews. Where had all these people come from?
Hoping for a place in the back, I scanned the pew nearest the wall, but apparently I hadn’t been the only person with an affinity for keeping a low profile. Ryan put his hand on the small of my back and guided me down the aisle on the left side of the room, past rows and rows of people in their Sunday finest, until we reached a side wing of the large sanctuary. The overpowering onslaught of cologne designated the teen section stuffed full of gum-smacking high schoolers. Several of the boys waved at Ryan, offering him wide smiles and enthusiastic gestures to come sit by them.
These kids clearly loved him. What did he need me for?
A couple of boys scooted over, making room for Ryan at the end of the front pew. He sidled in next to them and gestured for me to join them. Front row. Exactly where I wanted to be.
The people across from me sang from open hymnals or watched the screens on either side of the baptistery for the words to an upbeat worship song. Several churchgoers met my gaze, offering quick smiles before they returned to belting out the hymn. I shifted, uncomfortable, and Ryan nudged me to follow along with the words. I focused on the screen but kept my lips sealed.
An admittedly pleasant service followed the singing, with the pastor giving an interesting talk about how the members of the church were like parts of a body. All different, all useful. I kind of liked that. Made me think. Afterward, the crowd sang a slower song, and then we were dismissed.
No sooner had Ryan ushered me out into the aisle than a perky brunette with a trim figure and pageant girl practically stamped on her forehead glided up to us in a shimmering haze of sticky sweet perfume and hair spray. She turned up perfectly pink lips and placed a manicured hand on Ryan’s sleeve. “There you are, sweetie. I missed you at the potluck last night.”
Ryan offered her a polite smile before assuring one of his students he’d beat him in something called “flip cup tic-tac-toe” in a minute. He shifted out from under her touch and gestured to me. “Mira Ann, this is my friend, Casey Adams, Ida Macintyre’s granddaughter.” He nodded toward the woman. “Casey, Mira Ann Middleton.”
“Hi.” I lifted my hand to shake hers, decided that was awkward, and dropped it back to my side.
She tilted her head, spilling perfectly curled milk chocolate hair over the shoulder of her form-fitting purple dress. “Oh, yes, I remember. Hope you enjoy your little visit with us.” Her smile revealed bleached-white teeth.
Dismissing me, Mira Ann swung her attention back to Ryan. And just like that, I went from conspicuous outsider to the invisible woman. “What happened to you last night? Didn’t you get my invitation?”
“I told you before, I’m not interested in the singles gatherings.”
Mira Ann protruded her lower lip ever so slightly, and I had to catch myself before I rolled my eyes. “Next time we’ll go somewhere more quiet.”
Ryan checked his watch. “I’ve got to get to the youth room before somebody breaks something.” He gestured toward a door at the back of the sanctuary to the left of an upright piano. “It’s right through there.”
Mira Ann’s honey eyes snapped to me. “She’s going with you?”
“She volunteered to help this week.”
Only the slightest tightening around the corners of her lined eyes gave away her annoyance. Miss America types never had cause to be jealous of people like me, so however unfounded, a childhood part of me cheered.